Fair Coin Page 3

  He handed the note back to Ephraim.

  Ephraim stared at it. Could it be referring to the quarter he'd found last night? He hadn't even mentioned that to Nathan yet. This was as unsettling as the duplicate library card and the idea of another kid who looked like him. But what did it mean? And who had written the note?

  He pulled the quarter from his back pocket and reread the note one more time.

  “You're actually going to try it?” Nathan snorted.

  Ephraim shrugged. “No harm in it.” He held the coin flat on his palm and cleared his throat.

  “I wish…” He glanced at Nathan. “I wish my mom wasn't in the hospital.”

  Nothing happened, of course.

  “Flip it,” Nathan said. “Like the note said.”

  “Never mind. This is silly,” Ephraim said. He moved to put it back in his pocket and felt a jolt in his palm, as if someone had stabbed it with a pin. He dropped the coin, and it rolled away on the uneven gray tiles.

  “Ow,” he muttered.

  “What happened?”

  “It…shocked me,” Ephraim said, glancing around. The coin had landed under the locker across from him. He crouched and picked it up, shaking off clumps of dust. It had come up heads. The metal felt hot for a second, but it quickly cooled in his hand. His vision swam and he suddenly felt nauseous. He clutched his stomach.

  “Ephraim?” Nathan said. “What are you doing on the floor?”

  He had to get to the bathroom. “I—” He wasn't going to make it.

  Ephraim turned and stuck his head into his locker.

  “Dude!” Nathan said. He moved to the other side of the hall while Ephraim vomited.

  Ephraim wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Sorry,” he said. He held his breath and closed the door of his locker, deciding he didn't really need the papers and comic books that had accumulated at the bottom throughout the year. He walked to the water fountain at the end of the hall to rinse out his mouth. The water was warm and tasted metallic.

  “Are you all right? The nurse might still be here,” Nathan said.

  “I feel fine now.” It was as though nothing had happened. Ephraim stuffed the quarter and the note in his pocket and grabbed his backpack. He suddenly realized how lucky he was. If that had happened while he'd been talking to Jena…

  “But you just barfed in your locker. I mean, at least tell the janitor.” Nathan turned his camera so Ephraim could see the screen. It was a blurry shot of Ephraim with his head tucked into his locker. It was enough to make him feel queasy again. He pushed the camera away.

  “I'm so glad I have you around to document my greatest moments,” Ephraim said.

  “The camera doesn't lie,” Nathan said. “You really are that much of a tool. You sure you're okay?”

  “Maybe I caught a bug at the hospital,” Ephraim said. He'd been sitting there all night, after all. But who'd ever heard of a twenty-four-second stomach flu?

  “When were you in the hospital?” Nathan asked.

  “I just told you, my mom went in last night.”

  “Oh no!” Nathan's eyes widened. “Is it serious? How's Madeline?”

  “Did we not just have this conversation?” Nathan must have been more distracted by the twins than he'd thought. “She'll recover. I'm catching a ride with Mary and Shelley to the hospital now,” Ephraim said slowly. “Remember?”

  Nathan seemed even more surprised by that. “You're kidding. I'd love to share a back seat with them. Man, I wish my mom were in the hospital.”

  “Careful what you wish for,” Ephraim said.

  Wait a minute. Wish?

  He'd just made a wish that his mother wasn't in the hospital. Now Nathan didn't remember it…

  “Hey, you should try to sit between them,” Nathan said.

  “Still not a good idea,” Ephraim said.

  Down the hallway, Michael Gupal came around the corner and grinned when he caught sight of them.

  “Crap,” Ephraim said.

  Nathan looked at Michael calmly as he stomped toward them. “What? He's not going to try anything. It's the last day of school. That's like a truce.”

  “It's more like there's no one here to stop him,” Ephraim said. It was Michael's end-of-year ritual, to track down his favorite victims and give them something to remember him by over the summer.

  Michael stopped in front of them and crossed his arms, legs planted apart. He was as squat and thick as the twins were tall and thin, and almost as well-endowed with flabby man boobs. Ephraim had heard that he was taking steroids to bulk up for football.

  “Where do you think you're going, Mackenzie?” Michael said. “We didn't have a chance to say good-bye yet.”

  “Time to go,” Ephraim said, taking a step back. Nathan usually followed his lead in situations like this, but he seemed strangely unconcerned.

  “Are you kidding? He doesn't scare me,” Nathan said. “Have a nice summer, Michael!” He lifted the camera, and the flash went off. This only enraged Michael, like a bull with a flag waved in front of it.

  “What's with you?” Ephraim asked Nathan.

  Ephraim grimaced as Michael grabbed Nathan by the straps of his backpack and shoved him hard against a locker. The bag loaded with books took the brunt of the impact, but Nathan's head whipped back and rang against the flimsy metal. A number of locker doors around the school bore Nathan-sized dents; you could almost chart Nathan's growth over the years by them.

  “Ow,” Nathan said. “Sorry—I meant I hope you have a shitty summer.”

  Michael scowled and shook Nathan from left to right. “What's got you so happy, Mackenzie? Glad you won't be seeing me every day?”

  Nathan's hair had fallen over his forehead. His eyes peeked through his bangs and he smiled.

  “Sadly, I won't have the pleasure of summer classes with you. Have fun with that.”

  Ephraim winced. Don't taunt him, Nathan. His friend had always lacked an essential element of self-preservation. They'd met one day in the first grade when Ephraim had stuck up for him, but their friendship since then had only made Nathan even more reckless—he knew Ephraim would back him up. Still, this was taking things too far.

  Michael growled and squeezed Nathan's backpack straps together.

  “Study hard,” Nathan wheezed. “Senior year wouldn't be the same without you. Third time's the charm, right?”

  “Hey,” Ephraim said to Michael. “Leave him alone.” Some habits were hard to break. He wasn't afraid of Michael, but he knew he couldn't beat him, either. His protests were just for show. But Nathan would never forgive him if he didn't even try to defend him.

  “You wanna be next? There's plenty to go around.” Michael flashed him a feral grin.

  “Actually, some people are waiting for me outside…” Ephraim said.

  “I've got this, Ephraim,” Nathan said.

  “I can't leave you.”

  “I can't leave you,” Michael mocked.

  “Go on,” Nathan said. “You don't want to miss that ride. Tell Madeline I said I hope she gets better soon.”

  “Okay. Are you sure? Call me later if…if you can still dial,” Ephraim said.

  “That's right, run!” Michael said.

  Ephraim pushed the double doors open and stepped outside. Far from the fresh air of freedom, he sucked in the hot summer air and immediately began to sweat.

  Ephraim scanned the parking lot, but there was no sign of Mrs. Morales's beat-up Volkswagen. Or the twins. Or Jena.

  Or the school buses.

  He checked his pockets, but aside from the quarter, he was broke; he'd already used the last of his mom's money to catch a bus to school from the hospital that morning. It was a long way back on foot.

  There were a handful of cars in the lot, including Michael's black BMW sports car and Nathan's secondhand blue Chevy. Maybe he should wait for Nathan to drive him after all; his friend might need a trip to the hospital anyway after being tenderized by Michael's meat hands. Then again, Ephraim
didn't want to miss visiting hours, so it would probably be faster to walk—unless he went inside to extricate Nathan from Michael sooner, in which case Ephraim risked an injury of his own. Better to go with the lesser of two evils.

  Ephraim started walking.

  Ephraim's mother wasn't in her hospital room. Her belongings were gone, too, along with the plastic bag containing the wallet, keys, and broken watch from his unfortunate look-alike. He stood frozen in panic, staring at the carefully made bed. Had they moved her to the psych ward after talking to her?

  Ephraim found Mrs. Morales at the nurses’ station.

  “Mrs. Morales! Sorry about before, I got sidetracked on my way out of school. Um. Do you know where my mother is?”

  She looked up from her seat behind the counter. “Excuse me?”

  “She was in room 302 this morning.”

  She glanced down at a clipboard. “There's no one assigned to that room. What's her name?”

  Ephraim frowned. “Madeline Scott. Don't you remember me? Mary and Shelley just offered me a ride here after school.”

  “You know my daughters?” She sounded both surprised and disapproving.

  “I'm Ephraim.” He spoke slowly. “I was here last night in the ICU waiting room. You came to tell me how she was doing…”

  “I was on shift last night, but I don't remember seeing you.”

  He raised his voice. “We had a whole conversation.”

  “Okay, calm down, sweetie. I'm sure I'd remember you and your mother.”

  “I would think so.” Ephraim wondered if Mrs. Morales had a twin sister who also worked at the hospital. Didn't that kind of thing run in families? But her nametag said Julia Morales, definitely the same woman he'd spoken to before.

  He took a deep breath. “Listen, could you just check? I know she's here. Maybe she was moved to…another room.” She could be in a mental hospital by now if she had kept going on about him being dead.

  Mrs. Morales slid a black keyboard toward her and typed, her fingers pecking the keys one by one delicately, with inch-long nails painted a bright green.

  “I'm sorry, she was never here,” she said. “Are you sure you have the right hospital? People make that mistake all the—”

  “The computer must be wrong. An ambulance brought her in last night.”

  “There would be some record in the system,” she said. “What was she admitted for?”

  “She—” Ephraim pressed his fingers against the countertop. “Never mind. Sorry for the confusion.”

  “You're agitated. Why don't you have a seat and calm down? I'll find someone who can help you…”

  Why would he be agitated? His mother was only missing. But he didn't want to draw the attention of Child Protective Services now, if they'd already forgotten all about him and his mother.

  “I must have the wrong hospital, like you said. I made a mistake, that's all.” Which reminded him…“Actually, maybe you can answer one more question. That boy who was killed in the bus accident yesterday. Did you ever find out who he was?”

  Mrs. Morales's face hardened. “I don't know anything about an accident, either, and I wouldn't be able to share personal information with you even if I did. This is really inappropriate. I don't have time for games.” She pushed the keyboard away from her, its plastic screeching against the metal desktop. He felt like she was the one playing a prank on him.

  “No, there was a body yesterday afternoon that matched my description. They found my library card in his wallet. There was a whole bag of his stuff, I left it in my mother's room—”

  Mrs. Morales scowled and stood up. “Mr. Scott, you aren't making much sense. Is there someone you'd like me to call to pick you up?”

  “Forget it.” He walked away quickly.

  He paused by the elevators and glanced back. Mrs. Morales had come around to the front of the station and was watching him. He couldn't blame her. He knew how his story sounded.

  The only proof he had was the coin he'd found in the plastic hospital bag yesterday.

  Make a wish and flip the coin to make it come true.

  It just wasn't possible. Coins didn't grant wishes. But he had wished his mother out of the hospital, and now she wasn't there—in fact, it seemed she had never been there at all. If the wish had wiped out her visit entirely, that might explain Mrs. Morales's memory lapse, just like the one Nathan had at school right after Ephraim flipped the coin. But then why didn't she remember the dead boy? He'd had nothing to do with Ephraim's wish. Of course, that didn't even matter, because wishes didn't come true, not by magic anyway.

  Ephraim took the elevator down to the lobby. When the doors opened, Michael Gupal was standing there.

  He looked like crap.

  Michael had a gash over his left eye, which was swollen half-closed. Blood dripped down his temple from a nasty cut, and his lower lip was split in the middle.

  “What the hell happened to you?” Ephraim said. No one had ever taken down the school bully.

  Michael squinted with his good eye. “Your friend Mackenzie is a psychopath.”

  “What?”

  “He went completely nuts on me.”

  “Nathan did this?” Nathan wasn't capable of causing that much damage to someone, except from behind the wheel of his car.

  Michael coughed. It didn't sound good. “Yeah. No one was more surprised than me.”

  “When I left school, you were beating him up.” If Nathan had finally managed to fight back, Ephraim didn't have much sympathy for Michael. As unlikely as it seemed, maybe Nathan had even planned this, the way he'd been acting. But he'd have needed a crowbar to do this to Michael.

  Michael shook his head then grunted with pain. “I only shook him up a little. And stuffed him in a locker.”

  Ouch. That had been Michael's signature technique in junior high. Nathan was one of the few people still thin enough to fit—and even so, he wasn't as small as he once was. That must have hurt.

  “Then you deserve whatever he did to you,” Ephraim said.

  Michael's one eye widened. “I don't know how he got himself out of that locker, but he was waiting for me at my car.”

  “You're sure it was him?”

  “I've been punching that face since the first grade; I'd know it anywhere.”

  “That's when he beat you up?”

  “He was strong. And he knew how to fight. He was like a different guy. Vicious. He smashed my car's headlights in with a damn brick.”

  A brick. That would do it.

  But that didn't sound like the Nathan Ephraim knew.

  “And then the asshole took my picture,” Michael said.

  That sounded like Nathan. He would never let such a victory go undocumented.

  Michael had said Nathan was different. The thought gave Ephraim a chill. What if there was a guy out there who looked just like his best friend, the way that body in the morgue looked like Ephraim? But he doubted anyone could look so much like Nathan that Michael would mistake the two of them, especially within a few minutes; there must be some other, simpler explanation. Nathan had just gotten tired of being pushed around. It was over ten years in coming.

  Michael grabbed Ephraim's shoulder, but his usual iron grip was weak.

  “Listen,” Michael said. “Don't go spreading this around, or you'll be sorry.”

  “Sure, Michael. Your secret shame is safe with me.” For the first time, Ephraim wanted a blog so he could shout the news from the Internet. Ephraim hoped Nathan had gotten some good pictures. That kind of evidence alone would be enough to blackmail Michael for a trouble-free senior year.

  “Just watch it around that guy. He's not as pathetic as he looks,” Michael said.

  “I know.”

  Michael stared at Ephraim then turned and limped into the open elevator. Ephraim grinned. He had to ask Nathan how he'd pulled this off.

  Once again, Ephraim was annoyed that he didn't have a cell phone. He might have been able to afford one if he worked at the supermarke
t more often, but even when he did, they always needed the money for household expenses—and it was weird working there with his mother, especially since he did a better job than her.

  Ephraim stopped at the pay phone near the hospital entrance, but he couldn't bring himself to slide the only quarter he had into the change slot. Even though the coin couldn't be magic, there was definitely something odd about it.

  He hung up the handset. Calling Nathan could wait until he got home, after he had checked on his mother.

  Ephraim pushed open his front door, worrying about what he'd find in the apartment this time.

  His mother was there, dozing on the couch in the living room, another bottle of vodka nearby. No pills, at least. He switched the television off.

  “What time?” she murmured.

  “Just after seven.” He glared down at her.

  She groaned. “Shit. I have to call Slovsky and tell him I'm on my way.”

  “Again?”

  “Why are you home so late?” she said. She sat up and reached for a cigarette.

  “I was at the hospital.”

  “The hospital? What were you doing there?” She tried to pat her wild hair into order without much success. He didn't know why she bothered. She looked up at him suddenly. “The hospital! Are you all right, sweetie?”

  “Me? I'm fine. I didn't think they'd send you home so soon.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You don't remember?” he said.

  “Remember what? I think I'd remember being in the hospital.” She lit her cigarette and peered at him through the smoke. “You haven't been getting into my liquor, have you? Or something funny with your friends?” She laughed.

  “Something funny?” He spat the words out. “This isn't funny, Mom.”

  “What's gotten into you?” She blew some smoke from the side of her mouth, turning her head away from him. It drifted toward him anyway, and he swatted it away angrily. His eyes teared up, but it wasn't because of the smoke.

  This wasn't just one of her memory blackouts. She didn't remember trying to commit suicide. It had to be the coin. It had erased the event entirely; only Ephraim was unable to forget what he'd seen.