Gifted: Finders Keepers (5 page)

Ken shook his head. ‘I don’t think so.’

She had to agree with him. Their classmates didn’t pull pranks.

‘Does anyone else know about your gift?’ she asked.

‘No.’

‘You don’t have any idea who could have put that in your locker?’

‘No.’ He stuffed the note in his pocket. ‘I gotta go. See ya.’

And to her disappointment, he slammed the locker door closed and strode down the hall.

W
HAT KEN HAD SAID to Amanda wasn’t really true. He had a very good idea who could have left that note in his locker. Because there
was
someone outside of the gifted class who knew what he could do.

Outside the building, the note still in his hand, he paused by a rubbish bin. A friend who lived in his neighbourhood waved to him. ‘Hey, Preston, my brother’s picking me up. Want a ride home?’

‘No, thanks,’ Ken called back. ‘I’m not leaving yet. I’ve got a couple of things to do.’ He was about to toss the paper in the bin, but instead he stuck the crumpled note in his pocket and took off.

Actually, he felt like thinking and he needed to be alone for that. He headed around to the back of the canteen, where there was a bench under a tree, and sat down. Much as he didn’t enjoy reliving the past, he was going to have to let his mind wander back to those days after the accident.

He was allowed to go home three days after he regained consciousness. His parents came for him. Even though he had his crutches now, hospital regulations insisted he leave in a wheelchair. His parents followed as a nurse wheeled him out into the car park.

‘Happy to be going home, Ken?’ the nurse chirped cheerfully.

‘Yes,’ Ken replied. What a stupid question, he thought. Of course he was glad to be going back to his own bed, his mother’s cooking . . . and maybe an end to those disturbing conversations with his dead friend.

It was just so – so strange, having Jack in his head. It didn’t feel right. But what could he do? His best friend was dead. The least he could do was listen to him.

Grabbing his crutches, he got out of the wheelchair and hobbled into the car. As his parents got in, he noticed for the first time that they were very dressed up for a weekday afternoon. His mother wore heels and a black dress with a small strand of pearls at her neck. His father wore a dark suit with a white shirt and black tie.

‘Where are you going?’ he asked them.

His parents exchanged meaningful looks. ‘It’s where we’ve been,’ his mother told him gently. ‘Jack’s funeral was this morning.’

‘Oh.’

‘Later, we’re going to his home to pay a condolence call,’ she went on.

‘I guess I should go too,’ Ken said.

‘If you like, you can come with us,’ his mother said.

‘But we’ll understand if you don’t feel up to it,’ his father added.

He knew he should go. He’d known Jack’s family for a long time. But all he could think about right now was the way they’d probably look at him. He was alive and their son was dead. Maybe they would even hold him responsible for the collision.

He could get out of it – he knew that. All he had to do was say he felt tired, or that his ribs hurt. And that was what he planned to do. Someday, maybe in a week or two, he would stop by and see them. Apologize. It was the least he could do.

His father helped him out of the car while his mother adjusted his crutches. He winced as he limped into the house, keenly aware of the dull ache in his chest from the broken ribs. Slowly, he managed to get down the hall and into his bedroom. His mother fussed over him, adjusting his pillow, bringing magazines, asking if he was hungry.

‘I had your prescription filled, so tell me if you’re in pain,’ she said.

At the same time, another voice spoke.

Hey, Ken. Can you talk?

His heart sank. But what could he say? ‘Sure.’

He didn’t realize he’d spoken out loud until his mother came closer. ‘Here are the pills, and I’ll get you some water.’

‘I’m not in pain,’ Ken said.

His mother looked confused.

Ken? Are you there? I gotta ask you something.

‘Wait a second.’

Now his mother was concerned. ‘Ken, are you all right?’

‘I’m fine, I’m fine,’ Ken said quickly. ‘I – I think I’m going to sleep a while.’

His mother gave him one more worried look, and finally left the room.

Ken sat up and listened. Was Jack still there?

Yeah, I’m here.

That was when he realized he didn’t have to speak out loud to communicate with Jack. He only had to direct his thoughts.

I’ve got a favour to ask you.

What?

It’s about Lucy.

What about her?

I bought her this gift, from California. It’s a bracelet made out of seashells. I was going to give it to her the day I got back, but we had a fight.

What about?

Stupid stuff. I kept talking about the cute girls on the beach in California, and she got jealous.

What do you want me to do?

Could you give her the bracelet? It’s in the top drawer of my desk, in my bedroom. And . . . and tell her I’m sorry about the fight. She’ll understand. Will you do that for me?

Yeah, OK. Hey, Jack
. . .

What?

What’s it like, where you are?

It’s OK. I can’t really describe it – you wouldn’t understand. I’ll check with you tomorrow and find out what Lucy said, OK?

Tomorrow? Ken thought in alarm. I have to do it by tomorrow?

But there was no response. Jack was gone. Ken sank back on his pillow and wished he could make some sense out of this. He’d always been a pretty down-to-earth guy. Sure, he enjoyed psycho-thriller movies as much as any of his friends did, but he’d never been really scared by them because he didn’t believe in that spooky stuff.

He still didn’t believe in it. So how could he explain hearing Jack’s voice? Was he just imagining these conversations? Had his brain been damaged in the accident? The doctor had said all the tests and scans were fine, but doctors could make mistakes.

Only he
felt
fine too except for the pain in his ribs and his ankle. His head didn’t hurt at all. And he couldn’t have been imagining Jack’s voice. It was just too real.

So now what? He had to find the bracelet Jack told him about. Deliver it to Lucy. And tell her Jack was sorry.

Would Lucy think he’d lost his mind? Possibly. He didn’t really care though. He’d never told Jack this, but Lucy wasn’t one of his favourite people in the world. He’d always thought she was kind of shallow – one of those girls who only thinks about herself. The kind of girl who was accustomed to always getting what she wanted. Having seen her flirt with other guys at school, he’d wondered how much she really cared about Jack. But Jack liked her, so Ken had to be nice to her.

The truth of it was, he had to do this for Jack, whether he wanted to or not. He got off his bed and went to the door.

‘Mom? When you and Dad go to the Farrells’ – could you let me know? I’d like to go with you.’

As Ken had expected, the scene at the Farrell house was pretty grim. There was a black wreath on the door. Jack’s mother, her eyes red, hugged him, and Jack’s father put an arm around him. Neither of them acted like Ken was responsible for Jack’s death, and Ken was ashamed for even thinking they might.

There were other people at the house too – Jack’s friends from school and other adults who were neighbours and friends. A lot of people brought food, and the big dining room table was covered with cakes and pies. It could have been a party, except that there was no music, no laughing. And no one was having a good time.

Ken chatted quietly with a couple of friends, but all the time he was thinking about how and when he could get into Jack’s bedroom. Should he come up with an excuse? He could say he wanted to get the tennis racket he’d loaned to Jack. But that would sound kind of cruel, like he was afraid he’d never get the racket back now that Jack was dead. Maybe he could say he wanted to borrow a book, but that didn’t seem right either. Jack wasn’t much of a reader.

It might be best just to sneak into the room. There were plenty of other people there – no one would notice if he went missing for a little while. And there was a bathroom right next to Jack’s bedroom – he could say he was going there if anyone asked.

In the end, he didn’t have to invent an excuse. Jack’s father took him aside.

‘Ken, you were Jack’s best friend, and we’d like you to have something to remember him by. When you have a chance, go into his room and choose something – anything. His jacket, maybe. Or the karate trophy. Whatever you want.’

Ken nodded. ‘Thank you, Mr Farrell.’

On his crutches, he hobbled down the hall to Jack’s room. Once inside, he closed the door, and went over to Jack’s desk. Just as Jack had told him, the seashell bracelet was in the top drawer. He shoved it into his pocket.

But what if Mr Farrell wanted to see the souvenir he’d chosen? He looked around the room. There was a stack of old comic books on a shelf. He and Jack had been Spider-Man fanatics when they were little kids. He took an issue off the pile, and left the room.

When he returned to the living room, he saw that some people had left and others had arrived. And among the new arrivals was Lucy. He stood back and watched her for a while.

He had to admit, for a pretty girl she looked pretty awful. Her normally pale face was even paler than usual, and there were dark shadows under her red eyes. Clearly, she’d been crying a lot and hadn’t had much sleep. So maybe he’d been wrong about her feelings for Jack. She certainly looked grief-stricken, like someone who’d lost the love of her life, and his heart ached for her.

He adjusted his crutches and limped over to her.

‘Hi, Lucy.’

She managed a small, woebegone smile. ‘Hi, Ken. How are you feeling?’

‘OK. How are you?’

She shrugged. ‘Well, you know . . .’

‘Yeah. I know. Look, Lucy, I need to talk to you. It’s kind of personal.’ He glanced around. The room was getting crowded, and he didn’t want anyone else hearing what he had to say. ‘Um, do you want to go outside for a minute? Get some air?’

She followed him through the kitchen and out the back door. Fortunately, there was no one else in the back garden.

But how to begin? How was he going to tell this unbelievable tale?

‘I know how awful this must be for you,’ he said.

‘Tell me about it,’ Lucy said. ‘You know, Ken, this was going to be the best year of my life. Jack was the coolest guy I ever went out with. I mean, he was cute, he was vice-captain of the soccer team . . . all my girlfriends were jealous. I’d already bought a dress to wear for the eighth-grade dance . . .’ A tear trickled down her cheek. ‘I can’t believe this happened to me.’

‘You could still go to the dance,’ he said, and immediately wanted to bite his tongue. What a lame thing to say.

She sighed. ‘With who?’

He thought she probably meant something like she wouldn’t want to go with anyone but Jack.

‘I still don’t understand how he died,’ she murmured. ‘He just fell down.’ She looked up. ‘You crashed into him, right?’

‘Well, we sort of crashed into each other,’ Ken said.

‘But you’re not dead.’

He bit his lower lip. ‘I’m really sorry, Lucy.’

‘Sorry you’re not dead?’

‘Well, no, but . . .’

‘Sorry you didn’t look where you were going?’

Ken felt sick. ‘Lucy, I don’t think it was my fault. The coach, the doctor – everyone said it was an accident.’

She shrugged. ‘Whatever.’

‘Jack doesn’t blame me,’ he blurted out, needing to convince her he wasn’t in the wrong.

‘How do you know?’ she asked sharply.

This wasn’t how he’d wanted to bring it up. But he had to tell her sooner or later. ‘Because . . . because he told me.’

Her eye brows went up. ‘Before he died?’

‘No. After.’

She stared at him for a moment. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘Neither do I,’ Ken admitted. He took a deep breath. ‘Lucy, I know this is going to sound pretty bizarre, but . . . Jack’s been talking to me.’

Her eyes widened. ‘You mean – you’ve seen his ghost?’

‘No, it’s not like that. I hear his voice. In my head.’

She blinked. ‘He – he contacted you from beyond the grave?’

Ken nodded. ‘He started talking to me while I was in the hospital. I don’t understand it – maybe it’s because we collided, but . . . he’s able to talk with me. I know this sounds totally crazy . . .’

Lucy gazed at him thoughtfully. ‘Not really. Lots of people believe in stuff like that. My mother went to a medium once. Do you know what a medium is?’