by Avi
“What about him?”
“You were close, right? I keep telling you, you stink of his death. It attracts the ghost. Makes sense, doesn’t it, dead liking dead. Accept it.”
Wishing Uncle Charlie had stayed out of my life, I felt a spurt of anger. “What . . . what can I do?”
“Get rid of him, before he gets rid of you.”
“But how . . . ,” I stammered, “how . . . can I get rid of a ghost?”
Jessica leaned across the table. “Tony, just know that we—the Weird History Club—are totally on your side. The other kids, Barney and Mac, you don’t like them. I know. But I’m in charge. You good with that?”
I sat there, not sure what to say.
“I need a guy like you,” Jessica pressed. “Someone with brains.” She flashed her smile. “We can do it.”
“Do what?”
“Get rid of the Penda Boy.”
“But he’s dead.”
“Tony, you heard Bokor: if his ghost gets you, he lives; you die.”
I sat there, too terrified to speak.
She went on: “Look at the harm the Penda Boy has done. All those kids, disappearing. Austin was nice. But—a couple of weeks after school began—he disappeared.”
“What . . . happened?” I whispered.
“Early on, Batalie was talking school rules. About no one being allowed in the towers. They always say that. All of a sudden, Austin—the new kid, right?—raises his hand. ‘Mr. Batalie,’ he says, ‘I saw someone in the tower.’”
“I asked you guys if anyone else saw the ghost.”
“Well . . . Austin. But he’s not here anymore.”
“What . . . what did Batalie say?”
“He said, ‘Not possible.’ But a few days later . . . Austin’s gone.”
I said, “I saw someone in the tower.”
“My point.”
“Did anyone look for Austin?”
“Sure. But no luck. Disappeared. But then, guess what?”
“What?”
“School said no one should talk about it. ‘Keep it in the family.’ Penda kids lap up that junk. Sucky school spirit. Tony, I’m telling you, if we don’t do something, what happened to Austin will happen to you. You’re going to disappear too.”
I was finding it hard to breathe.
She said, “I’m glad you told me about what’s going on. Want some advice? Don’t tell anyone else around the school. They’ll think you’re nuts.”
“I guess so. . . .”
“Know why the club wears black ties and neck scarves?”
I shook my head.
“To honor the missing kids. It tells people we haven’t forgotten. First time I saw you, I was worried about you.”
“Why?”
“I keep telling you. I knew right off you were connected to someone who died. At Penda, that’s not good.”
“People say to stay away from you.”
“Sure, because they care more about the school’s reputation than about missing kids.” She leaned closer. “You know how it is,” she said. “When kids tell the truth, grown-ups never want to listen. They want us dumb. Under control. Hey, girls especially should follow rules. Do what they’re told. Be sweet. Big eyes for the boys. Right?”
“I guess.”
“I’m smarter than they want. And I’m pretty. I know that. That makes it worse. People do not like pretty and smart in the same girl. Does it bother you?”
“No. I just want to know what to do.”
“Join our club. We’ll protect you and get the Penda Boy. And if we get rid of him, it’ll be great for the school. Accept it: The Penda Boy is the enemy. I’m your friend.”
“Thanks,” I muttered.
“Tony,” she pushed, “I’m trying to help you.”
“I know, but I have to do something soon.”
“I’ll come up with a plan,” she said, offering her smile. “Promise. Save you, save the school.” She grabbed my arm, gave it a shake. As she did, I noticed her ring, with the seven stones on it.
Trying to find something to say, I blurted out, “How come you have those black stones on your ring?”
“They’re onyx. Seven of them. Onyx is for self-control and protection, and seven because that’s the most important number in the universe.”
That was what Uncle Charlie had said right before he died.
“Seven is magic,” Jessica said. “I read somewhere that the old Greeks thought it was a perfect number. In the Bible, it took seven days to make the world. In fact, seven is in the Bible more than any other number. True. Ever notice phone numbers always had just seven numbers? Ever hear of the Masons? A huge secret society. Seven is big to them. My name has seven letters. Seven protects me. Hey, I’m a seventh grader. This is my big year.”
I was getting increasingly tense. It wasn’t only what she said. It was her constant pushing, her insisting I do something, but she never made it exactly clear what. Same time, I kept telling myself, She’s trying to help me. She’s my friend. I had to listen.
My cell phone rang. I pulled it from my pocket. It was my mom. “’Lo.”
Mom said, “I’m here, home. Where are you?”
“Down on Union. In a yogurt shop, with a friend.”
“Nice. Remember? We were going shopping. Think you could get back soon?”
I looked across the table. Jessica was waiting for me. I admit I was glad to have the excuse to go, to think, to calm down.
“Yeah,” I said into the phone. “I’ll come.” I stood up.
“Gotta go?” said Jessica, sounding disappointed.
“My mom,” I said, trying to say it as if I was disappointed.
“Hey, if kids got rid of their parents, things would be more fun, right?” Her smile was almost a smirk. “Don’t worry,” she said. “We’ll talk more. We’re a team, right? I’ll work on a plan.”
“Yeah, sure.”
I started out of the yogurt shop.
“Tony,” she called. “Trust me.”
“Right,” I replied, because I did want to trust her. But that, I remembered, was what Uncle Charlie had asked me to do just before he died.
As I climbed the steep hill toward home, I kept telling myself I had to accept the fact that the Penda Boy was after me. That the only person making sense, the only one helping me, was Jessica. No sooner did I have that thought than I saw Uncle Charlie across the street.
My frustration flipped. I shouted, “Family was always saying, ‘What’s the deal with Uncle Charlie?’ You’re my enemy, that’s what. Go away.”
He vanished. Good.
I started walking again. Jessica’s talk about seven plowed into my head. I counted the letters of my name—Anthony. Seven. I was in seventh grade. Too weird. What was it that Dad had said about weird? It didn’t just mean strange but also fate.
I had asked, “Whose?”
“Yours, I guess,” Dad had said, laughing.
I labored up the hill. I wasn’t laughing. I was petrified.
When I got home, Mom was at the kitchen table making a shopping list. “Hi. Sorry to pull you away. Who’s your friend?”
“Some girl from class.”
“Oh, nice,” said Mom, trying to act uninterested. “Look over my list while I get ready. See if I forgot anything.”
She went to get her purse. I picked up the list but didn’t look at it. I kept thinking, If the Penda Boy and Uncle Charlie are against me, who’s on my side? The same answer always came: Jessica.
Mom and I went out together. After a while I said, “I’ve been invited to a party on Friday night.”
“Lovely. What’s the occasion?”
“Some girl in my class. It’s her birthday. She’s turning thirteen.”
Mom worked hard not to grin. “That the girl you were with?”
“No. Different.”
She allowed herself to smile. “You’re becoming quite the ladies’ man.”
I frowned, but what she said made me feel good.
Next day, during lunch, I sat with a bunch of classmates that included Lilly. There was a lot of laughing, giggling, and teasing as they talked about the Halloween party.
“So awesome,” said a boy named Mark. “So much more fun than Christmas.”
“Everyone comes to school in costume,” explained Lilly, who had sat down next to me. “Teachers too. Even Ms. Foxton. I love her. Mr. Bokor always comes as a warlock. So cool.”
Abruptly, the room began to shake. Earthquake, I realized. During the time it lasted—three, four seconds—everyone froze. The instant it stopped, as if nothing had happened, Joel said, “I’m going to be Henry the Eighth. Anyone want to be one of my wives?”
“No way” came a chorus of laughing voices.
Was I the only one who’d felt the earthquake? The way I was the only one who saw the Penda Boy?
“I’ll be the fisherman from The Old Man and the Sea,” said a kid named Carlos.
Ian said, “Who’s going to be the dead fish?”
Laughter.
Mia, Lilly’s best friend, said, “I’ve got this great clown outfit,” and then Ian announced, “I’m going to be the Penda Boy.”
Groans. “So lame,” called Peter. “The Penda Boy is always there.”
I asked myself if it would be the ghost, or someone costumed as the boy.
Lilly turned to me. “Have any idea what you’ll be?”
From across the cafeteria I saw Jessica’s eyes on me, her look full of mockery. I was sure she was reminding me that the kids I was with had no idea what was happening with the Penda Boy.
I realized that all the kids at the table were waiting for my answer.
“Hey, Tony,” called Todd, “anyone ever told you how spacey you are?”
“That means he’s going to dress up as an astronaut!” shouted Lee, who always made puns.
The kids moaned in appreciation as the end-of-lunch bell rang. Leaving the cafeteria, Lilly was at my side. “Still coming to my birthday party?”
“Sure,” I said, only wanting to have some fun.
In history class, Bokor talked about what he called “the Black Death.” He described it as a deadly plague that swept through Europe in the fourteenth century.
“Historians who have studied this,” he said as he paced about the room, “are not sure if half or a third of the European population died. In a matter of months. All these deaths within such a short period. People high and low. Try to visualize it. They just ceased to exist.”
His voice boomed with fervor.
“Whole villages, towns, cities, emptied,” he cried in dramatic fashion. “Think of your classmates—disappearing. Here today, gone tomorrow. Imagine it. Look around.”
I was afraid to.
“Tony,” Bokor called. “You’re not looking.”
I turned and saw Jessica watching me. Behind her—I was sure she didn’t know—was the Penda Boy, eyes full of pleading. All I could do was gape.
“That’s enough staring, Tony,” I heard.
I swung around. Bokor was hovering over me. “Tony. You look like you actually saw a dead person.”
The class laughed.
But I had seen someone—someone who’d died a hundred years ago.
Too tossed to think, I couldn’t wait until the end-of-class bell rang. As kids got up and left the room, Bokor called out, “Tony Gilbert. Will you please stay?”
I remained at my desk, nervous that Bokor was going to ask me what I had seen.
With a small grunt, he eased his bulk into a chair behind his desk. “Tony,” he began, “I realize that you and I haven’t truly spoken—which, since you are new, I should have done so. I must apologize. Anyway, here’s a belated welcome to Penda. Things going well?”
“Guess so.”
He smiled. “Enjoying history?”
I lifted a shoulder. “It’s okay.”
“In your former school did you have much history?”
“American Revolution.”
He laughed. “East Coast history. By the time the Pilgrims landed on Plymouth Rock, the University of Mexico was almost a hundred years old. I’m hoping you already know,” he went on, more seriously, “but I thought I should give a reminder: seventh graders have a research paper due at the end of October. Halloween. That’s soon.
“What I am interested in is your learning the idea of historical research. Learning about sources—primary and secondary. Footnotes. Bibliography. I’m not so concerned about the subject you write about, but it’s a good idea to take on a topic that interests you. Have you ever done anything like that before?”
I shook my head.
“Since you’ve come from the East Coast, maybe you’d like to learn about Spanish California, or San Francisco’s great 1906 earthquake, or . . .” He paused. “What about the Penda School? I know a lot about it. Be glad to help you.”
I heard him, but I was thinking about the Penda Boy.
“Anyway, we can talk, but you need to take on a doable project. Time is short. Your classmates have already chosen topics. Thanks for staying. Feel free to come by any time.”
Relieved it was normal school stuff, I said, “Thank you,” and left.
When I stepped from class, Jessica was waiting. “What was that about?” she asked.
“The history term paper. Have to choose a topic.”
“No, when Bokor asked everyone to look around, there was the strangest expression on your face.”
I hesitated.
Jessica shoved her hair back. “You saw the Penda Boy, didn’t you?”
Not wanting to talk, I moved down the hall.
She grabbed my arm. “Tell me.”
“He was sitting behind you.”
“What . . . was he doing?”
“Just . . . sitting there.”
“Was he looking at you? Me?”
“I’m not sure. At lunch,” I asked, “did you feel an earthquake?”
She scowled. “I don’t pay attention to them.”
The class bell rang.
“We’re late for science,” I said, glad to hurry on.
Jessica, staying close, said, “Something you should know: Bokor is the Weird History Club adviser.”
“Okay.”
She grabbed me again. “Tony, the Penda Boy is after you. You’ve got to do something. It’s almost Halloween. I want to help you.”
“I know,” I said, and scooted toward science class.
We were almost at the room when a voice rang out. “Jessica. Tony.”
It was Ms. Foxton, and she did not look happy. “The class bell has already rung,” she said, coming up to us. “Shouldn’t you two be in class?”
Already befuddled, and now cowed by her sharpness, I stammered, “I . . . I was talking to Mr. Bokor.”
“Did he give you a late pass?”
“No.”
“Jessica, what excuse do you have?”
Jessica stood there, glaring. “I was waiting for Tony. He’s my friend.”
“So I have been informed,” said Ms. Foxton with a frown. “Where is your next class?”
“Science,” said Jessica. “Right here.”
“Please, both of you. Get where you belong.”
I opened the classroom door. As I did, I looked back at Ms. Foxton. There was fright in her eyes. I had no doubt: she was afraid of Jessica. And as I stepped into class, Jessica muttered, “Someday I’m going to have to kill that woman.”
She sounded as if she meant it.
That night, after dinner, I sat at my desk and checked the internet earthquake site Dad had told me about, the one that listed the day’s earthquakes all over the world. There were a lot. None in San Francisco. But I was sure I had felt one at the school. Once again I asked myself, was I the only one who noticed it, the way I was the only one to see the Penda Boy? And this time I had a new thought: Was there a connection?
As I sat at my desk, trying to think it out, Mom walked in. Without saying a word, she sat behind
me on my bed. She said, “Tony, love, I need to talk to you. Please look at me.”
Sensing trouble, I swiveled around.
“Late this afternoon,” she began, “at work, I had a call from Ms. Foxton. The first thing she said was that your teachers are enjoying having you in class.”
“That’s not why she called you.”
“True. She said she found you socializing in the hallway when you should have been in science class.”
“That’s bull!” I cried, instantly angry. “Mr. Bokor, the history teacher, asked me to stay after class to talk about some paper I have to write.”
“And?”
“I did. I just forgot to ask him for a late note. And I went right from his class to science. Why would Ms. Foxton even call you about something so stupid?”
“She said that since you’re new, it’s important to get off to a good start. I guess a good start for her includes your knowing and following school rules. She was sure Mr. Batalie provided you with the rules. Did you read them?”
“That’s so unfair.” I turned my back on her.
Mom said, “There was another reason she called.”
I slumped over my desk. “What?”
“When she found you, you were with another student. A girl named Jessica Richards.”
“What’s Jessica got to do with it?”
“Ms. Foxton doesn’t have much good to say about the girl. Has she become a . . . special friend of yours?”
“Just tell me what she said.”
“The girl seems to create problems in the school.”
“So Ms. Foxton is telling you who my friends should be.”
“Tony, one of the advantages and, yes, disadvantages of a school like Penda is that they keep very close watch over students. They don’t hesitate to communicate with parents. I, for one, appreciate it. I think Ms. Foxton means well.”
I said, “Everybody hates her. I can make my own friends.”
“Well, you needed to know what she said.”
“Fine.”
“Ms. Foxton gave me her private number. She said you could call her if you wanted to talk about what happened. Or anything else that’s troubling you.”
Mom stood up, leaned over me, put down a yellow sticky note with Ms. Foxton’s number on it, and hugged me. “We simply want you to be happy, do well, and enjoy school. We came here in large measure because of you.”
