Ethan's Secret (James Madison Series Book 2)

by Patrick Hodges

  “Look at it this way … next year you'll be in high school with them,” said Kirsten.

  I brightened. I hadn't thought of that. “That's true.”

  “So … what have you been up to?” Sophie asked.

  My mind struggled to come up with even one interesting thing that happened to me over the summer, or, indeed, since fifth grade, when I became something of a minor celebrity.

  “Um …” I mumbled. Geez, has my life really become THAT boring?

  Chapter 2

  ~ DAY 1 (Mon.) ~

  ETHAN

  This isn't my bedroom ceiling. Where am I again?

  I opened my eyes all the way, scanning the room for something familiar. I saw a dresser, a desk, and a chair. No other furniture. A few posters hung on the walls, depicting rock bands that I'd barely heard of and had never had enough interest to listen to. I tapped a button on the ancient AM/FM clock radio next to the bed, silencing the annoying-as-hell buzz that insisted on waking me every morning.

  Oh, yeah. Right. This IS my room. It's been three weeks, you'd think I'd be used to it by now. Sigh.

  I missed my old room. It wasn't much, but at least it was mine. I missed my old neighborhood, my buds, my routine. I even missed going to school.

  School.

  Oh, crap.

  I leapt out of bed, pulling on the black denim jeans that were draped over the chair. Grabbing the cleanest-looking T-shirt I could find off the pile in the corner, I turned the knob of my bedroom door. My father was standing there, smiling. I appreciated that he was trying to reassure me, but it was going to take more than a smile to do that. A lot more.

  “Yeah, Pop, I'm up, I'm up,” I said.

  “Good,” he said. “Go get yourself ready. Make sure your brother's ready too. Breakfast will be waiting for you.” He turned and walked back down the hall.

  I put my shirt on, then knocked on the door of the room right next to mine. “Who is it?” came a voice from within.

  I sighed. “It's the Tooth Fairy. You ready to go?”

  “I don't wanna go to school,” said the voice. “It's not my school anyway.”

  Damn, I hope he's not in one of his moods. “It's not my school either, Sketch, but I'm going.”

  The door opened, and my ten-year-old brother emerged with an angry frown. “Can you please not call me that anymore … Ethan?”

  “Dude, chill,” I said, smiling. “It's a compliment. Your drawings are awesome, you know.”

  “Whatever,” he replied. “I still don't like it.”

  “Fine. Let's get ready for our big day, Logan.” My eyebrows went up. “Happy now?”

  Together we went into the bathroom. I glopped a healthy dose of hair gel into both my scalp and Logan's. By the time it dried, we looked about as close to being spiky-haired bad-boy loners that we were ever going to get. I still felt like it was a complete stranger staring back at me from the mirror.

  Logan had his head turned, looking at himself in the same mirror. “How do I look?” he asked hopefully.

  “Like a stud,” I teased. “Those fifth-grade girls will be all over you.”

  He made a disgusted face. “Ewww. Girls can stay the heck away from me.” He raised himself up on the balls of his feet. “Not bad,” he said in self-admiration. “What's the big whoop about girls, anyway? They're gross.”

  I sighed. “Betcha a month's allowance you'll feel completely different before the school year's out.”

  “You're on,” he said, grinning.

  Too easy.

  The kitchen table had our traditional Monday breakfast on it: a bowl of Frosted Flakes, a piece of lightly-buttered, slightly-burned toast, and a glass of OJ. “Hey Pop,” Logan said, shoveling cereal into his mouth.

  Pop, already dressed, was sitting on the sofa watching the morning news. “Hey boys. We're on the road in ten minutes.”

  I sighed, looking around our sparsely-furnished house, at Pop, and at my brother. None of us were smiling.

  My name is Ethan Zimmer, and my life sucks.

  * * *

  From the back seat of the car, I stared out the window as we drove to school. The neighborhood was nice, I guess, but it felt so weird. Out of boredom, I looked at the names of all the streets we passed, trying to memorize them. Logan was fidgeting as usual, staring out the other window.

  “You'll like this school, boys,” Pop's voice said from the front seat. “James Madison has a good record for academics, and it even has art classes.”

  I smiled at Logan, who wasn't paying attention. “Hear that, Sketch? Art class!”

  He turned to me, made a face and then punched me in the arm as hard as he could.

  “Ow!” I cried.

  “Don't call me that!” he yelled.

  “Knock it off, boys,” Pop said firmly. “Please don't make this any harder.”

  “He started it!” said Logan.

  “Enough!” Pop screamed, turning back to face us. “This move has been tough on all of us, but we have to make the most of it, okay? We need to pull together as a family if we're going to make it through this.”

  Logan's shoulders slumped. Pop was right. Like it or not, we were in a new city, with new lives.

  The car passed through an open entry-gate, and I could see the words “James Madison Middle School” proudly displayed on the front of the main building. We drove through the parking lot, pulling up to an empty space near the curb.

  Pop pointed to a door right below the sign. “There's the main office. They'll tell you where you need to go.” His face softened, and he tried once again to smile reassuringly. “It'll be okay, boys. You can do it. You wearing the watches I gave you?”

  “Yeah, Pop.” I showed him the new wristwatch he'd given to both me and Logan the day we moved into the new house. It was cool, but it didn't really go with everything else I was wearing. At least the sleeve of my hoodie covered it up.

  I sighed, opening the door and stepping out. Logan also jumped out.

  “Pick you up at 3:45 right here, okay?” Pop said.

  We nodded, slamming the door shut. A few seconds later, the car sped out through the exit gate.

  Logan and I collected our course schedules and our books, as well as a crude map of the school. The fifth- and sixth-grade students had their classrooms on the south side of the school, whereas the seventh- and eighth-graders had theirs on the north end, with the cafeteria in between. Logan was lucky enough to have one teacher for all of his classes except Math, but I had five different teachers and six classes. It was pretty basic: Social Studies, Science, Literature, Phys Ed, Algebra and English Comp.

  We stepped out onto the main sidewalk of our new school. I was just about to head off to find my first class when Logan grabbed my arm. “Ethan, I don't know if I can do this.” His eyes glazed over, and I could see terror in his eyes.

  I crouched down so I could look him in the eye. “Can I let you in on a little secret, Ske … uh, Logan?”

  He nodded, his eyes moist.

  “I don't want to do this either,” I said. “I want it all back the way it was. But this is how it is now. You and I have our jobs to do, just like Pop does. And we have to do it for him. The two of us have to stick together. We're the Zimmer boys, and we're tough. You understand? We'll get through this, you and I. Promise me you'll be tough?”

  “But what if I can't?” A lone tear appeared on his face, which he quickly wiped away.

  “You can, Logan. You're the toughest little sister I've ever had,” I said, smiling back at him.

  “Hey! That's not nice,” Logan said, a smile cracking through the look of fear.

  “You're gonna be fine, little brother … I'll see you in a while. Good luck with your classes. Make some friends, okay?”

  I playfully tousled his out-of-control hair and sent him down the main sidewalk. For a moment, I forgot about how bad I felt. As hard as this was for me, it had to be harder on him. I had to make sure he was alright; he was my little brother, after all.
r />   * * *

  Pop was right: this was a nice school. The other kids were well-dressed, there was no graffiti on the walls, and a couple of the girls I caught looking at me out of the corner of their eyes were actually pretty cute. I was glad that I was tall for my age, or I'd probably be getting razzed as the 'new kid' already.

  The one thing this school didn't have was any familiar faces.

  I sat in the back row of each of my classes. By lunchtime, I'd gotten used to people staring at me. You'd think they'd never seen a guy in a T-shirt before. The cafeteria was full of kids, and it took me a moment to realize that for whatever reason, the boys and the girls were eating their lunches in separate sections. I figured this had to be a school rule, because all the kids looked comfortable enough obeying it. None of the boys invited me to sit next to them when I walked in, so I just went to an unoccupied table on the edge of the boys' section. I ate facing the window so I wouldn't have to watch my new classmates sneaking glances at me.

  Most of my teachers were old and stuffy, but Algebra class was different. The moment I caught sight of Mr. McCann in his clown get-up, my mood improved. Here I was, a stranger in a new school, and it took a silly math teacher to make me feel welcome. It was hard not to break out laughing, but I kept it in. If I was going to be a 'bad boy,' I wouldn't be the troublemaking kind who broke every rule he could … I'd be the kind who just didn't give a crap. That I can pull off.

  I started thinking about Scotty Davidson, and how I picked on him when he was the 'new kid' back in sixth grade. I was such an a-hole back then. Bet he would laugh his butt off if he could see me now. Sigh.

  “And finally … Ethan Zimmer,” Mr. McCann said.

  I blinked my eyes a few times, taking a few seconds to remember where I was. Oh yeah, Algebra. Mr. McCann was reading off names of students. Did he just call my name?

  “Ethan Zimmer?” Mr. McCann repeated.

  “Uh, here,” I said, raising my hand slightly. A few kids chuckled that I couldn't even seem to remember my own name. Just then, a girl sitting three seats in front of me turned around and looked me directly in the eyes. Not a mere glance, but a full-on stare.

  She had straight, shoulder-length brown hair, brown eyes and a few freckles. She was definitely cute. I'd known a few girls with freckles, and most of their faces looked like maps of the moon. This girl actually made freckles look good.

  As we looked at each other, I suddenly wished I'd paid attention while Mr. McCann was taking roll call. Whoever this girl was, she seemed to be much more curious about me than everyone else was. After a few seconds, though, her unwavering attention crossed the line from flattering to uncomfortable, so I looked away. My thoughts raced. There's something cool about her. I don't know what, but there's definitely something …

  I watched her for the rest of class, wondering – hoping? – she might turn around again, but she didn't.

  The rest of the day passed with relatively little else interesting happening. James Madison was definitely not the worst place in the world. Just a sea of faces in a new school, in a new life, on a new planet.

  At twenty minutes to four, Logan and I met on the main sidewalk in front of the school to wait for Pop. “So, bro, how'd it go?” I asked.

  Thankfully, he seemed to be in a much better mood than this morning. “Not bad,” he said with a slight smile. “I found both my classrooms, and I met a really cool guy who loves video games as much as me. He already said I could hang out with him during recess.”

  “That's awesome,” I said, nodding. How about that. He made a friend, just like I said. Now maybe I should follow my own advice.

  * * *

  “So how was your first day?” Pop asked, sliding a plate of microwave spaghetti in front of us. Logan immediately started chowing down.

  “Good,” he said, talking with his mouth full.

  “How about you?” Pop asked, turning to face me.

  “Okay, I guess,” I said, idly twirling my fork through my spaghetti.

  “Did you make any friends?” Pop asked, cracking open a beer he'd gotten from the fridge.

  “I did,” said Logan. “His name's Sean. He's in the sixth grade. He talks with a really cool accent … I think he's English or something.”

  “That's nice.”

  Logan continued, “His brother Sebastian's in the eighth grade, and he's in a band. Sean's actually heard of …” he trailed off, reading the shirt he wore to school, “… Poison. I had to pretend I liked them too. But now he thinks I'm cool.”

  Pop grinned. “Maybe I'll give you my old CD's to play, so you won't have to pretend.”

  I grimaced. “How about a PlayStation? There's nothing else to do here but watch TV.”

  “I'll see what I can do,” Pop said, nodding.

  “And how about a cell phone while you're at it?”

  Pop frowned. “That's not gonna happen, and you know it.” He paused. “Did you meet anyone today?”

  “Not really,” I said, which was the truth. But at that moment, all I could picture was the face of that girl with the freckles.

  Chapter 3

  ~ DAY 8 (Mon.) ~

  KELSEY

  “Okay, guys, it's been a week. Have you found out anything about Ethan?” I asked.

  April, Bree and Penny just shook their heads.

  Dang it. I loved solving puzzles. Dad used to buy me those little word-search books that he found in the supermarket check-out line, and I'd finish the entire thing in less than a day. Crosswords, cryptograms, logic problems, even Dad's old Rubik's Cube didn't pose much of a challenge to me. But solving the puzzle that was Ethan Zimmer was becoming frustrating.

  “Nothing? At all?”

  “What do you want, Kelse? The guy doesn't talk! He doesn't even sit with anyone at lunch!” April said, taking a swig from her bottle of flavored water. “I've walked by him on the concourse, even smiled at him a few times. He looked at me, but didn't smile back.”

  “He sits pretty close to me in sixth-period English,” said Penny. “I said 'hi' a couple of times, you know, just to be friendly.”

  “And?”

  “He said 'hi' back. That's it. He was polite about it, at least … it was a nice 'hi,' not a 'hi, now get lost' kind of 'hi'.”

  “And that's it?” I asked.

  “That's it. He doesn't even raise his hand in class. Like April said, he just doesn't talk.”

  I glanced over at Bree, who was staring at me. “What is it, Bree?”

  Bree didn't respond; she just kept staring.

  I met her gaze for a few seconds, but Bree didn't change her expression. “Bree!”

  That snapped her out of it. “What? Oh, sorry, Kelse. What were we talking about?”

  “Ethan Zimmer … you know, the new guy?”

  “Oh, him,” said Bree, finally looking away. “What's your deal with him, anyway? Maybe he's just shy. Maybe he doesn't want to fit in. Did you think of that?”

  “Of course I've thought of that,” I said. “But I don't know … something tells me that there's more to him than that.”

  April smirked. “You're totally crushing on him.”

  “No, I'm not!”

  “You kinda are, Kelse,” Penny said, popping a Frito into her mouth. “Let's put it to a vote … everyone who thinks Kelsey has a crush on Ethan, raise your hands.” All three of my friends raised their hands in unison, though I saw a frown on Bree's face as she did so.

  I sighed, my face reddening. “Okay, maybe a little. He is pretty hot.”

  “I guess,” Bree said, a little more dismissively than I expected.

  “You don't think so?”

  “He's not really my type. All-black clothes and spiky hair? No thanks.”

  I thought for a few moments. “Bree, do you even have a 'type'?”

  Bree frowned. “What's that supposed to mean?”

  I shrugged. “In all the time we've been friends, I've never heard you say that any guy was cute.”

  April looked at B
ree. “Neither have I.”

  Bree suddenly looked nervous. “Why should I be into any of the guys in this school? None of them seem to be into me.”

  “That's not true!” April said. “Didn't Tyler Wilcox ask you out that one time?”

  “He only did that because I sat next to Tawny DeBlasio in Computer Lab,” Bree retorted. “They'd only broken up the day before. That slut gave me crap about it for weeks.”

  “That sucks, Bree,” said Penny with an equally sad look. “But that doesn't mean there isn't someone out there who … likes you.”

  “No, just no one with the guts to tell me they do.”

  “Come on, Bree,” I said. “Just last week, Savannah Hoover told me in P.E. class that Carly Nowak told her that she overheard Ryan Butler telling Keith Mansfield that he thinks you're cute.”

  Bree looked surprised. “Ryan Butler from the yearbook committee?”

  “No, the other one. Of course, the one from the yearbook committee!”

  “He's … okay, I guess,” Bree said, looking down at the table. “But then, Carly's been known to exaggerate. A lot.”

  “That's very true,” said Penny. “I wouldn't believe her either.”

  Not helping, Penny! “Well, we can talk about that later. Does Ethan ride on any of your buses?”

  One by one, they shook their heads.

  “Maybe he rides a bike,” said April.

  “Maybe,” I said. “Penny, can you follow him after sixth period today and find out?”

  Bree exhaled. “You're really going to do this, aren't you?”

  “We're in the eighth grade, Bree, it's not like our lives are that exciting anyway,” I replied.

  “Whatever.”

  I turned back to Penny. “So can you follow him?”

  She smiled. “You got it, Detective.”

  * * *

  My cell rang just as I was walking through my front door. It was Penny. “Hey, Pen. Did you follow him?”

  “Yeah, Kelse. He doesn't ride a bike.”

  “So which bus does he ride?”

  “He doesn't ride a bus either.”

  I sighed. “What, then?”