Thirteen Days to Midnight

by Patrick Carman

  “I’ll tell you one thing,” Milo jumped in, wiping the corners of his cheese-laden mouth. “Number two on your list: Should we keep it secret? Absolutely. Anyone finds out and it’s straight to CIA headquarters for all of us. Lots of needles and when it’s all over they use Jacob as a military weapon. To hell with that.”

  “You’re nuts, but probably right,” I said. “We have to keep it secret no matter what.”

  “Luckily no one would believe us anyway,” said Oh.

  “One thing we can test right now is whether or not Jacob can protect someone he doesn’t care about,” said Milo. “We know he likes you.” He nodded in Oh’s general direction.

  “Yeah, a lot more than he likes you,” said Oh. It didn’t look like Milo appreciated the joke very much.

  “That’s debatable,” said Milo.

  “Is not,” said Oh.

  She leaned in and put her pink cast against my cheek, kissing me quickly on the lips.

  “That’s incredibly unfair. If we were gay you’d be up a creek without a paddle. You wouldn’t even be in the game.”

  “He’s right, you know,” I said.

  “Aw. You guys are having a bromance. That’s really cute.”

  “How about we just agree that I like you both the same,” I said. Before they could keep baiting each other, I continued, “Out of all the girls in this school, the one that I care about the least has got to be Emily. She plays head games with guys like Nick and Phil.”

  “Perfect,” said Oh. “She’s sitting right over there with the rest of her posse. See if you can slip her the diamond.”

  “That sounded all wrong,” I said.

  “Lunch is almost over. Just do it,” she urged.

  “Okay, okay—don’t rush me,” I said, sighing. I won-dered if I would ever get it back and felt a heaviness in my gut as if something were hunkering down, hoping not to be disturbed. I looked at Emily, said the words, and waited. I imagined a black beast leaving my body, hovering around me and wanting back in, then dutifully floating away and disappearing into Emily’s lithe body.

  “How about putting that fork to good use, Milo?” asked Oh. “Go work your magic on the ladies’ club.”

  Milo had been going to school with these girls since kindergarten. He didn’t have the slightest problem making small talk. I watched as he approached them, fork in hand, and sat down sideways on the plastic chair next to Emily. We couldn’t really see what he was doing, other than making all the girls laugh about something.

  Then, he turned to me and mouthed: Give it to me. I took it back from Emily, thought the words, and now Milo had the power.

  Everything seemed to be going fine until Marissa screamed. She looked at Milo like he had just snapped her bra and slapped him across the face. She got up and stormed off, followed by Mary, June, and Emily.

  “That didn’t look good,” I said. “I guess we’ve got some limitations after all.”

  When Milo arrived, he was incensed.

  “Thanks a lot, Oh. It’s not bad enough I have to be the third wheel with you two, now every girl in school thinks I’m an idiot.”

  “What did you do, grab her boob?” I joked. Oh started laughing. She had a certain laugh that would not be denied—you either joined in or left the premises—and Milo couldn’t stop himself from cracking a smile.

  “You can check one more item off your list.”

  Oh and I looked at each other, then back at Milo for an explanation.

  “I poked Emily as hard as I could. Nothing, nada—she didn’t even notice,” he said, holding up the fork. “Then, when you gave me the signal that I had it, I said the words in my head—you are indestructible—looking right at Marissa. Then I tried the same thing on her.”

  Oh started flipping pages in her pink diamond booklet until she came to the checklist.

  “It looks like it can’t go more than one person past you, Jake-o. One degree of separation, that’s all we get.”

  Oh scribbled in her notebook as she talked. “Jacob to Milo, yes; Milo to Marissa, no.”

  “I don’t think I’d keep eating mac and cheese with that thing,” I said, looking at the fork in Milo’s hand.

  Milo shrugged, digging into his plastic bowl for one last bite. “I probably shouldn’t have risked it. Ten to one she’s on her cell talking to Ethan right now, telling him how I stuck a fork in her ass. That’s not likely to go over very well.”

  “Yeah, good old Marissa. She can’t stay mad at Ethan. This’ll just give her an excuse to get him even more riled up.”

  Milo downed the last bite of his lunch and shook his head.

  “I’ve stabbed two people with a fork today. What’s wrong with me?”

  Oh was making some final notes on the pad as she said “Get it back” without looking up.

  “Already did,” I said slyly.

  “You are so crafty, Jacob Fielding. What’s going on in that head of yours?”

  If I’d told her the truth—that I couldn’t bear to part with the power for very long without feeling like it would claw me to death trying to get back inside—she probably wouldn’t have been so cavalier.

  The lunch bell rang and we agreed to do one last test after school, then meet at the loft at Coffin Books to do some studying. Oh said she had a plan, and that if the last test went as she expected it to, things were about to get really interesting.

  “You ready?” I asked. I rarely used my cell phone to call anyone but I felt an overwhelming desire to hear Oh’s voice.

  Milo and I were standing at the edge of the woods, barely in the parking lot, letting a soft drizzle wet our hair for reasons I can’t begin to explain. Something about living in Oregon has made us prefer the feeling of slight dampness on our skin.

  “Still on my board,” answered Oh. It sounded like she was out of breath from making the ten-block longboard journey from Holy Cross to her apartment.

  “Are you close?” I asked.

  “Yeah, I’m pulling into the parking lot now. Give me a couple of minutes to find a hammer.” Oh hung up while I was still talking, and I turned to Milo.

  “She needs five more minutes and we’re good to go.”

  “Have you already forked over the diamond?”

  “Nope,” I answered, not the least bit interested in letting it go if I didn’t have to. I wasn’t telling Milo or Oh, but it was getting harder to transfer the power every time I did it. Something about it felt wrong, like I wasn’t supposed to be doing it to begin with, like whatever it was didn’t want out. And that was only the half of it. The clawing or biting—I didn’t even know what to call it—it was getting stronger when it tried to get back in, too.

  We checked our phones every minute or so, pacing in the parking lot scattered with cars and wondering what was taking so long. Some students were playing tennis around the front of the school, but other than that, Holy Cross was a quiet place on a Thursday afternoon.

  “How long does it take to find a hammer?” asked Milo. “She should just use a book or something.”

  The test was simple: Could I transfer the power from a long distance and then get it back again? If the test worked then it would open up a world of possibility. I could protect anyone I wanted to. Heck, I could protect the president if I wanted. Oh was planning to hit herself with a hammer. Not too dangerous and fast to boot, just the kind of test we needed.

  “Tell her to hit herself with a frying pan,” said Milo. “I’m dying for some chow and this is getting seriously boring.”

  My phone buzzed.

  Okay. I’m ready.

  I hesitated, my thumbs hovering ghostlike over the keyboard.

  “Did I mention I’m hungry? Just send it over already,” said Milo.

  And so I did, closing my eyes and envisioning Oh smiling just so, her bangs hanging loose over her eyes.

  We wanted to make sure that the power was able to transfer to someone without actually speaking to the person, so I texted her back instead of calling.

&nb
sp; You got it.

  A minute later she hadn’t replied. “Call her,” Milo demanded, stepping around to the other side of his car and opening his door. He looked down the long driveway to the street beyond, and it was all I could do not to wrench the power back into myself. It was lurking outside in the world, searching for a way back in.

  “Someone’s coming,” said Milo. I followed his gaze.

  “That’s not someone, it’s Ethan.”

  “Is she done? Can you get it back? I think it might come in handy about now.”

  Still no text from Oh. I tapped out her number and held the phone to my ear as the two-tone MINI Cooper came closer. It was a car I would have liked had it not been owned by a guy I couldn’t stand.

  Oh picked up just about the time Ethan revved the engine of the little car, munching old pavement into gravel in its path.

  “You done?” I asked.

  “No! You need to let me keep it.”

  It wasn’t a request, it was an order, like she was in control.

  “Is everything okay over there? What’s happening?”

  “Just don’t take it back yet. Give me a little more time. I need to do one more thing.”

  Ethan had come within a few feet of Milo’s crummy Geo Metro and slammed on the brakes, sliding sideways and coming to a stop without a lot of room for error. I had to hand it to Ethan, the guy could drive.

  “Milo Coffin, you nearly jumped out of your bra!” he howled, stepping out of the MINI Cooper.

  “I have to take it back,” I said into the phone. But Oh was gone. She’d hung up without answering, and I had no idea what she was up to. For all I knew, she was about to step in front of a bus.

  Ethan had a new haircut, a phohawk that was shaved on the sides and came up in the middle of his head in an upside-down V. He wasn’t alone. Marissa climbed out of the backseat, and Reginald Boone stepped out on the passenger side. Boone was part of an earlier wave of defectors to South Ridge (no one I knew ever called him Reginald or Reggie). A big dude, more fat than muscle but plenty of both, without much interest in anything but girls and beer. He was a starting linebacker on the South Ridge football team.

  Boone stood in front of the car with an air of total boredom. He looked at Ethan, then back at me, shaking his head.

  “Why you gotta always be causing problems?”

  At the beginning of the school year, when Boone was still a Holy Crosser, I’d tested my backhand in the locker room and accidentally cracked him on the side of the head with my racquet.

  “I’m not the one making trouble,” I answered, a subtle tip of the chin in Ethan’s direction.

  Milo said something about how Ethan and Marissa deserved each other, and before we knew it we were staring up at two large football players who’d moved within striking distance of our faces.

  “Take it easy,” I said. We didn’t have the power, and I could tell Milo was perilously close to throwing a punch or saying something that might get one thrown at us.

  “You talking to me or your boyfriend here?” asked Boone.

  It seemed that Ethan was surveying the situation, wondering how it would go down if things turned violent after what had happened at the tennis court. He needed to impress his new teammate and the girl standing behind him, but he’d tried to take me down before and failed.

  “You looking for another whipping?” asked Milo. Even with the boots he was staring way up into Ethan’s face. I knew what Milo was thinking—that I’d give him the power and he’d have his moment.

  Ethan shoved Milo hard with both hands, but Milo didn’t go down. He looked at me expectantly and I could almost read his mind. Come on man, you got your shot, give me mine!

  I slid my phone open and started texting Oh as fast as I could, but Boone grabbed it out of my hand.

  “This your new friend, the skater?” he asked. I lurched forward to take it back as Boone turned away from me. “I bet she’s a real pig on wheels.”

  “Actually, she’s pretty hot,” Ethan said, wincing as soon as the words left his mouth. He was no doubt imagining what we saw, which was Marissa’s expression of disgust. Seeing the error of her ways, she threw up her hands and made a prissy uuuuhhh! sound that went on way too long. It was an ugly sound from a pretty girl. She stormed off, crossing paths on the sidewalk with Mr. Bo Jangles, who meowed loudly and reeled back as if to pounce on her leg.

  “Shut up, you brainless cat!”

  “Now look what you’ve made me do,” said Ethan, turning back to Milo, who was all clenched fists as he looked up into the face of a suddenly very serious guy with a big size advantage.

  “I think your new girl is really going to like your text,” said Boone, sliding my phone shut and tossing it back at me.

  Milo glanced at me for a split second, and I nodded softly. Oh had to be out of harm’s way by now, and I’d taken the power back. Unfortunately for Ethan, I’d transferred it to my best friend.

  “I tell you what I’ll do,” said Milo, folding his arms in front of his chest, loving every second of power over his opponent. “I’ll let you have one free shot, right in the face. But if I’m still standing, I get one in your nuts.”

  Boone laughed and shoved Ethan playfully. “Dude, you gotta take that deal. It’s too sweet.”

  “You’re serious?” said Ethan.

  “Hell, yeah, I’m serious. You chicken?” asked Milo.

  “Let it go,” I said, hoping to get Milo to calm down. “Let’s just get out of here and forget this ever happened.”

  Ethan’s blow came out of nowhere, and it was way bigger than any of us expected. My guess is he wanted to make sure it worked this time.

  The punch waylaid Milo, sending him swinging backward like a jack-in-the-box on a spring, but he didn’t fall over. Ethan shook the sting out of his hand as Milo leaned way back, absorbing the vicious blow, then popped straight up again and shook the cobwebs from his head.

  “That all you got?” asked Milo. “Mr. Bo Jangles punches harder than that.”

  “What the…?” Boone’s words trailed off. He looked at Ethan and Milo and tried to decide if Ethan punched like a seven-year-old or if Milo was the toughest little bastard he’d ever seen.

  Ethan was flustered. He must have been thinking about the ragging he’d take at school the next day as he slapped Milo’s face harder than I’d ever seen anyone hit a guy before.

  Milo flew off his feet and landed in a pile on the pavement. He turned, a maniacal grin on his face, and stood back up.

  “Nice try,” he said, lifting his foot with alarming speed where it connected with a thud between Ethan’s legs. Ethan went down hard and fast, curled into a ball.

  “I don’t know what the hell just happened, but something’s not right,” grumbled Boone. “No way Milo is that tough. No way!”

  “Take a shot,” dared Milo. “Go ahead! Let’s see it!”

  Boone looked at Milo standing his ground and was clearly tempted. This was a big guy, confused into inaction. I stepped in front of my best friend and stared at him, hoping I wouldn’t get sucker punched from behind.

  “I took it back,” I told Milo. He glared at me with white fear in his eyes at the thought of getting ambushed by Reginald Boone.

  “Took what back?” asked Boone. “What’s with you knobs?”

  Ethan was up on his feet again, hobbling toward the car, and—fortunately for Milo—Boone decided to follow him. Once inside the car, Ethan leaned out the window and puked on the wet pavement.

  When his head came up, his eyes were narrowed with hate behind the windshield. I knew then that we’d made a horrible mistake. Ethan wasn’t just an annoying former classmate anymore. Ethan was now our enemy, and it appeared that he had at least one powerful ally.

  “I think that’s going to come back to haunt us,” I said as the MINI Cooper rolled into gear and raced down the drive toward the street.

  “Yeah, but it might have been worth it. Did you see his face after he clobbered me the first time? H
e’s scared.”

  “Milo, use your head, will you? Those two think you can take a punch like a rhino, but we both know that’s not true. If Boone punches you like that for real, you’re in deep trouble. Or worse, maybe they’ll bring a baseball bat next time.”

  “I guess you’re right,” Milo admitted.

  True terror is knowing you’re getting beaten up at some point in the very near future.

  My phone vibrated, and I opened it up, where I found two messages from Oh. The first one was a few minutes old and scared me.

  Rode my board off roof of building. always wanted to do that. pavement taste = bad. but I’m fine.

  “She’s crazy,” I whispered.

  “Yeah, but you’re in love,” said Milo, putting a hand on my shoulder. “Not a thing you can do about it.”

  I imagined her gliding down the steep slope of the apartment roof, riding the board until it fell out from under her feet. If Oh had hesitated a minute longer, she probably wouldn’t be alive to send me a text.

  One minute had mattered a lot more than I thought a minute could.

  The second message from Oh helped me understand what Boone had texted her when he’d grabbed my phone.

  Since when is my butt bigger than Texas? thanks a lot.

  I read it to Milo and he shook his head. We both laughed halfheartedly, got in his beat-up old car, and went in search of a pretty girl with pavement breath.

  On our way to pick up Oh, she called and said her mom was coming home early to take her shopping at the mall for new pants and a slice of pizza. Milo thought it sounded absurd at a time like this, but she argued that we needed to keep playing the roles of mild-mannered small-town kids.

  “My mom is nosy,” she had said. “Trust me; we don’t want her sniffing around. Pick me up after, in front of the mall at like six. And bring your backpacks. She’s going to want to see them.”

  At the time it had sounded juvenile, like we were still in middle school and had to prove to our parents that we were hard at it grinding out a paper or studying for a mid-term. But meeting Ms. James taught me something quick: She kept a close eye on her one daughter.