Homeroom Headhunters (18 page)

could blow their cover right now, I thought as I awaited my death sentence in Pritchard's office. I could lead Pritchard down to the boiler room, show him where the Tribe has been hiding this entire time, and in a blink, this underground ring of runaways would be broken up for good.

But my beef wasn't with the Tribe.

Just Peashooter.

He had turned the Tribe into the embodiment of the very attitudes they'd rallied against.

He knew I could rat him and the rest out.

But why take the risk?

Because without the Tribe, I have no friends.

Because my teachers don't believe a word I say.

Because even my mom thinks I'm crazy.

I've got no one.

I had spent all this time trying to get in with the most exclusive clique at Greenfield. And my membership had been officially revoked.

How am I going to crawl my way out of this one?

“Give me one good reason,” Pritchard said, storming in. “I'm sincerely asking you for just one simple reason why I should believe anything you say right now.”

“You've got nothing to lose?”

“Not good enough.”

“I've got everything to lose?”

“At least tell me you read the book.” He exhaled. “Can you do that for me?”

The question caught me off guard. “What book?”

“
The Catcher in the Rye
?”

“Not…yet?”

Pritchard shrank. It looked liked I'd hurt his feelings.

“But it's at the top of my reading list, I swear!” I said.

“Consider this strike two.”

“Can't we just say it was a foul ball?”

Before I could dig my own grave any deeper, Pritchard's attention shifted behind me. I turned…

“…Mom?” I said. “What are you doing here?”

“Mrs. Pendleton—please, come in.” Pritchard waved her in. “Thank you for joining us on such short notice. We were just about to discuss Spencer's suspension.”

• • •

Three days' suspension. Three days at home.

To reflect on what I'd done.

Mom wouldn't talk to me during our drive home. Her knuckles were turning white from gripping the steering wheel.

To fill up the silence, I tried to turn on the radio.

Mom instantly switched it off.

She laid into me. “
The ceiling
, of all places! What were you doing up there?”

“You wouldn't believe me if I told you.…”

“Try me! Because at this point I don't know what to believe.” She started counting off example after example of me not acting like me: “You haven't been sleeping, you've got a temper you've never had before, and you don't talk to me anymore!”

I thought about the Tribe. How each one of them must've had this exact same conversation with their parents before they ran away. Maybe it helped them push on.

Could I really have disappeared into thin air and never let anyone know what happened to me?

Peashooter did. Compass did. Yardstick did. Sporkboy did.

Even Sully.

Poof
. Good as ghosted.

“You ever wonder what it would be like if I wasn't around, Mom?”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“Never mind.”

Mom slammed on the brakes, and we screeched to a halt. The car directly behind us had to brake just as fast in order to avoid puckering up to our rear fender.

Mom spun toward me. “You can't just say something like that and take it back by saying
never mind
! You're not thinking about—”

She cut herself short.

“What?”

Mom's eyes widened. Something on my shoulder caught her attention.

I looked down and—
whoops
—wouldn't you know it, but I was bleeding through the sleeve of my shirt.

Before I could stop her, Mom had pulled up my shirtsleeve.

I didn't think it was possible for her eyes to open any wider, but one look at the Tribe insignia branded into my arm and they expanded to the size of Firestone tires.

“It's not what you think, Mom.…”

“Did you—did you hurt yourself
on purpose
?”

“I can explain—”

Her eyes were watering up. “How could you do something like this?”

“You're not listening to me!”

“Then what?
What is it?
”

“You
really
want to hear the truth?”

“That's all I've ever asked for!”

The car behind us honked its horn.

“Fine,” I sighed. “Ever since we got here, there was something strange about school.”

I couldn't believe I was doing this. The others would kill me if they found out.

“At first,” I kept going, “it felt like the school was haunted—”

Mom got that look on her face. It crept up into her eyes and eased into her cheeks, like she'd just eaten something sour.

I knew that look. I'd seen it a million times before.

“I'm telling you the truth! The school has people…living in it. Students who used to go to Greenfield but dropped out. Not
dropped out
. More like
dropped in
.”

“Spencer…”

“The kids who never fit in. Well—they finally found a place where they do! They've made the school their home. And they asked me to join them.”

The car behind us honked again, longer this time.

Mom looked like I'd said something so mean, so cruel, that she'd never be able to forgive me. “Is it so hard for you to tell me the truth?”

“See for yourself! They're there right now!”

“I don't want to hear it anymore! I've trusted you, even when the voice in the back of my head said I shouldn't—and still,
still
you try to take advantage of me!”

We both went silent. There was nothing left in either of us to yell about. It had all come flooding out from our mouths, drowning us both.

All that was left was the continuous whine of the car at our backs, blaring its horn at us.

“Maybe you'd be happier giving your father a hard time,” she said. “Go live with him. See how long he puts up with your attitude.”

“I hate you.” The words were barely even a whisper, but there they were.

“You're not such fun to be around either.”

• • •

I held off on slipping into the kitchen until Mom was upstairs. I lifted the phone receiver from its cradle with the kind of technical delicacy a bomb squad uses when disarming a land mine.

Nothing but a dial tone.

Perfect.

I knew his number by heart. It used to be my phone number, too. I punched in the digits without even thinking.

First ring:
Pick up the phone pick up the phone pick up the
phone…

Second ring:
Please pick up please pick up please…

Third:
Pick up pick up pick up…

“Hello?” The voice on the other end sounded unsure of who would be calling.

“Dad?”

“Hey, bud…” Instant warmth. The tone of his voice softened in milliseconds. Suddenly he was Dad again. “Whatcha up to?”

“Oh, you know. Nothing much, really. How 'bout you?”

“Little of this, little of that.”

It sounded like he was doing something else while talking to me. I found myself feeling instantly jealous over whatever Activity #2 was.

“Your mother still giving you a hard time?”

“You know how she is…always worried I'm gonna burn something down.”

“Tell her I said hey. Better yet—
don't.
”

“Okay.”

“Sounds like something's on your mind.…”

“Just miss you, is all.”

“Miss you too, bud.”

“You—you think we could get together? Just you and me?”

“You bet.”

“Really?”

“Sure thing,” he said. “I'm a little tied up at the moment—but I bet we could hang, say, at the end of the month. How's that sound?”

“The end of the month?”

“You know how busy things get this time of year. One week. Two weeks,
tops
—okay? Christmas is coming up, so I want you to start thinking of something you can't live without. Something expensive. Just don't go burning down any more buildings between now and then, okay? Now, I should get off the phone before
tu madre
wants to talk.…”

“Okay.”

“Talk soon, bud.”

Just as he hung up, I blurted out, “Love you, Dad—”

Nothing but dial tone purring in my ear.

The second I plopped the phone onto its cradle, I felt this knot twist in my stomach.

“What'd he say?”

I spun around—and sure enough, there was Mom, leaning her head against the door frame. She didn't seem angry at me for calling him. Just kind of…
nothing
.

“He's not coming, is he?” she asked.

“No.”

ully had no idea I was doing this. Standing at the door to what was once her house. About to ring her bell.

I didn't know what to expect next. All I knew was my lungs suddenly decided to go on strike. I fumbled for My Little Friend and gulped a gust of chest steroids.

“Can I help you?”

A man with a twenty-o'clock shadow peered from behind the chain-locked gap in the doorway. A comb hadn't plowed through his hair in days. Maybe even weeks.

I'd recognize that hair anywhere.

Sully had her father's locks.

“Is this the Tulliver residence?”

“Yes?”

“Are you…Sully's dad?”

“Who are you?”

“A friend. Of Sully's.”

“You're just in time.” He unlatched the chain-lock. “There's been another occurrence.”

“Um…occurrence?”

“She's back!”

• • •

The house was so quiet, I couldn't tell if I was hearing a clock ticking away in some corner of the house, or if my own pulse was slowing to a dull trudge.

Where was
Mrs.
Tulliver?

A stillness hung over the room as if the air refused to move.

This house needed an inhaler.

“Have a seat,” Mr. Tulliver said. “She should be returning shortly.”

“I can't really stay for long.…”

“
Please
. We need to be still. She won't manifest if there's any interference.”

First thing I noticed were the pictures.

Sully's face was framed all across the walls. Photographs of Sully as a little girl at the beach, her auburn hair pulled back.

Sully as a baby in her mother's arms.

Sully just before she disappeared.

I shouldn't be here. This was a bad idea.

“How did you say you knew Sully?” he asked.

He said
knew
. Not
know
. Past tense.

“From school,” I said. “I know her from school.
Knew
her from school.”

“Sully didn't talk a lot about her friends. After her mother passed away, she didn't spend much time with kids her age.”

“We've only met recently.”

“
Recently?
I knew it!” He clapped his hands. “Of course she'd establish contact with one of her old friends! You two were close, then, yes?”

“I guess you could say that.…”

I suddenly noticed the deep rings under his eyes.

He looked like he was being haunted.

“I pushed her away—I know that now. She took care of me when I should've been taking care of her. I treated her like an adult—not a child—so it's understandable that she'd reach out to someone her own age first.”

Against all better judgment on my part, I went ahead and said, “Not that I know anything, Mr. Tulliver, but if I were you…”

“Yes?”

Deep breath.
“Don't give up on her just yet.”

He seemed to ponder this for a bit, allowing the room to go silent again.

“The worst part was never knowing where she was,” he eventually said. “Whether she was alive or dead. But it was only
after
I had accepted the fact that now she was with her mother that she came
back
to me. Sully's finally come home.…”

He thought she was dead.

“She's everywhere in this house,” he continued. “I'll pass her room and hear her giggling behind the door. I'll walk by the bathroom and hear her turn off the faucet. I'll even hear her walking along the hallway upstairs while I'm down here.…”

Mr. Tulliver wasn't haunted by the ghost of Sully.

He was being haunted by the
memory
of her.

He nodded to me. “If we wait here long enough, she'll come back again. We just have to be patient. You'll see.”

The clock in my chest started chiming off a series of steady heart attacks:
Ding! Ding! Ding!

I bolted up from my chair. “I'm really sorry to have bothered you, sir—”

“What did Sully say to you?”

“I really should be going,” I said, rushing for the front door.

“Please,
please
—just do me one favor.”

I stopped.

“Tell her…tell her that I'm sorry.”