Crossing Over (5 page)

“Please?” I whispered again.

Jac sighed.

“Well,” she said after a moment, “I guess there is something to be said for remaining at a distance. He can get the full picture
that way.”

I was glad Jac had dropped it, though truth be told the “full picture” was the last thing I wanted Ben Greenblott, or anyone
else, to have of me.

We got under way relatively early the next morning and had arrived at our first destination. Mrs. Redd was calling to us loudly
to remember where we parked. Given that we had come on an enormous bus with a massive green leprechaun painted on the side,
I didn’t feel her concern was necessary. What did concern me was that the Beige Girl was still on the bus when we boarded
it that morning.

She sat in the same seat she’d been in when I first saw her. She continued to stare out
the window, and this time I did not
attempt to engage her in conversation. When we all disembarked at the Mount-Royal Park guest area, Beige Girl made no move
to leave.

Sid was directing us to follow him on the wide, paved path that led up Mont-Royal to the famous overlook at the Chalet du
Mont-Royal. He was walking backward up the hill, talking to us as he moved. I was enjoying that Sid seemed to start every
sentence with the same two words.

“Okay, guys, so I’m sure you’ve all done your homework, and you know that this place was visited and named in the 1500s by
a famous French explorer named… Come on, guys, who knows this?”

“Jacques Cousteau,” shouted Phil.

Sid rolled his eyes a little.

“Okay, guys, think it through, come on,” Sid said.

“Jacques Cartier,” offered Mikuru.

Sid clapped. “Excellent,” he said. “And he called it Royal Mountain,
Mont-Royal
, and what do you think got its name from that?”

“Oh yeah, Montreal. That’s, like, amazing!” exclaimed Shelby.

Was it? It didn’t seem especially amazing to me.

“If you pick up the pace a little we can catch up to Ben,” Jac said.

I opened my mouth to tell her to give it a rest, but closed it again. She was right. He wasn’t that far ahead of us, walking
by himself. Mont Royal Park was beautiful even on a day like this, which was bleak and gray as the day before but without
the rain. The path was wide and easy, and the way up wasn’t steep at all.

I glanced behind me, to see my mother and Mrs. Gray taking up the rear. My mother
was wearing sensible if raggedy sneakers,
but Jac’s mom was wearing some kind of espadrille without socks.
She’s going to get terrible blisters
, I thought. I looked away before either of them could notice I was checking them out.

“Maybe you’re right,” I told Jac, feeling as brave and terrified as a pilgrim embarking on a voyage to the New World. “We
could… oh.”

Ben had been alone a minute ago. But now there was a guy walking next to him, talking and gesturing with his hands.

“Forget it. That other guy is talking to him now,” I said.

Jac grabbed my elbow.

“What other guy?” she whispered.

Oh no. Not again.

“Please tell me you’re joking,” I said to her, almost tripping on a little rock in the road.

Jac shook her head. “I don’t see anyone with Ben,” she told me. “You do?”

I sighed.

“I do,” I repeated.

The guy had looked normal at first glance, but on closer examination I could see he was wearing britches—like the boys had
worn in our Drama Club production of
Our Town
—not the long baggy shorts I’d taken them for. His shirt was made of a thick material and looked worn and patched. He was
built like a football player, tall and solid and strong. Jac suddenly sped up and walked closer to them. To him. To whatever.
What was she doing?

Anything was better than walking alone, so I caught up with her. I could hear the spirit with Ben now.

“
Où est Hochelaga? Hochelaga?
”

I could not understand him. The back of
his neck was a little dirty and sunburned over the muscles. Was he asking where Hochelaga
was? Or who Hochelaga was?
Où
means “who,” right?

“
Hochelaga!
” the ghost boy repeated with more urgency. He raised one hand, like he was going to whack Ben on the head. With arms like
that, I’m betting he could have Ben airborne with a single blow. If he’d been, you know, from our physical reality and all
that.

“Hey!” I exclaimed.

Ben stopped walking and turned around. I hadn’t realized how close on his heels I was—I almost collided with him.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey,” I said.

But of course, I had already said that.

“Hey,” Jac said. She came up on my right elbow, so that she didn’t stand between Ben and me.

“Hey,” Ben said, a smile spreading over his face.

This was either the best or the worst thing that had happened to me in a long time. I was walking with Ben, which gave me
an excuse to chat with him and be with him and just basically absorb his Ben-ness. Except that a big dead guy in britches
with no shoes and unkempt blond hair was in the way, repeating things in a language I did not speak especially well. Wonderful.
My first shot at making a good impression on Ben and something had already, well, come between us.

“I’m trying to picture what this must have looked like to Cartier four hundred years ago,” Ben said. The ghost guy practically
jumped in the air.

“
Cartier! Je dois revenir à l’Emerille avec Cartier, à Hochelaga.
”

Okay, I didn’t get any of that except
Cartier and hosh-uh-laka. There was no way for me to communicate this to the ghost without
talking out loud, which Ben would naturally assume was me talking to him. But I was going to have a very hard time talking
to Ben if this ghost couldn’t take a hint and shove off for a while. What could I say to both of them?

“Nope,” was what I came up with.

“But he was here,” said Ben.

“Hochelaga,” said Britches.

“Was he right here?” I asked. Oh, please.

“I guess nobody really knows,” Ben says. “There must be archeological evidence, though. They must have found some trace of
him after all this time. Maybe there wasn’t a camp, though. They would have stayed on their ship.”

“
Aidez-moi. Répondez! C’est loin, Hochelaga?
”

Maybe Britches was mistaking Ben for this guy Hochelaga, which could be a problem. Ghosts could be very stubborn. The no-longer-living
medium I had encountered at the Mountain House, Madame Serena, had persisted in believing for some time that she was alive
and I was the ghost. Madame Serena had glommed onto me like icing on a Hostess Cup Cake. All I needed was for Britches to
attach himself permanently to Ben. I would have a snowball’s chance in the desert of ever having a regular conversation with
him then.

“You should ask Sid. Both of you should,” Jac said.

I couldn’t process comments like “both of you” right now. I was losing track of who could see whom.

We walked in silence for a moment. I shot Jac a desperate look. She looked at what to
her must be the empty space between
Ben and me and raised her eyebrows. I nodded a little.

She understood the problem, but what could she possibly do about it?

“Okay, guys, so we’re gonna come up to the overlook,” Sid was calling. I tried to get Britches’s attention.

“Ask that guy,” I muttered to Britches, gesturing toward Sid with my head.

“Ask Sid about Cartier?” Ben asked.

Rats. He’d heard me.

“Oh, no. Well, if you want,” I corrected. “I mean…”

I made a sudden decision that the current situation could not be salvaged.

“I better check on my… mother,” I said.

“Oh. Okay,” said Ben.

“Why?” asked Jac.

“
Hochelaga
!” insisted Britches.

I turned abruptly and headed for the rear of the group. My mother and Mrs. Gray were walking together, though they didn’t
seem to be talking at all.

My mother’s face broke into a smile when she saw me. She hadn’t expressed any anger about me ignoring her, nor did she now
look surprised that I was talking to her.

“Hey, Kat,” she said. “You okay? Need a Band-Aid?”

She was giving me an opportunity to stop at the side of the path with her. I’m sure she was perfectly aware of the fact that
a ghost was up there with Jac and Ben. She’d been figuring out what the dead wanted for so long, I had no doubt she could
understand what Britches wanted and have him dispatched in minutes.

But Britches had attached himself to Ben, and I didn’t want my mother going and doing her stuff where Ben could see or hear
it.

The irritation I felt at my mother the night before resurfaced. If she had been born normal, after all, then I might have
been born the same way. Was that so much to ask—that a person’s mother be born normal?

“A Chap Stick—I just need a Chap Stick,” I muttered.

She fished around in her big, faded bag and produced one. Cherry flavored. Not my favorite.

“I know you don’t like the cherry stuff, but it’s all they had,” she said, giving me a sympathetic smile.

I took it silently, coated my lips, then gave it back to her.

“Everything okay?” she asked.

“Of course,” I said, aware that a little frown had crept over my forehead. “I should get back up there. With Jac.”

“Sure, sweetie.”

Mrs. Gray said nothing. Her forehead was creased and her expression bleak. She walked gingerly, favoring her right foot.

“I think Mrs. Gray might be able to use that Band-Aid, though,” I said, and turned and jogged back up toward Jac without saying
anything else.

Jac and Ben were walking and talking cheerfully right through the center of Britches. I envied their inability to be distracted
by him. And I envied Jac in her ability to casually chat with Ben.

“Look!” Jac pointed, as I reached her right side.

The path ahead opened up onto a broad patio with flagstones, centered around a large stone building with a red roof, flanked
by four flags. Opposite the building the flat paved area ended in a guard rail, where the world seemed to drop off. Through
the
mist, the outlines of the city and glimpses of the river were visible. The three of us, well, the four of us, to be precise,
walked across the patio to the railing.

“Imagine what you could see on a clear day,” Ben said.

I looked over at him, and he looked back at me. Those sparkling eyes, not so much brown as four different shades of it. When
Ben looked at me, I really felt seen. How could I have been this boy’s lab partner in bio for an entire three days and failed
to notice those amazing eyes?

Britches was peering anxiously over the rail. He turned frantically to Ben.

“
Hochelaga est là? Là?
”

Ben was standing with his hand on a large stone on which there was a plaque. He suddenly looked half asleep.

“…
Sanguenay n’est pas loin. Là-bas, il y a des riches
…
Il y a beaucoup de riches
….”

I looked around wildly. Britches had fallen silent. Jac was snapping pictures, and Ben was still zoned out. There was no one
else around.

“…
c’est bien pour la roi. Pour la France. Je dois prendre Sanguenay pour la France!
”

Oh, boy. I was hearing voices again.

It was like the supernatural world was conspiring to make sure I could not get friendly with Ben. Imagine trying to have a
conversation with someone while a morning talk show blared in your ear. Difficult. And whether it was because I could never
get a word in edgewise, or he ended up thinking I was a total nut job, it seemed the supernatural was going to win.

“Let me take a picture of you two,” Jac
said. “Hey, Ben—snap out of it. Picture! Come on you two, squish together.”

Did the girl never let up?

But let’s face it. I didn’t want her to let up.

I pretended not to want to be photographed, praying Jac would loudly insist.

“Oh, no…,” I said. “Not of me. Just take one of—”

“Kat Roberts, stop arguing with me and get in the picture!” Jac commanded.

I immediately and happily complied.

I stood next to Ben, smiling expectantly at Jac’s camera. I shifted my weight, and our shoulders brushed.
Please let Jac take forever to take the picture
, I prayed silently.

“Smile! Got it!”

Ah well. The important thing was there was now a picture of me and Ben together. If it turned out my eyes were closed or my
smile
malformed, I would throttle my friend. Steal her Twixes and Mars Bars and replace them with vegetables.

“Okay, guys,” I heard, just as a fat raindrop landed on the ground. “Unfortunately it looks like the chalet is closed for
cleaning.”

Another drop fell on my head.

“And the weather is kind of turning,” Sid continued.

As if Sid’s statement had been a command rather than an observation, the sky opened up and it completely and totally began
to pour.

“So we should probably head back for the coach,” Sid called. According to Sid, like Tim, we were traveling on a motor coach,
not a bus. I liked the sound of it.

Brooklyn and Shelby were screaming and covering their heads as if sulfuric acid were falling from the sky. They took off at
a run,
and the Random Boys followed them, imitating their girly running and hooting at the top of their lungs. Yoshi produced
the world’s smallest umbrella from his backpack and handed it to his sister. She squeezed under it with Alice and Indira.
The rest of us were content to quick-march back down the path. More dignified than running, and besides, it was only water.

We reached the leprechaun-mobile in a quarter of the time it had taken us to walk to the top of Mont-Royal. Sid stationed
himself by the door, counting each one of us as we got on the bus. Tim the Motor Coach Operator looked startled and rumpled
in his seat up front, as if he’d been in a deep sleep.

Jac and I had gotten separated from Ben on the jog down. I tried not to look for him as I brushed the water out of my hair.
What
I did see, after glancing in his general direction, was that Britches had gotten on the bus with us, and was sitting
next to Beige Girl.