“Hey, over here!”
A figure on board peers down at me. Beneath the disguise, I recognize Randy’s familiar face. He calls something to me. What’s he saying?
“There’s something screwy going on in that town!”
“What is it?” I beg.
He opens his mouth to speak again, but at that moment, my strength deserts me, and I’m sinking again. My last thought before the darkness claims me again is a single word:
Remember . . .
My class sends me a potted geranium as a get-well gift.
It’s dying.
Dad frowns. “I don’t understand why it isn’t doing better. All the other plants around the house are thriving.”
Right, Dad. That’s what we need to be talking about. Horticulture.
“Maybe it just needs more sunlight,” I suggest, propping myself higher on my pillow.
He looks dubious but pushes the pot a little closer to my window. “Time for your medicine, Eli.” He puts three capsules into my hand and sets a glass of water on the nightstand.
I slug back the pills like a pro. I’ve had enough practice this past week, three times a day, Dr. Bruder’s orders.
My father carefully watches me drink down all the water. “I’m proud of you, Eli. You’ve been an excellent patient.” He smiles warmly, squeezes my shoulder, and heads downstairs to catch up on some emails. He’s been working from home ever since I’ve been put on bed rest.
He’s right, actually. I’m an awesome patient. As soon as I hear him on the stairs, I spit out the three capsules I stored in my cheek and bury them in the soil of the geranium. That’s what the thing’s dying of—a drug overdose. I’m not even sure what’s in those pills except that they make me groggy and confused. A couple of days in, I lie in bed, struggling to remember something. It’s just at the edge of my consciousness, so close I should be able to reach out and grab it.
Then I realize what it is.
Randy’s letter.
They’re trying to make me forget about it.
No, not some faceless “they.” He. Felix Frieden. My one and only parent.
Why, Dad? Why?
I can’t describe how awful it is. I’m physically sick—it’s almost as bad as that time on my bike.
One minute you think you’ve got your life figured out. The next it shatters like a glass bowl hitting a stone patio.
My own father is the enemy.
Anyway, that’s when I stopped taking the pills. Trust me, there is no feeling quite so lonely as learning you have no one who will always be on your side. It’s the ultimate loneliness because you are exactly that: alone. My sole ally, my only friend, is my mind. I have to keep it clear, because all I have now is my understanding of what’s happening to me.
I can’t decide what’s scarier: that Dad and Dr. Bruder want me to forget Randy’s note, or that they’re actually capable of it.
Speaking of Dr. Bruder, he comes every day to check on my progress. He’s his usual goofy self, performing card tricks while he examines me. Every kid in Serenity is familiar with the experience of having to answer the question “Is this your card” while there’s a tongue depressor shoved far enough down your throat to tickle your belly button. Then there are the jokes: “How about we take out your tonsils? It’s a two-for-one special today. No extra charge.” You are required to laugh or he keeps them coming. He prefers a big guffaw, but today he’ll have to settle for a chuckle. He should understand better than anyone how groggy I must be. He’s the one prescribing the pills I’m not taking.
But today the shtick falls flatter than usual, because nothing can cover how closely he’s watching me. Another difference: my father is always in on these examinations, and if Dr. Bruder’s gaze is intense, Dad’s is a laser beam.
They ask me how I’m feeling about fifty times, and I tell them what I think they want to hear: yes, I feel better, kind of sleepy. But no, there’s no pain or nausea.
I’ll always remember those afternoons as the time that I leave Serenity for good. Not physically, of course. But that’s when the whole idea of the town—the honesty, harmony, and contentment—ceases to have any meaning for me. I’m lying to them, and I don’t even feel bad about it, because I know they’re lying to me. It may look like harmony in my room, but that’s all phony. And for sure, I’m not feeling very content about it.
“Do you recall the moment you got sick?” Dr. Bruder probes.
“Not really,” I reply. That’s the only thing I say that’s true. I don’t remember getting sick, because I never was sick. My father probably put something in the hot chocolate we had that night to help us both sleep after our argument. I don’t mention the argument. I think that’s one of the things I’m supposed to forget. “I know it was the night of the big storm, but I don’t remember much after that.”
“How did the pills make you feel?”
“Groggy,” I reply. “But I started feeling better right away. You know, happier. Less stressed.” I don’t mention that it made me feel terrific when I dug them out of the plant an hour ago and flushed them down the toilet.
It hurts to lie, but not half as much as the reason why I’m lying. That my father has turned on me, and that everything I believed to be true—all the Serenity stuff—is not what it seems.
The doctor smiles. “Well, I have good news for you. Eli. You’re on the mend. It was probably just a relapse of your previous condition, brought on by the change in atmospheric pressure from the storm.”
“Great.” I have to give him credit. He can make total hooey sound like real doctoring.
“One more thing.” My father steps forward and holds out a piece of paper. “Do you recognize this?”
I know exactly what it is. It’s a line drawing of an old-time British ship, and it comes straight from the website on the Boston Tea Party—the one about the rebellion and the colonists throwing tea into the water, and the American Revolutionary War.
“It’s a boat,” I say in the most clueless voice I can manage. “An old-fashioned ship. Should I recognize it?”
My father leans over and hugs me. “Welcome back, Eli,” he says in an emotional tone.
My first visitor is Mrs. Delaney. She takes me for a stroll in the backyard. Actually, it’s awesome. I haven’t set foot out the door in days.
“We’ve been missing you at the pool,” she says kindly. “Especially Malik.”
I smile. “Oh yeah. He’s really the tenderhearted type.”
“Well, you’re the only one with the talent to stand up to him. Now he doesn’t know who to bean first.” She turns serious. “It’s good to see you back on your feet. We were all worried. It must have been scary.”
“Not really.”
“Still, you were so sick the last time. And to have it all come back . . .”
I’m listening to her with one ear. Mostly, though. I’m listening to the churning inside my brain:
Mrs. Delaney is an outsider. Until six months ago, she was a regular person in a regular town . . .
I can’t be sure if it’s safe to tell her the things I have to share with someone. But if not her, then who? Definitely not any other adult. It’s her or nobody.
“Can I talk to you?” I say suddenly.
She’s startled. “Of course. We are talking.”
“I mean can I tell you something that you can’t repeat to anyone else—not my dad, not even your husband in the Purp—the Surety?”
She hesitates. “I don’t know, Eli. I’m new here. But the way I read it, people don’t keep secrets in Serenity.”
Of course they do! For starters, you have no idea that your husband’s card has already been traded four times, maybe more! This place is practically the Secrets capital of the world!
Aloud, I just say, “Some of them do.”
She mulls this over. “I guess that’s the first secret—that there are secrets.”
I keep my mouth shut. I’ve probably blabbed too much already. I like Mrs. Delaney, bu
t she’s married to a Purple People Eater. If I say something and it gets back to Dad, I’ll be on bed rest again. And this time there might not be a potted geranium to take the pills for me.
“Well, don’t keep me in suspense,” she prompts with one of her friendly grins. “You can’t tell me that, and then be a clam.”
I have to say it. Otherwise I’ll chicken out. “Promise me I can trust you.”
She’s quiet for a moment, and then, “It seems to me that you kids could use someone to talk to. If you choose me to be that someone, I’m flattered. But I can’t guarantee anything if you’re putting yourself in danger.”
I just blurt it out. “I wasn’t sick. Not this time, anyway.”
She’s taken aback. “But why—?”
“Dr. Bruder’s giving me pills. I’m only pretending to take them.”
“Eli, are you sure that’s smart?” she asks with concern. “Dr. Bruder wouldn’t give you pills unless you need them.”
“Look at me. I’m fine!” I do a few jumping jacks.
“Enough—I get it!” She regards me earnestly. “I want to help you, but I’m not sure I understand what all this is about.”
“I’m starting to learn things about this town,” I say slowly, “and I think they’re trying to make me forget.”
She looks at me skeptically. “What is it that you’ve learned?”
My heart sinks. The disappointment almost knocks me over. “Don’t you know?”
Her expressive face radiates deep sympathy, and she reaches over and gives me a friendly hug. “You’re having a tough time, Eli, and that’s partly because you’re growing up without a mom. If there’s ever anything you need to talk about, you can always depend on me.”
She’s the only adult in town I can trust. And she thinks I’m nuts.
Maybe she’s right.
10
TORI PRITEL
Eli hasn’t been to school for two weeks, and no one’s been allowed to visit him. I go with Amber and her mom to deliver the get-well plant, but we aren’t invited inside. When I phone over there, Mr. Frieden tells me his son is asleep. No one sleeps that much, not even if they get bitten by an African tsetse fly.
“Is it serious?” I ask.
“It’s quite serious, I’m afraid, Victoria,” Mr. Frieden replies gravely. “But don’t worry. He’s receiving excellent care.”
Don’t worry? (I’m obviously worrying!)
“What is it?” I ask in a small voice.
“A relapse of the illness he suffered a few weeks ago.”
“Well, can I come and see him? I promise I won’t wake him up.”
“Sadly, no visitors. But I’ll tell him you called.” He hangs up.
Everybody’s worried about Eli, but it’s obvious that I’m the most worried, and Malik won’t let me hear the end of it.
“You li-i-ike him,” he singsongs at me.
“Of course I like him! We all like him! We’ve known each other since we were babies!”
“Sure, Tori. And you lo-o-o-oved him as a baby too,” Malik snickers.
U like him is on the note I find in my jacket pocket and on the tiny crumpled paper that bounces off the back of my head in Meditation. I Love Eli is the new subject line in all my composition books.
Amber puts a stop to the harassment by stomping on Malik’s foot.
“Are you crazy, Laska?” he yells, hopping up and down.
Once the heat of the moment has passed, Amber is shamefaced. “I can’t believe I resorted to violence. Nobody does that. Not even Malik.”
“You were awesome,” I tell her. “Besides, it was only his toe.”
“And that makes a difference?” she laments. “It’s not how much harm you cause. It’s that you do it at all.”
That comes straight out of our Contentment book. Which explains why this incident is kind of a big deal. While Malik puts his toe on ice, watching it swell up black-and-blue, Mrs. Laska hauls her daughter to the principal’s office. Long story short, Amber’s Contentment midterm is reduced a full grade, from A-plus to B-plus.
“A B!” she laments. “I’ve never had a B in my whole life!”
“It worked, though,” I remind her. “Malik’s totally left me alone ever since.”
“You’re welcome,” she says. “Now you can leave me alone while I work on getting my average back up. And this isn’t helping with my goal weight either. You know I snack when I’m stressed.”
She doesn’t come with me when I walk by Eli’s house hoping to catch a glimpse of him through a window.
But I don’t see him. What I do see is a Purple People Eater hunched in a parked car across the street from the Frieden home. (Tomfoolerus Dingbat. Hobbies: squeezing blackheads and world domination.)
It’s funny. You almost never see Purples around town. Their focus is on the Plastics Works. Why are they watching Eli’s house? If he’s sick, he needs doctors, not sentries.
I can’t help but think back to the note we found in Randy’s pool filter, the one I was so sure was a joke. Well, I’m not laughing anymore. I don’t know if Randy’s on a farm or at a school, or if there are “special” people in Serenity, or even if I might be one of them.
But there is one part of Randy’s letter that I agree with 100 percent. There really does seem to be something screwy going on in this town! I don’t even care that much about what it is. I just want Eli back, safe and sound.
And then one day, there he is.
“. . . one nation under God, indivisible, with unity and gladness for all.”
We’re just finishing the Pledge of Allegiance when Eli walks into the classroom. I’ve practically forgotten what he looks like. But he looks good. Better yet, he looks fine—completely healthy. We all jump up to welcome him. I want to throw my arms around him, but one glance at Malik tells me to hang back. (I don’t think Amber could handle another blow to her Contentment grade.)
“All right, settle down,” says Mrs. Laska, smiling. “Take your seats, everybody. You too, Eli. Today, you’re the guest of honor.”
“Thanks for the plant,” he says sheepishly. “It died.”
“We’re just happy to have you back. Now, turn to page 214 . . .”
I don’t get a chance to talk to Eli until lunch, and then I can’t find him. In a school of twenty-nine, this is ridiculous. I wander all over the schoolyard and finally locate him in the trees. He’s in the middle of an animated conversation with Malik—not my favorite person these days.
Their faces are flushed, their arms waving. But as soon as I get there, they clam up. It’s pretty obvious that my arrival has interrupted something important.
“Scram,” Malik tells me. Always the diplomat.
I ignore him and focus on Eli. “Tell me what happened to you.”
“You saw Randy’s letter,” he says stiffly. “You didn’t believe it.”
I stare at him. “What does the letter have to do with being sick?”
“I wasn’t sick. I showed the note to my father and he spent the next two weeks feeding me full of pills to make me forget it ever existed.”
“Where would he get pills like that?”
He points at Malik. “From his dad! They were in on it together!”
Astounded, I turn to Malik. “And you’re fighting with him for accusing your father?”
“I’m not fighting with him!” Malik defends himself. “This is how I talk! I was trying to tell him something when you barged in, so take a hike.”
“Why can’t I hear it too?” I demand.
“Because if Randy’s letter made you go all clammy, you’re not going to be too thrilled with what I have to say.”
“I—” I hesitate. “Maybe I’m not so sure about that anymore.”
“I just spent two weeks flat on my back, spitting pills into a potted plant,” Eli says bitterly. “And I’ll be right back there if my dad finds out about this conversation.”
I’m appalled. “I would never tell on you!”
?
??Maybe you wouldn’t,” Malik counters, “but what if you confide in your soul sister, Amber? She’s the biggest fangirl Happy Valley ever had!”
“That’s not fair—” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, though, I realize he’s right. Poor Amber is losing her mind over a B-plus. Her mother has her on double Meditation because she stomped on Malik’s toe. We’ve all bought into what our parents and teachers have told us, but Amber’s the most devoted. If she thinks we’re conspiring against the Serenity way of life, she’ll blow the whistle on us for sure.
“I won’t tell her. I swear.” Part of me can’t believe I’m promising to keep something from my best friend.
Malik looks to Eli, who nods his approval.
“I don’t think the plastics factory makes very many traffic cones,” Malik says evenly.
Of all the things I expect, this has to be dead last. “How can you say that? There are truckloads of them being hauled out of town every day!”
Malik shakes his head. “I thought so too. But if you look close, they’ve only got three trucks—four, tops. It seems like more because they never go anywhere. They just drive around Happy Valley, lugging the same cones. They’ve been at it for weeks. Maybe for years.”
“How could you know that?”
He explains about the skateboarding accident and how the stains from Hector’s nosebleed are still on the shipment. “I’m not as positive about the other trucks, but I’m starting to recognize them—you know, a dent here, a scratch there. No way have they got more than three or four. And the cones aren’t freshly made product—not all covered in dust like that.”
My head is spinning. “But my parents work at that plant! And not just mine—it supports the whole town!”
“I’m starting to suspect that a lot of the information we get might be wrong,” Eli puts in. “I had a pretty weird experience on the internet during that storm. I got two completely different web pages on the same topic. I mean really different.”
I must seem stunned, because Malik shoots me a look. “Heard enough yet?”
“Something’s not right, something very basic to this town and our lives,” Eli says earnestly. “And whatever it is, all our parents seem to be mixed up in it.”