Luka, page 3
I Google her name plus Jude, Florida and get nothing.
I Google Safeguard Security Systems and find a short bio of her father, James Eckhart, along with a couple obscure quotes in a business editorial. I log back onto the social media apps and search for her brother—Pete Eckhart. A name I wouldn’t typically remember. A detail that would slide away as quickly as I heard it. Only the name doesn’t slide away because Pete is Tess’s brother, and I’m thirsty for every detail. He has two accounts, both of them quiet. The most recent activity, a picture taken ten months ago and that wasn’t even posted by Pete, but a girl who tagged Pete. SydneynotAustralia, according to her handle. Sitting on Pete’s lap, sticking out her tongue, flashing rock-on hand gestures at the camera, a beach and the ocean painting the background as she wishes him a happy fifteenth birthday in the caption. There’s nothing at all about his sister.
She’s quiet in real life.
And she’s quiet online.
Easy to overlook.
A fierce warrior in my dream.
I drum my fingers on my desk, thinking about the pep rally. The bright flash of light. The way Tess drew her hand up to her eyes as soon as it happened. She saw it. I swear she saw it. But how can that be possible? Nobody else saw it. Nobody else ever sees it. I rub my forehead, wondering if two people can share a hallucination. Wondering what might happen if I type in such a word. Will the search be flagged? Will some government bot start tracking my activity online? With my thumb hovering over my phone screen, curiosity wins. I type in a question—can two people share the same hallucination?—and wait for the results to load.
There’s a condition called Shared Psychosis on WebMD.
I click on the link.
But the website is blocked.
I click on another.
The same thing happens.
Again.
And again.
And again until I’ve gone through two pages of results with no luck at all.
I pound my desk when a knock sounds on my door.
I set my phone face down beside my laptop and grab the duffel bag off my dresser. “Come in.”
Mom steps inside with an oven mitt on her hand, a look of concern on her face. “Dinner’s ready.”
“I’ll be down in a sec.” I pull a couple t-shirts from my closet, hangers swinging on the bar.
Mom lingers. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, why?”
“You’ve been in your room all evening.”
“I’m just getting ready for Santa Cruz.” It’s a lame excuse. There’s not much to get ready. Santa Cruz is a lot warmer than Thornsdale and I’ll be spending most of my time in the water. I look out my window at the house next door, my thirst growing more pronounced than a weary traveler in the middle of the Sahara without a canteen. I toss the t-shirts in my bag. “Did you bring those cookies to the new neighbors yet?”
“I dropped them off after you left for school.”
An illogical amount of disappointment sinks into the pit of my stomach. It would have been a great excuse to go over there.
Mom’s stare warms the side of my face. “Did you meet the kids?”
“The kids?”
“Sorry. The teenagers.”
I throw in a pair of socks. “I have a few classes with their oldest.”
Mom sits on the edge of my bed. “Which ones?”
“Current Events and Ceramics in the morning. World History at the end of the day.” With lunch in between.
“That’s a lot of classes.”
And yet, not nearly enough.
The urge to see her swells like the perfect wave, one I have to catch. I leave my bag half-packed, grab my wallet from the top of a biography about Dietrich Bonhoeffer, and slip it into my pocket.
“Where are you going?” Mom asks.
“The game.”
She sits up tall, her excitement a tangible thing in the room. “Really?”
“It is homecoming.”
“I’m so glad! I’m meeting Danika there. We talked today on the phone. She wanted someone to go with her and watch Summer cheer. Her husband moved out, you know. The two are separated.” Mom frowns. “Did Summer mention it?”
“Not to me.”
“Well, I think it’s best if you let her bring it up. She’ll talk about it when she’s ready. And be extra nice.”
“Mom.”
“Honey, that poor girl is going through a very difficult time. She can use all the support she can get, and I know she thinks the world of you. It’s great that you’ll be there, at the game. To watch her cheer.”
Right.
“Want to eat before you go? I just took the lasagna out of the oven.”
“I’ll have some later.” I grab my phone and place a hurried kiss on her cheek, suddenly very, very eager to get to the game.
The student section whoops and hollers as the football team comes crashing through a banner. The pep band plays. The cheerleaders turn cartwheels and shake their pompoms. The Thornsdale dragon mascot chucks small plastic footballs at the crowd. I stand in the midst of all the noise—sandwiched between Jennalee and a kid who highlights his hair and goes by the name Beamer—searching for Tess as my anticipation dwindles to ash.
Leela was here when I arrived.
Tess wasn’t with her.
I keep hoping she’ll show up.
So far, she hasn’t.
Down below, Summer catches my eye, her perky ponytail swinging back and forth. The stadium lights glint off the red flame of fire painted on her cheek. She shoots me a wink as the national anthem begins.
When it ends, Tess is still nowhere in sight.
Nor does she arrive when the opposing team kicks the ball.
Our punt returner, a kid named Benson Griswold, runs in a touchdown to take an early lead, something we’ve yet to do this season. Jennalee grabs my arm and Summer is launched into the air. When she comes down, she pulls at her skirt and leads the cheer.
I try to imagine a world in which I am normal. A Luka without hallucinations. A Luka without delusions. A Luka without the recurring dream that has led to an obsession with a girl I didn’t think was real. In such a reality, would I be attracted to Summer Burbanks? Would I lust after her like every other guy in the student section is probably lusting after her now? In this alternate universe, would I be the one running the touchdown into the end zone?
The idea is so foreign, I can’t fathom it. I’m not even sure I want to. Not if it means Tess doesn’t exist. I look over my shoulder at Leela, my irritability growing in conjunction with everyone else’s enthusiasm. Why isn’t Tess with her? She told Bobbi she was coming. So where is she?
At halftime, with the score tied at 7-7, I get my chance to find out. Leela heads down the bleachers. I leave Jennalee and Beamer to go after her. She makes her way to the concession stand. I step into line behind her, feeling an awkwardness I’m unaccustomed to feeling.
She orders a popcorn and a sucker.
I take a step to the left ensuring that our paths will cross when she makes her way back to the stands. She pays with two crumpled dollar bills, says a cheery thank you to the concession worker, turns, and abruptly stops to avoid running into me.
“Oh,” she says, red flames painted on her cheeks, too. She has a round, rosy face that grows rosier when she looks up at me. “Luka. Hi!”
“Hey Leela.” I tuck my hands into my pockets. And then, before she can step around me and disappear, I add, “How’s it going?”
She looks startled by the question, as if I’ve asked her something strange instead of basic. “Good. Great, actually! Can you believe it’s a tie game?”
“Yeah. It’s exciting.” So exciting, I’ve hardly watched.
Behind me, the line shifts forward.
I step out of it.
“You lost your spot,” she says.
“That’s okay.” I transfer my weight and search for something to say. “Hey, how’s your brother doing?” Leela’s older brother graduated last year. He got into a car accident on his way to his own graduation party. Bad enough to land him in the hospital for a week.
“Oh.” She blinks a few times. Like nobody’s bothered asking her this question before. “He’s doing well. He just had his final physical therapy appointment last month.”
“So, he’s fully recovered, then?”
“Fully recovered.”
“That’s great.” And it is. Truly. I’m glad Leela’s brother is doing better. I shift again. Rub the back of my neck. “Hey, where’s your friend, Tess? Wasn’t she supposed to come tonight?”
Leela tilts her head slightly. Suspiciously.
I imagine her calling Tess later. Relaying this entire conversation over the phone. I imagine Tess’s reaction. The creeper with the staring problem was asking about her at the football game. Not at all terrifying.
“She was, but she said she wasn’t feeling well.”
My concern is immediate and irrational.
Leela must notice because she rushes to add, “I think it was just a headache.”
A headache.
Those happen all the time.
And yet, everything in me wants to bolt to the parking lot, drive home, knock on her door, and make sure she’s okay.
Leela lifts her popcorn. “Well, I better get back. The popcorn is for my sister and she likes it warm.”
“Right.” I step out of the way.
“Enjoy the rest of the game,” she says over her shoulder.
“You too.”
But I don’t stay for the rest of the game. I don’t get back in line at the concession stand. I head to my car, hoping Leela McNeil doesn’t notice.
5
Turbulence
My board rocks beneath me. I keep my eyes on the horizon, tapped into the water all around. I’m well acquainted with its rhythm. The way it stirs. The way it moves.
A wave rolls closer. I grab the rails of my board and dive. The world plunges into darkness. There’s just cold against my face and the dull roar of the water rushing overhead until I break through and breathe.
Straight ahead, the wave I’ve been waiting for swells.
With a thrum of anticipation, I watch it grow. I turn around and paddle until it lifts the tail. I push myself up and catch it, carving the top then turning down with a burst of speed. Again and again—forgetting everything but the rush, the sound, the freedom—until I’m washed back to shore. The ride is over. And ever so slowly, the exhilaration leaks away.
Drops of saltwater drip from the ends of my hair. I give my head a shake, spraying the air like a wet dog. Last night, I went to sleep feeling restless and woke up even more so. My mind won’t stop churning.
This girl shows up out of nowhere, completely out of the blue. An obsession one minute. Real the next. Wild enough on its own to keep my brain more than reeling. But then the pep rally happened. The greasy haired man. The bright flash of light. The way Tess flung her hand up in the air as if shielding herself. The color draining from her face afterward. Then her absence at the game. Leela said Tess wasn’t feeling well. Was it because of what happened at the pep rally? If she saw it too, did it affect her physically?
I pull my board out of the water as my mother calls from our back deck, the wind carrying her voice across the distance.
“Pancakes are ready, Luka!”
Movement in the periphery of my vision catches my attention. I look; it’s her. And my entire being rouses, the blood in my veins zinging to life. Tess Eckhart is alive and well enough to be outside, crouching behind some large rocks. Doing what—I can’t tell. Looking for sea shells? Does she collect them? Could I go over there right now and strike up a conversation?
Mom waves her hand.
I hang back for a second, then decide against it. There’s a distinct possibility that she’s crouching there behind the rock because she saw me and now she’s hiding. Leela called her after the game as I suspected and told her she has an official stalker. Oh, and guess what? He lives next door. I exhale a decisive breath. I’ve seen her. She’s still here. Still real. It’s enough for now. I tuck my board beneath my arm and jog home—up the stairs to the back deck, where my mother stands with her dark hair billowing in the wind.
“I made you and your father breakfast before your flight.”
I step toward the sliding glass door.
She holds out her hand to stop me. “You need to rinse off before you come inside.”
“The shower head’s broken.”
Mom frowns. She doesn’t like when I track sand into the house. “I’ll have to call someone to have it fixed.” A chilly breeze blows in from the ocean. “I have no idea how you surf when it’s this cold.”
“That’s what the wet suit is for.”
She rubs her arms in a mock shiver, like the very thought freezes her bones. “Have you finished packing?”
“Pretty much.”
“Pretty much sounds rather vague. You know your father. He doesn’t like to be late for anything. Unless … are you sure you don’t want to stay?”
I hesitate—a mistake.
My mother pounces. “I’d be happy to run out and buy you a new tie for the dance.”
If I stayed, it wouldn’t be for the dance. If I stayed, it would be for the girl hiding behind those rocks. But what would I do? Go knock on her door and invite her to a dance I don’t want to go to? I give my head a shake. Tess is my new neighbor and classmate. I need to stop thinking about her as the girl from my dreams. I need to stop thinking about the pep rally. As quickly as possible before I do something stupid and scare her and her family away from Thornsdale. “I’m gonna go with Dad.”
Mom’s shoulders sink.
My conviction grows. I need to get my head straight. What better way to do that than flying to Santa Cruz for a few days of surfing while Dad sits in on business meetings? Maybe he’ll even have some time to join me. We used to surf together. He’s the one who taught me when I was a kid and we lived in the Outer Banks. Before my symptoms became so concerning and his face went a permanent shade of grim.
For a long time, I thought the grimness was concern. Having a son who sees things nobody else can see isn’t good. Should the wrong people find out, they could have me locked up in a facility where I would no longer be a burden to society. But ever since that conversation I overheard, I’m not convinced his grimness is concern.
I think it’s regret.
I’m not the son he wanted.
Maybe if my father could rewind—go back—he’d make a different decision. One that wouldn’t jeopardize his reputation or worry his wife. Maybe he would have convinced my mother to listen to the doctors.
I’m not supposed to exist.
The truth lurks in the background of my existence, cropping up whenever my vigilance starts to wane. It took twelve months to get released from Dr. Roth’s care. It took concerted effort and time to get my idiosyncrasies—if that’s what they can be called—under control. Concerted effort and time to convince my parents and Dr. Roth that I was mentally sound.
All of it was a lie.
My symptoms never went away.
I just figured out how to manage them.
Until now.
Until her.
She saw what I saw yesterday in the gym.
I’m sure of it.
And with that surety, comes total and utter confusion.
I glance over my shoulder toward the ocean. There’s nothing there but rocky sand and the vague impression of footprints.
For the first time in a long time, I wonder if I’m not crazy at all. I wonder if I ever was. Maybe the things I see aren’t a fabrication of my mind—a reminder that something is dangerously broken. Maybe the things I see are every bit as real as the girl next door.
The aircraft rattles as sunlight filters through the window. The long weekend in Santa Cruz didn’t provide the distraction I was hoping for. With each passing day, I grew all the antsier to get back. Now I sit in first class—always first class, even on the short flights—my muscles wound into tight coils that have nothing to do with the turbulence.
The aircraft dips hard enough to elicit audible gasps from the passengers behind us.
The seatbelt light chimes.
I look over my shoulder toward the parted curtain, where worried travelers buckle up in coach. Across the row, a well-dressed woman clutches a small handbag in her lap, her knuckles white, her eyes squeezed tight, her lips moving—quick and silent—oblivious to the trail of twinkling light sparkling above her like fireflies. I glance at Dad in his tailored suit, flipping through a business magazine, perfectly at ease after a long weekend of business meetings.
I’m not sure what they were about. I don’t understand the particulars of his work. How or why the government allows his facility to remain private. I assume it has something to do with the exchange of money. The wielding of influence. Whatever went down the past couple days must have gone well, judging by my father’s relaxed demeanor.
My attention returns to the twinkling light, which settles around the woman’s shoulders as she breathes deeply through flared nostrils.
The first time I saw something like it, I was young. In preschool, maybe. Innocent enough to point at it excitedly and call it fairy dust. Mom took me to the eye doctor the next day. My vision was fine. When it happened again, she took me to the pediatrician who ordered an MRI. When that came back normal, I was diagnosed with ocular migraines.
If Tess were here, would she see it, too?
I think about my failed research. I tried again yesterday using the hotel’s Wi-Fi. The same links appeared. All of them blocked just like before. If there’s something I could do on my phone to override the filter my father has put in place, I’m not aware of it. Or maybe it’s not my father, but our government overreaching. They won’t allow anyone to self-diagnose. Instead, they tantalize you with a possibility that can only be confirmed with a visit to the doctor.
The plane rattles again, followed by another significant dip.
The woman across the row groans.
The fairy dust swells.
