“It’s okay,” I said, saving him. “I get what you mean.”
“Thanks,” he laughed. “Looks like you’re getting used to people not knowing what to say, huh?”
“A little bit.”
“So anyway. Principal Carson wanted me to check on you every now and then to make sure things are going okay. And to let you know that we’ll do whatever we can to make this easier for you, Travis.”
“Thanks.”
“The press . . . have they bothered you at home or anything?”
“No. There’s a cop patrolling the neighborhood for a while to make sure they leave us alone.”
“That’s good,” he said. He looked so nervous and twitchy, like he was talking to someone really famous or something.
“Yeah. I’m not ready to talk to the press just yet. Not sure I ever will be.”
“I don’t blame you one bit. It must be difficult for you—to be thrown into something so much bigger than, well, being a teenager in Kansas City.”
“Dad says they’ll lose interest eventually.”
“Probably. Something weirder will happen and they’ll leave you alone.”
“Yeah.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to say weird. Something else . . . I don’t know . . . newsworthy.”
“Mr. Franklin,” I said. “I’m thinking weird is probably the right word here.”
“And you’ve made some new friends this week?”
“A few.”
“Mrs. Lasetter says you hit it off with Hatton Sharpe. That’s good. Hatton’s a good kid.”
“He’s funny, yeah.”
“And you know Audrey Hagler, right? Her brother’s a friend of yours?”
“Yes, sir. Kyle. My best friend.”
“That’s great. This must be so strange for you. I’ve got to be honest here and say I’ve felt a little clueless. There isn’t really any research for cases like yours. I was a bit worried.”
“And now?” I asked. “Still worried?”
“Not really. You seem okay, I think. Do you think you’re okay?”
“Can I get back to you on that?”
He smiled and stood up, grabbing a set of keys out of his desk drawer.
“Before you go, Travis, I have something for you.”
“Okay.”
He unlocked and opened this tall, metal cabinet and brought out a brown cardboard box. He set it down in front of me, and I saw that it was full of sealed envelopes. Most were white, but some were yellow and green and even pink. A few had stickers on the front. They were all addressed to me.
“What’s this?” I asked.
“I think it’s fan mail,” he said. “We’ve been getting them since you came back.”
“Oh. Huh.”
“We haven’t opened any of them or anything. They’re all yours.”
I picked one up, a green one, and used my index finger to tear it open. There was a single sheet of notebook paper inside folded three times. I unfolded it, and since Mr. Skinny Tie was just watching me the whole time, I started reading out loud.
Dear Travis,
My name is Claudia King, and I’ve been following your story on the news. I think what’s happened to you is the most inspiring thing I’ve ever heard. I lost my son when he was a little boy, and I’ve had a hard time dealing with his death. I’ve even questioned my faith. But when I heard about you, I started praying again. I hope you have a very happy, long life.
Sincerely,
Claudia King
“Wow,” Mr. Franklin said.
“I don’t want these.”
“I’m sorry?”
“I don’t want these,” I said, dropping the letter back into the box. “You have to keep them. I don’t want them.”
“Travis, it’s really great that your story means so much to all these people.”
“Throw them away. Read them yourself. Whatever. It doesn’t matter. Just keep them away from me.”
“Okay,” he said. “I don’t understand, but whatever you like.”
“Are we done, Mr. Franklin? I need to go back to class.”
“Sure, Travis. We’ll talk soon.”
I left his office as quickly as possible, and I didn’t notice the shiny floors this time or the smell of popcorn or any of the other creepy, silent shit going on in the school. I couldn’t think about anything except for that letter and all the other letters in that box. I felt like my head was spinning, like maybe the damn thing was about to twist right off my body, so I ducked into the first bathroom I came to and ran into one of the stalls. I leaned down over the toilet with my hands pushing against the walls on each side of me, and I don’t know if it was the letters or the fact that my face was so close to a public toilet, or both, but I puked Jeremy Pratt’s guts out.
Hatton’s mom picked us up after school, and I didn’t say anything to him about the letters or the counselor. And I definitely didn’t say anything about throwing up in the bathroom because I was afraid if I thought about it too much, I’d start right up again. Thank God I was going to Hatton’s house, because I obviously needed some distraction.
At Hatton’s I stood in the hallway while he begged his brother, Skylar, who was twelve years old, to borrow his skateboard. The only way we could get him to lend it to us was if I agreed to let him take a picture of my scar. When I stepped into his room, he immediately started attacking me with questions.
Did it hurt? Is there a video anywhere of them chopping off your head? Can I see it? What did you think about for five years? If you get phantom limb syndrome for your entire body, how will you even know? Is your new thing bigger or smaller than your old thing?
And I answered them with my usual enthusiasm:
No. I hope not. No. Nothing. I have no idea. None of your business, dude.
But then he got really quiet and asked about the others. Leave it to a middle schooler to be the only one brave enough to ask me about them.
“There were seventeen volunteers,” I said. “Lawrence and I were the last two they tried to bring back. And the only two who woke up.”
“So they just died?” he asked, his skateboard still in his hand.
“Unless maybe they were dead the whole time.”
“But you weren’t. That Ramsey guy wasn’t,” Hatton added.
“Yeah, but I think maybe something could’ve gone wrong five years ago when they put them under. It’s just that we were lucky, I guess.”
“Really lucky,” Skylar said, handing me the board.
“Now let’s see if I can’t break a few bones to make up for it,” I joked.
Before long we were outside in their driveway, staring down at the board.
“Go on, then,” Hatton said.
“I’m a little nervous.”
“Jeremy Pratt wouldn’t be nervous.”
“He’s dead.”
“So are you. Big deal.”
I stepped up on the skateboard, my left foot forward, my right foot behind it and slanted, and I swayed back and forth for a second, bent down at the knees, just tried to get a feel for it, tried to balance myself before I started moving. I closed my eyes, let my right foot touch the smooth concrete of Hatton’s driveway, and I kicked off.
And in that moment, I swear to you, gravity changed. I’m not sure if it was the height difference or the bigger feet or the fact that maybe I wasn’t all that scared to die anymore, but I was riding that thing like I’d invented it, like I’d forged the world’s first skateboard out of pure kickass in the fires of Mount Awesome. Or maybe, by some off chance, there was still a trace of Jeremy Pratt left in this body. Hatton and Skylar started clapping their hands and cheering for me, and eventually pumping their fists in the air.
“Your turn,” I said, letting the board slide from under my foot and roll over toward Hatton.
“No way, José. I’ve still got a scar from the last time I tried.”
“Ah, come on. You only live twice.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
YO
U ONLY LIVE TWICE
I called Lawrence Ramsey again that weekend and told him about the letters. He said he was still getting them, said he thinks we’ll both get them until there’s more people like us—ones who wake up, anyway—and then maybe the novelty will wear off.
“The letters that call you an abomination and accuse you of being the anti-Christ aren’t the worst ones. Those are mostly just funny,” he said. “It’s when they start saying ‘miracle’ and ‘blessing’ . . . that’s when they get to you.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Believe me, I know.”
“What’re we supposed to do with that, huh?” He raised his voice a little. “What the hell are we supposed to do with ourselves if we go around thinking we’re some great gift from God or the universe or whatever? Like we’re special or something? Lucky. We’re lucky.”
“You all right?” I asked.
“I’m fine.” He was still nearly shouting. “Look, Travis. It’s been a long few months. Sorry. It gets frustrating, and Lord knows I haven’t made it any easier on myself. But hell, it’s like everyone expects us to explain how this all works. We don’t have any more answers than they do.”
“Less, I think.”
“This helps, though. Knowing it’s not just me anymore.”
“Gee, thanks,” I said, laughing.
“Oh, you know what I mean.”
• • •
The one-month anniversary of my reanimation was the same day I decided I couldn’t wait a second longer to see Cate. So I did what any resurrected teenage boy desperate to see his soul mate would do. I showed up at her parents’ front door holding a bouquet of flowers from Target and wearing a tie. I knew she didn’t live there anymore, but I also knew that my once future in-laws did and that I needed to do as much as I could to be back in these people’s lives, whether they were ready for it or not.
I was always pretty nervous any time I was about to be reunited with someone. A lot of people, like my grandma and my aunt Cindy, just hugged me a lot and cried and blew their noses and kept asking me things about how I was feeling. And then others, like our next-door neighbors, would stare at my scar and pretend they weren’t staring at it and say, “The neighborhood sure wasn’t the same without you,” and other meaningless things like that. Some people tried to play it very cool, like what happened to me wasn’t any big deal at all. But I could see it, the silent freaking-out. Like the first time I went back to church with my mom, and people were whispering and pointing at us. I swear I even heard one lady say “unnatural” when we walked past. People don’t like being confronted with things they don’t understand, I guess. Just about every night there’d be someone on the news arguing over my existence and what it meant for science and religion and humanity. It was all a bit overwhelming.
So of course I was wondering how Cate’s parents would react. Five years before, I’d been the love of their daughter’s life. But then I went away and this new guy swooped in, and I guess what I really needed to know was that they hadn’t forgotten me, that even if you’re gone for as long as I was, that people who treated you like their own son would still look at you the same.
I knocked three quick times, the way I always knocked on their door, and I waited there with the flowers covering my face. I was rocking from side to side, trying not to be nervous but also crawling out of my skin a little bit.
As soon as Cate’s mom opened the door, she started screaming. I hadn’t even moved the flowers from my face. She knew it was me. It was one of those excited but shocked screams, like Publishers Clearing House was at the door with a check for a million dollars. She put both hands to her mouth, shook her head, and then attacked me. She still hadn’t said a word, and now she was swaying us back and forth a bit with her arms wrapped all the way around me. It was less of a hug and more of a wrestling move, her head nearly tucked under my arm. The flowers didn’t survive.
“Hey,” I said.
“Travis Coates. My God in Heaven. Travis Coates. I love you. Do you know that?”
She stepped back and led me by the hand inside. She was wearing faded blue jeans and a pink T-shirt. The house was exactly the same—cramped, dimly lit, and with the faint smell of motor oil. It was attached to an auto repair shop, after all.
“Glen! You will not believe who it is!”
“These are for you.” I handed her the squashed flowers, a few petals falling to the floor.
“Travis, you charmer. I should be giving you flowers.”
“Why would you do that?”
“I don’t know. You know what I mean. GLEN!”
“That Travis?” Glen said, rounding the corner.
It was amazing how little the two of them had changed in five years. They had the same clothes, same hairstyles, same, well, everything. I loved it. I wanted to stand there for as long as I could and listen to them talking to each other and asking me questions and just being the way they always were. For a few minutes I forgot I was living in the future, like Glen and Janice had been preserved perfectly in a time-immune bubble just waiting for me to come back.
They asked a lot of the same things that everyone asked me back then. But it wasn’t uncomfortable with them—nothing ever was. Glen even walked over and started inspecting my scar, his breath hot on the side of my face as he tried to convince Janice to have a closer look.
“Glen, stop that. Leave him alone.”
“You’re telling me one of the two people on Earth to come back from the dead walks into my house and I can’t even see the scar? Look at this thing. Weirdest thing I’ve ever seen in my life,” he spouted out with great speed, like always.
“So I guess you know about Cate, huh?” Janice said, sitting across from me at their dining room table.
“Yeah.”
“Gettin’ married at twenty-one years old. Ridiculous,” Glen said so quickly I barely caught it.
“He’s a good man,” Janice said. “He’s got a degree, a good job, a nice place in Springside.”
“He lives in Springside?”
“Yep. Cate’s there too—she moved in with him a few months ago.”
“How old is . . . sorry, what’s his name?” I lied. I knew his name. I was trying to play less like the jealous boyfriend and more like the understanding victim. It was torture.
“Turner. He’s twenty-five.”
“Pretty old,” I said. “What’s he do?”
“He works with computers for this big company, AdverTech. He’s super smart. Got a good head on his shoulders.”
She got really quiet when she realized what she’d said. She looked embarrassed, but I just started laughing and broke the tension up pretty quick. It was pretty funny. Glen was still shaking his head at her a few minutes later when I asked them how I could get in touch with Cate.
“You know, Travis. It’s just that . . .”
“I know. I know this is hard and that she’s got a different life now, but I have to see her.”
“It’s just not fair, is it?” Glen said. “What’s happened to you.”
“Oh, what do you want with a girl in her twenties anyway? You’re a teenager still. You get a do-over. Have some fun.” Janice reached out and slapped the side of my leg.
“Janice,” Glen said. “He just got back. Take it easy.”
“I should probably go.”
I stood up and started heading for the door. I wanted to stay, though. I wanted to go to Cate’s old room and sit down on the floor at the foot of her bed and watch her put on her makeup. I wanted to play with the metal Slinky she always kept on her nightstand and pretend to be frustrated with how long it took her to get ready, just so she’d give me that look in her mirror from across the room, the one where she raised one eyebrow and snarled a little bit with her top lip. I wanted her to be there the way she would’ve always been there. But she wasn’t.
“Travis.” Janice cornered me by the door, stood really close, and put her hand on my face.
“It’s okay. I understand.”
“Listen, I’ll talk to her. Glen’s right. It’s not fair. She’s different. Everyone’s different, but you’re not. You’re just Travis. The sweet boy who got dealt a pretty bad hand the first go-round.”
“I feel the same,” I said. “Except for, you know, the obvious.” I held my arms out, looked down at my body.
“Well, you’re better. You’re alive. Lord knows that’s a big improvement from the last time I saw you. So maybe some things have changed.” She lightly tapped one finger on my forehead. “But not where it matters.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
WHERE IT MATTERS
They say high school is the best time of your life. Well, it wasn’t the best time of either of mine. Though my first attempt at it was pretty short-lived. I was fifteen when I got sick and then, like I said before, I gave up even trying to do any of the work they sent me. All told, I had about a year and a half of high school before I had to quit, and a lot of that was bogged down with doctor’s appointments and sick half days.
And the second round of high school felt unnatural in every way. I didn’t know anyone and, as it turns out, I didn’t know anything, either. Three and a half weeks in, and I already felt like I was going to fail all my classes. All I could think about was Cate, with a healthy dose of Kyle thrown in. Why hadn’t he just told everyone he was gay? He’d spent all these years not living the way he was meant to. There I was aching all over to have some sense of normalcy, to have any kind of glimpse of the life I was used to, and I couldn’t understand why he’d wasted all these years, years I didn’t get, living this lie. Maybe that wasn’t fair, but my brain wasn’t all that accustomed to fairness around that time.
“What do you think about this for a band name: A Reptile Dysfunction?” Hatton asked at lunch one day.
“I love it.”
“Me too. Can you play the drums?”
“No.”
“Damn. Oh well. What’s wrong, man?”
“Things are just weird. I dunno.”
“Yep. You’re officially a member of the living once again. Things are always weird.”
“Let me ask you something.”
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