Ghost Time

to the bathroom to look again, thinking, like, What is it this time? The Transitive Property? And then I saw what it was. He’d drawn over my scar—this scar I’ve had since I was a kid, on my shoulder blade. Cam had used it as an arrow that shot through a big heart, and in the heart, he wrote TD + CC = TLA. He was leaning against the door frame, watching me read, and then I looked at him. What’s it mean, TLA? I said, and he grinned, then he leaned forward and whispered, True. Love. Always. And at the moment, I would have given anything to stop time, just the two of us, and stay right there, forever.

THURSDAY, APRIL 21, 2011
    (SEVENTEEN DAYS LATER)
    12:13 PM
    Every day now, when all the kids got off the bus, everyone looked up at the flag, making sure it was all there, that all the stars were still there. It was, too, far as we can tell. But the thing is, deep down, we’re all hoping they’ll disappear again. We all wanted to see if all hell would break loose, if it does. Really, what better place for hell to break loose than a small-town high school like ours?
    Well, I knew something was up, next time they called me to the office. I mean, one look at Cheswick, and I knew Agent Foley was back, for one thing, but something more than that. Because when I passed Cheesy’s office, I stopped, and he said, Special Agent Foley is here. He stood up, joining me, and I nodded yes. I know, I said, and he followed behind. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he was dreading it more than I was.
    When I knocked and walked into the conference room, Foley was sitting across the table from the door, with some sort of laptop I’d never seen before, open. It was black, and it had this huge screen, and when I walked in, Foley was watching something, totally entranced. So I pulled out a chair and sat down, and he goes, When grown people speak of the innocence of children, they don’t really know what they mean. But it’s like he was saying it to the screen, not to me, so I just looked at him, not sure I heard him right. He kept watching whatever it was, but then he goes, In any case, thank you for coming in, Theadora, but then I couldn’t stop staring at the computer, because it looked like a MacBook, but a lot bigger. And for some reason, it gave me the chills, almost like he was watching us, or—I don’t know, it’s hard to explain.
    Cheesy closed the door, and he said, I’ll stand in the corner—pretend I’m not even here, Special Agent Foley, and Foley smiled and said, Of course, and I pulled out a chair, taking a seat across from him at the table. Then Foley goes, Tell me. Do you do well in your classes, Theadora? And I knew he knew I’m not the greatest student, but I said, Some. And he goes, Oh, really? Which? And I go, Art classes, and he goes, Yes, I’m told you are quite gifted, Theadora, so I took a look for myself. I must say, you are extremely talented—I’m particularly fond of this drawing, he said, removing a print from a black folder, behind his computer, pushing it toward me. I picked it up, wondering how the hell he’d seen any of my drawings, and then I just froze: because it was the drawing I’d done at Silver Top. That one of the Elders, The Last Cupper . Looking at it, I was shocked, because that’s in Hubble—I didn’t show that to anyone but Cam, and my first thought was that someone must’ve broken into my house or something, and I was trying not to panic.
    This one, too, Foley said, pulling out another drawing, and my mouth fell open. Because it was the same drawing, exactly the same, except that the Elders weren’t wearing any clothes. They were just four old men, hairy and short and tall and saggy and skinny and fat men, sitting in a red leather booth at Silver Top, and the only thing attractive about them were their elk heads—I drew each old man with their own crazy crown of antlers. But what’s really screwed up is that I didn’t draw that one—I only thought it. What I mean is that I thought of it, but I never actually drew that picture.
    I don’t know why, I just thought it’d be funny, but looking at it, it’s scary. Where did you get that? I snapped, suddenly feeling, I don’t know, angry? No, not angry, worse: violated. Foley acted surprised, and then he goes, On Flickr, Theadora. On John Cameron’s Flickr photostream. I looked through everything of yours he posted there, and, again, I’m quite impressed, he said, smiling and folding his hands. And when he