by M. M. Cox
I roll my eyes. Not too much to worry about there.
I have almost given up on finding anything worthwhile when I notice that Gino’s jacket is draped over the chair. Telling myself not to get too excited, I pick it up and check both pockets. Nothing. As I lay it over the chair once more, I feel defeated. I’m standing in the middle of the room, out of ideas, when I hear another set of footsteps. I know it’s Gino because I can hear him on the phone. Quickly, I start to pick up the house phone so that I appear to be making a call, but Gino doesn’t make it to the office. I can’t see him, but I know he must be only a few feet from the door.
“Tomorrow? He knows it’s dangerous for him to go there, right?” Gino says to the person on the other end. “There’s a chance someone in law enforcement could see him. They know where we meet.”
I stand motionless, my hand on the phone, ready to lift it if Gino comes into view. “Fine. Nine-thirty. Tell him to meet us in the parking lot.” Gino slams his cell phone shut, and I instinctively pick up the phone and start laughing into it.
“Reggie, that’s hilarious! I can’t believe that happened on the first day of school!” I laugh hysterically as Gino comes to stand in the office door, and I think his eyes are judging whether I heard any of his conversation. I’m desperately trying to appear that I haven’t.
“No way! That’s awesome. Wish I could have seen that!” I continue. Gino smiles and heads for the front door. I collapse in the office chair just as the busy signal begins to blare from the phone. As Gino shuts the front door, I replace the phone and immediately pick it up again. I now have all the information I need. The specifics are not clear, but I think I can fill in the blanks. It’s time to call for some help. Reggie answers after two rings. “Hello?”
“Hey, Reggie, it’s Danny.”
“Hey, Danny,” Reggie responds, without much enthusiasm. “I guess you’re going to Newcastle this year then, huh?”
“Just for a while,” I answer.
A long pause follows. I know Reggie is hurt by my leaving him alone at Ridley High our freshman year. “Look, Reggie, I wish I were there,” I lie. I do miss Reggie, but not Ridley.
“It’s just not the same here.” At least that’s the truth.
“Yeah, I’m sure it’s real tough,” Reggie shoots back sarcastically.
“I can’t help it! My parents can’t have me right now, and this is the best option, all right?”
“All right.” Reggie says, but he sounds irritated.
I choose to ignore Reggie’s hurt feelings for the moment. Instead, I start laying the groundwork for my plan. “Just because I live all the way over here doesn’t mean we can’t still hang out. In fact, I think I may have a little project we could do together.”
Reggie doesn’t say anything, but I may at least have my friend’s attention.
“Let’s just say some of your suspicions about my new family might not have been so off base,” I hint.
Fortunately, Reggie catches on immediately. “Really?” he replies, his voice excited.
“Yeah, really. And it looks like I might need your help to find out for sure.”
“Okay. What do you want me to do?” Reggie asks, his voice eager, but now a little uncertain.
“You still have that crappy excuse for a car?” I joke, but I can’t hide my jealousy. Reggie not only has a car, but because he spends part of his time in Pennsylvania with his dad, he has his driver’s license in that state, which is less restrictive than New Jersey.
“Oh, real nice, Danny,” Reggie growls. “Of course I do. But you better show my car some respect if you want a ride.”
“Yeah, somehow it’s hard to respect a beetle, even if it’s an old one,” I shoot back. “But it will work fine for what we need to do.”
“Which is what?”
I pause, not sure how much information to divulge while any Vigliottis could be in the house. “Meet me at the bus stop for Old Newcastle at nine-fifteen tomorrow night and I promise I’ll answer all your questions.”
* * * *
My accomplishments during the rest of the evening are small, at least as far as my schoolwork is concerned. I shouldn’t ignore biology, history, and English homework, but my excitement for tomorrow night’s task consumes most of my thoughts and energy. Dinner takes thirty minutes and involves probing questions from Ronnie about the first day of school. She receives answers from all three of us teenagers that I know do nothing to satisfy her avid curiosity.
Gino has dinner with the family, but he doesn’t seem overly interested in his children’s activities, although he does order all of us to get our homework done. He eats silently, with Ronnie shooting him concerned glances, which tells me that Gino is not always so silent and cranky at dinner. Gino’s face brightens when the doorbell rings. He tells Vince to answer the door, and the man who is led into the kitchen by the grouchy teenager is someone I already know.
Gino introduces Frank Moretti to the family, and I take a moment to analyze him because I saw so little of him during my accidental spying the night before. Frank is quite a bit younger than Gino, with short brown hair and light skin. He doesn’t have a strong Italian face, but his nose has the slight crookedness of one that has been broken. He is taller than Gino, probably at least six feet. Ronnie is her typical friendly self and invites Frank to sit down for some dinner, and although he seems willing, Gino quickly tells her they have somewhere to go. He strides out of the kitchen with Frank following closely behind, leaving Ronnie standing with a half-empty serving bowl in her hands and a hurt expression on her face. The rest of dinner is very, very quiet.
Later in the evening, Julia annoys me for about ten minutes when I am actually trying to do some homework in my room. She wants to interview me for an article for her journalism class, and she sits in the middle of my bed as I work at the little desk that is more ornate than functional. At this point, I decide to clarify to Julia that no one at Newcastle is to know where I grew up.
“You haven’t told anyone where I’m from, have you?” I ask her sharply. She sniffs. “Of course not. I would never tell my friends someone from Ridley was staying at my house. I told them you were from Boston.”
“Why? I don’t know anything about Boston!”
“Then I suppose you had better learn something about it. I’m sure people will be really curious,” she comments, stretching her bare feet out on my bed and wriggling her bright pink toes.
“Couldn’t you have just made a town up?” I say, poking a hole with my pen through the paper that holds the three sentences representing what needs to be a three page history essay in less than two days.
“You can’t just make up towns! People will know they’re not real. Besides, Boston is exciting!” She is sprawled across my bed, now on her back, staring at the ceiling.
“Thanks, just what I need. More problems.” I rip up my paper and vow to use Vince’s computer to write the essay instead.
“More problems?” Julia asks expectantly, raising herself up on one slender arm, her wavy hair going in every direction. I think she looks much prettier without her usual layer of makeup, but I quickly remind myself that she is a selfish girl who unquestionably has infinite ulterior motives.
“I meant ‘problems’ as in all this homework I have to do this week,” I answer and start digging through my backpack, trying to appear busy. “Anything else I can help you with?” I ask in an irritated tone.
She scowls and scoots to the edge of the bed. “No. I’ll just make up other stuff about you. At least my story will make you sound more interesting than you really are.”
Julia hops off the bed and walks to the door, before turning to me once more. “You should be nice to me, Danny. I influence a lot of people—especially girls—at Newcastle.”
She walks out the door, and I roll my eyes. I decide against doing any more homework in favor of working a little more on tomorrow night’s plan. I want to think through every detail because I hate to drag Reggie into something
dangerous without being prepared. At nine-thirty, just as I am contemplating putting a little more effort into outlining my history essay, Vince stops by and asks if I want to play a few video games.
“You finished your homework?” I ask.
“No. What do you care?” Vince replies, sounding more like an aggravated three-yearold than an eleventh grader. I shrug. I have to admit that playing a video game sounds like more fun than writing about the Louisiana Purchase, so I scramble off the bed and up to the game room with Vince. We race cars through the hilly streets of San Francisco, trying to set course records or run the other cars off the road. Usually Vince wants to play something violent, which means a lot of gore and death, but I like car racing more. If I had lots of money, one of the first things I would buy is a classic car with so much power under the hood that not even Vince’s future Camaro could keep up.
After an hour of speeding through the city, Ronnie shows up to put an end to our game. Vince fights with her, which gives me the opportunity to sneak downstairs and into my bedroom. I catch Julia opening the door to put Baxter inside.
“See, I’m here,” I say, making a mental note to figure out a way to keep Julia away from my room tomorrow night.
She says nothing and hands me the squirming dog before heading back up the stairs. I take Baxter in and set him on the bed. The dog quickly curls into a ball on the comforter and stares at me.
“I should finish my homework, shouldn’t I?” I ask. Baxter merely gazes up at me with a blank expression. “No, I can see it in your eyes, Baxter. You’re ready to go to sleep, and so am I.” With that, I change into a clean T-shirt and boxers, get under the covers, and fall asleep, wondering how I can convince Portia that I’d make a great boyfriend.
* * * *
The next day at school, I am so excited and anxious about my plan to follow Gino that I barely tune into the conversation going on between Portia and Tony. This is not a problem until Portia asks me a direct question.
“Do you think she’s pretty?” We are standing in the busy hallway next to our lockers before last period, and Portia is looking straight at me.
“Uh, I don’t know,” I answer, unsure whom Portia means. I never like this type of question because it usually means someone is trying to set me up with a girl. I especially don’t like this question coming from Portia. She is the girl I am interested in, not one of her giggling, gossipy friends.
“What do you mean, you don’t know?” She asks disbelievingly. “She either is or she isn’t, right?”
I’m immediately frustrated. Portia has so far acted differently from the other girls, which I like. Now she sounds just like them. “Why?” I ask, my guard up. She rolls her eyes. “Well, usually I wouldn’t care, but Evie thinks Julia will get the role of Juliet in the school play only because she’s pretty.”
Oh, we’re talking about Julia, I realize. I answer Portia with a shrug. “What does it matter?”
“Well, for one thing, I really love Shakespeare. And seriously, it’s like every girl’s dream to play Juliet, one of the most infamous heroines of all time!”
I put several overly large books in my locker. “Having never been a girl, I wouldn’t know. If it’s such a great role, do you think I should try out for it?” I try not to smile, but can’t resist.
Portia pushes me playfully. “You dork! They want someone pretty!”
“Well, then, you’ve definitely got the role,” I say sincerely—maybe a little too sincerely, because Portia blushes as she smiles. But, I think, she did smile. Tony, however, is not smiling. He coughs, interrupting our playful back-and-forth. “So, Danny, you never told us—where are you from?”
I stop rearranging my locker; Tony’s question catches me completely off-guard. I turn and glare at Tony, but I know the question is a fair one. Because I am new to Newcastle, the question was sure to be asked eventually. In fact, Julia has already fielded questions about where I’m from. But somehow, coming from Tony, the question sounds like an accusation. I start rearranging my locker again, hoping that Tony and Portia won’t hear the dishonesty in my voice. “Boston,” I reply, hating myself for saying it, but knowing that I must stay consistent with whatever Julia is spreading around the school.
“Boston?” Tony repeats, sounding completely unconvinced.
“Really?” Portia asks eagerly. She grips her books to her chest, her eyes shining with excitement. “That’s cool!”
Great, I think, feeling awful. This was going to be a difficult story to maintain. I’ve never been dishonest like this before.
“You don’t sound like you’re from Boston.” Tony remarks.
“Parents are from Jersey,” I say, thinking fast.
“I have relatives in Boston—they live in Cambridge. You go there much?” Tony challenges.
“No, I don’t know that area well,” I answer, thinking at least that statement is true. The bell rings at that moment, saving me from Tony’s interrogation. “I’ve got algebra, guys. I gotta go.” I walk in the other direction, wondering if I am headed the right way. Fortunately, the classroom I am looking for is just around the corner. I walk in the door and almost run into a person with an extremely familiar face.
“Hello, Mister Doonesby,” I say quietly.
Chapter 8
Mr. Doonesby obviously had no idea that I would be attending Newcastle High. He twitches as we make eye contact, then he tries to speak, chokes on his words, and quickly excuses himself from the room, his awkwardly tall, lanky body clumsily knocking over a can of pencils as he backs out the door. I knew our first meeting would be rough, but I hadn’t expected him to run away like a scared animal.
I find a desk and wait, but Mr. Doonesby does not come back immediately. Evie files into the room with several other students and quickly takes a seat next to me. She isn’t easy to ignore, but her chattiness is somewhat forgivable because she is pretty. Evie is tiny and dynamic, annoying and appealing all at the same time. I realize that personality flaws can be overpowered by good looks and charm—at least, that’s how it works in high school.
“Hi, Danny! You should have seen our teacher, Mister Doonesby. He was walking down the hall when I came in, and he looked like he had seen a ghost!”
“Really?” I reply, flipping open my book and trying to appear interested in exponents.
“Yes, really. Maybe if he’s ill, we’ll get out of class,” she says hopefully. But Evie is not destined to get her wish. Mr. Doonesby comes back to class five minutes later, his face still pale. He doesn’t make eye contact with me, but introduces himself to the rest of the class as a middle-aged mathaholic who enjoys running, grilling, and reading science fiction. And hanging out with a student’s married mother, I think sourly. Mr. Doonesby teaches the entire algebra class without once looking at me, which is impressive because I’m sitting in the middle of the classroom, burning holes into his forehead with an angry scowl. I’m somewhat surprised by my anger, because without Mr. Doonesby’s shenanigans, I wouldn’t be living the life of luxury at the Vigliotti’s place. But I’m so angry at my former principal that I almost think for a moment that Tommy’s plan to blackmail Doonesby will be fun. Then I remember that Tommy is my enemy and that Mom was the one who started the flirtation with my principal. But even these thoughts don’t help me feel much better about sitting in class with a man who separated my parents, unhappy as they were together.
At the end of class, Evie and I make our way to the door, but before I’m through it, Mr. Doonesby calls me over. “Can I see you for a minute?” he asks. I nod and wave to Evie, who glances curiously at me and reluctantly exits the room, leaving me alone with the demoted principal.
“Danny,” Mr. Doonesby starts, but then coughs to clear his throat. He pauses and stares at me, his eyes almost as bloodshot as Mom’s had been when she visited me at the Vigliotti’s.
“Danny, I’m—I’m sorry.”
I shrug. “Whatever. You don’t have to apologize to me.” I start to turn away, but Mr. Doone
sby catches my arm. I barely hold back the urge to wrench it away.
“Yes, yes, I do,” Mr. Doonesby says, his voice growing a little stronger. “What I did was terrible. I shouldn’t have—I shouldn’t have interfered in your life.”
I am steaming. “Interfered? With my life? How about my mom’s life? She’s miserable right now! And it’s all because of you!”
“Really? You mean, she’s miserable without me?” Doonesby asks expectantly. Now I do jerk my arm away. “Leave me alone! Don’t talk to me, and don’t you dare talk to my mom!” I stalk out of the classroom, not turning around once. I can’t take another word from him, or I might just finish what Dad started.
