Ghosting

  ADVANCE PRAISE FOR

  GHOSTING BY EDITH PATTOU

  Seven teens, a gun, and a harmless prank turned tragedy. We see these young faces illuminated by their cell phones and hear their voices calling out from the darkness in a book that is ultimately both horrifying and healing. Edith Pattou writes with a poet’s ear attuned to the rhythm of the teenage heart. A stunning achievement.

  —DEBBY DAHL EDWARDSON,

  author of the National Book Award finalist My Name Is Not Easy

  I flew through Ghosting in one sitting. It is in a word, “unputdownable.” Nonstop action, tension and suspense fill the first half of the book; heartfelt emotion, regret, and healing fill the second. Reader, power down all your devices and find a comfortable chair because once you start reading Ghosting, you won’t be able to stop!

  —LESLÉA NEWMAN,

  author of October Morning: A Song for Matthew Shepard

  Filled with authentic detail and believable teenage voices, Ghosting is a gripping account of an all-too-plausible tragedy in a country where there are more guns than people. Pattou’s keen eye for character and ear for convincing dialogue will make this an important and accessible lesson about redemption and forgiveness for young adult readers.

  —TODD STRASSER,

  author of Fallout

  Ghosting is timely and compelling, filled with complex and interesting characters. It will hold you in your seat from the first line to the last.

  —MARION DANE BAUER,

  author of the Newbery Honor Book On My Honor

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Text copyright © 2014 Edith Pattou

  All rights reserved

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Skyscape, New York

  www.apub.com

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Skyscape are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  ISBN-13: 9781477847749 (hardcover)

  ISBN-10: 147784774X (hardcover)

  ISBN-13: 9781477847893 (paperback)

  ISBN-10: 1477847898 (paperback)

  Grateful acknowledgement is made to Farrar, Straus and Giroux for permission to quote from JOEY PIGZA LOSES CONTROL © 2000 by Jack Gantos. Reprinted by permission of Farrar, Straus and Giroux Books for Young Readers. All rights reserved.

  Book design by Abby Kuperstock

  Cover design by Greg Stadnyk

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2014933207

  To Robert, who played Mouse Trap with me and who I will miss forever, and to Charles and Vita, as always.

  Contents

  Start Reading

  MAXIE

  BEFORE

  FAITH

  MAXIE

  ANIL

  EMMA

  CHLOE

  MAXIE

  ANIL

  MAXIE

  FELIX

  BRENDAN

  CHLOE

  FAITH

  WALTER

  POLICE CHIEF AUBREY DELAFIELD

  MAXIE

  EMMA

  BRENDAN

  ANIL

  CHLOE

  FELIX

  EMMA

  MAXIE

  FAITH

  BRENDAN

  ANIL

  FAITH

  POLICE CHIEF AUBREY DELAFIELD

  MAXIE

  ANIL

  FELIX

  MAXIE

  FELIX

  MAXIE

  ANIL

  MAXIE

  CHLOE

  FAITH

  MAXIE

  BRENDAN

  MAXIE

  ANIL

  FAITH

  ANIL

  MAXIE

  EMMA

  FAITH

  MAXIE

  WALTER

  EMMA

  FELIX

  EMMA

  ANIL

  MAXIE

  FAITH

  WALTER

  FELIX

  BRENDAN

  MAXIE

  EMMA

  MAXIE

  FAITH

  MAXIE

  ANIL

  MAXIE

  EMMA

  BRENDAN

  MAXIE

  AFTER

  POLICE CHIEF AUBREY DELAFIELD

  MAXIE

  CHLOE

  WALTER

  POLICE CHIEF AUBREY DELAFIELD

  ANIL

  MAXIE

  ANIL

  MAXIE

  FAITH

  POLICE CHIEF AUBREY DELAFIELD

  MAXIE

  ANIL

  MAXIE

  POLICE CHIEF AUBREY DELAFIELD

  ANIL

  POLICE CHIEF AUBREY DELAFIELD

  EMMA

  MAXIE

  POLICE CHIEF AUBREY DELAFIELD

  MAXIE

  ANIL

  EMMA

  MAXIE

  FAITH

  MAXIE

  CHLOE

  FAITH

  ANIL

  CHLOE

  MAXIE

  ANIL

  CHLOE

  POLICE CHIEF AUBREY DELAFIELD

  CHLOE

  ANIL

  MAXIE

  CHLOE

  MAXIE

  ANIL

  MAXIE

  ANIL

  MAXIE

  CHLOE

  MAXIE

  BRENDAN

  EMMA

  BRENDAN

  FAITH

  EMMA

  FAITH

  BRENDAN

  MAXIE

  EMMA

  MAXIE

  FELIX

  MAXIE

  FELIX

  CHLOE

  FAITH

  EMMA

  FELIX

  MAXIE

  EMMA

  CHLOE

  BRENDAN

  MAXIE

  BRENDAN

  CHLOE

  BRENDAN

  MAXIE

  BRENDAN

  MAXIE

  ANIL

  POLICE CHIEF AUBREY DELAFIELD

  WALTER

  EMMA

  EMMA

  WALTER SMITH

  MAXIE

  ANIL

  EMMA

  MAXIE

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  White bird,

  crisply folded,

  wings its way

  into Spring.

  E. P.

  MAXIE

  When I was a little girl

  ghosting was

  a sheet of paper and

  a drawing in

  black ink.

  A crudely sketched ghost,

  with a Tootsie Roll

  taped on.

  Not scary.

  A fun Halloween prank.

  You slipped it under a

  neighbor’s door,

  ran away,

  giggling.

  “You’ve been ghosted!”

  Exciting.

  Harmless.

  But now

  ghosting is:

  this can’t be happening,

  screams like knives in your ears,

  pooling glistening blood.

  Everywhere.

  And death, bellowing

  hot and loud

  in

  your

  face.

  BEFORE

  Sunday, August 22

  FAITH

  At the

  kitchen table,

  eating cereal.
/>
  Puffins,

  my favorite,

  pillowy

  with a soft

  milky

  crunch.

  The sun

  glares

  through

  the window,

  reflecting off

  the stainless-

  steel dishwasher.

  Even though

  my bare feet

  are cold

  from the

  air-conditioning,

  I can tell it’s

  hot outside

  already.

  Mom is

  at the sink,

  rinsing bottles

  for recycling.

  Polly, our

  big black dog

  who needs

  a haircut,

  lies under

  the table,

  drowsing.

  I stick my toes

  under her belly

  to warm them.

  Peaceful.

  Then

  Emma bursts in,

  noisy

  and rushed

  like always.

  Have you seen a hair band? I need a hair band, right now!

  Everything is

  “right now”

  for Emma.

  I’m so freaking late! she says.

  Polly bounds

  up from

  under

  the table,

  tail wagging

  a hundred miles

  an hour,

  panting.

  Mom’s back

  tightens.

  Emma, you were late last night. Past your curfew . . . , she says.

  Not now, Mom.

  Emma’s

  voice is

  sharp.

  Coach is going to kill me.

  She grabs

  a protein bar,

  her water bottle,

  and she’s gone

  with a flash of

  dark-red ponytail.

  Polly circles

  the table

  a few times,

  then settles back

  underneath,

  at my feet,

  with a gentle

  disappointed

  sigh.

  Mom turns

  on the

  faucet again,

  picks up a

  Gatorade bottle,

  only now

  her shoulders

  are slumped,

  tired-looking.

  Is Emma going to be grounded? I ask.

  Your dad and I are going to talk to her.

  Which means

  no.

  Dad is soft

  on Emma;

  well, we all are,

  because we love her

  so much,

  but especially

  Dad.

  Mom worries

  about it.

  I’ve heard

  them argue.

  I spoon

  a Puffin

  into my

  mouth.

  The crunch

  is gone.

  Polly sighs

  against

  my feet.

  I swallow

  the soggy

  Puffin, past

  the lump

  in my

  throat.

  MAXIE

  It wasn’t hot like this

  in Colorado,

  even though

  we were a mile closer

  to the sun.

  I forgot about Midwest heat,

  like a steamy-wet-hot washcloth

  pressed against your mouth and nose.

  And the air conditioner

  is busted.

  Maxine, Mom says (she’s the only person who calls me that), I’m going stark raving crazy in this heat.

  The making-mom-crazy list is long,

  and number one,

  at the tip-top of the list is:

  my dad.

  His chewing too loud.

  His interrupting when she’s on the phone.

  His beer drinking.

  I could go on.

  But most crazy-making of all,

  the fact that

  he dragged us out to Colorado

  for four years

  for this fabulous job opportunity

  that turned out to be a bust.

  A big bust.

  So here we are,

  back in the house where I grew up,

  the house that

  was never sold

  for four years,

  which also drove my mom nuts.

  Of course now it’s a nightmare turned

  blessing in disguise.

  My mom is little-miss-busy,

  getting the house fixed up,

  enrolling in nursing classes

  to update her skills.

  Someone’s got to have a steady income, she says.

  And she says it with all kinds of

  righteousness.

  Not meaning to hurt,

  but wounding just the same.

  My dad is still recognizable as my dad,

  just a flat, joyless version.

  Like a light has

  gone out.

  Except when he’s drinking his beers.

  Then he gets jolly and sweet,

  which almost

  makes me

  look forward

  to that pop-squelch

  of the flip-top on

  the Miller can.

  Almost.

  Wednesday, August 25

  ANIL

  1. Wednesday morning, 7:30 a.m.:

  I am alone in the house,

  eating leftover lentils and rice,

  heated in the microwave.

  I stand over the sink,

  looking out the window at the back lawn,

  perfectly mowed and trimmed

  by my father last night before dinner.

  2. Father:

  Dr. Sanjeev Sayanantham,

  who left for Highland Park Hospital

  at five this morning,

  who was named

  by U.S. News & World Report

  as one of the top ten best hand surgeons

  in the country.

  Dr. Sayanantham,

  famous not only for his skill in the operating room,

  but also for his charisma,

  not stiff like a lot of Indian physicians.

  And you’d never know he was born in Calcutta

  the way he’s smoothed out his accent.

  3. Mother:

  Dr. Rahel Sayanantham,

  who also left early this morning

  for her thriving practice as a pediatrician.

  This Dr. Sayanantham does have a wisp of an accent,

  even though she is only half Indian.

  Her father was a handsome white dentist

  who married Grandmother Rumma

  against the wishes of her family.

  Mom lived in Mumbai until she came

  to the US for medical school,

  where she met my dad.

  According to family lore

  he was swept away

  from the very moment he saw her:

  black-eyed, black-haired beauty

  with a gentle voice.

  Small, too, like a strong gust of wind

  could blow her away.

  4. Brother:

  Viraj Sayanantham

  born when my mother

  was doing her residency at the University of Michigan.

  Viraj hasn’t lived at home for six years

  and is himself a Neurology resident

  at Mass General, in Boston.

  Viraj is the golden son

  who prefers Christmas to Diwali,

  cheeseburgers to lentils and rice.