by Deb Loughead
Cory called after school to find out why I’d been away since Tuesday. I told him about my strep throat, then started asking a few questions.
“So why did you do it?” I said. “Why did you go to the paper, anyway?”
“You read the article, didn’t you?” Cory said. “I couldn’t take it anymore. I told you how lousy I felt. I called the paper to tell them my side of the story the evening after we talked.”
“Right after I was in there,” I said. “I guess I should thank you for doing that. But I’m in deep crap now. Everyone’s mad at me here.”
“Me too,” Cory said. “I’m totally grounded. I won’t be able to go out with you on Friday night. Nice photo of you and your mom and grandma in the paper, by the way. I heard you got your Christmas tree for free.”
“Yeah, for setting a good example that I didn’t even set,” I told him. “Maybe I should pay the Scouts back for that tree.”
“Maybe you should. Go for it, Dylan,” Cory said before he hung up.
Should I? The more I thought about it, the better it sounded. I needed to make amends for what I’d done. I needed to prove that I wasn’t the complete jerk that that everyone thought I was.
I had a bit of money saved up from doing odd jobs. Sometimes after a big snowfall I wandered through the streets with my shovel, asking people if they wanted me to dig out their driveways and walkways. And during the past summer I’d helped out at the marina. True, I’d spent a lot of my cash on video games and junk food, but I’d managed to save a bit.
When I counted it up, there was eighty-five bucks stuffed in a sock in my drawer. I had planned to buy Christmas gifts with that money—an extra pair of reading glasses and some new sock yarn for Gran and a book and some bath stuff for Mom. I crammed the money into my wallet, headed for the door and started yanking on my winter gear.
“Where do you think you’re going,” Gran said, glancing up from her knitting.
“Out for a while,” I told her. “I’ll be back in time for dinner.”
I slammed out the door before she could try to stop me.
Chapter Twelve
It was another snow-globe night. Snowflakes were falling thick and fast and sticking to everything. The temperature had risen a few degrees since last weekend’s deep freeze. This was perfect snowball-making snow. I actually shuddered just thinking about it.
My first stop was the Boy Scout Christmas tree lot. With just over a week until Christmas, their tree supply was pretty low. Two Scout dads were standing around laughing and talking and stomping their feet to keep warm. When they saw me coming, though, they stopped talking and stared.
“I can’t believe he’d show up here,” one of them said loud enough that I could hear.
“Maybe he’s looking for another free tree,” the other one said, and then they both snickered. I felt like turning around and running, but I didn’t.
“No, I’m here to pay for the one you gave us,” I said. Then I dug my wallet out and handed over fifty bucks. “Keep the change. Put it toward the Scouts,” I added before I spun around and walked away.
“Thanks,” they both said in surprised voices. But I didn’t look back.
My next stop was the drugstore. I went straight to the snack and candy aisle looking for the right gift. There were boxes of chocolates and truffles decorated with Christmas wrap, but I picked out something else. It was a snack mix in a wheel-shaped tray, with nuts, chocolate raisins and gumdrops. It was tied up with curly red and green ribbon. I bought it and headed back out into the snow.
I knew exactly where Monica lived, one street up from the lake. I’d passed her house often in the summer on my way to the marina. I tramped along through the snow, but slowed down as I got closer. Should I? Maybe this was a huge mistake. What if they slammed the door in my face?
I stopped under a streetlight, trying to decide what to do next. I gazed upward at the dizzy spinning flakes. They stuck to my eyelashes and soaked my face, and gave me the crazy sensation that I was falling backward in space. I brushed them away with my sleeve, took a deep breath and headed straight for Monica’s place.
Their tidy gray house was all lit up for Christmas, with a wreath on the door, a tree in the front window and electric candles in the other windows. It looked amazing, all warm and glowing on the snowy night. I dragged my feet up the walkway to the front door. Then I knocked.
Monica’s mother answered. Her cheek was still bruised from the accident, and the cut had scabbed over. Her face fell when she saw me.
“Oh, it’s you,” she said.
“Yeah, it’s me,” I said. “I think we need to talk.”
Mrs. Buckley frowned. “You sure about this?” she said.
I nodded, and she held the door open. “Well, come on in then, but stomp that snow off your feet first.” I stomped and stepped inside, and came face-to-face with Monica, who was standing in the hallway.
She didn’t look thrilled. “What are you doing?” she said. “I asked you not to come here.” She sidled up to her mom and slipped a protective arm around her waist.
“It’s okay, hon,” Mrs. Buckley said, patting Monica’s arm. “I invited Dylan inside. He wants to talk.”
I stepped out of my boots, but didn’t take my coat off. Then I stood in the hallway, holding the bag out and feeling totally awkward.
“What’s this?” Mrs. Buckley said as she took it from me.
“It’s a peace offering,” I told her. “It comes with an apology and an explanation. But only if you’re interested in hearing it.”
“I think we’d better sit down,” she said and led me into the living room.
Monica and her mom sat on the sofa. I couldn’t even look at them. I sat on the edge of an armchair, my hands in tight fists on my lap. I stared at my knees. Under that lousy orange jacket, I was sweating like mad.
“Relax, Dylan,” Mrs. Buckley said. “So what did you want to tell me?”
And then I started talking. I explained what had happened that night, how scared I was when her car crashed. I told them how sorry I was for the trouble I’d caused, how sorry I was that they had to find out the truth from that article in the newspaper. Then I ran out of words and stared at my hands.
There was silence in that room for a few moments. I felt totally sick inside.
“I can’t believe you did this,” Monica’s mom finally said.
“I can’t believe I did it either,” I said, practically choking on the words. But when I looked up, expecting fury on her face, I realized that she was smiling.
“No, I mean this, Dylan. Coming here tonight with a gift to apologize to me. It was just such a sweet thing to do.”
“It was?” I said.
“Yeah, it was,” she said. “And I really appreciate it. Look, the boys and their dad are at hockey tonight. I’ve got a big pot of chili on the stove for later. Why don’t you stay for dinner and we can talk some more?”
“Really?” I said.
“Really,” she said, grinning. Then she opened the bag and pulled out the gift. “Mmm. This looks yummy. I can use it for the party on Saturday night. You’re coming, aren’t you? With your mom and grandma? Monica told me she invited you.”
“Um…,” I said. “I’m not sure.” I looked over at Monica. She was staring at me with a strange look in her chocolate-brownie eyes. Then she stood up and walked straight out of the room.
“Monica?” her mom said.
I was on my feet in an instant. “Maybe I’d better go,” I told her, then made a beeline for the front door.
Before I could haul my boots on and make a run for it though, Monica was back, holding out a pair of skates.
“Why don’t you try these on, see if they fit, Dylan,” she said. “Maybe you can wear them Saturday night.”
“Set them down by the door, Monica,” Mrs. Buckley said. “He can take them when he leaves. You’d better call home though, Dylan. Let them know you’re staying for dinner.”
I blinked. I grinned.
I took my jacket off.
Chapter Thirteen
When I walked out of Monica’s house a couple of hours later with her brother’s skates, I felt totally awesome. I felt like running through the streets yelling about how happy I was. I was ready to talk to my mom now. I figured I was ready for anything.
On the way through town I stopped off at Stedman’s to do my Christmas shopping. I found a discount yarn bin and chose some thick blue stuff that Gran could probably knit into a scarf. What did I know about yarn anyway? I didn’t have enough to buy reading glasses too, so we’d all have to watch where we were sitting. Then I found a discount book bin and picked out a couple of novels with interesting covers for my mom. She’d have to wait until Mother’s Day for her bath oil. I left the store with less than two bucks in my pocket. Time to start saving again.
The one thing I wasn’t ready for that evening was meeting Garrett and Matt. And that’s exactly what happened when I was nearly home. They came charging out of a side street, laughing their faces off, and practically knocked me over.
“Dillweed!” Garrett said. “What’s going on? Want to come and shoot some pool over at Matt’s? Because, this week, Thursday night’s the new Friday night. No school tomorrow! Yee-haw!”
“Nope,” I told them. “I’ve got to get home. I was just out doing some shopping.” I held up my bag to show them.
“Whatever,” Garrett said. “Come on. Let’s get moving, Matt! Didn’t you say your dad’s making pizzas tonight?” He churned through the snow and left me standing there beside Matt.
“You sure you don’t want to come?” Matt said as he started walking backward.
He had no clue how badly I wanted to go.
“No thanks, Matt,” I said.
Matt shrugged and turned and walked away. I had to force myself not to follow him. Then he stopped again and looked back at me. “Hey, I meant to thank you for not ratting on me and Garrett. I’d probably get grounded for life if my dad found out.”
This time I shrugged.
“Okay, see ya.” Matt crossed the road and disappeared into the snowy darkness, and I headed for home.
Before I could take even a couple of steps, I heard the sound of a dog barking not far off. Then I saw it coming along the street Matt and Garrett had just come charging from themselves. Someone had it on a leash, and it was pulling like crazy and barking its shaggy, scary head off.
When they stopped under a streetlight, I realized that Sergeant Nicole Vance was on the other end of the leash. The next thing I knew, Prince was leading her right up to my feet.
“Nice night for a walk,” I said when they reached me.
“Dylan?” Nicole looked shocked. “Are you kidding me? It wasn’t you again, was it?”
“What are you talking about? What wasn’t me?” I said, frowning.
“Whoever rolled a huge snowball out into the middle of the road for Bud Wilkins to hit with his pickup truck about ten minutes ago,” she said. She stared me down with suspicion in her eyes. “He’s okay, but this crap has got to stop. Why did Prince lead me straight to you, Dylan?”
I sighed. “Because I was just talking to them, Nicole,” I said. I pointed in the direction that Matt and Garrett had taken a minute ago.
“Thanks,” she said. “I owe you one, Dylan.”
Prince had picked up the scent again and was straining at his leash to cross the road. “They were there last Friday night too, weren’t they?” Nicole asked. “I figured someone else had been with you and Cory. But you were afraid to tell me, right?”
I just looked at her and shrugged.
“So Prince is a tracking dog too?” I asked her.
“He’s trained for everything,” she said. She flicked me a wave and took off with the dog. I couldn’t even imagine what would happen when Nicole and Prince showed up at Matt’s door in a few minutes and busted them. His dad was going to be so disappointed in him. And I knew exactly what that felt like.
Gran watched me the whole time I was taking off my coat and boots. She pretended to be knitting, but I saw her looking over the top of her glasses. I knew she was dying to find out about my dinner at the Buckleys’ place.
“Hey, Gran,” I said.
“Hi, Dylan! Did you have a good time tonight?” She smiled brightly, waiting for my answer.
“Sure did,” I told her. I left the skates by the door, then zipped into my room to hide my presents under the bed before she could begin the interrogation.
I decided to stay in my room. I relaxed on my bed listening to my favorite punk cd. I wanted to wait till Mom got home before I started talking. Since it was a Thursday night and after eight o’clock, that would be soon.
When I heard the door slam a little while later, I sat up on the side of my bed. Then I sucked in a deep breath and headed for the living room. Mom was already stretched out on the sofa after a long day of standing behind the bar. She looked over at me and blinked slowly, and I knew it was time.
“Mom, Gran, there’s some stuff we need to talk about,” I said.
“Darn right, Dylan,” Mom said, sitting up and patting the seat beside her. “Nicole dropped into the bar just as I was leaving. And she told me a very interesting story.”
Before I had a chance to even open my mouth, Mom started telling Gran about everything that had happened over the past week. Mom knew all the details, because Matt had blabbed everything the instant Nicole and Prince showed up at his front door.
Gran sat there with her knitting needles in midair, gaping at Mom, then me, and then back at Mom again. “Well, now I’ve heard everything,” she said, shaking her head.
“Not everything yet,” Mom said. “I also heard that Dylan went to the Boy Scout lot and paid for that Christmas tree today.”
No secrets in this town, ever!
“He did? Isn’t that something,” Gran said, reaching out and ruffling my hair. “Like I’ve been telling everyone, Dylan, deep down you really are a good kid.”
“Guess I made a major mistake in judgment,” I admitted.
“We all do that sometimes, Dylan,” Mom said. She wrapped her arms around me and squeezed.
“Okay, so you already know everything,” I said, squeezing her back. “But did you know that we’re all invited to a party at Monica’s place Saturday night?”
“Nope,” Mom said. “But I heard you had dinner there tonight.”
“What? Who told you that? Are there spies in this town, or what?”
Mom nudged me and laughed. “Gran called me at the bar after you phoned her. Bet you had a nice time there. Sarah Buckley is great. She and her husband have dinner at Rocky’s sometimes. So what’s this about a party, anyway?”
“It’s a skating and caroling party,” I told them. “Monica even loaned me a pair of her brother’s hockey skates.” Thinking about how stupid I’d look on the ice made me cringe.
“I’m not sure I can skate anymore,” Gran said, looking worried. “But I’m pretty sure I can still sing okay. I think I’ll bake some icebox cookies for the party.”
“Those are my faves! That would be great, Gran.” Then I looked over at Mom. “Do you think you can get off work that night, Mom? So we can all go?”
“I’ve already booked it off,” Mom said, looking mysterious. “I’m supposed to go out with Brent that night, you know. We kind of have a date.”
“You do? Okay, so do you think maybe he’d like to come along too?” I couldn’t believe I was even saying that.
“Wow! How can you say that when you haven’t even met him yet, Dylan?” Mom asked, wide-eyed.
“Because I trust your judgment, Mom.”
“Well, guess what?” Mom grinned. “Brent can’t skate. In fact, I was going to take him over to the rink Saturday night to help him learn. I’ll probably have to hold him up the whole time.”
Perfect!
“Know what, Mom?” I told her. “I think I’m starting to like this guy already.”
Deb Loughead is the author of twenty b
ooks for children and young adults. She has written extensively for the educational market, and is the co-editor of Cleavage: Breakaway Fiction for Real Girls (Sumach Press, 2008). Her first horse-themed novel, Northwood Trails, has been published in seven languages. This is Deb’s second novel for the Currents series. She lives in Toronto, Ontario.
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