The next morning Rosie got dressed, packed her backpack, and forced a brief smile in the direction of her dad as she headed out the door. She rubbed the new car key on her key ring. At least her dad had agreed to let her drive the car to school the first day.
As she pulled into the Middleton High lot, the day was already muggy and the convertible windows were fogged. In a few minutes it would rain.
Suddenly the temperature dropped, and a chill swept over her. The car moved slightly, as if some had just gotten in the backseat, but she saw nobody in the rearview mirror. Rosie checked the vents, but the air wasn’t on. The heavy condensation formed beads that rolled down the rear window in streaks. It looked almost as if they were forming the number 44.
Rosie froze, remembering the poster at the hardware store. Number 44, Mackie Blackwell’s number. She shook her head, trying to unsee the 44 now dripping down her back window.
She thought back to the dark figure that darted in front of their car at the graveyard. Rosie could have sworn that 44 was the number on the back of the jersey. But it couldn’t have been because that would mean it was . . . Mackie who ran past her.
The car shifted again, and a draft like a cold breath blew over her neck. It was all officially starting to freak her out, so Rosie grabbed her registration forms, slung her backpack over her shoulder, and got out of her car. A lone figure ambled into the parking lot. Rosie caught her breath. He was thin, with an athletic build and short Afro: Omar. A real person, not a ghost. She let out a deep sigh. The wind whipped, pulling the registration papers from her hand, up, up, and then toward Omar.
Rosie scrambled after the sheets.
A few yards ahead of her Omar ran forward and swiped one sheet from the air and another from the ground.
“Oh my gosh,” she said, her face bright red. “That was weird.”
He handed her the papers.
“Thanks,” she mumbled, tucking the wrinkled forms into her backpack. “I’m Rosie. Rosie Nett. This is my first day at school. I mean, not like ever at school. I wasn’t homeschooled out on a remote island or anything. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. I just, I mean, it’s my first day here at Middleton.” As hard as she tried, it never worked out; she was anything but cool. She forced herself not to sprint away screaming from embarrassment.
Omar nodded slowly and managed a smile. “I’m Omar, Omar Arglos.” He gestured to her backpack where the registration sheets were now safely tucked away.
“I can see that you’re new,” he said. His eyes narrowed and then shot open in surprise. She turned to follow his stare, but there was nothing to look at but her streaked rear window. “Mackie,” he whispered. “Not her.”
“What?” she asked, “Not who?”
“You don’t see . . .?” He pointed to the backseat of her car.
“I don’t see anything . . . or anyone.”
He shook his head and closed his eyes as if trying to get an image out of his mind. Finally he opened his eyes and said, “Thanks. That was nice.”
“Okay,” she said slowly. She was becoming more confused by the minute. “What was nice?”
“Buying me the coffee and pie.” His dark eyes caught hers. “It’s been some time since anyone was just randomly nice to me.”
“Oh, I didn’t . . .”
A small smile crossed his face. “You know that waitress can’t keep a secret, right?” He motioned for them to walk to the school.
“Okay. I did. I bought you the pie.” She walked alongside him.
“I bet it’s tough,” he said. “Being new here.”
“Yeah, I’m a little nervous about being the new girl. Especially at lunch.”
“Well, New Girl, forget about that. You’re sitting with me. I take the table at the far end next to the windows.”
Omar held the door for her, glanced back at her car, and then followed her in. He walked her to the registration office before heading to class.
***
The morning was a blur of new names and faces. But then came lunch and Rosie’s heart fluttered as she headed to the cafeteria. Thankfully she already knew she could sit with Omar. As she got into the lunch line, two guys who had been in her chemistry class were talking in front of her.
“Man, without Mackie at running back, our team doesn’t stand a chance this year.”
The other guy, short and built like a brick house, shook his head. “Dude, especially with Omar out too. I don’t know why we even bother.”
Rosie took a tray as the first guy nodded his head in agreement. “What a loss, dude. Quarterback and running back both gone like that. We totally would have gone to state. Too bad Omar took Mackie out.”
She slipped a piece of greasy cheese pizza onto her tray. Did the people of Middleton really think Omar was guilty? That he somehow wanted all of this? Poor Omar—he really was an outcast.
She walked through the sea of strangers to the table by the window. Omar smiled and shut his Spanish textbook—the same textbook she’d used two years ago.
“Ya estás haciendo tu tarea?” she said mischievously.
“What?”
Rosie laughed. “You’re already doing homework?”
“Oh, sí,” Omar said, stacking his flash cards. “You speak Spanish? Looks like I found a Spanish tutor!”
“Sí,” she said. “But I can’t promise any As.” Rosie took a bite of the pizza. The warm slice was a welcome relief for her growling stomach.
A boy, gaunt and hollow-eyed, passed the table with his head turned away from Omar. As he sat down at the next table over, Rosie saw his face: Jack. Then another boy did the same thing, then another, until there were three of them at the table not even five feet away, ignoring Omar. Omar looked at them and grimaced, then looked out the cafeteria window.
“Why are they acting like that?” Rosie asked.
“Jack’s never going to forgive me,” Omar said. “You don’t want to know.”
Rosie paused for a moment, unsure what to tell Omar. She decided on the truth. “The waitress at Dina’s told me about Mackie,” Rosie admitted. “I’m so sorry.”
He sighed and rain drops sprinkled on the glass. “It’s okay. I had a month to think about it, every hour, every day that Mackie was in that coma.”
She wiped the grease from her mouth. “I know he was your best friend. And I don’t know exactly how you feel, but three years ago my little sister died. Then my parents couldn’t deal so they got divorced. Everyone told me they were sorry and knew how I felt. But of course they didn’t. No one really knows until it happens to them. I miss my sister so much.”
Omar’s voice lowered to a mere whisper. “Yeah. It used to be Mackie, Jack, and me. It was like we were triplets. They called me their ‘brother from another mother.’” His eyes sparkled thick with tears as he covered his face.
Rosie sighed. “It’s tough. Three years and I still miss her. But it does—I mean—it’s not always as bad as it is at first,” she said.
Omar let out a small laugh. “I had this football. And we were so serious about the game that when our football team took regionals in seventh grade we all signed that ball. We said that one day one of us was going to play in the NFL and that ball was going to be valuable. Then the two who didn’t make it could sell it on eBay and live off that money.”
“That’s sweet.”
“Yeah, we all knew it was going to be Mackie in the big time.”
She glanced at the three jocks across from them. Didn’t they see how badly Omar was suffering? “Was that the football you buried with Mackie? The waitress at Dina’s told me about it.”
He nodded. “That’s the one.” He turned to the window. “I haven’t talked to Jack since.” He let a finger trace the racing drops. “I didn’t hit Mackie. I didn’t even see him. How could I not see him? He had to have jumped out of the way. He just had to.”
“Omar,” she tried to catch his gaze. “No one blames you.”
He turned back to her, his eyes narrowed. “New Girl, you really are new here.”
They sat for a while in silence. Most of the other kids finished their lunches and left. A heavy pine scent wafted by, covering up the smell of greasy pizza. Rosie looked around for the source.
In a low whisper Omar said, “He’s near, he’s near.” His eyes widened, his face filling with panic.
“What?” Rosie said looking around.
The warning bell rang and Jack walked past the table, turning his head the other way again, making it obvious he was ignoring Omar.
Omar closed his eyes and shook his head, as if trying to get rid of a terrible thought.
The ruts under Omar’s eyes were deep. It looked like he hadn’t slept in days. “It’s okay,” Rosie said and patted his arm. “No one is here.” It was true, the cafeteria was nearly deserted.
“Let’s dump these,” she said after a minute, and they walked a few steps to the big rolling Dumpster. They came back to their table to find some of Omar’s flashcards strewn across their spot. Omar shook his head, covered his mouth, and pointed.
“What is it?” Rosie’s eyes fell to the three white index cards that lay in a line.
He turned wildly to her and said, “What does it mean?”
“Omar calm down.” Rosie picked up the Ve, a, and él cards and stacked them. “Go . . . to . . . him? It means nothing, Omar. It’s okay,” Rosie reassured him, holding out the stack.
But Omar backed away from the cards, almost afraid of the small pieces of paper. He hurried out of the cafeteria muttering, “He wants me—he’s trying to get me to the graveyard!”
“Omar,” Rosie called, but he had vanished into the stairwell. She looked at the cards. It was peculiar how they had flipped up in an order that actually meant something. But was it more than just a coincidence?