Katherine Marsh - The Twilight Prisoner

It was just before dusk in Central Park, and Jack Perdu knew he needed to make his move. Cora Flores, a fellow sophomore and Latin scholar at the George C. Chapman High School, sat propped against a tree trunk, blowing bubbles with her gum, and filling in the New York Times crossword puzzle.

Jack sat across from Cora, his skinny frame hunched over a copy of the Metamorphoses, his favorite book of ancient Greek myths. But the shrieks of children on the swing sets distracted him from his translation, and every few minutes, he stole glimpses at Cora. Even though she always complained about being fat, Jack thought she was perfect, without the bony elbows and pinched look that so many Chapman girls had, and with a wide, open face that made him feel at ease. He could tell when she was concentrating because she would forget to pop the bubble she just blew, letting it perch on her lips. It was a habit that got her into trouble during tests at school, where chewing gum was strictly prohibited.

With a loud pop, she burst a bubble and looked up. Romantic poet who urnedspelled u-r-n-e-dfame. Five letters.

It had been Coras idea for the Latin Club to meet at the Arthur Ross Pinetum on this airless, Indian summer day. Ellen Davis, Coras best friend, sat next to her on the grass, and at a picnic table nearby, two of the boys in their class, Gene Chen and Misha Zolotov, compared Latin translations. Above them, towering pines cast shadows over the swing sets and tables and the little dirt cul de sac called Contemplation Circle.

Byron? Ellen offered.

No, said Jack, eagerly straightening up. Keats. John Keats. He wrote Ode on a Grecian Urn.

Cora scribbled down the word Keats and smiled. Thats it! Thanks, Jack.

No problem, he said. But he was secretly pleased that he could help her. Cora loved solving all sorts of puzzlesshe was not only the best Latin student in the school but a natural at math and science, too.

Hey, Ellen, said Misha, looking back over his shoulder. We need your help with this translation.

Ellen closed her book and yawned. Why dont you ask Cora or Jack?

Gene flashed a shy grin. Because we dont want the answer yet.

Okay. Another lousy Latin scholar coming your way, Ellen said as she joined the boys at their table.

For a moment, Jack and Cora were alone. As he watched her absently tuck a lock of long, brown hair behind her ear, he tried out a sentence in his head: So, want to get something to eat after were done? He felt his face turn red and looked over at the Great Lawn, the open green expanse just visible through the trees.

I think youve got a sunburn, Jack, said Cora, pointing to his face.

A sunburn? he said, stupidly.

Yeah, your cheeks are all red.

Now, he told himself. Ask her now. But instead he said, Its warm out here.

Its hot! Cora replied, fanning her face with the crossword puzzle. I cant believe its October.

The words were simple: What are you doing after this? Want to get something to eat? He opened his mouth, trying to formulate the questions.

That was a funny postcard you sent me this summer, he said instead. Over the summer, while he had been in Italy with his father on an archaeological dig, Cora had sent him postcards and letters, mostly about how bored she was in New York.

Which one?

The one asking me if I had seen any sporting events at the Colosseum in Rome. You predicted that the lions would beat the Christians clepsydra addita ad spatium mortis subitae.

Cora chuckled. Yeah, in sudden-death overtime. Pretty good, right?

Jack nodded. He looked over at Ellen, who was thankfully still arguing with Gene and Misha over their translation.

Your letters were fun, too, Cora continued. I liked the one about how...

But Jack only half-listened. Instead he thought about the one letter he had written Cora but failed to send. It revealed his greatest secrethow last year he had been hit by a car and had started seeing ghosts. He had explained to her how one of them, a girl named Euri, had led him into the underworld beneath New York and helped him find his mother, who had died when he was six. The letter was the most honest he had ever writtenexcept for one thing. He hadnt told her that he still saw ghosts. Every once in a while, always after sunset, hed notice something strangean old man reading the newspaper while floating six inches above a park bench, or a child chasing a firefly outside of his tenth-story bedroom window.

But since last spring, when he had glimpsed her in Central Park, Jack had never again spotted the one ghost he really wanted to see. He longed to find Euri and to tell her about all the ways his life had changedhe could talk to his father now and had a few friendsbut, more importantly, about all the fears and doubts that remained the same. A few times, he had visited Grand Central Terminal and tried to find his way back into the underworld, but the secret staircase that had led him into it had vanished. He sometimes worried that Euri had moved on to Elysium, the place of everlasting peace, where his mother had gone. But he consoled himself that she would have had to resolve all the problems from her life in order to do that, and it didnt seem likely that could have happened yet.

In Italy, as he sifted through shards and bones, he had finally come to terms with the fact that he might never see Euri or visit the underworld again. It was time for him to put away that chapter of his life and to try to be the ordinary kid he had imagined he would be at Chapman, with close living friends and maybe even a girlfriend. It was then that he realized there was only one girl he could imagine himself going out with. And if she read a letter like thisabout a trip to the underworld and seeing ghostsshe would think he had lost his mind. He tore up the letter and threw it away.

As Cora chatted about his other letters, Jack felt relieved that he had kept these secrets to himself. But even if she didnt think he was crazy, it was still hard to ask her out. What if she didnt really like him?What if she said no?

Jack opened his mouth, but it was too late. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ellen hurrying toward them. Hey, she said to Cora, squinting through her glasses and gesturing across the Pinetum. Isnt that Austin?

Jack stared with annoyance at the tall, spiky-haired figure walking toward them. Even though he was a junior, Austin Chapman, the great-grandson of the schools founder, was also in Jacks Latin class. Whenever Jack saw him, he seemed to have his arms around the skinny, blond girls who took French and never spoke to Jack.