Ben Y and the Ghost in the Machine Read online

  Also by K.A. Holt:

  Rhyme Schemer

  House Arrest

  Knockout

  Redwood and Ponytail

  The Kids Under the Stairs

  BenBee and the Teacher Griefer

  This book is dedicated to you.

  I see you.

  I’m proud of you.

  I love you.

  A very special thanks to Em Brewington and Alejandra Oliva, whose insightful, educational, and thoughtful readings were intrinsic to the creation of this book.

  Copyright © 2021 by K.A. Holt.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data available.

  ISBN 978-1-4521-8321-3 (hc)

  ISBN 978-1-7972-0100-9 (epub, mobi)

  Design by Jennifer Tolo Pierce.

  Typeset in Fedra Mono, Cultura New, Air, GFY Ralston, FG Alex, FG Joe, and Karmatic Arcade.

  Illustrations by K.A. Holt.

  Hand-lettering by Isaac Roy.

  Chronicle Books LLC

  680 Second Street

  San Francisco, California 94107

  Chronicle Books—we see things differently. Become part of our community at www.chroniclekids.com.

  Contents

  WHO

  WHAT

  WHY

  About the Author

  BEFORE

  SB10BEN: heyyyyyy! you found it!

  0BenwhY: sign in the public n00b beta server, pop a fairy, fly to the 2nd rainforest

  0BenwhY: go 2 teleporter in the tree that looks like Mom’s hair when it’s raining—

  0BenwhY: that’s an epic journey to meet u at an abandoned n00b cabin, bro

  SB10BEN: Remember the code I gave you? Type it in on the little sign right here.

  0BenwhY: did i do it right?

  0BenwhY: whoaaaa. what IS this place?

  SB10BEN: My secret in-game lab!

  SB10BEN: so I can test out new potions and tools and experimental stuff

  SB10BEN: Technically not allowed at work, but I hate the sterile Q&A environment

  0BenwhY: blerg blahb grown-up talk

  0BenwhY: ooooh! what’s this? A skylight TO SPACE?

  0BenwhY: is that flying fire? ahh! watch out!

  0BenwhY: is that chicken inside out? Gross!

  SB10BEN: See? that’s why I built this place! Invent, mess up, test stuff my bosses might not like

  SB10BEN: And maybe one day I can leak things to the public to prove it’s still *my* company (and to prove my bosses wrong)

  0BenwhY: Benicio! why would u do that? Won’t u get fired?

  SB10BEN: Not if it stays a secret

  0BenwhY: but I thought u said nothing online can ever stay a secret

  SB10BEN: what! you *listened* to something I said!

  SB10BEN: it’s true; you have to always believe that anything you put online could be seen by anyone

  SB10BEN: but this is a little different.

  0BenwhY: how?

  SB10BEN: no one is looking for it. and if no one is looking for it, no one can find it.

  0BenwhY:

  SB10BEN: Just trust me, okay.

  SB10BEN: No one is getting in trouble.

  0BenwhY: and no one can get fired?

  SB10BEN: Don’t worry about any of that.

  SB10BEN: Just worry about all the zillions of cool new ideas and inventions we’re about to, uh . . .

  0BenwhY: think of and invent?

  0BenwhY: and did you just say WE????????

  SB10BEN: Ha. Yes!

  SB10BEN: You don’t think like everyone else, kiddo. You have a unique brain.

  SB10BEN: I’d love your help. Will you help me?

  0BenwhY: ooooh what’s this squishy thing?

  SB10BEN: not sure yet. it might end up being building material that can float.

  0BenwhY: you should call it starstone!

  SB10BEN: love it. See? That’s why I need your help.

  0BenwhY: It’ll just be you and me? Inventing secret stuff? Hanging out in chat? No one else?

  SB10BEN: Just you and me. Inventing secret stuff. Hanging out in chat. No one else.

  NOW

  0BenwhY: I know you’re not here

  0BenwhY: I know the blocks won’t build themselves

  0BenwhY: I know the cool potions won’t invent themselves

  0BenwhY: I know you’re not coming back

  0BenwhY: but you said you’d be back

  0BenwhY: and you ALWAYS do what you say

  0BenwhY: so maybe you will come back

  0BenwhY: even though I know it’s impossible

  0BenwhY: . . .

  0BenwhY: but . . . we MADE the impossible, remember? Right here!

  0BenwhY: You always said that. Sandbox makes the impossible possible.

  0BenwhY: And since you always do what you say, I think the transitive property means—

  0BenwhY: Boom, you could show up any second.

  0BenwhY: that’s just easy math.

  0BenwhY: . . .

  0BenwhY: . . .

  0BenwhY: you know what’s not easy?

  0BenwhY: when i log into our chat, even though i know better

  0BenwhY: and when I read the archive you kept *so we never lose any good ideas*

  0BenwhY: when I just watch the cursor blink

  0BenwhY: hoping one day

  0BenwhY: you’ll appear

  0BenwhY: you’ll say this has all been a very very very long bad dream

  0BenwhY: . . .

  0BenwhY: I should stop doing this. That’s what you should *really* say.

  0BenwhY: get a life, Benny.

  0BenwhY: stop torturing yourself, Benny.

  0BenwhY: go outside and get some fresh air, Benny.

  0BenwhY: but you can’t say that

  0BenwhY: ghosts can’t talk

  WHO

  HOME

  Everything was great

  until it wasn’t.

  It was all planned out

  until it wasn’t.

  I had control

  until I didn’t.

  I had HAIR

  until I didn’t.

  Esme,

  a living bird chirp,

  a goof made of snorts,

  a tiny human,

  an annoying hiccup

  burping in my face

  every day

  all the time,

  Esme,

  my little sister,

  says:

  Don’t worry.

  People love scarecrows.

  Slowly,

  gently,

  she reaches out,

  like she would

  to pet a newborn kitten

  or a scared puppy.

  It’s so weird and gross.

  I just want to touch it.

  Esme,

  a living bird chirp,

  a goof made of snorts,

  a tiny human,

  my little sister,

  is about to get smacked.

  It’s cool and weird that you think people love scarecrows, Esme, even though I think you are probably definitely wrong about that. I also think maybe for your own safety you should only say words like weird or gross in your own head and not out loud because Ben Y will definitely yank your arm right off if you get any closer to her and she’s a LOT taller than I am so I’m not much help protecting you which I probably wouldn’t try to do anyway because my loyalty is with your sister. Sorry.

  I glare at Jordan.

  NOT sorry, I mean. I am not sorry to not protect you if your sister tries to beat you up with the arm she just yanked off your body.
>
  I lunge toward Esme,

  but stop

  when I feel a flutter,

  like a falling whisper

  float past

  my cheek.

  I’m sensing a lot of feelings right now and that’s fine and okay because we all have big feelings when big things happen, and—

  Jordan,

  who is MY friend

  (not Esme’s)

  and who has

  (very recently)

  had a couple of sessions

  with Mo,

  who is a therapist

  (and not an extra mom or a teacher)

  seems to

  (all of a sudden)

  know a LOT

  about feelings

  and how to feel them.

  Maybe Esme should stand over here out of smacking reach and maybe Ben Y, you should stay where you are by the sink because your hair doesn’t seem to be finished disintegrating and it should probably do that over the sink unless you want to move to the bathtub for easier cleanup? Esme, NO, get over here by me. Just touch all the hair on the floor. There’s more of it than on Ben Y’s head anyway—

  Jordan is NOT

  the boss of me.

  No one is the boss of me.

  No one ever has been.

  No one ever will be.

  But Jordan IS my friend,

  and I haven’t had a lot of friends,

  so he gets a special pass,

  which means his words

  are allowed into my brain

  and not immediately shut out,

  like most words

  I don’t want to hear

  from most people

  I don’t want to listen to.

  Mistake number one:

  putting Esme in charge

  of the timer.

  No. Wait.

  Mistake number one:

  putting Jordan in charge

  of the bleach.

  No. Wait.

  Mistake number one:

  putting myself in charge

  of thinking

  anything

  could be done

  to make me

  seem interesting

  to anyone.

  It’s just that—

  and this is the

  actual,

  for real

  truth . . .

  I’ve never,

  not one time,

  ever

  met a kid

  or seen a kid

  as cool

  as Ace,

  the new kid,

  with the who-cares

  cosplay look,

  with a different wig

  every day,

  pink

  or

  blue

  or

  any color

  of the rainbow.

  And when weasel-nosed

  Vice Principal

  Mr. Mann

  yells, Ace!

  DRESS CODE!

  Take that thing off!

  Ace takes that thing off

  and underneath

  has hair

  the exact same color,

  hahaha,

  like a magic trick,

  like a big ol’ fart noise

  right in the direction

  of Mr. Mann’s

  sniffing

  weasel nose,

  and I just . . .

  I don’t even dare

  to want to be that cool,

  I just want to be

  on the same planet

  as cool like that.

  And all of THAT

  is why it seemed smart

  to light a flare

  and send it into the sky,

  a message that said,

  Hey! Ace! Notice me!

  So I thought I might try

  my own cosplay approach,

  I might color my own hair

  in some bright color

  or even a whole rainbow

  surrounding my face

  and Ace would finally see me

  and be like,

  Wow, who are you supposed to be?

  And I would say,

  Oh, no one you’ve ever heard of,

  and we’d both laugh and laugh,

  and then I didn’t think past that,

  even though I was thinking

  A LOT

  about how our conversation might go

  while the bleach dissolved,

  while the shiny black

  was sacrificed

  to be reborn

  as a rainbow.

  And I got lost in my thoughts

  and Esme pushed OFF

  on the timer without telling anyone

  and Jordan was busy figuring out

  if he could fit the whole rainbow

  on my head

  or if one or two colors

  might pack more punch,

  and so all that was going on

  when I was like,

  Ow.

  And Jordan was like,

  Huh?

  And I was like,

  Ow ow ow OW,

  get it off, get it off!

  And Jordan was like,

  Is it time already?

  And Esme was like,

  Oh, was that what the timer was for?

  And Jordan was like,

  WHAT.

  And I was like,

  MY HEAD IS ABOUT TO MELT GET OUT OF THE WAY.

  And as I bowed my head

  into the sink . . .

  And as I prayed for my head

  to stay unmelted . . .

  And as I rinsed the bleach

  out of my hair . . .

  I wondered if maybe

  there was a less painful way

  to get Ace to notice me.

  But, yeah.

  Too late for THAT idea.

  Half an hour later,

  when my hair was dry

  and splintering off

  in straw-colored clumps,

  covering the bathroom floor

  like a hayloft,

  I realized there would be no way

  for Ace

  to NOT notice me now.

  There would be no way

  for anyone

  to STOP noticing me now,

  because it was becoming

  very apparent

  very quickly

  that my cosplay plan

  had dissolved

  just like my hair.

  What if you shave the rest of your head to even things out, and then when anyone asks, just say you had a super-great cosplay idea and that you decided to fully commit to being Avatar: The Last Hairbender?

  Dang it!

  Jordan always makes me laugh

  even when I’d rather be crying.

  We laugh and laugh

  and laugh and laugh

  and Jordan gets out the clippers,

  the ones I haven’t seen

  since Benicio lived here,

  and he smooths out my head,

  and then rubs it for luck,

  and that’s when I stop laughing

  and start crying

  and confess to him

  I might not be able to stop.

  This may or may not be the best time to tell you this,

  my best friend

  talking jackhammer

  saving grace

  warm light of Never Quiet

  says,

  because you seem pretty mindfragile right now, which is totally fine and understandable—

  I make a note

  to add

  mindfragile

  to the list I’m keeping

  of Jordan’s made-up,

  but super-smart

  words.

  —but I think your mom is home.

  Oh, mija.

  I am too tired to deal with this.

  That’s what Mom said

  after her eyes

  almost popped right out

  of her h
ead

  but then just as quickly

  closed tight,

  shutting out the sight

  of my bald head

  and the giant mess.

  A big splattering sneeze

  loud enough

  for the whole neighborhood

  and maybe the whole planet

  to hear,

  exploded

  from behind

  the shower curtain.

  Hello, Jordan,

  Mom said,

  eyes still closed.

  Hi, Ms. Ybarra,

  Jordan said,

  still behind

  the shower curtain,

  as if it could

  somehow

  still hide him.

  Mom’s eyes opened,

  but quickly closed again

  as she shook her head

  and walked out

  toward the kitchen.

  Clean it up, mija,

  she yelled as she walked.

  Then, a pause:

  Do you need a ride home, Jordan?

  No, ma’am.

  Jordan’s shout echoed

  from the bathtub,

  hollow.

  Jordan stepped out of the tub,

  faced me,

  and said,

  Yep. I was right. Your mom is home.

  I slugged him,

  soft,

  in the shoulder,

  and we laughed

  stifled, snorting, giggles

  as we shut the door,

  and he called his mom

  to come get him,

  fast.

  We cleaned up.

  Jordan went home.

  Everything seemed quiet.

  So.

  I tiptoed

  into the kitchen,

  and here I am,

  fixing myself dinner,

  a bowl of the finest

  knock-off cereal

  anyone could wish for.

  Did you at least do your homework?

  Mom appears silently,

  like a ghost,

  but not like the ghost

  I’d like to see.

  She leans her head back,