Shadow

by Mere Joyce

  It’s a horror movie. Horror is my favorite genre. It has good music. I like the big musical scores and catchy soundtracks of other films. But there’s just something about horror music that I love. It’s the way the music gets so intense it sends shivers down my spine. It puts me on edge waiting for the next victim to scream, or makes me chuckle in relief when the victim realizes it’s just a friend hiding behind a bush. Sometimes there’s an unexpected burst as soon as the killer appears to chase someone through the woods. And sometimes the scariest moments happen when the music stops.

  I like not knowing what to expect. Even if a movie’s plot is predictable, the music can still manage to give me a good scare.

  I relax against the wall and listen to the dialogue. A group of friends are getting ready to go to a party at a lakeside cottage. But before they even get in the car to drive toward their certain doom, I hear my name being called from down the hall.

  “Hey, Preston! Where’s your girlfriend?”

  I grit my teeth and pause the movie. I know that booming voice. Bradley.

  “She’s not my girlfriend,” I mutter as I put away my earbuds. Normally when Bradley pokes fun at me, I don’t mind. Today his words make my left hand curl into a tight fist against my side.

  “No, you only wish she was,” he says, laughing. Bradley’s got a really deep voice. He sounds like one of those guys who narrate movie trailers. When I first met him I thought he was pranking me with a fake voice. It took about a week for me to realize that’s just how he sounds.

  “What do you want, Bradley?” I say, ignoring his rib about Vi and me. I can’t exactly tell him he’s wrong. The truth is, I’d love it if Vi were my girlfriend.

  “Why the cold shoulder?” Bradley asks. He sounds amused, like my anger is funny. “I just want to make sure everything’s all set for tomorrow night. I want the premiere of my film to be perfect.”

  My right hand grips the handle of my cane so hard it hurts. I want to swing it at him. I want to push him down and demand he give Abbi’s film back right this instant. But I don’t have my proof yet. If I get into a fight now, I could end up having to miss the festival. Besides, Bradley’s bigger than I am, and he also has the definite advantage of being able to see.

  “The festival will be great,” I force myself to say. I even try to smile so he won’t guess I’m on to him.

  “Hey, Preston, ready to go?” Nico calls from down the hall. Relieved to have an excuse to leave, I turn away from Bradley.

  “Later then,” Bradley says. I clench my jaw as I walk away.

  Chapter Seven

  The Chestnut is busy. Too busy. Normally I love hearing the crowds exiting the theater. I like listening to them talk about what they saw. Sometimes the audiences are sleepy when they get out to the lobby, but usually they bounce around, trying to shake off the stiffness from sitting for so long. They talk about what they loved and what they hated. It’s a great way to get instant reviews.

  But right now I want them all to leave. I want the theater to be empty so Nico and I can start searching for clues.

  “I wonder what was playing,” Nico says as we lean against the concession stand. He takes a loud sip from his drink.

  “Something historical,” I say.

  “How would you know?” Nico asks.

  “They’re talking about specific events as they come out of the theater,” I tell him. “Debating how true the movie actually was. People don’t do that when it’s not based on a true story. Plus, at least three people have said they wonder what life was really like back then. Means the movie isn’t set in present day.”

  “You would make a good detective,” Nico says.

  I can tell he’s impressed. I shrug.

  “You just have to listen. It’s even easier when it’s an action movie. There are usually a ton of kids talking about the car chases or the superheroes jumping from buildings.”

  “Most people tune all of that out,” Nico reminds me.

  “Well, I’m not most people,” I remind him. He laughs.

  “No kidding. Well, come on, Inspector. Looks like the theater’s almost clear.”

  We walk inside and sit in the back row until the last stragglers have left. Vi told her parents we’d be here, but she didn’t tell them why. They think we’re doing more prep work for tomorrow night. Which is true, I guess. Although I doubt hunting for criminal evidence is what they thought Vi meant.

  “So what are we looking for?” Nico asks once we’re finally alone. He closes the door, cutting off most of the chatter from the theatergoers out in the lobby.

  “Anything unusual,” I say. I try not to sound overwhelmed. I know this is a long shot. There were dozens of people in this room tonight. Like Vi said, even if Bradley did leave some kind of clue about his being here, it probably got swept away with the crowd.

  I go to the stairs at the back of the theater. The door’s closed. I think Vi’s mom is still in the projection booth, tidying up and making notes in her journal. She likes to keep track of audience response to the films so she knows what works and what doesn’t.

  I don’t open the door. I’m tempted to swing it back and see if I can wedge myself behind it like Bradley must have done. I could even get Nico to stand there. Then I could approach the door just like I did last night. But I don’t want to disturb Vi’s mom, so I keep the door closed. Instead, I walk to the wall and crouch down, sweeping my hand along the floor. Maybe Bradley dropped something. A keychain, or a note with his handwriting. Maybe he even dropped a thumb drive. Wishful thinking.

  The lemony smell of the cleaning solution is gone now. It’s been replaced with the smell of popcorn, and even all the way back here, there’s concession trash. My fingers slip over a candy someone probably threw during the film. It’s one of those annoying hard candies, the kind that crunch nonstop while someone’s chewing them. I leave it on the carpet and continue feeling along the floor without success. There’s nothing here.

  Frustrated, I stand and then slump back against the wall.

  “Any luck?” Nico calls. He must be near the front, searching between the rows. I don’t know what he thinks he’ll find down there. He probably doesn’t know either.

  “No, nothing.”

  Nico gives up his search and joins me at the back of the theater. I can hear Vi’s mom walking above us. Her boots clunk against the wooden floor. Vi and her mom both wear boots all the time. Vi calls them riding boots, even though neither one of them rides anything more exciting than the bus. To me, the boots sound heavy-duty and like they are meant to be worn in a snowstorm. But they both wear them even now in the warmth of May. They will both be wearing them in the middle of the summer.

  “Sorry, Preston. I don’t know what else to do.” Nico sighs.

  I groan. I’m not mad at Nico. I’m grateful he came with me. But I hardly think five minutes worth of searching the theater counts as an investigation. What did I expect to find here? Why did I come? This isn’t a crime scene. Okay, maybe it is a crime scene. But this isn’t a high-budget detective drama where the clues are staring me in the face. Staring. I wonder if Bradley stared at me last night in the theater when he slipped out from behind the door. Would I have noticed him if I had the ability to stare back?

  Most of the time I don’t mind being blind. I hardly remember having sight, so it’s not like I miss the way things used to be. But in situations like this, it’d be awfully handy to be able to see like everyone else.

  “Well, you tried, man. At least you gave it a shot.” Nico claps me on the shoulder. He nudges me toward the door. I follow the movement, but I don’t agree with what he’s said.

  “I’m not giving up,” I tell him sternly. “I can’t. I know he was here, Nico. I saw—”

  “A shadow. Yeah, I know.” Nico is quiet as we walk back out into the brightly lit lobby. There are still a few people hanging around. “But Preston,” he continues as we head past the empty ticket booth and into the hall I know is lined with rows of movie
posters, “a shadow’s not enough.”

  “No,” I mumble, “it’s not.”

  “So what now?” Nico asks. “The festival’s tomorrow night.” He opens the main door of the theater, and a warm breeze from outside ruffles my hair. I breathe in the smell of deep-frying at a nearby restaurant.

  “We have to take action,” I say. My stomach squirms. I wonder if it’s the thought of all that fried food making me ill or the knowledge of what I’ve just decided to do next. “I’m going to confront Bradley myself.”

  Chapter Eight

  The next morning, I wait for Bradley outside his second-period class. I know his schedule because last week Nico and I were in charge of gathering all the film-festival directors and cast for a special movie screening.

  It’s difficult to catch Bradley after the bell has rung. When he’s by himself or with a couple of friends, it’s easy to pick out the sound of his deep voice. But when an entire class comes shuffling out into the hall at the same time, it’s harder to pinpoint which passing body belongs to him. I have to resort to calling out his name.

  “Hey, Preston, what’s up?” Bradley asks. He sounds unaffected by our meeting yesterday. In fact, he sounds downright cheerful. Probably because he knows he’s going to win tonight’s festival. I clench my cane again, every bit as angry as the last time we talked.

  “Can I talk to you for a minute?” I ask. I try to keep my voice neutral. I listen to the strong tap-tap-tap of the teacher’s high heels as she exits the classroom. Then I turn toward the classroom door. “In there?”

  “Yeah, sure.” Bradley sounds confused, but he follows me anyway. Inside the room, I rest against the teacher’s desk. Bradley sits at one of the student desks across from me. “So… what’s up?” he asks once he is settled in his seat.

  At first I don’t say anything. Because honestly, I’m not sure where to begin. Do I outright demand he return the film? Do I threaten to go to Mrs. Colander, or even the police? I try to appear calm and casual, but my legs are wobbly. My whole body’s wobbly. I’m so worked up, I feel like if I don’t move, I’ll explode.

  So I do move. I push off the teacher’s desk and take a step toward Bradley.

  “I know you were at the theater Wednesday night,” I say quietly. The words come off sounding pretty menacing. It adds a nice touch to my interrogation.

  “The theater…what are you talking about, Preston?” Bradley asks with convincing confusion. I’d be tempted to believe his hesitant tone if I didn’t already know Bradley’s a fantastic liar. He’s a drama kid. He’s also on the basketball team. He’s a class goof-off, but he’s smart. He knows how to adapt. He knows how to get himself out of any situation. He’s something of a genius, really. But he has some pigheaded ideas about what’s fair and what he’s entitled to.

  “I know you were there,” I repeat. “I saw you.”

  Bradley lets out a small snort of laughter. Then he catches himself and tries to cover the sound with a cough.

  “You…saw me?” he asks. He thinks it’s a big joke, being caught red-handed by the blind kid. I find the top of his desk and press my free hand against it. I lean in until my thigh touches the desk’s edge.

  “You waited until the coast was clear, and then you snuck into the projection booth. You deleted Abbi’s film from the laptop. Then you hid down in the theater until you had the chance to escape without being noticed,” I say. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from movie watching, it’s that the proof is in the details. If I tell Bradley exactly what he did, he’ll find it a lot harder to deny the truth. “Only you were noticed. By me.”

  “Wait…what? What does Abbi’s movie have to do with anything?” He still sounds confused. But he’s starting to sound angry too.

  “You deleted her film so it couldn’t be screened at the festival tonight,” I tell him. I’ve lost my quiet cool now. My voice is shaking. So are my hands.

  “Why would I do something like that?” Bradley gets up from the desk. The sound of the chair’s feet scraping against the linoleum floor startles me. I stagger back a step and struggle to keep my balance.

  “You deleted her film because you know she’ll win the festival!” I snap.

  Bradley moves around to the front of the desk. He steps close to me, so close I can smell the peppermint gum he is constantly chewing.

  He laughs. But he doesn’t sound amused. He sounds furious. “Maybe you think the pity vote’s going to win the festival for Abbi. But I don’t, Preston. I happen to think my film’s going to take first place. I don’t need to cheat to claim my victory.”

  He steps away from me. He’s turning to leave the room. He’s trying to run away.

  “Just give me back the film. You must have saved a copy for yourself. Give it back, and no one else needs to know, Bradley.”

  “You’re crazy,” Bradley says.

  I can’t let him leave. He hasn’t even admitted to doing anything wrong.

  I step forward, using my cane to find his moving feet.

  “I saw you!” I yell, throwing my arms forward. My cane hits something solid. It flies out of my grasp, and my hands hit Bradley’s back.

  I’m so mad, I don’t even realize that I’ve shoved Bradley over until one of the desks clatters onto its side as he tries to grab onto something to break his fall. He thuds against the floor. He groans.

  Then he swears. He mutters under his breath and scrambles to his feet.

  I don’t have my cane. But I’m not sure I’d be able to move even if I wanted to. I stand as still as my trembling limbs will allow.

  “I don’t care if you are the blind kid,” Bradley snarls. He’s close now. Close enough to cloud what vision I have with a dark blur. Close enough to reek peppermint over my face. Close enough for his fist to collide with my jaw.

  Chapter Nine

  I rock backward with the impact of Bradley’s fist and hit something behind me. The teacher’s desk, probably. I’m too dazed to tell for certain.

  I’ve never been punched before. But then again, I’ve never pushed someone over before either. The pain doesn’t come at first. For a moment there’s nothing but shock. Then it floods me. I feel a bit like Rocky Balboa after his boxing match with Apollo Creed. Although I don’t remember Apollo walking away unharmed like Bradley is now.

  Bradley mutters curses as he leaves the room. I hear the door slam shut, and then I try to get my bearings. I wince and moan. Still shaking, I grip my jaw with one hand. Then I lower myself into a crouch so I can search for my cane with the other. Once I have a hold of it, I leave the empty classroom. I’m only out in the hallway for a couple of seconds before someone notices I’m stumbling and helps me to the nurse’s office.

  I manage to convince the nurse I lost my balance and fell. I’m not sure she believes me, but she doesn’t argue with my explanation. I don’t want her calling my house. My parents would have a fit if they knew I had been in my very first fistfight. They’ll know when I get home tonight anyway. But that will be after the film festival.

  “Preston?” The sound of Vi’s voice makes my stomach flutter. I’m not surprised she’s already heard the news. Gossip travels fast in our small school. Plus, I have no idea how many people saw me being ushered down here. I don’t even know who brought me, actually. “What happened?” Vi asks. She sits down in the chair next to mine. She takes my hand. Her palm is warm, like she’s just been holding a mug of something hot.

  I squeeze her hand.

  “I confronted Bradley,” I tell her in a whisper. I don’t want the nurse to hear. If she finds out I’ve lied, she’ll call my house for sure.

  “You what?” Vi pulls her hand back. My fingers fall to the armrest of my chair. The ripped fabric’s been picked at by countless injured and sick kids. “Preston, are you insane?”

  “Apparently,” I mutter. “Bradley said more or less the same thing. But I had no choice.”

  “You didn’t find any evidence at The Chestnut last night, did you?” Vi asks.

&
nbsp; “No,” I confess, shaking my head. “Which is why I had to confront him. The festival’s tonight, Vi! If we don’t find Abbi’s film…” I sigh, my face aching. “She will be devastated. But Bradley wouldn’t admit what he did. He was just going to ignore me, so I…I pushed him. And then he punched me.”

  “Preston,” Vi says. She sounds disappointed in me. “I can’t believe you’re being so stupid about this. Bradley has nothing to do with what happened!”

  The hairs on my neck bristle. Did Vi just call me stupid? Vi likes to tease me sometimes, but she never says anything hurtful.

  “Yes, he did!” I say defensively. “He was at the theater. I saw him.”

  “You saw nothing,” Vi says. She sounds like she’s talking through clenched teeth.

  “I saw a—” I start, but Vi cuts me off.

  “A shadow. Nothing more. Probably the shadow of the door. Or the shadow of me standing at the top of the stairs.”

  “No,” I say, and then wince in pain. “No. It was a person. And I heard something too. Footsteps. I’m sure of it.”

  “Probably mine! Or Nico’s. Or maybe an echo of your own feet,” Vi replies.

  “There’s no echo in a theater, Vi,” I say.

  “Preston, you have to drop it. Abbi’s film is gone, okay? And I know it’s horrible, but…” She stops. I crane my neck upward, waiting for her to continue. I wonder if the nurse is on her way, or if Vi’s stopped talking because she’s thinking.

  “Vi?” I ask gently. She stands, her necklace jangling. It’s a familiar jangle. Three metal feathers splaying out across her collarbone. I gave it to her this past Christmas.

  “Just leave it, Preston,” she says. She sounds close to tears. I try to stand up, but she places a hand on my shoulder and pushes me back down. Her touch is nothing compared to Bradley’s, but the action still makes me cringe. “Just leave it,” she says again. Then she rushes out of the room.