Joss the Seven Page 2

  Beedle Junior High was about three quarters of a mile from my house, but I didn’t go directly home. I didn’t want to risk the letter being seen by anyone until I’d had a chance to open it. I cut over on Milken Street to Beckler Park. It had all the usual stuff—jungle gym, swings, merry-go-round—made out of steel pipes painted bright blue and yellow. It also had a big oak tree that reached out over one end of the playground.

  I went straight to the swing set and sat down in the green swing on the end that was shaded by the tree. My skin was prickling from the summer heat, and the shade felt glorious. I unzipped my backpack and pulled out the envelope. The red seal was about an inch around and stamped with a flower or something. I picked at the edge of the seal. It felt like hardened wax. I sniffed at the tiny piece lodged under my fingernail. It smelled like a candle. Definitely wax. I turned the envelope over in my hands. There were no other markings.

  I held the envelope close to get a good look at the seal, and my breath caught in my throat. It wasn’t a plant. It was the outline of a butterfly. A butterfly that mirrored the shape of an odd birthmark I had on the back of my right shoulder. My birthmark was so exact, so much like a small butterfly clinging to my shoulder, that my doctor had thought it was a tattoo the first time he’d seen it.

  I never went without a shirt around other kids. What teenage boy wanted to be known for having a butterfly tattoo? Thomas and Arjeet had seen it at a sleepover when I’d been careless and taken off my shirt, but I’d sworn them to secrecy.

  The wax seal was imprinted with the same shape. My heart raced. I looked around, and saw two seventh graders I didn’t know walking home on Milken Street. I took some deep breaths with my eyes closed and tried to calm down. Thomas and Arjeet must have made the seal. No one else knew about it. I didn’t know how they could have done it from memory, but there was no other explanation. I looked around again. Nobody was in sight other than the two kids.

  “Thomas! Arjeet!” I called. “You can come out now!”

  The two kids stared at me but kept walking. No one popped out of hiding. It had to be a prank, but what was the point of a prank if there was nobody to witness it?

  I ran a finger under the edge of the envelope flap where it wasn’t glued shut and tore it open along the top of the envelope to keep the seal intact. A single, tri-folded piece of white paper was nestled inside. I pulled the paper out and put the empty envelope back in my backpack. After one last look around, I unfolded the paper.

  Perfect lines of handwriting covered the page. Some of the I’s had little hearts instead of dots above them. The cursive script was a girl’s, no doubt about it. I read.

  Dear Joss,

  You don’t know me, but I know of you. I hope you saw the seal and realized I know about your birthmark. The butterfly, symbol of an old, prestigious family. That’s your seal on the front, not mine.

  I’m going to show you that you have a special ability, and then I’m going to help you learn how to use it to help the world. I know that will sound odd to you, but it is the honest truth. Let me prove it to you.

  I’ve listed seven tests below. Tonight, before bed, try them out. Do them carefully, and keep it secret. If you do the tests, I’m confident you’ll want to talk to me. I’ll be at Beckler Park tomorrow at noon if you want to learn more.

  Sincerely, Mara

  I glanced around, turning my head this way and that, trying to catch whoever was messing with me. The letter’s author knew about Beckler Park. They knew about my locker, and about the birthmark. The birthmark was the key. How had Thomas and Arjeet made the wax seal? I looked back at the letter.

  THE TESTS

  1. Relax your mind and body. Concentrate on your index finger (either hand). Concentrate hard. Pretend it isn’t solid. Pretend it is a ghost finger. Hold this image in your mind for a full minute. Then tap on something hard with that finger.

  That test was eight kinds of crazy. I felt agitated and couldn’t finish the letter. I glanced down the page. There were six more tests listed.

  So, was Mara a real person or just a name used to set up an elaborate hoax? What were the facts? First, the letter had appeared in my locker right when a wolf-dog was seen near my locker. Second, the letter writer knew about my birthmark. Third, though the test was insane, it wasn’t big and bold. If I did the test, it wouldn’t embarrass me. No one would even know. The test didn’t require I climb a flagpole with no pants on, like I’d tricked Davey Talbot into doing last year. What was the point? It made no sense.

  Wait a second. Maybe that was why Mr. Talbot had tried to get me in trouble today. Was he still mad about me humiliating his son? I couldn’t hold onto the thought. I couldn’t hold onto any thought.

  I opened my backpack and dropped the letter in beside the envelope. I quickly looked around, but still didn’t see anyone watching. My mind buzzed. I couldn’t make any sense of it. The facts didn’t line up. They didn’t tell me anything. I felt like there were butterflies in my stomach, not just one on my back.

  Freaking out didn’t help, so I tried to stop. Deep, calm breaths. I’d do the test and be done with it. There would be no witnesses.

  I checked my watch. It would just take one minute of my life. Relax your mind and body. Easy enough. I lifted my right index finger in front of my face and slumped against the swing chain. I tried to quiet my thoughts, and concentrated on the finger. I imagined the finger becoming something less than solid. Something still visible, but insubstantial.

  I glanced at my watch. I must have gotten into it, because I was startled to see a minute and a half had gone by. I leaned way over and tapped the steel swing-set pole. My finger hit the metal.

  Only, it didn’t.

  My finger slid through the pole.

  My vision swam and my eyelids sagged closed. I was so tired.

  My finger…

  Something was wrong. My head felt like an over-filled water balloon the moment before it burst. I forced my eyes open. My vision was cloudy around the edges and too bright in the middle. I swayed on the swing and struggled to stay upright. What had just happened?

  The summer before, Dad and I had gone fishing with a bucket full of minnows for bait. There had been so many minnows in the bucket, but I hadn’t been able to grab any. My thoughts were like those minnows in a bucket, slipping between my fingers. Finally, I caught one.

  Home. I had to get home. I grabbed my backpack and stumbled forward in a fog of tiredness and confusion. It was less than a quarter mile, but my legs didn’t want to work, and I struggled with each step. My mind played tricks on me. Something about my finger. My finger and a metal pole. What had happened?

  I got home, crawled up the stairs before Mom could track me down to ask about school, and collapsed in my bed.

  I passed out.

  Chapter 3

  GHOST FINGER

  I WOKE SATURDAY morning at 9:27. I didn’t think I could have stayed up until 7:30 the previous night if not for the two-hour nap I’d taken after passing out. On the plus side, I felt rested.

  I thought I’d showered before crashing, but my memories of the previous day were fuzzy. I could remember school, the alarm, going to the park, and collapsing into my bed, but that was about it. I lifted my arm and did a quick check. The fine, manly scent of fresh deodorant greeted my nose.

  I don’t know why deodorant triggered my memories, but the vision of my finger passing through steel came back in a rush, my arm still up, my nose poised in the act of checking things out. The letter. The test. My finger going through a steel pole.

  I sat down hard on my bed. What was my game plan? The letter had said something about today. I got up and found my shorts from yesterday on the floor. The pockets were empty other than a few pieces of gum, which I dumped on my desk. I found my backpack under my bed and pulled it out.

  There it was. The letter and the envelope with the butterfly seal. I unfolded the letter and read the intro again, and then folded it back up. I wasn’t ready to read another s
ix tests. First, I needed to know I hadn’t gone crazy.

  Beckler Park. Mara would be at Beckler Park today at noon. I grabbed my phone off my desk and texted Thomas.

  Need backup. Beckler Park. 11am

  That should get his attention. I threw on some clothes, and stuck the letter and envelope in my pocket.

  “Well, good morning, sunshine!” Mom said when I walked into the kitchen looking for food. She sat at the breakfast table, her laptop open. My sister Janey sat across from her finishing a bowl of cereal, with a book held open on the table. I grabbed a bowl and went to the pantry to see what we had.

  “Hey Mom,” I said. “You cool if I hang out with Thomas today? We’re thinking of meeting at the park. Maybe riding our bikes over to Taco Bell for lunch.”

  Mom stood up and crossed over to me. She was wearing her favorite morning outfit, a pair of black-and-white polka dot sleep pants with a gray fleece. She put her hand on my forehead and then looked into my eyes.

  “Just so long as you’re okay.” She patted my cheek and headed back to her seat. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you go to bed at 7:30 before.”

  “Yeah, I don’t know what the deal was,” I said. “I was probably just playing catch up on all the sleep I’d missed this past school year. Where’s Dad?”

  “The gym.”

  “Right,” I said. “So about the park, and Taco Bell. What do you think?”

  “That’s fine, honey.” She turned her attention back to her laptop.

  I grabbed the Fruity Circles and poured a bowl. As I headed to the breakfast table, Janey closed her book and went to the sink. She stuck her tongue out at me as we passed. I threw an elbow, but she twisted to the side and I missed her by an inch. Man, she was quick. Had to give credit where credit was due.

  My family was a prime specimen of suburban perfection. We had a minivan. We had an SUV. We had a trampoline in the backyard. One dad, who was an accountant. His hair was curly like mine, but he kept it trimmed super short. He was just over six feet tall, which gave me hope that I might catch up with Thomas one day. One mom, who worked part time as a physician’s assistant with a nearby doctor. In her spare time, she wrestled alligators. Not really, but it would be easier than all the work she did at home.

  There was me, of course. Janey was twelve but thought she was seventeen and acted like she was five, at least when she was with me and there were no witnesses. She had inherited Mom’s reddish-brown, straight hair, which Mom wore just past her shoulders, while Janey’s went halfway down her back.

  I felt my phone buzz. I pulled it out of my pocket but kept it hidden under the table.

  Backup? Whatever. But okay

  I texted Thomas back, ignoring the attitude.

  Good. Lunch at Taco Bell? Need to show u something crazy

  That got his attention. His response was immediate.

  Sure

  Good. Thomas’ size made him a solid wingman. I figured the two of us could handle anything that went down. I ate my cereal and helped clean up from breakfast. I was crafty and dropped a few complaints about being roped into chores on my first weekend of summer break just to make sure Mom didn’t think anything was out of the ordinary.

  I rode my bike to the park and arrived about ten minutes early. No one was there. With a few minutes to burn, I practiced my parkour moves on the jungle gym. It’s not something I wanted to do with other people around because, well, my parkour moves deserved to be in scare quotes. As in, my parkour “moves.”

  Around 11:10 I started worrying that Thomas had blown me off, but he rode up a couple minutes later. Though Thomas had grown a lot in the past couple years, he was still riding his mountain bike from about three years ago. It was smaller than mine. That poor bike looked like it belonged in a circus with him riding it.

  He set his bike on the ground and followed me over to the merry-go-round.

  “Got pretty crazy at the end yesterday,” Thomas said. “Messed up our ‘colloid’ prank.”

  Thomas pushed his straight, brown hair out of his eyes as he spoke. The dude was always messing with his bangs. The rest of his hair was pretty short, but those bangs. It made my hands itch.

  “Not quite,” I said. “It was already messed up when Mr. Talbot snuck some during sixth period and made a scene in Mr. Sanders’ room.”

  Thomas’ eyes widened. “For real?”

  “Oh yeah. Heard about it from Mr. Nichols.”

  His eyes got wider. “Mr. Nichols?”

  “Yep. Got to go visit him during seventh period.”

  “Were you busted?”

  “Nope. Some teachers spotted a dog or wolf or something. He left, and I walked out. Then the alarm went off.”

  Thomas let out a low whistle. “I heard about the dog. Didn’t know it had helped you. Man, I wish I’d seen Mr. Talbot with soap bubbles coming out his mouth.”

  “Yeah, me too.” I didn’t mention there hadn’t been any bubbles. “There’s more.”

  I pulled the envelope out of my back pocket. Good. The creases had left the seal intact. I held up the envelope so Thomas could see the seal.

  “What does that look like?” I asked him. “Look closely.”

  Thomas stuck his face right up next to the envelope for a few seconds and then sat back. “A butterfly.”

  I handed him the envelope.

  “Not just any butterfly. Remember my birthmark? The one you saw at the sleepover? That one I keep secret cause, you know, it looks like a butterfly tattoo?” I stood and lifted up my shirt. I turned around so Thomas could see my back. “Compare them.”

  I strained my neck around to watch Thomas out of the corner of my eye. He looked at the envelope. Then he stood up and looked at my birthmark. Envelope. Birthmark. Envelope. Birthmark.

  “They’re the same. I mean, identical. Not the same size, but the shape is the exact same. Where’d you get this?” Thomas asked, holding up the envelope.

  I pulled down my shirt, took the envelope, and sat down beside him. “In my locker. I grabbed some gum before seventh period, so I know someone put it there between the start of seventh and the alarm going off. And that’s not the strange part.”

  I pulled the letter out of the envelope and started reading it aloud. Thomas leaned in to look over my shoulder. I got about four sentences in before Thomas interrupted.

  “Stop. What the heck are you up to? Isn’t this a lot of work just to set me up for one of your ridiculous pranks?”

  “Just listen,” I said. “Do you really think I could write that neatly?”

  I read down to Mara’s name and stopped.

  “Noon? Beckler Park?” Thomas glanced at his watch. “That’s in half an hour. Dude, this is way too much effort to go to just to mess with me. I’m not hanging around to be the punch line to a prank.”

  “Thomas, there’s no punch line, and I think I can prove it to you, though I’m not sure. Yesterday after school is kinda fuzzy.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The tests,” I said. “I haven’t even read all of them. Just the first one. It was enough. I… I wanted a witness when I tried to do it again. I want to make sure I’m not going crazy. Like I said, we’re not to the strange part yet.”

  “Joss,” Thomas said, “I’m not getting suckered in no matter how innocent you sound.”

  My mouth tightened. He didn’t believe me! I read the first test out loud.

  THE TESTS

  1. Relax your mind and body. Concentrate on your index finger (either hand). Concentrate hard. Pretend it isn’t solid. Pretend it is a ghost finger. Hold this image in your mind for a full minute. Then tap on something hard with that finger.

  “What. The. Heck.” Thomas stood. “I’m outta here.”

  “Watch!”

  As I relaxed and concentrated on my finger, I saw him hesitate and then stop at the edge of my vision. I stared at my finger and imagined it made of fog. Then I concentrated some more, and worked even harder to relax. Relaxing was hard work,
but I did it.

  I reached out and stuck my finger through the bar next to me on the merry-go-round. I had desperately wanted to feel my finger hit steel. No such luck.

  “WHOA!” Thomas said. “What just happened? What was THAT?”

  I ignored him and held my focus on my ghost finger. I inserted the finger straight into the pole. Around the second knuckle I felt a resistance and couldn’t push it in further, but half my finger was inside the pole. I moved my finger around. No real resistance short of the second knuckle, just a slight pressure, like floating in calm water.

  I pulled it out and let go of my thoughts. Then I reached out and tapped the pole again. My finger struck solid metal.

  “Now that,” I said, “is the strange part.”

  Thomas’ legs gave out and he thumped to the ground.

  “What’s going on?” he said. “You better not be messing…” His voice trailed off.

  I took a deep breath. “Don’t know. I did it yesterday, but it was hard to remember because I sort of passed out in slow motion right after that. I wanted to be with someone when I tried it again. You know, make sure I wasn’t seeing things.”

  “It couldn’t have happened. We just saw it wrong.”

  “It happened,” I said. “I can’t explain it, but we both saw it, Thomas. My finger went through the pole. And the letter kinda said that might happen. Like it was supposed to happen. It’s why we’re here. To meet Mara.”

  “Bunk.” He got to his feet. “I want to see you stick your finger through the handlebars on my bike. I’m not going to be messed with!”

  I folded the letter back up in its envelope and put it in my back pocket as I stood up. We walked over to Thomas’ bike and he held it upright.