Poltergeeks (7 page)

  I stomped up to Mike and dug my index finger in his chest. "This is getting boring, Mikey… what is it now, the
eighth
time in the last month that you've either stuffed Marcus in a garbage can or locked him in a girl's bathroom? Talk about
stalkerrific
."

  Mike nervously looked around at the crowd who were whispering amongst themselves and clearly waiting for a face-saving comeback. He huffed a few times and all he could manage was a benign sounding "
What
?"

  "Listen, Mike… it's totally cool if you're into Marcus, okay? I mean, it's gotta be the reason for why he's always on your radar. I guess you stuffed him in the trash because Marcus doesn't feel the same way? Look, nobody is going to judge you – we're all about being supportive of alternative lifestyles here at Crescent Ridge."

  Mike was speechless. His face had turned near crimson and he clenched his fists together so hard that his knuckles turned white. Had it been a guy who'd pushed his buttons about Marcus, there would have been an all-out bone-shattering scrap of epic proportions, but I'm a five-foot-two redhead with a short temper. He wasn't about to take a swing at me, and both he and I knew it.

  "Get away from me,
freak
!" he roared, as he brushed my hand aside and pushed through the crowd of onlookers.

  I unclenched my fists and was just about to help Marcus collect his textbooks from the floor when I saw that I'd been beaten to it by Marla.

  What can I say about Marla Lavik? Well, being a Goth, she makes it well known that she has a pretty depressing take on life. I don't entirely understand the Goth culture or the need to dress like a vampire, but I do know one thing about her: Marla has a body that basically every girl at school would kill for. Sometimes I think that's why she dresses the way she does – to get the boys looking and to get their girlfriends fuming.

  Today Marla was clad in a tight-fitting, long-sleeve black latex top with laces in the front, and around her neck she wore a spiked choker. There was a thin silver chain that stretched from the piercing in her left nostril to the black stud in her right earlobe and she had bitch boots that came up to her knees complete with six inch spiked heels. She calmly piled the textbooks in her arms and handed them to Marcus.

  "Thanks, Marla," he said quietly.

  "Don't sweat it," she said, adjusting a bat-shaped comb in her inky black hair. "You know, I totally get what it feels like to be the target of harassment. I mean, at least I used to. I took some steps to keep it from happening in the future and after today, I think that you should too."

  "Hey, Marla," I said, purposefully butting in on their conversation. "Nice outfit?"

  I felt the tiniest twinge of her spirit flickering to life as she cocked her head and threw me a thin smile.

  "Jules," she purred, eyeballing me from head to toe. She reached over and snagged a single strand of my hair from my blouse, examined it and then rolled her eyes. "You know, we really should hit up the mall sometime… there's nothing wrong with a little shock and awe in your choice of hairdos, not to mention your wardrobe. Did you um… address that
thing
we talked about?"

  I threw Marcus a nervous look and then I turned my eyes to Marla's killer boots. "I'm still working it out. Where the hell did you get those?"

  She waved a hand. "The boots? I used the power of parental guilt on my dad. They cost like five hundred bucks. Having divorced parents who hate each other can do wonders for a girl's walk-in closet."

  "I can't afford to even look in your closet," I said sourly. "So, you used to have close encounters with morons like Mike Olsen?"

  "Once upon a time I did," she said, with a slight edge in her voice. "But I learned how to manage the assholes of the world. Marcus, you really should learn to take matters into your own hands, otherwise idiots like Mike Olsen are going to keep pushing you."

  He stuffed his textbooks into his backpack. "I'll take that under advisement, Marla. I think the safest bet for me is to sharpen my efforts at remaining an anonymous entity at school."

  She scribbled into a notepad with a black paisley cover and tore out a tiny sheet of paper. "Well," she said as she casually stuffed the note into Marcus' breast pocket. "Anytime you want a little insight into how to keep it from happening in the future, text me. Jules, what we talked about? You really should do the right thing."

  Marcus blinked. "What thing?"

  "It's nothing!" I blurted out. "Girl stuff that has to do with clothes and makeup and hair and–"

  Marla glanced at her watch. "And I have precisely three minutes to make it to chemistry. Marcus, text me, okay? Jules, TTYL okay? Ta!"

  "Ta-ta," I said, burying a sudden pang of jealousy. What the hell was Marla doing giving Marcus her phone number? The pang of jealousy suddenly morphed into a form of mild panic. What if he texted her and she spilled the beans about our talk last night? What if Marcus discovered that I was trying to sort out my feelings? I already felt like the biggest ass in the universe having embarrassed my best friend, the last thing I needed was for that same friend to learn from my girlfriend what I couldn't tell him myself! What would he think of me then?

  Marcus heaved his bulky backpack off the floor and I grabbed the shoulder straps as he slipped it onto his shoulders.

  "I gotta learn to keep a lower profile," he said quietly.

  "Marla gave you her number. What was
that
about?" I asked, mildly annoyed.

  "Beats me," he said, examining her note. "She probably wants me to help her study for midterms."

  "Or she's into you," I said, surprised by my reaction.

  "Me and Marla?" he chuckled. "Well, I'll admit that she's what the higher mortals describe as smoking hot, but Marla is a bit on the extreme side for me. I mean she has a tattoo of a scorpion on the back of her neck for crying out loud!"

  I allowed myself a moment to exhale in relief.

  "You know," I said, glad that Marcus wasn't attracted to Marla, "maybe she wants to give you a Goth makeover as payment for helping her with midterms – though I'm pretty sure it'll kill your mom when she sees you've turned to the dark side."

  "Ha-ha," he said sourly.

  I blinked. "So what precipitated Mike Olsen's affections this time?"

  Marcus shrugged. "My very existence, I guess," he said quietly. "Thanks for the help, Julie, but this shit is going to continue. What just happened probably made it worse, actually."

  He was right.

  Mike Olsen wasn't about to slap around a girl, and since he'd been properly dressed down by yours truly, it meant that he'd be gunning for Marcus despite my threats. In defending Marcus, I'd embarrassed the meathead in front of a group of students and there was just no way in the world he was going to be fine and dandy with anything he'd view as a blight on his popularity.

  I walked with Marcus to his physics class and said little because I knew that deep down inside, he really wished he could stand up for himself. I mean, he'd be fine if a confrontation were on his terms, like a debate on physics or math. Unfortunately High School isn't about academics and the search for truth despite what our teachers say, so it was pretty clear my intervention just dropped Marcus down a few more notches despite my best intentions.

  "Are we still on for the Beltline?" I asked.

  Marcus slid the backpack off his shoulders. "Yep. I'll meet you at your locker after school and we'll take it from there."

  "See you then," I said.

  Marcus disappeared into his classroom and I walked through the second floor foyer leading to my first-period math class. It was time to do that calculus exam.

  Or so I thought.

  No sooner had I passed the large glass display case filled with Crescent Ridge High School's academic awards when I felt a series of thin jolts charge the atmosphere inside the foyer. I instinctively stopped dead in my tracks and held out my left hand. I shut my eyes and spread my fingers wide open, increasing my focus in the hope of determining the source. It felt eerily similar to the stew of energy at Mrs Gilbert's house, and just as before, I didn't sense any menace but there was something different about it. Like when you take a sip from a half-full bottle of cola that has been sitting in the fridge for a few days. It still tastes like cola, but the fizziness is gone.

  Students brushed past me on their way to class, drifting through web-like tendrils of energy like a warm breeze blowing through the leaves on a tree. I grated my teeth together and drew my focus into a dome of magic, and then I whispered, "
Reveal
."

  The artificial light in the foyer dimmed as I opened my eyes and peered through the magical veil. I could see vaporous lines of spectral energy woven together in an intricate pattern that clung to the ceiling and drooped down the foyer walls like the curtains in an opera house. Students appeared as faint shadows, their auras muted by a rhythmic pulsing of grey-green light that coursed along the ceiling and down the walls.

  I'd never seen anything like it before. Most supernatural energy emanates from a single source, usually a spirit that appears or disappears, often within the blink of an eye. What I was witnessing was a complex pattern of energies that implied a purpose, but what? Why the second floor foyer of a high school?

  My instincts told me to somehow interact with whatever I was seeing, but there was no way to do it in a bustling foyer full of students on their way to their first class of the day. I didn't know how long the apparition would last and the kind of interaction I was thinking of would take time, intense concentration and a little bit of luck.

  The sound of the first period bell cut through my focus like a jackhammer and my dome of magic disappeared. I could still feel the energy surrounding me and I decided that a decent grade on a calculus exam had to take priority. I let out a huge sigh, adjusted my backpack and plodded down the hall to my classroom.

  Stupid calculus.

 
 

 
 
 

I was going to fail the calculus exam because I was distracted.

  Guilt generally has that effect on me.

  I felt like shit for embarrassing Marcus back at my house when he opened up about his feelings, but the guilt was just the after-effect of not knowing if I liked him the way he liked me. Added to this was the fact that in a few hours we'd be heading out to the Beltline. What was I supposed to do if Marcus decided to make a second attempt? Or worse, what would happen if he put his version of the moves on me? I'd already humiliated him once, and I didn't want it to happen for a second time. He deserved to know if I felt the same way; the only problem was that I needed time to think it through.

  And, I'll admit it, I'd probably have to ask Mom for help on this. Ugh.

  I'd just finished the second page of the bubble test (you know, the ones where you have to colour in the little multiple choice bubbles with an HP pencil) when I felt a slight supernatural ripple. I glanced down at my calculator and saw the LCD screen blink once, and then random numbers started appearing and disappearing, as if unseen fingers were punching the keys. I sat very still for a short moment as the same presence I'd felt in the foyer seemed to expand in size like a balloon that was being inflated.

  "What the hell?" I whispered. I looked up at the clock above the whiteboard and saw the hands spinning backward, as if the same unseen fingers that were messing with my calculator were now turning their attention to unwinding the clock. Just then, an almighty crash that sounded like a head-on collision blasted through the hallway. Everyone in the classroom jumped in their seats and turned their eyes to the door as Mr Dawson, my math teacher, leaped off his turquoise stool and raced for the exit.

  "What!" he gasped, as he stuck his head through the doorway and peeked out at the hall. "Impossible!"

  The entire class dropped their pencils and headed to the door, forcing Mr Dawson into the hallway. I pushed through the crowd and when I saw what everyone was gaping at, my jaw dropped.

  Every single locker on both sides of the hall had been turned
upside down.

  I gulped as I watched students from the adjacent classrooms pour through their respective doorways and into the hall. Amid the gasps and collective profanities, I sensed a presence. A big one.

  I forced myself through a wall of dazed and dumbstruck students, and back to the foyer to find the glass display cases turned flipped over and the collection of academic trophies apparently defying gravity as they too were upside down instead of, you know, lying in a heap of broken glass and metal. I grunted as I stuck out my hand to feel the spectral energy pulsing away like a ticking time bomb. A stab of panic raced through the pit of my stomach so I dashed through the foyer to the east wing of the second floor and gulped again when I saw every locker stacked up on their sides like giant coloured building blocks.

  "Jesus!" I whispered. "What kind of freaking poltergeist is this?"

  I fumbled through my purse and grabbed my cell phone. Within seconds, Mom was on the line.

  "You're supposed to be in class, Julie," she said. "Is everything okay? Are you sick?"

  I tried to compose myself. "Mom, there's something huge going on at the school. Every locker is either upside down or stacked up on its side. There's a massive web of spectral energy in the foyer and everyone including me is
seriously
freaked out by this."

  There was dead air for a second and then my mom said, "Get everyone out of there
now!"

  "What do you think it is?"

  "I have no idea but that kind of interaction with the mortal world spells trouble with a capital 'T'. They need to evacuate the school immediately. I'll be there in fifteen minutes."