Ghost Time

Ricky? I said, looking back, and he turned around. Thanks for the sandwich, I said, and he shrugged, like no problem: Mi triangle es su triangle, he said, giving a wave. For the first time all week, I could feel it, a smile on my face.
    It didn’t last long. Because of course my very next thought was to tell Cam, thinking how much Cam would like Ricky’s line, and how I’d probably never hear the end of it. Then I remembered a day last year when we were in Cam’s car, leavingschool, and we saw Ricky walking out the front door. You know the Greeks believed epilepsy was a sign from the gods, that you were touched, Cam said, and I tilted my head, like, What’s up with you and the Greeks anyhow? Cam raised his eyebrow, like, What can I tell you? Well, I don’t know about that, I said, and even if it’s true, I doubt that’s any consolation to Ricky. I felt so bad for Ricky, because I know how he hates being on the drugs they have him on, and I get it. Believe me, I totally get it. For what it’s worth, Ricky Meyers is one of the smartest kids I’ve ever known, Cam said, and I said, He’s flunking Algebra I. Cam tutored Ricky, too, that’s how they knew each other, and then Cam said, So? That doesn’t matter. Look at you, and I was just like, Oh… that’s low . I’m telling you, Thee, he said, honking and waving at Ricky as we drove by: That kid’s going to surprise you someday. Big time. You just wait, he said, looking in the rearview. Remembering that, I could hear Cam’s words as if he were standing right beside me, and watching Ricky walk down the hall, readjusting his backpack over his shoulder, it looked like someday was coming after all.
    Anyhow. By the end of the day, the air in the halls turned to static and started spreading through town. By Wednesday, the next morning, you got shocked, practically, stepping out your front door. Everything started wobbling, like someone was holding up one of those circus mirrors to the whole town, and suddenly, it seemed like anything could happen. It got everyone’s wheels spinning, kids started smiling at each other, like we were all in it together—we’re talking loser freshman boys and all the other outcasts, everyone, united.
    Thing is, those tire tracks that end in the middle of that field, the missing stars in the school flag, it wasn’t about someone getting away with vandalism or destruction; this was different. This was the kind of rejoicing you imagine they must feel in prison when one of the prisoners escapes. Because someone had figured a way out, and the rest of us, maybe we never thought about it before, but now we all knew there was a way out. And for better or worse, nothing would ever be the same.

SATURDAY, MARCH 5, 2011
    (FIVE WEEKS EARLIER)
    3:43 PM
    One day, I was sitting at my computer, and I was wearing this baggy sweatshirt, and when I leaned over, the shirt fell off my shoulder, right? I didn’t even think about it, because I was looking at my notebook, and Cam goes, Thee, can I write you something? He got up, walking over, squeezing my shoulders, and I go, Write on me, you mean? And Cam goes, If you insist, and I go, What, a love letter? He goes, You read my mind, and I knew he was up to something. But I handed him a Sharpie, then he pulled the sweatshirt down some more and started drawing on my shoulder blade, and it was long, too. Like on and on, and it tickled, and he goes, Hold still. And five minutes later, he finally waved his hand over my back, drying the skin, and then he goes: Voilà!
    So I went to the bathroom to read it in the big mirror, and you know what it was? Pythagorean Theorem —all over my back—ohmygod. I was just like, Cam, you are such a geek ! That’s nota love letter, I whined, and he goes, It is, too—I love it, and I ignored him, trying not to smile. Help me wipe it off, I said, so he grabbed the sponge from the shower and helped me scrub all the ink off. Then, of course, he just happened to spill a sponge full of water over my chest: Oops! he said, putting his fingers over his lips. Then he goes, Oh, you’re all wet, Thea, better take off your shirt, and I go, If I take off my shirt, will you write something nice? Cam held out his hand: Deal, I said, shaking, and we went back to my room and I took off my shirt.
    He kissed my ear, and then he put the pen in his mouth and pulled the pen out, and he drew something in like ten seconds. I go, Done? Already? And Cam goes, Done, and I got up and went back