Blur (Blur Trilogy)

by Steven James

  But today Ty was right about him missing Friday night’s game if he got into a fight, and that was not something he was about to do unless he absolutely had to.

  However, Ty had made up his mind and took a swing at Daniel, who ducked and evaded the punch. Ty lurched forward, off balance, and Daniel had a clear shot at an uppercut to his abdomen, but he held back. Instead, he grabbed Ty’s arm and twisted it around behind him to hold him secure. When Ty tried to pull away, he put more pressure on his wrist to stop him.

  Daniel didn’t know martial arts or anything like that, but his dad had shown him how to immobilize someone if necessary. It was one of the advantages of being the son of a guy who’d been in law enforcement for nearly twenty years.

  “Open the locker,” Daniel said, “and let him out.”

  “No, I—Ow!”

  “Teacher!” someone shouted. Immediately, the crowd began to melt away.

  Daniel released Ty, shoving him firmly away from the lockers.

  He shook out his arm angrily as he and his three friends backed down the hall. “You’re dead, Byers. You’re all mine.”

  Daniel quickly removed the pencil and unlatched the locker as Ty and his buddies vanished into the dispersing pack of students.

  One of the freshman math teachers, Mr. McKinney, was striding toward them, but he was still only halfway down the hall.

  When Daniel opened the locker he could tell right away why Ty and his friends were picking on this boy. He wore clothes that were way out of style, had a bad case of acne, and he was short and didn’t look very athletic. Bullies are cowards. They always prefer to pick on people smaller or more helpless than they are. Daniel had seen this boy around school, but only this year. He guessed he was a freshman.

  And he’d seen him one other place.

  At the funeral yesterday, standing near the front of the church.

  Even though the boy was trying his best to hide it, Daniel could tell he’d been crying. “What’s your name?”

  “Ronnie.”

  “You okay, Ronnie?”

  “Yeah.” He was trying to smile, trying to pretend everything was alright, but he couldn’t hide the fact that he was trembling. Despite himself, he sniffed back a tear.

  Mr. McKinney called, “What’s going on here?”

  “They mess with you again,” Kyle said quietly to Ronnie, “you tell me. Alright?”

  Ronnie nodded to Kyle as Mr. McKinney arrived. “I said, what’s going on down here?”

  “Nothing,” Kyle replied. “We were just helping show Ronnie around the school.”

  “That true, Mr. Jackson?”

  “Yes, sir,” Ronnie said.

  His last name is Jackson? Is he related to Emily?

  Mr. McKinney let his gaze move from one boy to the next. Daniel and Kyle had both had him for freshman algebra. One time he’d told Daniel that he was one of the brightest students he’d ever had in a decade of teaching and had encouraged him to join his math club. Daniel hadn’t, but they’d always gotten along pretty well. In addition, although Kyle and Daniel had been in trouble a few times over the years, it was never for anything serious, and never for bullying.

  Now Mr. McKinney glanced sternly at his watch. “I think you three had better be getting to class.”

  After they were out of earshot, Daniel asked Ronnie, “Are you related to Emily Jackson?”

  “She’s my sister.” He wiped a tear from his cheek. “My twin sister—or she was. Until she was killed.”

  “Killed?” Kyle sounded as surprised as Daniel was by what Ronnie had said.

  “She knew how to swim. There’s no way she just happened to fall in and drown. Not without someone holding her under.”

  CHAPTER

  NINE

  “But she might have fallen off Windy Point,” Daniel suggested.

  “Or been pushed,” Ronnie said.

  “You really think she was killed?”

  This time he hesitated a little. “How else could it have happened?”

  The explanation seemed simple enough—she fell into the lake, it was too cold to swim to shore, and the current pulled her under.

  But Daniel thought that pointing that out might upset Ronnie or hurt his feelings, so he held back. However, he did bring up something else. He had no idea why this boy would be in school the day after his sister’s funeral. “Shouldn’t you be at home?”

  “I wanted to come.” His voice was soft, distant. “To be with my friends.”

  Daniel couldn’t help but wonder how many friends Ronnie really had. “Yeah, that makes sense,” he said, trying to help him feel better.

  He did his best to figure out what was going on. It seemed like an awfully big coincidence that Emily died and then Ty and his friends just happened to start bullying her twin brother the day after her funeral.

  Probably just taking advantage of the situation—knowing that messing with him today when he’s upset about his sister will bother him even more.

  Daniel felt his hands tighten into fists and he wondered if he should have taken a swing at Ty after all.

  Ronnie left and Kyle mentioned that he needed to get going too, but before he took off for his chemistry class, Daniel asked him, “What did Ty mean when he said that about you and Emily? About how he’d heard about you two?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “So you didn’t know her or anything?”

  He shook his head. “No.”

  “But why would he—”

  “I said I have no idea.”

  A pause. “Okay.”

  “I’ll see you tonight. Eight o’clock. Your house.”

  “Sure.”

  Kyle headed to class, and Daniel stopped by the restroom to wash the soda off his face.

  As he did, he wondered why Kyle had seemed defensive when he asked him about Emily. It wasn’t like him at all. Based on Kyle’s reaction, Daniel couldn’t help but wonder if there was something his friend wasn’t telling him.

  With that bothering him, he finished cleaning up. He tried not to disturb anyone when he walked into the physics lab late, but ended up getting a tardy slip anyway.

  After that, the day went by quickly, but a swarm of questions pursued him everywhere he went.

  Could Emily really have been killed?

  Why had she appeared to him?

  Was Ty just trying to get on Kyle’s nerves, or, if not, what’d he been referring to?

  After school, when Daniel was in the locker room changing for football practice, he was surprised to discover that there were no marks on his arm. None at all. Somehow the wound, which had been burned so deeply into his skin that morning, had healed during the day.

  Or maybe it was never there at all. Maybe you imagined the whole thing.

  He rubbed his head.

  No matter what was going on, it was like normal life was being warped out of shape little by little and he was getting drawn into something dark and confusing, something that was way beyond his control.

  Practice did not go well.

  The team was distracted, their timing was off, and their concentration was at zero, but the coaches must have understood that it had to do with the recent tragedy at their school and didn’t get on anyone’s case.

  Afterward, Daniel and his wide receivers met with the offensive coordinator and the head coach to review the film of the Coulee Pioneers dismantling the Spring Hill Panthers last weekend. He had a lot on his mind, but he tried to ignore everything except the game film and did his best to concentrate on analyzing the plays.

  The Pioneers’ defensive ends were crashing a lot. “We should go with read options on Friday,” Daniel suggested, anticipating what the coaches would be thinking.

  “Right,” Mr. Jostens, the offensive coordinator, agreed. He was a trim, fit guy in his late twent
ies who’d been a wide receiver for UW–La Crosse and had been an assistant coach at Beldon for the last four years. He didn’t teach any classes and Daniel wasn’t sure what other job he might work at to help pay the bills.

  Coach Jostens paused the video and pointed to the Pioneers’ all-state tackle, a kid who weighed more than 260 pounds. “They have an enormous line. This guy’s trouble, but you’re good out of the gun. Read the defense, fire it fast, and we’ll roll over these guys.”

  When they were done, the head coach, Mr. Warner, called Daniel to his office and looked at him sternly. “Have a seat, son.”

  Daniel did.

  With his round, stylish glasses, perceptive gaze, and meticulous mannerisms, Coach Warner looked more like a statistician than a phys ed teacher and hard-nosed football coach.

  But looks can be deceiving.

  “I heard about an incident earlier today between you and Ty Bell. Care to tell me what happened?”

  “I was just trying to help this other kid out of a locker. He was a freshman.”

  “Did you fight with Ty?”

  “No.”

  “That’s not what I heard.”

  “He swung at me, I stopped things from escalating. That’s all that happened.”

  Daniel wasn’t sure that would be enough to reassure his coach.

  “You need to be careful, Daniel. Bell is trouble and he’ll drag you down with him if he’s given half a chance. You understand that?”

  “Yes, Coach.”

  “Alright.” With that, he dropped the subject of the almost-fight. “Hey, listen, I’ve got some good news. There are two scouts coming this weekend. One from the University of Minnesota, the other from Ohio State. Have either of the schools talked to you yet?”

  “Just letters so far.”

  Daniel’s grades were good, especially in math and science, but all he could really count on would be a small academic scholarship. His dad’s salary wasn’t that much—a small-town sheriff wasn’t exactly the best career choice if you were hoping to make a ton of money.

  So even though his dad didn’t tell him in so many words, Daniel knew the only way he was going to make it through college without working or taking out some major loans was with a football or maybe a basketball scholarship.

  So, yes, a lot was riding on this year.

  On this game.

  Especially if scouts from two Big Ten schools were going to be there.

  “They want to meet you after the game,” Coach Warner said. “No guarantees, but just the fact that they’re coming is a good sign.” He rapped a finger against the side of his own head. “Don’t let this mess with you. Just go out there and play. Hit your receivers. Do what you do best. Got it?”

  “I will.”

  “And stay clear of Bell.”

  “I will, Coach. Thanks.”

  As Daniel was grabbing his things, Randall Cox, one of their wide receivers, caught up with him in the hallway. “What’s up, Dan?”

  “Hey.”

  “Listen, did you hear about this thing Coulee has going on? The pizza thing?”

  “No. What’s that?”

  “Their defensive unit has this deal that they’ll buy a pizza for anyone who makes a hit that ends up with one of our guys being carried off on a stretcher.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “My cousin goes to school over there. That’s what she said.”

  “Fabulous.”

  It didn’t take a lot of insight to translate that “one of our guys” meant the quarterback and wide receivers would be some of the primary targets.

  Randall glanced at the wall clock. “Well, see you tomorrow.”

  “You too.”

  At home, after making fajitas for himself and his dad, Daniel ate supper, then waited in the living room for Kyle to come over and for his father to get off work. While he did, he spent some time surfing on his laptop, pulling up whatever articles he could about Emily Jackson.

  He found her Facebook page and was surprised to see that the privacy settings were turned off, so that even though they’d never friended each other, he could see all her posts and pics.

  Maybe she’d done it herself before she died, or maybe her parents had changed the settings so people could find out more about her life now that she was gone.

  A couple of boys and a bunch of girls had left comments since her death telling her how much they’d miss her, how nice she was, how sad they were about what’d happened, and it was a little creepy to see the posts like that on a dead girl’s page, but it struck Daniel that it was sort of like the twenty-first-century version of leaving flowers on someone’s grave.

  Still, he didn’t like reading the comments. It made him think of the funeral again and how all those kids who’d ignored Emily had shown up after it was too late for her to ever feel wanted or a part of their group.

  She had Ronnie listed as her brother.

  Daniel studied who her friends were and read her status updates, which didn’t take long, because there weren’t too many of either of them.

  And she didn’t have that many comments or likes on the posts that she had put up there.

  She tended to post photos, which actually helped Daniel get a feel for her life.

  One of the pictures of her and her bushy golden retriever caught his attention.

  She’d taken it herself, hugging her dog close and holding her camera out to snap the photo. Behind her, a lake stretched back until it met a forest folding into the horizon. The caption read, “Me and Trevor at Windy Point!”

  Daniel stared at the words, a knot forming in his stomach.

  Trevor.

  That was the name of her dog.

  At the funeral, she’d told him—or at least he’d imagined she’d told him—that Trevor was in the car: “Trevor shouldn’t have been in the car.”

  Daniel couldn’t think of any way he might have known before now that her dog was named Trevor. He hardly even knew who Emily was—how could he have known the name of her golden retriever? So, if it wasn’t her ghost, what explanation made sense? There was no way all this could be a coincidence.

  And apparently she’d been up to Windy Point at least once by herself.

  Did she fall? Did she jump? Was she dragged over the edge?

  Or maybe, was she pushed?

  Ronnie had told him he thought his sister was killed.

  Maybe he was right.

  CHAPTER

  TEN

  As it turned out, a domestic disturbance call kept Daniel’s dad out a little later and he didn’t make it home until after seven. He warmed up a fajita for supper, but didn’t say much to his son.

  He usually took some time to himself when he got home from work and they didn’t always talk much with each other—but it wasn’t a strained silence. It was more the comfortable kind a father and son can develop over time when they’ve been through a lot together and come out on the other side respecting each other more than ever before.

  Kyle showed up just before eight. Even though he’d eaten at home, he microwaved a fajita for himself and they headed to Daniel’s bedroom.

  Basketball and football trophies cluttered the shelves and the top of Daniel’s dresser. Since his dad wasn’t too excited about the idea of his having Sports Illustrated swimsuit-issue pics all over his walls, Daniel stuck with posters of his favorite Mavericks and Packers players instead. It was clearly the room of a kid who was into sports.

  Kyle dropped his backpack on the desk, quickly finished off his fajita, and then flumped onto the bed and started throwing Daniel’s Nerf football into the air. “So, did you call her yet?”

  “Who?”

  “Stacy, dude. The new girl. Did you ask her to the dance on Saturday?”

  “I don’t have her number.”

  “Oh, tha
t’s lame.”

  “How’s that lame?”

  “Google her. Whatever. Facebook. See if it’s listed. Some people do that. You can at least message her through there, anyway.”

  “No . . . I don’t know. Asking someone out that way, it’s just . . . I don’t really want to do it through a text message. Seems sort of cowardly.”

  Kyle looked at him disbelievingly. “Has no one informed you that you are now living in the twenty-first century?”

  “I need to talk to her in person, or at least on the phone. I don’t know. It wouldn’t feel right.”

  “Well, I could call Mia, see if she has her number?”

  “I don’t know. I guess not. Not right now.”

  Kyle shrugged. “Your call.” He tossed the football into the air a few more times. “So, do you have either of your blogs written for Teach’s class yet?”

  “Still working on ’em. You?”

  “I’ve been kicking around a few ideas. What do you have so far?”

  Daniel turned his laptop so Kyle could see the blank page on his word processor.

  “Ah.”

  “Yeah.”

  “So just jot down your thoughts.”

  “This kind of thing comes naturally to you. I’m not a writer.”

  Kyle stopped with the football. “Do you have a journal? What about that one your mom gave you last year?”

  “A journal? You mean write it out instead of typing it?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Now who’s stuck in the twentieth century?”

  “Humor me.”

  How the process of writing his blog by hand rather than typing it was going to help him do better with the assignment was beyond him, but if Kyle thought it was a good idea, Daniel figured it was at least worth a shot.

  He dug the journal out of his desk. He’d dabbled with writing some thoughts in it after his mom left, but he didn’t really want to see those entries, so he quickly flipped past them to a blank page.

  “So,” Kyle said, “tell me about a dream you have.”

  When he put it that way, Daniel immediately thought of the distressing dreams he’d had last night. He knew what Kyle meant, though, so he tried to think of his dreams for the future.