by Pam Withers
“Poor Caitlin,” I mutter.
“Poor Mrs. Dubin,” Mom says at the same time.
Chapter Seven
“Hey, Caitlin, how do I spell adrenaline?” I’m two years older, but she’s sometimes better at spelling. And she needs a distraction from her glum mood this morning.
“Dunno,” comes my sister’s flat voice. She’s lying on the living room sofa. Mom’s gone to work already. Caitlin’s supposed to clean the house before we head for school. I’ve already done my chores.
“Don’t know or don’t care?” I ask. “You’re not still moping about the school play, are you? You were great. So what if you didn’t get to finish? Everyone saw how awesome you were.”
“It’s not that.”
“They said all Mrs. Dubin did was faint. Wasn’t a heart attack or anything,” I say. “You never liked her anyway. Now she’s off school for a week. So what’s the big deal?”
“You didn’t see her face.”
“I’ve never seen anyone’s face right before they fainted. But get over it already, Caitlin. I need your help writing the bungee-jump website.”
She turns toward me with a sour face. “Why do we need a website?”
“To get customers, duh.”
“Adrenaline has an e at the end.”
“Thanks.”
Caitlin looks over my shoulder at the screen. “Why would including a history of Hospital Island help bring people?” she asks.
I sigh. “It’s interesting, Caitlin. There are bungee jumps all over the world. But how many are on a historic island?”
“Historic or haunted? Some of the kids at school say there are really ghosts there.”
“You and I know that’s baloney. Anyway, it’s not going to stop anyone from coming. This is the most exciting thing that has happened to our town in years. All the kids can hardly wait. Are you going to help me or not?”
She shrugs. “Do you think I could get leprosy from touching those copper bracelets?”
“Huh?”
“If they belonged to the leper children from the hospital.” She’s looking at me with pleading eyes. Sometimes I forget she’s only eleven.
“Caitlin, first of all, tons of people have explored that island since the hospital shut down. So the bracelets could’ve been anyone’s.”
She waits. I lift my bowl of cereal to my mouth and drain it. “And second, leprosy isn’t as contagious as people think.”
“Says who?”
“The experts I quoted in my school paper.”
“But the doctor got it.”
“You can only get it if they sneeze on you or something. Doctors back then didn’t have rubber gloves. Or masks to breathe through like today.”
She lifts her wrists and studies them like she’s looking for leprosy sores. “I just know they belonged to the children.”
“How?”
“The look on Mrs. Dubin’s face that night. And the numbers on each bracelet. Those bracelets were their identity tags, Chris. That’s what I think now.”
“You think too much. You can’t catch leprosy from old copper bracelets. Trust me.”
“Gord says we could get it from the doctor’s tools. That’s why we’re not supposed to touch anything if we find a rusty old box.”
“Gord’s an engineer, not a doctor. Speaking of Gord, I’d better get up to the bridge before school. Have to see how things are going. Promise you’ll read this over so I can post it when I get back? Then I’ll walk with you to school.”
“I don’t need you to walk with me. Hey, you’re going to post it without Gord’s permission?”
I glare at her. “Dad approved it. Gord’s in charge of building the jump, not advertising it. And I’m the boss. Dad said so.”
“Yeah right,” she says, rolling her eyes. She picks up the broom and starts sweeping the kitchen.
Gord’s not on the half-installed catwalk. I decide to crawl on the pipe beneath it to inspect his latest work. The first few sections of the walk are in place. They look awesome. Rivets, check. Bolts, check.
I run my hand over a brand-new weld. Someday, I’m going to build bridges. Suspension bridges, Bailey bridges, all kinds of bridges. Maybe even bridges with bungee-jump platforms. I’m going to be a great engineer.
My fingertips pass over a joint I can’t see. It’s behind a steel piece of the trestle. I pause. And I pass my fingers over it again.
Prickles run down my neck. Something’s not right. I grip two steel plates for support. Then I twist my body around to see behind them. Sure enough, there’s a hairline crack, a tiny gap in the weld.
What do I do? Ask Gord? Or—wait, I have a better idea! I pull my cell phone out and drape my body in an even crazier position. I aim the phone behind the weld and snap a photo. Oops! I nearly tumble off trying to get the phone back into my pocket.
“Christopher Bigg!” Gord calls from above me on the catwalk. “What are you doing down there? I swear you’re going to fall one of these days. Then everyone will blame me, eh? Your interest in engineering is getting crazy dangerous, kid. Just ’cause your father isn’t here doesn’t mean you can—”
I catapult myself up to the catwalk. “Sorry, Gord, gotta run. But hey, check out the website today!” And I sprint away toward the peninsula side. I want to get to school early so I can talk to Mr. Roth.
“It’s dubious,” Mr. Roth says, studying my cell-phone shot. “You’re on to something, Chris. You don’t want shoddy work on something as important as a bungee-jump platform. Lives are at stake.”
“What do I do?”
“Call city hall. Ask for an inspector.”
“Will that cost money?”
“No. The permit your dad took out covers that. Also, have your dad confront him. This engineer is working for you guys, after all.” He shakes his head. “Seems strange someone with those qualifications would make such a big mistake. But good for you, Chris, for being so sharp.”
We’re interrupted by my cell phone buzzing.
“Sorry, Mr. Roth.” I turn away and put the phone to my ear. “Hey, Gord. What’s up?”
“You put stuff about leprosy on the bungee-jump site!”
“Yeah, it’s part of the history of the island. So?”
“Chris, you’re going to have snoops and looters crawling all over the island, not coming for jumping. And I’m living there!”
“Sorry, Gord, if you don’t like what I put on the website. Dad said it was great.”
I push end call as he starts shouting at me. It’s rude, but what’s with him? It really isn’t any of his business. Why get so upset about a little history?
Anyway, it’s time to call an inspector. And order Gord to redo that weld.
Chapter Eight
“School picnic day!” Caitlin says in a singsongy voice, skipping beside me on the way to school.
“Yup. Who’d have thought they’d choose Hospital Island for our spring picnic?” I ask. “But it’s good. It’s a chance for us to remind them about the bungee-jump opening next week.”
Someone at city hall arranged for the inspector after I called. Gord redid the weld on the hairline crack without complaining, and everything’s good on the bridge.
“Bungee-jump opening!” Caitlin sings in her annoying voice.
“I wonder why Mrs. Dubin didn’t volunteer to come on the picnic as a chaperone,” Caitlin says.
“Yeah, well, she didn’t need to rage about it to the principal,” I reply. “She’s really got a thing about no one visiting that place.”
“You mean about not disturbing history,” Caitlin sings.
“She’s a grump,” I say. “She chewed me out about my website. Like it’s any of her business.”
“Well, you got some of the history from her.”
“So what? It’s our property. And our website.”
Caitlin makes a face, wags a finger and lowers her voice to imitate the librarian. “You wrote things people don’t need to know! Plus, it’s not respect
ful enough.”
“I thought she’d like that I included history in it.”
“Chris! Caitlin!” Mr. Roth appears. “Hey, everyone, the Biggs are here! Everyone’s got their picnic lunch, right?”
“Yes!” the kids shout, lifting water bottles and knapsacks and such.
“Do we get to go on the bungee rope today?” Tom asks.
“Next week,” I respond, drawing myself up proudly. “But you can see it from the picnic place.”
A bunch of parents who’ve volunteered to take us on their boats are waiting for us at the dock. There are six boats in all, enough to take all the sixth-, seventh- and eighth-graders of our tiny school.
“I want to go on the Thompsons’ cruiser!”
“Please, can I go on the Smiths’ runabout?”
“We get the dinghy!”
“That rowboat’s only going to take four!”
“Do we have to wear lifejackets?”
“Hey, stop pushing!”
“Chris,” Tom calls out. “Come in our boat!”
“Thanks!” I climb into Tom’s parents’ eight-passenger ketch and smile at his dad, who’s operating it. Mr. Roth and half a dozen kids clamber aboard too. Including Caitlin, Bella and Anya.
On the way across the channel, an eagle flies overhead. Everyone points and starts talking at the same time. Soon we come within view of the pipe bridge. A couple of kids get so excited, they lean over the railings.
“Stand back and settle down!” Tom’s dad orders, and they do.
“It’s like shiny new!” Tom exclaims. He hasn’t seen the pipe since he and I snuck up and crawled along it months ago. His parents grounded him when they found out.
“It’s so high,” says Bella with big, frightened eyes.
“Is that diving-board thing where we jump from?” Anya asks, pointing to the newly installed platform.
“Of course,” Caitlin tells her.
“What if you land in the water?” a tall girl from my grade asks.
“You can’t, because the rope stops you before then,” I say.
The boat slows, and Mr. Roth leans over the side.
“Craven, good morning. How are you? Catch anything this morning?”
“How could I catch anything with you bunch stirring up the water?” Craven grumbles.
“We’re on our annual school picnic,” Mr. Roth replies, his voice cheerful. “Join us if you like.”
Craven looks confused. “Not on Thorn Island,” he rasps.
“Yes, on Hospital Island,” Mr. Roth replies, nodding at Tom’s dad to carry on to shore. “The Biggs have generously given us permission.”
Craven rises in his boat, causing it to rock. “Don’t you go there!” he roars.
The younger students cower. The others look from Craven to Mr. Roth to Caitlin and me.
“Don’t worry,” Mr. Roth says in a polite tone. “We won’t disturb anything. And we won’t leave any garbage behind. Right, kids? See you later, Craven. Have a good day!”
The boats beach. Kids jump out and run to shore like soldiers on D-Day. They ignore Craven’s protests.
“He’s not having a very good day, is he?” Mr. Roth says to me, smiling reassuringly. “But we’re going to have a super picnic anyway.”
The adults keep the kids from wandering into the ruins. Probably just as well, since Craven beaches his boat and keeps watch from the shore. We spread blankets on a rise, and someone pulls out a Frisbee. We toss that around and play some games. Someone points out a family of otters in the water.
“Time to eat!” Mr. Roth finally announces. We pull out our bags of food.
I wander off to eat with my friends. We skip flat stones into the water.
Owooo. A weird voice floats over the picnic area.
“What’s that?” Tom asks.
“A kid pretending to be a ghost,” I say, ignoring the younger students’ scared faces and searching for the source of the sound.
“Mr. Roth,” Anya calls out just then. She’s standing over us, holding a half-eaten sandwich that smells like tuna. Her face looks pale to me.
“Yes, Anya?”
“I don’t feel so good.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Anya. Would you like—”
She bolts away for some bushes. She sprays them with vomit.
“Gross!” Tom exclaims. Other kids cover their mouths, giggle or stare at the poor girl.
“Oh-oh,” Mr. Roth says as he and a mom-volunteer hustle over to Anya.
A boat with two adults and Anya leaves early. The rest of the kids try to play Frisbee again, but no one seems into it.
“Anya has leprosy,” I hear someone whisper.
I leap up to challenge them. I notice a bunch of kids stampeding for the boats. Not Tom or any of my friends, of course. And the kids leaving seem more excited than scared, like they’re thrilled by the drama. But I don’t like the way they look back at Caitlin and me.
No way. They don’t really think… That is the stupidest rumor anyone could start. But it’s not like anyone asks me. And just like that, the annual school picnic is over.
Chapter Nine
“A couple of kids are saying it’s your fault that Anya got sick,” Tom warns me over lunch the following Monday. “And three other kids are home sick today. I know it’s stupid. And all of our crowd is sticking up for you. But you should know that everyone is saying you shouldn’t have invited the school to a contaminated site.”
“It’s not a contaminated site!” I say louder than necessary. “Anya’s mom even called my mom to say it was the mayonnaise in her sandwich.”
“Yeah right. Trying to cover it all up?” says Bella, seated down the table from Tom. “And that island is haunted too. Something was wailing during the picnic.”
I shake my head, wanting to laugh, except it’s not funny. “You fell for some kid sneaking away and trying to scare us?” I ask. “And there are always a few kids absent for being sick. Anyway, it can take months or years for leprosy to show up—”
Oops, dumb thing to say. Now even my friends are looking at each other like they’ve got something new to get worried-excited about.
“Leprosy is where your arms and legs fall off!” someone declares as they walk by.
“And you die,” says a younger student.
“No one will go anywhere near you.”
“There’s no cure,” someone adds.
“Not true!” I protest. “There is a cure. Has been since 1982.”
It seems like everyone has an opinion. Things get loud.
That’s when Mr. Roth appears. He must have heard some of the comments. He walks over. He rests his hand on my shoulder.
“Need some scientific clarification here?” He eyes the students at my table and beyond.
I hunch over and stare at my lunch bag.
“Teacher’s pet,” someone hisses.
Mr. Roth removes his hand and narrows his eyes. “There will be a special assembly later this morning to address some rumors we understand are going around. Don’t miss it,” he warns. His stern eyes rest on each student.
Just what I need, a spotlight on the whole thing. Oh well. Whatever it takes to put things right before the bungee-jump opening.
I’m headed for the assembly when a hand reaches out from nowhere. It closes around my wrist. It yanks me through a doorway.
Okay, not any doorway. Into the school library. I’ve never seen Mrs. Dubin look so fierce. She points to a chair. She all but pushes me into it.
“You asked for this,” she begins.
“For what?” I ask. What will she do if I bolt? I’m not scared of an old lady, am I?
She puts her face right up to mine. So close that I can see two hairs growing out of a mole on her cheek.
“You woke them up. I warned you, over and over. That island is theirs, no matter what you think. When someone troubles them, they make trouble.”
Troubles, trouble. Wow, that’s almost poetic. What other crap is going to come out of
her mouth before I dash to the assembly? I’m going to get in trouble if I don’t attend. That’s for sure.
“They didn’t like our picnic. Is that it?” I ask. “And they made that girl throw up?”
She picks up a ruler from her desk. For a moment I think she’s going to hit me with it. Instead, she taps it on a row of dictionaries. Tap, tap, tap.
“They’ve earned their right to peace, Christopher Bigg. Peace, quiet and respect. Your website messed with that. Your picnic upset them. And the bridge project is really stressing them. Imagine what that stupid ride you’re working on will do.” The ruler slams down on the desk so hard that I jump.
“It’s not a stupid ride. It’s a bungee—” Oh, what’s the use? I’m half tempted to say that the jump won’t even take kids onto Hospital Island. The platform simply straddles our peninsula and their—I mean, the island.
I could ask, “Do they tell you all this?” Or, “Who do you think you are, a ghost interpreter?” But I’m not in the mood to go head-to-head with Mrs. Dubin.
My mind flashes back to the picnic. Mr. Roth was polite and respectful to Craven.
“I appreciate the historical information you helped me find, Mrs. Dubin,” I say.
The librarian drops the ruler. Her eyebrows shoot upward for a second.
“I’m sorry if you felt I put too much information on the website,” I continue. “And I am very sorry the leper children suffered all those years ago. But the bungee jump is going to open. So stop threatening me.”
With that I leap up and sprint for the door and some fresh air. Air to evaporate the sweat pouring from my armpits.
In the gym, Mr. Roth is giving a lecture on leprosy. It’s almost as good as my report. The principal stands to one side of him. Anya and her mother are on the other side, looking sheepish.
Everyone turns and stares at me. I step through the doorway and head for where Tom and my friends are sitting. I spot Caitlin. Her arms are wrapped around herself like she’s cold. Her eyes lock on mine. A smile of relief plays across her face.
“So, as I’ve explained, it’s impossible to get leprosy from visiting Hospital Island. And there has been a cure for this historical disease for a long time. That’s thanks to the work of scientists. Finally, as Anya’s mother has so kindly explained, her daughter’s brief illness had nothing to do with the picnic’s location.”
