School of the Dead (11 page)

“Historians who have studied this,” he said as he paced about the room, “are not sure if half or a third of the European population died. In a matter of
months
. All these deaths within such a short period. People high and low. Try to visualize it. They just ceased to exist.”

His voice boomed with fervor.

“Whole villages, towns, cities, emptied,” he cried in dramatic fashion. “Think of your classmates—disappearing. Here today, gone tomorrow. Imagine it. Look around.”

I was afraid to.

“Tony,” Bokor called. “You're not looking.”

I turned and saw Jessica watching me. Behind her—I was sure she didn't know—was the Penda Boy, eyes full of pleading. All I could do was gape.

“That's enough staring, Tony,” I heard.

I swung around. Bokor was hovering over me. “Tony. You look like you actually saw a dead person.”

The class laughed.

But I
had
seen someone—someone who'd died a hundred years ago.

Too tossed to think, I couldn't wait until the end-of-class bell rang. As kids got up and left the room, Bokor called out, “Tony Gilbert. Will you please stay?”

I remained at my desk, nervous that Bokor was going to ask me what I had seen.

With a small grunt, he eased his bulk into a chair behind his desk. “Tony,” he began, “I realize that you and I haven't truly spoken—which, since you are new, I should have done so. I must apologize. Anyway, here's a belated welcome to Penda. Things going well?”

“Guess so.”

He smiled. “Enjoying history?”

I lifted a shoulder. “It's okay.”

“In your former school did you have much history?”

“American Revolution.”

He laughed. “East Coast history. By the time the Pilgrims landed on Plymouth Rock, the University of Mexico was almost a hundred years old. I'm hoping you already know,” he went on, more seriously, “but I thought I should give a reminder: seventh graders have a research paper due at the end of October. Halloween. That's soon.

“What I am interested in is your learning the
idea
of historical research. Learning about sources—primary and secondary. Footnotes. Bibliography. I'm not so concerned
about the subject you write about, but it's a good idea to take on a topic that interests you. Have you ever done anything like that before?”

I shook my head.

“Since you've come from the East Coast, maybe you'd like to learn about Spanish California, or San Francisco's great 1906 earthquake, or . . .” He paused. “What about the Penda School? I know a lot about it. Be glad to help you.”

I heard him, but I was thinking about the Penda Boy.

“Anyway, we can talk, but you need to take on a doable project. Time is short. Your classmates have already chosen topics. Thanks for staying. Feel free to come by any time.”

Relieved it was normal school stuff, I said, “Thank you,” and left.

When I stepped from class, Jessica was waiting. “What was that about?” she asked.

“The history term paper. Have to choose a topic.”

“No, when Bokor asked everyone to look around, there was the strangest expression on your face.”

I hesitated.

Jessica shoved her hair back. “You saw the Penda Boy, didn't you?”

Not wanting to talk, I moved down the hall.

She grabbed my arm. “Tell me.”

“He was sitting behind you.”

“What . . . was he doing?”

“Just . . . sitting there.”

“Was he looking at you? Me?”

“I'm not sure. At lunch,” I asked, “did you feel an earthquake?”

She scowled. “I don't pay attention to them.”

The class bell rang.

“We're late for science,” I said, glad to hurry on.

Jessica, staying close, said, “Something you should know: Bokor is the Weird History Club adviser.”

“Okay.”

She grabbed me again. “Tony, the Penda Boy is after you. You've got to
do
something. It's almost Halloween. I want to help you.”

“I know,” I said, and scooted toward science class.

We were almost at the room when a voice rang out. “Jessica. Tony.”

It was Ms. Foxton, and she did not look happy. “The class bell has already rung,” she said, coming up to us. “Shouldn't you two be in class?”

Already befuddled, and now cowed by her sharpness, I stammered, “I . . . I was talking to Mr. Bokor.”

“Did he give you a late pass?”

“No.”

“Jessica, what excuse do you have?”

Jessica stood there, glaring. “I was waiting for Tony. He's my friend.”

“So I have been informed,” said Ms. Foxton with a frown. “Where is your next class?”

“Science,” said Jessica. “Right here.”

“Please, both of you. Get where you belong.”

I opened the classroom door. As I did, I looked back at Ms. Foxton. There was fright in her eyes. I had no doubt: she was afraid of Jessica. And as I stepped into class, Jessica muttered, “Someday I'm going to have to kill that woman.”

She sounded as if she meant it.

That night, after dinner, I sat at my desk and checked the internet earthquake site Dad had told me about, the one that listed the day's earthquakes all over the world. There were a lot.
None
in San Francisco. But I was sure I had felt one at the school. Once again I asked myself, was I the only one who noticed it, the way I was the only one to see the Penda Boy? And this time I had a new thought: Was there a connection?

As I sat at my desk, trying to think it out, Mom walked in.
Without saying a word, she sat behind me on my bed. She said, “Tony, love, I need to talk to you. Please look at me.”

Sensing trouble, I swiveled around.

“Late this afternoon,” she began, “at work, I had a call from Ms. Foxton. The first thing she said was that your teachers are enjoying having you in class.”

“That's not why she called you.”

“True. She said she found you socializing in the hallway when you should have been in science class.”

“That's bull!” I cried, instantly angry. “Mr. Bokor, the history teacher, asked me to stay after class to talk about some paper I have to write.”

“And?”

“I did. I just forgot to ask him for a late note. And I went right from his class to science. Why would Ms. Foxton even call you about something so stupid?”

“She said that since you're new, it's important to get off to a good start. I guess a good start for her includes your knowing and following school rules. She was sure Mr. Batalie provided you with the rules. Did you read them?”

“That's so unfair.” I turned my back on her.

Mom said, “There was another reason she called.”

I slumped over my desk. “What?”

“When she found you, you were with another student. A
girl named Jessica Richards.”

“What's Jessica got to do with it?”

“Ms. Foxton doesn't have much good to say about the girl. Has she become a . . . special friend of yours?”

“Just tell me what she said.”

“The girl seems to create problems in the school.”

“So Ms. Foxton is telling you who my friends should be.”

“Tony, one of the advantages and, yes, disadvantages of a school like Penda is that they keep very close watch over students. They don't hesitate to communicate with parents. I, for one, appreciate it. I think Ms. Foxton means well.”

I said, “Everybody hates her. I can make my own friends.”

“Well, you needed to know what she said.”

“Fine.”

“Ms. Foxton gave me her private number. She said you could call her if you wanted to talk about what happened. Or anything else that's troubling you.”

Mom stood up, leaned over me, put down a yellow sticky note with Ms. Foxton's number on it, and hugged me. “We simply want you to be happy, do well, and enjoy school. We came here in large measure because of you.”

Breaking free, I said, “You came because you and Dad got better jobs.”

“Tony, we
all
needed a change, and your uncle Charlie left
money because he wanted you to go to Penda.”

“I hate Uncle Charlie.”

Her face showed surprise. “Well . . . that's a change.”

I said, “Happens.”

I slammed the door after her, then sat at my desk, furious with Ms. Foxton. If she wanted me to drop Jessica as a friend, there was no way I was going to do it. Jessica was the one person helping me.

I stuffed Ms. Foxton's phone number among the pages of the book I was reading, snapped the book shut, and grabbed the black tie and put it on. I didn't do it right, but it was on. Then I walked the slackline but kept falling.

Next morning, as Dad was tying on my black tie, he said, “History club today?”

“Not exactly.”

“What's the club do?”

“Study history.”

“Recent? Ancient? Local?”

“Local.”

As I was about to leave the apartment, Mom said, “You have a birthday party tonight, right? What's involved?”

“Not much.”

Mom hesitated and then asked, “Is it that Jessica Richards
who is having the party?”

“No.”

“May I ask who?”

“Lilly, if you have to know.”

Mom eased up. “Do you need to get a birthday present?”

“Don't know what she'd like.”

“Would you like me to pick up a gift card?”

“Thanks,” I snapped, as if I were doing Mom a favor.

Since I was wearing the black tie to school for the first time, but not wanting to make a big entrance, I got to homeroom early. Only a few students were there, but that included Jessica. She looked up, saw my tie, and rewarded me with a great smile.
She's my one real friend
,
I thought as I sat down next to her.

She said, “I knew you were smart.”

Hearing the remark, a couple of nearby kids turned and looked at my tie and me. There was disapproval on their faces. I didn't care.

“We'll talk at recess,” I said to Jessica, and made a point of staying next to her.

Batalie came up to where I was sitting and said, “Tony, Mr. Bokor would like you to drop in to see him during recess.” He paused and then said, “You're wearing a black tie.”

Expecting more displeasure, all I said was, “I guess.”

“Ah,” he said, with a grin, which was rare for him. “An interesting choice.”

“I like it,” I said.

“The best reason,” he said. Returning to his desk, he made an agitated fuss over some papers. I wished I knew what he was thinking.

When the midmorning recess bell rang, I turned to Jessica. “Have to go see Bokor. Catch you at lunch.”

I was sure I knew why Bokor had asked me to come—that late note he'd failed to give. Certain he was going to blame me, I went down the hall as slowly as I could, telling myself not to lose my temper.

When I got to Bokor's room, he looked around. “Tony. Thanks for dropping by. I think I owe you an apology.”

Surprised, I just stood there.

He went on: “Yesterday I asked you to stay after class to talk about your term paper. Then I forgot to give you a late pass for your next class. I gather you informed Ms. Foxton, who found you in the hall on the way to science. Apparently, she didn't believe you. Penda has a lot of rules,” he said with a smile full of sympathy. “I've already told Ms. Foxton it was my fault. Sorry for any unpleasantness.”

I was astonished. In all my years at school, no teacher had ever apologized to me. All I could manage to get out was “Thanks.”

Bokor said, “We'll chalk it up to experience, mine and yours. Can you accept that?”

“Sure,” I said, and turned to go.

“Oh, Tony. Have you chosen a topic for your paper?”

I shifted back around.

“We're getting closer to the deadline,” he said. “May I urge you to do a brief history of the Penda School? I know a fair bit about it and can guide you to all kinds of sources. It'll save you time. I even have the original building plans for the mansion, before it was a school. I would enjoy working with you. Getting to know you. It might be a fun project. The real point is, Halloween—the due date—is almost here.”

The offer, I was sure, was part of his apology. Thankful, I said, “Sure. I'll try.”

“Wonderful. The sooner we meet to get you started the better. Today's Friday. How about meeting after school on Monday? Does that work for you?”

“Think so.”

“See you then.”

By the time I got to the cafeteria, recess was almost over. As I grabbed a jelly doughnut and OJ, the bell rang. Since
students were not allowed to take food out of the cafeteria, I bolted everything down. As I did, Jessica came up to me.

“What was Bokor all about?”

“He apologized for not giving me a late note yesterday—you know, when Ms. Foxton found us in the hall. She called my mother.”

“What for?”

“To warn her about you.”

Alarm filled her face. “Did you say anything?”

“Told her I could have my own friends.”

She gave me a great smile. “See. You're terrific. And I think I've worked out a plan. You know,” she said, her voice low. “How to get rid of the Penda Boy. You're coming to the club meeting at lunch, right?”

“Right,” I called after her as she hurried away.

I headed back to class, realizing I was feeling better than I had in a long time. And it was Jessica who was making me feel that way.

At noon, as I went toward the cafeteria to meet with the club, I caught sight of the Penda Boy. He was alone. Wanting to avoid him, I reversed my direction and ducked among a group of kids. Annoying, but it was a reminder
that I needed to do two things: get away from him and get rid of him.

I got some lunch and joined Jessica, Mac, and Barney at the club table. When I sat down, Jessica wasted no time. “Okay,” she announced, “as of now Tony is a full member of the Weird History Club.”