by Rob Buyea
“Yes,” I mumbled.
“I’ve been making up all kinds of stories in my head trying to explain why you’d do that.”
“I’m sorry,” I said again.
“Randi, best friends don’t keep secrets like that from each other.”
I hugged him. It was a quick one, but I was so relieved to hear him call us best friends.
“So how was the camp?” he asked.
“Amazing.” I told him all about the girls, the coaches, the practices, and the food, but I didn’t mention Kyle. That was a secret I needed to keep for now.
“That sounds awesome.”
“It was,” I agreed.
“Well—”
“Gav, what’s going on with football?”
“What do you mean? Football’s good.”
“No, it isn’t. I was at last night’s game. You didn’t get in until you guys were way ahead, and you were playing tight end, not quarterback. What’s going on?”
He looked down. “Coach Holmes hates me.”
“What? Why?”
He shrugged. “There’s too much to explain,” he said. “Season’s almost over anyway, so it doesn’t matter.”
Gav was wishing away the thing he’d been wishing for all his life, and it made my heart ache for him. I didn’t know what to say, so I stepped closer and hugged him again. This wasn’t a quick one but a hug packed with feelings. When I felt him squeeze back, it made everything around us okay again.
“We really need to get Mrs. Woods and Mrs. Magenta to do this,” I whispered.
“We will,” Gav said, letting go. “Kurtsman’s on it.”
I chuckled. “And Trevor, too. Have you noticed her acting weird around him?”
“Kurtsman? You’re crazy. C’mon. Let’s go inside.”
I wasn’t crazy. Maybe I’d noticed it because I was having similar feelings about someone else. “I need to use the bathroom first. I’ll meet you in there.”
I headed for the locker rooms with an extra bounce in my step. I felt better now that we’d broken our silence, though I still wondered what Gav wasn’t telling me. Guess he had his secrets, too. We’d get to that other stuff later, I told myself—maybe when destiny said so.
I walked past the boys’ locker room door and down the hall to the girls’. It was dark because the overhead lights had blown.
I didn’t take long to pee because I wanted to get back to the dance. I’d told Natalie I’d make it fast. I washed and dried my hands and was just coming out of the locker room when the boys’ door banged open. Two guys jumped out, laughing their heads off. They had their backs to me, and I could barely see their outlines in the dim light. One shoved his friend, and they laughed harder. They weren’t fighting, just carrying on the way stupid boys do.
“That was awesome!” the first one said.
“You think he’s okay, right?” the second one asked.
I stopped. I heard worry in his voice.
“Who cares? Water Boy’s getting what he deserves.”
I stepped back and pressed myself against the wall, where I could stay hidden. I held my breath so that I could hear better. I didn’t move a muscle.
“No, for real. He fell kinda hard.”
“For real, who cares?” the first one balked. “Nobody likes that sissy anyways. Let’s go.”
They disappeared around the corner. I stayed there, replaying their words in my head. Something had happened inside that locker room. Someone was hurt. I waited until I knew those two weren’t going to see me coming behind them, and then I ran to find help.
Coach Holmes had started the Halloween dance as a fund-raiser for the booster club a few years back. Maybe he wasn’t the best football coach, but he had scored a touchdown with this event. It was the talk of the school. I couldn’t wait.
My favorite thing about the dance was that you had to dress in a costume. I wore my Gryffindor stuff. Natalie and Randi waltzed in as cowgirls. Gavin made a funny hippie, but Trevor and Mark would’ve won my vote for awesomest costumes. They showed up as Batman and Robin. Everyone looked terrific. The only costumes I didn’t like were Nicky’s and Adam’s. They came in wearing scary horror-movie masks.
It was fun seeing the different costumes, and I made sure I got to see all of them, by volunteering at the admissions table. Coach Holmes had decided to let me work that spot because of my knack with numbers. What he didn’t know was that the real reason I wanted to be there was so I could get a good estimate of how much money the dance raised. I was going to include that in my article for the newspaper.
I spent the first hour sitting behind the table alongside Mrs. Woods. I hadn’t even known she was coming, but she’d volunteered her time because she’d heard this was an occasion not to be missed. She was great at keeping things organized, so I was glad she was my partner. After most people had arrived, she told me to go inside and have some fun, and that’s what I did. It was incredible. There was a haunted house on one side of the gym, and as soon as you exited it, you got in line for a chance to put Mr. Allen under in the dunking booth. It cost one dollar to do both.
The dance floor was packed with bodies, and the concessions table just outside the gym had these huge cookies and brownies. I would’ve volunteered to work that station if I’d known about it. I spent five dollars on the brownies to show my appreciation, and that made me so thirsty, I had to spend another five dollars on drinks so that I could wash the brownies down. I asked the woman serving me how much she had sold, and she told me almost two thousand dollars’ worth. My eyes got big. Between that and the inside attractions and admission, Coach Holmes was looking to make close to ten grand. He was going to love my article. I was going to make him sound like a hero. I was going to win him over yet.
I went back inside the gym, but I didn’t last long, because those sodas I’d guzzled had me needing to pee so bad that I would’ve been dancing even without the music. I ran into the locker room. The urinal was out of order, so I ducked into one of the stalls. You know you have to go bad when the sound of your pee stream hitting the toilet water echoes off the walls.
This is where my memory of things gets a little fuzzy. I remember it going pitch black when the lights turned off, and the sound of my peeing stopped because I started missing my target. When that happens, you shoot in the dark until you hit the bowl again, and then you don’t move. I found the water after swiping my stream back and forth a couple of times, so I didn’t make that big a mess.
Feeling blind, I used my hands to find my way out of the stall after I was done. I would’ve gone to the sink to wash, but I couldn’t see, so I skipped that. I kept one hand on the wall and inched my way along.
“We’ll help you,” a voice said, startling me. I squinted, but I couldn’t see who it was.
“Yeah, stick with us,” a different voice said.
I remember the word “stick” sounding funny, and then I remember getting sprayed with a wet mist. It burned my eyes, and when I yelled, it got in my mouth and burned more. I jerked and twisted and tried to get away, but whoever was there grabbed me. I fought harder, but I couldn’t move.
The last thing I remember is falling.
Randi grabbed Mark and me. “Someone” —heavy breathing—“needs help” —heavy breathing—“in the boys’ locker room.”
Mark and I looked at each other, puzzled.
“Dude, slow down,” Mark said. “What’re you talking about?”
She answered in one run-on breath. “I think it’s Scott. Quick!”
We bolted.
* * *
—
It was pitch black when we burst into the locker room. Mark found the light switch and flipped it on.
“Scott!” I called.
No response.
“Scott!”
Still nothing. Talk about ma
king your heart race. Mine took off, beating faster than it had when I’d been on the dance floor. I hurried around the corner.
Randi’s panicked words had scared me, but when I found Scott, scared went to another level. Terrified was more like it. He lay on the ground by the showers—unconscious.
“Go get help!” I screamed.
I knelt by Scott’s side while Mark ran off. I didn’t know what to do. I’d never felt so helpless. “We’re here now, buddy. We’ve got you,” I whispered.
Mark wasn’t gone more than a couple of minutes, but those were some of the longest minutes of my life. Scott didn’t start stirring until Mark got back with Mr. Allen. I let out a sigh of relief. Mr. Allen got down on the ground next to me. “What happened?” he asked.
“I don’t know. We came in here and found him like this.” But I did know. His hair was stuck to his forehead and his cheeks were tacky, too.
“Scott, are you okay? Tell me your full name,” Mr. Allen said. “Do you know where you are?”
When Scott couldn’t answer those questions, I got even more worried. When he rolled to the side and started vomiting, terrified went to a level I couldn’t even measure. This was serious. Mr. Allen grabbed his phone and called 911.
NATALIE KURTSMAN
ASPIRING LAWYER
Kurtsman Law Offices
BRIEF #10
Halloween: Concussed
The doctors ran a bunch of tests, and they all came back with good news. Scott’s skull wasn’t fractured and there was no internal bleeding. But he did have a serious concussion. It was unclear how long Scott had been unconscious, so only time would reveal the severity of his injury. The one thing the doctors did promise was that Scott had a long road to full recovery. He couldn’t remember simple stuff, like the fact that he’d been at a Halloween dance.
The best the doctors could figure, Scott had fallen in the locker room and hit his head on the shower wall on his way to the ground. Everyone supposed he had slipped on water, which mighta been true, but I knew he’d had help falling.
He wasn’t supposed to be out of my sight. I could take anything Coach Holmes dished out, anything Nicky and Adam wanted to say or try, but they’d crossed the line by hurting Scott. They were dead meat.
By the time we got home from the hospital, it was close to midnight. I felt like I was the one who’d been hit on the head. It’s crazy how exhausted you feel after your nerves have been on edge. I almost didn’t check the video camera tape, because I was beat. Besides that, I didn’t expect to find anything—not on Halloween. But if you stop and think about it, Halloween’s actually a great time to steal something, because you don’t look suspicious approaching a house dressed in all black. It was also a good time to rob our house because all three of us had been at the Halloween dance. After a successful date night, Dad had decided to join Mom, who had already signed up to help with concessions. Our place was empty.
The moment I saw his face flash across the screen, I went from dead tired to wide awake. I had him. He was done.
NATALIE KURTSMAN
ASPIRING LAWYER
Kurtsman Law Offices
BRIEF #11
November: The Day After
Mother and I took the next afternoon to visit Scott and his family at their house. Mother brought a dish of her homemade lasagna and I carried a copy of To Kill a Mockingbird, in case Scott wanted me to read.
When we arrived, we were greeted by Mrs. Mason and Mrs. Woods, who was just leaving. Mrs. Mason led Mother inside so that she could put her lasagna in the refrigerator, but I stayed back to ask Mrs. Woods a question. Randi had seen two boys coming out of the locker room, only she didn’t have a description, and Gavin, Trevor, and Mark seemed certain that Scott didn’t slip and fall on his own.
“Mrs. Woods, would you agree that the right article in our school newspaper might help Mr. Allen get to the bottom of what happened?”
“That’s my girl.” She patted my arm. “Send it to me tonight so I can read it. You need to move fast on this, Miss Kurtsman. We go to print in the morning.”
“I will.”
I watched my teacher walk to her car and drive away, and then I turned and headed into the house.
“How’s he doing?” I heard Mother asking when I entered the kitchen.
It was a simple question that anyone would ask, but Mrs. Mason had reached her breaking point. She closed the refrigerator and slowly turned around. And then she started crying. Instantly Mother walked over and hugged her. “I feel so bad for him,” Mrs. Mason said through her tears.
“Natalie, pull a chair out,” Mother said, nodding toward the table.
I did, and Mother helped Mrs. Mason sit down. I found a mug and poured Mrs. Mason a cup of coffee.
“Thank you, Natalie.” Mrs. Mason said, and took a sip.
Mother sat down with her, and I went to pour a second cup.
“He’s got a long road ahead,” Mrs. Mason began. “He needs to be kept out of school and all activities, which means no football, newspaper club, or Senior Center visits until his symptoms are gone. He can have no screen time and do no reading. If he does anything that causes a headache, he must stop immediately. Nobody can predict how long this will take.”
Mother reached across the table and held Mrs. Mason’s hand. Part of being a great lawyer was knowing how to squish the bad guy, but there was another part for knowing when to comfort and console your client, or in this case, a friend.
I placed the second cup in front of Mother and excused myself. It was time for me to go check on my friend. I found him on the floor in his bedroom, building with LEGOs.
“Hi, Scott.”
“Hi,” he said. I noticed that he didn’t say my name. Was that because he couldn’t remember it?
“What’re you building?” I asked.
“Nothing, really. I’m just sticking bricks together without thinking. Thinking gives me headaches.”
“Oh.” I sat down across from him and picked up a red and a yellow and stuck them together. “I know you were doing an article on the Halloween dance for our newspaper, but I’ll take care of that for you. You don’t need to worry.”
He stopped building and looked at me, confusion evident in his face. “What newspaper?”
I wanted to hug him right then, but I held it together. I explained things to him, speaking slowly, and while I was talking, I spotted the notebook I’d seen him using in school—the same one he’d had with him last night at the dance. I picked it up and thumbed through it to see if he had started the article, thinking that might help him remember. I didn’t find many sentences, but I did find a bunch of calculations.
“Do you remember what you were doing here?” I asked, showing him the pages.
He squinted at his notes. “Estimating how much money the dance raised for the booster club.”
I smiled. Numbers made sense to him even when he was confused. “You also have a list of sports written down here. Do you remember why?”
Scott looked puzzled. He shook his head. “I don’t know.”
“I think you wrote the word ‘interview’ over here, but it’s hard to read your writing.”
“Oh yeah. I wanted to talk to different teams and find out how the booster club’s money had helped them in the past.”
“What a great idea!” I exclaimed. “Do you mind if I take your notebook, so I can use it to write the article you wanted?”
“Sure.”
“I’ll show it to you when I have it written.”
He shrugged. “My head is hurting. I need to lie down.”
“I’ll leave you alone so you can rest. Feel better, Stats Man.”
He waved, but he didn’t smile. Indeed, it was going to be a long road to recovery.
GOALS
Resolve the strained relationship be
tween Mrs. Woods and Mrs. Magenta. (Baby steps.)
Keep our plan secret, which requires keeping Scott and the rest of the Recruits quiet—but mainly Scott. (Sadly, this will be easier now.)
Teach Mrs. Davids how to read—and keep our work secret. (Steady progress.)
Nail the bad guys responsible for Scott’s injury. (I’m on it.)
Finish the article on the booster club for Scott. (Coming soon.)
* * *
—
I’ll tell you now, accomplishing the last two goals was easy. What was difficult—and scary—was everything that came after that.
I watched the tape three times that night to make sure I wasn’t missing anything. I couldn’t capture everything with the one camera I’d installed, but I had enough. I had a perfect shot of Chris’s pretty face.
It wasn’t until later the next afternoon that I finally got the courage to show Dad the tape. I didn’t say much. I just told him I had something I wanted him to watch. I had Mom sit in front of my computer, and Dad stood behind her. Then I clicked play and let the film do the explaining.
Mom gasped when she saw Chris on the screen. Dad’s hands squeezed the back of her chair. He leaned forward, glaring at our thief.
When the tape ended, my parents didn’t move. Neither did I. It can take a few minutes for shock to wear off, so I was patient. When Dad finally spoke, I felt the pain in his voice.
“Trev…I’m sorry. I never should’ve blamed you. It’s just…I failed your brother, and I thought I’d failed you, too. I’m sorry. I made a mistake.”
“Your mistake was having me,” I muttered.
“Trevor, no—” Mom started.
“It’s true,” I said, cutting her off. “I know you never wanted me in the first place. I was a mistake. I’ll always be a mistake.”
