The Possible

by Tara Altebrando

  I pulled up the photo of him sleeping on the train and closed my eyes and wished he’d understand, wished he’d believe. The way Bennett did.

  I wondered if he was doing things with Kathryn like I was with Bennett.

  •••

  •••

  For a good long while, Chiara didn’t text anything else and that seemed weird.

  •••

  •••

  I stayed up past midnight, hoping the podcast would post then. I refreshed again and again but it was no use. My eyes got heavy and I drifted off, then woke up with a gasp and tried again, but it still wasn’t there.

  I set my alarm for an hour earlier than usual so I could listen before school.

  EITHER I SLEPT THROUGH MY alarm or hadn’t set it right.

  I checked the podcast page. It was there but there was no time.

  I had a text from Liana that came at two a.m.

  •••

  •••

  I shot off a text asking her why she was asking about Aubrey, then had to hustle.

  I was late for school. I threw clothes on, grabbed a banana, grabbed my backpack and car keys and texted Aiden and Chiara, both of whom had texted wondering where I was.

  •••

  “Sorry,” I said to Aiden. “Overslept.”

  “You stayed up to listen?”

  “I tried to, but it hadn’t posted by the time I fell asleep.”

  “What happened?” Chiara asked as she got in a few minutes later.

  “Overslept. Sorry.”

  “Did you listen?”

  “It wasn’t there,” I said. “It’s there now, though. I sort of can’t believe it’s actually happening.”

  We were quiet for the drive, distracted by our lateness. Every light seemed longer. Every block twice its normal length.

  “Let’s all listen together after school,” Chiara said, when I finally parked in the lot. “Granny pod?”

  “I don’t know if I can wait,” I said, cutting the engine.

  “You have to,” she said, getting out. “You won’t have time during school anyway.”

  “Okay,” I said to Aiden as he got out. “You in?”

  “Nah.” He closed the door and drifted off. “I’m good.”

  •••

  I saw headlines throughout the day . . .

  •••

  THE POSSIBLE QUESTIONS THE LAWS OF PHYSICS

  •••

  “Can David come?” Chiara asked. “Later?”

  •••

  THE POSSIBLE IS POSSIBLY THE BEST PODCAST OUT THERE

  •••

  I resisted the urge to read articles in case there were spoilers.

  •••

  THE POSSIBLE HAS POSSIBLY JUMPED THE SHARK

  •••

  Ouch.

  •••

  I thought I saw Liana in the main hall between third and fourth periods, but no, it couldn’t be.

  •••

  I tried to listen at lunch, hiding in a bathroom stall in the locker room, but Coach Stacey came in and asked me what I was doing, so I had to bail.

  •••

  I considered asking Bennett if he wanted to come listen with us, too, but by lunchtime I still hadn’t seen him anywhere. Then, when I bumped into him right before dismissal, it turned out he’d already listened.

  “When?” I asked.

  “I stayed up until like two, I think?” He looked surprised and disappointed. “You didn’t?”

  “I fell asleep,” I said. “How was it?”

  He was about to say something, but then I said, “No. Wait. Don’t tell me. I’ll call you after I listen.”

  “Um,” he said. “Okay.”

  •••

  “There she is,” from some girl in a hallway.

  I stopped and looked at her and said, “Here I am.”

  “Your mother’s a murderer,” she said. “That’s messed up.”

  “What’s your point?” I said.

  “No point,” she said.

  I said, “Well then, move along. Nothing to see here, folks. Nothing to see.”

  •••

  In the car on the way home, Aiden said, “Fine. I’ll come.”

  “Atta boy,” Chiara said.

  I felt a strange pressure in my chest ease up.

  •••

  “I feel sort of sick to my stomach,” I said, after a handful of popcorn that seemed to unpop itself and re-kernelize in my gut.

  “Me, too,” Aiden said.

  “Really?” I asked, and then had to hide a series of burps.

  “I’m more excited,” Chiara said. “Something’s finally, you know, happening.” She flopped down onto the bed while I got the speakers out and connected them to my laptop. “What are we going to do if your grandmother ever decides to move in?”

  “Die a little inside,” I said.

  We were all set to stream from the The Possible site.

  “Here goes nothing,” I said, stealing from Liana.

  •••

  More like, Here goes everything.

  •••

  “I’m Liana Fatone, and welcome to season two of The Possible.”

  •••

  We didn’t talk. No one made eye contact.

  I stretched out on the bed and stared at the ceiling.

  Chiara and David sat on the rug with their backs against the bed.

  Aiden sat at the kitchen table with his feet propped up on the second chair.

  The edit was tight, covered mostly the basics of Crystal’s whole life story. It wasn’t until the very end that there was a snippet of Crystal herself talking. Her voice chilled me again because I recognized it down in some deep part of my heart and not in the good way. It was the same conversation I’d listened to on the train, and this time it felt like something out of a horror movie I’d seen years ago and forgotten about.

  •••

  CRYSTAL: I don’t know. I mean, it’s not like there was a day and I marked it on the calendar. It just started happening less and less often and then not at all. Then there was some more funny stuff later, when I had the baby, but then that stopped, too.

  LIANA: Why do you think that is? Why did it stop?

  CRYSTAL: I don’t know. You tell me.

  •••

  I didn’t remember hearing that part where she mentions “funny stuff with the baby.” Was that Jack? Me? Had I not been paying close enough attention?

  •••

  “Don’t take this the wrong way,” Chiara said. “But she sounds crazy.”

  “What would be the right way to take that?” I asked with a smile.

  I wasn’t offended.

  It was true that Crystal sounded unhinged.

  Aiden said, “I think that photographer guy is so dug into this story that he can’t change his mind now, after all this time. After swearing he saw pictures falling off the walls and stuff.”

  “He still sounds pretty convinced,” Chiara said. “And convincing.”

  “He’s dug in. She is, too.” Aiden stood and stretched. “They’ve been telling the same story so long that they can’t change it now without it looking really bad for them.”

  Chiara said, “You don’t think it’s even a tiny bit possible that some people can tap in to something . . . I don’t know. Deeper?”

  “Hey, Chiara,” Aiden said. “Did you know that the word ‘gullible’ isn’t in the dictionary.”

  “Do you believe in ghosts?” David said. I’d almost forgotten he was there.

  “Nope.” Aiden shook his head.

  “I might,” Chiara said. “I mean, I wouldn’t rule it out. My grandfather said he once saw an old lady sitting on a bed in the basement of his old house.”

  “Trick of the light,” Aiden said. “Nothing more.”

  “It must be nice to be so sure of something,” I said.

  He said, “As a matter of fact, it is!”

  Chiara said, �
�What does she mean, ‘funny stuff with the baby’? Is that you?”

  •••

  The mood of the room had gotten strange. Everyone sensed it and started packing up. I offered to drive them all home and realized I’d forgotten to check the mail.

  Out front, I popped open the mailbox, found an envelope addressed to me, and opened it.

  •••

  FROM THE DESK OF WARDEN JASON LARSON STATE PRISON #56-56D

  Dear Ms. Kaylee Novell,

  With regard to your request to visit inmate #450-3, Crystal Bryar, your current status is:

  APPROVED

  Inmate must add you to active visitor list.

  Please review the attached guidelines for visitors before arriving.

  Two types of identification are required. (List of acceptable forms of ID attached)

  •••

  Funny stuff with the baby?

  •••

  I held the paper out and Aiden took it to read.

  Chiara said, “What’s that?”

  “She’s approved to visit,” he said. “But it says she has to add you to her list. How do you get her to do that?”

  “Liana already asked her and she said she would.”

  “Now you just have to get your parents to take you,” Aiden said, handing back the paper.

  “Well, that’s not the only way,” I said. “As we’ve discussed.”

  “It really is,” he said.

  I dropped off Chiara and David, then pulled up in front of Aiden’s.

  “I’d love your support in this whole thing,” I said.

  “I just think there’s a right way and a wrong way to—”

  “It’s not about being right and wrong,” I said. “It’s about me. Me being me.”

  “I don’t see why you can’t ask your parents.”

  “This is the easiest way,” I said.

  “And easy isn’t always—”

  “You know what? Forget it, Aiden.” I put the car in Drive.

  He got out. “I’m just not sure you should trust her.”

  “She’s behind bars. She can’t do anything to me.”

  “Not her,” he said. “Liana.”

  “She hasn’t given me any reason not to!” I half shouted, wanting it to be truer than it felt.

  •••

  When I got home, I went back to the clip of the interview I’d listened to last week. Had I somehow missed the part about funny stuff with the baby?

  Turns out the clip had ended right before that line, and then a new clip had begun after it.

  Had Liana edited that out for me?

  And if she had, why?

  •••

  “Well?” my father asked.

  “It was good,” I said. “I read an article that said it already broke some kind of podcast-download record on its first day.”

  “Was your interview on?”

  “Not yet,” I said. “You going to listen?”

  “Of course.”

  “And Mom?”

  “I wouldn’t bet on it.” His phone dinged a sound I knew well.

  “It’s time for your mindful meditation,” I said.

  This had become a joke in our family. Because both my parents had downloaded this app, and the alert meant it was time for a pause, usually a breathing exercise, sometimes a short video of a smiling baby or puppy. They pretty much ignored it all the time.

  He looked at his phone. “It’s asking me if I can feel my toes?”

  “Well,” I said. “Can you?”

  •••

  In bed that night, I wondered how many people I knew had listened. An article had referenced a hundred thousand downloads in the first few hours.

  Had Princess Bubblegum been one of them?

  Any of my teachers?

  Coach Stacey?

  My grandmother?

  I’d forgotten to call Bennett.

  Did he care?

  •••

  What if everything was about to change and it was too late to stop it?

  •••

  Could I feel my toes?

  •••

  Liana’s voice was worse than any earworm.

  •••

  More next time . . . on The Possible.

  •••

  I couldn’t get her out of my head.

  •••

  •••

  If she was going on Saturday, I wanted to go on Saturday.

  I called her. She didn’t pick up. She’d just texted me. Why wouldn’t she pick up?

  I texted her to tell her I wanted to go with her.

  But she didn’t write back.

  •••

  What if she was never going to follow through? What if I’d given up too much control?

  I CALLED AGAIN TUESDAY MORNING and she answered with a tired sounding “Hi, Kaylee.”

  “Take me with you on Saturday,” I said.

  “I can’t on such short notice,” she said. “And anyway, I have limited time with her as it is and I have a lot to discuss with her in person.”

  “We had a deal,” I said.

  She breathed hard. “I have a lot of problems right now, Kaylee. This is not even close to the top of the list.”

  She hung up.

  •••

  “Who does she think she is?” I said to Aiden and Chiara in the car.

  Aiden sighed. “She thinks she’s a podcast producer. Because that’s what she is.”

  “I’m sorry, Kay,” Chiara said. “Sounds like you have to be patient.”

  “When have you ever known me to be patient?” I said.

  “Well, pretty much never,” she said. “But you don’t have much choice.”

  •••

  I told Bennett everything by his locker that morning. Right near us a guy was staging this embarrassing “promposal”; he and a few of his dorky friends were wearing matching T-shirts and singing an invitation a cappella.

  I didn’t get it. It seemed a bit much. I secretly wished the girl would say no.

  “That sucks,” Bennett said. “But couldn’t you, you know, go alone?”

  For a second I got wires crossed in my head: Prom. Prison.

  “Oh,” I said. “I guess so.”

  A coughing sound from behind us startled us both. It was Coach Stacey. “A word,” she said.

  •••

  “There’s a situation and I’m going to handle it,” she said. “But I wanted you to hear it from me that the coach at East Sunswick heard the podcast and heard some girls talking and there’s a question as to whether you’ll be able to play this weekend.”

  Before I could think of anything to say, she said, “Between you and me, maybe there’s a way that, I don’t know. Could you pull back a bit in this next round? Like if we’re doing well and have a good lead? Could you maybe throw some wild pitches?”

  “I’m not using telekinetic powers to pitch,” I said.

  “And I’m not saying you are,” she said. “I’m talking about appearances. About inviting scrutiny.”

  “This is crazy!” I half shouted.

  She shrugged.

  •••

  In English class that afternoon, we were supposed to turn to a certain page in our textbooks. Across the room, Martin Adsworth, whom I’d had a crush on freshman year and who’d said I had big teeth, said, “What the hell?”

  People nearest him turned as pages of his book fell to the ground, cut in half as if with a razor blade.

  Mr. Ballard said, “What seems to be the trouble, Mister Adsworth?”

  “The pages of my book have been slashed.”

  Chiara’s wasn’t the first head that turned my way.

  •••

  •••

  Why the hell not?

  •••

  We left my car at school, since we’d pass by it on the way home anyway and went to the other side of town, where Bennett parked in front of an impeccably landscaped ranch.

  Insid
e, Krak was playing a video game on a large TV—some kind of 3-D maze game with creepy music. Bennett introduced me and then they went off and had some side conversation in the kitchen, while I stood awkwardly by the front door.

  Nah, I thought I heard Bennett say. Whatever. Next! Right?

  They laughed. I sat on the couch and tried to look cool.

  •••

  Use his place for what?

  •••

  When they came back into the room, Bennett sat next to me on the couch.

  Close.

  Touching, like.

  On-screen the game was paused: a woman in a white flowing dress standing at the bottom of a long staircase that led nowhere.

  Krak’s phone rang and he said, “I’m gonna take this outside,” and he picked up a pack of cigarettes and went out a back door off the kitchen.

  Bennett slid his arm around my shoulders. Turned to me.

  “So, um,” I said. “This is sort of weird.”

  “Yeah? Why?”

  I looked around. Just us in some random guy’s living room. “I mean, why are we here if he’s not even hanging out? Should we go?”

  “I actually asked him to leave us alone.” He moved his head closer.

  I said, “Why?” and wanted it to sound sort of flirty, but it maybe felt panicky, though he didn’t seem to notice. How could I have thought my destiny was some guy I didn’t know?

  I let him kiss me but something felt different this time.

  “He said we could go upstairs if we wanted.”

  All wrong.

  I said, “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” into his mouth.

  I couldn’t get Princess Bubblegum’s high-pitched voice out of my head. He’s not that great, you know. He’s not that great. Suddenly I was a cartoon character, some Powerpuff Girl with sad eyes fighting off some evil boy with lasers that came from my wrists.

  “Some privacy would be good,” he said, his hand traveling up my top and grabbing.

  Too much tongue, too much urgency.

  “I’m not sure we’re ready for . . . ,” I managed. “I mean, we’re not even, like, boyfriend and girlfriend or—I mean, are we?”

  He pulled back and groaned. “You know that day you came over to my locker and talked about that book?”

  “Yeah . . .”

  “I didn’t know who you were, like your name or anything.”

  “That’s weird,” I said, and felt my face pulsing heat, like embers, and remembered a drawing in the book, of an alien bursting out of a girl’s stomach, all blood and guts.