Watchers

When Lightning Strikes

Even though I'd guessed it when I found the papers in the closet, I was stunned to hear him say that he was responsible for the stories. "You wrote all of them? These, obviously . . . but the ones in the tree, too? The ones we found there at the beginning of the summer?"

Adam nodded slowly, not looking sorry at all.

"You knew the whole time? You put them there and just made me think that we found some weird junk some freak had written?"

"Yeah."

I was really, really annoyed at how much he didn't seem to care. He was just sitting there acting like it was no big deal. Like it was nothing. I stood up. "Why did you do that?" I yelled at him. At that moment, I wanted to kick him. I was getting angry. So what if he hadn't eaten in practically a week. So what if he'd nearly cut off his own ear. That was all his own stupid fault! He had nobody to blame but himself. And it was also his fault I'd gone on believing that those stories in that tree had just come to be, like, by magic. I'd gotten so into reading them and believing what they said, and the whole while, Adam had been acting like he didn't have a clue how they got there or who had made them. He'd known from the start. He'd lied to me the whole summer about them. "What, did you think it was just some joke?" I snarled. "Ha ha, stupid Cole won't ever know? Is that it? You thought it would just be funny to jerk me around for a few months? Well thanks a lot, Adam."

I was mad at more than the fact that he'd lied. He'd made me believe in something. Something that was stupid, I could now clearly tell. He'd written that junk about me being struck by lightning, and I didn't even want to admit to him that I'd started believing that was true. That I had some sort of power because of it. Yeah, like that was realistic. But I'd really begun to think that it was all real. It was easy to trust when I'd thought the stories were written by some greater being. Of course, now I saw how stupid that thought had been, too. In real life, stuff like getting powers and having papers arrive from beyond doesn't happen. I should've known that. I just hadn't counted on Adam lying to me. It's easy to believe something incredible when someone you trust is there believing it with you.

"I meant to tell you," he said, still not bothering to look at me. What was he, a chicken? He was being so weird, so unlike his I-don't-care-if-the-world-ends self. "I just . . . couldn't. I don't know. I thought you'd think I was a nerd for writing all that stuff."

"Yeah? Then why'd you bother showing it to me at all?"

He sighed. "Isn't that obvious? I wanted someone to read them—I just didn't want them to know I wrote them."

"That's the dumbest thing I ever heard," I hissed angrily. "How could anybody tell you what they think of your stuff if you don't tell them it's yours?"

"You have it backward!" he said, looking up finally. "I knew that I'd get the truth if nobody knew it was mine. I just . . . wanted them read."

"Then why did you go to all the trouble of putting them in the tree and locking that trunk and acting like you hadn't read them?"

"If I told you I just found them in my house, you'd know they came from me or my mom."

I was still furious. I wasn't going to go easy on his excuses. "I don't even know who you are, Adam," I told him. I was starting to pace the floor to let off some energy. If I didn't move, I was afraid I'd hit him. "You're like a totally different person. You've been lying to me all summer and you get mad at me for going paintballing with Dylan Doyle? I've hardly seen you at all this whole month, you run off without telling anybody, and now I find you hiding out in a motel like some homeless person! What's your problem? I thought you always wanted to be cool, Adam. You want to play it like you don't care about anything. That's why you fail everything in school. You're not stupid; I know you're not. But you try to act like you are, which makes no sense at all. Don't you want to pass seventh grade? And you hate writing. You've always hated it. But all this time you've written enough stories to fill up a couple of books?! Try and tell me that makes sense, Adam. Just try!"