Manifest by Artist Arthur Page B

finger around as if to say that Jake’s grandfather is crazy. I hurry up and look away because I don’t want Jake to catch us and think I’m agreeing with her. Still, he looks kind of old so he could have that condition where old people start to forget where they are and who they are.
    But I don’t know. He’s talking about power and we just discovered that all three of us have some kind of power. Like Jake just said a few minutes ago, that’s just too coincidental.
    “Hi, Mr. Kramer. Do you remember me? I’m Sasha.” She’s talking ten times louder than she was before and slow like she thinks he doesn’t understand English.
    Mr. Kramer nods and looks at her. “Sure, I remember you. You’re the one with the accent and the fancy car.”
    I almost smile at that. Sasha did have a slight accent. I couldn’t really place it and because we just started talking—like today—I’m not about to ask her any personal questions. Anyway, Jake told me earlier that her mother is from somewhere in Argentina.
    “That’s right, I’m from South America,” she offers.
    “No, you’re not,” Mr. Kramer snaps. “Neither of you are.” He looks at me and I figure he thinks I have an accent, too, but I haven’t said much for him to know that for sure.
    Sasha gives a deep, exasperated sigh and rolls her eyes. “Yes, I am.”
    “No,” Mr. Kramer says adamantly. “Your daddy’s from right here in Lincoln. And he was here with your mama.”
    She pauses like she’s thinking about his words. “Yeah, I think she was here for a while. She was born in Buenos Aires, Argentina, and so was I. My dad brought her here, she left when she had me and then she came back later.”
    Mr. Kramer nods his head, wisps of leftover hair cradle the sides but don’t cover the tips of his big red ears. “She was here the year of the storm. All of them were.”
    Jake just drops his head down as his grandfather talks and Sasha rolls her eyes again.
    “Hi…um, Mr. Kramer. I’m Krystal,” I say. I want to ask him questions but it’s probably polite to introduce myself first. I mean, I am in his house and all that.
    His head turns a bit and I think he’s looking at me. Those glasses are so thick it’s really hard to tell, except that I feel a little jittery like I’m being examined. So I figure he’s the one doing the examining. Anyway, he stares at me a few long seconds before he nods his head.
    “She was here, too, your mama.”
    He knows Janet?
    I lick my lips, my mouth suddenly dry. My shirt’s gonna be wet by the time I leave ’cause, dayum, it’s hot in here. “I’m Krystal Bentley and my mother…” Wow, I haven’t called Janet that in a while. It sounds funny. “Um, her name’s Janet.”
    He just keeps on nodding. “They were all here.”
    “Okay, Pop Pop. Both of their mothers were here in Lincoln at one time. Now, you’ve had your say. Let me take you to your room.” Jake jumps up and reaches for his grandfather’s arm to help him up.
    Mr. Kramer lifts his cane, waves it in front of him so that Jake has a choice—either back up or get swatted in the nuts. Wisely, he chooses to back up. “I’ll go to bed when I’m finished. Now you sit down and mind your manners. You’re not too big to get your hide tanned.”
    Sasha giggles. I lift a hand to fan my face. I don’t want to see Jake get his hide tanned. I don’t even want to see Jake’s hide.
    Jake looks really embarrassed as he sinks back into his seat. I think he likes that slouched-over position; he always takes it whenever anybody says something to him that shuts him up.
    “You know, it snows here in September.”
    Mr. Kramer starts and I’m beginning to think he really might have that old people’s forgetful disease.
    The room is eerily quiet and I clench my hands together. Aside from the heat, the house is old and could probably pass for haunted, if you believe in that sort of thing. I mean, everything about it looks decrepit, like it is ready to fall