Ice Shock(22)

It’s as though I’ve become entangled in jungle creepers, binding me more tightly every way I turn. I have to find my way out of this mess—sort the truth from the lies.

The truth is out there … ?

You bet it is.





11


The next morning, Emmy turns up at my house at seven, dressed in her school uniform. I’d been thinking of faking a sickness anyway, so I’m still in my pj’s, clutching the three postcards from Mexico.

I’ve been staring at them for the past ten minutes. Getting nowhere.

“Thought I’d make sure that you’re not going to go all emo on me, start cutting yourself or anything.”

“As if.” I smirk. “But I can’t go to school this morning. I’ve got stuff to do.”

“‘Stuff,’” Emmy repeats, precisely. “Very mysterious. And you wonder why people think you’re weird.”

“My life … ,” I begin, “… is not like everyone else’s.”

But instead of mocking, Emmy says, “Something happened to you in Mexico.”

“Yes, it did.”

“Something to do with UFOs … ?”

I hesitate. “Emmy … I can’t tell you. If I told you …”

“You’d have to kill me, I get it.”

“No, no.” I stare right into her eyes. “But someone else might.”

“I can keep a secret,” she whispers.

Then she looks at the postcards in my hand.

“You got a new pen pal?”

I hesitate. Can I trust Emmy? I’ve known her since I was six, but the world’s turned into a pretty suspicious place lately.

And my hesitation seems to make Emmy all the more interested.

“Oh, you have … ? Is it a girlfriend? Is that it, Josh, you hiding some secret girlfriend?”

I hold the postcards behind my back. “I’m not.”

Emmy pushes her way into the house. Now I’m starting to remember why we fell out. She always did come on a bit too strong.

“Come on, let me see.”

“They’re not from a girlfriend.”

Emmy tugs at the cards, pulls one out of my hand. She’s grinning, like she’s sure she’s on the brink of a hilarious discovery. And I can’t resist it.

Okay, Emmy, let’s see how funny you really think this is.

“‘Zombie downed’ … ?” She glances up at me with a puzzled look. “So you’ve got weird friends too.”

“They’re not from a friend,” I admit.

Then I show her the others. After all, I tell myself, Mom’s already seen them. It’s not as if this is a complete secret.

When she’s seen them all, Emmy just frowns.

“Now that’s odd,” she says, when I tell her that I don’t know who’s been sending them. “But if it’s a message—it must be in code.”

“Well, obviously,” I say, although it’s the first time it’s occurred to me. I guess I’ve been too distracted with the way the clues actually seemed to be saying something about my father’s death.

“I’d actually been wondering whether it’s a Caesar cipher,” I say, thinking back to our Latin homework. “You know, the one Julius Caesar used to write coded messages to his generals.”

Really I don’t know what I’m saying. I’m just trying to impress Emmy.

Emmy looks at the postcards again. “Caesar cipher … where D means A and E means B and stuff? Where it’s really the third letter along, or something?”

“Or something,” I agree.

Emmy scrunches up her nose. “‘Course it’s not that, kid. Those messages all look like nonsense when they’re in code. LOL and stuff like that.”

“Not ‘LOL,’” I say with a grin.

Emmy breaks into a laugh. “Not that, exactly. Cipher words never read like real words. Too many consonants. Your message has actual words—it can’t be a Caesar cipher. I bet it’s a riddle. Like in computer games.”

“Oh yeah, nonsensical riddles that bosses make up for players, for no obvious reason,” I say sardonically.

“Like that, yeah.”

“Emmy, this is my real life, not World of Warcraft. In real life people don’t waste time trying to get you to answer riddles.”

Emmy stares at me, taken aback by my ominous tone. “Josh, man, it’s just one of your relatives in Mexico joking around, right?”

I come to my senses.

What are you thinking? You can’t involve her in this.

“You’re probably right,” I agree.

“So … you really going to skip school?”

“Yeah,” I lie. “Homework to catch up on. You know how it is.”