Chapter 4: The Notebooks

"There's a legend in Bayridge," Silver whispers while Ambiguous-English-teacher's back is turned.

"Do tell," I reply, not looking up from my notebook. It's probably something stupid, like a girl who died on campus and now haunts it forever. How spooky.

"Not here," he looks around, lowering his voice. Secrecy? Now that's interesting, "Meet me for lunch?"

"Sure," I agree, "Where?"

"My dorm," he instructs, "Hall C, room 34."

"Gotcha,"I nod. The teacher turns to give me a confused shrug of her shoulders. Crap. At least it doesn't look like I'm talking to no one.

"By the way," I change the subject, "You never told me your name. I've been calling you Silver this whole time."

"I like Silver, Silver's good," he decrees.

"Don't you have a real name?" I question.

“Silver sounds real enough.” He doesn’t elaborate.

“Okay, well what brings you to Bayridge?” I ask.

“I’m on a mission.”

“Like a work assignment? I thought those ended in the summer.”

“Not this one. It’s going to take quite a while.”

His brisk steps bring us to the cafeteria in a matter of minutes, then his dorm. His cryptic commentary slowly transforms into the myth.

"So," he begins, shoving a forkful of cheese enchilada in his mouth, "The legend."

"The legend," I repeat. He keeps me in suspense until he's finished his enchilada and he's half way through his tomato soup.

"You know Bayridge's worst failure, right?" he clicks off the lights, grabs a flashlight, and shines it under his chin.

"Here we go," I roll my eyes.

"We have the highest suicide rate of any school in The States," he starts, "And every suicide student is remembered. There's notebooks, about eighteen, full of stories about kids who lost their lives to a battle in their heads. Nobody knows where the notebooks are now, but every time someone is thinking of offing themselves, they find the newest notebook. Occasionally old ones, but not usually."

"This is true?" I know my eyes must be saucers by now, but I don't care. If there are notebooks, or even one, there'll be generations of stories to read. This school’s been around since the old government, since BLI was nothing more than a shipping company.

"No idea," he flicks the lights back on, "But I've been looking. Everywhere. I want to be the first to find all eighteen."

"Wait,"I stand up, "You're not. . ."

"Suicidal?" he completes the sentence I left hanging, "That's a good question. I'll tell you when I figure out."

"Hey, don't worry," he laughs, seeing my blank stare, "I'm kidding."

I sit back down, but not without my suspicions. Silver seems a little too eager to find these to just want the history.

"Just be careful,” I warn.

"I'm fine, kid," he soothes. “It’s just a stupid legend. One we’re going to disprove.”

"The notebooks," I straighten up, "How do you find them?"

"That's the best part, no one knows," he reaches for the flashlight again, then thinks better of it," But I guess we'll find out, eh?" he changes his voice back to normal. It didn't sound creepy, just like an bizarre.

"Alright," he glances down at his wristwatch, "It's time for 6th period. Shall we? We might find a notebook just lying around."

"Yeah right," I smile. We're back to joking; this I’m comfortable with, "You couldn't find one of the notebooks if slapped you in the face.

You think you’re funny?" he punches my shoulder and splits off to his classroom. My sixth is regional resources, which means I can sit in the back talking to Fortune while everyone else learns what I’ve been hearing for years.

"You seem pretty happy," she announces, sprawling out on the linoleum. One perk of being not-quite-real is that she gets away with anything.

"Yeah," I tell her, "We've got a mission."