WHEN I WOKE UP IT felt like only ten minutes had passed since I’d fallen asleep. My dream journal was empty, and Kristina was nowhere to be seen. I wanted to talk to her about everything I’d dreamed.
“Kristina,” I whispered in the dark. “Where are you?”
“Here,” she said, materializing onto my bed. “Good morning to you.”
“The weirdest thing happened to me last night.”
Her face sunk. “Oh no. What happened? Was it the amulet?”
“No, no, nothing like that,” I said. “My dreams—they were so vivid. It was like I knew I was dreaming, and then I could sort of go into this weird black space and choose what I wanted to dream next. It was like a choose-your-own-adventure game.”
Kristina nodded, her face stony. “Sounds like you had a lucid dream.” She shrugged. “It’s when you realize you’re awake in the middle of a dream. Lots of people have them.”
“Oh,” I said, feeling a bit deflated. “I thought it had something to do with my gift since it seemed so real.”
“That’s an interesting thought.”
“Apparently I don’t think much of Bobby,” I said. “I dreamed he was picnicking with a moose and eating ants.”
She chuckled. “Sounds right to me.”
* * *
A few hours later, Mr. G. was greeting the band members with donuts as we arrived downtown before the parade began.
I took a chocolate-frosted donut and was about to bite into it when I remembered my dream. “Hey, Mr. G., you ever been skiing?”
“Once, when I was younger. Broke my leg. Hated it ever since. Why do you ask, Baylor?”
“No reason,” I said. “Glad to hear that.”
“You’re glad to hear I broke my leg?” he said, clucking his tongue at me. “Happy Thanksgiving to you, too!”
I made a face of mock horror and then walked with Kristina over to where Bobby and Aiden were standing with some of our other bandmates.
“Baylor, dude,” Bobby said. “I had the most insane dream about you last night.”
“Weird,” I said, laughing. “I dreamed about you last night too!”
“I bet it wasn’t as crazy as mine, though,” he said, his eyes wide and eager. He took the marching cap off his head and ran his fingers through his buzzed hair. “I was in this field, right? And I was hanging out with this real fancy moose by the name of Mr. Moose, naturally, and we both had top hats, and then you showed up and wanted a top hat. And then I was eating ants for some reason, and you looked like you were about to vomit, and then you just sort of disappeared, and then the moose was mad at you for leaving abruptly so he started neighing like a horse.” Bobby frowned. “But I think that’s mainly because I’m not sure what noise a moose would make when it’s angry.”
He put the cap back on his head, adjusted it, and looked at me. “Weird, right? What was your dream?”
I knew I was still standing. I could feel my feet against the ground, and I could feel my fingers clasping the donut. But at that moment, my insides had turned to ice, my head felt very light, and my eyes were boring into Kristina’s.
She didn’t look nearly as concerned as I thought she should, though, and seemed far too interested in the clarinet players warming up.
“Baylor?” Bobby asked, looking concerned. “You there, bud?”
“Uh, er, yeah. Sorry,” I said, my voice suddenly hoarse. “Didn’t get much sleep.”
“So what was your dream?” he asked.
“It was, uh, weird,” I said, trying to conjure something in my mind besides a fancy moose and ant snacks. “Mr. G. was in it too, and he said he was moving to Argentina to become a ski instructor, and you and Aiden were really upset.”
“Hmm,” Bobby said, mulling it over. “That’d be kinda awesome.”
I nodded. “I already checked—Mr. G. hates skiing.”
For the next hour I kept trying to catch Kristina’s eye, but she seemed suspiciously distracted that morning. Before I knew it, it was nearly ten o’clock, and we had to get lined up and ready to march.
We were near the end of the parade procession, though, so there was still more standing around and waiting to do.
“What is that hissing noise?” I mumbled to Kristina, screwing up my eyes and trying to block it out.
She’d decided to be communicative again, and her mouth was hanging half open in shock. “It’s Clarinet Cassie’s grandmother. Musical talent runs in their family, apparently. She’s showing off her opera skills and hitting a note only ghost dogs can hear.”
“Is that what the weird barking is too?”
She nodded. “You should tune in. It’s fascinating.” It’d taken years of practice, but I could tune spirits out by imagining the scene around me without them in it and letting that image become my reality. It was usually more pleasant and much quieter without the spirits, though the persistent ones could still break through my mental barrier.
“I’ll pass,” I said bitterly, wishing I could totally seal off the connection for a few minutes. “Are you planning to comment on Bobby’s dream at all?”
“Oh, look, Mr. G.’s trying to get everyone’s attention,” she said, pointing forward.
I rolled my eyes. She could avoid me all she wanted for now, but I’d force her to talk to me tonight.
I was worried I was going to be distracted, that the shock of Bobby’s dream would disrupt my ability to tune ghosts out and I’d suddenly cause a ruckus in the middle of the parade. With so many people watching and who knows how many ghosts clamoring for a message to get delivered, it seemed all too possible.
Things went smoothly for the most part, but there was one close call. About ten minutes after we began marching, Clarinet Cassie’s grandma finally broke through, and she began singing a message in the form of an arpeggio.
“Tell my dear Cassandra
hard work’s taken her far.
She’s come a long way
and practiced so hard
since smashing her mom’s guitar.”
Needless to say, I completely lost my place in the melody, and I was suddenly ruining “Santa Claus Is Coming to Town” as people in the crowd grimaced at the off-key tuba.
Kristina shot a blast of blue energy at her, sending her back to the Beyond.
“Demon dung!” Kristina yelled, furious. “Why would she choose this moment to get you to deliver a message? Sorry, Baylor.”
Aside from that hiccup, it was fun to spot some familiar faces in the crowd. Reverend Henry was there with his family, and Madame Nadirah was standing outside of her shop, handing out promotional flyers to the passersby. I saw my family beaming at me from their spot near the downtown square. My grandparents waved at me excitedly, and even Aunt Hilda managed a proud nod.
After the parade ended, I evaded Mr. G.’s glares—he wouldn’t get over my screw up for a few weeks—and found my family.
“My talented boy!” Mom said, holding up her phone to take a picture. “Smile, Baylor!”
Grandpa By (which we called him as an alternative to Byron O’Brien) stood next to her, beaming.
“Baylor O’Brien—” he said.
“It’s Baylor Bosco,” my dad said, annoyed, as he bounced Ella up and down.
“Baylor Bosco, you are one spectacular tuba player. I’m not trying to start any trouble, but I think we all know which side of the family you get your musical talent from.” He pointed at his chest and winked as my dad shook his head. “I’m just saying.”
“You don’t even play an instrument, By,” Dad said. “And you can’t even hit the right notes when you sing ‘Happy Birthday.’ ”
“That’s a surprisingly hard song to sing, but what does it matter, Doug? Let me tell you something, I have great taste in music, and it shows through my grandson.” He nodded. “It shines through him, actually. It’s an O’Brien trait, this great taste in music. It’s something real special.”
“What’d you think, Jack?” I asked my seven-year-old brother.
He wasn’t paying attention, though. He was looking sideways at a group of kids I recognized from his class. There were five or six of them, mostly boys, standing in a circle and joking around with one another.
“Are those some of your friends, Jack?” I asked. He was such a quiet kid, and I honestly wasn’t sure who his friends were. He rarely invited anyone over.
“Not really,” he whispered.
“What do you mean ‘not really’?” I asked. “You’re in second grade. Everyone’s friends with everyone in second grade.”
He shrugged, and the big brother signal clicked on in my brain. Were these kids bullying him? I shot a look at Kristina, who also seemed to pick up on Jack’s body language, and she narrowed her eyes.
Without thinking, I marched over to the group of kids.
“Baylor,” Jack called after me, his voice trembling, “what are you doing?”
I ignored him. He could be nervous all he wanted; if these little punks were messing with my little brother, I was going to put a stop to it right now.
“What’s up, guys?” I said to the group of kids. There were four boys and two girls, and when they looked up to see who was talking to them, their faces fell. I felt vindicated: They clearly knew I was Jack’s big brother, and I was here to put them in their places for how they were treating him.
No one responded to my question, so I kept going.
“Listen, guys, I’m Jack’s older brother, Baylor.” I tried to make my voice a bit deeper.
“We know who you are,” said a round-faced boy wearing a red beanie. I was pretty sure he was the little brother of a seventh-grader who was in the band with me. They had the same big, rosy cheeks.
“Good,” I said. “I just wanted to make sure you guys are being cool to Jack.”
Their blank, borderline-scared faces seemed like a bad sign to me.
“He’s a friendly guy,” I continued. “Maybe you could all hang out?”
Two of the boys looked at each other, grave concern in their eyes.
“Baylor,” Kristina said, a note of surprise in her voice, “I don’t think this is what you think it is.”
But before I could respond, the kid in the beanie spoke up. “We like Jack.”
“Oh,” I said. “That’s good. Then what’s—?”
An old man with the kid’s matching flushed cheeks popped up in front of me, sputtering incomprehensibly. I jumped in surprise and turned my head to glare at him.
“What are you doing?”
“Tell my grandson I miss him! Please. I know you were tuning us out, but I’m not going to have this chance for a while.”
“Fine,” I said. “No problem.”
I turned back to the group of kids, but they were all now looking at me, mouths wide open, terrified.
Before I could say anything, the kid in the beanie yelled, “He’s doing it!” At once, they all screamed and scrambled away.
I stood there, openmouthed, as adults turned my way and scorned me with their eyes. I looked back at Jack, whose expression suggested a bucket of ice water had been dumped on his head, then to my parents, who looked incredibly confused, and finally to Kristina.
“They’re not bullying Jack,” I said, the horrible realization still dawning on me. “They’re scared of me.”
“Demon dung,” Kristina whispered. “How did we miss this?”
I had no response. Did Jack not have any friends because of me—or rather, us? How long had that been going on? Did Mom and Dad know?
I shuffled back over to him, my shoulders feeling heavy. “That went well!”
“Did it?” Dad asked, rocking Ella back and forth. “You wanted them to scream and run away from you?”
“What did you say to them, Baylor?” Mom asked.
“Probably scared them with some ghost stories,” Aunt Hilda chimed in. I glared at her, annoyed that her contempt for my gift was justified for once.
“We were just kidding around,” I said. “You should invite them to the house next week, Jack. I bet you’d have fun.”
Jack shook his head. “That’s okay, Baylor,” he said, sounding so disappointed, like it was his birthday and his cake was actually a handful of twiggy mud.
But it wasn’t okay. And I was going to fix it.