“What will you do if you capture something?” I asked.
“The first thing is, I’ll show those scumbags at school,” Fred said fiercely. “And then . . . I don’t know. A TV show? Or maybe call the college and talk to the astrophysics department. Except who’ll listen to a kid?” he finished bitterly. “Maybe I’ll just try to communicate with them myself.”
“That might be fun,” I said. “What would you tell them?”
“What it’s like to be a kid on Earth.” He grinned, flicking his flashlight off. “I don’t know anything else!”
“You’re learning about space,” I reminded him.
“But they’d already know that stuff, or they wouldn’t be here,” he said, sounding impatient. He ducked his head. “Sorry, Lisa. I’m trying to be logical about these things.”
“It’s okay,” I said. “I think this is real exciting, and my mind keeps filling with questions.”
He sat down on the bed, hugging his knees close to his stomach. “Me, too,” he said. “Like, what if I contact them, and they threaten to take over the earth, and no one believes me?”
“That kind of alien would probably fire first and give demands later,” I said soothingly. “And they’d take over a radio station or something, or beam the message off of satellites. And they wouldn’t try to take over a planet with just one ship. You didn’t see a fleet, did you?”
“No, just one.”
“But . . . what if they’re nice, but their natural form is really disgusting,” I asked. “Like a bucket of snot?”
“Eccch,” he said. “I don’t know. I wouldn’t shake hands, though.”
We both laughed.
Then he said, “I guess I didn’t tell anyone about the first one because I didn’t really believe it myself. And then after the second time, I kept hoping they’d take me away.” He got up again and circled around his room, touching wires and things.
“You wouldn’t miss us?”
“Sure,” he said quickly. “But they’d bring me back. At least, that’s what I thought in my mind. You never know, of course. That’s what’s so exciting! Another world . . . different people . . . anything can happen. But I just don’t want their first contact to be with someone like Jason.”
“Well, on a planet with like four billion people, the chances are awfully good they’ll get a bozo for their first contact,” I said, “if they are left to random choices. The thing to do is be the first, someone they would want to meet.”
“I know,” Fred admitted. “That bothers me, too. But how to be first, when you don’t know where they will land?”
“Well, either that, or try to help the world cut down on its bozoness and be more like something space visitors wouldn’t put in one of their horror movies,” I said. “So wherever they land, they find friends.”
Fred snorted. “Yeah, sure. I mean, it sounds great, but there’s no way one person can cure the world of bozoness.”
“Gandhi didn’t think so,” I said. “Or the Buddha, or St. Francis. And then there’s always the bad guys, like Hitler or Ghengis Khan, who wanted the world to be made into what they wanted. If someone told them one person couldn’t make a difference, they sure didn’t listen.”
“Okay, okay,” Fred said with a laugh. “Hey. It’s nearly eleven. We’d better be quiet.”
He stopped at the window, his profile lifted skyward.
I got up and joined him, my hands over my ears in the frosty night air.
For a long time we watched the sky. Some ghostly white clouds drifted by, but otherwise the stars twinkled peacefully.
Fred whispered after a time, “How would you cure the bozos?”
“I don’t know,” I whispered back. “You’re the smart one. How would you do it?”
Fred shrugged, his eyes ranging back and forth across the sky. Fifteen minutes passed . . . twenty . . . half an hour. Fred yawned once, then twice.
Finally he said out loud, “I guess it’s no good. They’re not coming.”
“Maybe we ought to get some sleep,” I said. “We can always try again, can’t we?”
“You do believe me, don’t you, Lisa?” He grabbed my arm, his fingers icy cold.
“You’ve never lied to me, Fred,” I said. “I believe you.”
He sighed, then turned to shut his window and climb into bed.
I went out, but instead of going to my room, I waited outside of his, listening. After just a few minutes his breathing changed into the deep, regular breathing of sleep.
So I went to my room and opened my own window, looking up at the peaceful night sky.
I thought about what a tremendous task it would be, to change a big, confusing, frightening, exciting, wonderful world like Earth, to find some way to help human beings be ready to take their place among the worlds of the universe.
But that was my job. They’d picked us, orphans from all over the galaxy, and trained us on the ship we’d called The Orphanage, before they’d scattered us in various foster homes all over. Our first goal was to find the potential leaders and encourage them.
I rubbed my ears, then pulled my hair away so my ears could extend in antennae form. And soon as my signal went out, my ship appeared and I began sending them my weekly report.
You’ve been seen. We’ll have to be more careful, but maybe it wasn’t such a mistake after all . . .
Illumination
“Yo, Anna.”
The wind rustling the winter-dry branches outside my window almost masked Ben’s whisper.
“Ready to see the ghosts in Neverland?”
His voice was low, but I could hear the challenge. He didn’t expect me to go. He didn’t expect me to believe him.
“Sure,” I said, and scrambled out my bedroom window onto a branch, and dropped to the grass.
We ran through the deserted streets of downtown. Neither of us spoke until we were almost to Neverland Park. Then Ben said, “We’d better hide.”
He still expected me to scoff—or to run back home.
I shrugged.
Even in the dark, I could see his surprise. As if ghosts playing in the town park weren't as strange as the two of us being outside together at midnight: Ben, the school’s bad kid, and I, Anna, the best student in school.
Ex-best student.
“Here’s where,” he said as we pounded across the grass toward a line of thick shrubs. Leaves skittered behind us down the pathway, driven by the chilly wind that numbed my lips and made my eyes water. I crouched beside Ben in the bushes.
“There they are,” he said, staring across the playground, his breath making a faint glowing cloud.
We have the best park in five counties, designed and built by someone who grew up here, went away, and made it rich, then came back old. Neverland Park was meant to be the closest thing to Peter Pan’s island you could get on Earth, a place where kids could play forever. Except there is no forever on Earth.
About twenty kids swung from the ropes and twirled on the carousel and climbed all over the ladder-slide. At first I thought Ben and those kids were scamming me, but then I noticed some things. Weird things.
Like breathing. Ben’s and my breath made clouds that glowed in the arc light reflections, and we were just sitting there. Those kids were all playing, some of them with their mouths open, but I didn’t see anyone’s breath.
And then there were the clothes. Oh, most of them looked like kids anywhere: jeans, T-shirts, crummy shoes. But one girl on the swings wore a pinafore like straight out of Little Women, her long curls bouncing on her back as she kicked her feet. And walking along the top of the monkey bars was a boy in kneepants and a loose shirt like in Tom Sawyer.
“Ghosts,” Ben said, with a strange kind of satisfaction.
I sucked in a long breath, and the cold made my lungs hurt. “Where d’you think they come from? And why are they here?”
Ben snorted. “They’re from wherever ghosts come from. If I was a ghost I’d rather mess around at Neverland than hang out
alone at some old house just to haunt it, wouldn’t you? Twenty bucks,” he added matter-of-factly, sticking out his hand.
I don’t think he believed I’d pay up on the bet either, because his eyes went wide with surprise when I yanked a crumpled bill from my jeans pocket and slapped it into his hand.
His mouth went sour. “You’ve got lots of twenties lying around?”
“In my mom’s purse,” I said. “Where I stole that from.”
He snickered, and turned to watch the kids playing again.
We watched for a little while longer, until my feet were numb and my fingers and nose ached. Then Ben turned to look at me, his narrowed eyes so steady I could see the bouncing, running ghost-kids reflected in them.
“What are you going to tell them at school?” he asked.
“Nothing,” I said. “They can make their own bets.”
He shrugged, backed out of the bush and stood up. I followed, and again we were silent as we ran back toward my house.
When we reached my street we both stood there, breathing raggedly, then he said, “Want to watch ’em again tomorrow?”
“Sure,” I said.
He ran off. I climbed back inside my room. Had my mother noticed I was gone?
I stood still, listening.
Nothing.
o0o
Next day at school in math class, my eyes itched and I kept yawning. Though Ben sat two rows away, I never looked at him. He must have been yawning, too, because he got yelled at twice for it.
In English, I guess he put his head down on his desk just after I did, because the teacher stopped talking and said sharply, “Benjamin, if you need to sleep, you may explain why to the vice principal. Now.”
He got up. The teacher glared at him, but never looked at me.
I closed my eyes, and the next thing I knew the bell had rung.
o0o
That night I set my dad’s old-fashioned alarm clock, because I knew I wouldn’t be able to stay awake otherwise. I put it under my pillow, then turned off my light and lay back. The street light shone through tree-branches, making shadows on my ceiling like bent witch fingers clawing up the walls.
I almost wanted to open my door, to call to Mom, but I heard the clink of dishes, and her laughter. His laughter.
I buried my face under the pillow and pressed my cheek against the clock, and listened to its ticking until I went to sleep.
o0o
“It’s about time,” I said when I saw Ben coming slowly up the sidewalk.
I was sitting on the lowest branch of the tree, swinging my feet. I’d planned it out—thought it’d look pretty cool if I was out there waiting, like I’d been there all night.
Ben shrugged, his bony shoulders jerking up and down. The shadows from the streetlamp were odd on his face. Made it look lopsided.
“Ready to run?” I asked, swinging to the ground.
“Nah,” he said, kind of sarcastic. “What’s the big hurry?”
I shrugged, making my shoulders jerk up and down. We walked.
When we neared the park, Ben said suddenly, “Let’s go out there.”
“You mean, let them see us?”
“Sure.” He laughed, an angry snort of a laugh. “Why not? They’re ghosts. Are you gonna get scared if they jump and yell ‘boo’?”
I said as carelessly as I could, “Not sure being touched by a ghost is on my all-time want list.”
“Like they can really hurt you,” he sneered, and without waiting for me he launched straight across the grass toward the ghosts.
I hesitated, wondering what could happen to me. If anything did, my mother wouldn’t be alone at home when the phone rang. A big wash of anger burned away all my fear. I stumbled after Ben, my heart drumming loudly in my ears.
Ben was right in the middle of the park by then. At first it seemed the ghosts couldn’t see him after all, but then they stopped what they were doing, first one or two, then four or five, then all of them. They stood, still and silent, their outlines glowing a kind of shivery silver and blue.
They moved toward us until they stood in a circle. I noticed odd things; that glow and the fact that their feet didn’t make prints in the sand, yet the cold winter wind ruffled their clothes and hair, same as ours. Their eyes were all dark pits.
“Hey! Can ya hear us?” Ben yelled, making me jump. He waved his arms and stamped toward a group of them.
They started moving, some waving their arms and stamping, and some clapping, and some twirling around in a kind of dance.
Their mouths were open like they were laughing, but the sound I heard was the wind rustling the barren twigs of the park trees.
Then flickering lights made us both duck. We looked up at the Main Street bridge arcing over the stream that runs through the park. Headlights jittered between the tree trunks lining the bridge.
“They can’t see us down here,” I said. My hands and lips were numb.
Ben stood very still, one hand gripping the opposite shoulder, then he turned away. “Let’s go.”
o0o
“. . . and the article says that if you can talk to the spirit, you’re supposed to ask if it can see the light,” I said the next night.
My breath was puffing. This time Ben wanted to run. At least we’d stay warm, I thought.
“What light?” He paused and squinted at me. Those shadows were still on his face, and they hadn’t moved. “Street lights? Store lights?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “It just said ‘light.’ And you’re supposed to tell them to go toward it. What is that on your face? Bruises?”
“I fall down a lot,” he said. “So sue me. That ‘light’ stuff sounds like a load of crap.”
I snorted. “That’s what I thought. Hanging out in the dark is cool. That’s what I’d do if I was a ghost. But that’s what it said in this article I found on the Internet.”
“Why waste time reading that junk?” he snarled.
“You’re sure in a good mood,” I snarled back. “Anyway, it was better than yawning over that covalency snore in the science book.”
Ben snorted. “Old Man Mattson let you read during class?”
“He ignored me like I wasn’t there,” I said.
He shook his head. “Geez. Some people have all the luck. I drop a pencil on my desk, and he gives me an hour of detention. I miss an assignment, and I get sent to the VP.”
“I haven’t handed in any work for a week.” I smirked. “All the teachers act like I’m still their perfect little super-student.”
“Geez.” Ben shook his head again.
We reached the park, and it looked like the ghosts were waiting for us.
Only there were more of them—maybe forty. As soon as we appeared, they all ran toward us. The grass waved in the cold wind—I could see it through their feet.
Then I was surrounded by them. Mostly girls, some hopping and dancing. The one in the pinafore was there, her wide eyes staring and staring. She reminded me a lot of my cousin Sarah, except this ghost was skinnier and a couple years younger, and Sarah wasn’t dead. The others pressed close, though not close enough to touch.
I walked slowly toward the swings, and the ones in front of me backed away. When I reached the swings, I sat on one and for a time there I was, pumping high, with ghosts on either side of me, blown back and forth by the wind.
The ghost that reminded me of Sarah swung next to me, her pinafore and hair fluttering, her solemn little face angled my way, as though she was listening. Remembering what I’d read about the lights, I wondered if I should try to talk to her, but it seemed so stupid. If she couldn’t see the streetlights as plainly as I could, what good would asking do? And what if it did somehow make her disappear? She was cute and fun to watch. I didn’t want her to go.
I thought about asking Ben, and looked around. I was alone except for the ghosts.
Ben wasn’t in the park at all, but running with a big swarm of ghosts up the steep embankment to the bridge.
&nb
sp; Swinging high, I caught a glimpse of them through the trees sheltering the bridge. Then I heard brakes squealing.
My crowd of ghosts all drifted toward the carousel, looking back at me.
Sarah hopped from one foot to the other, her bare feet passing through the sand. It looked weird, and I laughed. The ghosts all laughed as well, their mouths round and wide and dark.
Then we were on the carousel. The cold metal burned my hands, so I rubbed them together, then pushed with all my strength. The ghosts piled on and we went round and round, the winter wind streaming through my hair and their bodies.
When Ben reappeared, I jumped down reluctantly, though my teeth were chattering again. I said, “What’s so great on the bridge?”
“Scaring drunks.” He grinned as we began to trot. “You can see ’em coming up from Main, driving like this.” His hands wove back and forth.
“The ghosts jump in front of the car and it goes right through the ghost, and the guy inside goes totally buggy. Did ya hear that one idiot? He nearly went right off the bridge.” He laughed, a hoarse, high laugh.
“Stupid drunks.”
Pain lanced through me when he said Scaring drunks, but I wasn’t about to show it. Besides, why should I care anymore? My dad is dead.
“Yeah, stupid drunks,” I said, and laughed, just as meanly as he had.
o0o
“Where was Dad killed?”
My mother looked up from her coffee. “Good morning, Anna,” she said brightly. “Please, sit down and have some breakfast. Here’s some toast—”
“Where was Dad killed?” I demanded.
Next to Mom he sat, his eyes on the paper. He’d given up trying to talk to me a month before.
“You didn’t want me to tell you the details,” Mom said carefully, her eyes scanning back and forth across my face. “Are you sure you’re ready for it now? You look like you aren’t feeling well.” She reached for my forehead and I stepped back. She pulled her hand down quickly.
“Just tell me where.”
She looked over at him. He looked up, his brown eyes serious. “It happened out on the highway, Anna. He crossed the line into a logging truck. It was a dangerous curve—”