Here Comes Mr. Trouble tfc-1

by Brett Battles

  Much to Eric’s surprise, they pulled up in front of his house by 9:01.

  “Home as promised,” Mr. Trouble said.

  “Thanks.” Eric reached for the door but hesitated opening it. “You don’t think those other guys are still around, do you?”

  “Who?”

  “You know, the ones we ran from in front of Maggie’s house.”

  “First of all, we didn’t run from anyone. It was just easier to have a conversation somewhere they were not. And no, they won’t still be around. That would be very, very unusual.”

  Eric felt there was something Mr. Trouble wasn’t telling him. Well, there were probably a ton of things Mr. Trouble wasn’t telling him, but his mind was so full of everything that had happened that evening that he didn’t even know what to ask. He opened his door.

  “I’ll walk from here,” Maggie said, also opening her door.

  As Eric started to climb out, Mr. Trouble touched him on the arm.

  “Quick question,” Mr. Trouble said in a whisper. “The phone-book incident? Do you still have the page you tore out?”

  It took Eric a second to figure out what he meant, then he nodded. “Yeah. It’s in my bag.”

  “Could I possibly get that from you?”

  “Right now?”

  “Now would be good. We may forget later.”

  Eric pulled the page out of his bag and handed it to Mr. Trouble.

  “Thank you. Thank you so much.” Mr. Trouble folded it and put it in his shirt pocket. “Now, I don’t want you worrying about anything. Soon your Maker problems will be all gone.”

  Eric stopped as he was about to shut his door. “Maker problems? What do you mean?”

  “What?”

  “You said Maker problems?”

  “I’m sure I didn’t.”

  “I’m sure you did. What’s a Maker?”

  Mr. Trouble shrugged his shoulders. “That’s an excellent question. Okay, you have a nice—”

  “You did say it.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “I’m sure you did.”

  “Did what?” Mr. Trouble asked.

  “Say it.”

  Mr. Trouble laughed. “Oh, you are a funny one, Eric. Have a good night.” He leaned over, pulled the door closed and took off.

  “What was that all about?” Maggie asked.

  “I have no idea.” They stood there silently for another few seconds, then Eric said, “Thanks for coming with me.”

  “Somebody has to watch out for you. Now, I suggest you forget about everything that happened tonight. Whoever these people are, they’re crazy. I don’t trust them.”

  He nodded but said nothing.

  “I’m completely serious,” she told him.

  “I know you are.” He paused. “You want me to walk you home? Peter might still be around.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Peter has never bothered me. I’ll be fine.” She took a few steps then turned back. “And don’t worry. I’ll finish our report before I go to sleep.”

  “Oh, Maggie. The report. I’m sorry. I’ll—”

  “Don’t say anything. It’s fine.”

  As she walked off, he knew it wasn’t really fine but what was he going to do?

  And what she had said about the Trouble family? He knew she was just trying to be a good friend. But if they could help him find his mom and make all the other weirdness go away, he had to trust them.

  He took a deep breath and headed up the pathway to his front door. As he reached the porch, that odd thing Mr. Trouble said right before he drove away played through his mind. Your Maker problems will be all gone.

  He paused. It hadn’t been his imagination. He’d definitely heard it.

  Your Maker problems…

  So, what, exactly, was a Maker?

  TROUBLE FAMILY SERVICES

  INTRODUCTION

  Welcome to Trouble Family Services! We understand you might be a little confused and perhaps even upset. This is perfectly natural. If you’re reading this, then your life has recently been turned upside down and has yet to return to normal.

  By now, even the strongest, most levelheaded person would be questioning why all this was happening to them. Again, it’s only natural. So is wondering: will this ever end?

  The good news is that it will!

  Because you have taken the big step that will make sure it does — calling Trouble Family Services. However you came across our number (we realize the ways this can happen are also unusual), we are glad you called. We have been serving people in situations just like yours for generations, and we take our company motto very seriously:

  You gotta problem. We gotta help.

  We know you have many questions. Hopefully this booklet will answer most if not all of them. So take a few minutes, relax, and enjoy the read.

  And thanks again for calling!

  Sincerely,

  Ronan Trouble/Mr. Trouble

  CEO

  Trouble Family Services

  TROUBLE FAMILY SERVICES

  TFS HISTORY

  From the very beginning, TFS has been a family-run business. Started in 1762 by Thomas Leatherwood, TFS has been passed down from father to son all the way to the current chief executive officer of TFS, Ronan Trouble (also known by the title Mr. Trouble).

  To tell the history of TFS is to tell the history of the Trouble family.

  THOMAS LEATHERWOOD (Mr. Trouble 1762–1789)

  Thomas Leatherwood (b. 1740, London, England) decided to turn the wealth he’d earned running several cargo ships between England and the American colonies into something that better served those in need. (The exact reason he did this is unimportant and a matter for the private family archives.)

  Born in London, Thomas moved permanently to North America the same year he established TFS, settling first in Boston then moving to New York after the Revolutionary War.

  Of course, the business was not known as TFS at that time. Thomas simply took on clients as his services were needed. Thomas and his wife Barbara had only one child, a son named Edward. Thomas remained in charge of the business until his death in 1789.

  ROBERT LEATHERWOOD/TROUBLE (Mr. Trouble 1895–1896)

  It is remarkable that Robert Leatherwood (b. 1843, New York, NY) is responsible for so much of what the family business is today, given the fact he was head of the family for only one year. In part, his short tenure was due to the fact his father, Byron, held the position for half a century, but mostly it was because of the bad luck suffered on the project in rural Iowa that took his life.

  Robert was the first head of the family who kept a diary, something he started at the age of 17 and continued after he became Mr. Trouble at the age of 52. The diary is a tradition that continues through present day. From these diaries we know that Robert proposed the most significant change for the family to his father many years before he was able to make it a reality when he took control. That, of course, was changing the family name from Leatherwood to Trouble.

  “We’re in the trouble business,” he wrote. “Trouble is part of who we are. So Trouble should be our name.”

  From that point forward, everyone born into the family bore the surname Trouble. But Robert didn’t stop with just changing the family name. He was the first to look at the family’s business as a business, creating The Trouble Company (later changed to Trouble Family Services.)

  Finally, he was responsible for moving the family west to St. Louis.

  He and his wife Edith had one son, Fredrick.

  7

  It didn’t dawn on Eric until he woke Friday morning that he’d forgotten to fix his bicycle, so he would have to walk to school. To make matters worse, he’d overslept, meaning his walk would have to be more like a run if he didn’t want to be late again. That’s what he got for staying up late reading the pamphlet from Mr. Trouble.

  At least he remembered to stick the tracking discs in his backpack and his pants pocket. The unicorn necklace was another matter. Mr. Trou
ble had neglected to mention that the unicorn’s eyes were pink rhinestones and that its horn was covered in glitter. He weighed the possibilities of complete embarrassment if one of his friends spotted the necklace in his bag against that of him being in a situation where he needed the Troubles’ help right away. The first seemed more likely so the unicorn stayed home.

  He alternated between running fast and running faster as he tried to avoid another tardy. He was a block away when he heard the warning bell. With only two minutes left to get to class, he put his head down and sprinted the rest of the way.

  Stopping by his locker to pick up his math book was out of the question. He’d just have to wing it. He hoped he’d be in less trouble for not bringing it than he would be for being late.

  The tardy bell started ringing as he opened his classroom door, and ended just after he plopped down at his desk.

  He smiled to himself. He’d actually made it. Maybe…maybe things were getting better. He sneaked a peek at Maggie. Her desk was across the aisle and one row back.

  “Thought I was going to be late,” he whispered, smiling. “Can’t believe I made it.”

  But there was no smile on Maggie’s face. Instead, her lips were pressed tightly together in a straight line. Apparently she was still mad at him. But then she nodded toward the front of the class.

  Eric felt a sudden dread that Ms. Lindgren, their homeroom and first-period math teacher, was standing a few feet away, looking down at him. He turned around slowly, hoping she wasn’t going to give him a tardy anyway. But Ms. Lindgren was clear on the other side of the room, going through her briefcase at her desk.

  He glanced back at Maggie, holding up his hands and silently asking her “what?” She nodded toward the front again. He turned and looked once more. Nothing there.

  She is mad at me, he realized. She just doesn’t want me looking at her. Fine. Whatever.

  Another moment later, Ms. Lindgren closed her briefcase and walked over to the lectern.

  “Good morning, class,” she said.

  There was a chorus of “good morning, Ms. Lindgren.”

  “Before I take roll, I have some introductions to make. We have two new students starting with us today.” She smiled at someone sitting up front.

  Eric, whose desk was in the third row back, barely paid attention.

  “They’re sisters,” Ms. Lindgren said. “Twins, I’m told. Though not identical, correct?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” someone in the front row said.

  Eric sat up. The voice sounded very familiar.

  “Ladies, do you mind standing up so everyone can see you? Class, these are the Leatherwood sisters.”

  A chair scraped back on the tile floor, and a moment later a second chair did the same. The two new girls stood up and turned to the class.

  They weren’t Leatherwoods, and they weren’t twins, either.

  They were the Trouble sisters.

  “This is Fiona,” Ms. Lindgren said. “And this is Keira.”

  Both girls gave unenthusiastic waves and sat back down, neither having made eye contact with Eric or Maggie.

  Someone tapped Eric on the arm. He looked down and saw a folded piece of paper being held out to him by Jerome Usher, the guy who sat behind him. He took the note and unfolded it in his lap as Ms. Lindgren took roll.

  What are they doing here?

  The handwriting was Maggie’s.

  Eric gave her a quick look over his shoulder, shrugged, then turned back so he wouldn’t get in trouble.

  But trouble seemed to be something he wasn’t going to be able to avoid.

  “Nancy Long?” Ms. Lindgren said.

  “Here.”

  “Henry Miner?”

  “Here.”

  “Eric Morrison?”

  “Here,” Eric said.

  Ms. Lindgren paused. “Eric, it’s nice of you to actually make it on time today. I assume you’ve actually done your homework, too.”

  “Yes…”—oh, no—“…ma’am.”

  His math homework. He had done it. In fact, he’d done it during lunch the day before and stuck it in his math book so he wouldn’t forget it. His math book that was still in his locker.

  He was able to get through the class by sharing Jerome’s textbook. As soon as the bell rang, he headed quickly for the door so he could catch up to the Trouble sisters.

  “Eric?” Ms. Lindgren said.

  Eric stopped in his tracks. “Yes, Ms. Lindgren?”

  “I did a quick look through the homework stack and didn’t see any with your name on it.”

  His shoulders sagged. “I’m sorry. I did do it. I just forgot it in my locker.”

  She held up a finger, indicating he shouldn’t move. Then, once the other students had all left, she said, “I know you’re a good student, Eric. You’ve been doing great so far this year. But the past couple weeks you’ve just fallen apart. Is something going on? Is everything all right at home?”

  Not even close. “Everything’s fine at home.”

  “Then why the tardies? Why the missing homework?”

  “I did do my homework. It’s in my locker. I swear!”

  She was silent for a moment. “All right. You go get it and bring it back to me now. If you do that, I’ll mark you as turning it in on time.”

  “But…”

  “But what? You did do it, didn’t you?”

  “Yeah. I did it.”

  “If you’re worried about being late to your next class, I’ll write you a pass.”

  He took a breath then nodded. “I’ll be right back.”

  He exited the classroom and looked around. As he’d feared, neither Fiona nor Keira was around. But Maggie was.

  “What took you so long?” she asked.

  “I left my homework in my locker. Ms. Lindgren wants me to go get it.”

  “You want me to come with you?”

  Eric shook his head. “She said she’d write me a pass if I’m late, but I don’t think she’d write one for you, too. I’ll just meet you in Spanish.”

  She gave him a smile. “At least you’ll get credit for your homework this time.”

  He walked toward his locker, his head down, his mind on his problems. There had to be a cause for all this, something he must have done. But he had no idea what it could have been. Distracted by trying to figure out what it could possibly be, he turned the corner into the hallway where his locker was located.

  “Hey!”

  With a stutter step, he came to an abrupt halt. Standing less than a foot in front of him was Peter Garr.

  “Sorry,” Eric said, trying to move around the other boy.

  But Peter stepped in front of him. For a split second, Eric wondered if the bigger boy was going to start sniffing the air again.

  “You need to watch where you’re going,” Peter said. Unlike at the library two days ago and last night in Maggie’s front yard, he was talking like he normally did.

  “You’re right,” Eric replied. “I should have been paying attention. I’m sorry.”

  As Peter grunted, Eric tensed, preparing himself to be pushed to the ground. But the bully surprised him. “Next time, I won’t be as nice.”

  He knocked shoulders with Eric as he walked off, but that was as bad as it got.

  The sense of relief Eric felt was intense. Maybe my luck is turning.

  He had a smile on his face as he walked the rest of the way to his locker, but as soon as he saw what was waiting for him, it disappeared.

  If his luck was turning, it was only going from bad to worse.

  8

  Eric’s locker was a mess.

  In addition to the gum from the day before that had hardened on his lock, someone had shaken several cans of orange soda and opened them directly into the vents of his locker. A sticky, brownish-orangey film covered the door, while more of the soda had traveled through the inside then seeped out the bottom and drained onto the locker below his. It must have happened before school, he thought. Otherwise it
would have been wetter than it was.

  Knowing he had little choice, he worked his combination and slowly opened the door. A sickly sweet smell rolled over him like a cloud of his grandmother’s perfume, forcing him to clamp his hands over his face until it passed. When he was finally able to breathe again, he took a look at the damage.

  Soda was everywhere — on the walls, on his books, even on the hook at the very top. And at the bottom, a pool of orange soda oozed around the edges of his math book.

  “Just…great,” he said.

  He pulled at his homework until it came free of the book. He wasn’t surprised to see orange soda had found it, too. He considered just throwing it in the trash, but right at that moment the warning bell rang. There was no way he was going to make it to Spanish in time so he was going to need that note Ms. Lindgren had promised him. And the only way to get that was to bring her his homework.

  Reluctantly, he made his way back to her classroom and set the wet sticky paper on her desk.

  She looked at it, then at him. “What’s this?”

  “My homework. Someone shot soda into my…” He stopped and shook his head. “Never mind.” He was sure she was going to see it as just another excuse and refuse to give him a hall pass. But though she didn’t look happy, she was true to her word and wrote him the note.

  When he walked into Spanish, Mrs. Muñoz was handing something out.

  “Hola, Eric,” she said. “Class started three minutes ago.” He gave her the hall pass. She nodded after looking at it. “Hurry and sit. Pop quiz.”

  If he could have melted into the floor right then, he would have. The last thing he wanted to do was take a pop quiz. He walked over to his desk and slumped into his chair.

  “Pass them back, please,” Mrs. Muñoz said as she gave the students sitting up front enough sheets of paper for their row.

  When the girl in front of Eric turned to give him the remaining stack, it wasn’t Angie Chang, the person who usually sat in front of him. It was Fiona.

  “Take one and pass it back,” she told him and then faced forward again.

  After he’d passed them on, he leaned toward her. “What are you doing here?”

  Turning her head just enough, she whispered, “Taking a pop quiz. What are you doing here?”