School of the Dead (14 page)

Someone appeared behind the big tower's window. I was sure it was the Penda Boy. That he was looking at me. I wished I knew what he was thinking, if—whatever he was—he could think.
Does he really want my life? My soul? Where does Jessica fit in?

Next second he was gone.

Seeing him removed all doubts. Although I knew the Penda Boy was not alive, I had seen him. He was there, a ghost. He had been staring at me as if trying to make a connection. But
what
did he want of me?

Wishing he would come back so I could see more, learn more, I remained on the street. He didn't return.

As time passed, I knew I had to get home before my parents woke and found me gone—which would mean explanations. I started off. At the first corner, the streetlight switched to red. No cars were coming, but out of habit I stopped. With no particular purpose, I turned and looked back at the school.
That was when I saw the school doors burst open. Out of the building came Jessica.

After momentary shock, my automatic reaction was to bob behind a parked car, but I poked my head up enough to see her hurry off the school steps, reach the sidewalk, and keep going. As always, she limped slightly, her long black hair swishing like a horse's tail. My first guess was that she was going to that address on Lake Street. At the first corner, however, she took a right turn and headed downhill. Wherever she was going, it was
not
toward Lake Street. I watched her go, wishing I could follow and see where she went. But I had to get back.

As I ran home, my mind fairly tumbled with questions. Why was Jessica in school early Sunday morning? Was she the one I had seen in the tower window? No, I was sure it had been the Penda Boy. My mind turned back to the first time I had seen the Penda School, that Sunday, when Uncle Charlie had appeared. Only then did I suddenly recall a girl looking out at me from the school's first floor. Had that been Jessica? Then, right after I saw her, I saw the Penda Boy in the high tower.

A horrifying thought jolted me:
What if they're together?

I slipped back into our apartment, and my bed, so my
parents never knew I'd been out. I lay there, panting, thoughts jumbled, trying to untangle what I had seen. Again, were Jessica and the Penda Boy together? Who was my friend? Who was my enemy?

The truth was, I no longer knew.

That afternoon, my parents and I went to Muir Woods, a forest of gigantic, ancient redwoods. As always, Dad flung facts at me. For example: Some redwoods live for two thousand years. The average age of the trees is between five hundred and seven hundred years old. Certain redwood cones—not all—open up at extreme heat—like during a major forest fire. The seeds pop out only when they're needed. “If there is a crisis,” said Dad, “old rules don't apply.”

Maybe, since the Penda School was built of redwood, old rules didn't apply there either.

I used my cell phone to pull up a calendar. Halloween was in five days. Knowing that would be my crisis day, I felt Dad's words reverberate:
If there is a crisis, old rules don't apply.
What would be the new rules?

I reminded myself that the next day—Monday—I had an appointment to meet Bokor. He was supposed to give me
information for my term paper.

Having become distrustful of everyone, I started to feel that Bokor—adviser to the Weird History Club—had pushed me into doing the paper about the Penda School. Was he giving me the plans because Jessica
wanted
him to, so that I—along with the Weird History Club—could catch the Penda Boy in a tower and destroy him before he got me? Those misgivings made me recall the class when Bokor spoke about ghosts, about Halloween. Did he do so because Jessica—and Mac—had
asked
questions about ghosts?

Even as I struggled for answers, new questions came up. For instance, I checked the earthquake listings for the day. There'd been lots of them, though absolutely
none
in San Francisco. But that morning I
had
felt one outside the Penda School. How could they only be
there
?

But the biggest question remained: Were Jessica and the ghost together, working to destroy me?

And Uncle Charlie's ghost. What if
he
too was with Jessica? That thought embarrassed me. There were lots of impossible things going on, but I refused to consider that one. In fact, I suddenly wished I hadn't banished him.
Uncle Charlie
, I thought,
why did you want me to come to Penda?

Trouble was, I had told him to go away and had been successful. Why couldn't I make the rest of it go away?

Still, no matter where I looked, or what I asked, I had the feeling that I was being surrounded by things I didn't understand. Surrounded by an invisible army. Worse, there was no way to escape.

I slept badly. When I did get up Monday morning, I had to decide about the black tie. Jessica had said club rules required I wear something black each day. I put on the tie, worried that if I didn't, she would ask questions. I wanted to avoid that, having no desire to give her any idea about what I'd been told at the party.

In fact, when I got to Penda, the first person I met was Lilly. She rushed up.

“Tony, guess what?” she cried. “I got the cutest outfit at H&M with your card. A knit poncho, with a
great
collar, buttons, all in a pattern of pinks, reds, and purples. Matching purple leggings and a dark pink cap. Oh my God. So cute. Thank you.” In her enthusiasm, she gave me a hug.

Embarrassed but pleased, I grinned, nodded, and said, “Nice.” At the same time, I glanced up. Jessica was standing by the school doors looking down at us, her face full of contempt.

I went up the steps.

“What's up?” said Jessica.

“Not much,” I said, wanting to get by her while trying to keep my face neutral. She grabbed my arm, surprising me with her strength. “You meeting with Bokor today?”

“Right after school.”

“We don't have a lot of time.”

“What do you mean?”

“Wake up, Tony,” she said in an urgent whisper. “Halloween is in
four
days. If we're going to save you, we've got to get you into the towers. Get the Penda Boy. Before he gets you. You do understand, don't you?”

I nodded, mumbled, “Yeah,” and stepped away, uneasy with her strength, her insistence. Most of all, I no longer believed her.
Keep away from her
,
I told myself. It was what that Riley kid had said:
She's trouble
.

As I went up to the second floor, I looked for the Penda Boy. Not there. Only when I reached the top of the steps and looked back down did I see him below, gazing up at me.

He had said he wanted to talk to me. Okay, let him. I started toward him, but the next second he was engulfed by a mob of ascending students. When they cleared off, he was gone. Exasperated, I headed for class, telling myself that the next time he showed up, I would absolutely try to get him to talk.

When I walked into class, Batalie looked up. “Good morning, Tony.”

“Morning,” I returned, noticing he was wearing a black tie, which I hadn't seen on him before. Was he too a member of the Weird History Club?

I trusted no one.

It was a long day. Mostly, I waited for my meeting with Bokor. Though I didn't want to be there, I sat with the Weird History Club during recess. The cafeteria had been decorated for Halloween: black and orange twisted streamers, cutouts of jack-o'-lanterns, black cats with arched backs, cartoonlike ghosts, devils, and witches on broomsticks. There were a few tombstones with
REST IN PEACE
on them. As I looked about, it was as if the school was full of death. It seemed to make other people cheerful. Not me.

At the Weird History Club table, there was not much talk, except from Jessica.

She kept going on about what I should ask Bokor. The boys listened in silence, Mac biting his nails, Barney nibbling his sunflower seeds—so annoying—their eyes shifting from Jessica to me, like watchful cats. That made me think of what Mom had quoted: “The fog comes on little cat feet. It sits looking over
harbor and city on silent haunches and then moves on.”

Moves on where?

“The main thing,” said Jessica, “is for you to find ways to get into the towers.” When I realized she didn't say
we
, I excused myself by saying I had to be early for science.

During lunch, I sat with the kids who were at Lilly's party: so different from the Weird History Club. Babble and laughter about the party, the movie we saw. Even more excitement about the coming Halloween party and the costumes people were considering.

As before, Ian announced he was going to dress as the Penda Boy, which brought jeers from the other kids. “That's the night he disappeared,” Ian protested. “It's a tradition. He
has
to be there.”

As I headed back to class, Lilly was by my side.

“I wanted to say sorry about that Austin business,” she whispered. “I think it upset you.”

“It's okay,” I said. “Anyway, I texted Austin.”

“You did?”

“Yeah. He texted back to say hello to the class. That he was fine.”

“That was so sweet of you.” Lilly looked down at her shoes. “You going to tell Jessica what we told you?” she asked timidly.

“Wasn't planning to.”

“I wish you wouldn't.”

“Why?”

When she looked up, I saw fear in her eyes.

I said, “You're afraid of her, aren't you?”

She gave a tiny, embarrassed nod. Then she whispered, “She's . . . strange.” Her eyes shifted to my black tie.

She must have realized I noticed her look, because she blushed. “Sorry. She's your friend,” she said, and rushed away. I watched her weave through other kids. Among them was the Penda Boy, there, then gone.

No question: I was seeing him more often. He was becoming bolder. Was it because Halloween was closer? If the Penda Boy was after me—and I was sure he was—that would be his deadline too.
Dead-line
: the word made me wince.

Earlier, I had decided I would get the Penda Boy to talk to me. I turned away. I was sick of him. No, I was scared of him. For the rest of the day I took care not to be alone.

In the afternoon, I had history. A normal class, except that at the very end, as students were filing out, Bokor called, “Tony. We're meeting after school, right?”

I nodded, but reminded myself I should be careful what I said to him.
Trust no one.

School was over. As kids emptied homeroom, I looked up. Jessica was standing by the doorway, her black backpack slung over her shoulder. She gave me her pretty smile and a thumbs-up sign. I faked a smile back. As she went, I wondered,
Where does she live?

I gathered the books I was supposed to read that night, stuffed them into my backpack, and headed out.

“Tony.”

It was Batalie. Though the classroom was mostly empty, he beckoned me closer, as if needing to talk to me in private.

“I gather,” he said in a low voice, his pink-rimmed eyes full of anxiety, “you heard about Austin at Lilly's birthday party.”

“I suppose,” I muttered, assuming one of the party kids had told him.

“May I ask you to keep it to yourself?”

“Sure,” I said. He stepped closer to me, making me even more aware how old he was. He smelled of too much aftershave.

“The Penda School,” he fairly hissed, “is a long-standing institution. Remember, ‘Respect the past and protect the future.'”

“Protect who from what?” I blurted out. I never had gotten an answer to that question.

“So it may continue,” he said with unexpected fierceness. “Have a good night, Tony. See you tomorrow.”

“'Night,” I said, wondering why he was so angry.

Bokor, sitting behind his desk, surrounded by papers and a few books, was waiting for me. In his baggy brown suit, he seemed enormous. He too was wearing a black tie.

“Tony, hello,” he called in his big voice. “Glad you could come. Pull up a seat. Let me show you some wonderful stuff.”

I sat down.

He started right off. “As I told you, for this term paper I'm interested in students developing an understanding of historical sources. Primary sources are original documents. Secondary sources are writings
about
the subject from a distance, so to speak. For example”—he slid a pile of paper toward me—“here's the
History of the Penda School
, which I wrote. Only a hundred pages. Go through it.

“I worked with letters, newspaper accounts, deeds, old school yearbooks, plus those old Penda student files in Ms. Foxton's office. Used Mrs. Penda's will too. All primary sources, listed in my bibliography. If you quote them directly, those are primary materials. Quote my
interpretation
, that's a secondary source. Make sense?”

“Think so.”

He slid his book toward me. “Here's a copy for you.”

“Thanks.”

“Now this,” he went on, lifting a roll of large papers, “is amazing.”

He spread out the sheets, which were covered with what looked like webs of faint lines. “These are the original plans for the mansion that Mrs. Penda built back in 1884. As you might guess, with such an enormous building, and being so rich, Mrs. Penda had many servants. The servants lived in small bedrooms in the towers. In those days, servants were not to be seen. So—special stairways and rooms for servants. Most old mansions had back stairs, but here, they're inside the walls. For example”—he pointed to the plans—“here are steps that go from the old kitchen to the dining room. Over here, from Mrs. Penda's bedroom to her personal servant's quarters. And so on. It meant that those people, when summoned, could appear. Like magic.” He laughed.

Like the Penda Boy
,
I thought.

“There was a system of bells to summon them. There's a story that only Mrs. Penda was allowed to ring them. Look,” he went on, pointing to the plans, “from the room we're in now—once a guest bedroom—servant passages go directly to one of the smaller towers.” He pointed across the classroom. “See that bookcase?”

I looked.

“Behind it is a door. The school is full of such doors. All sealed, of course.”

“Does anyone use those old passages?” I asked.

“Not supposed to,” he said with a smile. “But . . . it's fun to think about, isn't it?” he added.

No
, I thought. “Sure,” I said.

“Now, I can't give you these original plans, but I made copies. I'll just ask you not to share them with anyone. Can't have people sneaking around, can we? Agree?”

I nodded, realizing he had given me the
exact
information Jessica had asked me to get.

“There you go,” he said. “You're on your way.”

Where would that be?
I asked myself.

Saying, “Thanks,” I stuck the papers into my backpack. “Mr. Bokor,” I blurted out, “you're a member of the Weird History Club, right?”

He lifted his tie. “Adviser,” he said.

“In class, you said you believe in ghosts. Do you really? Do you think there are any in the towers?”

The playfulness in his face faded. He became older-looking, haggard, with a flash of fear.

“Do
I
believe in ghosts?” he repeated, as if trying to decide what answer to give. “Well, yes, some.”

“Which ones?”

“Let's save that for another time.” He turned away.

Dismissed, I thought,
Why won't he say more? The whole school is on edge. As if everyone has a deadline.

That night, sitting at my desk, I studied the Penda mansion plans. I could see where the secret stairways and servants' rooms were within the building's walls. Made me think of Swiss cheese, full of hidden holes.

Did the Penda Boy live in one of those servants' rooms? Did he use the old passages? Go through old doors? Or maybe he didn't need doors. Bokor had mentioned that servants were summoned by a jangling bell that only Mrs. Penda was allowed to ring. Who summoned the Penda Boy? Jessica?

When my phone rang, I jumped.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Jessica.”

Hearing her made me tense. Even so, I wished I knew from where she was calling.

She said, “What did Bokor tell you?”

“Lots of stuff,” I said evasively.

“About the servants' doors and stairs? Servants' rooms? Did he give you plans?”

“Yeah,” I said.

She said, “Bring them to school tomorrow.” It came out like an order. Before I could say anything, she hung up. Her calls were quick. As if she was afraid I'd somehow track her.

I kept thinking how insistent she was about my getting rid of the Penda Boy. Why did she never say
how
I was going to do it? I was beginning to worry the Weird History Club was trying to deliver me to him.

I started to read Bokor's
History of the Penda School
. It began with information about Mrs. Penda and her husband. How when he died, Mrs. Penda inherited a redwood forest company. Then she died, and shortly afterward her boy died. It was Mrs. Penda's will that created the school.

I paused and reread the line:

           
Mrs. Penda died, and shortly afterward, her boy died.

That seemed wrong. Wasn't it the other way around? Hadn't the Penda Boy died
first
? Wasn't
that
how the school began? Didn't Mrs. Penda set the school up in his
memory
?

On that first Sunday, when we stood outside the school, Dad had read the school brochure to me. I was sure it had said Mrs. Penda had died from grief
after
her son died. On
my first day in school, Ms. Foxton had said the same thing.

I went to where my parents were watching the news.

“Dad,” I said, “remember how you read the Penda School brochure they sent us? Do we still have it?”

“No idea. We've thrown out so much stuff.”

“I need it for a history paper I'm writing about the school.”

Mom said, “I think there was a bunch on display in the school office. I bet you could get one there.”

In my room, on a piece of paper, I copied Bokor's sentences.

           
Mrs. Penda died, and shortly afterward, her son died. Her will established the school.

Something was not right.

Next morning, needing to think things out, but tired of Jessica telling me what to do, I decided to leave the plans at home. Even so, Jessica was waiting for me on the school steps. The first thing she said was, “Did you bring the plans?”

I said, “Forgot them.”

Her look turned angry, upset. “You live close. Get them during lunchtime.”

Determined to stand up to her, I said, “Only Eights are
allowed off campus during lunch.”

“Wimp. I'll walk you home after school.”

“I have to stay.”

“Why?” she snapped.

“Our history paper is due. I started late. Need to check some dates in the library.”

She backed down, but for the first time, I saw fright in
her
eyes.

With her voice more under control, she said, “Just make certain you bring them tomorrow for the club meeting.”

I was sure she wanted to be forceful, but I heard anxiety too. She had not shown fear before. Why would
she
be frightened now?

She answered my unspoken question when she added, “Tony, you're running out of time.”

Thoughts flashed through my mind.
Is it me she's worried about? The Penda Boy?
And for the first time I had this thought:
Or is she worried for herself?

Why would she be?

At three school was over and most of the students left the building. After watching to make sure Jessica had gone too, I went to the school office. Mrs. Z was at her desk. On her jacket collar was a silk flower, black.

Black was the new happy.

“Hello, Tony,” she said, friendly enough. “How are you? What brings you here?”

“I'm writing a paper about the history of the school.”

“Oh, fun.”

“I was thinking, do you have anything that would help me?”

“Oh dear. I don't believe
I
do. Have you spoken to Mr. Bokor? He's our local historian.”

“He gave me some stuff.”

“Actually,” she said, “the material we have is in Ms. Foxton's office. I guess you could call it an archive. Info on all former students. That sort of thing. Unfortunately, she's at an out-of-school meeting. She should be back soon. In the meantime, why don't you take a look at those old yearbooks?” She pointed to the table by the couch. “With names and pictures, year by year, of everyone who ever went here. The way people dressed . . . so interesting. Make yourself comfortable.”

“Thanks,” I said. “Can I take one of these school brochures?”

“Help yourself.”

I glanced at the painting of Mrs. Penda. As I looked at the woman's angry face, I was reminded of the way Jessica had
looked when I'd told her I hadn't brought Bokor's plans.

I dropped my backpack to one side of the couch and flipped through the pages of a brochure. On the second page, I came upon:

           
A Brief History of the Penda School

The passage I was looking for was right up front.

           
The Penda School came into existence in 1897, when Mrs. Penda, a wealthy widow who owned redwood forests in Northern California, established the school soon after her only child, a boy, died. So great was her grief that shortly afterward she too passed away. All the same, she left her mansion and an endowment for a boys' and girls' school that they might “Respect the past and protect the future.”

I took out the paper on which I'd copied what Bokor had written in his history of the school.

           
Mrs. Penda died, and shortly afterward, her son died. Her will established the school.

The two statements did not agree. Did the boy die before or after his mother died? Did it matter?

I studied the painting of the Penda Boy. His eyes full of fear. Pleading. What was he trying to say?

“Tony.”

I looked up. Mrs. Z was standing over me. “Will you be staying long?” she asked.

“About to look at the yearbooks.”

“That's fine. I have to speak to one of the janitors. I'll be right back. Ms. Foxton should return soon.”

“I'm okay.”

She left the room.

I put down the brochure and plucked out the earliest yearbook, 1898. It was a real book, cloth-covered, heavy, the date stamped in gold. I opened it. The pale yellow paper was thick with a slight sheen. On the first page was this statement:

           
The Penda School has come into existence because of the death of Mrs. Reese Penda. Shortly after her adopted son died, she died, and according to the terms of Mrs. Penda's will, the school was established.

There it was again: the boy died
before
Mrs. Penda died. And something else was different: the Penda Boy was an
adopted
son. Did
that
matter? Over the years, facts seem to have been changed.

On the next page was a list of school officers. Then came a page of faculty names. What followed were group photos of each class, starting with the first grade and continuing to the eighth.

Under the picture of “Our First Seventh Grade,” boys and girls were listed separately. In the girls' list I saw

           
Jessica Richards

Not believing what I was seeing, I read the name over and over. I studied the faces in the image. The pictures were small, like faded memories. Two girls with dark hair looked like Jessica might have looked. Except obviously it could
not
be her.

I pulled out another yearbook, the one for 1905. On the first page was a class picture:

           
Our Seventh Grade

I read the girls' names. Among them was

           
Jessica Richards

Jessica had told me her family had always been in the school. Did they all have the same name? Not likely. More and more puzzled, I pulled out another year, 1920, and flipped through the book until I came to the first-grade class. Sure enough, among the names was