Tom felt a cold sweat break out on the back of his neck. This was bad, really bad. Three adults—three powerful adults—angry at him. No, furious. Coach Petrie looked like he wanted to wring his neck.
He forced himself to return their glares with a steady gaze. “The story wasn’t irresponsible,” he said. “My sources gave me proof of everything they told me. Cell phone pictures. E-mails. Personal testimonies from players who took the steroids. It’s all in the paper and I checked it all myself. The story was solid. The players took drugs. We won the championship unfairly. Those are the facts.”
Tom recoiled—he couldn’t help it—as Coach pointed a finger right in his face. “You are calling me a liar, aren’t you? How dare you disrespect me? Who do you think you are?”
“I’m just saying it’s the truth,” said Tom as steadily as he could. He wished he were somewhere else right now. Somewhere like Mars.
“You’re supposed to run all stories by me for approval,” Mrs. Rafferty broke in, her voice clipped and hard. She was a large, pasty-faced woman with short red hair that curled
up out of her head like fire. “I would never have approved the newspaper running a story like this.”
Tom knew that Lisa always e-mailed the paper to Mrs. Rafferty for approval—and that Mrs. Rafferty never read it and never responded. But he hadn’t personally seen Lisa send the e-mail this time, and he didn’t want to sound like he was blaming Lisa for anything, so he kept his mouth shut.
“All right,” said Mr. Kramer, making another conciliatory gesture at the others. “Let’s not waste time with anger and recriminations. Let’s see if we can make this right. Tom, if we let this story stand, it’s going to have serious repercussions. The school board is going to ask questions, the interscholastic sports governors, maybe even the state Board of Ed. I’m going to need to have as much information as I can in order to answer them and explain how this rumor got started and how it got out of hand like this. To begin with, I need to know who told you these tales about the team.”
The sweat gathering on Tom’s neck rolled down his back, making his shirt damp. “I can’t tell you that,” he said. “My sources gave me this information on the condition I keep their names secret. I promised them I would.”
Tom started as Coach Petrie slapped the table again. “Well, you are going to break that promise, son, believe you me,” he said.
“I don’t think you understand the situation you’re in,” said Mrs. Rafferty—and the way she said it made Tom feel that her hair was going to catch fire for real. “You are facing suspension here.”
Tom’s mouth went dry. Suspension! That was not good. That was bad, in fact. It would go on his record. It would hurt his chances of getting into a top college. Worse than that: he didn’t know how he would tell his mom.
But he knew he had no choice about this. He licked his lips. He said, “The people who talked to me wouldn’t have talked if they thought they were going to be named—they were afraid of being punished and attacked for telling the truth.”
The way I’m being punished and attacked for telling the truth,
he didn’t add. “But they proved what they said beyond a doubt, and I printed the proof. The story is fair and it’s true. Even if you suspend me—even if you expel me—it’ll still be true.”
Mr. Kramer leaned forward, his expression as serious as Tom had ever seen it, his eyes as transparent as glass. “I hope you understand,” he said tersely. “Mrs. Rafferty is quite right about this. You are facing very serious consequences here.”
Tom took a deep, unsteady breath. “I do understand,” he said softly. “But I stand by the story. I stand by the story.”
Tom had to say it twice to get the words out clearly—and
even though he meant them, he quailed inside as he saw the anger flash in Mr. Kramer’s colorless eyes.
Mrs. Rafferty started to say, “You do not know the beginning of how much trouble you are getting yourself—”
But she stopped as there was a quick knock on the door. Before anyone could say anything else, the door opened and Lisa came in.
She was wearing jeans and a striped pullover and tennis shoes. Her red hair tumbled messily down the sides of her pale face, and she blinked rapidly behind her glasses. She looked very small and skinny and much younger than she was.
“Hi, everyone!” she said in a chirpy little-girl voice. “I heard you guys were talking to Tom and I thought, since I’m the newspaper editor, maybe I should be here, too.”
“We’ll speak to you separately,” said Mr. Kramer tersely.
“And you’re not the editor anymore,” growled Mrs. Rafferty.
“Oh!” said Lisa, as if she were startled. “Really? Is this about the Tigers story?”
“It sure is!” said Coach Petrie.
“Okay,” said Lisa in that same high, bright voice. “I’m sort of surprised to hear that, because I did send the story to you for approval, Mrs. Rafferty.”
“Well, I didn’t approve it,” she snapped.
“Well, yes, I know, but you haven’t approved any of our stories since I’ve been on the paper. We always send them to you, but you never get back to us. So, you know, I didn’t think this was any different. Anyway . . . ,” she went on chirpily, “let me know when you’re done with Tom. Because when
USA Today
interviews me, they’ll probably want him there, too.”
Mr. Kramer, Coach Petrie, and Mrs. Rafferty all sat up straight at the same time and said exactly the same thing: “What?!”
“
USA Today
,” Lisa repeated with the same cheery tone. “You know, for their story about us and the Tigers and how a school paper got a big scoop and how the school reacted to it and all that.”
Mr. Kramer’s eyes flashed again. He seemed as if he was about to slap the table himself. “I absolutely forbid you to talk to
USA Today
or anyone else about this until we’ve fully ascertained the facts!” he said.
And suddenly, Lisa’s chirpy, little-girl demeanor vanished—just like that. Her face became very serious, and the eyes behind the round lenses were unblinking and bright as flashing steel. Her voice became flat and hard. “With respect, Mr. Kramer,” she said, “I’ll be speaking to them after school and with my mother’s permission. You don’t have the power to forbid me. You have the power to take me and Tom off
the paper. You have the power to suspend us. You have the power to close the paper down. But we told the truth and we’re going to go on telling it, in
USA Today
and on Facebook and Twitter and wherever else we can to whoever will listen. And I know that’ll be okay with you,” she said, turning her steady gaze from one adult to another. “Because as long as you do what’s right, you won’t mind if everyone knows.”
With that, she turned and walked out of the room.
A few minutes later Tom found her in the
Sentinel
’s office.
“You saved my life in there, Leese,” he said with a lopsided smile. “After they heard about
USA Today
, everyone suddenly got a lot more friendly. I guess they didn’t want the whole country to find out they were trying to cover up for the team.”
Lisa shrugged but blushed at the same time. “That’s what friends are for, Tommy. I knew you could stand up for yourself, but I figured, I’m the editor, it’s my responsibility to protect the story.”
Weary with relief, Tom dropped into his chair and put his feet up on the mess on his desk. “So when do we talk to
USA Today
?” he asked her.
Lisa shrugged her narrow shoulders. “I don’t know. They haven’t asked us yet.”
Tom’s feet dropped off the desk with a
thud
as he came rocketing upright in his chair. “What?”
“Well, I had to say something, right? They looked like they were about to hang you.”
“So you lied?”
“I didn’t lie. I said when
USA Today
interviews me, they’ll probably want to interview you, too. I’m sure that’s true.”
“Lisa!”
“Well, let’s call it a bluff,” she said.
Tom fell back against his chair, staring at her with his mouth open. After another moment, he laughed.
“What’s so funny?” she asked him.
“Nothing,” said Tom. “Just remind me never to play poker with you!”
Lisa’s cheeks turned so red her freckles all but disappeared. A moment later she was giggling helplessly.
H
urry!” Tom said to her now. “We don’t have much time.”
He took ahold of Lisa’s elbow as she stepped into the house. Before he shut the door behind her, he cast one last look outside, across the front lawn. Sheets and tendrils of mist were coiling up the drive and over the grass, casting a ghostly pall over everything. At the bottom of the driveway, the fog was gathering quickly. As Tom stood staring through
the cloudy air, he thought he saw a shadow move in that thicker whiteness. A malevolent. Waiting for the moment when it could reach the house; reach him. Soon.
Tom shut the door.
“Come on,” he said.
He drew Lisa down the hallway to the kitchen. They sat face-to-face at the round table in the nook, just as he’d sat with Marie. Outside, through the windows, a faint mist had begun to gather over the backyard as well. Tom knew it would get thicker quickly. The malevolents were on their way.
Still gripping her elbow, Tom leaned toward Lisa. She had opened her raincoat now. Beneath it, she was wearing the pink blouse he knew was her favorite. The top button was undone, and a gold necklace with a little gold cross shone against the white skin of her throat. Tom could not believe how good it was to see that quirky, freckled, pug-nosed face of hers. He felt certain she would be able to help him find the truth. She always had.
“I was shot, wasn’t I?” he asked her. “That’s why I’m here. Someone shot me in the chest.”
Lisa nodded quickly. She wasn’t smiling anymore. She looked serious, pale, worried. “That’s right.”
“Who was it? Who did it, Leese?”
“I don’t know. No one knows. The police are still trying to find out.”
“But it must’ve been someone who was angry at me about our story, right? Someone who was angry because of what I wrote about the Tigers.”
“Probably. That’s what everyone thinks, anyway.”
“I should know who it is!” he said. “But I don’t remember.”
“Well, you’re hurt.”
“Right. I’m in a coma, aren’t I?”
“Yes.”
“I’m lying unconscious in the hospital, and the doctors can’t wake me up.”
Lisa frowned, her eyes growing damp. “Yes, that’s right. It’s awful. We’re all so frightened.”
Tom tried to take this in, to think it through. He was still holding loosely on to Lisa’s arm. Lisa moved her hand to his. Her cool touch was comforting.
“And so all this,” he said, gesturing at the kitchen. “All this is happening in my mind, in my imagination.”
Lisa tilted her head, her expression uncertain. “Well . . . yes . . . but . . .”
“But what?” said Tom. He could feel the time passing, could feel the fog moving in. He knew that every second counted. “Tell me. Don’t hold anything back.”
“Well . . . just because something is in your imagination doesn’t mean it’s imaginary.”
Tom shook his head. “I don’t get it.”
“Your imagination isn’t just some kind of fantasyland or something. It’s a way of seeing things that your rational mind can’t see or doesn’t want to see. It’s a way of knowing things you can’t know any other way. The things you see with your imagination may not look like the things you see in ordinary life, but they’re just as real in their own way. And all this—everything that’s happening here, Tom—
it’s
all real. And it’s serious. It’s like . . . It’s like your imagination is the battleground on which you’re fighting for your life.”
“Right,” said Tom, trying to stay with her, trying to understand. “The fog, the monsters, the malevolents . . .”
“They can kill you—really kill you. They already
have
killed you. Twice! Your heart has already stopped beating two times.”
Tom nodded. “Yes. I know. I died. I even saw heaven, I think.”
“Well,” said Lisa, looking uncertain again, “I don’t think it could have been heaven. Not exactly. Not the real heaven. This is your imagination, remember—and I think heaven is probably beyond anything you could imagine.”
“But if I died, maybe I saw it for a second . . . ,” Tom started to say. His voice trailed away as he remembered the things he had seen in the park, the strangely unhappy-looking people.
“Maybe,” said Lisa. “It’s possible.” She smiled. “But, like
I said, I don’t think so. The road to heaven isn’t death, Tom. It’s life.”
Tom went on thinking about it. He went on thinking about the beautiful parkland with the Greek temples and about the people he’d seen there—the people who weren’t serene and happy the way you’d think they would be if they were in paradise.
“There was a guy there,” he murmured. “A thin guy with long blond hair. I think he’s in the hospital with me. I think he’s the guy lying unconscious in the bed next to mine.”
“Yeah,” said Lisa. “The doctor said he was some kind of drug addict, hooked on meth or something. He couldn’t take it anymore. He tried to slash his wrists, to kill himself. They don’t know whether he’s going to make it.”
Tom thought about the long-haired guy standing in front of the temple, how he looked lost, like he was trying to find someone who could give him directions. So Lisa was right. The parkland wasn’t heaven. Even though Tom’s heart had stopped, the place he had seen was still some part of his living mind. If he really died, then there would be something else, something more. Something, as Lisa said, beyond his imagination.
Tom glanced away from the anxious expression on Lisa’s face. He glanced out the window into the backyard. Already the mist was noticeably thicker out there. He could see it
wafting in, blowing in, more and more of it every second. Soon it would be thick enough to bring the malevolents. Very soon.
He faced Lisa again. “What about you?” he said. “Are you real?”
“You know I am, Tommy.”
He smiled, in spite of his worry and fear.
Tommy
. Lisa was the only one who ever called him that. And she only did it when she was emotional, when she forgot to control herself and call him Tom like everyone else did. “But I mean . . . are you really here now?” he asked her. “Really here with me?”