Autofocus (8 page)

“Were you with him?” I ask, because I want to know if Bennett was right.

“Yeah,” she says, cheeks reddening. “He came by and, um . . . I kind of lost track of time.” She looks down and grabs her elbow self-consciously. “I
did
stay late after class, then came back to wait for you. I guess I missed your call at that point because, I swear, my phone was still on silent. Then he came over and I thought he'd leave quickly, and . . . ugh, I'm awful.”

“It's okay,” I say.

“No, seriously, I'm sorry. This is our time together. I shouldn't be so obsessed with him and all that.”

“Tree, it's fine, seriously,” I say, smiling at her, because it is. Okay, I was upset, but it's still Treena. “It's not a big deal. But now I totally require details about your rendezvous. I mean, not
detailed
details. You know.”

She laughs and sits on her bed. I climb next to her. “First, tell me about today. What happened? Did you find out anything?”

“Kind of. I talked to the registrar and know she went
here. I saw her schedule and I met one of her teachers.”

“YOU DIDN'T!”

“I did, but she didn't remember her. It was so long ago. So, I don't know.”

“But did she tell you anything? About the class? Anything?”

“Not really, but she said my mother probably went to one of a few nearby high schools. So I think I'm going to go over to some of them tomorrow . . . if you're free to come . . .”

“Yes! Yes. I will be there,” she says. “Organic chem isn't until later, so I can totally go in the morning. Did I tell you how much I'm hating that class?”

“That bad?” I ask, leaning back and thumbing through a book on her bedside table. It's a textbook for the same class she's talking about, and it looks terrible.

“The worst. I know some of the stuff from high school, but it's just . . . boring. And the teacher takes everything so seriously. And the people in the class are . . . I don't know, I just . . .” She trails off.

“At least you only have to take it this semester,” I say. “Then you're done.”

“I have a long line of similar classes if I want to get into medical school.”

“
Do
you want to get into medical school?” I ask. She's always said that was her plan, but it never really seemed like her. More like something she felt she should do.

“I don't know,” she says, biting her lip. “Between us, I'm
kind of second-guessing. I mean, I want to, and I know I'm okay at it, but it just doesn't make me happy, you know?”

“Tree, you're in college. You should take what makes you happy, not what you think you should take.”

“Easy for you to say. Your parents are cool with you majoring in photography.”

“Yeah . . . but Tree, your parents love you. They'll be happy with whatever you major in.” I pause, then joke, “As long as it means you'll have a good career and a good husband.”

She laughs and rolls her eyes. “I know, you're right. They were just so proud of me when I said I wanted to be a surgeon. . . .”

“What
do
you want to be?” I ask, not sure of the answer. I've never seen her want to do anything else. This is new, and kind of exciting to hear.

“Honestly? I'm really loving my English class. We're reading all of this beatnik literature and, to counter it, feminist literature, and it's all so good.”

“Not surprising. You're always reading,” I say, pointing to a small pile on her floor, near the bed.

“So, yeah, we'll see.”

“I love it.” I smile. “Though it might take away your study time with Trey.”

“Ahhhh,” she says, rolling her eyes. “We don't need studying as an excuse to get together anymore.” She giggles.

“So I saw today!”

“I'm sorry!”

“I'm kidding, I'm kidding,” I say.

She looks at me. “It's just, you know, I'm not used to this stuff. Guys didn't like me in high school. And he does, and it's just . . .”

“It's awesome, Tree.”

“But he's so out of my league. I mean, why does he like
me
?”

“What do you mean?” I ask, and then I realize that her question makes sense. It explains her attachment to him, her nervousness around him, even her newer feel. She's acting different because she's trying to be different. We were never that in high school, and now she's here and wants to be someone new. “Don't think that way. You're so much better than him.”

“Maude, I love you, but he's got girls hanging all over him. And, like, hot girls. The kind of girls who used to make fun of us.”

“I don't think those feminist books you're reading will agree with your thinking right now.”

“Yeah yeah yeah,” she says, shaking her head.

“Well, I didn't see him making out with other girls last night,” I mention.

“Oof,” she moans, blushing. “Yeah. But that's all we did today, too, so don't get any ideas.”

“Nope. None at all.” I grin, and she pushes me. I tackle her back and we're laughing and just being silly.

We catch up more for the next few hours over chai
just how her mom makes it (extra milky for her; no milk, extra sugar for my lactose-intolerant self), and as the time goes by, it feels oddly like we're not in a college dorm, but, instead, in her room back home and nothing is different, even though everything has changed.

For our big dinner with Trey and Bennett, we go for Mexican food. The restaurant looks like a normal, boring building on the outside, but inside it's bright and lively. A mariachi band is playing for a table in the corner, everyone is talking, and the menus are practically neon. I quickly take a photo of the multicolored chips and post it to my blog.

“This place is cool,” I say, opening up my slightly sticky menu. There's a pronunciation guide, which I always find funny—who doesn't know how to say “taco”?

“Yeah! We come here a lot, so, I mean, we had to bring you,” Treena says, cozying up next to Trey in the booth. I'm excited to have this night to figure him out, see more of him, since he still just looks like a jock to me. I'd love to know what he likes, and what he, himself, is like. I'm going to be nice.

Bennett and I sit across from them. I thought I'd feel underdressed when we left—in just jeans and a T-shirt—since Treena is in a cute little spring dress—but no one else here seems dressed up, either. Trey is wearing a football shirt, and Bennett has the same Tetris shirt he was wearing earlier, with a hoodie over it, and khaki shorts.

“So, Trey, what are you majoring in?” I ask.

“Don't know yet,” he says with a shrug. “I'm undeclared at the moment. Thinking hospitality.”

“Oh!” I say, completely unsure what that major entails. “That's cool. What's majoring in hospitality like?”

“Don't know. It's what most of the guys on the team major in. There's a wine tasting class, which is supposed to be epic. And, like, hotel management and stuff? I can see myself owning a resort.” He grins.

“That sounds cool,” I say, wondering what else I can add. I don't want to play twenty questions with him, but I want
something
to work with.

“I know a girl getting her master's in hospitality management, and she's already promised a job at the hotel downtown where, like, governors stay,” Treena says, nodding enthusiastically. I smile and nod, too.

We sit in silence for a couple of minutes, pretending to read the menu. As if sensing the awkwardness, Bennett nudges me. “Okay, so if you weren't sure, this is how you say burrito,” he says, leaning over to me and sounding out the word like
burr-eeee-tooooh
, while pointing to the pronunciation guide.

“I
was
wondering,” I say, smiling at him. I look back, and Trey and Treena have fallen into their own conversation about something to do with swimming pools, so I dive into Bennett's distraction.

“Just wanted to make sure. Didn't know what you guys ate down there in
Orlando
.”

“Ohh, I see, hating on O-town?” I ask, turning to him and putting my hands on my hips.

“Isn't everything made of pixie dust down there?” he asks, grinning, and I push him. After our skateboard bowling, things have been a lot friendlier between us, as if we've known each other for months, not hours.

“Aren't you the guy who loves
Toy Story
?”

“Touché,” he says.

“Where are you from, anyway?” I ask.

“Miami. Trey and I went to school down there,” he says.

“Oh, okay, since you're from Miami, you think you can teach me how to eat burritos?” I joke.

“
Sí
. I am half Colombian,” he challenges.

“Uh-huh,” I say, crossing my arms. “But what does that have to do with Mexican burritos?”

Treena suddenly laughs as Trey kisses her. I glance at Bennett, who rolls his eyes in response.

“Hey.” He nudges me as the others ignore us. “Are things cool between you two? You kind of escaped earlier.”

“Oh yeah. Yeah, things are fine. Just a misunderstanding.”

“Okay.” He shrugs.

“So anything you'd like to do while you're here, Maude?” Trey suddenly asks. I hadn't realized he'd stopped making out with Tree.

“Not really,” I say. “I mean, aside from seeing Treena and the school and . . . stuff,” I say, not wanting to get into the
other
reason for coming here.

“Well, if there is anything,” Treena says, “let me know. I don't want you to regret not seeing, like, the capitol building or something.”

“She should see the capitol!” Trey laughs, and it's the most animated I've seen him yet.

“Is it that great?” I ask, confused why he's so giddy about a building.

“Oh, it's
monstrously
great,” Trey continues, still laughing, and Treena pushes him. My face starts to heat up as I realize I'm the only one not in on the joke.

“It's, um,” Bennett starts while Trey continues to giggle across the table. “It's not what's inside that's great. It's just that it looks like—”

“A penis,” Trey interrupts, guffawing. Treena slaps him, but laughs, too.

“Huh?” I ask, face still hot. This is not where I thought the conversation would go.

“Well, it's long and tall,” Bennett says, scratching the back of his neck uncomfortably, “and behind it is the old capitol building, which has—”

“Two domes. So they're, like, the—”

“I got it,” I say, cutting him off. “Great visual, but I think I'll pass,” I add.

“You are
such
an idiot,” Treena says to Trey, and then giggles, and I sigh.

Our waiter comes by and Trey's phone starts buzzing with texts, and I see Treena frown.

“What's up with your phone?” Treena asks.

“Dude, I have the best idea for tonight,” he says, ignoring her question.

“What?” Bennett asks.

Trey looks at all of us, raises his hands, and then states: “Pineview.”

“No way,” Bennett says. Treena just looks away.

“Why not? It'll be
awesome—
I went there last week with some guys on the team.”

“What's Pineview?” I venture to ask.

“It's this crazy haunted mental institution. It's abandoned and you can, like, break in and see all the old medical equipment. There's some creepy-ass shit on the walls and spray paint everywhere, and, like, dried blood on some of the floors. Some of the rooms are locked up, too, so you can't even go into those. A lot of people said they saw ghosts there, or, like, things moving.”

“There's also asbestos, broken boards, nails, and cops guarding it. It's like the place villains take people hostage in movies,” Bennett explains. “Seriously, Trey—don't.”

“Dude, you haven't even been,” Trey says. “Loosen up. You were so uptight in high school. We're in college now. Have some fun.”

“I don't need to go to know it's dangerous,” he says.

“Do people regularly break in?” I ask.

“Yeah, all the time. It's like a rite of passage. I had to do it for the soccer team—it was part of my initiation.”

“What else did you have to do?” Treena asks, and I'm starting to suspect she doesn't know a lot about her “maybe” boyfriend.

“Nothing bad, baby,” he says, kissing her on the top of her head. “But you guys should totally see this place. It's hella creepy.”

“I mean, it could be fun . . .” Treena says tentatively.

“I don't know . . .” I say, siding toward Bennett's decision. The thought of breaking into an abandoned building scares me enough to give me the shivers. But also . . . it could be cool. I've never done something like this before, and I can only imagine the kind of photos I'd get. Not necessarily for my project, but just in general. If Treena's in, maybe I should be, too. . . .

“Come on, it'll be awesome,” Trey says, and I can feel myself giving in, both not wanting to let him and Treena down, and also curious as to what might happen. What we might see.

My eyes meet Treena's and she looks pleading. I think back to our conversation earlier—how she doesn't feel good
enough for him. Maybe this is what she needs, a chance to do something daring. Maybe this will make her feel better. And after having our fight this afternoon, I still feel kind of bad. And I'd rather do something
with
her than without her again.

Maybe this is more than just a crazy night out.

So I find myself nodding and hear Trey cheering while Bennett sighs on my other side. But like earlier with the skateboard, maybe it's time for me to push myself a little bit, too. And if I'm scared, I can always put my feet down.

After dinner, we pile into Trey's car, Treena in the front with him and me and Bennett in the back. Bennett was mostly silent throughout the rest of dinner, and he isn't saying much now either. Trey turns a country song on rather loud, and he and Treena sing along. Another thing I didn't know about her—a newfound love of country music.

“Hey,” I say to Bennett under the music.

“Hey,” he says, playing with the hem of his shirt.

“You okay?” I ask.

“Yeah,” he says, turning to me.

“Sorry we're going . . .”

“It's okay, I mean, it
does
sound cool and creepy, but I've done the whole breaking-in thing before.”

“At Pineview? I thought you hadn't been. . . .”

“No.” He shakes his head. “There's a place like this back at home. In high school I broke in with my friends because, you know, what else is there to do on a Friday night. First, I fell and got cut up bad on an exposed nail, so I was pretty sure I was going to die from that. Then, cops came and caught us, which almost cost me graduation. I mean, they let us go with a strong warning after bringing us down to the station, but still, my parents haven't really dropped it,” he admits with a frustrated sigh. “So, I'm kind of not wanting that to happen again, I guess.”

“So why'd you just give in?” I ask, moving closer so only he hears me.

He shrugs, glances at me, then at the seat in front of him, then pushes his curly mess of hair back. “It's Trey. He'll get his way eventually. He always does.”

“How so?”

“I don't know, small things. I've known him for a while—since sixth grade.”

“Ahh,” I say, noting that I can always go to Bennett if I have questions about Trey. “So what was he like?”

“I don't know. Charming—everyone loved him. He'd magically convince teachers to not give us homework. Or convince people to
do
his homework for him.”

“You're not making a good case for him right now,” I say. “Best friend up there.”

“He's not that bad. I mean, he's not a bad guy. He's just . . . Trey.”

“Well, what happens when he doesn't get his way?”

“I don't know. He's never not gotten his way,” he says with a raise of his eyebrows, and I shiver, wondering what it all means. For us. For Treena. I look away, but when I turn back, Bennett is looking at me. I want to ask more about Trey, but I also kind of don't want to know, don't want my opinion to be so changed without talking to Treena, so I change the subject.

“Do you have a scar?” I ask instead.

“Huh?”

“From the fall with the nail,” I say.

“Oh, yeah, here,” he says, rolling up his sleeve and pointing to his arm, between his elbow and wrist. The scar is long and pink, healed over a few times, and runs long and jagged.

“Ouch,” I say.

He leans back, and when our eyes catch, he smiles, and with much bravado says, “It wasn't that bad.”

“Of course it wasn't.” I smile and nod.

“I've had worse, of course. There was the bus full of children I saved . . .”

“That was on fire?” I ask.

“And about to fall off a cliff.”

“And there were babies on the bus, I assume.”

“And bombs.”

“Sounds scary,” I laugh.

“Oh, you know, it was nothing,” he says, waving me off.

“Then tonight should be nothing, too,” I say, and he looks at me again and smiles.

After about twenty minutes, Trey stops his car, and
I feel my heart swell with fear. I look out the window and see the desolate four-story building, stony and dark against the night sky. Vines are growing up it, and some of the windows have been knocked out. There's a chain-link fence surrounding it, with a few streetlamps around casting an orange hue, and I swear it's a scene straight from a horror movie. I breathe in deeply and hold my breath. I do not want to go in.

“We're heeere,” Trey says in a spooky voice, and I glare at him. I turn to my right and notice that there's a dimly lit police station across the street.

“Should we be worried about that?” I ask, pointing to the station.

“Nah, they set it up to scare people from breaking in. Most of the time the cops are out busting college parties and stuff.”

“How do you know?” I ask.

“Told you, I've been here before,” he says confidently, and I nod, not as reassured by his demeanor as Treena is. “But first,” he says, pulling something out of his pocket. It's a silver flask, and I watch as he unscrews the top and takes a drink. My heart pounds as I wonder if he's going to pass it around, make us all take a sip. Another thing I haven't done before—drink.

He hands it to Treena and she doesn't look back before gulping some down. I guess this makes the second time she's taken a drink.

She turns around and gives the flask to Bennett, not meeting my eyes. And once again I'm in a position that I don't want to be in—not sure if I should go along, or just say no.

This is college, though. I guess next year I'll be faced with these decisions daily. And as I watch Bennett take a sip, I feel myself wanting to, too.

He hands the flask over to me, and I see an engraving on the side.

“Are these your initials?” I ask Trey.

“Yeah. My brother got married last summer. That was my best-man gift,” he says, looking back. “Mom doesn't know, of course. She thought I got cuff links. Ha.”

“Ha,” I say, repeating him, before taking my own drink. I scrunch up my eyes as the liquid hits my throat and burns. I cough, then swallow, and have no idea how people drink this stuff normally. I hand the flask back to Trey, who takes another gulp before screwing the cap back on and putting it in his pocket. I can feel my face heating up.

“So, we ready? This is a rite of passage, guys. Prepare yourselves!” Trey whispers loudly, turning back around and shining a flashlight in my face. I block out the beam and look away. My heart is thumping louder than I thought possible. I am absolutely, 100 percent terrified, and the alcohol isn't helping. I look back and try to catch Treena's eyes, but she won't look back at me.

“Let's go!” he says, opening his door. Treena follows next,
and then me and Bennett. Standing outside is even worse. The silence is deafening. The building seems bigger, and I feel much, much smaller. Trey hands us each a flashlight he conveniently had—had he planned this all along?—and we follow him to the fence.

“You okay?” Bennett whispers to me, walking beside me as the other two are up front.

“Uhhh,” I answer, unable to speak.

“Same,” he says.

There's a large hole in the fence that Trey ducks through, and we follow. I contort myself, hoping the exposed metal doesn't scratch my skin. When I stand up, my body is shaking.

“This way,” Trey whispers, and we follow him up the sidewalk leading to the building. We haven't turned our flashlights on yet, for fear of attracting attention, so it's still incredibly dark, despite the streetlamps' best attempts. My eyes are adjusting slightly as I focus on the door ahead of us. It's large and gray and does not look welcoming at all.

Trey gestures for us to avoid that door and go around the building. We step off the concrete path and into the grass, which hasn't been cut in months, it seems. It climbs up my pants and settles just between my ankles and knees. I keep my eyes trained to the ground, looking for movement. Every squish of the grass makes me think something is coming to attack.

We get to another door and Trey opens it. A screech
echoes out, and I jump back, fearing we've been heard. Heart thumping, I halt until the others move. I watch as they look around, take one last glance at the car, and then quickly go inside. Then I follow.

Aside from small beams of light filtering in, it's pitch black and smells like mildew. I wrinkle my nose and remember the asbestos Bennett mentioned. Trey turns on his flashlight.

HELP
is written in red on the wall.

I gasp and jump backward, grabbing Treena's hand. Trey chuckles and shakes his head. “Sorry. Guys wrote that last time.”

“Jesus,” Bennett says, and I look back at him and can tell he's ruffled, too. Treena doesn't let go of my hand; instead she grabs it tighter, and I can feel her trembling. Despite this brave persona she's putting on, I know she's scared.

“Worse than the time we watched
Paranormal Activity
?”
I ask her.

“A million times worse,” she murmurs. “This wasn't a good idea, was it?”

“Nope. Why are we doing this again?”

She doesn't answer, and I turn on my flashlight and shine it on a desk with a bunch of books piled atop it. Behind it are file cabinets, some slightly ajar. I quickly move my light, afraid Trey will want to explore their contents. I'd rather not know what's in them. As I move away, I hear a jiggle and instinctively jump.

The other flashlights turn on, and I stand closer to Treena. I can tell she wants to run to Trey, but I hold on to her tighter. We follow Trey deeper into the building. The floor feels damp and soft, and squishy. The walls have peeling wallpaper and paint chips, along with words like
FIND ME
,
I'M SORRY
, and
GO AWAY
spray-painted on them. I'm sure all of those are fake, much like the
HELP
, but they still creep me out. Each time my beam lands on another message written in red, my heart jumps. I shake my head in frustration.

The smell gets worse the farther we walk in. It's like rotten eggs left outside in July's heat. And because of the moist floors, my body feels damp, too. I want to leave. Now.

“Right,” Trey whispers, nodding his head to the right, so we follow him in that direction. He opens a door and exposes a room with two beds inside. There are chains on the beds, with shackles to hold the patients down, and instantly I want to cry. I don't want to see this. I don't want to be here. Treena's hand, still in mine, is shaking even more, and I know she's thinking the same thing. I flash my light at Bennett and it looks like all of the color has drained from his face.

“Cool, right?” Trey asks, walking up to the beds.

“Don't touch that!” Treena shrieks, running over to him.

“Why not?” he says, grabbing the arm rail.

“I want to leave,” I whisper to Bennett.

“Me too,” he says.

“Dude, Bennett, come over here. Dare you to lie on the bed?” Trey says.

“I think I'll pass,” Bennett says.

“You did stupid shit like this when we broke into the building back at home.”

“Yeah, and we were caught.”

Trey rolls his eyes and shines his light on a few clipboards on the wall, an IV stand still standing by the bed. I can hear a faint dripping, and even though I know it's water, I can't stop myself from thinking it's blood.

“Let's go upstairs,” Trey says, eyes shining in the night. With the light beam on his face, he looks like a demon, like he belongs here.

“I'm good,” I say, backing out of the room.

“Yeah, I'm going to stay back, too,” Treena says. “But you can go!”

“Bennett?” Trey asks, and Bennett doesn't even answer. “Dude, what's with you? It's like college made you lame. There's this creepy-ass doll up there. I'm gonna get a picture of it, then I'll be back down.” He huffs off out of the room, back into the main waiting area, I assume, and then we hear him ascend a creaky flight of stairs. At his mention of a picture, I have an urge to take out my phone, but I don't want to remember tonight, and don't want to see what develops. I thought it would be cool originally, but not so much anymore. I keep getting a weird feeling that something might happen.

I walk out of the room and hear the others behind me. The stairs Trey must have taken are on the left—they're old and wooden and there are splinters all over them. They can't be safe.

We hear movement upstairs: doors groaning and loud footsteps.

“I hope he comes down soon,” Treena whispers, and I put my arm around her shoulders.

There's a loud
bang
upstairs and we all jump. Then nothing.

“Trey?” Treena tentatively calls out.

A crash echoes through the hospital and we all jump again.

“What . . . was that,” Treena asks, reaching down to hold my hand.

A screech comes from the right, like a wounded animal.

“I don't like this. . . .” I say.

A door slams shut.

“We should go. We should definitely go,” I say, tugging on Treena's arm.

“No, not without Trey. We can't leave him behind,” she says, then yells, “TREY!”

“I'm actually okay with that,” Bennett says, grabbing my free arm and pulling me toward the door.

“NO!” a voice yells out, and Treena screams.

A growl sounds to our left and I jump nearly on top of Bennett.

“Trey!” Treena calls out. “TREY!”

I step backward and slip on water that wasn't there before. I quickly right myself and grab on to Bennett's arm.

“You guys . . .” I say, my heart racing in my chest.

“Yeah, no, we're leaving,” Bennett says.

A bang erupts and then a book is tossed off the second floor.

“Oh my god,” I say as Treena huddles into me, starting to cry. “We have to go, we have to go.” I pull on her, toward the door, and she lets me, holding on tight. I'm trying to be brave, but I can't feel anything, I'm so on edge. The walls start making more sense. Maybe they aren't a joke; maybe there really are hauntings here.

“Just go through the front door,” Bennett says behind us, guiding us out.

“OH SHIT! NO! RUN!” a voice calls, and I know it's Trey. My heart leaps into my mouth. I grab Treena's hand and then dash to the end of the room, dropping my flashlight in the hustle. I know the door is in front of me, but I can't see where.