Ghost Time

do or don’t know about me; none of it matters. Because Cam knows me, and he loves me, and I know him, and I love him more than anything in this whole world. And for a second, like a fraction of a second, the ground disappeared beneath my feet.

THURSDAY, APRIL 7, 2011
    (THREE DAYS LATER)
    8:22 AM
    It’s not just me, okay? Things have been happening all over town, and at first, people thought it was random, but not me. I never thought it was random, and whether I was right or wrong, everything related to Cam, like he was sending me signs. The first sign was Thursday morning, and it was so strong, it felt like a magnet pulling us off the road. Seriously, I was sitting next to the window, with Hubble open in my lap, when the whole bus swerved, knocking me on my side. When I looked up, every head was turned, looking out the left-side window, because someone had driven right through the dividing wall, along the opposite side of the highway. It’s just a tall, orange plastic net, nothing that could hurt anybody, but it had been there as long as I’d been taking the bus.
    I had my headphones on, so I don’t know who saw it first, but in two seconds, every kid on the bus was jumping out of theirseat, trying to get a look at the gash in the wall, and instantly, each little brain on the bus started trying to solve the crime. Because the strangest thing was, the car’s tire marks went on and on, like they must have crashed right into the horizon, because there was nothing out there, it was this empty field that went on for miles. One look, and you knew it was no accident—someone did it on purpose, and then they just kept right on going.
    So there I was, gawking with everyone else, trying to piece it together. I mean, really, who did it, and what would possess them, and where the hell did they go, and most of all, why? And then, on second thought, Why had it never happened before? It was like someone cut a hole in something bigger than the wall, and it was a revelation to all of us, everyone on the highway, every driver slowing down to look, all asking the same question. Who knew you could just get up and do something crazy like that and get away with it? And now that they had, what were the rest of us supposed to do?
    You could feel it, too, you know. All morning, you could just feel it, like when teachers talk about barometric pressure or things that affect the moods of kids in their classes, it was like that, like something weighing you down or something just not right. All day, the whole school, every class, no one was screwing around, no one was raising their hands, like we’d all been waiting for that knock on the door. And when it finally came, everyone looked up, and the room was so still that Linda Friske, the office aide, looked spooked, sticking her head in the door, holding up a pink slip like it was a white flag. I knew it was for me: everyone knew it was for me. I’d already grabbed my bag and I washalfway to the door before Mrs. Friske called out my name. She waited, holding open the door, and she nodded as I stepped into the hall, then she headed off in the opposite direction, delivering some other message.
    The school office is at the end of the main hall, in clear view of the front entrance, and the sun was shining like a spotlight through those thick double doors. I felt this sense of dread, despite the light, and no one had to say it: I knew there was someone to see me. Even stranger, I knew it wasn’t Detective Knox. I don’t know how; I could just tell it wasn’t him, so I took my time. There was no one else in the hall, and I don’t know how to explain it, but the building felt scared. I swear, even the electric current quit humming—you know that awful buzzing of fluorescent lights overhead, extending in every direction? Well, for once it was quiet.
    When I walked in, the secretaries didn’t say anything, not a word. They both just looked at me, and then they quickly looked away, like they knew something and didn’t want me to see it in their eyes. Thea, Principal Cheswick said, stepping out of his office, hearing the front door open. So weird: he never stepped out; he never waited; one of the secretaries always buzzed him first, and you were told to take a seat. So something was definitely wrong, and then he said, Come in, opening his office door for me.
    Cheswick didn’t close the door, but he lowered his voice, telling me there was an agent there who needed to talk to me about Cam.