Uncanny Day

by Cory Clubb

  He knew it meant more; Dean and I were cool like that, although I still couldn’t shake the feeling he might have betrayed me to Kate. I emptied the contents of my tray in the trash and exited the lunchroom. I needed some air.

  ***

  WITH THE SEASONS TURNING, the weather was fairly mild. A light breeze hit me as I stepped out onto the school’s commons. I dug my hands into my pockets and took a deep breath. I was tired, but my brain felt like it had been electrocuted by about a million thoughts and questions. The rush of air helped a few of them drift away, but it didn’t stop someone from asking a new one.

  “So are you reconsidering my offer?” Ahead of me, Kate sat on a stone bench, her black notebook open and pen poised. For an insane second, I considered unloading everything to her. She was a girl; she could probably handle all this drama better than I could, right?

  I gave a huff, saying, “It’s going to cost you.”

  She let a cute smile spread across her face. I wouldn’t be lying if I told you she could have used those as payment.

  “Oh, come on, we’re old friends. Can’t I start a tab with you or something?” Kate asked.

  I sat down next to her on the bench. “So, what’s up? You’ve got my full attention.”

  Did I mention she didn’t let up for a second?

  Kate’s light-blue eyes brightened against the dark outline of mascara around them. For a moment, I had the frightening thought that she had just jumped inside my head and was running around, mining it for secrets. She broke our staring match and curled her hair around her ear. She truly was ready to listen, but this wasn’t investigative Kate—it was the friend Kate. Maybe I was being too hard on her. Maybe she did just want to listen.

  “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” I said, turning cynical.

  “And why not?” she said, taken aback. Kate, of all people, would probably believe that I could read minds, but then again, I’d for sure make the front page of the Weekly Beak, not to mention a spotlight post on her blog. My life would be ruined.

  I sat there, silent. I wanted to read her mind so badly, find out what Dean had told her, but something held me back. I didn’t want to cheat Kate that way; I wanted to give her a chance to tell me in her own words. As friends, I felt I owed her at least that much.

  “What did Dean tell you?” I asked.

  “Wait a minute now—I thought I was interviewing you,” she said, shocked. “Not the other way around.”

  I let my own smile slip. I suddenly felt defenseless with Kate. Maybe I could have her promise not to tell anyone, just as I did with Dean—or so I thought. I argued with myself. I had to remember that she still hadn’t revealed her hand to me.

  “How about this,” I said. “I’ll tell you about Stephanie and you tell me what Dean told you about me.”

  I watched her ponder the deal. Kate was cute in her own nerdy, sci-fi way. She hadn’t ever dated much, and the only reason she went to the school dances was to cover them for the newspaper. Kate didn’t seem to mind, though; she was like Lois Lane on a 5-Hour Energy drink.

  “Okay, deal,” she said. “But you have to go first.”

  I figured she’d say that and had already planned to just leave out the part where I read minds, of course. I could easily explain to Kate the situation between the girls. I started with Stephanie’s question and began to explain her relationship with Laura.

  “Whoa, pause it right there. I don’t need the prequel, Lucas.” Kate placed her hand on mine. Her skin was soft, a feeling I didn’t expect but didn’t hate.

  “I know about the thing Laura and Stephanie call a BFF relationship. Tell me what happened to Stephanie.”

  I cocked my head to the side and put on an “I’m getting to it” look, yet didn’t move enough to disturb her hand on mine. She moved it anyway, ready to take notes.

  “As I was saying, Stephanie wanted to know who Laura was asking to the Fall Ball.” I figured I’d be blunt with this next part. “I found out it was Greg Wilkins.”

  Kate cut me off again. “How did you find that out?” A coy expression crossed her face.

  I needed to throw Kate off, give her a twist. “It doesn’t matter. What matters is that somehow Laura knows that Greg lies,” I said.

  “I knew it! Of course, the lying part is an interesting side note, but I knew that was the reason Stephanie lost it!” She flipped back some pages in her notebook, her thoughts in a tizzy.

  “What is it about girls and new guys here?” she said, looking back at me.

  I let out an agreeing laugh. “I know, right? I was thinking the same thing.” An awkward moment floated between us. I quickly caught it and pushed it aside. “Well, I…I told Stephanie, and I guess, as you saw, she just flipped out in history class.”

  “Right, because she’s truly in love with him and Laura just wants to one-up her,” Kate said. “Some best friend she is.”

  “Yeah,” I added.

  “Wait. You told Stephanie that Greg lies?” Investigation Kate asked.

  I was caught off guard a bit. “What? Uh, no, I didn’t tell her that part. I still haven’t figured that out yet.”

  Kate shot me a look as if an idea had just sparked in her mind.

  “Nolan, you know, you and I would make an amazing investigative team,” she said, moving closer to me.

  I closed my eyes and blew out a deep breath, saying, “So you’ve told me before.” I didn’t want Kate to try to change the subject on me, so I kept talking. “Okay, so now it’s your turn. What did Dean tell you?”

  Kate let her dimples show as if she had forgotten her part of the deal. But suddenly the dimples faded as her gaze looked past me.

  Turning my head, I followed Kate’s line of sight. Coming toward us with two other goons was Trent.

  Chapter Nine

  TRENT’S CROOKED SMILE WAS pasted to his face as he and his two cronies stepped up to us, wearing similar expressions.

  I instinctively stood, blocking Kate—or was I protecting her? Regardless, I was on my feet. These three were unpredictable. My eyes started searching the commons area for an escape route.

  “What’s up, Nolan? What are you and Muddy talking about?”

  Kate was on her feet now, just behind my right shoulder. Again, as a reflex, I kept my arm in her path to shield her.

  “Nothing,” I answered.

  “Oh, come on, what where you guys having? A widdle moment?” Trent made a puppy-dog face that looked more bulldog than Labrador.

  Kate spoke up. “Back off.” Her tone meant it, but I had the suspicion she wanted to learn more about the mystery that was me and these guys were just keeping her from that.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, Nolan. Were you asking Kate to the dance and we interrupted?” Trent asked, laughing out loud.

  Why is it that when the head bully makes a wisecrack, his buddies always have to laugh along? Like he made them sign some contract where one of the clauses is that they’d have to laugh at all his stupid jokes.

  On those dotted lines were the names Earl Dawson and Kenny Larks. I looked them up and down. I guess camouflage and black clothing were also in the contract because they both wore it and looked ridiculous.

  Trent kept with it. “Well, Muddy, what’s your answer?”

  I hadn’t planned on going to the Fall Ball at all, let alone asking Kate—secret crush or not. It wasn’t my style to go to dances. No reason—just didn’t prefer them. Yet my mind changed when I saw the expression on Kate’s face. That “idea” look again. Crap.

  “Yes, Nolan, I will go with you,” she said.

  That sealed it. Again, the annoying laughter from the Three Stooges.

  Kate saw the opening and took it. “Well, we better be off.” She lightly took my hand, squeezing a couple of fingers. “Have to find those perfect matching outfits.”

  Then we were both off and moving. As if she’d planned it beforehand, Kate and I entered a door marked Maintenance. And, just before it closed, I heard Trent yell, “We
aren’t done!”

  The rank smell of cleaning supplies and dirty water attacked my senses. I let out a short cough. Kate flipped the deadbolt on the door we’d come through. The school’s custodial room was empty and dark.

  “Come on—this way,” Kate said. I had the feeling she had been in here before. Through another door on the opposite side of the room, the two of us spilled out into the senior hallway with no one in sight. Apparently lunch had not ended yet.

  A bit out of breath, I tried to refocus myself. “Well, that was awkward,” I said, and before I could get Kate’s opinion, the period bell rang.

  She began walking down the hallway, but turned back to me and said, “See you Saturday night!”

  I couldn’t believe it.

  ***

  THE SECOND HALF OF school went pretty much the same as, well, the second half of school usually goes. Boring classes. One teacher assigned a paper and another drilled me on math questions, which I failed miserably.

  It wasn’t until the end of the day that I gave the Stephanie-Laura dilemma a second thought. I was at my locker, filling my bag with books for homework, when Kate found me and brought up the issue.

  “It’s not Saturday yet, Muddy,” I said, zipping up my bag.

  “Har har, dork,” she replied as we began to walk. “I’ve got a theory. I was flipping through ‘Uncanny X-men,’ issue—”

  “Wait, are you talking about those funny books?”

  A sarcastic smile twisted her lips. “And how are your shins feeling?” she asked. You couldn’t call comic books “funny books” around Kate or she’d kick you in the shins. I had the bruises to prove it.

  “Never mind. You were saying?” I returned.

  Kate went on to explain that apparently the situation between the girls reminded her of a sequence in the comic book. We exited school and walked toward the front of the student parking lot. With her nose buried deep inside her comic, Kate kept pace with me. The lot was full of rumbling, rust-covered cars owned by teens ready to escape school themselves. I had to pull Kate back just before she stepped in front of one that didn’t seem to see her.

  Her legs fumbled, she lost her balance, and she turned and fell into me. Kate’s hands gripped my arms. I held strong and didn’t fall. The moment was lucid but short-lived as I helped her stand back up. My hands still held her arms. Realizing this, I reacted as if they were blistering hot. Embarrassed, I shoved my hands in my pockets. I had to find something to say.

  “You should probably put that thing away.”

  With an awkward roll of her eyes, Kate stuffed the comic back into her messenger bag then sheepishly said, “Oh well, I can’t find it anyway.”

  Kate was probably the closest thing I had to a friend—well, except for Dean. I thought he was friends with everybody, though. Kate, I was coming to realize, had always been there, although she had her newspaper crowd and league of underlings and I didn’t have anybody. It seemed like everybody in school wanted something from me, but never just me. I felt like I was marked for some reason.

  Even being in the foster care system, I felt like I was given a strike, like it was my fault that Dad was an abusive, half-minded drunk. Society didn’t want me to be myself; society wanted to shape me. Don’t get me wrong—the Mitchell family meant well, but sometimes you can’t help the helpless.

  Finally Kate and I made it to Dean’s car, but there was no Dean. He was likely still in school organizing, mentoring, or signing up for something. Kate leaned against the car and flipped open her black notebook. I jumped on the trunk of the car with a quick nap in mind.

  The coolness of the rear window’s glass stung my bare neck at first, but then I relaxed, and, for what it’s worth, I started to calm. It felt good.

  “What if you just asked him?” Kate said, interrupting my rest.

  “Say what? Are you still here?” I sat up to look at her.

  A light breeze teased through us.

  “What if you just asked Greg the truth?”

  I sighed and laid my head back down. “Great plan, Huddy, but school’s over,” I said.

  “Right, school’s over, but what better place to catch the new guy than the school parking lot, where he’s obviously forgotten where he parked his car?”

  My eyes were closed, yet I knew that “idea” expression was all over Kate’s face. I gave it a second to filter through my head. Of course Kate wouldn’t say something like that unless she had evidence. I tilted my head back up at her, but she didn’t have her eyes on the wandering Greg; she had them on Stephanie.

  Stephanie’s head shifted over to the left every once in a while and watched a befuddled Greg jingle his keys in his hands, as if he were looking for a lost dog. I saw her wiping her eyes. And then, before I knew it, Kate was moving in Stephanie’s direction.

  “You go talk to Greg. I’ll see what Stephanie knows.”

  Crap.

  My ego kicked in. Forget it, I thought, this thing is over. If Kate wanted to take it over and question Stephanie, she was welcome to do so. I was paid, done deal, cased closed.

  Then I felt it. Right at the base of my skull, like that piece of cold glass had stung my skin. It was the irk of responsibility. The case wasn’t closed, and I was the one who had gotten Kate involved. The least I could do was find out why Greg lies.

  I popped myself off the trunk of Dean’s car and walked over to Greg.

  “What’s up? You’re—” he started to say.

  And that’s all I heard. Next thing I knew, I was inside Greg’s mind.

  Chapter Ten

  GREG’S MIND WAS A food court. It had an open area with tables and chairs, surrounded by food vendors at the edges. I counted five round tables with six chairs at each. This wasn’t a mega-mall food court by any means. Simple, except for one thing: the place was eerily silent.

  Then, out of nowhere, a thought suddenly hit me (no, not literally, but it’s happened). I had never seen my own mind room. I wondered what it looked like, where it was. Would it be a location, like Greg’s, or would it be just an empty room?

  Further, I pondered whether we ourselves created these rooms, or were these rooms for mind readers like me to jump into. These types of questions randomly sprang up with having an unusual ability such as mine. Yet the real question was, were there others out there like me?

  Taking a deep breath, I cleared my throat and mind. Too many questions. For now, I needed to answer one at a time, so I restrained my personal debates and centered on the one at hand: why does Greg lie?

  I placed my hand on one of the chairs and took another look around. Maybe I’d gotten this all wrong. Maybe I was in the wrong mind. Shouldn’t I have been in Laura’s? She would have an answer to my question, wouldn’t she? There, inside Greg’s head, I’d just be wandering as if I were on some deserted island…er, food court … which I kind of was.

  Then I noticed that the chair under my hand had a name on it. I scooted the chair back and it made that awful screeching sound, carrying into an echo. The letters looked as if someone had branded the name “Uncle Bud” into the plastic. Like, this spot was reserved for Uncle Bud, and nobody else could sit here but him.

  I pulled out the chair next to Uncle Bud. In black, burnt lettering was “Wilma Sheridan.” I’d never heard the name. I went to another table and inspected a chair. This time it read “Will Smith.” Wait a minute… I traced the letters with my finger. Sure enough, the name was there. My eyes wandered further to the chair beside Will’s. This one read “Dean Mitchell.” That’s when it started to make sense. These were all people Greg knew, or…well, something to that effect.

  A part of me wanted to argue that he didn’t know the famous actor personally; “Will Smith” just happened to be a common name. And it seemed interesting that Dean already had prime seating. Then the bigger picture hit me. This table wasn’t a circle shape like the others; it was curved in that of a giant heart. It was a bit askew, but it was recognizable. Man, you’d think I would have picked up
on this heart thing along the way. I tried to think back. Had I seen that shape inside Laura’s mind?

  Four other chairs gathered at the heart table. I bet one of them had Laura’s name on it. Leaning to the side to view the next chair, I read the name “Linda Wilkins.” In the next seat blazed the name “Matt Hemmings.” The following chair’s name was “Jenny Wilkins.” Only one chair left—this had to be it.

  “Gotcha!” I said, and flipped it out. The name read “Stephen King.” A good choice, but not what I was expecting. There was no Laura Hartman. I whipped around to face the rest of the tables. None of them were heart shaped, although there were twenty-five chairs left to check out. Well, maybe Laura wasn’t a love in Greg’s life after all. Maybe they just hadn’t gotten serious yet. Were they even dating?

  I took a seat in Will Smith’s chair. Laura’s name had to be among those chairs somewhere. The wafting smell of steamed rice and glazed chicken entered my presence. Turning my head, I stood and noticed the Chinese food stand for the first time. The Quick Wok seemed to be grilling up something delicious. It was positioned in the middle of all the other food outlets that encompassed the entire room. Was it strange that I was hungry? Maybe Greg had food for thought. (Sorry, bad joke.)

  I took three steps in the amazing smell’s direction and froze as the letters in the word “Quick” parted like an elevator door and the whole establishment itself split in half. As it separated, from the darkness beyond it scooted in another small plastic chair, just the same as the others. The problem was that all the tables were full. Instantly, another chair made that scraping sound, backed itself up, and was sucked into the dark abyss behind the Grab-and-Go sub sandwich vendor. The new chair took the old chair’s place.

  “Whoa,” was the only thing I could say.

  I didn’t know who got replaced, but I could certainly find out who took the old spot. Doing a short jog to the new seat, I knelt down so the name was at eye level. Ron Sutting’s name was sizzled into the back of chair, a few wisps of smoke still lifting from it. The worst part was that the delicious smell of sweet-and-sour chicken permeated from it, making me that much more hungry. I stood again. I was stuck at a standstill and had no idea what I was doing here. I’d come in to find out why Greg lies and only discovered that I was hungry for some Quick Wok.