Extraordinary October. Diana Wagman
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“I think so.”
He put out his hand as if would lead me to the woods right then and there. In the shadowy car, his hand looked huge, almost inhuman. His nails were too long and dirty. Involuntarily, I leaned back.
“Let’s go right now,” he said.
I could see my reflection in his eyes and my face was stretched and distorted like in a funhouse mirror. He bent toward me. His breath smelled like green plants and very faintly of rot. I frowned, but for some reason I wanted to kiss him so badly I didn’t care what he tasted like. He smoothed my hair off my face and blinked and my reflection was gone. I leaned toward him—
Crunch! The car jerked forward at the same time I heard metal meet metal. We’d been hit. “What the?” My mom’s car was a lot nicer than my dad’s. I looked at Trevor. He was furious and in his anger his chin looked pointier, his eyes larger. Then he shook all over like a dog waking up and shrugged at me.
“What a drag,” he said.
“No kidding.”
I got out of the car. Jed’s fancy red Charger was somehow connected to my bumper.
“Oh wow,” Jed said. “It’s you. Wow, man, I’m sorry.”
“What were you doing? Are you wasted?”
“Absolutely not. I dropped my phone. I just looked down for a minute.”
“Oh my God. You are such an idiot.”
When I glanced back in the car for Trevor, he was gone, and the passenger door was wide open. I was disappointed in him, running off at the first sign of trouble. What did I know about him? Nothing much. For a second I saw again his odd angry face and I could smell something dead. I shivered.
Jed jumped up on his bumper and rocked his car up and down. The two bumpers disconnected. “No problem-o,” he said.
“What? Look at my car!” But surprisingly, the bump hadn’t done any damage.
“Those plastic bumpers you got are awesome,” he said. Then he looked around. “Where’d your friend go?”
“I don’t know.”
“Lock your doors on the way home, okay? This isn’t such a safe neighborhood anymore.”
“That’s funny coming from you.”
“There are worse things than a fender bender.”
“Bye, Jed.”
Another perfect opportunity with Trevor—ruined. Angrily I got into my car and started it up. Jed watched as I backed around him and drove away.
The computer screen was the only light in my room. Sometimes I think the Internet was invented for insomniacs. I have never been a good sleeper, but the web—the perfect name for the way it catches you and won’t let you go—makes the middle of the night much more pleasant. There is a whole world out there that is never asleep.
I carried my laptop into my bed and rested it on my knees. I had that WWI paper to write, due next Monday, and I hadn’t even started. But instead of Gallipoli or the Treaty of Versailles, I Googled Walker Smith. Nothing—and I mean nothing—came up. Then I tried Hayden College. Turned out Hayden College was one of those for profit schools where you took classes only online. It didn’t even offer a Psychology major, only dental hygienist and computer tech. I thought of how warm his hand had been, how blue his eyes. And then there was Trevor. I looked for Trevor Rockman and he came up on the school’s page. He had joined the football team. What the hell? There were only three months of school left and nobody was playing football. Maybe they meant baseball.
My cell phone pinged, a text. I got out of bed and found my phone.
“This is Jeb. Have you seen Luisa?”
I texted back. “It’s almost midnight.”
“Look out your window. See her?”
I looked, but there was no one outside and no strange cars in front of the house. It was the night before trash pick up and all up and down the street people had put their big rubber containers out at the curb. I thought I saw movement behind one. What would she be doing out there? I looked closer. Nothing. Just a branch moving.
There was something white in the middle of the street. It looked like a paper plate that had fallen out of someone’s recycling. On closer look, it wasn’t a paper plate. It was a Frisbee.
“Frisbee in the middle of the street.” I texted.
He texted right back. “On my way.”
I pulled on my jeans, conveniently lying right there on the floor. I took off the T-shirt I slept in—one of my dad’s and enormous—and put on an old hoodie. I tiptoed downstairs carrying my shoes. I looked toward the den. The door was closed and I could hear my parents in there fighting, but in low voices as if I wouldn’t know. I always knew when they were arguing and lately it had been more often. My mom was gone a lot to conferences and mycology meetings. She said it was important, but I think Dad thought it was just to get away from him. He was worried she might leave him so he was desperate to lose weight, but they were in there fighting about Madame Gold. It had been an uncomfortable evening despite celebrating my college acceptance. Mom had made all my favorite foods: fettuccini, garlic bread, asparagus, and my dad had refused to eat any of it. That’s when the fight began. Usually Mom was telling him not to eat so much. That night it was because he wasn’t eating at all.
“You’ll get sick,” she had said. “That hypnotist girl didn’t mean for you to stop eating completely.”
“I’m sorry, Ruth. I’m just not the least bit hungry.”
He kept speaking with that unusual formality. As Mom got frustrated and started shouting, he stayed calm, also unusual for him. He was adamant about not eating. Finally he went into the den and shut the door. Mom looked furious.
“I guess the hypnosis is working.”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Mom said firmly. “It’s not right.” She sniffed the air. “I can smell it. I can smell her.”
My mom has a hypersensitive nose, better than anybody. She likes people—or doesn’t—often by their odor. As soon as dinner was over she followed Dad into the den. They’d been in there ever since.
I opened the front door silently. Jeb was standing outside.
“You got here fast. Where’s your car?”
“Too noisy.” He already had the Frisbee in his hand.
“Is it hers?”
He nodded. “She’s been taken.”
“What?” I knew she came from a kind of messed up family. I knew her mom worked all the time and her dad lived somewhere far away. “You mean her dad? Have you been to her house?”
He shook his head. “She would never leave this behind.” He meant the Frisbee. “Unless she had to.”
“Why was it in front of my house?”
He looked down the street. “I gotta go.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“Go inside. Lock the door.”
He had never been much of a talker. Now he was driving me crazy. “But what is happening?” Jeb didn’t answer. He reached out as if to touch me, but then turned and ran off. He was quick and he melted instantly into the dark. “Jeb?” I whispered. “Jeb?”
Other than the circle of light from the single streetlamp it was pitch black. I thought I heard the bushes rustling. One of the trashcans thumped softly as if someone had bumped it. My mom’s car keys were still in the pocket