A TAIL OF NINE

CHAPTER TWENTY: Dunnies and Death Games

Toby's coat is even dirtier than his hat and is way too light for how cold it has to be out here. Kon would never let me run around like that. His backpack is held together by duct tape.

Does this guy live at the end of the street? How much farther is it? Even invisible giraffes have other things they need to do today. With me as his shadow, Toby slinks along a hedge, hesitating to glance around him. He's acting like a monster's on his heels. No monster. Just me.

This is just plain weird, and that's coming from me.

As hours pass, stars speckle the darkening sky. Toby curls up under the porch of a one-floor brick house instead of going inside. Shivering, he passes a beam of light over his homework. He chews on his lip. The math doesn't look all that hard. I'd give him the answer if I could. Well, not just give him the answer. That wouldn't do any good. But I would show him how to do it.

That's not how you do it, Toby. You have to ...

As if he can hear me, he erases what he's done, dragging the worn-down eraser across the numbers. He erases a few things that were actually right. Did I make him do that? Was it just a coincidence? If I put some kind of mind whammy on him, I didn't feel anything when I did.

Toby starts at the problem again. Nope, he makes the same mistake. He knows he's screwed up, but he doesn't know which part. The problem is supposed to balance and it just isn't.

He erases so hard this time that he rips a hole through the paper. Come on, Toby. You can do this.

But he doesn't think so. Even if he could hear me, it may not make a difference. He crumples up the paper and chucks it into one of the corners of the deck. He doesn't have much better luck with the book he's supposed to be reading.

Tomorrow, he won't have any of his work done. Homework has to suck.

It's gotta be past suppertime. I'm hungry, so he probably is too. Kon would never let me sit out here like this.

Finally, after a few more failed attempts at the math, Toby scoots out from under the porch. He doesn't go inside. I'm getting the sense that this isn't his place. Why is he here? He should be inside a warm room somewhere, listening to the radio or playing a computer game.

Toby shoulders his backpack and slips between the houses. I hang right with him. A few times, I walk through the house, just for fun. I'm not going to be able to do this forever, so I might as well enjoy it while I can.

After wandering around with him for at least an hour, I tell Toby, "You should head home."

I could shriek at the top of my lungs and he wouldn't hear me. Maybe there are different kinds of ghosts, and we're surrounded by ones we can't see every day. They scream and shout at us, trying to keep us from screwing up. Do they ever get tired of being nothing? Is that when they start to fade away until there's nothing left?

Toby keeps going. We wind back toward Katie's house. Why come back here? He creeps to the back door.

Slipping to the right, he stares into a big window. Talk about a stalker. Knock it off, Toby. At least he's not peeping in a bedroom window or anything. If he starts that crap, all bets are off. Promise or no promise. Come on! If you don't want to get caught, don't stand here where the outdoor light is shining on you!

Katie's sitting on a couch with her parents. A girl in a wheelchair that's really pretty rolls into the room. The wheelchair, not the girl. Wait. I mean, the girl and not the wheelchair. She must be Clara. She's around my age. Definitely not any older. Her face lights up with a smile at something in the room.