Ghost Hold

by Ripley Patton

  “That’s incredible,” Passion said, looking around the circle, her eyes landing on Dimitri.

  “I have PSS of the right bicep,” he said, pulling his right sleeve up and presenting his formidable gun to us. Even as we watched, he flexed his PSS, his arm bulging to Popeye-on-spinach proportions and back down again.

  “And I have PSS of the medial phalange,” Juliana added, waving her armored pinky at us. “That’s just the middle bone, not even the whole finger,” she said, sounding almost embarrassed.

  “And what about Lily?” Passion asked.

  “Oh, Lily’s PSS is very external,” Renzo said, grinning from ear to ear.

  “Hey,” Dimitri said, punching him in the arm. “Be nice.”

  “She has PSS boobs,” Juliana piped in. “And the guys find that very entertaining to imagine. But they’ll never get to do more than imagine it, because Lily doesn’t like boys.”

  “Such a waste,” Renzo said, shaking his head.

  “Hey!” protested Samantha. “Take that back.”

  “I wasn’t talking about you,” he said. “You’re bi. Bi is not a waste; it’s a blessing.”

  At about that moment, I realized my mouth was hanging open and I clamped it shut. Was I shocked? Yes. But not as much by the revelation of internal PSS as you might think. I mean, it made sense. If humans were being born with PSS on the outside, they were probably being born with PSS on the inside. If nothing else, Passion’s blood proved that.

  No, what shocked me was the fact that I was sitting there with a group of teenagers who were just like us. Just like Marcus, Yale, Jason, and Nose, right down to the member with the embarrassing PSS that everyone joked about. They weren’t evil, or elitist, or fanatics. They were a group of friends with something in common, just like we were.

  “Wait a minute,” I said, and all eyes in the group fell on me. “Wouldn’t this internal PSS be seen on X-rays, or discovered when someone had surgery? I mean, I’ve never heard of it before. Why isn’t it common knowledge?”

  “It’s been covered up, to a large extent,” Dimitri answered. “Mainly to protect the innocent. Most people aren’t even sure what they think of the PSS they can see. Imagine the reaction if this got out. People would be lining up for X-rays and demanding to have their children screened.”

  “And PSS organs and bones don’t break or get sick,” Juliana pointed out. “They get discovered much less than you’d think. Neither Dimitri or I had a clue we had PSS until Samantha found us.”

  “Until she found you?” I asked and couldn’t resist adding. “Were you missing?”

  “Not so much missing, as lost,” Dimitri said. “We didn’t have a place or really know who we were until we joined The Hold.”

  “What’s The Hold?” I asked, playing dumb. Finally, the conversation was going the way I’d hoped it would, but Passion was frowning at me. She knew I knew more about The Hold than I was letting on.

  “It’s just a group of people who believe the same thing,” Samantha said proudly. “Like I explained before, we believe that PSS is a special gift and a crucial development for the future of humanity. But those are just empty words if we don’t back them up with action. The Hold, under my father’s leadership, has worked for years to protect people with both external and internal PSS. It’s one of our missions.”

  Passion was now staring at Samantha with utter adoration, and I knew exactly why. She’d just found out Samantha was a pastor’s kid, just like she was. It was one more thing they had in common. And after the way Passion had hidden her PSS blood all her life, cutting away at herself, only to have her family reject her, The Hold and its mission must seem like the answer to everything.

  I, on the other hand, seriously doubted it was. Still, I couldn’t see all the evil and danger Marcus had been warning us about.

  “And on that note,” Samantha said, grinning at her own cheesy pun and turning back to the piano, “I’ll play you Dimitri.”

  No. Dammit. What about Kaylee Pas Nova and my dad? I needed answers, not music.

  But I was quickly swept away by Dimitri’s melody. It was strong and compelling, almost like a march. And Juliana’s was light and airy, like something you’d hear at the ballet.

  As I listened, I found myself wondering what my PSS would sound like. What music did my ghost hand make and how would Samantha play it? I could reveal myself to them right there. Explain that I’d been afraid, and I was used to hiding. Make up some story about where I’d gotten the dog tags. Or even tell them the truth about my hand and its power. I was sitting in a circle with some of the only people in the world who would truly understand.

  But then the music stopped and Mr. James came back into the room.

  The party began to break up.

  And the moment was lost.

  23

  ALL GYM TEACHERS ARE EVIL

  Almost immediately after we got home from the James’ party, Passion started heaving her guts out and, from what I gathered, expensive party food wasn’t any better coming back up than a cheap burger and fries would have been. Apparently, the flu makes no class distinctions; whether you’re rich or you’re poor, it’s all the same leaning over the edge of a toilet bowl.

  Marcus tried to debrief me about the evening, but there wasn’t that much to tell, and I wasn’t really in much of a mood to tell him. He already knew people had internal PSS. He was practically the poster boy for it. Besides, every time I told him something new, I found out he’d known it all along anyway. And I was busy helping poor Passion, so eventually he gave up and left us alone.

  Of course, Passion was in no shape to attend school the next morning, and Marcus tried to convince me not to go on my own. It was a short conversation. He told me not to go. I told him I was going. He refused to drive me. I took the bus. Unfortunately, it was the wrong bus, so I ended up missing first period, and wandering in halfway through Music Symposium.

  Samantha was obviously bummed to hear that Passion was sick. Lily still wasn’t at school, and it looked like Dimitri and Eva had succumbed as well. We were a small group that day, and I kept glancing over my shoulder, looking for Passion, because I could feel her through the tags.

  Calculus was uneventful. The fourth period cafeteria was like a ghost town. Renzo, Samantha, Juliana, and I sat down at a table to eat, but about five minutes later a guy puked into the lunchroom trash and we all pretty much lost our appetites.

  “This is going to ruin everything,” Samantha said, shoving her food aside in frustration. “People are canceling their tickets to the art gala.” She lowered her voice to a hushed whisper. “And if the adults don’t go to that, how will we ever pull off the Eidolon.”

  “It will be okay,” Juliana said. “It’s only a twenty-four hour bug. Better to get it over with now. Everyone will be fine by Friday. Besides, your father would never cancel the gala, not this year. He’s going to have security amped up tighter than ever.”

  “She’s right,” Renzo added, lowering his voice too. “We have to have the Eidolon, even if some people are missing.”

  “What’s an Eidolon?” I asked, and they all turned to look at me.

  Samantha regarded me for a moment, and I could tell she was weighing whether to tell me or not, whether I was worthy.

  “You know Passion will want to bring her,” Juliana pointed out. “And groupies are allowed.”

  Groupies? Was that how they thought of me? As Passion’s groupie?

  “The Eidolon is a rite of passage for teens in The Hold,” Samantha said softly. “We have one every year in October, usually on the night of my father’s art gala, because the parents are all distracted and so is most of my father’s security team.”

  “Your father lets you go without security?” I asked, surprised.

  “Not completely, no,” Samantha said. “Leo and his team follow us, but they keep their distance.”

  “So, the Eidolon is a religious thing?” I asked.

  “It’s like nothing you’ve ever seen,
” Juliana said, grinning. “The adults all think it’s a rave or a party, and they look the other way. And we do keep the location a secret, but you have to come to really understand what it is.”

  “And people without PSS can come too?” I asked.

  “A select few,” Samantha said. “If someone with PSS invites them.”

  Marcus hadn’t mentioned anything about an Eidolon when he’d told me about The Hold. Then again, he hadn’t been a teenager when he’d been in it.

  “I can’t wait to see this guy Eva is bringing,” Juliana said. “Who would have thought she could snag a college boy? She’s so quiet.”

  Eva was bringing a college guy? Did that mean the Eidolon required a date? Was it a cult version of the prom or something?

  “That’s probably exactly why she snagged him,” Renzo said. “Men like a mystery.”

  “And what do boys like?” Juliana asked him, teasingly.

  “Big tits and a nice ass,” Renzo said, smirking, as the bell rang.

  We got up and headed into the hallway, and I started to turn left to the American Government class we had fifth period.

  “Wrong way,” Samantha said, taking my arm and pulling me in the other direction. “We have P.E. on Wednesdays.”

  “P.E.?” I asked, puzzled, but following along. “Why only on Wednesdays?”

  “It’s a trade we make for Music Symposium,” Juliana explained. “We get to opt out of either freshman or sophomore gym class to practice our instruments, but then we have to make up for the missed credit our junior and senior year. So, every Wednesday we have P.E., and we get notes from Am Gov e-mailed to us.”

  “But I hate P.E.,” I moaned, stopping in the middle of the hall and letting the tide of students rush by me.

  “Come on,” Samantha said. “It’s not that bad. We’re playing volleyball.” She sounded like she genuinely wanted me to come. And volleyball was about the only sport I wasn’t absolutely terrible at.

  “We have an all-girls tournament going,” Juliana encouraged. “We make the boys play by themselves.”

  “Okay,” I said, letting them propel me onward to Auxiliary Gym Two.

  Of course, there were locker rooms involved, and an ugly P.E outfit to be donned—bright blue basketball shorts and white t-shirts with Edgemont Pride printed boldly across the front.

  I felt really awkward changing alongside Samantha and Juliana. If I hadn’t felt different enough compared to their statuesque beauty, my black gloves just added to the effect.

  “I like your dog tags,” Juliana said, as I was pulling my shorts on.

  “Thanks,” I said, tucking them inside my white shirt.

  “Where’d you get them?” she asked.

  “A friend gave them to me as a going away present.” That was mostly accurate. Marcus had given them to me, and then he’d bailed on our relationship.

  “Well, we’ll meet you out there,” Samantha said, and I realized they were both ready and I still didn’t have my shoes and socks on.

  “Yeah, okay,” I said, sitting down to put on my footwear as they went out into the gym.

  I was feeling kind of sluggish, maybe because I hadn’t slept much since Passion had started puking. I stuffed my clothes in a locker, slammed it shut, and leaned my head against the metal, reveling in its coolness. Shit. Did I have a fever? Maybe a slight one, but my stomach didn’t feel upset. I hadn’t eaten any lunch, so hopefully there wasn’t much in there to be upset about. I could make it through the day. No problem.

  I was the only one left in the locker room, and I could hear the sound of shoes squeaking on the waxy gym floor and a volleyball being smacked back and forth as girls called out “Got it” and “Set” and “Coming your way” to one another.

  That sounded fun, right? I wove my way between the locker room benches, marched out the door, and ran smack into a stocky, squat woman with short hair and a trollish frown.

  “Sorry, I’m sorry,” I said, stepping back from her.

  She was holding a clipboard, she had a whistle around her neck, and her white shirt had the words Coach Blazen embroidered on the lapel. She might as well have had 666 stamped on her forehead as far as I was concerned. There is nothing more evil, in my experience, than a high school gym teacher.

  “You must be Anne Clawson,” she said, looking at her clipboard and checking off my name. “And why are you wearing gloves?” She gave my hands a stony glare.

  “I have a medical condition,” I stammered. “I can’t take them off. It should be in my file.”

  She looked less than thrilled, but she shuffled through the papers on her clipboard and stopped at one, frowning even more. “Fine,” she said. “I don’t know how you’re going to play volleyball in gloves, but go ahead.” She gestured at the court where Samantha and Juliana were already playing.

  I started to step away, but she wasn’t done with me yet.

  “Clawson,” she said in a booming voice, calling me by my ill-fated fake last name and stopping me in my tracks. “No jewelry allowed on the court,” she said, stepping in front of me and holding out her hand.

  I looked down to see the chain of my dog tags peeking out from the collar of my shirt.

  “Oh, it’s not jewelry,” I said. “They’re dog tags and they’re really sturdy. They make them that way, you know, for war and everything.” I was babbling. Shit. This was not good.

  “No jewelry on the court,” she insisted, her hand still out.

  I didn’t know what to do, but a million things went through my head at once: Run. Tell her to fuck off. Tell her she can pry your dog tags from your cold dead hands.

  I looked up and saw the volleyball game playing out before me—saw Samantha and Juliana who thought I was Passion’s groupie, a tag-along. They would never tell me anything important about The Hold and Kaylee Pas Nova unless they thought I was one of them. Yes, they might tell Passion, but I was beginning to wonder if Passion would pass that information along. She was becoming more and more enamored with The Hold every day. And then there was Marcus, who had no perspective at all. Maybe it was finally time to take my fate into my own hands, or my own hand, to be precise.

  “Clawson,” Coach Blazen growled, sensing my inner turmoil like an animal smells fear. “Hand them over.”

  I reached down and took hold of the dog tags, slowly pulling them over my head, my warm skin grieving the loss of the cool chain.

  On the volleyball court, the team playing Samantha’s had the ball and they were setting it to the front row. Samantha was bouncing on her feet, anticipating the opposing teams attempt at a spike over the net. She was the tallest one on the team and the perfect pick to block it.

  I put out my hand and dropped the tags into Coach Blazen’s waiting palm.

  The moment I released them, Samantha’s head snapped in my direction, her PSS ear practically pointing at me, utter surprise and confusion flooding her eyes.

  The volleyball came over the net, hard and fast. It hit her directly in the face and took her down.

  People cried out as she hit the floor.

  Coach Blazen muttered, “What the—” and shoved the clipboard and the dog tags in my hands, running over to check on Samantha who was now laying prostrate on the court, a group of concerned girls swarming around her.

  I grabbed the dog tags, bent down, and stuffed them into my right sock, the cold metal snug against my ankle.

  Then I wandered over to the crowd surrounding Samantha, still holding Coach Blazen’s clipboard.

  I was relieved to see that Samantha was conscious. And I was mortified to see the huge red mark on her face. Her nose and left eye were already starting to swell. I felt bad. Really bad. What had I been thinking? Of course, she’d react that way. God, I was an idiot. Then again, I hadn’t really had a choice thanks to Coach 666.

  On the floor, still a little dazed, I saw Samantha searching the crowd, looking for something, looking for what she’d heard only moments before.

  Someone stepped to the si
de, and her eyes found me, locking onto me, listening and straining and finding nothing.

  24

  SHOWING MY HAND

  “You have a fever of a hundred and one,” the school nurse said to me. “And you need to keep ice on that and take ibuprofen for the swelling and pain,” she said to Samantha, who was sitting next to me with an ice pack pressed to her face. “You both need to go home. Do you want to make the calls or should I?”

  “We can do it,” Samantha said, pulling out her phone.

  “Yeah, we’re fine,” I said, pulling mine out too.

  “Good,” the nurse said. “Because I’ve been called over to the Junior Campus. This flu is hitting hard today.” And she slipped out the door, leaving Samantha and me alone.

  “How are you doing it?” Samantha turned to me immediately, peering at me with her one good eye. “How are you blocking me?”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” I said, avoiding her gaze.

  “Cut the bullshit. I heard you,” she said, looking down at my gloves. “Is it one hand, or both?”

  There was no point in pretending anymore. “Just my right hand,” I said, holding it out.

  “And the gloves block it?” she asked, sounding more fascinated than pissed, which was good.

  I could lie to her, pretend it was the gloves. But I was kind of tired of lying. Besides, hadn’t I railed at Marcus for never telling the truth? “No, it’s not the gloves,” I said, reaching down and pulling the dog tags out of my sock. “It’s these. Coach Blazen insisted I take them off.”

  “No jewelry in gym class,” Samantha said, impersonating the coach’s voice perfectly.

  “Exactly.” I nodded, trying not to laugh.