The Chosen One Read online

  Earnell doesn’t want to see me fail, so he is always hard on me. He and Keli are less stubborn about asking for help. Maybe they don’t have a Mr. Walsh they are trying to prove wrong. Maybe their egos aren’t easily bruised like mine. I don’t know why, but they see our predicaments much differently than me. I’m too embarrassed to get a tutor, but Earnell and Keli have completely thrown the lid off the “do it yourself” mentality that got us here, while my pride keeps me suffering in isolation.

  “Earnell’s a straight-up fool,” Keli says, “but he’s right. This shit is not a game. I’m headed to meet my tutor now. Tryin’ to get these grades locked down. We’re not in Compton anymore. You can’t soar here without their help.”

  “But you’re from Chicago,” Earnell interjects. “And we’re”—pointing dramatically to him and me—“not from Cali either so do better with your idioms. Again, we can’t all be—”

  “Shut up, fool,” Keli responds. “You know what I meant. I gotta run. I’ll catch y’all on the flipside.” Keli sprints off, leaving me to reconsider my entire approach since I’m definitely not soaring in Matthew McConaughey’s paradise.

  “Don’t look now,” Earnell says, suddenly stiffening and blocking me with his body, “but that Christian white boy you like is walking this way. Alert, alert. Nazarene is approaching.” The good thing about a small campus is that if you stand in the middle long enough, you’ll run into everyone you know. My body freezes as Bryson Parker, a junior I met during orientation week, walks toward us. Bryce, which is what everyone calls him, is a tall, soft-spoken, curly-haired white boy with the jawline of a superhero. He’s so good-looking, I can barely meet his eyes for more than a few seconds. He’s devoutly Christian, regularly attending the Servants for Jesus prayer group, and he also participates in some of the diversity programs the college offers. “Sooner or later, he’s going to figure out you’re actually a pagan and leave you by the side of the road with the rest of us sinners,” Earnell whispers into my ear just as Bryce joins us.

  “Do you know when it was built?” Bryce asks, referring to Matthew. Earnell rolls his eyes and I respond, “No clue.”

  Bryce smiles with the radiance of a thousand suns. “Me neither. I just know it was before 1928 since that’s when it opened. Pretty cool, huh?”

  “What’s cool about that?” Earnell snarks.

  “This is my friend Earnell,” I say, before he has a chance to further interrogate Bryce.

  “I’ve heard a lot about you,” Bryce says enthusiastically while extending his hand.

  “Super rad to finally meet you.” Earnell stares at Bryce’s hand for several seconds until I smack him on the shoulder. He reluctantly reaches his arm forward and simply responds “hmph” while sizing him up and awkwardly shaking his hand.

  “So this is—”

  “The guy that does diversity stuff,” I say, cutting off Earnell before he has a chance to do more damage.

  “Hmph,” Earnell says again, unimpressed. “Can you explain to me your interest in helping negroes and other people of color? Now that’s something I’m very curious about.” I choke on my potato chips. Bryce chokes on air.

  “I know,” Earnell continues woefully, “the tension is thick when the descendants of slaves and slave owners have difficult conversations in liberal bastions of freedom such as this.” He spins around like Mary Poppins. “Well, guess I better get going. Don’t want to be late for class.”

  Bryce and I watch as Earnell sprints off, leaving us to climb the mountain of discomfort he has erected. Just like Earnell to stir the pot and then book it. I shake my head in shame.

  “He—” I start, unable to finish.

  “I—” Bryce begins, also unable to find more words.

  “Are you going to see the hypnotist tonight?” Bryce asks after several seconds of silence.

  “No, I’m not interested in mind games.”

  “It’s actually really amazing. And trust me, you won’t ever forget seeing some of your peers doing absolutely ridiculous things. One of my friends, Connor Raskins, got hypnotized our freshman year and will still cluck like a chicken if you clap your hands quickly three times. Hypnotist Jerry has been coming for fifteen years and it’s always an amazing show.”

  When I don’t respond, Bryce playfully nudges me with his elbow. His gentle touch, however slight, awakens something in me and now I’m the one smiling with the radiance of a thousand suns.

  “OK,” I reply finally. “I’ll go. What time are you getting there?”

  “’Round seven,” he says. “Cool. It’s a date.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  But it’s not actually a date. Bryce shows up with three friends, two men and one woman. All white. I can’t believe I’m stuck with him and three of his descendent-from-slave-owner (probably) friends. I find it interesting that Bryce participates in so many diversity initiatives, but I only ever see him with other white people in settings outside of the program. I want to ask him about it, but I don’t want to embarrass him like Earnell did earlier. It’s a bit strange and hypocritical, but otherwise Bryce is perfect.

  “Hi, I’m Connor,” one of Bryce’s friends says, stepping forward to introduce himself. “I run a lot of the first-year hiking trips. Bryce’s told me a little about you. Nice to finally put a face to the name. I actually think you might be on one of my upcoming trips. Unless there’s another first-year named Echo. That’d be hilarious,” he says while laughing to himself.

  I channel Earnell for a brief moment: “Why would that be funny?”

  Before he has a chance to answer, one of Bryce’s other friends suddenly claps three times and Connor starts clucking like a chicken.

  “Damnit, Brad!” Connor exclaims angrily. “Cut it out!” Connor turns to me and says, “That’s why I’m here. To get Hypnotist Jerry to reverse this. I was on a trip last year when he came, but I’m gonna corner him and force him to un-hypnotize me.”

  “And I’m gonna convince him not to,” Brad says while playfully rubbing the top of Connor’s head with his fists. Connor wiggles away while shouting, “I told you to stop doing that, man. My scalp is super fragile since part of my skull is inverted. And you know that. This isn’t kindergarten.”

  “It isn’t?” Brad snarks dismissively before clapping again, which prompts Connor to start clucking once more. “Damnit, dude!” Connor yells before charging Brad, who is buckled over in laughter. They wrestle until Bryce pulls them apart.

  These are not the kind of friends I imagined Bryce would have. Connor is a tall, lanky, brown-haired boy with such a goofy demeanor, it’s hard to take anything he says seriously. Brad is a beefy blond jock who looks like he eats protein bars for breakfast and chugs beer in dingy frat basements on the weekends. I wonder if Bryce’s third friend is his girlfriend.

  “Hi, I’m Jess,” she says softly when introducing herself. “Don’t mind them. They’re always like that.” She’s also blond and wears glasses. When we finally walk into the venue, she playfully pats Bryce on the back, as if he belongs to her. Maybe he does. I sink at the thought of it, sulking as I search for a seat.

  “What’s wrong?” Bryce asks. “You seem down all of a sudden. I know my friends are a bit much, but they’re really good people. Do you want anything? A snack or something to drink?” Bryce’s compassion lifts my malaise. I want to lose myself in his stunning light green eyes. I’ve never met someone as nice as him. A kiss is what I want to say, but I just smile and shake my head no. He rubs my back softly, like Jess did earlier, and I wonder if white people just walk around gently patting each other on the back. If that’s a thing they all do? No one ever touched me on the back in Cleveland and I definitely don’t do that with my friends here, most of whom are Black. It’s a mystery I’ll have to unravel later.

  The lights dim and a hush crawls over the audience. A man in a white lab coat walks onto the stage. I guess this must be Hypnotist Jerry.

  “For centuries, we have been trying to understand the human mind,” h
e begins speaking. “Tonight, you will witness its marvels. Remember, no one can hypnotize you if you reject it. Hypnotization is really about surrendering. So decide now if you are ready to let go.” He flings his arms dramatically above his head as he says this and looks out into the audience without speaking for at least a minute. A long, drawn-out, awkward minute. People begin to shift nervously in their seats under the weight of his intimidating stares. I remain perfectly calm, however, as I’m starting to get used to white people and their watching. I smirk knowingly while everyone else shutters.

  Hypnotist Jerry starts randomly pointing to people in the crowd and beckons them to the stage. He scans the audience with his finger, peering intensely beneath his furrowed brow, before stopping on an unsuspecting victim and motioning for them to join him. I am surprised at how willing everyone has been so far, bouncing up out of their chairs and running eagerly in his direction. Maybe he has already started his hypnotizing, I think to myself.

  “I need one more participant,” he says. “A special someone.” I settle comfortably in my seat, determined for it not to be me. I watch his finger slowly move toward us and I grow uneasy. His arm continues its journey across the auditorium, landing decisively in the middle of my forehead. Connor juts in front of me, wildly raising his hand trying to get Hypnotist Jerry’s attention, but he adjusts his finger so it is on me again. I move my head to the left and right several times, which doesn’t stop Hypnotist Jerry from following me. He doesn’t speak. He just points and stares.

  “It’s you,” Bryce whispers in my ear. “You’re the one he wants. He won’t give up. Just go up there. Promise it will be fun.”

  I begrudgingly drag myself up to the stage. Once we are all standing next to Hypnotist Jerry, he begins speaking to the audience as if we aren’t there.

  “Who you are is evident in everything you do. The way you walk and talk. How you respond to life’s challenges. Few of us know how to access the treasures buried inside. We are strangers unto ourselves, blind to the truth of what we came here to do. What a shame.” He shakes his head in disappointment. “Tonight is about digging deep… Let us begin, then.”

  Hypnotist Jerry turns his attention back to us, the scapegoats he has volunteered to be hypnotized in front of a live audience. “One of you used to love to dance. You imitated performers you saw on TV, especially Selena. She was your favorite. You were always moving until your eighth-grade dance teacher said you lacked grace and that ‘no company would hire you.’ She couldn’t see what I see. When I snap my fingers, you will show us your seven-year-old dance routine. They,” he says, pointing to the audience, “shall call you the Dancer, honoring your true purpose.”

  The audience begins to clap and chant, “Dancer! Dancer!” Hypnotist Jerry snaps and Gina, the short, dark-haired Latina woman standing next to me, begins dancing innocently like a child. Her movements are simple, sweet, and slightly uncoordinated, like she’s just learning what it’s like to have a body. “Yes,” Hypnotist Jerry growls, “that’s it. Dance for us! Remember why you came.” Gina’s dancing matures right before our eyes. Her choreography becomes sharper and more complex, until it looks like she has been dancing professionally all her life. She spins, pirouettes, and even lands a backflip. Everyone in the room erupts into applause. I am stunned. Gina takes a bow as Hypnotist Jerry moves on to the next person, whom I pray is not me.

  “One of you,” he continues, “wants to find a buried treasure. You’ve gone several times to Carson City, Nevada, with your uncle to search for missing gold. You dreamed of being an archaeologist until your father told you to pursue a ‘real’ career. Look down in front of you, Billy. History awaits. Your rightful path unfolds before you! Dig for your life and they shall call you the Explorer!”

  The audience claps and shouts, “Ex-plo-rer!” as Billy, who is standing the closest to Hypnotist Jerry, begins feverishly digging through a box of sand in front of him. “I think I got something. Look!” he shouts. “Holy shit! Ancient bones… and… and… gold. So much gold!” Billy lifts the sand with closed fists, afraid to drop his precious booty.

  “Now don’t be greedy, Billy. Share your gold!” Billy begins picking actual gold coins from the sandbox and throwing them into the audience. I am astonished. This can’t be happening. I want to run over and claw away as much of the gold as I can for myself, but I manage to stay calm in front of all these spectators. A million thoughts begin running through my head: How much is gold worth? Where can you sell it? How much is in there? Will there be some left when we finish? Frustration at missing out on all that treasure grows as I watch the audience scramble to grab the coins Billy is throwing. I stare at them with envy until I notice people peeling away gold wrappers, revealing chocolate underneath. I breathe a sigh of greedy relief.

  Hypnotist Jerry snaps his fingers and Billy stops digging. He stands, baffled, and looks out at the crowd, while everyone claps and eats chocolate in glee.

  “The greatest show on Earth,” Jerry proclaims while flinging his arms above his head again to receive the applause ringing around the room. He makes a sweeping motion with his hands and everyone stops clapping at the same time, as if on cue. I am terrified that I will be next and try to will my body to walk off the stage, but my legs won’t move. I try to scream instead, to beg Bryce and his friends to come rescue me, but my mouth won’t open. What kind of sorcery is this? I wonder fearfully to myself. And what is he going to do to me?

  “Next,” the showman continues. “We have the one who wanted to leave the planet altogether and investigate outer space, but decided on law instead to make Mommy and Daddy happy. You’re not a lawyer!” Hypnotist Jerry yells with impassioned, performative rage. “You’re the astronaut! Charles, are you ready for liftoff?” Charles shakes his head enthusiastically. “Well then, strap in, sonny boy!”

  Hypnotist Jerry pretends to be talking on a walkie-talkie. “Saturn V AS-506, this is Apollo 11 and we’re ready for launch. Here we go… three, two, one. Blastoff!” Charles braces himself as if he’s on an actual space shuttle. He grips imaginary straps while shaking from side to side as the audience cheers, “As-tro-naut!”

  “Whoa!” he says after several seconds. “It’s beautiful up here.”

  “That’s right,” Hypnotist Jerry responds. He turns to the audience with fake curiosity and asks, “Is someone approaching? Is someone coming?” Jerry’s back is toward me, Charles, and the other participants. He directs his energy into the side audience, even though he is talking to Charles.

  “They’re almost here!” Charles cries out in astonishment. “They’re coming for you!” I am shocked as Charles points at me, but I still can’t get my body to move. “They will help you defeat Darth and his army of wicked creatures.”

  “Who?!” Hypnotist Jerry demands. “Who’s coming?!”

  “The Keepers.” As soon as Charles says this, he collapses onto the stage. Billy and Gina follow suit and everyone in the audience freezes. Their bodies are stiff, but the sound of their cheers and clapping somehow continues to echo. The cloud of noise rises like mist over a bay while the spectators remain unmoving in their seats as some unseen presence laughs maniacally. I am confused and disoriented. I can’t make sense of it.

  “Do you know who you are?” Hypnotist Jerry asks from his still-turned position. I can’t see his face or mouth, but his words land on me like smart missiles programmed to find their target. “Do you know what they will call you?” he continues, whipping his head in my direction. He hurries across the stage, stopping right in front of me. His eyes are moving, spinning counterclockwise. They are portals to another dimension. I am transfixed. I feel as if I am being swallowed by a force much bigger than me. A deep peace descends and I stop trying to understand. I accept the power he has over me.

  “They will call you,” he whispers in a barely audible voice before shouting into the auditorium of unmoving people, “the Chosen One!”

  The cloud of sound shatters and the audience of frozen people erupts, j
umping up in delight. Gina, Charles, and Billy return to their feet. Hypnotist Jerry stands with his arms extended at his sides, receiving the raucous applause. He blows kisses. He theatrically places his hand over his heart and says, “No, you’re too kind.” The audience is relentless in their praise.

  “Cho-sen One!” they chant as the lights finally dim, bringing the thrilling, unbelievable performance to a close.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Another portal—iridescent and mesmerizing—appears in my dorm room the night of the show. It spins counterclockwise on the wall next to my desk, just like Hypnotist Jerry’s eyes. I stand in front of it staring for an hour—maybe longer—until a faint image begins to materialize: me, throwing up on a dinner table while everyone watches in shock. Red wine that looks like blood runs down the sides of the table. Bright flashes light up the sky outside the windows.

  I don’t know what it means. I squint my eyes, trying to see more clearly, but when I hear my roommate’s keys jingling outside the door, I quickly hang my mother’s Jesus, which she gave to me before I left home, over the portal and try to look normal. When I realize it’s my neighbor going into the room next door, I exhale with relief. I grab Manda Panda’s Polaroid camera from the bottom of her closet and snap a picture of the portal. After the picture develops, only the blank wall appears. How is this happening? I take another picture. Still no portal, but this time I see the word “He.” Not on the wall, but in the fibers of the picture, as if someone took their finger and smeared the ink.

  “This is nuts,” I say out loud to no one. “Is this some hypnotic poltergeist?” I take more pictures. Four additional words emerge before the camera begins shooting blanks again. I arrange and rearrange the pictures until a coherent sentence is formed: “He Rises, Brace for Impact.” I’m trying to figure out what it means when I hear Manda Panda’s keys, for real this time. I quickly return her camera, toss the pictures in my drawer, and hang my mother’s Jesus back over the portal. I shriek when the door swings open, hitting the wall. Manda Panda comes prancing in, as usual, like the whole world is her stage. I, on the other hand, tiptoe everywhere like an uninvited houseguest.