Trail of Secrets

by Brenda Chapman

  Dad was silent for a second. He rubbed his hand across the stubble on his chin and said, “We have to go slow here, Jen. Roxie has lots of things to sort out in her head, and we don’t want to do anything that will add to her confusion.”

  “I know, Dad, but this talent gives her something that will make her feel special and good about herself.”

  “Maybe. That’s the goal all right, but how that goal is realized is another story. I don’t want to see her exploited. It would be too easy.”

  “How do you mean, exploited?”

  “Think of all those child stars who end up famous then have adult lives from hell. People never look beyond their talent and money for what’s inside. Not to mention, too much money too young can be a bad thing.”

  “I know what you’re saying, Dad,” I said, “but Roxie has a gift that shouldn’t be hidden. Just think about all the doors this could open for her.”

  “Well, I’ll think about it,” Dad said, not sounding all that convinced. “Now you get yourself to bed while I lock up. I won’t be far behind you.”

  I said a silent prayer and clicked open my e-mail. I scanned the list of names in my unopened mail. No message from Pete. My heart dropped back into place, and I suddenly felt very tired. I turned off the computer and crossed the floor to my bed, slipping under the covers and reaching for my old stuffed bear Benny. I had to try not to let Pete’s poor correspondence skills get me down. I had to accept that he was busy with schoolwork, and talking to me wasn’t a priority any more. The sooner I got used to the way things were, the better my life would be.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The third week of school was one of those weeks that seem to slide by without anything really exciting happening. Every morning, I woke up early to run with the cross country team before class. As luck would have it, Mr. Jacks was sick for the whole week, so Miss Po led us through a workout routine before she let us loose on the trails.

  “You’re all winners,” she’d say as we lined up. “Enjoy the morning, and feel the wind on your faces. Be one with the running gods.” Then she’d raise an arm for us to begin and smile at us, her face beaming like sunshine. Mr. Jacks would have told us to get the lead out and move our sorry butts around the course. As I’d learned in French class, Vive la différence.

  I was always a little late getting to first period and didn’t get a chance to talk to Evan Quinn. He’d nod as I’d settle into my seat but never hang around to walk with me after class as he had before. Wednesday, I saw my chance and said goodbye to Ambie before hurrying to catch up with Evan, who was heading for the side entrance into the schoolyard. He was walking fast with his head down, and I didn’t reach him until he’d started across the parking lot.

  “Evan,” I said as I drew alongside him. “How’s it going?”

  Evan stopped and smiled at me, but his face quickly settled back into a scowl. “You probably shouldn’t be seen talking with me, Jennifer,” he said.

  “Why, that’s silly. Whatever would make you say that?”

  Evan looked past me. Whatever he saw made him turn back towards the road and start walking. “No reason. See you around.” He tossed the words over his shoulder.

  I stood in place for a few moments and watched his jean jacket disappearing in the direction of my house. I spun around and scanned the school grounds. A group of Grade Twelve guys were standing near the entrance to the school. They were talking and laughing and didn’t seem in any hurry to go anywhere. Just then, Ambie appeared on the front steps. I took one final look towards Evan then started back across the parking lot to walk home with Ambie.

  Roxie and I started hanging out after school. I suppose it was natural since I was missing Leslie, and Roxie was lonely too, even though she’d never admit it. I’d make hot chocolate, and we’d do our homework together in the kitchen. Roxie’d skipped a lot of school and was behind in math and reading. Math wasn’t my most brilliant subject, but I knew enough to help her with her assignments. We’d also read her language arts questions together, and I’d check over whatever she wrote. I knew it was slow going for her, but I pretended not to notice too much. It wasn’t that she couldn’t do the work. It was just that she’d never learned the skills.

  “If Miss Greenwood could see me now, she’d think she was dreaming,” Roxie said one afternoon after struggling with a difficult math problem. She flicked the end of her pencil against her lips.

  “Who’s Miss Greenwood?” I asked.

  “My last math teacher in Toronto. She used to go this peculiar shade of purple whenever she’d yell at me, which was just about every time I showed up for class. Her name should have been Miss Purplewood.” Roxie giggled.

  “Poor you,” I said.

  “You mean poor Miss Greenwood.” Roxie grinned wider.

  Mrs. Stoyko phoned on Tuesday night and spoke with Dad. Mr. Stoyko had had his surgery that morning, and he was doing as well as could be expected. Roxie shrugged when Dad told her but didn’t say anything. I guess she didn’t want to let on how attached she’d gotten to Mr. Stoyko. It was almost as if she’d given up believing she’d ever belong anywhere.

  One really good thing happened that week. Leslie finally called me Thursday after dinner. I was upstairs lying on my bed, trying to memorize the network of a frog’s internal organs for a biology test on Monday when the phone rang. I almost let the answering machine pick up but grudgingly reached for the receiver at the last second.

  “Jennifer?”

  “Is that you, Leslie?” I asked, pulling myself up into a sitting position. I leaned back against the headboard. “Where are you?”

  “Los Angeles, sitting by the pool. It’s about ninety degrees in the shade.” Leslie’s voice travelled across the miles. “I hate this place,” she added, sounding like she meant it.

  “How can you hate eternal summer?”

  “I’d rather have a good snowstorm any day. Mr. Putterman’s never around, so I don’t know why we have to live here.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked, alarms starting in my head. “Is Mom okay?”

  “Yeah. Yeah. It’s just Mr. Putterman is always working. I hear them fighting about it sometimes.”

  “Well, newlyweds sometimes have to work things out,” I said. Since when had I become the expert on relationships? The girl who didn’t even know if she had a boyfriend. “How’s school?”

  “They don’t use the metric system down here. Did you know that? What is the logic behind a yard and a mile anyway? These people are crazy.”

  “Different doesn’t mean crazy, Les,” I laughed. “We used to use the Imperial system too.”

  “I guess. How’s Daddy? And Uncle Phil?”

  “They’re good. Daddy’s working a lot too. Roxie’s living in Springhills now with the Stoykos but is staying with us for a few days while they’re in Toronto.” I didn’t want to trouble Leslie with the details of Mr. Stoyko’s heart attack or tell her that Roxie’d taken over her bedroom. “Say, did you know Roxie can really sing?”

  “Sure. She told me in the summer that she was friends with some singer who used to give her lessons for free. Roxie’d tell her foster mom she was going to school but go hang out at the music studio instead. Roxie’s friend figured Roxie was better there than roaming the streets like she’d been doing.”

  “Really?”

  “Yup. Roxie said her friend let her tag along to gigs and stuff until their band moved away. I think her friend moved to New York.”

  “Wow. Roxie’s life has sure been interesting.” I wrapped the phone cord around my fingers. “So, how are you really doing, Les?”

  “I don’t know. I wish Mom and I could come home.” Her voice had dropped. I could hear someone talking to her. “Mom wants to say hello. I’ll phone you again soon, okay?”

  “Okay. Bye, Leslie.”

  “Hello, Jennifer?” Mom said. Boy, it had been a long time since I’d heard her voice.

  “Hi, Mom. How do you like living in L.A.?”

&n
bsp; “Well, it’s hot, I’ll say that,” Mom laughed. She talked for a bit about their new home and some of the people they’d met. I could tell by the funny catch in her voice that she was pretending to be happy. She was never very good at hiding how she was feeling. Then she asked, “Are you keeping well? Making it to class all right?”

  “Sure, Mom. I’m fine,” I said. “School’s keeping me out of trouble. I might even get good grades this term. How’s Mr. Putterman?”

  “He’s very busy but loves his work.” Mom paused. “I miss you, Jennifer. I wish you could come live with us too.”

  And leave Dad all alone? “That’ll never happen, Mom,” I said. “I’m staying in Springhills.

  “I know,” she answered. “I was just wishing. Well, take good care of yourself and say hi to Dad and Uncle Phil for me.”

  “Okay, Mom,”

  “I love you, Jen.”

  I closed my eyes and pictured her standing in front of me. “I love you too, Mom,” I said.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Best friends can tell when something isn’t right. I began to get a bad feeling about Ambie that Friday when we walked to her house after school. It wasn’t anything she said exactly. It was more what she didn’t say. Ambie listened to me gripe about Pete and the absence of e-mails or phone calls for a few blocks and never said a word. As we started up her driveway, I turned my head to see if she was even paying attention. She had such a closed-off look on her face that I broke off what I was saying and asked, “Anything wrong, Ambie?”

  She bit her lip and wrapped her arms more tightly around the books she was carrying. “What makes you think something is wrong?”

  “I don’t know. You just seem . . . preoccupied.”

  “I just have a lot of homework to do.” She started walking faster. She tossed over her shoulder, “Mom is talking about getting a part-time job. Erica’s Bakery has offered her three days a week, from Thursday to Saturday, starting next week.”

  I increased my pace. “Wow. Your mom working outside the house. I thought she said she’d never even consider it while you were still home.”

  “I know, but Mom seems restless lately. Dad’s encouraging her to accept.” Ambie started walking up her driveway. “It’ll be weird, but I think she should do it too. Besides, I won’t be home all that much longer. Hey, Madonna,” she called, spotting her cat stretched out on the sidewalk. Ambie leaped across the short distance and dropped to her knees to stroke Madonna’s fur. The cat promptly rolled onto her back and writhed happily on the pavement, her paws wrapping around Ambie’s arm.

  I caught up and stood behind Ambie. “Is this Madonna’s idea of a workout? A little roll in the dirt?”

  She laughed. “Did you hear that, Madonna?” she asked. “Jennifer’s giving you a backhanded insult.” Ambie rubbed her hand along Madonna’s neck. “Jen thinks you’re letting yourself go.”

  Madonna responded by flipping onto her feet and sauntering towards a sunny spot on the grass near Mrs. Guido’s chrysanthemum garden, where she promptly dropped onto her side and closed her eyes.

  I followed Ambie up the front steps. “I’ve never seen a cat with a beer belly before,” I said. “That cat gives lazy a bad name.”

  “As if Madonna Guido isn’t a bad enough name all on its own,” Ambie said.

  “So how’s Mr. Stoyko?” Ambie asked, reaching for another chocolate chip cookie. She was sitting with her legs over the arm of her computer chair, facing where I lay on my stomach on her bed.

  “Better. He’s supposed to be coming home next week.”

  “That’s great,” Ambie said, her eyes darting back to the empty computer screen.

  “Why don’t you turn it on, if you want?” I asked. “I don’t mind if you’re waiting for an e-mail or something.”

  Ambie swatted in the air like she was trying to shoo away a mosquito. “No, that’s okay. I’m really not expecting anything.” She giggled, and a dull red crept up her cheeks.

  I felt my own interest level climb several notches. Could Ambie have a secret admirer she wasn’t telling me about?

  “When’s your cross-country race?” she asked, almost as if she was trying to change the subject.

  “Tuesday. We’ll be bussing to Sir John A. McDonald School at nine o’clock. My race starts at eleven.”

  “Are you nervous?”

  “Maybe a little. I’ve never tested myself against anyone before. I hope I don’t twist an ankle or something.”

  “You’ll be fine, Jen. Just exposing your underbelly to Mr. Jacks, and not caring that all the cool kids think track is sissy should be enough to win you a medal.”

  “Thanks, Ambie,” I said. “You’ve given voice to all my innermost fears. I’m going to be labelled the school dork, and Mr. Jacks is going to have ‘I told you so’ tattooed to my forehead when I fail to finish in the top twenty.”

  “You gotta love high school,” Ambie grinned.

  “Or not,” I grumbled.

  I slept in Saturday and spent the day hanging around the house in my pajamas. By mid-afternoon on Sunday, I was getting tired of doing nothing, so I dressed in warm clothes and set out for my last run before the big race on Tuesday. I made my way to the bike path and jogged south for a few kilometres. I didn’t usually come this way and suddenly remembered that if I cut off the path near the mall and kept going down Cooper Road, I’d eventually end up in Evan’s new subdivision. I wasn’t tired and didn’t have anything else to do, so before long, I found myself at the intersection of Cooper and Oakdale. He’d said their house was smaller than the others, but as I jogged up the street, I could see that none of the houses was what I would call particularly small. They all had three or four car garages, turrets and high fences. Some had freshly rolled-out lawns, while others had muddy yards that could do with some landscaping. Some even had gates across the driveway and intercoms. Nobody was visible either in the yards or on the street. How had I missed all these big, new houses going up? Boy, blink your eyes, and houses popped up like mushrooms after a week of rain. I took a close look around me. The entire subdivision had the feeling of wealth and . . . well, blandness. Dad’s house might be small, but at least it had character. I thought about running up somebody’s driveway to see if they knew where Evan lived, but something told me these people wouldn’t know the names of their neighbours.

  I turned and started jogging lightly down the sidewalk the way I had come, still looking around in case I caught sight of Evan or his sister. I was just about at the intersection with Cooper Road when the hum of an approaching car’s engine made me lift my head. I turned to my left just as a long black limousine swung around the corner and into view. I jogged in place on the sidewalk as I waited for the car to pass by. A man dressed in a dark chauffeur’s uniform with a peaked cap was visible through the front windshield, but the other windows were tinted, and I couldn’t see inside. Maybe someone had rented the limo for a special event. Nobody in Springhills owned one, as far as I knew. Of course, this whole subdivision was news to me, so it was possible that a limo or two could have slipped into town under my radar. I watched the car turn onto Oakdale and climb the street before it turned slowly into one of the gated driveways. It stopped and idled for a few seconds before the gates swung open. Then it slowly disappeared inside, and the gates closed behind it.

  Was Springhills hiding some royalty the town gossip lines had missed? Did Evan really live in this ritzy neighbourhood, or had he made the whole thing up? I could have sworn he didn’t have much money, and it made me sad to think that he’d felt the need to fabricate a lifestyle just to impress us.

  I had lots to think about as I ran home, and time and distance flew by unnoticed. Before I knew it, I was jogging up Sunnydale, and I could see our house with the black shutters and the peeling grey paint in the middle of the block. Our house was a sight for sore eyes all right, and mine were happy I lived here and not in Evan’s subdivision. I quickened my pace for the sprint home as my thoughts turned happily to a
hot shower and a visit with Dad, whose car I’d spotted in the driveway.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  I left the house early Monday morning to make certain I caught Ambie before class. It was a warm day for the end of September—robin’s egg blue sky and butterball sun filtering through the trees. I was wearing my favourite jean jacket, a white T-shirt and chocolate brown cords. I’d pulled my hair back into a ponytail, and only a few pieces had escaped by the time I made it to school. All in all, I felt as if I was looking pretty sweet, that is until I met up with Ambie, who stood waiting for me near the oak tree. She’d chosen a jade ruffled top and black miniskirt with knee-high black boots. Her hair was a tumble of curls held back with a silver headband. Ambie’s fashion sense had done cartwheels over mine, and it left me a little puzzled. When had she learned to pull herself together like this, and why did I feel like I was missing a mandatory female gene?

  “Wow! You’re early,” Ambie said, making a show of checking her watch.

  “The early bird gets to class on time,” I said. “We have a test today on frog guts and those of other assorted amphibians, and I want to review my diagrams one last time.”

  Ambie wrinkled up her nose. “How disgusting. Are you set for your race tomorrow?”

  “I guess.” My anger at Mr. Jacks had worn off, and I was beginning to wonder why I’d ever signed up for the team. He’d right about me never having run a race before. I must have been dreaming in technicolor to think I could keep up with runners from other schools that probably took track a lot more seriously than Morton T. High. It would have been hard to find a school that put less effort into their track program. Morton had never even placed in the top ten at regionals to my knowledge—boys’ or girls’ events. I heard footsteps behind me and turned just as Gillian Foster tapped me on the shoulder.