by Justin Olson
The new nurse, Susan McLean, walks into the room. “Oh, hi, Charlie.” Every time Ms. McLean sees me, her face lights up as if I were some long-lost child of hers. Even though she started working here only a few weeks ago, and even though our conversations are limited, she is already one of my favorite people.
“Hi, Ms. McLean.” She insisted I call her Susan when I first met her, but I don’t want to be so casual with the woman who takes care of my grandma.
“Call me Susan, Charlie.” She bends down in front of my grandma. “Hi, Eloise. Having a good afternoon? Your grandson is here to see you again.”
“Grandson?” asks my grandma.
I stand in the corner of the room watching, waiting for Ms. McLean—Susan—to finish her work. I like to stay out of her way.
Ms. McLean points to me. “You remember Charlie?”
My grandma looks at me absently and smiles just as absently. “Is he home from work already? I haven’t had time to make dinner.”
Ms. McLean looks at me and smiles ruefully, then turns back to my grandma. “I’m here to take your vitals, okay?” The state must not know that this particular nursing home exists, because everything is so old and worn—including the nursing equipment. Ms. McLean checks my grandma’s heart rate, then checks her forehead for any temperature, which is easier than trying to get my grandma to keep a thermometer in her mouth. Finally Ms. McLean checks her blood pressure.
Watching Ms. McLean work, I wonder why everything in my life seems so abandoned and unloved—from my grandma’s nursing home, to my high school, to my house, to this town in general.
Okay, so I’m being melodramatic. But really, who pays attention to forgotten people in forgotten towns? Or maybe it’s just me who wants to forget about it all?
THE LOST ABYSS
• • • • •
Night has descended. I stare out the window in my bedroom and then wonder if the website has been updated yet. Near the window is a small wooden desk that I inherited from my mother after she disappeared. She used it to handwrite long, meandering manifestos on contemporary society, and I use it to hold my ancient laptop. I click on the Montana UFO Sightings website. I go to the Sightings page, which still hasn’t been updated. Could I have been the only person to have heard and seen what I heard and saw?
I swear I’m not making it up.
I click on the Contact page. This will be the first time I’ve ever written to Meridian X. That’s all it says for her name—no last name or anything, other than X.
I ask if anyone spotted anything in Whitehall, Montana, yesterday around midnight. I tell her what I heard and saw and that I am looking for confirmation. Maybe someone else saw the same light? Heard the same noise? I click send.
After a few seconds of waiting, staring at my inbox, I close my laptop. I go back to the window and stare out into the Great Beyond, but all I see is darkness tonight.
“Where are you?” I ask under my breath.
A Great Nothingness echoes back to me.
NO HABLO INGLÉS
• • • • •
Ms. Monakey’s Spanish classroom is overly decorated. There are probably no fewer than fifty posters hanging up, and they cover every square inch of formerly bare wall. Each poster has a Spanish word and a drawing accompanying it. For instance, there’s “manzana” and a drawing of a red apple. Or “chica” and a little Dora the Explorer–type cartoon girl waving. I guess Ms. Monakey doesn’t want us to forget some of the more common Spanish words, but the posters do seem a little childish.
Ms. Monakey is a nice teacher, but she is a redheaded girl with pale skin and freckles. So I’m occasionally caught off guard when she speaks Spanish. But I guess Whitehall, Montana, gets Irish-looking girls to teach Spanish. We’re probably lucky to even have a Spanish class.
Sitting at my desk, waiting for first period to start, I check my email, and there’s nothing from Meridian X. So I pull up the Montana UFO Sightings website to see if anything has been updated there, but there’s still nothing. This is frustrating because that site is supposed to be an authority on all things paranormal in the state, but it hasn’t been updated in more than a month.
“Same site?” comes a familiar voice. “Or should I still mind my own business?”
Seth stands over me. “Oh. Uh.” I hit the home button on my phone, and the site disappears.
“What are you looking for?” he asks.
“Just seeing if they had any information on that bright light from the other night.”
“Ah,” says Seth, taking his seat behind me. “Do they?”
“No.”
“So you believe in UFOs, then?”
I chuckle like he’s crazy. “Not really. Do you?”
He smiles and pulls off the camera from around his neck. “Not sure. Never seen one. But maybe they’re out there in the Great Beyond.” He uses his hand to gesture through the air as if covering everything.
I nod. But deep inside I am all butterflies because he also uses the phrase “the Great Beyond.” “Maybe,” I say back. “I like your camera. Do you work for the school newspaper or something?”
“Nah,” he says. “I just love photography. And you never know when an opportunity for a great shot will present itself.”
Students finish filing into class as the final bell rings, and Ms. Monakey stands, clasps her hands, and says, “Okay, class. Let’s begin.”
As she speaks Spanish, my mind drifts.
About halfway through class I hear an ear-rattling buzz before a white light blinds the room. The light fades quickly, like a camera flash. The same light I saw in my bedroom. Ms. Monakey’s wide eyes search everywhere. “What’s going on?” Students are looking around quizzically. But I know what’s happening, so I sit confidently. Quietly. My hands are folded as if waiting for my name to be called.
The classroom door bursts open, with smoke hurling through the classroom. As the smoke clears, three aliens about six feet tall walk in. They have big rounded triangle-shaped heads and super skinny bodies. Their eyes are like a fly’s (big, multiple lenses) and they have one slit about an inch long for their noses. Their skin is green—no, gray. They quickly scan the room from the doorway, and the screaming students stop.
“You,” says the alien in front of the pack. “Charlie. Come with us. We’re here to release you from Spanish class and from this miserable existence you call a life.”
The students cheer for me as I rise from my desk. Seth high-fives me, and Ms. Monakey mouths “Nice work,” then winks at me.
“Charlie? Earth to Charlie.”
I snap back to class as Ms. Monakey waves her hand at me to get my attention. The class snickers.
“Sorry.”
“Where did you go, Charlie? You looked like you were in some other world.” She shakes her head and says, “Please pay attention. I asked, what is the word for ‘apple’ in Spanish?”
Damn, where is that poster? I scan the wall. . . .
I hear a whisper behind me. “Manzana.”
I repeat the word, more loudly.
Ms. Monakey looks at me. “Good. Next time try it without Seth’s help.”
The bell rings, and I turn to Seth. “Thanks for helping me.”
He shrugs as he puts his camera back around his neck. “Easy one.” He grabs his backpack. “Hey, Charlie. Where do you eat lunch?”
I’m not sure I heard him clearly. No one has ever asked me that. I blink. “Uh?”
Seth laughs. “That thing between fourth and fifth period, when you fill your stomach with nutrients or pizza?”
“Oh, right. That. I don’t usually. I mean, I eat. But I usually go to . . .” I realize that I don’t want to tell him where I eat lunch because I don’t want him to think I’m a loser. “Why do you want to know?” I eye him suspiciously.
“I just haven’t seen you in the cafeteria. I’d like to eat lunch with you.”
“Uh-huh,” I say slowly.
He chuckles. “Don’t be so suspicious.
I swear, I will not throw food at you.”
“Okay. That’s one possibility. What about stuffing food down my pants? Squashing it on my head? Or—”
“Jesus, what kind of person do you take me for?”
We make our way out of Ms. Monakey’s classroom and into the hallway. As we walk, I say, “You know that talking to me is social suicide, right? You’re aware of that? I don’t even want to imagine what would happen if you were seen eating lunch with me. Take my advice, Seth. Stay far away.” I feel so stupid. Why am I saying these things? Why can’t I just be happy that someone wants to eat lunch with me?
Seth gazes between people in the hallway. “Well, you seem to be more interesting than most around here.”
“An amoeba is more interesting than most around here. That doesn’t say too much.”
I freeze in my tracks. Seth stops quickly too. “What?” he asks.
Walking toward us is Jennifer Bennett(!), the school’s hottest girl. She is a sophomore and is news editor for the school newspaper, until next year, when she becomes managing editor. I realize that I stopped walking, so I get my feet moving again, except that they’re not moving.
Oh shit. Here she comes.
“Just act natural,” I tell him, thinking that everyone acts as weirdly as I do around Jennifer Bennett.
“Are you going to fill me in?”
Yes, I want to fill him in, but what’s to say when she’s so close and I can’t get my feet to move? “That’s Jennifer Bennett.”
“Yeah. I have a few classes with her. So?” says Seth. I think he was expecting more to that story.
“She’s—”
Seth looks at me. “You like her?”
My face burns. Okay, so there are a couple of reasons why I like her. It’s not just because I find her physically attractive. She’s smart. She’s caring. And she has stood up for me in the past. In fact, she was the only one who didn’t make fun of me after the town heard about what my mom did.
She’s right next to us, and I turn away from her so that she can’t see me. Not the best strategy for winning a girl over. But I haven’t fully thought through my strategy of how to get her to like me, and being stuck to the middle of a school hallway doesn’t say much in the way of confidence.
My head turns quickly back to her when I hear Seth say, “Hey, Jennifer.” He says it so casually, like it’s not tearing him up to speak to her.
Jennifer smiles. “Seth, right?”
I’m not sure I even comprehend what’s happening.
“Nice camera,” she continues. “We’re looking for someone to take some pictures for the newspaper next year. Interested?”
“Absolutely.”
“Awesome. Stop by the newspaper room after school. I’ll get you a form.”
Jennifer Bennett(!) is having a conversation a foot away from me. Though, she doesn’t even acknowledge my presence. Then again, I am trying to pretend I’m a fake plant. Something that blends into its surroundings. I’m apparently succeeding.
Seth turns. “And you know Charlie.”
Suddenly Jennifer Bennett’s eyes are drilling holes into my soul.
After she leaves, I realize that she might’ve said something. I might’ve said something. Or maybe nobody said anything. How awkward would that have been? All I know is that once she’s gone, Seth turns to me and says, “She seems nice. Why don’t you talk to her?”
I gulp. My brain slowly returns to a functioning level.
Seth laughs and shakes his head. “See you in the cafeteria, Charlie.”
Hearing the donkey sounds of the Ass Trio down the hall, I will my feet to move before I’m seen. Though, I still largely feel like a fake plant.
SO THIS IS WHAT THE CAFETERIA SMELLS LIKE
• • • • •
I’m sitting in World Cultures watching the clock tick from 11:58 to 11:59 as my thumbs fidget. Lunch is in one minute. I typically avoid places like the cafeteria, where large groups of students gather without prominent adult supervision. So naturally I’m nervous about eating lunch with Seth in the cafeteria.
My heart flutters when the lunch bell rings and people hastily make their way out of the classroom. I want my feet to grow roots and stay planted here. But instead I inch my way down the brown-tiled hallway with my sack lunch (that I pack every day so that I can eat anywhere but the cafeteria).
Our school lunch situation is a bit different from most, at least from what I’ve been told. Whitehall High School students—even the supremely popular ones—eat in the cafeteria. It is for one simple reason: pizza. Our pizza place in town has about three tables and is the slowest pizza place in the world. And if you’re thinking about McDonald’s or Taco Bell, well, I’m sad to report that Whitehall is too small to have those. We have one Subway, which is connected to the gas station near the interstate. That’s the same place that I work at—but I work on the other side of the gas station, at the diner. So most of the students eat in the cafeteria.
I hesitate near the double doors as I hear the chaos of sounds coming from inside. Once I turn the corner, all bets are off on what happens next. For all I know, everyone’s ready to throw food at me.
* * *
At the beginning of the school year, I came to eat in the cafeteria before I knew better. Live and learn, right? I was alone. As usual. And I’d just gotten my pizza. I held my tray and looked around at all the familiar strangers, and slowly trudged to an empty table.
I felt awkward and self-conscious. I had just sat when I heard Joey’s voice above me. “Hey, look. My favorite writer is here. And all by himself.”
Matt and Psych stood next to him.
“Taking a break from your novel?”
I didn’t look up at any of them. I took a bite of my pizza.
I felt Joey flick my ear as he laughed and said, “Come out of your study more often. I like you, DICK-ens. And you might make some friends.”
My face turned beet red.
“That pizza looks good.” He took it out of my hands and acted like he was going to take a bite but then dropped it onto the floor. “Whoops. Greasy.”
All the students were laughing, and I felt exposed and vulnerable. I felt like the entire school was against me. I just wanted to run away. That’s all I ever want to do.
Joey leaned over the table and hugged me very exaggeratedly. “Love you, Charles.” He laughed and flicked my ear again before walking off. Matt and Psych followed, but not without flicking my ear too.
After a few more not-so-pleasant encounters, I decided to forgo the cafeteria.
And eat alone.
* * *
I take a deep breath and face the cafeteria straight on. I scan the room and see that students are scattered from table to table, talking or eating or laughing. It’s almost like no one is even aware of my existence at the cafeteria entrance—which is great.
I search but can’t find Seth anywhere. I don’t want to walk into the chaos that is the cafeteria, and it’s small enough that I can see everyone anyway. If he’s not here, then I guess I’ll go back to my secret hiding place. I’m feeling duped, and as I turn, I bump right into him.
“Where you going, Charlie?”
“I thought you weren’t coming.”
“You thought I’d ditch you? Harsh. Mr. Roberts had to talk to me.”
I need to shake off my insecurity. “Where do you want to sit?”
“I don’t care. Lead the way.”
I walk to the table that’s closest to the doors. It’s practically empty. “This is good. In case we have to make a run for it.”
Seth laughs, because he thinks I’m joking.
Seth’s talking as we eat our turkey sandwiches—I love turkey, but I’m transfixed by Jennifer Bennett sitting across the room. Her blond hair and slim face with her sharp nose and dark brown eyes make her so beautiful.
Seth clears his throat, and I look to him. He’s staring at me, expectantly.
“Sorry?”
Seth laugh
s again. “Never mind. Nice glasses, by the way. I have contacts.”
What is happening right now? Not only am I in the cafeteria, but someone cool is eating next to me and talking to me. And I can’t get out of my head enough to enjoy it.
Earth to Charlie. Come back.
“So tell me something about yourself, besides the secret fact that you’re into UFOs,” Seth says.
I feel my face turn red. “You can’t tell anyone that.”
“My lips are sealed.”
Then I wonder, why would Seth have my back? Why wouldn’t he use this information to make my life hell and to gain some popularity?
“What are you thinking about now? It’s like your brain is never quiet.” Seth chuckles again as he takes a bite of his sandwich.
I watch him chew. “Are you a sophomore?”
Seth nods. “Yep.”
This is just too weird. Why would a sophomore want to hang out with a freshman? Let alone me? This has to be a trap—and yet, it feels real.
“You know . . .” He stares at me as I talk. “I’m a freshman, right?” I’m ready for him to blink and grab his food and leave me right here. Not another word said. And you know what? I’d get it. I wouldn’t even fault him for it.
So I’m bracing myself, but instead he laughs. “Yeah, I know. You’re a freshman for a few more days and then you’ll be a sophomore. Like me.” He winks.
“Not sure it works like that,” I say.
“Charlie, I don’t care what grade you’re in. It’s not about that.”
Then what’s it about? I clear my throat. “So you’re okay with it?”
Seth stares at me as he tries to figure out if I’m being serious. “Would I be sitting here eating lunch with you if I wasn’t okay with it? Or if I didn’t like you? Just, relax.”
