Grim Hill: The Family Secret

by Linda DeMeulemeester

  Actually, there hadn’t been any T.V. time, or internet time, or any time. I’d been barreling through schoolwork for hours, and my eyes were getting blurry. “Sorry. I’m almost done.”

  “Tell your sister goodnight,” Mom said to Sookie.

  Sookie came over to hug me goodnight, and then she pulled away sharply.

  “Cat, watch out for the water!”

  “Oops,” I said, checking if I had knocked over my glass on the desk. But Mom must have taken that away for me too. “What water?”

  “The water, the water …” Sookie sounded like she was about to burst into tears.

  “Someone sounds very tired,” Mom said, ushering Sookie to bed. Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything about pirates.

  Still, her odd outburst must have spooked me because that night I kept hearing a splash – as if I’d fallen into a pool. I was still sleepy when I woke up. But when I grabbed the letter Mom had signed, and all the assignments to show my teachers, I was wide awake.

  Throughout the day I sat through my classes as butterflies tap-danced in my stomach. All the work in my backpack just had to convince Mr. Morrows and Ms. Dreeble that I qualified for the exchange.

  CHAPTER 3 - A Desperate Attempt

  “CAT, ARE YOU going to sign up for the car wash on Saturday?” Zach asked as I passed by my friends in the hall. They’d gathered outside the gym and were organizing sign-up sheets for the fundraising.

  Zach was the coolest boy at school, and he was asking me? I signed up for car washing and for the bake sale and for selling raffle tickets.

  “Hey, why don’t we do a bottle drive and clean up some yards?” I suggested. April was around the corner, and grass would need cutting.

  “Great idea,” said Zach, and we made up the extra sheets, which I promptly signed.

  Amarjeet whistled softly. “Wow, Cat, where are you going to get the time to participate in every single event?”

  “I’ll have to make time,” I said. “Besides, I decided to get a jump-start on homework.” I hauled my heavy backpack off the chipped linoleum floor. “And I’m going to hand in a few assignments now, so if you think of any other fundraisers, sign me up.”

  “Will do,” Mitch said cheerfully. Then he joined the current debate: What would raise more money, holding another car wash or another bake sale?

  “Cars get dirty every week,” argued Amarjeet.

  “But people can never eat enough cupcakes,” said Mitch.

  I left them to decide and went to Ms. Dreeble’s class first. The stools had been placed on top of the crowded tables, and I bumped one with my bulging backpack. The stool crashed down, knocking over a Bunsen burner. Ms. Dreeble jumped and turned quickly from the notes she’d been making on the board. Not the best start.

  Picking up the stool, I said to my teacher, “I brought you the work I’ve been behind on.”

  “What a coincidence,” said Ms. Dreeble. “I don’t suppose this has anything to do with the exchange trip?”

  “It has everything to do with the trip,” I said in surprise. No point in hiding it, I thought. “I just wanted you to know I’ve caught up completely on all my assignments, and I’m making sure I keep on top of all my homework. I’m two chapters ahead in math, and I’ve read the entire novel for English class.” (Well, skimmed it.) I rubbed my eyes convincingly, just to show I hadn’t skipped any chapters.

  “This is good …” Ms. Dreeble said, flipping through the papers of my science assignments. “You’ve been quite thorough, and you’ve got the chemistry equations all balanced – that’s a nice touch using the different colored pens. However …”

  As Ms. Dreeble hesitated, I sucked in my breath. “Howevers” were always a bad sign.

  “Cat, on this exchange trip there will be planes to catch – and trains and buses; everyone will have to be prompt. Also, students will have to keep track of luggage and passports and their own money.” Ms. Dreeble pronounced the next words much louder and slower. “They will have to listen very carefully and do exactly as they are told. In other words …”

  I still hadn’t breathed. Ms. Dreeble stared at me over her glasses. I looked over her head at the dog-eared periodic table on the wall. And waited.

  “… students will have to be reliable,” Ms. Dreeble finished.

  Reliability was not what Ms. Dreeble considered one of my strengths. But I wanted to shout, I am reliable! I saved this town from three terrible disasters. But the adult world didn’t know about fairy trouble – even when it stared them in the face. Everyone in this town only saw the fairy incidents as distant, hazy dreams. Instead, I said with all my heart, “I want to be reliable.”

  Then Ms. Dreeble said something that surprised me. She said, “I believe you, Cat.” She held the reference letter in her hand, the one I desperately wanted her to sign. “Give me a day to think about this.”

  “It’s supposed to be in Ms. Sevren’s office by tomorrow,” I reminded her. I didn’t think it would be easy getting my teachers to sign the letters; still, I’d counted on convincing them. This was so not part of the game plan.

  “I’ll tell Ms. Sevren I won’t have the letters ready until the end of the day,” said Ms. Dreeble. “Not to worry.”

  Easy for her to say.

  I’d gone to Ms. Dreeble first because I thought it would be easier to convince her than my history teacher. After all, I liked science and Ms. Dreeble had said my work was good. But she still hadn’t signed. Clearly, I’d need a different angle with Mr. Morrows.

  When I got to his class I said, “Did I ever tell you that some of my ancestors were Scandinavian?” Faded and crinkled history posters plastered all over his walls had given me an idea to try and get on his good side.

  Mr. Morrows was busy marking test papers, and he didn’t even look up when he said, “Oh, do tell.”

  “Well, these ancestors are from a long ways back – Vikings, maybe.” I’d have to ask Mom because that part was a little foggy. “I think Vikings are fascinating.”

  “It won’t help, Cat,” said Mr. Morrows.

  “What won’t help?” I could barely speak as my throat started to squeeze shut.

  Finally looking up from his marking, Mr. Morrows said seriously, “It won’t help to convince me that I should sign your reference letter. You are not pulling a B in my class.”

  If you averaged out my other marks, I still meet the criteria, my mind screamed. But it was my experience that arguing with teachers never helped.

  I slid my letter on his desk. “Just in case you want to think it over.” I also handed in an overdue essay and all the finished questions for the next three chapters.

  I trudged down the dingy stairwell that was looking even drearier at the moment. For some reason, it felt like I was carrying even more weight in my backpack, even though I’d handed in all my work. I swung by the gym entrance where everyone was still hanging out.

  “Cat, we’ve organized another car wash. It’s tomorrow during the rush hour before dinner,” said Zach. Even the thin ray of light from Darkmont’s tiny window didn’t glow over Zach’s golden head like it usually did. It was as if I was wearing sunglasses – everything seemed so dark.

  “And the first bake sale is Saturday,” said Mitch.

  “We’ve also signed you up for the recycling rally, so you need to bring in any metal junk tomorrow morning,” said Clive. “We’ll be sorting it right after school. Think you can possibly keep all that straight?”

  Clive liked giving me a hard time, but he was smiling. Even though he was growing on me, I didn’t have the heart to shoot back a smart reply. I just shrugged my shoulders.

  “You did say you’d sign up for anything, right?” asked Amarjeet. “Because I’m not getting any volunteers to walk the kindergarten kids from day care to the elementary school in the morning, and then back again at noon. No one wants to give up their lunch hour, but the day care’s willing to pay us a hundred and fifty bucks.” Then she looked over the instruction sheet. “You d
o have your babysitting certificate, right?”

  “Done, done, and done. And yes, I have my certificate.” (Mom had made me get it for when I looked after Sookie.) “So done,” I said wearily. Then I walked straight out of the school before any of my friends could see me fighting back tears.

  *

  All evening I had to pretend my teachers had signed my letters when Mom asked if I’d handed them in. Technically, I had, but not to the vice principal. But I knew my mom was assuming the trip was on.

  In a way, I thought Mom would be okay if I told her I had changed my mind about the trip. There was no need to mention my teachers were changing it for me. Because after Sookie went to bed, I saw her pull out her budget book and spend a lot of time on her computer checking our finances.

  That night, I had a nightmare that I was running, and I was sure someone was chasing me. I was glad I’d set my alarm early when I woke up from the creepy dream. Groggily, I rushed out of the house so I could collect and deliver scrap metal to the school. After that, I picked up a bunch of little kids from their day care and walked them to school.

  “Hey, Cat, what are you doing here?” asked Sookie when Amarjeet and I dropped off eight kids at her elementary school. I was exhausted. It had been like chasing a gym full of rolling soccer balls going in every direction.

  “Hey,” I said right back to my sister. “Why aren’t you wearing your new glasses?”

  Sookie stuck out her tongue at me and said, “’Cause I see better without them. And there’s important stuff I’m watching.” Then the bell rang, and she ran off with her friend Skeeter, disappearing into the school with a mob of shrieking kids.

  “We better hurry,” said Amarjeet. “I got Ms. Sevren to give us permission to be late for first class, but she only gave us fifteen extra minutes.” Amarjeet and I jogged the rest of the way back.

  At lunch I delivered the kids back to their day care.

  After school I spent over an hour being bossed around by Clive about how to properly prepare all the metal for recycling. “You’re right,” I couldn’t help tell him sarcastically. “There’s only one way to remove the labels from cans – otherwise it’s the end of the world.”

  Clive stormed off to boss more willing helpers. Later I joined Zach, Emily, Amanda, and Mitch at the local gas station for the car wash. It started out good for business because our town was small, and all our parents made sure they’d stop by the car wash on their way home from work. Also, a lot of teachers came. But then the guys got silly and started having soap fights and squirting water around.

  “Cut it out,” shouted Mia, her face turning as red as her hair. “If we’re not serious, we won’t get any returning customers.”

  Mitch squirted Mia in the face with a hose. Mia grabbed a soapy bucket and raced after him to exact her revenge. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to join in on the water fight – I just didn’t have the heart for it. So I found myself, strangely enough, working with Clive, who had signed up for almost as many fundraising events as I had. We kept scrubbing, then hosing down cars, while the others goofed around.

  “Good job, you two,” said a voice from behind. I turned around.

  Ms. Dreeble nodded approvingly at us, while Mr. Morrows had rounded up the others and was now giving them the “Just how badly do you want to go to Sweden?” lecture.

  “There’s no profit margin in monkey business,” Mr.

  Morrows said. Apparently he thought they didn’t want the trip enough.

  “We reviewed the sign-up sheets,” said Ms. Dreeble. “You’ve volunteered for every fundraiser. You really want this trip, don’t you, Cat?”

  I only nodded. While my heart felt it would burst if I didn’t go, would it do any good to say so? I didn’t have Sookie’s skill for dazzling people with words. Instead I just kept my head down, so Ms. Dreeble wouldn’t see my stinging eyes.

  “I know you are busy, but perhaps you have time to see me before school tomorrow?” asked Ms. Dreeble.

  A tiny bubble of hope worked its way into my heart.

  CHAPTER 4 - At All Costs

  DARKMONT HIGH NEVER looked inviting at the best of times. But it took all my courage to walk through its darkened doors in the early morning light. Even the promise of a sky blue afternoon didn’t help. While it might almost be spring, somebody forgot to tell the north wind. A chill set my teeth chattering.

  I stood outside Ms. Dreeble’s classroom. The halls were quiet except for the occasional echo of a teacher’s footsteps down the yellowed linoleum hallway. Gray walls pressed in on me. Would my teachers sign my consent forms or not? Finally, I decided it was just better to know and deal with it. I stepped inside the science classroom.

  This time I managed not to knock over any stools. Ms. Dreeble sat at her desk, her blond hair tied back, her glasses perched on her nose, and her lab coat already on. She was waiting for me.

  “Good morning, Cat. So, I am sure you want to get to the point of this meeting,” said Ms. Dreeble. “Well, Mr. Morrows and I have been talking …”

  So not a good thing.

  Ms. Dreeble stared me in the eye. “You know, Cat, I think you need to learn how to be more accountable.”

  That was teacher-talk for saying I wasn’t going on a student exchange anytime soon.

  “But it’s not just you,” she said. “There are many seniors who are not becoming as responsible as they should. Students are handing in assignments late, showing up unprepared for tests, getting distracted when they are supposed to be studying …”

  It sure sounded like she was only talking about me.

  “Sometimes,” said Ms. Dreeble, “the way to become more mature is to be given greater responsibilities.”

  I wasn’t sure what she meant, but I nodded furiously and muttered, “Definitely.”

  “Mr. Morrows is willing to average out your history grade, and we have decided to sign all the reference letters.” Ms. Dreeble’s grim face made me do a double take. And then I realized what she’d said.

  Don’t laugh, don’t cheer, and don’t look too happy. So I kept somber as I shouted in my mind, I. Get. To. Go. But I could feel the corners of my mouth twitch upwards.

  Ms. Dreeble tapped her pen on her desk. “In exchange we are asking students to sign a contract of responsibility, acknowledging that this trip is a privilege and an opportunity to learn.”

  As if I was a bobblehead, I kept on nodding.

  “Before you sign this contract, I want you to know we’re going to have high expectations for every student’s behavior – academically and socially. This will be a very intensive program,” Ms. Dreeble warned.

  What was that? But still I kept agreeing as I scribbled my signature on the contract before she could change her mind. Then I backed out the door and rushed to pick up the day care kids. I ran all the way and got there just before Amarjeet.

  “What are you so happy about?” she asked miserably as two of the little boys ran away from the group for the third time.

  We were in serious danger of not making it back to Darkmont in Ms. Sevren’s fifteen-minute window. Getting anxious, Amarjeet said for the third time, “I told you two to stay in line and hold hands.”

  They didn’t seem to care, so I chased after them and said, “Bet you can’t hold hands all the way to school. Bet you’ll forget and let go.”

  “I won’t forget,” said a freckled-face boy.

  “Yes, you will,” said his dark-haired friend. “I’m going to win.”

  I grinned and wrangled them back as Amarjeet eyed me suspiciously. My heart soared as if I’d just scored a hat trick in the World Cup, but what could I say? She didn’t know how I almost wasn’t allowed to go on the exchange. So instead I said, “We’re going to Sweden … for three weeks … on our own!”

  “You’re right. Even this is worth it.” Then Amarjeet ran after two little girls who scampered from the line, wanting to get them in on the bet.

  *

  I’ll admit it wasn’t easy keeping up
with all the fundraising projects and homework. Fortunately, I didn’t mind the work cutting into my sleep time – that nightmare I kept having was unsettling. It was better to keep busy until I was tired to the bone. Then I’d collapse each night into a deep, dark sleep and not even worry about the nightmare. That is, until I remembered the haunting dream in the morning.

  For the next weeks, all my friends and I worked endlessly with car washes, bake sales, and every other possible way to earn money for the trip. Each day in the gym, we marked a thermometer graph that showed how much money we’d raised. As the red line on the graph climbed, the individual cost of our trip went down.

  Somehow we had to get the red line to go a lot higher if I was going to have a chance at affording the trip. After school the day before the raffle draw, I stood in the gym staring at the thermometer on the wall. While we’d collected a lot of money, the trip was still expensive when you divided the total among each student. Mom had been pulling out her budget book almost every night this week, and each day when I came home from school she’d ask how much the trip was costing.

  I knew this wasn’t good.

  “Hey, Cat, why don’t we try to sell the last bunch of raffle tickets?” suggested Jasper as he joined me in the gym. “This is our last chance before the draw, so we might as well make the best of it.”

  “Haven’t we already hit up every person in town?” I myself had unloaded quite a few tickets at Mr. Keating’s Emporium.

  “I walked past the Greystone’s house this morning,” said Jasper. “The curtains were open, and I think they’re back from Arizona.”

  Lucinda Greystone had become ill in February. It had alarmed me that she’d become so frail. Then her sister, Alice, decided a sunny vacation to someplace warm would be for the best until winter was over. “They’ll definitely buy tickets,” I said enthusiastically. Besides, I wanted to drop by and say hello.

  We raced to see the Greystones, who lived in an old-fashioned house with a wraparound porch. Jasper had been right. The porch was swept, and a pot of dirt sat on their top step ready for the bag of tulip bulbs sitting next to it. They were back. We opened their gate to the squeal of a rusty hinge.