“Why would she take these pictures?” I ask quietly.
She didn’t.
“So she posed for them?”
Ricky turns away.
“Did you know about them? I mean, she is your girlfriend.”
She’s not my girlfriend, he says quickly. Almost too quickly.
“She said she was.”
She was, as in past tense. As in when we were both still walking, living, breathing and talking.
“As in when she disappeared?”
He pauses, looking at me like he is surprised that I know.
I guess this means you’ve decided to help me.
I hunch my shoulders. “I figure something has to be done.”
You figure, or you and your friends figure?
“I guess you could say all three of us.”
It’s Ricky’s turn to nod his head. I think he’s trying to figure out what to say next, so I decide to help him along.
“What happened to Trina? Were you involved in her disappearance?”
He doesn’t hesitate. No. I wasn’t involved. And I don’t know what happened to her. And even at this point she’s not tryin’ to tell me.
“I heard you were the last person to see her alive.”
Some people have said that. I don’t necessarily know how true that is.
“I don’t understand. Now that you’re both…um…”
He fills in the word for me. Dead.
“Yeah.” I clear my throat. “Now that you’re both dead, why doesn’t she just go ahead and tell you what happened to her?”
Because I didn’t ask her.
“You don’t want to know?”
Listen, things between Trina and I were different and I don’t want to go back through them again. After I was shot up she showed up trying to help me, trying to ease the passage she said. But it didn’t work. So right now, she’s not a big concern of mine.
“So what about these pictures? Why am I receiving them now if they aren’t related to what happened to you?”
I don’t know.
I hadn’t even noticed that when we’d stopped walking we’d ended up right in front of Ricky’s headstone. Looking down at his name, I bend and smooth away some of the leaves and debris that have fallen on it. Then suddenly, I’m really tired so I sit down. We stay quiet for a while. I would say we are enjoying the serenity but we’re in the middle of the cemetery so I don’t really know how much enjoyment you can get from sitting there. Still, I’ve made a spot right next to Ricky’s stone. I’m sitting with my knees pulled up, my chin resting on my knees. Ricky finally leans against the stone, his back partially facing me.
“How come you hung out with those guys at school? They’re troublemakers and you don’t strike me as their type,” I ask finally. After all, that was my reason for coming here. To call him and ask him more questions to help us figure out what is going on.
Because Twan hung out with them.
“Oh, come on, you’re the oldest. Don’t tell me you follow your kid brother’s directions.”
If it meant protecting him, then yeah, I guess I did.
“How were you going to protect him by joining them?”
I figured if I was on the inside I could watch out for him better. Make sure any stupid mistakes he might have made were covered up or kept him from getting hurt.
“Well, isn’t getting mixed up with that type of group stupid mistake number one?”
He gives a little chuckle that doesn’t quite seem like a laugh. Yeah, I guess you could say that. But, you know, things aren’t always what they seem, Krystal.
“It seems like you and your brother both got hooked up in the wrong crowd. They’re known for their violence and rudeness and I even heard they’d robbed some place before. Maybe you could explain what good could come from being mixed up with a bunch like that, because it doesn’t seem all that appealing to me.”
You’re really naive, aren’t you?
“What?” I’m quickly offended. “I’m trying to help you and you’re calling me names.”
I’m not calling you names, just making a statement. You’re really naive. I kind of got that impression when I first saw you.
I turn so I can see him fully. “When did you first see me?”
It was during that snowstorm at the end of February. You came outside your house and just kept walking around, stomping in the snow like your footprints would somehow change the world.
It is mid-April so he’s been watching me for about three months now, but I don’t recall him saying anything to me. “Why didn’t you say something sooner?”
I don’t know. Waiting, I guess.
“Waiting to see if there was anybody else who could help you?”
He turns and looks directly at me. No. Waiting to see when you’d be ready to hear what I had to say.
His gaze is so intent on mine that those butterflies in my stomach start twirling around again. I notice I get this feeling a lot when I am around Ricky. At first it made me think I had a crush on him. Then I started talking to Franklin. I like him, too, though the feeling is not quite the same.
“So what is it you have to say?”
Are you ready to hear it?
“Yeah.”
I mean, are you really ready to listen? Not try to answer questions that you don’t have answers to, but to really listen to my story, to what happened to me and to maybe do whatever you can in your power to help.
I nod my head once, but Ricky looks back like he doesn’t believe me. And just as I’m about to nod my head again, my cell phone starts chirping. I’m almost afraid to answer it.
I don’t want it to be Janet but since I’m almost an hour late coming home there’s a good chance that’s who it is on the other end.
I notice it says “unknown number.” For a minute I think about the number that has been calling me on and off for the past couple of days that I don’t know. Then I think about the text messages that show no number at all. Both make me hesitant.
It’s on the third ring and I’m still debating because what if it’s the person who’s sending me the disgusting pictures? It’s ringing and not vibrating and the noise is loud in the otherwise quiet cemetery. I decide to just go ahead and answer it.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Blue Bird. Glad I finally caught up with you.”
My heart leaps with joy. I mean, really, it does. It starts to beat faster, a grin that I know probably looks childish and silly spreads across my face and my general feeling is happier at the sound of my daddy’s voice.
“Hey, Daddy. I’ve been leaving you messages.”
“I know and I’ve been meaning to call you back.”
I pull the phone away from my ear and look at the screen again, just to verify that this is not the number I am used to calling my father on.
“This is a different number. Are you calling from someone else’s phone? Is your phone broken?” Which is a stupid question because if he was getting my voice mails then the phone had to be working.
“Nah, Blue Bird, my phone’s fine. Actually, I’ve got a new phone,” he says.
But all I can really focus on is that he’s still calling me Blue Bird. He’s been calling me that since I was four years old and they decided to paint my room. It took me only three seconds to point at the book full of paint colors and declare that blue was my favorite color in the whole wide world. I don’t think I’ll ever become too old to hear him call me that.
“So you’ve got two phones now. I don’t understand.”
“No. I’m going to cut the old phone off but I wanted to wait until I talked to you to make sure you had the new number first.”
“Oh,” I say like I understand even though I don’t. Because really, how often do teenagers understand what their parents are saying?
“Listen, um, I’ve got something to talk to you about but I think it’s best if I tell you in person.”
“Really? So are you sending for me? When am I coming back to
New York?”
“No, baby, I think I’m going to just make a quick trip up there so you and I can talk.”
“Oh,” I say, trying to mask my disappointment. “Well, when are you coming?”
“Probably this weekend since I’m moving next week.”
“You’re moving? Moving where?”
“That’s part of what I want to talk to you about. It’s a great opportunity. The comic strip might be heading to the movie screen. So I just need to tie up some loose ends here on the East Coast. I’ll tell you all about that when I see you.”
“Okay, Daddy,” I say, my excited heartbeat now slowing to a confused stutter.
“So I’ll be there this weekend. Be good, Blue Bird.”
“I will,” I promise but don’t know how I can possibly be good when I’m talking to ghosts and staking out gangs. But I don’t get a chance to say that—not that I would have anyway—because Daddy has already hung up.
For a few moments I just look down at the phone in my hand wondering what just happened. Is my daddy really moving? I thought that when I finally talked to him I’d have some answers or I’d feel differently about this situation with him and Janet. But now, after being on the phone with him for less than two minutes, I feel more confused than ever.
Your old man’s coming to see you, huh? You feel better now?
My head snaps back as the sound of his voice reminds me that I’m not alone. “Feel better? What’s that supposed to mean?”
Well, you’ve been acting all salty since I met you, pining away for your old man like he’s your savior. So, is he coming to rescue you or not?
“Shut up! You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He just tilts his head, his hands are pushed in his pockets again, his legs spread apart in that stance he likes so much. He looks mean and careless and…like a gang member. Now you think everything’s going to be better?
“As a matter of fact, I do,” I say, holding my head up a little higher to convince him how confident I am in my words.
Ricky just shakes his head like he’s sad or I’m sad or something like that. Sometimes things aren’t always what they seem, Krystal. Remember that and try to keep an open mind.
“Are you talking about me or you?”
He looks at me with that intense stare. I’m talking about both of us.
twenty
The meeting that had been scheduled to take place in Sasha’s pool house is mysteriously changed to Jake’s house. I receive the call regarding the change of plans like ten minutes before Mouse pulls up in front of my house.
The moment I climb into the car I know Sasha is in a mood. Trying to be cordial, I ask if she is okay, only to receive a shrug and a mumbled, “Sure. I’m just fine.”
She sits in the backseat of the little sports car with me in the front passenger side seat next to Mouse. We don’t talk and that’s fine. I have a lot on my mind and obviously so does she.
Jake’s grandfather is already in bed when we get there, which is sort of a bummer because I like talking to him. And plus I have more questions about our power and this funny feeling I have that there is so much more to it than what we originally thought.
We head straight back to Jake’s room where he has the computer on and some newspaper articles pulled up on the screen. He doesn’t waste a moment, doesn’t ask what’s wrong with Sasha or why the meeting place changed, just jumps right in.
“Ricky’s body was found in the early morning hours of February 7. He was lying in the alley, not too far away from the school but closer to that run-down building that the hip-hoppers sometimes hang out in,” he says.
“Why leave the body so close to your hangout spot?” I ask instantly. “I mean, wouldn’t that automatically make you look guilty?”
Jake nods.
“They’re all idiots anyway,” Sasha adds, plopping down onto Jake’s bed. She always does that, like it’s her bed in her house. Only it isn’t. I’m guessing that Jake’s house is nothing compared to hers, considering her family is one of the richest in Lincoln.
We decide to ignore her and keep going. Jake reads from the computer, “‘The body of an unidentified black male was found by two passersby around 3 a.m. The male had been shot three times in the torso, resulting in his death. At the time of printing, the Lincoln Police Department had no suspects or leads.’”
“So, who do you think killed him?” I ask.
“Don’t know,” Jake replies.
“I wonder if he killed his girlfriend, that Trina girl,” Sasha says, lying flat on her back and twirling a long strand of hair around her finger.
“He didn’t,” I say quickly.
Sasha turns to look at me. “How do you know?”
“I asked him.”
“You did? When?”
Jake’s looking at me now, too, so I go ahead and answer. “When I tried to call to him earlier today. I went to the cemetery and was gonna, I don’t know, summon his spirit.”
“Wow.” Sasha sits up on the bed, staring at me eagerly. “So did it work?”
I shrug. “Sort of.”
“What does that mean?” Jake urges.
I inhale then sigh. “Ricky showed up but he said it wasn’t because he heard me calling, more like he was looking for me and found me.”
“So your summoning didn’t work?” Sasha says, sounding a little deflated.
“No. I think it did,” I answer quietly. “I heard something, I mean, someone calling me. They wanted me to come and I was going to go but then Ricky showed up.”
“You don’t know who you heard?” Sasha asks.
I shake my head no.
“It’s happening,” Jake says.
I’m confused. “What’s happening?”
“Our powers,” he says solemnly. “They’re manifesting.”
Silence fills the room as each of us looks back at the other.
“How do you know? Was there something else in the journal?”
Jake nods and pulls out the old raggedy book I’d last seen earlier at lunch. He puts it on the desk and opens it, pulling out a very old piece of paper that he hands to me. I unfold it and read. It is the letter he’d IM’d us about, the one written by a Mary Burroughs and dated 1692. Apparently Mary was accused of being a witch and burned at the stake. As Jake starts to speak I pass the note to Sasha and listen.
“‘January 1950. William is powerful. He can do things that nobody else can. Sometimes it’s like he’s possessed and others he seems perfectly normal. Ever since the first time I saw him move the furniture the power has grown. Now he’s not only moving stuff that he looks at but just yesterday the old shelf in the garage was about to fall in on his pa when William just looked at it and it froze, just stopped falling right then and there. He moved Pa out of the way and with the blink of his eyes the shelf hit the floor in a loud crash. That night Pa said we should move and take William with us. People wouldn’t understand what he was. We didn’t understand what he was. This morning when I got up William was gone.’”
“William Kramer, your great-uncle, was a Mystyx,” Sasha says, rubbing her hand over the parchment paper she held. “And Mary Burroughs wasn’t a witch at all. She was a Mystyx, too.”
“I think so,” Jake answers slowly.
Then there’s a loud sound coming from outside, like something’s being slammed against the side of the house. With one glance at each other we all get up and head to the back door and out into Jake’s yard.
Well, it’s not actually a yard, just a few feet of ground that used to have grass and is more like matted mud now. It’s drizzling, a quiet mist falling peacefully. There’s an old car parked on the side of the house; it doesn’t look like it can even move, plus the tires are all flat, the silver rims touching the cement. There’s a shed right across from the car but the whole front is missing. I remember seeing some wood propped against the house when we came in.
That’s what Mateo Hunter and Pace Livingston are using to bang against the
already dilapidated siding of Jake’s house. I recognize them from school—Richies who are on the football team. Apparently Sasha recognizes them, too, because she keeps right on walking as me and Jake come to a halt outside. Right now she is reaching out, grabbing Pace by his beefy arm and halting his next swing at the house.
“What the hell are you doing?”
Pace turns, his unruly ash-blond curls falling slightly over his sweaty forehead. His eyes are green, like the ocean, but now look a little darker as he turns on Sasha.
“We’re tired of him thinking he can do what he wants. He and his kind have no business hanging out with you!” Pace shouts.
“Yeah, we were riding by and we saw your car,” Mateo, the taller of the two jocks, with skin the color of caramel candy and thick curly black hair, says. “He’s gotta learn his place!”
“You’re both idiots,” Sasha yells, trying to take the strip of wood from Pace’s hand. “Get out of here before I call the cops.”
“No! You get outta here, Sasha. You don’t belong here with them.” Pace’s words echo as his gaze lands swiftly on both me and Jake.
Beside me I can feel a change. It is still raining, that steady trickle of cool water hits my cheeks and bare arms. But in addition to that there is something else, like heat. Invisible waves of it simmer between me and Jake, and for a minute I am afraid. Then, as the heat circles around me and my neck also warms I know instinctively what it is.
The Power.
Just as mine is manifesting I have the sinking feeling that Jake’s is, too.
Mateo continues to beat on the house until pieces of siding buckle and fall off, leaving a hole where insulation shows. The whole time he is whacking away at the house he is calling Jake names.
“Stupid Tracker! Dirty scavenger, trying to take our girls. Stick to your own kind! Stick with her!”
The insults go on and on until I feel like taking a piece of that wood and going upside Mateo’s head myself. Instead Sasha throws herself on Mateo’s back, grabbing his swinging arm to stop the next assault.
Manifest Page 14