The Secret Files of Fairday Morrow

by Jessica Haight

  “Fairday! Time to get up and get ready!” Mr. Morrow yelled from downstairs.

  “All right, Dad!” she responded, but continued to lie in bed and stare at the cracked ceiling. There was so much noise in the house, Fairday couldn’t hear herself think, and unfortunately, she had tons of things to think about. School had started a month ago. This was another one of her huge objections to the sudden move. She didn’t know anyone in the school, and she could already picture herself fumbling around, totally lost and looking like a jerk, whereas all the other kids had had some time to get to know the routine.

  Worst-case scenarios raced through her head. What if, while the teacher was introducing her to the class, she sneezed and blew boogers all over their horrified faces? Or she went to the bathroom and unknowingly picked up a long strip of toilet paper that stuck to her shoe? Or the ultimate nightmare: what if she farted loudly on the first day and was dubbed “Fairday-Farts-a-Lot” or something even worse? She shivered at the thought. Something like that could really determine what type of year you were going to have in school. Pulling herself out of bed, she tried to reel in the anxious thoughts that continued to whiz around in her brain and started getting ready.

  Fairday sighed as she pulled clothes out of her trunk. Finally deciding on a blue long-sleeved shirt, her favorite pair of jeans, and her purple Converse, she felt confident she wouldn’t stand out from the rest of the kids.

  The other issue was the picture of the red-haired lady, which seemed to be haunting her imagination. She had taken it out of the DMS pack and placed it on her nightstand next to the brass key and hourglass. During the night, she had turned over in bed every few hours, whipped out the flashlight, and shined the light over the strange objects. Fairday watched the red sand closely; it never moved. She couldn’t stop thinking about the woman’s glaring green eyes and secret smile. What was she pointing to in the photo? Did the hairbrush and the bagpipes belong to her? What did the writing on the back of the picture say? What did the key open? Why didn’t the sand fall? These questions, along with the anxiety she felt about going to a new school, rattled around in her mind like runaway marbles. One thing was certain—she definitely needed to talk to Lizzy.

  Thirty minutes later, she hurried down the stairs, brushing past the numerous construction workers, who all smiled hastily and nodded as she passed. Auntie Em was snoozing at the bottom of the stairs, snoring blissfully, paying no attention to the activity around her. Fairday reached down and patted her on the head, glad that she could find peace in this chaos.

  Mrs. Morrow peeked out of a room. “Morning, hon. Quick, quick, okay?” With a sweeping glance, she smiled approvingly, adding, “Oh, you look nice! Don’t forget, we have to be at school by nine-thirty sharp.” Tapping the watch on her wrist, she disappeared back behind the door as Fairday nodded in acknowledgment.

  Mr. Morrow was in the kitchen, sporting his GOT FOOD? apron and dancing in front of the stove. Waving a spatula and talking with a French accent, he asked, “What would you like for breakfaaast, mademoiselle?”

  Knowing she had a big day ahead of her, Fairday wanted to be full enough so her stomach wouldn’t growl, but not so full she had to worry about becoming Fairday-Farts-a-Lot. “I’ll have blueberry pancakes,” she replied with a grin. Can’t hurt to start off the day with my favorite breakfast. Just then, she noticed that the laptop had been set up and was sitting on the kitchen counter. “Dad, can I send a quick email to Lizzy while you’re making breakfast?”

  “Oui, oui!” he said, turning to face her. “Your breakfaaast will be whipped up in ten minutes!” Her dad motioned to the frying pan with the spatula and winked at her before he got back to work.

  Fairday logged on and went straight to her email. Once she pulled up a new message, she began typing away furiously, her fingers flying over the keys.

  L—

  no time to write—on my way to my first day at my new school. ugh. ask your mom if you can come over on friday. idk what is going on in this house. it seems like something out of a tim burton movie—big iron gate with FEAR NOT THE UNEXPECTED written on it and it’s such a crooked old house. the first day i heard bagpipe music coming from behind a locked door—so bizarre! when we opened it there was no one there but…yesterday i went searching the third floor and found a silver brush with the initials RB on it and a picture of a red-haired lady whose eyes seem to follow you (it has writing on the back that i can’t make out). i also found a weird gold key. and get this—i found an ancient-looking bagpipe and there’s no way it’s been played—covered in dust—so can’t be what i heard. could it? plus there’s a really weird hourglass—the sand doesn’t move, like it’s frozen in place. barely had time to make a dent in the room. we have to explore and find out more. i already started logging everything in my notebook. don’t forget your DMS pack when you come over. what do you think? gotta go —F

  She logged off and spun around just as her dad bowed to her, holding a plate with three perfect pancakes, oozing with blueberries and dripping with maple syrup. They smelled heavenly. Having her favorite breakfast always made her feel cozy, like a warm blanket was being wrapped around her. Fairday began gobbling up her food, barely noticing the warm, sweet, tart flavors bursting in her mouth because she was busy thinking about what Lizzy’s response would be. Her friend was clever and could always connect the dots, even in the most complex puzzles. Who else could have figured out that the class ferret was stealing everyone’s pencils last year? The corners of her mouth slowly turned up. No matter what the day had in store for her, Fairday knew she would have an email waiting for her when she got home.

  Ashpot Elementary stood squarely against a bright cyan sky, showing its wear and tear through its faded and worn brownish red brick. As Mrs. Morrow turned the car into the driveway that led to the visitors’ lot, Fairday could see a sprawling playground lined with a mix of thick evergreens and a brilliant display of fall foliage: burnt orange, fiery red, and golden yellow leaves that rustled gently in the breeze. A sturdy wooden playscape with a long silver slide, monkey bars, and a variety of moving passages were situated behind the school. Farther back, two basketball hoops stood guard on the blacktop, along with a bright white four-square box and a large field with soccer goals at each end. This place gives a whole new meaning to the word recess, Fairday thought as she grabbed her backpack and hopped out of the car. The playground at her old school had been a small blacktop area with a basketball hoop and a faded four-square box. Kids usually stood around in little clusters talking and laughing, but there was never much space to play.

  After being buzzed in through the front door, Fairday and her mom walked into the office. Here we go, Fairday thought, giving her fingers a quick cross that today would be a good one.

  The secretary had short black hair and was wearing a lime-green dress. “Good morning! Hello,” she welcomed them cheerfully, standing up from her desk. “I’m Mrs. Pascoe, and you must be Fairday Morrow.” She looked down at Fairday with a warm, rushed smile. Mrs. Pascoe turned to Mrs. Morrow. “After I buzzed you in, I contacted Fairday’s teacher. She’ll be right down. Mr. Bannwell, our principal, is in a meeting right now, but I can take your paperwork and look it over. Please have a seat; it’ll just be a moment.” Mrs. Pascoe gestured over to the worn-out tan chairs, whose cushions had seen better days.

  Fairday noticed a caption on the bulletin board that read, WHAT’S BLACK AND WHITE AND READ ALL OVER? Glancing at the bottom, she saw US! IN THE NEWS! Newspaper clippings, backed with black paper, were neatly arranged across it. Always having loved riddles, Fairday was intrigued and began looking at the articles.

  Her scrutiny landed on a photograph of a man with gobs of whipped cream dripping off his beard and down the front of his shirt. Fairday squinted at the writing below it. Nudging her mother, she said, “Look at that. It’s the principal, Mr. Bannwell. It says the students at Ashpot Elementary read over a hundred thousand pages as part of a reading challenge, and he agreed to have pie thrown
in his face by the student who read the most books. That’s hilarious!” Fairday giggled. “It makes me want to read even more!”

  Before they could examine anything else on the board, the secretary called them back over. “Well, it appears everything’s in order. Oh! Look! Here’s Miss Mason now,” said Mrs. Pascoe as a pretty brown-haired woman pushed open the office doors.

  “You must be Fairday,” she said, shaking Fairday’s hand, then Mrs. Morrow’s. “I’m Miss Mason, and I’m going to be your fifth-grade teacher. The other students are in art now but will be arriving back to the classroom momentarily. How would you like to enter the room? Do you want me to introduce you? Would you like to say a few words to the class? I want you to feel comfortable, so whatever you think is best.” Her new teacher was beaming as she fired off question after question.

  Fairday bit her lip, then answered, “Um, you can introduce me when we walk in, but I really don’t want to say anything about myself, if that’s okay.”

  “No problem!” Miss Mason replied. She turned toward Mrs. Morrow. “It was a pleasure to meet you. And don’t worry! Fairday’s in good hands.”

  “Nice to meet you too,” Mrs. Morrow said, and turned to face Fairday. She leaned down and whispered, “Have a great first day, honey. I’m sure you’ll make some really special friends, and I just know you’re going to love it here. Your future awaits!”

  “Bye, Mom,” Fairday said quickly before giving her a little wave. She wanted to get out of the office to avoid the scene getting any more emotional. Fairday knew her mom could get very sentimental, especially when it came to this so-called new beginning they were forging ahead with.

  Large windows lined one side of the hallway, allowing natural light to showcase the student artwork that hung on the opposite wall. Although the school was fairly old, it had freshly painted walls and clean surfaces, making it bright and welcoming. After a short walk, Miss Mason slowed down and gave Fairday a small smile before turning left into room 208. Directly behind her, Fairday could see posters neatly displayed below the windows and surrounding the SMART Board, with groups of desks placed throughout. A short blond woman stood monitoring the students as they munched on snacks, chatted, and took out their books. Miss Mason cleared her throat and all eyes focused immediately on her.

  “Class, this is Fairday Morrow. She just moved here from Manhattan. Let’s all try to help her learn about our school and procedures,” Miss Mason explained in a sunny but no-nonsense tone.

  Fairday looked at the class with a faint smile and mumbled, “Hi,” which was followed by a variety of greetings from the students, along with a couple of chuckles and whispers. Miss Mason escorted her over to a group of four desks in the back.

  As she slid into her seat, her heart was racing. She tried to appear calm and hoped she was pulling it off. The girl and two boys in her group smiled tentatively at her and then looked down. Before Fairday could even consider the stack of books on her desk, Miss Mason began the science lesson. She glanced down, wondering which one of them to open. Fairday hurried to find her place, overhearing the kids in her group whispering about an incident that had happened in art class. Apparently, someone named Olivia spilled paint on another girl named Macy, and everyone thought it had been done on purpose. Fairday couldn’t add anything to the conversation, so she didn’t look up. Secretly, though, she wished they would change the topic and give her an easy opening to join in. Fairday snapped her head up when she heard Miss Mason say sternly, “Marcus, I’m talking now. Please go give yourself a check.”

  Murmurs of “Brocket the Rocket” could be heard coming from around her table. What kind of nickname is that? She turned to look at the boy next to her. With his dark skin and short haircut, she couldn’t see why his nickname had anything to do with rockets, and hadn’t Miss Mason called him Marcus? From the panicked expression on the boy’s face and the way the teacher had glared at him, Fairday concluded he had to be one and the same.

  Instinctively, her hand shot into the air. Before she knew what she was saying, Fairday blurted out, “I’m sorry. He was telling me what page to turn to in our science book. I wasn’t sure.” She shrugged and smiled. Marcus’s eyes grew wide for a split second before he put on a straight face and stared back at the teacher.

  Miss Mason looked surprised and tilted her head to the side as if trying to decide whether to believe Fairday. After a short pause, she cleared her throat and said, “Okay, then. Sorry, Marcus. Thanks for helping. No check. If you could, please help Fairday throughout the day.” She turned toward the SMART Board and began the lesson on invisible light.

  Marcus grinned at Fairday and nodded slightly, gesturing thank you. It was hard to put into words what had made her raise her hand, since she normally didn’t like to draw attention to herself. Fairday hadn’t even been sure if a check was a bad thing, but she smiled back, thinking she might have just made her first friend.

  She opened her science book, breathing an inward sigh of relief that she’d already studied some of this information at her last school. When she’d left, they’d finished their unit on light and were just starting to learn about sound. At least I won’t look like an idiot, she thought as Miss Mason questioned the kids about how invisible light might be used by doctors, scientists, and other professions.

  Marcus immediately put his hand up. “Well, because invisible light can show things we can’t see, it’s used by cops, detectives, and FBI agents, like my dad. Once he let me try on his night-vision goggles, which use infrared light. It was so cool to see animals at night walking around in the woods near my house. Also, he told me the FBI uses black lights to reveal chemicals and liquids that might not be seen otherwise. His department uses them all the time.” Marcus sounded proud of his dad, and Fairday couldn’t blame him. She would be over-the-top excited if her dad were an FBI agent. Imagine all the amazing resources she would have at her fingertips to solve mysteries! Night-vision goggles, computer programs, listening devices…Wait a minute, she thought as she realized that this Marcus Brocket kid did have access to all kinds of fancy detective equipment. Could he be the next Detective Mystery Squad candidate?

  Fairday was squeezed into a window seat in the middle section of the school bus, her backpack propped up between her and a girl with blond hair. The girl sharing her seat was deep in conversation with two girls sitting across the aisle from her. Fairday knew this had to be Olivia, as it appeared the art room scandal was still the hot topic. She could hear them whispering, “Macy said what?” and “I heard she was really upset.”

  As Fairday gazed out the window at the blurs of gold, red, orange, and yellow zooming by, she thought about how different the scenery was from the city. It was colorful and open compared to the towering buildings and busy streets of Manhattan. Luckily, school seemed pretty much the same. The kids were nice, and mostly normal. She liked her teacher, and it looked as though it was going to be okay. But she missed Lizzy, and every time she thought about the distance between them, it made her miserable. Fairday couldn’t wait to get home and see what her best friend had written back to her. She hoped Lizzy would be able stay over for the weekend.

  The bus slowed to a stop and one of the boys sitting in the back stood up. As he left his seat, he lightly punched another boy on the shoulder, announcing, “Later, Dif. Don’t cry. We all know Brocket’s gonna wreck you tomorrow at recess.”

  Snickers burst out from the back of the bus, followed by “Way to go, Banner!” and “Brocket’s gonna win!”

  Fairday watched the boy they were calling Banner climb down the steps and get off the bus. He was scruffy, with dirty-blond hair that was just a little bit too long and a friendly but mischievous-looking face. He stopped at the bottom of his driveway, turned around, and dramatically wagged his butt at the bus. The boys he had been sitting with were cracking up and pointing at him out the window, yelling, “Banner! Banner!” All were laughing except the boy Dif, who was scowling. She thought for a moment about what Banner had said: �
��Brocket’s going to wreck you.” What did that mean? Marcus Brocket seemed all right in class, but was he some kind of bully who went around beating up kids? Fairday was suddenly unsure about her first impression of Brocket. What was going to happen at recess tomorrow?

  The bus maneuvered around a curve in the road, and she was relieved to see the Morrow family cruiser parked at the corner of the steep drive that led up to the front gate. Fairday was thankful she didn’t have to walk all the way up to the house. That would be a form of torture, she thought as she grabbed her backpack and climbed out of the seat, trying not to bump into anyone. She flashed a smile at Olivia, who hesitantly smiled back.

  Fairday made it to the front of the bus and was just about to climb off when she heard a voice yell out, “Hey, Fairday!” She turned around to see who had shouted. It was Dif, looking at her from the back of the bus with a nasty smirk plastered across his face. A perfectly buzzed haircut and his camouflage army jacket made him look severe. Fairday stared back calmly as he added, “How’s the haunted Begonia shack? Seen any dead people yet?”

  Everyone was silent for just a moment, and then Fairday heard whispers of “She lives in that place?” and “Ugh, that place is freaky” throughout the bus.

  She looked directly at Dif and replied in her most upbeat tone, “Oh, I know, right! That place is so peculiar! No dead people yet, thankfully. But I did find some really cool stuff in a secret room. Anyway, see you later!” Even though she worried what he said might be true, she smiled as she turned to get off the bus. For whatever reason, Dif had tried to embarrass her in front of the other kids, and she was sure it had totally backfired. Fairday hoped every person on the bus was now thinking about what she had found and how awesome it was that there was a secret room in her house.