reflection 01 - the reflective

by Blodgett, Tamara Rose

  A fine dust fell from the interior arc of the heart onto the work table. The sanding from the three of us served as an excellent conversation concealer.

  John whispered, “So what's the plan?”

  “I don't know yet,” I replied. “I gotta think about it more. I'm not ending up like Parker.”

  “Ask your dad,” Jonesy said. “He's the genius.”

  “Quiet, smack attack.”

  Jonesy ducked his head. “I'm sorry, bro.”

  I grinned. “Gotcha. Just wanted to see what you'd say.”

  “Oh man! Don't do that, dude!” Jonesy threw his sandpaper at me.

  I deflected it with my arm, and the paper landed on John, getting embedded in his hair.

  Morginstern gave us a warning glare. “Caleb Hart! Jonesy, John, no throwing supplies.”

  “Stop screwing around,” John hissed. “This is serious.”

  As serious as a heart attack. I struggled not to laugh. “I'll talk with my dad tonight. He'll have ideas.”

  “He's got resources, right?” Jonesy asked.

  I smiled. “Using your big-boy words Jonesy?”

  We all laughed and agreed to meet up at my place.

  I had every class with John except PE. Jonesy was in my PE class, though. I was never without a J. Jonesy and I liked PE because we got to check out the girls. There was one in particular that I liked a lot.

  When we got to the gym, Jonesy said, “I want to play dodge ball today.”

  “Yeah, that'll happen. 'No head shots, no body shots above the waist, no leg shots.'” I said, imitating Miss Griswold's annoying voice.

  I sighed. Dodge ball rocked, but Griswold was a joy sucker.

  Then Jade LeClerc walked by. I tracked her with my eyes. Her jet-black hair gleamed like a curtain of silk waiting to be touched. She had the greatest eyes, green like a cat's. A memory shimmered just out of reach—a red shirt, concrete, and dirt.

  Jonesy gave me a strategic elbow to the side, and the image slipped away like a vapor.

  “Ow!” I turned to him. “What was that for?”

  “Stop staring,” Jonesy said. “Why do you like her anyway? She's kinda emo.”

  “No she's not, she just wants people to think she is. Keeps them away,” I said, trying to recapture that fleeting shard of the past.

  “Oh, and you're such a girl expert. Right!” Jonesy laughed.

  I scowled at him. “I've watched her. She doesn't make a move to be anyone's friend, but there's something cool about her.”

  “She's too weird. Pick someone else. Look at them all.” He spread his arms to include the bounty of girls.

  My eyes strayed back to Jade. She just looked unique. “I’m gonna talk to her.”

  “You've had English and pre-Biology with her, what, almost two semesters? We're in fourth quarter, and you still haven't said anything. Besides, what's she gonna think when she finds out about what you can do? She saw you pass out, right?”

  I couldn't deny his reasoning there. Who hadn't seen me bite it? Maybe once I had a plan on how to hide what I was, I could say hey.

  “Maybe she doesn't need to ever know.”

  Jonesy arched one eyebrow, the whites of his eyes wider in his brown face. “You can't cover forever, bro.” He shrugged.

  I figured, but I liked to fantasize.

  Miss Griswold blew her whistle, and we lined up for warm-ups. We were in alphabetical order, so Jonesy wasn’t close to me, and neither was Jade. But I was next to Carson Hamilton.

  “Hey, Hart. Thinking about any ghosts?”

  Carson-the-Clever. Yeah, right.

  I ignored him and started doing jumping jacks with the others. “Switch drill!” Griswold shrieked.

  We went down to our knees for push-ups.

  I finally responded, “Don't be a tard, Carson. You and Brett said that I was faking shit. I wasn't. I proved I'm AFTD.” I huffed out five more.

  “Switch drill!” Griswold's irritating voice rallied for the final insult.

  We stood up for jumping power lunges. I hated those. I put out one foot and lunged so my knee didn't pass my toe then, up, jump, other side. Talking was almost impossible.

  Carson managed. He had a lot of hot air.

  “AFTD is so rare only freaks have it. That's why they took Parker away. The military wanted to quarantine his ass to protect everyone else.”

  Carson dropping another pearl of wisdom. Like I care.

  Hop. Switch legs.

  “Stop!” Griswold yelled.

  Panting, I turned to Carson. “Nobody'll believe you. You didn't believe until the cemetery.” He'd look like an idiot if he told people I was a corpse raiser (like we were running around in droves). Carson was all about image.

  He looked thoughtful; Carson was a rock with lips.

  “Maybe I won't tell anybody, but me and Brett might want something.”

  He looked down at me and smirked.

  We glared at each other until Griswold waddled over to stand in front of us. I wondered how teachers always seemed to know just when something was going down.

  Griswold put her hands on her considerable hips. “Problem here, boys?”

  “No problem, Miss Griswold,” Carson said.

  I said the obligatory, “No, Miss Griswold.”

  Just as she moved out of hearing range, Carson said, “Hag.”

  Griswold turned around and yelled, “Time for dodge ball! Pick your teams.”

  The guys gave a collective groan, and the girls didn't look any happier. At least I got to look at Jade, the highlight of PE.

  Jonesy gave me a questioning look from across the gym, Carson and Brett were fast moving from irritating to becoming a problem—one that I planned to contain, creatively.

  Jonesy would scheme, John would deliberate and I would definitely do.

  CHAPTER 4

  “How was school today?” Mom asked.

  I looked at Dad, who set his trade publication on the table. Reluctantly, I laid down my fork, even though the hamburger helper was waiting to be engulfed. “Ah... these two guys and I talked, and it didn't go so hot.”

  “Which kids, Caleb?” Dad asked in his reasonable way.

  “Carson and Brett.”

  “Oh, those two.” Mom waved a dismissive hand. “They're not in your league. Don't let them make you feel diminished sweet pea.”

  Sweet pea!

  “Alicia, let's not get elitist on him here,” Dad said.

  “You might have a small point.” Mom held her index finger and thumb together in illustration of just how “small.”

  His eyes narrowed. Uh-oh, here we go. Just when I thought we'd get something accomplished.

  Mom held up a finger to ward off Dad's impending argument. “Kyle, those two”—she seemed to struggle for the right word—“buffoons have been a nuisance for the last three years that I know of.”

  I raised my hand and fluttered my fingers.

  “Five and it's always the same thing.”

  Mom nodded. “Five. And they don't like Caleb because of what you do, honey. They feel threatened.”

  Dad turned to me. “What was the problem?”

  Dropping the Zombie Bomb didn't top my list of casual conversation but, I had to tell him.

  “Remember the biology thing?”

  “You passing out?” Mom asked.

  Dad leaned back in his chair. “Yes, we've never gotten to the bottom of that episode.”

  I flipped my fork back-and-forth. “I sorta got to the bottom of it. I have AFTD.”

  They stared at me as if I'd just sprouted a giant second head.

  I told them about the cemetery, the corpse, and the growing tide of problems with Carson and Brett. Those two had been itching to get something on me since grade school.

  Dad cleared his throat. “Caleb, let me recap this. You have caused a dead body to rise from its grave?”

  “Yes, Dad. That's what I just said.”

  Mom asked, “Is this what you were doing last n
ight, running around with the Js?”

  “Well, yeah, but I didn't mean for it to go like it did.”

  “How did you mean for it to go?” Dad asked.

  The whole thing had started because Brett and Carson wouldn't get off my back about fainting. AFTD was the cherry on top of their cake. I'd been a moving target until the passing-out thing. John had defended me by telling them I had AFTD. I was unconscious, so he improvised. I should have just let them think whatever they wanted. Carson and Brett were morons.

  I said, “I thought if I proved I was AFTD, that it was an ability, they'd lay off.”

  “There were precursors to this episode?” Dad asked.

  “Yeah, there was other stuff before, small stuff.”

  Dad's eyebrows shot up. “What kind of trouble, son?”

  Once I thought about it, I realized I'd had trouble with the “Understanding Insects” section, too. I had been getting images of speared wings. Gross!

  “The kinda trouble that other kids notice and that makes them think you're sick or retarded.”

  “Caleb Sebastian Hart! That is not appropriate.” Mom's hands were glued to her hips. I wasn't too concerned about being politically correct.

  “Just a second, Ali.” Dad seemed okay with it. “So you didn't mention these… fugues?”

  “I guess I should've told you, but everything was getting weird, and their voices were whispering all the time.”

  “Whose voices?”

  “The frogs.” But frogs weren't all I heard.

  “Ah, what were the frogs... saying, exactly?” Dad's eyes burned twin holes through me.

  “Well, they weren’t saying words really, but they feel things, miss things, they”—I swallowed hard— “they have memories of their life before they died.” It made me sad. I opened my eyes really wide. That helped.

  Mom gave me her “I'm worried about you” stare. I was worried, too.

  “These dead creatures are communicating with you?” Dad asked.

  “Yeah, that's what AFTD is about, Dad. Before we started the dissecting, I would have a blackout, but it were short.” I thought about the insect dissections and shuddered.

  “Like bursts of movies playing in your head or what?” Dad asked.

  “It's like I am them.”

  Mom's hand covered her mouth.

  “And I can see what they did. When they were taken from the rivers and marshes, they felt”—I thought about the murky memories and their simple minds—“lost. One frog remembered being eaten by a snake.” I lowered my voice. “They screamed when we cut them, Dad. That's when things got really bad with Carson and Brett. They thought I was trying to suck up attention or something gay like that.”

  “Caleb... homosexual reference.”

  “Mom, come on! We don't use it that way.”

  “Ali, let's stay on task here.” Dad patted her hand then asked me, “So how long have you been experiencing these... episodes?”

  I thought about it. Easter was over, and I knew then. It was around Valentine's because we had that lame winter break that wasn’t long enough to do jack. “A couple of months.”

  “That's a long time for symptoms you chose not to tell us about, Caleb.”

  I felt a stab of guilt. I was used to being open with the Parental Unit, but the whole AFTD thing had a huge confusion factor.

  Mom leaned over and gave me a hug. I let myself be comforted by the good mom smell then pulled away and gave her a weak smile.

  She smiled back. “It'll be okay.”

  Dad said, “This doesn't have to be a death sentence, Caleb.”

  No pun intended. “You know that if they find out that I can corpse-raise I'll be rammed right into one of those spook jobs.” Goosebumps rose on my arms like boiling water. “You remember that other kid, Parker?”

  Mom nodded.

  “He tested as a five-point on the APs. That was big news.”

  “Jeffrey Parker,” Dad said. “It wasn't just AFTD. There were other classifications that he showed an aptitude for.” Dad raked a hand through his hair, making it stand in errant spikes. His needed cutting, too.

  I looked at him in surprise. I had thought AFTD was it for Parker, that he couldn't have other abilities. “And where is he now?” I asked softly.

  Dad looked me in the eye. “He works for the government.”

  Of course. The government was thrilled to make us all into little robots as early as possible. Instinctively, I knew I wouldn’t want any job they'd give me.

  “So what does this mean for him, Kyle?” Mom asked.

  Dad shrugged. “It means we keep it quiet for now. But the APs are quite soon. We only have a short amount of time to manufacture a contingency.”

  Mom huffed. “I told you that playing God was going to come back and bite us. Just because the potential for paranormal ability was discovered didn't mean that it gave our government the right to experiment on our children.”

  “It's water under the bridge, Ali. We signed Caleb up for kindergarten, and he was inoculated along with everyone else.”

  When the government saw proof of gene markers for paranormal abilities all mixed up there with cancer markers, they went insane. Suddenly, everyone wanted to know if they had the potential to read minds or some whacked crap like that.

  Memories of the microchip implantation were still felt fresh, the needle piercing flesh the same day we learned our ABCs. The needle had glinted as it swung in an arc, bound for my vulnerable neck. I shook the memory loose like the teeth I'd lost in that not too distant childhood.

  I looked at Dad. “So what's the plan? Do I have to be, like, scared here?”

  “I need to find out a little more about how they administer the test. I'm familiar with the science portion, as I was a part of the revision.”

  “English, Dad.” I felt my frown. “So you can, what, manipulate the results?” I asked.

  “No, I can't do anything as profound as that. But I can find something that may cause some dormancy,” he said rubbing his chin. “There's a drug I can acquire that will counteract the inoculation you were given ten years ago and your most recent booster. It won't last, but it may help you test weaker. However, this won't go away. It's here forever. You were born with this potential. And because of scientific advancement, it's a permanent manifestation. And to answer your question: yes, we should respond with extreme caution. The government uses certain 'loopholes' for nefarious purposes. We are American, Caleb. That means something. Our freedom is precious.” He furrowed his brow. “No one should be forced into a life-long position or job or be exploited. There is no liberty in that.”

  My palms began sweating just at the thought of losing my freedom. I sure as hell wasn't going to be some government slave! I rubbed my hands on my jeans.

  Mom turned to Dad. “Do you know what’s in the inoculation?”

  “No, but it's a cerebral stimulant, so a mild depressant should counteract its effects.” Dad rested his chin on his fist in his I'm-formulating-a-plan posture.

  “So you're gonna give me a drug, and I'm not going to be a smart scientist's kid?”

  Dad grinned.

  Mom didn't. “It's not funny, Caleb. We never heard what became of the Parker boy, but there have been mutterings.” She gave Dad a cautionary look.

  Dad shook his head. “Again, it means that discretion is the greater part of valor here. Extreme discretion.”

  I wished I could have just been one of the people that talked to the dead, or better yet, saw ghosts. The government didn't care much about those guys.

  Dad wanted to see my abilities in a “controlled environment.”

  Didn't want a cemetery-repeat right now, thanks. I told mom she had narrowly escaped the Js for supper.

  She rolled her eyes. “Now this is why I had only one son... so I could have two more children later on.” She smiled, she'd always liked the Js.

  No League of Legends tonight, there was other stuff to discuss.

  The doorbell rang.
Bright orange appeared like an obscure flame through the window, had to be John.

  “Come in!” I yelled.

  John lurched in with Jonesy blundering behind like usual.

  “Hi, Ali. Hi, Kyle!” Jonesy called.

  My parents smiled. John looked at the three of us, scoping reactions. I gave him the chillax expression and got up to lead the way upstairs. The stairs vibrated as if a herd of elephants jogged up them.

  John plopped into my desk chair, spinning around. “So what happened with your parents?”

  I shrugged. “It was cool.”

  As cool as it could be when you let someone in on your reanimation-skills.

  “My dad thinks that he can get some kind of cerebral downer or inhibitor for during the test, so I won't respond like a five-point.”

  Jonesy asked, “What about the rest of the test? Are you going to be all high and test stupid in everything else?”

  I shook my head. “Nah, my dad didn't think it would affect the other subjects.”

  John whipped out a crumpled mess of papers from his backpack and tried to straighten them.

  “What's that?” I wasn't excited about reading anything informative.

  “It's something I found on the Internet. It might give us some clues about what you can do.”

  I glanced at the first page.

  Affinity for the Dead or, AFTD, is not just a genetic marker but a new reality.

  Jeffrey Parker, an eighth grader, is the first to hit the radar with full-blown AFTD. In 2010, geneticist Kyle Hart and his scientific team mapped the human genome, giving us every genetic marker that we hold as humans. This invaluable information eventually led to a pharmaceutical breakthrough that has now unlocked those codes.

  Flashes of psychic ability have been witnessed for centuries but now that the key to unlock this door has been discovered, teenagers have begun manifesting different abilities that awaken during puberty.

  Parker is able to raise the dead from their graves. He claims that he “hears voices” that ask him for “different things.”

  John said, “I read the whole thing. It talks about all the different abilities we all may have.”

  “Whoa! Hold on,” Jonesy said. “I want something cool.”