Ghost Time

privacy, she said. Thank you, Sharon, I said, trying to smile. Get you something to drink? she asked, opening the door. No, thank you, I said, smiling. She was so kind. Well, then, I’ll be out front if you need me, she said.
    I sat down on the couch, and I felt the envelope, and it was soft. So soft, too, I was just like, What could it be? Clothing? My hands were shaking, but I couldn’t wait until I got home, so I tore it open, peeking inside… the stars. I couldn’t tell what it was at first, and then I turned the envelope upside down, tried to shake it out, but it was stuck. So I reached inside—freaked me out, too, putting my hand in the envelope, like maybe there was something in it that might bite me or something or a white powder in the envelope, like Anthrax or I don’t know what. But I reached in and pulled out the padding, inside, whatever it was, and it fell to the ground, just this big white wad. Looked like the rag bag my mom saved for cleaning.
    Took me a minute and then I realized what it was—it was the stars from the flag. It was all the stars that somebody cut out of the flag in front of the high school. They were all there, all fifty, and they were perfect, too, not one loose thread. But what really upset me was that I saw them on Cam’s ceiling—they were there. That night I stayed over, slept in his room, when I looked up, all fifty stars were on his ceiling—I touched them, with my own hands. I covered my mouth with both hands, because they were right there, last time I was at his house, so how could they be… ?
    I heard Sharon walking through the kitchen, so I gathered the stars and shoved them back in the envelope. They didn’t quite fit, so I put the envelope in my bag, upside down. The funny thing is, I was a little nervous, carrying the stars around, because it’s a crime. I thought, What if someone stops me, finds out I’m carrying the flag’s stars? Could I go to jail? Seriously.
    Anyhow, I slipped out, while Sharon was talking on the phone, taking an order, and then I called back, Thank you, bye, and I ran outside, before she could say anything. I waited until I got to the parking lot, and then I called Karen. She didn’t answer, though, not at home or her cell, and I stopped, not knowing what to do. When I reached the road, I decided to go over to their house anyway.

TUESDAY, OCTOBER 19, 2010
    (SIX MONTHS EARLIER)
    4:34 PM
    Cam loved it. I mean, we’re talking love at first sight, the day we drove over, after school, seeing his face as he looked up at the sign, the original sign, which was older than my mother, even, and read, Silver Top. It’s called Silver Top, he said, in awe, and I had to laugh. The diner’s called Silver Top and it has a silver top, he said, stunned. Tricky, huh? I said, walking past him. That’s brilliant , he said. Brilliant? I said, and he said, No, really, how often is what you see what you get in this world? he asked, beaming, as I opened the door, waving him in: Welcome to Fort Marshall, California boy, I said. He followed me in and I took the booth in the corner, farthest from the old men, who’d stopped talking to stare.
    This all right? I asked, taking a seat, the seat with my back turned to the old men, of course. Perfect. This is perfect, Cam said, sliding in, cheeks flushed. Honestly, he was so enamoredwith its what-you-see-is-what-you-get-Americanness. He bought it, hook, line, and sinker. These places where time stops every day. Look at this: this, this, here, is America, he said, all but pounding his fist on the table. And you’ve never seen America, before? I asked, trying not to laugh, but not having any luck. Not this one! He goes, Thea, this is the perfect, perfect first-date spot. And then I snapped, This is not a date , not even realizing I was bristling, right through my shoulders, too.
    Yeah, whatever, he said, looking at the counter and his mouth falling open, seeing the glass pie case. That’s right: homemade lemon meringue pie. Every day. Lucky us.
    How’s it going? he asked, leaning to the side, holding one hand up at the old men, the Elders, and I looked at him like, What are you doing? No one new waves at the old men. Trust me, the old men didn’t know what to make of it, either; all they could do was stare at the kid, trying to wrap their heads around it. But then, seeing he was genuine, like it or not, they couldn’t say he wasn’t real in his boyish enthusiasm.
    One thing: I just wish she were wearing one