Zacktastic (13 page)

I don't click the button to buy a ticket, because I don't need a ticket. No one will see me to stop me from getting on the plane anyway. But I decide to keep Trey's credit card in case I need it later.

“And that's how it's done, Drew,” I say out loud.

Now to Trey's closet, because I need shoes and he's got a rack full of them. Multiple pairs of sneakers and flip-flops, each as clean as if they had just come out of the box. Plus, he has a row of half a dozen pairs of loafers—the kind my dad used to wear to work. Work shoes, Dad called them. He had a pair in black and a pair in brown,
and he'd switch them up depending on the color of suit he was wearing. On weekends he wore sandals in the summer and sneakers in the winter.

I haven't seen Dad's shoes in a long time and I wonder what happened to all of them.

I'm not wearing a suit, or even khakis like Trey and the Reggs, but I take a pair of work shoes anyway. They are a little big on me, and I know I shouldn't wear shoes that are too big. Do you know how many people trip and fall when their shoes are too big? And do you know if you have a bad enough fall, you could die?

If something happened to me, I'd never be able to rescue Quinn.

I decide to double up on socks, but just as I'm opening the top dresser drawer, there's another knock on the door. I freeze in place. “No one's answering,” I hear a voice say from out in the hall. A voice I know: Buzz Cut's voice.

“Let's break it,” another voice answers. Shaggy this time. “Gimme a screwdriver.”

“I don't have a screwdriver,” Buzz says. “Credit cards work, though. I've seen them used on TV.”

“Do you have one of those?”

I finger the credit card in my pocket.
Ha ha ha, Reggs
.

“Nope. But I have a library card.”

“You have a library card?” Shaggy asks, incredulous.

“Ms. Corson made us sign up on the first day of school. I put it in my bag and forgot about it. May as well be put to good use.”

“The best use.”

There's no time to barricade the door with chairs or the dresser, so I'm just waiting for them on the other side. But when they come in and I try to shove them away, my hands go through them. I wind up facedown on the floor.

Note to self: Genie hands still get rug burns.

“Oh, man, it looks like a regular dorm room,” Shaggy is saying as I rub my sore palms and get
back up on my feet.

“What'd you expect?” Buzz asks him.

“I don't know . . . maybe a king-size bed and a private bathroom and a terrace. Definitely a terrace.”

“If he had a terrace, we'd be able to see it from outside the building. He still has good stuff, though—look at his computer. It's way nicer than yours.”

“Should I take it?” Shaggy asks.

“No, moron, we can't take it if we want to frame him.”

“Oh, right,” Shaggy says.

Buzz moves toward the desk chair. “Do you have the flash drive? I'll stick it in the side port and load the papers on. When we tell Heddle, Trey won't be able to deny it. The evidence will be right there. And then
who's
the cheater?”

“Brilliant,” Shaggy says. He pulls the flash drive from his pocket and hands it to Buzz.

“Huh, well, look at this.” Shaggy stands and
looks over Buzz's shoulder at the monitor. “Looks like our friend was planning a little trip.”

“I wonder what's in Pennsylvania.”

“Maybe a twerp convention.”

Shaggy and Buzz break into laughter, like it's the funniest thing they've ever heard. I don't have time for this. I put my hand on the door handle, but just before I turn it, something occurs to me: They can't see me, but they can see the website I pulled up on the computer.

The inspiration hits me like a flash of lightning: Maybe I can spook them into telling me where the bottle is.

I run over to the desk and reach a hand between them to grab the mouse. I click to pull up a blank page.

“Why's the screen changing?” Buzz asks.

Then I type. I'm not so fast at typing, but the guys are staring at the screen like it's the most interesting thing in the world: I have a question.

“Dude, the computer has a question,”
Shaggy says.

“Do you think it's a ghost?”

“No, moron. It's a computer game.” He reaches to punch Buzz in the shoulder, and his hand passes through my arm as he does it. Why can I touch some things same as always, like door handles and computers, but then people's hands go right through me?

But I can't let this stuff distract me right now. I keep typing. Where's the bottle?

“The bottle?” Buzz says. “What kind of game asks about a bottle?”

No time for games, I type. Where is Trey's bottle?

“Whoa,” Buzz says. “I have a question for you.”

I asked you first.

“This computer has an attitude problem,” Shaggy says. “Kind of like its owner.” He hits at the keys to erase my words.

I wouldn't do that if I were you.

Shaggy is about to press the delete key again, but Buzz stops him. “I don't like this,” he says quietly.

I type three more words: Tell me, Jake.

Shaggy falls over backward. Buzz is still staring at the screen, mouth hanging open, so I add: You look surprised, Ollie.

At this point, Shaggy has scrambled up from the floor. He and Ollie race out of the room as if they're afraid the computer will chase them. I bet they spend the rest of the day trying to convince their friends that what they saw really happened and that they're not crazy. All because of my observational skills. Now that's
noggining
.

Noggining
. Verb. The act of using your noggin, which is what Dad called my head.

Oh, Dad. I wish you back. I wish you were here right now. It's the only wish I need.

But of course Dad is
not
here. I grab a pair of flip-flops from Trey's closet, the closest kind of shoe to a one-size-fits-all, and then turn back to
the computer and pull up a map of Grovestand, California, on Google. I find the closest bus stop to the school—I have to walk to Hollyhock Drive, make a left on Poppy Lane, and walk another block down, then I'll be there. I'm a little nervous because I'll have to cross two streets to get there. Not that I haven't crossed streets by myself before. Because I have. Of course I have—I even did it in New York City the time I got separated from Uncle Max.

But in New York City, the streets are really crowded. I thought that made it more dangerous. But now that I think about it, it's a little bit safer, too. Even when you're alone, you're not really alone.

I doubt there will be so many people on the streets in this city. And even if there are, no one can see me! What if I trip and fall in the middle of the crosswalk and a car comes speeding through and runs me over because I'm invisible to the driver?

I've never before felt so completely all on my own. I gather up all the bravery I have and walk out the door. I head to Hollyhock Drive and down a block. Then I have to cross the first street. I look both ways about five times, because you can never be too careful, step off the curb, and—
WHAM!

It wasn't a car, but I was sure hit by something, and now colors are swirling all around me, so fast, like someone put a rainbow in a blender. It feels like something is pulling me back and back and back.

Could it be that I'm being pulled home?

Suddenly there's a loud
SNAP!
, like a giant rubber band was stretched and let go. The wind is rushing in my ears as I fly forward. I think I can make out something in the distance. The roof of a building. I'm headed straight toward it! And there's no sign of slowing down.

I don't want to die I don't want to die I don't want to die
.

I can't bear to look, so I squeeze my eyes shut tight. But then I open just one eye a crack, and the weirdest, coolest thing is happening—the roof of the building is opening up like a giant mouth. I sail right through and land on my feet with a thud.

“Zack!” Quinn shouts.

16

T
HERE
S
HE
G
OES
A
GAIN

“T
here she goes again.”

It's Ms. Lucas talking. She's here in this large, square room. There are floor-to-ceiling bookshelves against every wall, except the back wall, which is all windows. A couple of oversized red leather chairs are set in front of a huge dark-brown wood desk. Ms. Lucas is in one of the chairs, and Mr. Hayden is in the other. Quinn is standing between them. And there's another man, sitting behind the desk. He's got a thick rug of hair on his head, and his face is as round as a bowling ball. The nameplate in front of him says:
E
.
M
.
HEDDLE
,
HEAD OF SCHOOL
.

“There she goes what again, Helen?” Mr. Heddle asks.

“Zack,” Ms. Lucas explains. For a split second, she turns her head in the direction Quinn is facing, but instead of looking at me, it's like she's looking through me. A chill shoots down my spine.

Ms. Lucas faces Heddle again and goes on, “She keeps calling out to someone—”

“My brother!” Quinn interrupts.

“Who isn't here,” Ms. Lucas finishes.

“He's here, I swear,” Quinn says.

Ms. Lucas folds her arms across her chest. “I advise you to stop lying, miss.”

“I'm not lying!” Quinn says. She drops her voice to a pleading tone. “I know you don't believe me—I didn't believe Zack, either. But I swear on my life that he's in this room. I don't know why we're here, or how he made himself invisible. But it's all true.”

Ms. Lucas shakes her head, exasperated.

The phone rings on Mr. Heddle's desk, and he pushes a button to silence it. Then Mr. Hayden pipes up. “You know, Helen, I actually believe she's telling the truth,” he says. “At least I believe that
she
thinks she is.”

I recognize the look Mr. Hayden gives Quinn, because it's a look that Quinn has given me about a billion times. A look that says:
You are such a nut job
.

I always thought it would feel good to see Quinn get a taste of her own medicine. But it doesn't. Not even a little bit.

“I'm so tired,” my sister says quietly. “I just want to go home. I wish I could go home.”

I wiggle my toes in Trey's flip-flops. They feel like regular toes.

“I'm sorry,” Mr. Heddle tells her. “But wishing isn't going to make it so.”

I may be a genie, but I'm afraid he's right about that.

“It's my opinion that we should get this young girl some much-needed medical help,” Mr. Hayden goes on. “Should I call in Nurse Corridan? Or better yet, perhaps I should take her straight to the emergency room.”

“An emergency room?” Quinn asks. “At a hospital?”

“They could give you the help you need,” Mr. Hayden tells her.

Quinn turns to me and shakes her head. Mr. Hayden probably thinks she's talking to him, but she's talking to me: “I won't go to an emergency room,” she says.

I know why she won't. An emergency room is where they brought Dad.

“My car is just out back,” Mr. Hayden says. “Unless you think we should call an ambulance.”

“That won't be necessary,” Mr. Heddle says.

“Thank you,” Quinn says. There is relief in her voice, but it only lasts about two seconds. “But wait, do you mean calling an ambulance
isn't necessary, or going to the hospital at all?”

“Helen, Colin,” Mr. Heddle says to the teachers. “You can go back to your classrooms now. I can take it from here.”

Mr. Hayden and Ms. Lucas rise from their seats. Mr. Heddle waits until the door closes behind them, and then he holds a hand out. “I know you're tired. You should take a seat.” Quinn eyes the oversized red chairs but doesn't move toward them. “Go on,” Mr. Heddle tells her. “Make yourself at home.”

My sister moves slowly to the chair on the left and sits down on the edge of it. I take the one on the right—like Quinn, I'm right at the edge. It's hard to sit back and make yourself at home when you have no idea what will happen next or if you'll ever make it back to your real home again.

“Thanks,” Quinn says.

“Can I get you anything?” Mr. Heddle goes on. “Water? A bag of chips?”

“I'm okay,” Quinn tells him.

“Oh, come on,” Mr. Heddle says. “You look like you could use a little pick-me-up. How about both?”

“Okay,” Quinn says, nodding. “I actually am pretty hungry—and thirsty, too. I wanted to get something at Food Hall. But Zack . . .” Her voice trails off, knowing Mr. Heddle probably won't believe what she says anyway. He opens a desk drawer and pulls out a bottle of spring water and a bag of barbecue chips—my favorite—and places them in front of Quinn. My stomach grumbles. “Gross, Zack,” Quinn whispers out the side of her mouth.

“It's been a while since I've eaten, too,” I remind her.

“And whose fault is that?”

“Go easy on your brother,” Mr. Heddle says. “It looks like he's had a long day, too.”

Looks like? He can
see
me?

He's staring at me—at me, not through me.

“You can see Zack?” Quinn squeaks out.

“I sure can,” he says.

“How?” I ask.

E. M. Heddle cracks a smile. He pulls another bag of chips out from a drawer and tosses them my way. Then he folds his hands together and leans forward over the desk. I hesitate opening the bag because, well, it just seems weird that he can see me. But I guess it's even weirder that no one else can. “Sit back,” he says. “Relax. Eat.”

I can't think of anything else to do, so I rip open the bag and pop a chip into my mouth. “How can you see me and no one else can?”