Crossing Over (11 page)

When I got back to the room, Jac was lying on her stomach, watching television from the bed. The floor was littered with blue
and silver wrappers.

Before I could even open my mouth, Jac turned to me with a rapt expression on her face.

“They have the. Most. Amazing. Shows. In Canada.”

“Aren’t they the same as—”

Jac pointed at the television as if it were a case of Godiva chocolate.

“They have this program called
Stargate
,” she declared breathlessly. “It is the most outstanding thing I have ever seen. I am totally going to marry Colonel Jack
O’Neill,” she added.

“Jac, they—”

“See, they’re in this secret Air Force base underground and there’s this Stargate you can dial like a phone and it makes a
wormhole and it can send you anywhere in the universe to another planet with a Stargate!”

“But Jac—”

“Shhh! I can’t miss any of this. There’s a
Stargate
marathon on this channel all night, and I’m going to watch as much of it as I can stay awake for. We only have one more day
in Canada, Kat.”

She looked suddenly glum. “I really don’t want to go home,” she added.

The boys of
Stargate
disappeared and were replaced with a box of laundry detergent. Jac’s face went blank. She looked odd—not like her usual self.

“Is something bugging you?” I asked. “Are you still mad at me?”

Jac sat up and fussed with the pillows, then lay back down again.

“I was never mad at you,” she said. “I’m just… ugh. Something happened I didn’t tell you about.”

My heart started beating faster.

“What?” Jac looked the same way she did when our mothers went out for coffee.

She sat up again, and put one of the pillows in her lap.

“My father kind of lost his job.”

“What? When?”

I had only met Jac’s father a few times, because he traveled a lot for his computer work, and when he was home he was usually
napping or holed up in his study.

“He told my mother the night before we left for Montreal. I almost didn’t get to come, Kat. She wanted both of us to stay
home. I think if the trip fee wasn’t nonrefundable, I wouldn’t be here.”

“Jac, I’m so sorry. What… what’s going to happen? What will this mean for you?”

“I have no idea,” Jac replied. “Nothing good, that’s all I know.”

“I’m really sorry,” I repeated, because I didn’t know what else to say. “I’m sure he’ll find another job soon, right?”

“I guess,” Jac said.

“He will,” I said.

“Anyway, that’s the mystery of our mothers having coffee solved. Knowing my mother,
she probably won’t tell any of her friends
what happened. But…”

“My mom is a sympathetic ear on this trip, but she’s not in her… in her circle back home.” I said.

Jac nodded.

“When we get back I guarantee you my mother will act like they never talked at all. That’s actually bugging me almost as much
as the deal with my father.”

“Jac, you know my mom. She doesn’t get her feelings hurt over stuff like that—she’s used to it. People come to her hoping
she can contact some departed relative, but then they pretend like they don’t know her in the supermarket because they’re
embarrassed. She’s got a pretty thick skin.”

Jac looked like she wanted to say something, but didn’t.

The boys of
Stargate
reappeared on the television.

“They’re back!” she said, flopping down on her stomach again.

And because she was my best friend and I understood her so well, I knew Jac was done with the subject of her father and his
job. That’s just the way Jac was—she liked to shut unpleasant things out, and act like they weren’t happening. My mother called
it compartmentalizing. I resolved to keep a closer eye on my friend. But I’d also play it her way—the subject of her father
was completely closed.

“I have to read about the Olympics,” I said. “Where are those booklets and handouts we got?”

Jac pointed toward a bag with her foot, then shushed me.

“Quiet,” she commanded. “Colonel O’Neill is talking.”

I got the bag, pulled out the contents, and settled on the other bed. Before I started reading, I glanced over at my friend.

“Hey, Jac? You know, they do show
Stargate
in the U.S., too.”

Jac let out a scream so loudly euphoric I doubt anyone needed a wormhole to hear it clear across the galaxy.

It was our last day in Montreal, and the schedule was packed. Mrs. Redd was making sure we got every penny’s worth before
starting on the four-hour trip back home late that afternoon.

Jac and I got off to a late start, mostly because she had turned the television back on in the morning and discovered the
Stargate
marathon still going strong. I had waited with her for an episode to end, then we rushed downstairs, dragging our suitcases,
just as
Sid was starting to head through the lobby to look for us.

“Okay, guys, I thought we were gonna have to leave without you,” Sid admonished. “Leave your bags there, and go ahead and
get on the bus. Everybody else is already on.”

“No breakfast?” muttered Jac darkly.

I was about to remind her that it was her fault we had missed breakfast, when she produced a bar-shaped item from her bag.

“You’re having a candy bar for breakfast?” I asked her.

Jac looked aghast.

“Please! No. It’s a protein bar, Kat.”

I took a closer took at it.

“It says Chocolate Caramel Chaos on the wrapper.”

Jac pointed at the back.

“Protein. Bar. This is health food. Want one?”

I held out my hand and Jac slapped the bar into it, fishing a second one out of her bag. If our bus slid into a ditch and
we were trapped there for several days before being discovered, I had no doubt we could all live very well off the snack collection
Jac carried around with her.

I glanced over at Mrs. Gray as I climbed onto the bus. Given what I now knew, it seemed that what I’d taken to be uptightness
in her expression was perhaps more worry than anything else.

“Good morning, Mrs. Gray,” I said brightly.

She looked up at me, seeming surprised that anyone was speaking to her.

“Oh—hello, Kat.”

“Last day,” I said. Then I smiled at her, but I cut it short. If I started getting too talky and friendly with Mrs. Gray,
she might figure out what Jac had told me.

I waved at my mother and took my regular seat. Jac got on the bus last, barreling down the aisle without a word or look at
either of our mothers. This wasn’t the first time I thought Jac went a bit hard on her mom. It wouldn’t kill her to be polite—and
unlike the cello drama of last year, this situation certainly couldn’t be blamed on Mrs. Gray. But Jac ignored her and plopped
down next to me.

The bus ride was short and miserable. Short because we were going to a part of Montreal that was just ten minutes away. And
miserable because when Jac and I got on the bus, I saw that Brooklyn Bigelow was giving it another shot and had sat with Ben
Greenblott. With my Ben Greenblott. The other half of my We.

It was a crime and an outrage, and Ben didn’t look too thrilled about it, nor did Lady
Velma, who was wedged in between the
two of them, partially transparent and providing a glimpse of Brooklyn’s hipper-than-thou fitted leather jacket. Brooklyn
was violating just about every makeup and conduct code Lady Velma had, and she sat blissfully unaware of the lecture she was
receiving in one ear, as she blathered on to Ben, flipping her hair and blinking her eyes like a confused monkey.

I couldn’t look, and I told Jac I didn’t want to talk about it. I wasn’t stupid—it was pretty obvious Ben wasn’t into Brooklyn.
But that didn’t make the fact that she was sitting there batting her eyelashes at him any easier. I slumped glumly in my seat
until we reached our destination. I was the first one off the bus. I shot down the aisle so fast my mom was still in her seat
zipping her coat up. She raised a questioning eyebrow at me, but I just shook my head a little and brushed past.

It was just starting to rain as I stepped onto the pavement. According to our schedule, our first stop was the City Hall,
and an ancient remnant of the wall from the original fortified city. Unwilling to be standing around when Brooklyn descended
with her stupid triumphant stares, I headed toward the public square next to the old building. I was wearing a bright green
slicker over my fleece and the City Hall was close. Sid would be able to see me, and if there was any doubt, my mother could
pick me out from a mile away, if necessary.

I kept my head down as I walked. The square was mostly deserted. I passed a young couple laughing, completely oblivious to
the bad weather. As I approached the square, I saw a man with dark, wild hair and a beaky nose who gave me a bad vibe. I looked
away, and put some distance between us as I tried to
walk past him. His gaze on me was so intense as I neared him that I couldn’t
help glancing over. He looked astounded, and enraged. He quickly stepped into my path. As a reflex, though I immediately knew
he was a ghost, I stopped.

“
Qui êtes-vous? Qu’est-ce que vous regardez?
”

The energy coming off him was dark and angry. I did not have the time, energy, or experience to tangle with him. I turned
and began walking in a different direction.

But he was in front of me again, and I could not bring myself to walk straight through him.

“
Qu’est-ce que vous regardez?
”

I spun around 180 degrees and backtracked. I didn’t get more than three or four steps away when he blocked me again.

“
Arrêtez et répondez-moi
.”

That one I understood. Stop and answer
me. And something else he’d said—I knew more or less what it meant. What did you see?
He was asking me what I had seen.

“Back off,” I said loudly, because this was no time to worry what I looked like to anyone watching. “Get. Away.”

He only glared at me, and stepped closer. A force seemed to roll off him—something cold and sharp like the blade of a new
knife.

I was afraid of him.

Someone grabbed my arm and I screamed.

“Kat, Kat, it’s me.”

Ben was standing behind me, his hand still on my arm. He was staring at the man like he couldn’t believe his eyes. I wanted
to say something, to explain, but I couldn’t, and Ben seemed to have figured out the crucial parts, anyway.

Dead guy. Bad.

The guy lunged forward suddenly, and
Ben pulled me back and away. There was a set of steps leading down toward the old wall,
and we ran down them. We stopped at the bottom, both of us out of breath, and Ben let go of my arm.

“Are you all right?”

I nodded, and Ben looked back up the staircase.

“I couldn’t see him until I grabbed your arm. But I could tell something was wrong.”

“He’s… different. Really bad energy. I was scared.”

“So was I.”

For the first time it hit me that I was standing there with Ben, who’d just pulled me out of the way of a raging ghost, and
we were standing around discussing it. When just two days ago the idea of even talking to him seemed hopeless. Life could
be strange. And wonderful.

“Can they… can they hurt people?”

“I didn’t used to think so,” I told Ben. “Unless they scare you into hurting yourself, like falling down a flight of stairs.
But this guy… it really felt like he could—”

I felt a blast of cold behind me before I saw him. I whirled around, not wanting to have my back to this ghost for a second.

“
Vous ne pouvez pas échapper
,” he hissed.

I racked my brain for anything that my mother or Orin had told me about dealing with angry or menacing ghosts. There had been
a spirit of an old man in an abandoned house next to mine who had a similar raging energy. But I hadn’t dealt with him at
all—I was unable to get over my fear. I had run away, or tried to, and Orin had saved me.

“He’s back, isn’t he?” Ben whispered.

I felt his hand slip into mine. I couldn’t process any of the normal boy-girl hysteria
this should have brought. I only felt
relieved that I wasn’t alone in facing this now. Ben could see him too.

“
Va-t’en
,” I said loudly, using the French familiar form that you’d use with a child, or someone you knew very well. Go away.

Several things happened at once, then. The ghost literally reached for my throat. As he did, Ben stepped forward and threw
a punch that would have coldcocked any living person. But the blow passed right through the ghost. The man’s hand, however,
stayed in place with his fingers at my neck. And suddenly I felt as if he had taken an icicle and plunged it into my throat.
I felt a shudder go through my body.

“
Vous allez mourir. Vous allez mourir,
” he hissed.

You will die.

My legs were getting weak. The pain in
my throat felt very real, and was excruciating. I could almost see, from a distance,
my frozen body with the ghost’s hand at my throat, and I knew that in a moment my knees would buckle.

“
Laissez les vivants touts seules!
”

It was my mother’s voice. I had never been happier to hear it.

The grip on my throat relaxed, and I took several wild, off-balance steps back and sat down hard on the pavement. Ben was
still hanging on to my hand, and he came down next to me.

My mother and the dead man were face to face. She looked so unthreatening to me—tall but thin as a reed, in jeans and an oversized
windbreaker, her blond hair pulled back in a ponytail. He eyed her like a wild animal might size up something it was about
to eat.
When he lunged at her the way he had at me, I shrieked.

But my mother did not budge. She stood like a statue, her eyes fixed on his, her lips moving though I couldn’t hear what she
was saying.

He went at her again, but she was rooted to the spot, and her expression determined but unafraid. It was as if a force field
had sprung up around her. This time he began to falter. Now he was the one stepping back.