ADVANCE PRAISE FOR
GHOSTING BY EDITH PATTOU
Seven teens, a gun, and a harmless prank turned tragedy. We see these young faces illuminated by their cell phones and hear their voices calling out from the darkness in a book that is ultimately both horrifying and healing. Edith Pattou writes with a poet’s ear attuned to the rhythm of the teenage heart. A stunning achievement.
—DEBBY DAHL EDWARDSON,
author of the National Book Award finalist My Name Is Not Easy
I flew through Ghosting in one sitting. It is in a word, “unputdownable.” Nonstop action, tension and suspense fill the first half of the book; heartfelt emotion, regret, and healing fill the second. Reader, power down all your devices and find a comfortable chair because once you start reading Ghosting, you won’t be able to stop!
—LESLÉA NEWMAN,
author of October Morning: A Song for Matthew Shepard
Filled with authentic detail and believable teenage voices, Ghosting is a gripping account of an all-too-plausible tragedy in a country where there are more guns than people. Pattou’s keen eye for character and ear for convincing dialogue will make this an important and accessible lesson about redemption and forgiveness for young adult readers.
—TODD STRASSER,
author of Fallout
Ghosting is timely and compelling, filled with complex and interesting characters. It will hold you in your seat from the first line to the last.
—MARION DANE BAUER,
author of the Newbery Honor Book On My Honor
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Text copyright © 2014 Edith Pattou
All rights reserved
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Skyscape, New York
www.apub.com
Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Skyscape are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.
ISBN-13: 9781477847749 (hardcover)
ISBN-10: 147784774X (hardcover)
ISBN-13: 9781477847893 (paperback)
ISBN-10: 1477847898 (paperback)
Grateful acknowledgement is made to Farrar, Straus and Giroux for permission to quote from JOEY PIGZA LOSES CONTROL © 2000 by Jack Gantos. Reprinted by permission of Farrar, Straus and Giroux Books for Young Readers. All rights reserved.
Book design by Abby Kuperstock
Cover design by Greg Stadnyk
Library of Congress Control Number: 2014933207
To Robert, who played Mouse Trap with me and who I will miss forever, and to Charles and Vita, as always.
Contents
Start Reading
MAXIE
BEFORE
FAITH
MAXIE
ANIL
EMMA
CHLOE
MAXIE
ANIL
MAXIE
FELIX
BRENDAN
CHLOE
FAITH
WALTER
POLICE CHIEF AUBREY DELAFIELD
MAXIE
EMMA
BRENDAN
ANIL
CHLOE
FELIX
EMMA
MAXIE
FAITH
BRENDAN
ANIL
FAITH
POLICE CHIEF AUBREY DELAFIELD
MAXIE
ANIL
FELIX
MAXIE
FELIX
MAXIE
ANIL
MAXIE
CHLOE
FAITH
MAXIE
BRENDAN
MAXIE
ANIL
FAITH
ANIL
MAXIE
EMMA
FAITH
MAXIE
WALTER
EMMA
FELIX
EMMA
ANIL
MAXIE
FAITH
WALTER
FELIX
BRENDAN
MAXIE
EMMA
MAXIE
FAITH
MAXIE
ANIL
MAXIE
EMMA
BRENDAN
MAXIE
AFTER
POLICE CHIEF AUBREY DELAFIELD
MAXIE
CHLOE
WALTER
POLICE CHIEF AUBREY DELAFIELD
ANIL
MAXIE
ANIL
MAXIE
FAITH
POLICE CHIEF AUBREY DELAFIELD
MAXIE
ANIL
MAXIE
POLICE CHIEF AUBREY DELAFIELD
ANIL
POLICE CHIEF AUBREY DELAFIELD
EMMA
MAXIE
POLICE CHIEF AUBREY DELAFIELD
MAXIE
ANIL
EMMA
MAXIE
FAITH
MAXIE
CHLOE
FAITH
ANIL
CHLOE
MAXIE
ANIL
CHLOE
POLICE CHIEF AUBREY DELAFIELD
CHLOE
ANIL
MAXIE
CHLOE
MAXIE
ANIL
MAXIE
ANIL
MAXIE
CHLOE
MAXIE
BRENDAN
EMMA
BRENDAN
FAITH
EMMA
FAITH
BRENDAN
MAXIE
EMMA
MAXIE
FELIX
MAXIE
FELIX
CHLOE
FAITH
EMMA
FELIX
MAXIE
EMMA
CHLOE
BRENDAN
MAXIE
BRENDAN
CHLOE
BRENDAN
MAXIE
BRENDAN
MAXIE
ANIL
POLICE CHIEF AUBREY DELAFIELD
WALTER
EMMA
EMMA
WALTER SMITH
MAXIE
ANIL
EMMA
MAXIE
Acknowledgments
About the Author
White bird,
crisply folded,
wings its way
into Spring.
E. P.
MAXIE
When I was a little girl
ghosting was
a sheet of paper and
a drawing in
black ink.
A crudely sketched ghost,
with a Tootsie Roll
taped on.
Not scary.
A fun Halloween prank.
You slipped it under a
neighbor’s door,
ran away,
giggling.
“You’ve been ghosted!”
Exciting.
Harmless.
But now
ghosting is:
this can’t be happening,
screams like knives in your ears,
pooling glistening blood.
Everywhere.
And death, bellowing
hot and loud
in
your
face.
BEFORE
Sunday, August 22
FAITH
At the
kitchen table,
eating cereal.
Puffins,
my favorite,
pillowy
with a soft
milky
crunch.
The sun
glares
through
the window,
reflecting off
the stainless-
steel dishwasher.
Even though
my bare feet
are cold
from the
air-conditioning,
I can tell it’s
hot outside
already.
Mom is
at the sink,
rinsing bottles
for recycling.
Polly, our
big black dog
who needs
a haircut,
lies under
the table,
drowsing.
I stick my toes
under her belly
to warm them.
Peaceful.
Then
Emma bursts in,
noisy
and rushed
like always.
Have you seen a hair band? I need a hair band, right now!
Everything is
“right now”
for Emma.
I’m so freaking late! she says.
Polly bounds
up from
under
the table,
tail wagging
a hundred miles
an hour,
panting.
Mom’s back
tightens.
Emma, you were late last night. Past your curfew . . . , she says.
Not now, Mom.
Emma’s
voice is
sharp.
Coach is going to kill me.
She grabs
a protein bar,
her water bottle,
and she’s gone
with a flash of
dark-red ponytail.
Polly circles
the table
a few times,
then settles back
underneath,
at my feet,
with a gentle
disappointed
sigh.
Mom turns
on the
faucet again,
picks up a
Gatorade bottle,
only now
her shoulders
are slumped,
tired-looking.
Is Emma going to be grounded? I ask.
Your dad and I are going to talk to her.
Which means
no.
Dad is soft
on Emma;
well, we all are,
because we love her
so much,
but especially
Dad.
Mom worries
about it.
I’ve heard
them argue.
I spoon
a Puffin
into my
mouth.
The crunch
is gone.
Polly sighs
against
my feet.
I swallow
the soggy
Puffin, past
the lump
in my
throat.
MAXIE
It wasn’t hot like this
in Colorado,
even though
we were a mile closer
to the sun.
I forgot about Midwest heat,
like a steamy-wet-hot washcloth
pressed against your mouth and nose.
And the air conditioner
is busted.
Maxine, Mom says (she’s the only person who calls me that), I’m going stark raving crazy in this heat.
The making-mom-crazy list is long,
and number one,
at the tip-top of the list is:
my dad.
His chewing too loud.
His interrupting when she’s on the phone.
His beer drinking.
I could go on.
But most crazy-making of all,
the fact that
he dragged us out to Colorado
for four years
for this fabulous job opportunity
that turned out to be a bust.
A big bust.
So here we are,
back in the house where I grew up,
the house that
was never sold
for four years,
which also drove my mom nuts.
Of course now it’s a nightmare turned
blessing in disguise.
My mom is little-miss-busy,
getting the house fixed up,
enrolling in nursing classes
to update her skills.
Someone’s got to have a steady income, she says.
And she says it with all kinds of
righteousness.
Not meaning to hurt,
but wounding just the same.
My dad is still recognizable as my dad,
just a flat, joyless version.
Like a light has
gone out.
Except when he’s drinking his beers.
Then he gets jolly and sweet,
which almost
makes me
look forward
to that pop-squelch
of the flip-top on
the Miller can.
Almost.
Wednesday, August 25
ANIL
1. Wednesday morning, 7:30 a.m.:
I am alone in the house,
eating leftover lentils and rice,
heated in the microwave.
I stand over the sink,
looking out the window at the back lawn,
perfectly mowed and trimmed
by my father last night before dinner.
2. Father:
Dr. Sanjeev Sayanantham,
who left for Highland Park Hospital
at five this morning,
who was named
by U.S. News & World Report
as one of the top ten best hand surgeons
in the country.
Dr. Sayanantham,
famous not only for his skill in the operating room,
but also for his charisma,
not stiff like a lot of Indian physicians.
And you’d never know he was born in Calcutta
the way he’s smoothed out his accent.
3. Mother:
Dr. Rahel Sayanantham,
who also left early this morning
for her thriving practice as a pediatrician.
This Dr. Sayanantham does have a wisp of an accent,
even though she is only half Indian.
Her father was a handsome white dentist
who married Grandmother Rumma
against the wishes of her family.
Mom lived in Mumbai until she came
to the US for medical school,
where she met my dad.
According to family lore
he was swept away
from the very moment he saw her:
black-eyed, black-haired beauty
with a gentle voice.
Small, too, like a strong gust of wind
could blow her away.
4. Brother:
Viraj Sayanantham
born when my mother
was doing her residency at the University of Michigan.
Viraj hasn’t lived at home for six years
and is himself a Neurology resident
at Mass General, in Boston.
Viraj is the golden son
who prefers Christmas to Diwali,
cheeseburgers to lentils and rice.