Whispers From the Grave

by Leslie Rule

  A moment later, he was bustling toward the office, the starched thighs of his slacks scratching against each other with each indignant step.

  I jumped when the bell rang. “Come on,” Rita said. “I’ve got to get to homeroom.”

  We sat in the back of the room and watched the students stream in. My heart sped when Shane appeared in the doorway. I followed his confident stride as he crossed to his desk. He swung a leg over the back of his chair and sat down. His hair spilled over the back of the chair, swinging sensuously each time he moved his head.

  A thin girl in a short red skirt and a yellow knit vest plopped herself possessively on top of his desk. She leaned toward him flirtatiously, her square brown glasses sliding down her pointy nose.

  “Who’s that girl?” I asked Rita.

  “That’s my friend April. She’s got the hots for Shane, but he doesn’t dig her. He’s too nice of a guy to tell her to get lost.”

  Was that why he’d treated me kindly? Because he was a nice guy? Had I only imagined the attraction between us?

  Rita said, “I’m going to see if Shane knows where Ben is.”

  I wished I could go with her as she crossed the room to talk to Shane. But our moonlit walk now seemed like a dream and I was suddenly shy under the harsh lights of the classroom.

  Rita whispered something to Shane and he looked up, caught me staring, and his face broke into a dimpled grin. Flustered, I turned away, pretending to be fascinated with the maps covering the wall behind me.

  Rita returned to her seat just as Mrs. Vince entered. She was a nervous little bird-like teacher with pursed lips and hair in a stiff bun. Her pinched face emptied of color as she spotted the five girls in jeans. Quickly and quietly, she began scribbling on a scrap of paper.

  “She’s writing down our names,” Rita whispered knowingly. “I heard her ask someone who you are, so I guess you’re going to get busted right along with the rest of us.”

  When Mrs. Vince hurried from the room, her pointy brown shoes clicking sharply across the tile floor, everyone started talking. “Mrs. Vince is freaked,” Shane said, laughing. “She hasn’t acted like this since the bomb threat.”

  “What’s the big deal?” asked Rita. “Girls should be comfortable too!”

  “Right on!” Shane said, gazing directly at me.

  A moment later, the strained voice of Mr. Pratt, the principal, poured through the speaker on the wall as he read the names of the girls involved in the protest and barked, “Come to the office immediately.”

  There were 29 of us in all, too many to fit in the straight-backed chairs that lined one wall of the office. Some of the girls smiled smugly, but a couple nervously chewed on their lips. Rita kept pinching my arm, trying to keep herself from giggling. She got me going and I started laughing too.

  “You think this is funny?” asked Mr. Pratt. He was a short, round man with angry blue eyes that swept disgustedly over our outfits. “This is a high school, not a hippie haven,” he snapped.

  Lynn said, “You can’t have one set of rules for the boys and another for the girls. If they can wear pants, then so should we! We’ll get a lawyer if we need to.”

  “We’ll see about that,” he replied crisply and began writing down the phone numbers of parents.

  When he realized I wasn’t enrolled in the school, he asked for my parents’ number anyway.

  “They can’t be reached at work,” I said quickly.

  “Young lady, I’ve had enough of your games—”

  “She’s telling the truth,” Rita interrupted. “My parents are at work too, but if you call this number someone will pick us up.” She wrote a number on a piece of paper and handed it to him.

  As he scrutinized it, Rita assured him, “He’s a responsible adult, Mr. Pratt. My parents trust him.”

  Mr. Pratt scurried into the other room and Rita whispered, “Sky will come get us. He’s cool.”

  Half an hour later, a young man with fine shoulder-length blond hair pulled back into a ponytail strolled in, whistling a jaunty tune. He had the same emerald green eyes as Kyle.

  “This is Sky Mettley,” Rita told me.

  Kyle’s grandfather. My mouth fell open.

  “Sky’s the only one at Twin-Star I trust,” said Rita.

  “That’s because I'm the only one there under thirty,” he said, winking at me.

  Mr. Pratt had stepped out, and his bubble-haired secretary eyed Sky suspiciously. Rita noticed and nudged him. Sky cleared his throat and said sternly, “I’m surprised at you girls. This isn’t proper attire for young ladies.”

  We hurried out to the hallway and Rita burst into giggles. “An Academy Award for you, Sky!” she said. “Let’s get out of here before Mr. Pratt comes back.”

  “You and Rita sure look a lot alike,” Sky said as he shoved open the double doors and we left the sterile, tiled halls of the school behind. “Are you related?”

  Rita opened her mouth to reply, but her eyes met mine and I shook my head. “We’re cousins,” she said, blushing with the lie.

  We climbed into Sky’s pickup truck and he drove us to Twin-Star Labs—a decidedly more modest building than the Twin-Star of the twenty-first century.

  As Rita showed me around the lab, Sky watched me quizzically. Something told me he did not believe we were cousins.

  When he left us alone for a minute, I said, “He’s sure young for a scientist.”

  “He’s more like an aspiring scientist,” Rita explained. “Sky is just an assistant.”

  “But he invented the visor!”

  “How did you know he was working on a visor?” Rita asked with surprise. “That’s a top secret project that hardly anybody knows about!”

  “I told you I was psychic.”

  “Maybe, but you’re off base on this one. Sky didn’t invent the visor. Dr. Crowell did. He’s this old bald dude who is a total bore. Sky was helping him with the visor and Dr. Crowell split right in the middle of the project. I think Sky’s hoping he won’t come back so he can take credit for it.”

  I couldn’t believe it. Kyle was so proud of his grandfather and now it turned out he hadn’t even invented the visor! How could I tell Kyle? He’d be crushed!

  I knew I couldn’t hurt Kyle with the information, and vowed to keep the secret—if I returned to 2070.

  “I think Sky likes you,” Rita said. “Did you notice how he kept staring at you?”

  I didn’t think so. I had the oddest feeling he’d guessed who I was.

  21

  Before the morning was over, I found myself agreeing with Rita’s assessment of the gentle soft-spoken scientist. If “cool” meant the same as “frazzin,” then Sky was definitely “cool.”

  Maybe it was because he was young, but Sky seemed so different from the scientists I knew— stodgy old men who didn’t know how to have fun.

  Sky took us to lunch at the hangout across the street from the school and as I watched him joking with Rita, I wondered if I dared tell him how I came to be there.

  What if he didn’t approve of the fact I’d stolen the visor? I had, after all, committed a crime. If the wrong people found out, who knew what would happen to me!

  When Rita went to the rest room, Sky pointedly asked me to tell him about myself.

  “Not much to tell,” I said.

  “You and Rita sure look alike—even for cousins.” His gaze was steady on my face. “Are you related to her dad’s or mom’s side?”

  I stared at my french fries, wondering if I looked more like my biological mother or father.

  Rita returned and saved me from answering because she had a question of her own. “Will you do us a favor, Sky? Ben wants to have a kegger on the beach tonight and we need someone to buy the beer.”

  “I’ve only been twenty-one for six months, and I’ve just about worn out my I.D. buying beer for your friends,” he said with a grin. “Besides, I don’t have time to party. I’ve got to get back to work on my project.”

  “Your proj
ect?” Rita said, laughing. “Two weeks ago you were making coffee for Dr. Crowell, and now you’re in charge. Next thing you know, you’ll be taking credit for the whole thing!”

  A deep flush crept up Sky’s neck, and his eyes lowered with embarrassment. Rita had hit a sensitive nerve. Obviously he was a proud man, just like Kyle, who got the same look on his face when the kids needled him about his wealth.

  The memory of Kyle tugged at my heart. Would I ever see him again? What if things didn’t work out here and I decided to travel back to 2070 only to find I couldn’t?

  “Don’t turn into a square like Dr. Crowell,” Rita teased Sky. “Just because you’re sitting at his desk now.”

  “Okay, okay!” He said, shaking his head good-naturedly. “I’ll pick up the keg this time. But find another sucker next time.”

  After Sky drove us home, I nervously asked Rita, “Do we have to go to the party?”

  Though I hadn’t mentioned it again, she knew I was worried about her. “Would you please stop being paranoid!” she cried. “Ben is not going to hurt me. Besides, there will be at least fifty people there. One in particular who wants to see you!”

  My stomach flipped. “Shane?”

  Rita’s eyes were bright and knowing. “He’s a fox, isn’t he?”

  We’d only just met and already my sister knew me so well. I did want to see Shane again. Just hearing his name did funny things to my insides.

  “Shane asked about you in homeroom this morning,” she said. “I told him you’d be at the party. Come on! It will be fun.”

  I told myself I’d agreed to go only because Rita would go anyway. How could I protect her if she ran off without me? But I couldn’t deny the fact that I wanted to see Shane again.

  I wore a pair of Rita’s worn blue jeans and a T-shirt tie-dyed in bright pink splashes. She’d drawn peace signs on the jeans with a ballpoint pen and patched up the holes in the knees with a flowered print.

  “Tuck in the shirt,” she instructed. “Wow! My clothes fit you perfectly.”

  Rita wore jeans too, with a soft green sweater. “We look so much alike,” she gasped as we stood side by side in front of the mirror. “I wish Mom could see you.”

  “Do you think she would like me, Rita?”

  “Of course! You’re her daughter!”

  “She gave me away.”

  Rita hugged me. “She made a mistake. When she sees you, she’ll know she was wrong.”

  “I want to meet our parents, but I don’t want them to know who I am. It’s too—” I searched for the appropriate word Rita could understand. “Heavy! It’s way too heavy.”

  “I can dig that. I think I know of a way you can meet them without them guessing who you are.”

  She wouldn’t tell me any more. She smiled mysteriously and said, “Let me work out the details.”

  The party was on the beach, and as we walked along the shore I was again struck by the incredible fact that this was a foreign century. The landmarks were the same—the distant jagged blue mountains, the soaring peak of Windy Cliff, the softly curving beach, and the dark, familiar hump of Crab Cave.

  My stomach tilted dizzily at the sight of Shane, straddled atop Crab Cave with several of his friends. With their long hair freely blowing in the breeze and their faded bell-bottom jeans, they were the only part of the picture that was out of place, reminding me this was indeed a different century.

  Sky arrived with a big silver keg that glinted in the slanting rays of the sinking sun. He called to the boys on the cave, “You guys are going to get me in trouble if you drink in the open! Someone from one of the beach houses might see you and call the cops. Do you want to get me busted for buying alcohol for minors?”

  As I watched the boys move to a less conspicuous place behind a giant log, I wished I could tell Sky he shouldn’t buy beer for Ben. If Ben didn’t get drunk, he might not hurt my sister.

  Yet Rita’s diary said Ben had eventually gotten his own fake I.D. Apparently, he would find a way to drink with or without Sky.

  When Ben arrived, Rita rushed to him. I eyed them nervously as they snuggled up on the pale log beside the keg, Rita’s slender arm hooked in Ben’s muscular one as she smiled up at him. He looked strong enough to snap my sister’s willowy limbs.

  I shuddered when Ben caught me watching them. He looked away quickly, his jaw tensing. Did he guess I saw through him?

  I was so intent on watching my sister, I didn’t notice Shane walk up beside me. “How far can you skip a rock?” he asked, tossing a flat gray stone from hand to hand.

  “I don’t know,” I admitted. “I’ve never tried it.”

  “I’m the champion,” he said.

  “And I suppose you’re looking to show off?” I teased and followed him the few steps to the water's edge.

  Shane jerked his arm back and snapped his wrist, and the stone skipped over the water, hitting the surface six times before it sank.

  “Not bad,” I said.

  “Not bad?” he asked in mock indignation, raising one eyebrow as he regarded me intently. “Let’s see what you can do.”

  I picked up a stone and tried to duplicate his movements. The rock hit the water with a pathetic plop, vanishing instantly.

  He pressed a smooth flat stone into my hand and said, “It’s all in the wrist,” as he helped me position my arm. He smelled good, like soap and fresh salt air. And his touch on my elbow sent a delicious shiver through me. I tossed the stone and it skipped twice before sinking.

  “Alright!” he exclaimed, his eyes shining. Soon, I was swept away in those beautiful brown eyes as we flirted and laughed.

  I skipped stone after stone, with Shane gently guiding me through each one. I relished the sensation of his warm hand on my arm and the way he dimpled into that gorgeous grin each time I succeeded.

  I didn’t notice the sun sinking toward the horizon. I didn’t hear Rita and Ben get up and walk away. I didn’t notice anything but Shane—until I heard my sister scream.

  22

  I spun away from the water and scanned the group scattered on the logs. Where was my sister?

  A few kids still hovered around the keg, but Ben and Rita were missing.

  The scream had come from some distance away, and I took off running in that direction. As I fairly flew over the rocky shore, a loud pop cracked the air. It sounded like a gunshot.

  He’s shot her! He’s shot my sister!

  I stopped. My stomach heaved. The next seconds felt like years, and I imagined barnacles could take root on my shoes as I stood there, too frightened to move.

  What awful sight would greet me around the bend? The terrible possibilities barely had a chance to shadow my mind when Rita shrieked, “You little brat!”

  She was alive.

  Breathless, I raced around the corner and saw Ben and Rita, arms circling each other’s waists as they stared up at the wooded hill.

  “What happened?” I cried. “I heard you scream and I heard a gun!”

  “That wasn’t a gun,” Ben said. “That was a firecracker.”

  “I screamed because Chuck threw a sea whip at me,” Rita explained, pointing at the hill.

  I could barely make out the shape of the little blond boy emerging from the shadows.

  “Knock it off, kid,” Ben said. “Don’t throw any more stuff at us—especially not firecrackers.”

  “I wasn’t throwing them at you!” he replied indignantly. “I was throwing them at a bear.”

  “I don’t see any bear,” Rita said.

  “He swam away,” Chuck said. “He escaped from the Woodland Park Zoo after he ate three zookeepers. Now he’s probably going to eat you too.”

  “Stop telling stories, Chuck,” she said.

  “You can’t tell me what to do,” he taunted, and scampered up the hill.

  “That’s my neighbor,” Rita explained to me. “He’s always popping out of the bushes and scaring me.”

  “I met him earlier,” I said.

  A fi
recracker suddenly exploded at our feet. We all jumped, our eardrums smarting.

  “Stop lighting those firecrackers!” Rita yelled. “They aren’t toys, Chuck. Somebody could get hurt.”

  Why did those words sound like a prophecy?

  Suddenly I knew. I knew why the warning echoed so eerily and why the little boy was so familiar. He was Mr. Edwards.

  A flash of light zipped passed us and another firecracker popped nearby.

  “You brat!” Rita screamed.

  “Chuck, please stop!” I pleaded. “If one of those things blows up in your face, it could blind you.”

  “I’m not scared,” he said. “I have a big box of them. My brother gave them to me before he left for Vietnam. I’ve already set off a bunch of them.”

  Mr. Edwards’s scarred face and unseeing eyes flashed before me. “Please, Chuck!” I begged. “Please don’t set off any more!”

  He said, “Mind your own business or I won’t let you ride in my helicopter.”

  “We have to tell his mother,” I said, frantically turning to the others.

  “Mrs. Addison won’t care,” Rita said with a shrug. “That kid runs wild.”

  “What about his dad?” I suggested. “Maybe he can stop him.”

  “That was Mrs. Addison’s first husband—about three husbands ago,” she explained. “He’s not around anymore. There’s no stopping that boy.”

  “But he could be hurt!” I argued.

  “It would serve him right,” Ben said. “He’s such a brat.”

  I whirled to face him. “You’re an uncaring frete!” I cried.

  Ben laughed nervously. “I don’t know what a frete is, but I don’t like your tone.”

  “It’s an Idaho expression,” I said. “And I don’t like your attitude!”

  I hadn’t planned to spar with a killer. Maybe it wasn’t the smartest thing to do. But I hated him so much, I couldn’t help it.