Ghost Program (8 page)

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CHAPTER 8
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T
he house didn’t look so sinister in the light of a clear day, although its yard was wrecked.  Wind had uprooted several pines during the night, and their spindly roots jutted out of the moist ground at least ten feet high.  Branches and debris littered the driveway so thick, I wondered if tires could take it without flattening, and there were even pieces of tar paper that had detached from the roof during the night and fluttered to the front lawn.  I walked to my car and opened the driver door, setting my backpack on the passenger seat as blue jays swooped and sang over me, but how could they be so cheerful?  Their homes must have blown away in the gale.  I backed out of the driveway, not failing to notice a police cruiser sitting at the bottom of it.  Had it been there since yesterday?

   The highway to town wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be as most of the larger debris had been cleaned off the road, leaving only smaller pieces of wood and leaves to litter the roadway.  I passed where the old pine had almost fallen on us.  Transportation workers had sawed straight through it, leaving its two ends on both sides of the road.  As I approached my college, I could see the Pacific ocean glittering off in the distance, the water blue and sparkling. 

   I pulled off the road, parked, and found my way to my first class, English composition taught by Mrs. Pinkerton.  More than a few students were noticeably absent.  I wondered if power had been restored to the whole town or only parts of it and how many of its houses had been thrashed severely by falling trees.  Mrs. Pinkerton began class by asking if there was at least one student who’d take notes for those who couldn’t make it to class because of yesterday’s weather, and a black-haired scene girl raised her hand.

   “Thank you.  If you’d just make copies, you can hand them to me at the beginning of class tomorrow.”

   The girl nodded and smiled.

   The thirty minute lecture on thesis writing bored me, and although I took notes and appeared interested, my mind began to wander as I thought about my nightmare and realized that I was not looking forward to my class with Mr. Breame.  My dream had seemed too real, too vivid, too unforgettable, and I questioned whether it held any significance or I just had an overactive imagination. 

   Soon English was over, and I walked alone through the narrow hallway to computer programming, stopping to buy a soda out of a vending machine and taking sips of the delicious, sweet liquid.  As usual, I found a desk and placed my backpack underneath, then watched as the other students filed into the classroom, most of them talking quietly to each other as they pulled out their lab books.  In this class as well, I noticed a few empty seats.  Mr. Breame entered the classroom, his handsome face smiling pleasantly while he took a pen out of his pocket to mark attendance.  He called my name, and I raised my hand.  I could’ve been mistaken, but it seemed as if he made eye contact with me for a moment longer than anyone else and in spite of his amiable and professional comportment, his dark eyes seemed shifty and cold as if they betrayed his true character.  I looked down at my desk suddenly uncomfortable and hoped he didn’t sense my unease.  Not that it should have mattered, I didn’t really know the guy or care what he thought of me.  His personal opinions of me surely wouldn’t affect my grade.

   I suddenly remembered my project and reached inside my backpack.  I palmed the thumb drive and typed manual and shoved my chair back.  Walking to the front of the room, I saw Mr. Breame staring at me again, his dark gaze locked onto my body.  Nervously, tentatively, I cleared my throat as I stood before his desk piled high with books and papers.  He looked almost angry for a moment, then smiled politely.

   “Can I help you with something, miss?”

   “I-I....want to turn my project in,” I choked out.

   “This early?  It’s not due for another two weeks.”

   “I know.”

   “That’s fine.  Is that it there?  In your hand?”  He rudely snatched the manual out of my hand. 

   He hadn’t seen the thumb drive because it was in my fist.  I handed the small disk to him.  He flipped through the first few pages of my software manual, his cheeks turning ruddy, and I could’ve almost sworn that he became excited.

   “And what is this?” he demanded.

   “It’s Casper.”

   He suddenly seemed softer, gentler towards me.  “Very nice,” he said.  “I had one other student turn in a project early so you’re not alone.”  He smiled again.  “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

   “No,” I said.  Behind me came the sound of the students tapping their keyboards as well as a few coughs and murmurs.  The minute hand on the hanging clock made a tick as it clicked forward.

   Mr. Breame turned around and dropped the thumb drive into a box of supplies on the desk, but not before marking it with a piece of masking tape on which he’d scribbled my name.  He sat on his soft chair, reading my printed software instructions and licking his lips.  I couldn’t understand Mr. Breame’s strange behavior towards me, one minute seeming downright hostile and the next polished and mannerly.  Was it because he hated women or did he just not like me personally?  Maybe I was reading too much into his behavior and making assumptions about a man I knew nothing about.

   I remembered so well the Mr. Breame from my dream, a falsehood that looked and felt so much like the real one in the classroom.  Today he wore the same outfit my mind had imagined that night, a starched, plaid shirt complete with several pens in the front pocket, thick-rimmed glasses perched on his nose.  I’d never had so much as a single interest or thought about the guy until last night, so why would I dream about him?

   I sat down to my programming lab, and the tasks in my lab book kept my mind off of my insecurities.  Although the lab work was routine and uninteresting, there was a certain comfort to be had in the simple, typed instructions as they provided for me a realm in which existed only logic, predictability, and reason.  So unlike the world my Casper software had shown me, a dark place filled with uncertainty and emotion. 

   I soon finished my assignment, saved my work to disk, placed my lab book in my backpack, and left for my next class.  Mel met up with me in the hall.  She was a pretty blonde with a bubbly personality.

   “Hi!” she said.  “Going to math?”

   “Yeah,” I said, bending down to take my Ritz crackers from the vending machine I had stopped at for a snack.

   “I’ll walk with you,” she said.  “Did you hear about the quiz?”

   “Yesterday’s?”

   “You were the only one that passed.”

   “How do you know?”

   “I went to Mr. Lake’s office hours this morning to get help with the homework, and I asked him about it.  He mentioned your exceptional score.”

   I smiled.  Brent’s tutoring had paid off.  No wonder I always thought so highly of him.  I wondered how he was doing in Seattle and if he would really call.  I hoped so, I longed to hear his voice.  “I’ve always enjoyed acceleration rate problems....must be my forté,” I replied.

   “Well, you’re the only one...I failed.  I hope the homework this week brings my grade up, otherwise I’m doomed.”

   “It will.  He always gives us 100% on assignments.  It’s the final I’m worried about.”

   “How about the storm last night?  Wasn’t that wild?” she asked.  “We lost power.”

   “I think the whole town did,” I said.  “We were almost killed by a falling tree.”

   “What!?” she exclaimed.

   “It’s true.  On the highway last evening, it fell inches from the car.”

   “My God.  You were with your parents?”

   “No, my....my boyfriend,” I said.  It dawned on me at that moment that I was no longer single.

   “Sam, you’ve been holding back on me.  When did you get a boyfriend?”

   “He’s a student at UW.  And I wasn’t holding back.  He only asked me out yesterday.”

   “Well, did you go
out
?”

   “We sure as hell almost died tryin’, didn’t we?”

   “I’m going to have to meet this mystery man.”

   “I’m going to move in with him in two weeks.  He’s got an apartment in Seattle.”

   “Sam, uh...are you 19 or 35?  What’s all this?  You’re too young for marriage.”

   I giggled.  “I’m transferring for summer quarter.  It’s just till I get my own place.”

   “And what does your mother think about this...hmmm?” she asked.  “Are you gonna tell her?”

   “Of course.  I mean, I already have.”

   Mel frowned a little.  “Our yard is a mess, all tore up.  We lost our pretty rose bushes.  All gone, and they were mother’s pride and joy.”

   “Mom said people
died
yesterday.  She said there were car wrecks and falling trees everywhere.  Hell, me and Brent almost landed at St. Peter’s gates.  Be glad you just lost a couple bushes.”

   “We’ll probably hear it on the news tonight.  Oh, we’re here.”  She giggled again.  “You’ll have to tell me all about
Brent
.”  She said his name as if it were a silly joke.

   “He was my calculus tutor.”

   “No wonder you do so well in math.  A girl gets a handsome teacher, of course she’s going to pay attention.”

   “We’re here,” I said. 

   We turned a corner and entered the classroom door.

   “Let’s find two seats together,” she said.  “Then we can compare notes on the homework.  I’d hate to get a wrong answer on one and get marked down.”

   “Okay.”  I pulled out my sheet of lined paper and we compared notes together, making sure that our answers were all the same. 

   Satisfied, we put our homework away and pulled out our calculators and notebooks to prepare for the lecture.  Mel pulled a pair of glasses out of her purse; she was near-sighted and couldn’t see the overhead projector without them.

   “I hope the lecture’s good,” she said.  I had to strain to listen to her over the guy behind me talking about his hot girlfriend, loudly, as if to brag to everyone in the room.

   “I hope I can understand it.  I’d hate to be the only one raising my hand.”

   “I know....” she said softly.  “It’s so embarrassing to be the only one with questions.  Everyone looks at me funny.”

   “Are you gonna be around this weekend?” I asked.

   “I might be.  Want me to stop by?”

   “Sure.  Or we could meet up somewhere.  I’ll call you when I decide.”  I watched as students shuffled into their seats.

   “Sounds good,” she said.

   The instructor entered the classroom and began his lecture, scribbling notations and equations on the transparency with a dry marker.  I took notes, carefully copying his work into my notebook.  Mel stared intently at the instructor as she scribbled, occasionally shooting a casual glance in my direction.

   As the class neared its end, I dug around inside my backpack to see if my cell phone had any missed calls.  I was still hoping for a call from Brent.  Frowning, I dug deeper and checked several pockets, but there was still no phone.  I looked around my desk, saw no sign of it.  Could it have fallen out of my backpack in programming class?  I knew that I’d had it in English because I’d heard an alarm and toggled it off.  So where was my phone now?  I rapidly became frustrated; the phone was expensive, and I needed it to talk to anybody. 

   I decided to retrace my steps and head back towards Mr. Breame’s class.  I was almost certain that he locked the room up after class, but did he check to see if anyone left items behind?  If my phone was still in the classroom, I’d have trouble getting inside if the door was locked.  Mel must have seen my frantic searching because she gave me a questioning look, although fleeting, and she must have known I was missing something.

   The clock rolled to the hour, and the students began to leave the room.

   “Are you okay?” she asked.

   “I’m missing my phone,” I said.

   “Oh wow.  Could you have left it in one of your other classes?” she asked.  That’s what I was thinking.  Where else would it be?

   “I’m gonna go check my last class.”

   “Well, I gotta split.  I work a few hours a day at Taco Bell, and they’ll be expecting me.”  As if mocking herself she said, “I told you I’m a high class lady.”

   I laughed at the image of Mel dishing out refried beans.  The poor girl really deserved better in life.  “Okay, I gotta look for that phone.  Sorry I can’t walk you back to your car.”

   “I understand perfectly.  I lost one myself, a perfect iphone, and my dad almost killed me, he being the one who paid for it and all.”  She hoisted her backpack onto her shoulders and waved as she walked out the door.