Anything other than a howling scream or a booing ghost is a pleasant sound.
I think of Jocelyn again, and I wish that whatever it was that happened after she died—the dreams or visions or whatever I was experiencing—could happen again. Even if it was a silly dream where I was running around school naked and she suddenly popped up, I’d not let her go. I’d tell her the things I wished I could have said.
But you told her to go away, didn’t you?
I tried to do things myself. In some ways, I’m still trying to do things myself.
Playing along with Staunch and Marsh.
I think back to sitting in the pew with Kelsey and her parents. The thing that stood out the most was when Kelsey reached over and held my hand.
It was such a natural, simple thing.
But it made me want to break down because it felt so good.
I didn’t let go of her until we stood up for a final song.
I didn’t really pay attention to the preacher, but I remember one thing.
He said we live each day by faith. What does that even mean?
I stare at the fire, which is burning well now, and I try to make sense of the words.
Live by faith.
The praying thing—I’m figuring that out. But the other stuff he talked about, like reading the Bible and spending time with other Christians—well, that’s kind of a problem.
I tossed my Bible, and I don’t exactly have tons of shining examples of believers to be around, huh?
There’s a voice that tells me that is all foolish, that I got scared and needed help but that this isn’t really what I’m needing or wanting. This isn’t real and definitely isn’t cool.
Just get over this faith thing and figure out what to do.
But that voice sounds stupid to me. I’ve tried that out, and it’s gotten me nowhere.
The pastor said to stick it out, like running a long marathon and not giving up. I’ve only just started to run, and I’m already sucking in air and wondering whether to stop.
“Just stick with it and survive,” the pastor said.
I guess that’s what living by faith means. And I think I can start to figure out how to do that.
But the reality is that while I’m figuring that out, I also have to look out for my mom. And for Kelsey. And for others around me. So I can’t be stupid.
Eventually something’s going to break.
I just hope and pray it’s not me.
29. The Ticking Clock
“Can I talk to you?”
I’m still not completely used to Newt’s mouselike voice or the way he can just slip up on me at the locker. He’d make a perfect spy except for his fear of pretty much everything. And spies are supposed to get the girls, right? Well, strike two against Double-Oh-Newt.
“What’s up?” I ask him.
He looks around and then talks in a voice barely above a whisper. “Did an FBI lady come around to talk to you?”
“A black woman. Pretty hot, pretty tough? Yep.”
“What’d you tell her?”
“Nothing,” I say. “She’s not FBI. Come on.”
“She said that Poe gave her information on Jocelyn.”
“Yeah, what—like a year later? No way. She’s just another person trying to get information. What’d you tell her?”
“Nothing. There’s nothing I could tell her.”
“Sure there is,” I say to Newt.
“What if she’s real?”
“Then she’s real. And she’ll find out that there are lots of bad people around here.”
“Things happen to people who ask questions.”
One glance at the scar that’s always a bit extra shiny underneath the cold lights of the hallway reminds me that Newt’s right.
“They wouldn’t do anything to someone like that. A real FBI agent. Or a real cop. They just have people like Sheriff Wells who doesn’t do anything.”
“I’m afraid.”
I can see the fear on his face.
I try to do something I haven’t done much of in the past.
“It’s going to be fine, okay?” I tell him in my best impression of a leading hero voice. “You don’t have anything to worry about.”
“But you do,” Newt says.
Gee, thanks. I didn’t know
I think of Jocelyn again, and I wish that whatever it was that happened after she died—the dreams or visions or whatever I was experiencing—could happen again. Even if it was a silly dream where I was running around school naked and she suddenly popped up, I’d not let her go. I’d tell her the things I wished I could have said.
But you told her to go away, didn’t you?
I tried to do things myself. In some ways, I’m still trying to do things myself.
Playing along with Staunch and Marsh.
I think back to sitting in the pew with Kelsey and her parents. The thing that stood out the most was when Kelsey reached over and held my hand.
It was such a natural, simple thing.
But it made me want to break down because it felt so good.
I didn’t let go of her until we stood up for a final song.
I didn’t really pay attention to the preacher, but I remember one thing.
He said we live each day by faith. What does that even mean?
I stare at the fire, which is burning well now, and I try to make sense of the words.
Live by faith.
The praying thing—I’m figuring that out. But the other stuff he talked about, like reading the Bible and spending time with other Christians—well, that’s kind of a problem.
I tossed my Bible, and I don’t exactly have tons of shining examples of believers to be around, huh?
There’s a voice that tells me that is all foolish, that I got scared and needed help but that this isn’t really what I’m needing or wanting. This isn’t real and definitely isn’t cool.
Just get over this faith thing and figure out what to do.
But that voice sounds stupid to me. I’ve tried that out, and it’s gotten me nowhere.
The pastor said to stick it out, like running a long marathon and not giving up. I’ve only just started to run, and I’m already sucking in air and wondering whether to stop.
“Just stick with it and survive,” the pastor said.
I guess that’s what living by faith means. And I think I can start to figure out how to do that.
But the reality is that while I’m figuring that out, I also have to look out for my mom. And for Kelsey. And for others around me. So I can’t be stupid.
Eventually something’s going to break.
I just hope and pray it’s not me.
29. The Ticking Clock
“Can I talk to you?”
I’m still not completely used to Newt’s mouselike voice or the way he can just slip up on me at the locker. He’d make a perfect spy except for his fear of pretty much everything. And spies are supposed to get the girls, right? Well, strike two against Double-Oh-Newt.
“What’s up?” I ask him.
He looks around and then talks in a voice barely above a whisper. “Did an FBI lady come around to talk to you?”
“A black woman. Pretty hot, pretty tough? Yep.”
“What’d you tell her?”
“Nothing,” I say. “She’s not FBI. Come on.”
“She said that Poe gave her information on Jocelyn.”
“Yeah, what—like a year later? No way. She’s just another person trying to get information. What’d you tell her?”
“Nothing. There’s nothing I could tell her.”
“Sure there is,” I say to Newt.
“What if she’s real?”
“Then she’s real. And she’ll find out that there are lots of bad people around here.”
“Things happen to people who ask questions.”
One glance at the scar that’s always a bit extra shiny underneath the cold lights of the hallway reminds me that Newt’s right.
“They wouldn’t do anything to someone like that. A real FBI agent. Or a real cop. They just have people like Sheriff Wells who doesn’t do anything.”
“I’m afraid.”
I can see the fear on his face.
I try to do something I haven’t done much of in the past.
“It’s going to be fine, okay?” I tell him in my best impression of a leading hero voice. “You don’t have anything to worry about.”
“But you do,” Newt says.
Gee, thanks. I didn’t know
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