Yours Truly

by Heather Vogel Frederick

  “What’s happening?” I asked.

  “Something’s shaking the camera,” said Calhoun.

  The final few seconds of the video were a confusing blur of tree branches and dark sky and what looked like fingers and a lot of hair—or was it fur? Mackenzie gave a little shriek and Lauren and I both jumped, startled, as a set of very sharp teeth loomed large, and the hairy something snarled ferociously before the screen went blank.

  “Did that . . . that thing just try and eat the camera?” I asked. “What the heck was it?”

  Scooter shook his head. “Beats me. Calhoun and Lucas and I have watched it about a zillion times, trying to figure it out. Those teeth are huge.”

  “I think it’s a wolf,” said Lucas.

  “Are there wolves in Pumpkin Falls?” Mackenzie looked genuinely freaked out.

  Scooter grinned. “Don’t listen to Lucas. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

  “Could it be a bear?” I asked. I vaguely remembered Gramps telling Hatcher and Danny and me something about bears once.

  “It’s possible,” said Calhoun. “There are black bears in New Hampshire.”

  “I think it’s Sasquatch,” Lauren announced, and five heads swiveled in her direction as we all turned and stared at her. “You know, Bigfoot?”

  “There is no such thing as Bigfoot,” I scoffed. “You read too much.”

  She scowled at me. “Nobody knows for sure. It might be for real—people have taken pictures and stuff.”

  “Those are fake.”

  She shrugged. “What if they’re not?”

  My friends and I looked at one another. I thought of those fingers and sharp teeth we’d just seen on the video, and my skin prickled.

  But there was no such thing as Bigfoot, right?

  CHAPTER 19

  “So what do we do now?” Lucas asked.

  “Reset the camera and try again, I guess,” said Scooter reluctantly. I could tell that Lauren’s theory had gotten to him, too. “What else can we do?”

  “No way am I going back out there, not if this place is crawling with bears and Bigfoot.” Mackenzie crossed her arms over her chest. “Y’all are nuts to even think about it.”

  “I’ll go,” offered Calhoun.

  If he thought he was going to impress my cousin by volunteering, he was wrong. She just looked at him like he’d lost his mind.

  “It’s not like it’s dark out or anything,” Calhoun told her. “It’s broad daylight.”

  My cell phone rang just then. “It’s Aunt True. I’ve gotta take this.”

  “Truly?” my aunt said when I answered. “We have a situation here, and I could use your help. Your dad’s at physical therapy, and I tried your mother but she didn’t answer.”

  “I think she’s over at Belinda’s,” I told her. “She probably can’t hear her phone over all that meowing.”

  Aunt True didn’t laugh at my joke, which was a lame one, admittedly, but still. She usually laughed at my jokes. “Could you come down here and help cover the cash register for a bit?”

  “Sure. Is everything okay?”

  “Uh, yeah. Mostly. Sort of. We’re getting set up for tonight’s Maple Madness Bake-Off finals, and we seem to have hit a, uh, road block.”

  That didn’t sound good.

  “I’ll be right there.” I hung up and turned to my cousin. “Something’s going on at the bookshop,” I told her. “I need to go.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  “Me too,” Scooter said quickly.

  “Dude, you need to come with me,” Calhoun protested. “You’re the one who knows how the camera works, after all.”

  Scooter didn’t look too enthusiastic about that idea. Wait a minute, I thought, watching him. Was Scooter scared? Not that I blamed him—I wasn’t eager to go back to Freeman Farm, either, after seeing that video—but this was a very un-Scooter-like reaction. Especially in front of Mackenzie.

  “The sooner we get this thing fixed, the sooner we can figure out who the thief is,” Calhoun reasoned. “Lucas, we’ll need your help too.”

  Lucas looked about as thrilled as Scooter did to hear this.

  Scooter sighed. “Fine.” His gaze drifted over to to my cousin. “We’ll meet you guys at the bookstore afterward, okay?”

  The three of them left, and Lauren and Mackenzie and I closed up the studio, then got our jackets and headed downtown.

  Lovejoy’s Books was in an uproar.

  “What the heck is going on?” my cousin asked.

  “I have absolutely no idea,” I replied.

  A tourist bus was parked outside, and its occupants were milling around inside the bookshop, craning their necks to try and see the cause of the commotion in the Annex. My cousin and my sister and I made our way back to where Aunt True was standing helplessly by the Bake-Off table.

  “My Maple Snickerdoodles will not be sitting next to her Maple Banana Bread,” we could hear someone insisting. It was Augustus Wilde, looking mad enough to spit, squared off against Mrs. Mahoney from the antiques store next door. Our celebrity author swept by in a blur of purple, grabbing his plate of cookies from one end of the table and marching it down to the other.

  In a flash, plates of goodies started whizzing back and forth along the long table as the Bake-Off contestants separated back into the two camps. My father hadn’t solved the problem at all—Pumpkin Falls was still feuding, and with or without signs on the table, the dividing line was Team Freeman and Team Maynard.

  Bud Jefferson shouldered his way through the crowd just then holding a platter labeled BUD’S BODACIOUS MAPLE WALNUT MUFFINS. Spotting Lucas’s mother at the far end of the table, where all the Freeman family supporters had gathered their baked goods, he stopped in his tracks. Mrs. Winthrop was hovering protectively over a plate of Maple Caramel Popcorn. She watched Mr. Jefferson hesitate, then slowly head for the opposite end of the table to join Team Maynard. Her face fell. Uh-oh, I thought, glancing from one of them to the other. So much for winding wool together. Was their budding romance doomed?

  There was a crash as a plate fell to the floor. Aunt True leapt forward. “People, please!” she cried. Catching sight of me, she mouthed a single word: “Help!”

  “This is unreal,” said Mackenzie. I could tell she was preparing to launch into her radio announcer voice and offer a commentary on small-town living.

  “Don’t,” I snapped. “Not now.”

  One good thing about being six feet tall—people tend to get out of your way. I elbowed my way through the crowd like Moses parting the Red Sea, and a moment later I was at my aunt’s side.

  “We need to get this under control, and fast,” she whispered frantically, making a dive for a platter of Maple Oat Scones teetering on the edge of the table. “Rusty’s in class, and I still haven’t been able to get ahold of your mother. See if you can reach Mr. Henry, maybe. Or Reverend Quinn. Somebody—anybody!”

  I nodded. As she returned to her refereeing, I grabbed Lauren by the shoulders. “Go. Library. Now. Get Mr. Henry and bring him back here on the double.”

  I turned to Mackenzie. “Keep trying my mother. Tell her it’s an emergency. I’ll . . .”

  My voice trailed off as the bell over the door jangled and Ella Bellow swept in. Oh no! I thought. Ella was the last thing we needed at a time like this.

  “Have you no decency?” she cried as I elbowed my way back through the crowd toward her. “I can hear the ruckus from across the street—you’re driving my customers away!”

  And right into our bookshop, I thought. That was the real reason for Ella’s outrage. The last thing we needed right now was her interference.

  “Sorry, Mrs. Bellow.” I tried to sound contrite. “We’re dealing with the Hatfields and the McCoys again.”

  “I don’t care if the lost heir to the Romanov throne is making a personal appearance!” she barreled on. “You people need to take control of the situation.” Her mouth pruned up indignantly.

  “Unless we
can calm everybody down, none of us will have any customers today,” I pointed out.

  That got her attention. Ella’s eyes narrowed as she considered her options. Stepping gingerly onto a nearby armchair—my aunt had comfy reading nooks set up all around the bookshop—she braced herself against a bookshelf and cupped her hands around her mouth. “Attention, everyone!” she announced. “This is neutral territory, remember? If this doesn’t stop, we’re going to have to cancel the Maple Madness Bake-Off finals tonight!”

  The angry buzz died down as the crowd looked over at her.

  “Well, if it isn’t our own Ella Bellow, bellowing orders,” said Augustus snidely. “Who put you in charge?”

  I wanted to smack him over the head with his plate of Maple Snickerdoodles. If Belinda were here right now, she’d make mincemeat out of her “gentleman caller,” who wasn’t being much of a gentleman, if you asked me, which nobody ever did.

  As Ella climbed down from her perch and marched over to deal with Augustus, the bell over the door jangled again, and Calhoun, Scooter, and Lucas rushed in.

  “We did it!” panted Scooter. “The video camera is up and running again!”

  Mackenzie glanced around to see if anyone was listening. They weren’t—the tourists were still completely transfixed by the squabble in the Annex. “Any sign of Bigfoot?” she whispered to my classmates.

  “You should have seen the huge footprints out there!” said Lucas, his eyes wide.

  “They could have been Mr. Freeman’s,” Calhoun noted cautiously.

  “But it was probably Bigfoot,” boasted Scooter.

  Mackenzie shivered. “I think y’all are incredibly brave.”

  Scooter preened, and Lucas puffed out his skinny chest too. “Yeah, it was probably Bigfoot,” he echoed.

  I looked at my classmates. Could this really be true? Was Bigfoot on the loose here in Pumpkin Falls?

  Behind us, the bell over the door jangled again, and this time Mr. Henry came in. Lauren was right behind him. Spotting the boys, she made a beeline for us. Mr. Henry headed directly to the back of the store, meanwhile, where Ella was wrangling with Augustus Wilde and my beleaguered aunt was trying to convince the owner of the Suds ’n Duds, who was Coach Maynard’s brother-in-law, to put his pan of Maple Gingerbread beside Mrs. Freeman’s Maple Fudge.

  “Did you find signs of Bigfoot?” my sister asked breathlessly.

  Scooter gave her a solemn nod. “It’s almost a hundred percent certain.”

  I glanced over at Calhoun, who was fiddling with the zipper of his jacket. I wanted to hear what he had to say, but before I could ask, Mackenzie put her hand on his arm and whispered something in his ear. He smiled down at her, and she laughed her perky little laugh.

  I turned away. As usual, I might as well be invisible.

  CHAPTER 20

  I stared in the mirror, turning my head from one side to the other. I frowned. I was almost positive that I looked the same as I always had—same brown eyes, same freckles, same stick-straight Lovejoy brown hair. I didn’t have the Lovejoy proboscis, as far as I could tell, and I had a nice enough smile. So why was it that I seemed to be in complete stealth mode these days, at least as far as boys were concerned?

  Since when had I started worrying about boys, anyway?

  Since Calhoun, of course.

  I told myself to quit stewing about it. I told myself I didn’t really care, and that it was silly to wish that things were different. Wishing wouldn’t shrink my size-ten-and-a-half feet. Wishing wouldn’t make me petite, or blond, or perky. Wishing wouldn’t turn me into Mackenzie. I was stuck just being me, Truly.

  Down the hall, I could hear laughter coming from Lauren’s room. My cousin and my sisters were playing with Nibbles, Lauren’s hamster. A series of crashes told me that his little plastic hamster ball was currently rocketing around her room. Closing my bathroom door behind me, I crossed the hall to my bedroom and flopped facedown on my bed.

  I hated feeling so out of sorts, and I hated feeling jealous of Mackenzie. I could tell she was puzzled and hurt by the way I was acting. I wanted things to go back to the way they’d always been between us, but I didn’t see how they could.

  I buried my head under my pillow. This whole thing was just a big tangled mess. An even worse mess than the stupid pathetic socks I was trying—and failing miserably—to knit.

  There was a soft knock at my door. I lifted the edge of my pillow and peeked out to see my mother standing in the doorway.

  “Is everything okay?” She came over and sat down on the edge of my bed beside me.

  To my horror, I burst into tears. “I don’t know, Mom!” I sobbed. “One minute I’m fine, and the next I’m—”

  “Thirteen?” My mother laughed softly. “Oh, honey, I remember only too well being your age!” She leaned down and put her cheek next to mine. “It’s not easy being a teenager,” she murmured. “Give yourself some time to adjust. There are physical changes, of course—”

  “Yeah, Mom, I know all about that,” I said hastily. The one thing I did not need right now was a lecture on Your Changing Body and You!

  “—and emotional changes too. It’s all part of growing up.” She hesitated, then added, “Are things okay between you and Mackenzie? Y’all seem a little . . . I don’t know, tense.”

  I lifted a shoulder, too ashamed and embarrassed to admit what I’d been thinking. “Yeah, we’re good.” I was quiet for a moment, then added in a low voice, “Mom, do you think I’m pretty?”

  She laughed. “Pretty? Sweetheart, I think you’re beautiful, inside and out!”

  I scowled. “You’re just saying that because you’re my mother.”

  “I am not!” She ruffled my hair. “Cross my heart and hope to fly. Why, just the other day at the bookshop your aunt True was saying how pretty you are! Ella was there, and she agreed too.”

  Ella Bellow thinks I’m pretty? Great. Not exactly the target audience I was shooting for.

  My mother stood up. “Pull yourself together and come keep me company in the kitchen. Professor Rusty’s bringing his research assistant to dinner tonight, and I’m making Tex-Mex.”

  “Chicken enchiladas?” I sat up. Chicken enchiladas were one of my mother’s specialties. My mouth watered just hearing the words.

  She nodded, passing me a tissue. “Now, dry your eyes and blow your nose.”

  I did as she told me. Downstairs, I set the dining room table for eleven, then settled in at the kitchen counter to help prepare the enchilada toppings.

  “You’ve been reading about the Underground Railroad for your term paper, right?” I asked.

  My mother nodded. “Uh-huh.”

  “So have you ever heard of a place called Maple Grove, Maine?”

  “Not that I can remember. Why?”

  I told her what we’d read in Truly’s diary, about the “packages” being shipped to Maple Grove.

  “Interesting. You should ask Professor Rusty tonight at dinner. He’s an expert.” She gave me a sidelong glance. “This diary is getting under your skin, isn’t it?”

  I nodded. “Yeah, I guess. It’s just that reading it makes it all feel so real, you know?”

  The door behind us burst open. My mother didn’t even wait for my brothers to greet us. She just pointed her spatula toward the ceiling. “Upstairs! Shower! Now!”

  Hatcher and Danny grinned and loped off.

  “Whew, those boys get stinky.” My mother wrinkled her nose and waved her spatula in front of her face as if to clear the air, and I laughed.

  A few minutes later the back door opened again. It was my father this time. He crossed the kitchen and gave my mother a kiss. “Mmmm,” he said, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind and resting his chin on top of her head. “Could that be chicken enchiladas I smell?”

  “Might could,” she replied.

  “What’s the occasion?”

  “Dinner guests.” She explained about Professor Rusty and his research assistant.


  “So is it okay if I keep the Terminator on, or should I accessorize with Ken?” My father raised his prosthetic arm. We called it “the Terminator” because it was made of black titanium and polymer, and it was super high-tech. He controlled it with electrical impulses from his brain, and it had a wrist that swiveled like a real one and metal fingers that could grasp even the smallest things. Ken was made of flesh-colored silicone and looked more like a real arm, but Dad said it was useless. He named it Ken after Barbie’s boyfriend, because even though it was good-looking, all it did was hang around.

  My mother tapped his prosthesis lightly with her spatula. “I think the Terminator is just fine. Very macho and handsome.”

  Dad laughed and kissed her again. “Glad to know it has the Dinah Lovejoy Seal of Approval.”

  I’m relieved my father can joke about these kinds of things now. For a long time after Black Monday, we were really worried about him. But he was adjusting to the loss of his arm, just like he was adjusting to life in Pumpkin Falls.

  Hatcher materialized, his hair still wet from the shower. He’d changed into jeans and a clean T-shirt.

  “You smell almost as good as my chicken enchiladas,” my mother said, sniffing him appreciatively.

  My brother grinned. “Operative word being ‘almost.’ Nothing smells as good as your chicken enchiladas.”

  “A charmer, just like your father,” she replied, mirroring his sunflower smile back at him.

  The doorbell rang.

  “Would you kids get that?” she said to my brother and me. “It must be True and Rusty.”

  It was. Hatcher took everyone’s coats as they came inside, and Professor Rusty introduced the girl he’d brought with him.

  “This is Felicia Grunewald, my research assistant.”

  “Nice to meet you,” I murmured, trying not to stare at her hair. It was braided into twin coils that perched on her ears like a pair of blond cinnamon buns.

  “Looks like someone raided Captain Romance’s closet,” Hatcher whispered as the cinnamon buns and their owner followed my aunt down the hall to the kitchen. My brother held up Felicia’s navy blue cape, and I stifled a giggle. He was right—it looked exactly like something Augustus Wilde would wear.