After a long, awkward pause, he opened them again. “No idea,” he said softly. “It's just an old book.”
We stared without speaking for a few moments, and then I hurriedly said, “Well, enjoy. I'll see you in Algebra.” Then I turned and ran down the stairs and away from the stage area.
As I took my spot on the bleachers, I noticed that all three of my friends were staring at me, wide-eyed and trying not to smile. They looked like puppies waiting to be fed.
“So?” April asked, breaking the silence. “What'd you find out?”
“Not much,” I said.
“What, then?” asked Penny curiously.
“Well, he likes to read. And his little brother's name is Logan.”
“That's it?”
“Well … I kind of asked him if he wanted to talk again sometime, and he said 'I'd like that.' So I guess that's something.”
“Awesome!” April said, smiling. “He is into you!”
I stared at her. “Don't go planning our wedding just yet. He's definitely hiding something, but I don't know what.”
“Jeez, Kelse, can't you ever meet someone without thinking they're hiding something?” April asked. “It's not like he's a spy.”
“You're right, that would be way too cool for James Madison,” I replied, smirking. “But at this point, I'm not ruling anything out.”
“What are you going to do now?” asked Penny.
“Well, I …” I locked eyes with Bree, who was staring intently at me again. She had a very weird look on her face that I couldn't decipher. “Bree!”
Bree blinked her eyes a few times, then shook her head. “Sorry, what?”
“You were staring at me again,” I said. “It's starting to freak me out a little. Actually, more than a little. What's up with you?”
“Nothing!” Bree retorted, a lot louder than I expected. “I've just got my mind on other things, okay? Can we talk about something besides Ethan-freaking-Zimmer?”
“Bree, you don't need to yell!” April said.
“Fine,” she said, climbing down off the bleachers, “you three can talk about Kelsey's new love-crush all you want. I'm out of here.”
“Bree,” I said. “What is–?”
“Just leave me alone, okay?” She turned and walked off in a huff. Without a word, Penny climbed down and followed her, running to catch up. Together, they walked up the central staircase and out of sight.
April and I just stared at each other. “What the hell was that all about?” I asked.
“No clue,” April said. “Maybe it's her … you know, time of the month.”
“Maybe … but I've never seen her that worked up over nothing before.”
“What else could it be, then?”
“I don't know,” I said, staring into space.
Something was wrong. It wasn't like Bree to just lose her temper like that, especially around her best friends. Great, I thought, now I have two mysteries to solve.
* * *
On the bus, I took the empty seat right in front of Kirsten and Sophie. Both of them smiled, as usual, and Sophie was content to just fist-bump me as a means of greeting rather than a bear-hug. After exchanging hellos, I asked, “So, Sophie, how do you like middle school so far?”
“I love it,” Sophie replied, grinning. “I got Mrs. Hoffmeyer for homeroom.”
I smiled broadly. “You did? That's great! She's so awesome … I had Mrs. H too when I was in fifth grade.”
“I know, she still talks about you,” Sophie said.
I blushed. “Yeah, that story just won't die, will it?”
Kirsten giggled. “It's okay, Kelsey, we know what really happened that day. Plus, a lot of our classmates think we're cool just 'cause we kind of know you.”
“Speaking of your classmates,” I said in a serious tone, “Sophie, is there a boy in any of your classes named Logan Zimmer?”
Sophie nodded. “He's not in my homeroom, but he's in Mrs. Rupp's Math class with me. Why?”
“Do you know anything about him?”
“Not really. He seems nice, but he doesn't talk much. And he only seems to wear clothes that are dark blue or black.”
I shifted my gaze to the window, watching other cars pass us by. “It must run in the family.”
“Why are you asking about him?” Sophie inquired.
“He has an older brother. Ethan. He's in my Algebra class. He wears black too, and he's not very talkative either.”
Kirsten's eyebrows raised. “Why are you interested in them, anyway?”
“I dunno,” I replied, shrugging my shoulders. “I just want them to feel welcome, I guess. I remember when I was the 'new kid.' It can be tough. Plus, there's something … mysterious about them. I'm just trying to figure it out.”
Sophie beamed. “Ooh, mysterious! Can we help?” She was positively bouncing in her seat.
A comical look came over Kirsten's face. “See what I have to deal with every day?”
Sophie made a face. “Oh, come on, Kirsten, it's for Kelsey! I'm totally in! What do you need me to do?”
I smiled broadly. Sophie. She's so adorbs. Gotta love her. “Not much. Just try talking to Logan. See if you can find out something about him. Where he came from. His parents. Anything at all.”
“No problemo,” said Sophie.
Kirsten looked at her sister. “Just don't hug him, okay?”
Sophie grinned mischievously. “Well, he is kinda cute …”
“Sophie!” said Kirsten, alarmed.
“Kidding!” Sophie yelled, throwing her hands up. “Well, sorta kidding …”
I chuckled. “Thanks, Soph.”
I feel just like Sherlock Holmes. He had his helpers, the Baker Street Irregulars, and I have Penny and Sophie. Too bad Bree doesn't want to be my Watson. What is up with her, anyway?
* * *
One of the things my dad always told me was that when solving a mystery, it helps to write down what you know, because you can never be sure what little insignificant piece of information might turn out to be important later on.
When I got home, I retrieved a small notebook from the drawer next to the computer. Turning to the first empty page, I wrote “ETHAN ZIMMER” at the top. On the first line, I then wrote “FACTS.”
I pursed my lips. Okay, what do I really know about him? Well, he's tall. And he's cute. But that's not really relevant, is it? I stared at the page for a few minutes, and then began writing.
Thirty minutes later, I looked at what I had written, which wasn't much.
#1. Little Brother – Logan (5th grader) – Sophie assisting
#2. Driven to/from school; Parents - ????
#3. Intelligent
I'd looked up Watership Down on the Internet and read a summary of the story, along with a few passages. I was right: it was definitely not a children's book. It had a lot of dark overtones, and there was a fair amount of violence, death and tragedy in it. He knew how it ended, which meant he'd read it at least once before, and was now reading it again.
For whatever reason, most kids I knew didn't read. They considered it boring, just like anything that might actually make them smarter. Any boy who read for fun, and in public, had to have something inside his head.
I then glanced down to the last line on the page:
#4. NOT a Bad Boy
Even in my school, there were bad kids. A few years ago, they probably would have been able to roam the school teasing or hurting whoever they wanted without fear of punishment. But the principal who allowed that environment to flourish lost his job following Joshua's near-fatal incident. On her first day, the new principal announced to the entire school that bullying would not be tolerated, and that violence between students would carry severe punishments. Later on and in private, she even thanked me personally for the anti-bullying “movement” I started that got the proverbial ball rolling in the first place. That meant a lot to me.
Oh, there were arguments, even some shoving matches, but those were quickly
dealt with. Nobody liked being put on detention, and nobody liked having their parents called in to have a conference with the principal. Estela Marquez was a tough lady who had done the job she was hired to do, and done it well. No major violent acts had been committed on her watch.
But there were always bad kids, and in this new environment, they had to be a lot more secretive about finding ways to express their “badness.” They would perform mean pranks on others, making sure there was no proof to link it back to them. And if there were going to be physical fights, the boys had found a spot just outside school grounds where they could mix it up and not get caught. I'd never been there, but I knew about it. Kids just called it “the Big Tree.”
Ethan obviously wanted everyone to think he was a “bad boy,” and had gone out of his way to look the part, but I had yet to see him act like one. He didn't tease the other kids, he didn't make a spectacle of himself, and he hadn't joined that group of idiots that took it upon themselves to ruin everyone else's middle-school experience … or at least, not yet. It made sense that he would keep to himself, being the new kid. It's so easy to make enemies, and you never want to do that when you don't have friends to back you up.
But if he truly was a “bad boy,” he wouldn't be reading a novel about homeless rabbits in full view of everyone. True, barely anyone paid him any mind, but there were a hundred other places he could go to read that were a lot quieter, and with less chance of someone tripping over him.
He wants to be seen. He wants someone to talk to him. He probably had a lot of friends at his previous school, and being alone now has shoved him out of his comfort zone. He was lonely, and sitting down in front of everyone was his passive attempt to invite people in.
But if that was the case, why hadn't he gone and introduced himself to his new classmates? Fear of rejection? A “bad boy” wouldn't care about that either.
I'm not buying it, Ethan. You've tried so hard to sell everyone on this image of yourself, but I'm not buying it. I see right through you.
I went back over my conversation with him. There was a glimmer of happiness in his eyes, as if he was happy to finally be able to open up to someone, but he went right back into his shell after I pointed out the initials on the side of his book. “MDC” clearly meant something to him, but I had no idea what.
I closed my notebook and put it back in the drawer. I leaned back in my chair, stretching my legs out. I was now looking forward to my next conversation with Ethan more than ever.
I heard the front door open and close. I was so lost in thought, I hadn't heard my dad's car drive up. “K-Bear? You home?” I heard him call.
I joined him in the kitchen, where he was removing some Styrofoam containers from a couple of plastic bags. The smell was intoxicating. “Ooh!” I said, smiling. “Is that Szechuan Chicken from The Blue Dragon?”
“Of course,” he said. “Your favorite, right?”
“Best … Dad … ever!” I said, throwing my arms around him and planting a series of pecks on his stubbly cheek. Still holding two cartons of rice, he wrapped his thick, muscular arms around me, returning the hug.
I smiled. “Tell me you got the crab puffs too!”
Dad made a face and exhaled. “Darn it, I knew I forgot something …”
My jaw dropped. “Seriously, Dad? They have, like, the best crab puffs in the universe! And you just forgot? How could you?” I made a mock-pouty face.
After giving me a sad look, a smile broke out below his thick Fu Manchu mustache. He still looked right out of a 70s TV cop show, but it suited him perfectly. “Just kidding,” he said, pulling a small container out of the plastic bag.
I glared at him. “Aargh! You do that to me every time!”
“And you keep falling for it,” he said, winking at me.
I punched him in one of his beefy biceps. “How was work today?”
“Not too bad. Nothing that'll make the papers, but we did some good today. You want to set the table?”
I grabbed the Styrofoam container with the Szechuan Chicken and made a beeline for the kitchen table. “Come on, Dad,” I said sweetly, “a bunch of hard-working people went to the trouble to create these lovely Styrofoam containers just for us. Why would we spit on the fruits of their labors by using plates?”
Dad brought the rest of the meal with him, spreading it out on the table. “Right you are, my dear Watson. Besides, less to clean up.” He pulled up a seat and sat down, handing me a plastic fork.
I pulled a crab puff out of the paper container and popped it in my mouth. Oh, yeah. Pure crabby awesomeness. “So … what good did you do today?”
“Well, we arrested a guy who rear-ended a school bus and then took off. Turns out he was wanted for armed robbery in Nevada. We found him sleeping off a twelve-pack in some dive motel near the airport. Dumb bastard didn't even have the sense to ditch his car.”
I smiled. “If only they were all so easy.”
“I know, right?” he said, taking a big bite of his eggroll.
“How's Uncle Walter?”
Walter Evans was Dad's best friend at the precinct, a veteran of thirty years. When Dad started as Senior Detective three years ago, it was Walter who befriended him and helped break him in. It wasn't easy, being a total stranger, but with Walter's help, he settled into the job fairly quickly.
Dad had repaid Walter's kindness by having him over for dinner on many occasions. Walter was divorced and all his kids were grown up, so Dad insisted on bringing him into our home. I was fascinated by the cop-stories they would swap across the dinner table, and never once did Walter make me feel like I didn't belong in the conversation.
“He's fine,” Dad said. “He was temporarily reassigned last week, so I won't be seeing much of him for a while.”
“Awww,” I said. “I haven't seen him in two months!”
“I know, Kel, but there's nothing I can do about it. The commissioner himself selected him for this assignment.”
My eyes widened. “Sounds big.”
“Oh, it is. You know that big trial that's about to start?”
I thought for a moment. “That import-export guy you arrested?”
“Yup. Jacob Lynch. He used his business as a front for more illegal activities than I can count.”
“If the trial's about to start, what's the commissioner need Uncle Walter for?”
Dad sighed. “Most of the D.A.'s case against Lynch is based on eyewitness testimony. There's very little physical evidence, because he's very good at hiding behind shell corporations and whatnot. There's more than enough to proceed with trial, but we still need to chase down every lead possible before the defense rests their case.”
“Why aren't you involved in it?” I asked around a mouthful of chicken.
He smiled. “Because Walter's more than capable of handling it. And besides, someone's got to hold down the fort. But enough about my work. How was school today?”
I fidgeted nervously in my seat. “Well … you remember that boy I told you about last week?”
He dabbed his face with a napkin. “The new kid? What's his name again? Evan?”
“Ethan. Ethan Zimmer. I actually talked to him today. He's … not what I expected.”
His eyebrows went up. “You talked to a boy? Not sure how I feel about that …”
If I'd had a mirror at that moment, I'm sure I would have seen my red face burst into flames, followed by a quick death from embarrassment. “Relax, Dad, we kept it at a G rating.”
“Make sure it stays that way,” he said, handing me a fortune cookie.
“I will. There's just something so strange about him. It's got me curious.”
He stared at me intently. “Uh-oh.”
“What do you mean, 'uh-oh'?” I asked indignantly.
“I love that analytical brain of yours, sweetheart, but sometimes your curiosity gets the better of you. Remember that time you thought our neighbor was growing weed in his basement?”
I smirked. “That was an honest mi
stake.”
“And the time you thought the cable repair guy was an escaped convict?”
“You saw that police sketch! They could have been twins!”
“And the time that–”
“Okay! Okay! I get it!” I yelled, throwing my hands up.
Dad pushed his food away from him and leaned his arms on the table. “Just one question, Kelsey … is this curiosity you're feeling because you … like this boy, or is it because you see him as a puzzle that needs solving?” Dad knew me sooooo well.
“Maybe a bit of both,” I replied, shrugging.
Dad reached over and put his hand on top of mine. “I love you more than anything in this world, you know.”
I blushed again. “I know, Dad.”
“And you've taken everything I've taught you and put it to good use. You're one of the smartest people I know. You're so much smarter than I was when I was your age.” He paused dramatically.
“I'm sensing a 'but' coming.”
“But there's a difference between intelligence and wisdom,” he obliged. “And that's something you need to learn before it gets you into trouble. Not every puzzle is meant to be solved.”
I nodded. “I see.”
* * *
Later that night, I sat at my desk, re-reading my notes on Ethan. Bruno was curled up in a ball on my bed, dozing contentedly as he awaited his nightly stroking session.
Dad's words echoed in my mind. Ethan's just a boy, Dad. It's not like we're going to run away together. Still, the advice was sound. Why was I really interested in Ethan? There were much … safer boys I could have had my first crush on; why couldn't I have picked one of them?
Why do you have to be so mysterious, Ethan? And cute?
Chapter 6
~ DAY 10 (Wed.) ~
ETHAN
Mr. McCann kept it relatively low-key in Algebra class today – low-key for him meaning he only wore one of his unbelievably awful neckties that looked like it came from the menswear department of Clowns 'R' Us – so it gave me time to study Kelsey from the back row. She sat three seats directly in front of me, so I had an excuse to watch her without being obvious about it. She didn't turn around once, though I did see her lean over and whisper something to her two friends, after which they locked eyes with me for a moment.
Ethan's Secret (James Madison Series Book 2) Page 5
