Manifest

by Artist Arthur

  “Sasha will take you home,” Jake offers.

  Sasha mumbles something but I can’t see her nor do I care what she said. “That’s okay, I’ll get the bus.”

  “Bus has already left,” Jake says.

  “My car’s around the other side,” Sasha says as we approach the doors. “That’s where I’m heading, all those riding with me better follow along.”

  I look at Jake who’s got this pleading kind of look in his eyes, then mumble, “Great. Just great.”

  He is the polar opposite of Sasha. I mean, besides being a boy and all. But Jake’s not pushy and he’s not bossy. He kind of just goes with the flow. Sasha, however, is moody and grates on my nerves. She’s pushy and controlling but is soon going to find that I’m not a Lincoln-bred girl. I’m straight from the city and will knock her out if need be.

  Take the ride with Sasha and stop being so stubborn.

  I cut my eyes at Ricky as we hit the doors. I’m already walking behind Jake, following along just like Ms. Sasha said. So I’m ignoring Ricky because my head is hurting and my stomach is doing funny things. A cross between the heated ball I feel when I’m around Janet and those stupid butterflies fluttering whenever I see him. And let’s not forget the fear from crying girl, that’s still churning around inside of me like a cruel reminder that I’m not normal.

  I don’t want this power.

  I don’t want to help spirits.

  I don’t want to be friends with other kids with powers.

  Hell, I don’t know what I want anymore.

  eleven

  Well, I calm down enough to let Sasha drive me home. She has a cute little car, a red BMW. I should have expected nothing less than a sporty vehicle for her majesty. What I don’t expect is the huge guy that she calls Mouse who is supposed to be her driver.

  Mouse looks like Shaquille O’Neal on steroids—yeah, he’s that big. I know he has to be more than seven feet tall. How he squeezes himself into Sasha’s teeny-tiny car I don’t know, but he does, right beside me. His head is bald, his skin the darkest I’ve ever seen. His eyes seem quiet, not mean or anything.

  I sit in the back because being in her car is enough; I don’t really think I could stand sitting right up front with her during the drive home.

  “Wow, great house,” Jake says as we pull up in front of my house.

  I glance out the window while waiting for the car to come to a complete stop. Looking at it in the low sunlight of late afternoon, I guess it is kind of cool. It’s a mixture of stones and shingles in the front, in shades of brown. The wraparound porch is what I really think makes it cool. The front yard, which had a lot of dirt mounds in it just the other day, now has neat rows with small budding flowers. Janet has been out today.

  I don’t know if that is a good or bad thing so I dismiss it. Tapping on the back of the seat Jake is sitting in, I say, “Can you let me out?”

  He reaches for the door handle when Sasha stops him with a look. Then her frosty dark gaze comes back to me.

  “We really need to get together to talk about this. How about we meet at my house around eight?”

  “I can’t tonight,” Jake speaks up. “It’s just me and Pop Pop on Monday nights. Dad’s got bowling.”

  “Okay, then we’ll come to your place,” Sasha says. “Deal?”

  She’s looking at me and I want to say, “No, it’s not a deal because we don’t need to meet.” But all the way home I’ve been thinking that maybe Ricky picked me for a reason. I mean, there has to be more than one medium in the world. Right? (Okay, so I searched the Net again last night trying to figure out exactly what my superpower is and since I can do all of those “clair” things, it stands to reason that a better term for my power is a medium—one who can see and communicate with spirits.)

  Maybe Ricky only picked me because I go to Settlemans High and have easier access to the clique his brother hangs with. Then why did that girl contact me? Why was her crying meant for me to hear? And who was the woman on the beach? Was she connected in some way? I kind of thought not since she didn’t speak to me at all.

  Whatever the reason, I think I like that somebody needs me. For the past few months I’ve felt so displaced, so inconsequential, that maybe now I can make a difference. To a spirit. Or to the person this spirit used to be. Maybe?

  “I don’t know, I’ll have to see if I can make it. It’s a school night and I’m not usually out at that time.” Who am I kidding—since moving to Lincoln, I haven’t been out of this house except to go to school and wherever Gerald convinced Janet he wants us to go as a so-called family. Then again, if I tell Janet I’m going to a friend’s house she’ll probably be so excited she’ll offer to drive me herself.

  “Tell your parents we’re going to watch a movie for class tomorrow. I’ll come by and pick you up around quarter to eight and we can head over to Jake’s.”

  I’m getting out of the car as she’s talking. When I stand on the curb, I look back at her and shrug. “Okay, I guess.”

  I rush through my homework because, let’s face it, I don’t really know what I am doing anyway, having not paid a bit of attention in class today. Still I figure part of an effort is better than no effort at all. That will definitely be reflected in the fifty percent I’ll get as a homework grade tomorrow, instead of the zero I would have scored had I not bothered to do anything at all. I’m proud of myself for making the right decision and not overly concerned with the fact that come test time I’ll still be out of luck.

  Anyway, I go downstairs to have dinner with the adults of the household. I really couldn’t bring myself to call them parents, not even Janet.

  Of course, Gerald isn’t there. So what else is new? Really, I just don’t know why Janet married him. I guess it was money. But we weren’t doing so bad by ourselves. We did better with Daddy.

  Tonight’s meal is, to my surprise, pizza! And it is from one of those delivery places because the boxes are still on the table. Janet sits in her usual seat, with one lone slice of pepperoni pizza on her plate, and looks up like she’s been waiting for me.

  So I pick up my plate and move a little farther down the table to the box and lift it up. My stomach is doing somersaults and growling like it’s been empty for days. But when I pick up a slice and put it on my plate I get a good whiff of the pizza and start to feel like I’m gonna hurl. So I ditch the idea of a second slice and just sit down hoping I can eat the first one.

  One bite and I’m chewing, letting the taste of cheese mixed with spicy pepperoni and tangy tomato sauce settle in my mouth. It brings back memories and my chewing slows down. And when I go to swallow, the food actually feels like it’s stuck. I take several big gulps in an attempt to push it down and when it still doesn’t move I pick up my glass of water and take huge gulps of that, too.

  Finally the food moves, traveling down my throat and into my stomach with heat that almost makes me cry. I sit there for a minute, just staring at what used to be my favorite food, wondering when I’ll be normal again. Probably never.

  “I’m picking you up early from school tomorrow,” Janet finally says something.

  I’m glad she waited until I managed to get that food down or else I would have choked.

  “What? Why?”

  She’s wringing her hands nervously, an action I’ve seen her do a lot in the past couple of days. “I made an appointment with that doctor I mentioned. The one I think you should talk to.”

  “For what? There’s nothing wrong with me.” And the minute I say that I know that there is something wrong. But it’s not something I think a head doctor can fix.

  “I didn’t say there was, baby. Gerald and I just think it would be good if you had someone you could open up to. Share things with.”

  “I don’t give a crap what Gerald thinks!”

  Janet gives me a look where one of her eyebrows lifts up higher than the other and her head kind of tilts. I haven’t seen it in a while, but it still makes me nervous.

  “Like I sa
id, we both think you need to talk to someone. This depression you’re in is getting worse and we want to help you before it’s too late.”

  “Too late?” What in the world is she talking about? “Too late like what? Like you think you’re going to open my door one day and find me hanging from the ceiling?” A girl in my sixth-grade class had done that because Johaven Britton kept threatening and punching on her. I used to see her crying in the hallways and I always felt sorry for her, she looked so sad. I don’t look like she did so I’m pretty sure that killing myself because I don’t like that my mother left my dad and moved us to this small town where I just so happened to meet two people who are weirder than I am is not a possibility.

  Janet closes her eyes briefly and when she opens them and looks at me again she looks really sad, like my words really hurt her. “That’s not what I said, Krys. I just want you to be okay and I don’t know what else to do for you myself. So I figured that maybe somebody else could help you.”

  “I don’t want to go,” I say in a voice that sounds sulky and juvenile—I mean elementary-like.

  “It’s not a choice.”

  “So what else is new?”

  “You know, Krystal, I’m doing the best I can. Sometimes we can’t help the hand we’re dealt in life and I’m just trying to make the best of what I have. I’m sorry if that’s not good enough for you.”

  My fingers are rubbing along the tablecloth, my chest hurting for some strange reason. “It’s just not what I want,” I say.

  “We don’t always get what we want,” Janet answers quietly.

  “Is that what you told Daddy?” I look up at her and wonder if that sad look she’s been giving me will disappear. If she’ll turn away from me like she usually does when I talk about Daddy.

  This time she doesn’t.

  But I notice that her eyes are filling with tears.

  “No. That’s not what I told your father.”

  “Then why did you leave him?”

  She takes a deep breath, those tears that filled her eyes drip down and fall on her cheeks. It looks funny. I don’t see my mother cry a lot. My chest hurts more but I still don’t understand.

  “That’s grown folks’ business and you are not grown.” Gerald’s cold voice sounds throughout the room and Janet hurries to wipe her eyes. In the next instant she’s jumping up from her chair, going to him and offering her lips for a kiss.

  Again, I want to puke.

  Gerald’s looking at me like he could shake me, or choke me, or at the very least push me out of his way. I always feel like that with him, like I’m bothering him or messing up some plan he had. Not that I care because he’s not my father and what he thinks doesn’t really matter.

  I open my mouth to tell him that this—the conversation between me and Janet—is none of his business but then I see how she’s all pushed up on him now and I change my mind. Her fingers are buried in his shirt, her head leaning on his shoulder. She’s not looking at me anymore. She got up from the table and left me, just like she left my dad.

  So I stand and prepare to leave myself.

  “Where are you going? Back to your room?” Gerald says and he sounds all nasty, like one of those villains on TV.

  “No,” I say, turning back to him with a snap of my head. “I’m going out…with friends.”

  Janet’s head pops up and she looks at me this time. “Friends? What friends?”

  And even though she’s really not the reason I’m going because she really gets on my nerves, I say her name first, hoping that Gerald will know who I’m talking about. “Sasha Carrington is coming to pick me up. We’re going to another friend’s house to watch a movie for a project we’re doing in school.”

  That lie came so easy I didn’t even blink.

  “Oh. Well, that sounds nice.” Janet’s wet eyes seem to have dried up instantly. Now she’s watching me with an almost smile.

  Maybe she’s the one that’s crazy and not me. I already know that Gerald is not right.

  “It’s a school night, don’t be out too late,” he says.

  I roll my eyes because that’s easier—and probably won’t get me punished—than saying what I really want to say.

  twelve

  Jake’s house looks like it’s about half the size of ours. It’s past the tracks and along the riverbank. The street he lives on is quiet but has a ton of other houses the same size as his all cramped together. It almost looks like a trailer park, except they’re real houses.

  Sasha’s car is so out of place on this street. Still she parks right in front of the house like it’s nothing new and we both get out. Mouse climbs out from the backseat. I looked back at him once while riding and saw that his long legs were folded like the chairs in my grandma’s basement. Sasha doesn’t talk to him or about him, she just acts like he’s not there. I feel kind of bad for him. When I turn back, I see him leaning against the car instead of getting in the front to sit. I guess he needs to stretch—I don’t blame him.

  “Listen, Jake’s real sensitive about where he lives and his family and all that. So don’t say anything that might hurt his feelings.”

  I turn away from Mouse because he catches me staring and that makes me feel bad. I’m looking up at Jake’s house when I say, “You don’t have to tell me that. I’m not a jerk about stuff like this.”

  “Well, I don’t really know you, so I wasn’t sure. His dad works weird hours for the electric company so Jake has to take care of his grandfather a lot.”

  For her not to know me that well she sure doesn’t have a problem telling me Jake’s business.

  “Where’s his mother?” And clearly I don’t have a problem asking for more.

  Sasha shrugs. “I heard she left. Then my mom said she died. Jake doesn’t talk about it so don’t even think about asking him.”

  I figure I’ll take her advice, after all she’s known him a lot longer than I have.

  She keeps walking up the two front steps, her curly hair dancing behind her, then pulls open the creaky old screen door. I admit that she’s right, she doesn’t know me, and I don’t know her or Jake. Yet I’m here, ready to talk about the one thing we all seem to have in common.

  Sasha knocks once and before she can pull her arm back Jake opens the door. Light, in a golden haze, pours from the house to the dark outside. He doesn’t smile but looks over Sasha’s shoulder at me then nods. “Come on in.”

  I walk behind Sasha, keeping my mouth shut and trying really hard not to look around his house. It feels warm in here. I mean I can instantly feel extra heat. Outside it’s about sixty-five degrees. In here feels much hotter. And it smells like old people. Like those mothballs they keep in all the closets and in their drawers. It’s not really a stinky smell but it gets in your nose and burns after a while. I remember it from the old folks’ home, so it’s already bothering me.

  Jake’s leading the way, walking us past what I think is the dining room. His house is set up like one long hallway and different rooms are on either side. It’s kind of hard to keep my head straight ahead and act like I’m not looking around, because I am. That probably means I’m nosy but I’m not real worried about that right now. Unfortunately, my eyes keep wandering so I’m not getting a real good look into every room, just quick glances. Then I see the wheelchair in one room and I completely stop.

  I’ve never seen a wheelchair in person before. Well, except for when I was twelve and went to the nursing home to visit my grandfather. It was creepy in there with all those old people wanting to touch you with their crinkly hands. All the extra voices I was hearing didn’t help either. I know now that those voices belonged to dead people. People who had probably died in that nursing home. I wonder if that meant I could only hear the dead in the spot where they died. No, that can’t be true, I hear Ricky any and everywhere.

  “Come on, Krystal,” I hear Sasha say with irritation clear in her voice.

  Oh, great, I’ve been caught standing here staring like some sort of flake.
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br />   The room Jake’s sitting in has two mattresses on a bed frame in one corner, an old desk and chair in the other and two chairs that look like they might have come from the kitchen right next to the desk. On the desk is a computer, which shocks me because it’s the newest-looking thing in this room. I mean, all the furniture and stuff is pretty old, like the kind you see in those shops that only sell old stuff for lots of money. But the computer is the bomb!

  It’s an iMac with a twenty-four-inch screen. I just know it has everything on it because why else would you buy it if you weren’t going to load it up?

  “Here, you can sit right here,” Jake says.

  Sasha has already taken a seat on his bed so he can only be talking to me. I notice he’s changed his pants. Earlier he had on jeans but now he’s wearing sweatpants. His hair is still a mess, falling all in his eyes so he looks more like an animal than a boy. But I’m not real worried about how he looks. I just want to get this little powwow over with so I can go home.

  Home to what? Janet and Gerald, both looking at me like I’ve just grown another head? No, correction, Janet looking at me like I’ve grown another head and Gerald looking at me like he could stomp me right into the ground. That can’t be normal, for a grown-up to hate a kid that much. But I guess if the kid’s not yours you could hate them until hell froze over and nobody would care.

  Anyway, I don’t want to think about the odd couple right now. I follow Jake’s direction and sit in one of the chairs. Again, I’m trying not to look around at the chipping dull beige paint on his walls or the dresser that doesn’t have any knobs on it.

  I’m really not prejudiced against people who don’t have what I have or anything like that. I’m just curious about Jake’s life. He seems so quiet and so normal. It’s weird that his house isn’t all pretty and filled with new stuff, but he seems perfectly happy with who he is and where he’s from. While me, on the other hand, can’t stand to be in the house Janet works so hard to create and walks around with enough friction in my mind to fill a psych ward. Which, coincidentally, is where Janet and her husband are trying to send me.