This time I knew he wouldn’t be the one to start things off. When a thought came into my mind, I almost left it there. But I was curious, and the curiosity spread to my tongue. There in the darkness, it was easier for curiosity to take over.
“Did they speak English?” I found myself asking Aidan, although I made it sound like I was asking the air.
“What?” he asked back, even though it was pretty obvious what I meant.
“In Aveinieu. Did they speak English? That’s what I’ve never understood about most books where people from our world go into a fantasy world. All of the creatures in the fantasy world speak English. That seems too convenient.”
Was I asking this to make fun of his story? Was I asking in order to catch him in a lie, to make him explain things until he contradicted himself and proved himself to be a liar? Or was I simply curious about how it all had worked for him, back in Aveinieu? There’s no clear motive, except for this: Sometimes we ask questions because we hope the answers will tell us why we asked the question in the first place.
He could’ve blown me off. He could’ve told me to shut up. Maybe because we were in the dark, maybe because we weren’t looking at each other, he did something else instead.
He told me more of the story, and made it sound like the truth.
“The Aveinieu didn’t speak English, or any other language someone from our world would know. But I wasn’t the only person from our world there. There was this older woman, Cordelia, who’d lived there since she was my age. So for fifty years or so. And she’d learned how to talk to them. She was the one who found me, and she became my translator. She tried to explain it all to me.”
“How long were you there?”
“I don’t know. Their days and nights aren’t like ours. But probably a month?”
“And did you live with Cordelia?”
“Yeah. She took a lot of us in. The ones from our world.”
“How many of you were there?”
“Seven or eight.”
“Which one—seven or eight?”
“What is this, a quiz? Forget I said anything, okay? Forget all of it.”
“Come on! Tell me more.”
“Why? So you can tell Mom and Dad?”
“I won’t tell anyone.”
“You better not. Especially at school tomorrow. Do you understand?”
I imagined the reaction I’d get if I tried to explain to my friends what Aidan said had happened.
“Do you really think I’d tell anyone?”
“All I’m saying is, you better not. Now stop asking me questions. I need to go to bed.”
I should have left it there. But I wasn’t sure I’d ever get him to talk again. So I said, “Can I ask one last question?”
“What?”
“Why did you come back?”
For a while I didn’t think he was going to answer. Then, right before I fell asleep, I heard him say, “It wasn’t my choice.”
18
Normally, Aidan and I took the bus to school. I’d assumed that was how we were going to get there on the first day back. But instead, Mom and Dad informed us over breakfast that they’d both be taking us to school—and coming in with us, to meet with the principal and the guidance counselor.
“That’s not embarrassing or anything,” Aidan mumbled.
“If you were worried about being embarrassed, you should’ve thought twice before you—” Dad started. But he couldn’t—wouldn’t—finish the sentence. It was like he didn’t want to mention the possibility of Aveinieu out loud.
None of us finished the sentence for him.
I guess we didn’t want to talk about it either.
* * *
—
“My teachers, the principal, the guidance counselor—you haven’t told any of them what happened, have you?” Aidan asked on the way over.
Both of our parents looked at him in the rearview.
“No,” Mom said. “And nobody’s supposed to ask. They’re supposed to leave you alone.”
Aidan looked relieved. But I thought: Who wants to be alone?
* * *
—
Principal Kahler was grinning like a military general who’d just won a battle. As if to balance him out, Mr. Lemon, our guidance counselor, looked like he was trapped on an icy lake and the temperature was starting to rise into the nineties.
“We had an assembly yesterday,” the principal told Aidan, “and in addition to celebrating your return, we also warned the student body that our no-tolerance policy extends to anyone who doesn’t respect your privacy in this difficult time. No one is to put you on the spot, make you feel uncomfortable, or treat you any differently than they would have treated you if you’d been in school this past week. And, frankly, that applies to the teachers as well as the students. If anything happens, you have permission to come straight to me or Mr. Lemon. In return we expect you to resume your studies and continue to be a valued member of our middle school community. Does that sound like a good deal to you?”
“Yes,” Aidan replied. Principal Kahler was, I thought, being really nice, but Aidan still looked like he was getting detention.
“You and I will get to talk fifth period,” Mr. Lemon added. “I’ve already arranged it with Ms. Simon.”
I could see that Aidan wanted to groan out, “Oh, great.” But he held it in.
“That’s very generous of you,” Mom said. As if it wasn’t Mr. Lemon’s job.
The first bell rang. Principal Kahler stood up to shake our hands.
“Let’s see how this goes,” he said.
* * *
—
Glenn was waiting for Aidan outside the main office. Mom and Dad looked happy to see him. Aidan looked embarrassed.
“Heya,” Glenn said.
“What’s up?” Aidan said back.
“Not much.” Glenn smiled. “You?”
Aidan shrugged. “Not much.”
“Cool.”
“Cool.”
Then they walked off without giving the rest of us another look.
This left me with Mom and Dad.