Seconds Away

CHAPTER 13

I caught up with Spoon and Ema in the parking lot.

“Keep moving,” I said. “Chief Taylor might be on to us.”

We hurried down the block and back onto Northfield Avenue. There was a dry cleaner located on the corner. We ducked behind the building.

“Was Rachel in that room?” Ema asked.

I nodded and told them everything that had happened.

“So,” Ema said, “somehow Abeona is involved in this too?”

“Seems so,” I said.

Spoon was silent. He looked a little lost. I worried about him. He hadn’t asked for any of this. True, none of us had, but he seemed a little more like a babe in the woods. Our friendship, if that was what this was, started only a few days ago when he walked up to me in the cafeteria and offered me, well, his spoon. That was how our relationship, not to mention his nickname, started.

“So what do you think we should do?” Ema asked me.

“I hate to interject,” Spoon said, finally speaking, “but the Musicals I Love Foundation meeting would definitely be over by now. My parents will be expecting me.”

“Musicals I Love Foundation?” Ema repeated.

I gave her a don’t-ask headshake.

When the bus showed up, we hopped on and started back for home. We got off where we had begun, on the corner of Kasselton Avenue and Northfield. I figured that I’d walk home via Bat Lady’s house and stop by to see her. But I didn’t know what to say. I was exhausted and scared and confused.

As we neared Bat Lady’s street, my cell phone trilled. It was Uncle Myron. I was going to ignore it, but that wouldn’t do any good. “Hello?” I said.

“I figured you’d be home by now,” Myron said.

“I’m on my way.”

“Do you want me to pick you up?”

“No, I’m good.”

“But you’re on your way?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” Myron said. “I need to talk to you about something.”

I switched hands. I could see Bat Lady’s creepy house now. “Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine,” he said.

“Okay then. I’ll be home soon.”

I hung up. Bat Lady’s house looked, as always, haunted. The wind had picked up and for a moment, I almost thought the gusts would topple it. There was a bent willow tree in the front yard and, I knew, woods in the back. Night had started to fall.

Ema and Spoon stayed on the sidewalk across the street. As I approached, I noticed that no lights were on. Not one. Strange. Usually the Bat Lady had a light on in her bedroom. But not tonight. I knocked on the door, feeling the porch beneath my feet shake. One of the columns had already collapsed.

There was no answer.

I walked back over to Ema and Spoon. We started down the street in silence. Suddenly-yet as always-Ema said, “I’ll see you guys later.”

She veered toward the woods without another word.

I wanted to ask where she was going or if I could accompany her, but I had been through that before. She would only get upset with me. I watched until she vanished into the thickness.

Unsure what to do, I let my curiosity get the better of me. I knew that it was probably wrong, that it was some kind of breach in our trust and friendship. As I said before, we are all entitled to our secrets. But I asked anyway.

“Spoon?”

“Yeah?”

I could still back off, but I didn’t. “What’s Ema’s deal?”

“What do you mean?”

I gestured toward where she’d just disappeared. “Where does Ema live, who are her parents, that kind of thing.”

Spoon pushed the glasses up his nose. He seemed lost in thought.

“Spoon?”

“No one really talks to me directly. So this is all stuff I’ve overheard.”

I thought about that, about this town, about what it has done to him. Spoon wasn’t so much actively bullied or picked on as he was ignored. Week after week, month after month, year after year-ignored or worse. He had found an escape by pouring himself into things that don’t turn away from you-musical theater, books, random facts, his imagination. He was like a sponge, absorbing all of this information and goodness, but he didn’t really have anyone to wring himself out on, as it were.

Except now, I guessed, he had me.

“Well,” I said, “you’re a great overhearer.”

Was that even a word?

Spoon smiled. “Really? You think so?”

“Sure. So tell me. What have you overheard about Ema?”

He made a face as though he was mulling that one over. “No one seems to know much,” Spoon said in a faraway voice. “But… there are stories.”

“Like?”

“You know her real name is Emma, not Ema, right?”

I did. It seemed that Buck had helped give her that nickname in Spanish class, noticing that her real name was Emma and that she was kind of emo.

“She moved into town three years ago. I’ve never been invited to her house. Big surprise, right? But it isn’t just me. I don’t know anyone who has. Rumor has it, she lives in a cabin in the woods, you know, and her dad does something illegal. Like making moonshine or something.”

I frowned. “Making moonshine?”

“Moonshine is a slang term for an illegally produced distilled beverage. There are other terms for it. Hooch, Devil’s Brew, White Lightning-”

“I know, I know,” I said, putting a hand up to slow him down. “It just sounds kind of weird.”

Spoon’s eyes were wide now. “They also say her dad’s an alcoholic. And he hits her a lot. They say she’s got all those tattoos to cover up her bruises.”

Could that be true? I didn’t know what to say, but it suddenly felt like something heavy was sitting on my chest.

“I Googled her once,” Spoon said. “Emma Beaumont. But there was nothing relevant. In fact, there is no listing of a Beaumont in town.”

“Nothing at all?”

“Nothing,” Spoon said. “In short, I don’t know what Ema’s ‘deal’ is. But I like her a lot, don’t you?”

“I do,” I said. And then, corny as it sounded, I added, “I like you a lot too.”

My words startled him. Spoon looked up at me, blinked a few times, and then puffed out his chest. “I like you a lot too.”

Spoon and I both just stood there, saying nothing.

“We’re having a moment, aren’t we, Mickey?”

“Right,” I said, “and now I think it’s time to end it.”

“Agreed,” Spoon said. Then: “Mickey?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t you think it’s time you told me all about Abeona?”

He had a point. He had more than earned his stripes. “Yeah, Spoon. Maybe we should talk.”

“As we walk,” he said. “I have to get home, remember?”

“Right. The Musicals I Love Foundation meeting is over.”

“Exactly. Do you want to be vice president?”

“Sure, why not?” I said. “It’ll look good on my college applications. One thing, though.”

“Yes?”

I threw my arm around him. “We need to work on a name change…”