“It is. I was just returning it.” Unwilling to see her shock turn to disappointment in him, he turned away and strode down the hall.
“Roland, I’ve been worried sick over you.” Nanny followed at a slower pace. “I was going to call the police Saturday night when you didn’t come home. But Jarret stopped me. He said you were just showing some age-appropriate rebellion.”
Entering the study, Roland flipped the light switch and took a deep breath. The scent of sweet tobacco and old paper lingered in the stale air. He made a sweeping gaze of the room, appreciating the antique furniture and the paraphernalia of Papa’s trade: the ceiling-high bookshelves, the old-world desk-globe on a fruitwood stand, the other globe on the brass floor stand, the map chest, the shelves of unusual artifacts, the old coins in the tall glass case. He liked everything about Papa’s study. It reminded him of a wizard’s den.
But he wasn’t supposed to be in here without permission.
He went to the bookshelf that held the Archaeology Encyclopedias, stood on tiptoe, and returned the book to its home. Then he scanned the room again, this time to find what else Jarret had messed with. He assumed Jarret had spent time examining Papa’s maps. He would want to know all about the trip to Italy.
Nanny entered the study, still talking. “You haven’t been yourself lately, Roland. What’s gotten into you? Father Carston called, I’m thankful . . .”
Roland glanced. He should’ve figured.
“. . . said he thought you were fine, believed you were staying with a family from church. Nice family. They have that little autistic boy.”
Roland continued scanning the room, looking for signs of mischief. “Yeah, I was. I tried to leave you a note.”
“Jarret told me you weren’t the boy I thought you were. And, well, he said you’ve been up to no good.” Nanny followed Roland around the room. “But he didn’t want to tell on you. Sometimes I think that boy is just plain rotten, but he’s been so kind lately. He’s been very helpful and sensitive about this whole situation.”
Roland huffed but didn’t make eye contact. Was she really going to believe Jarret? Why would anyone believe him? He lied as easily and naturally as a person breathed air.
“You know Jarret lies, right?”
“Why, if I didn’t know better,” she said, as if she hadn’t heard Roland, “I’d say Jarret is maturing, and maybe he’s right. Maybe you are acting out because of your age. You never really had a period of rebellion. I wonder, do all children go through that? I don’t recall going through that myself, and not having children of my own, well, I know it’s been hard for you making friends your age, but you still need to choose your friends wisely. As long as you have one good friend, you’ll be all right.”
“Nanny.” Roland took her hand and gazed into her eyes. “I’m really sorry to have made you worry. I hadn’t meant . . .” He gulped, not sure how to explain himself.
She stared, waiting, pity in her eyes.
What could he say? She obviously fell for everything Jarret told her, hook, line, and sinker. “I’m just sorry. Really.” He turned to the oak cabinet and perused the antiques through its glass doors. They had that history assignment . . . “Hey, can you help me with something?”
She shifted the laundry basket to her other hip. “Well, certainly, dear. What is it? Is there something you need to talk about? Are you having some problems?”
“Huh? No. I have a history assignment.”
Chapter 28
Wednesday at noon, lunch bag in hand, Roland made a beeline for the back exit of the school. More than a few kids in the hall stopped and followed him with their eyes, mostly girls. One group fell silent as he neared and whispered once he passed. A few kids stepped out of his way. Heads popped out of the nearest door of the cafeteria. Heads popped out of the farthest door of the cafeteria.
A bug-eyed, freckled-faced boy, who innocently blocked the back exit, jerked to the left, to the right, and back to the left as if he didn’t know which way to flee. He ended up standing in place and gawking, his eyes rounder than seemed possible, as Roland approached.
“Excuse me.” Roland breezed around the kid and struck the exit door with his palm. Out of the corner of his eye, through the last door to the cafeteria, he glimpsed a redheaded girl.
Caitlyn? His heart skipped a beat. She had turned his way, but he didn’t slow his stride because she stood with a group of girls, gossipy girls.
He crossed the black top, headed for a particular tree in the strip of grass on the far side of the school grounds. The old maple tree’s thick trunk gave him a secluded retreat during the lunch period. No one ever bothered him there. He could pretend he was somewhere else for half an hour.
Gray clouds loomed on the horizon behind the farmland that bordered the school grounds. Clouds drifted in front of the sun and sent a shadow cutting across the untilled stubble of harvested crops, the blacktop, the lawn, and the picnic tables.
Before he stepped behind the tree, he thought he heard his name and glanced back.
Caitlyn stood near the back doors of the school, scanning the grounds on tiptoe. She wore a yellow-flowered skirt and a white sweater that stole the gloom from the day. The clouds moved and the shadow rolled away. Sunlight turned her into an angel again, her long, red hair glowing, her clothes all lit up like a flame. She turned toward the old maple tree. Toward him.
Roland dodged behind the tree, out of her view. His heart thumped madly. His palms sweat. Why didn’t he want her to see him? He liked talking with her.
Once his heartbeat slowed, he ventured another peek. Kids sat at the picnic tables. A group of twelfth-graders played basketball. Girls stood in groups or walked in pairs along the back of the building. Where was she? Maybe she decided—
“Boo!”
Roland’s insides jumped, and he let out a little gasp.
Caitlyn stood behind him, holding onto an overhead branch. She smiled like a mischievous child, her eyes sparkling like emeralds.
“I couldn’t resist.” She let go of the branch and lowered her head, peering up playfully at Roland. “Did I scare you?”
“No.”
She sat in the grass and leaned her back against the tree. “Oh.” She sighed and puffed out her lips, looking pouty.
“Okay, maybe a little.” He sat beside her and admired her beautiful, make-up-free face.
“Good.” She giggled and smiled at him, the sincerity in her eyes so real he had to turn away. “Do you always eat out here?”
He shrugged, gazing at the farmland. “So far.”
“Did you hear me call your name?”
He hesitated before answering. “Yeah.”
Her eyebrows drew together. “Oh. Did you see me? I was looking for you.”
He nodded.
She jumped up and wiped the back of her skirt. “Oh, I’m sorry. You probably wanted to be alone.”
“No. Stay,” he blurted out, grabbing her wrist, probably coming across desperate. He let go.
She stared a moment before sitting back down.
Roland opened his lunch bag and pulled out the ham and cheese Nanny had made. Caitlyn had nothing with her, so he handed her a triangular half. “Don’t you eat lunch?”
“Oh, I can’t take that.” She put up a hand, rejecting the sandwich. “You’re probably starving. Besides I left my lunch in the cafeteria.” She frowned. “But I’m not going back for it.”
“I’m not that hungry, and I’m certainly not starving. Here.” He pushed the sandwich into her hands.
“Thanks.” She bit into it and leaned her head against the tree trunk as she chewed. “I grabbed my sister’s lunch by mistake.” She wrinkled her nose. “I hate peanut butter and jelly. I have four younger brothers and sisters, and we live in a small house. Everything gets mixed up. It’s like a zoo.” She giggled. “Do you have a big family?”
“Me? No. Just me and my two brothers.”
“How old are they?”
“Uh . . .” Did she r
eally not know? Everyone talked about them. “They’re sixteen. They’re juniors here.”
“Both of them?”
Roland’s face twitched. Was she the only person who hadn’t heard? Maybe she only pretended not to know. “They’re twins. I’m sure you’ve seen them. They’re always together, and one of them likes to draw attention to himself.”
“Oh.” Her eyes widened. “Dark curly hair?”
He nodded.
“They’re in my study hall. They don’t look like your brothers. Well, I guess they do. Only you don’t have curls, and you’re so fair skinned.”
He glanced at his black boots. “Yeah.”
“Do they get their looks from your mother or father?”
“Mother. She was Mexican with long, dark hair. Curly.”
“Oh, she sounds pretty.”
“She was.”
“Was?” She tilted her head as if she thought his answer strange. “She’s not pretty anymore?”
He dropped his gaze. “Well, she’s dead.”
“Oh.” The sandwich slipped from her hand. She reached for it, but it fell apart and ham rolled down her skirt. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean, I mean I thought . . . Gosh, that’s terrible.” She managed to get the sandwich together then set it on her lap in the spot where it had first fallen.
“You don’t have to be sorry. It’s not your fault.” He gave her a little smile.
She blushed and lowered her head, her hair draping over her face.
“She died when I was young.”
Her eyebrows drew together over her troubled emerald eyes. “How awful.”
Roland nodded and turned to watch a shadow rolling over the field. It was awful. He grieved for over a year and then on special dates, especially the anniversary of her death.
A moment later Caitlyn said, “What’s that?” and pointed to his jacket pocket.
The box he had brought for history class stuck out of his pocket. He handed it to her.
“Oh, wow,” she whispered, gazing at the black and white photograph on the lid.
“That’s my great-great-great-grandfather.” He pointed to one of the two men in the picture. Great-great-great-grandpapa wore overalls and a cowboy hat, held a pickaxe in one hand, and rested his other hand on a donkey.
“Was he a gold prospector? A forty-niner?”
Roland opened the black lacquer box.
Her eyes popped, and she gasped. “Is that a chunk of gold?”
“Yeah, and those are Liberty-head gold dollars.” The gold nugget and two Liberty dollars were set in a custom-made case lined with black velvet.
“Wow. I only brought an old picture album. We don’t have anything like this.”
“So? An old picture album is good. I love old things. They tell a story.”
“Mr. Reinhard said not to bring something really valuable, didn’t he? This must be worth a lot of money.”
Roland shrugged. “I didn’t know what else to bring. Everything in our house is . . .”
She stared, obviously waiting for him to finish his sentence.
He closed the box, stuffed it in his jacket pocket, and finished his sandwich. Everything in their house was valuable, but he wasn’t going to tell her that. It would sound boastful.
“I didn’t know what else to bring either,” she said. “As long as your father gave permission, I’m sure it doesn’t matter.”
Roland bit his lip. Papa had no clue. Would he have minded? Maybe. Maybe not. Nanny reluctantly gave permission. If anything happened to it, what would she say when Papa came home?
“Don’t let it slip from your pocket.” Caitlyn smiled.
Her gaze drew Roland in, preventing him from answering right away. “I won’t.”
After a moment of staring, she spoke again. “So, where’d you go to school last year?”
The kids at school all wondered that. They just never asked his brothers or him, so they came up with their own answers: warlock school—as if there was such a place—military camp, no school . . .
“Uh, we had a tutor.”
“A tutor? You mean you learned at home?”
Roland nodded. “When we were at home.” He dumped the apple from his lunch bag and gave it to her. He felt compelled to share everything about himself with her, drawing her into his world and stepping into hers. Should he risk it? “We traveled a lot. We used to travel with Papa—”
Her brows shot up, and she looked like she saw a puppy. “You call your father Papa?”
Roland averted his gaze, heat sliding up his neck and cheeks. “My father travels for his work. He’s out of town now. We used to go with him. More so when my mother was alive. Not so much anymore. Papa—” He shook his head, disgusted that he used the word again. “My father prefers to take us with him one at a time now.”
“Where do you go?”
“All over.”
“What does your father—?”
The bell rang, drowning out her question.
She bit into the apple, grabbed onto the tree, and stood up. “Thanks for sharing your lunch. Maybe we can eat together tomorrow. I could pack something for both of us.”
Roland stood, and they joined the crowd of kids headed for the school building.
“I wonder what Peter brought for history class,” she said. “Do you know?”
He shook his head. He must’ve had something old in that cluttered room of his.
“Do you think he brought his old box?” she whispered, eyes wide.
“No. Definitely not.”
Chapter 29
Olivia Featherstone wore a short, mustard-yellow skirt and a magenta- and blue-striped shirt. She made her presentation to the history class, batting her overly made-up eyes and tilting her head to each side. She could probably talk for hours. She must’ve intended to display every single item of costume jewelry that her great-grandmother had owned. “And these earrings . . .” She swung her hand out dramatically then held the earrings to her ear.
Peter slouched down in his seat and covered his mouth to whisper to Dominic. “Is she trying out for a job as a game show presentation model?”
Dominic tossed the hair out of his eyes with a jerk of his head. “Don’t laugh, vato. Wait until I get up there. I’m going to be laughed out of ninth grade.”
Peter tried to look sympathetic and not amused, but he couldn’t keep his cheeks under control. “What’d you bring?”
Dominic opened a brown paper bag and angled it so only Peter could see inside. Two brightly-colored, little, cloth dolls with yarn hair stared out. “They’re rag dolls, man.”
A giggle started in Peter’s throat, and he tried to suppress it, but his face felt ready to pop. “Why-why didn’t you bring something else?” His body trembled with his effort to suppress the laugh.
Dominic stuffed the bag between his thighs and the desk. “It was either this or a Puebla dress.”
“A Puebla—” Peter dropped his head to his desk and hid his face with his arm so he could laugh without Dominic noticing.
“Stop laughing, vato. It is a traditional Mexican dress. It’s all embroidered. All the women in my family make them, back through the generations. I tried to get my father to give me other ideas, but he was busy. I need more time.” He slid his arms forward on his desk and leaned so that his straight black hair totally covered his eyes. “What’d you bring, man?”
“Oh, me? I, uh . . .” Peter glanced at the brown paper bag on the floor by his feet. Mr. Reinhard’s reaction to his piece of history was going to tell him a lot.
“Did you bring that old box your uncle sent you? That would be good. No one would laugh at that. It’s a box. Not a doll. I’m gonna be ruined.” He shook his head.
“You won’t be ruined. It takes courage to bring a . . . to bring a . . .” Peter dropped his head again.
“I’d be curious to know what that West boy brought in. You know, with his father getting all those illegal artifacts, he could have something fairly interesting. Too bad he’
s not in our class.”
Peter straightened up. “Stop with the gossip. I don’t think his father does anything illegal. Why can’t he just deal with artifacts legally? Why is that so hard to believe?”
“You believe what you like. I’ll believe what I like.” Dominic gave him a cold stare. “Are the two of you becoming buddies?”
Peter chuckled. “What, are you jealous? When are you coming over, anyway?”
“I can come this weekend. Saturday or Sunday.”
Olivia returned to her seat to the cheers and applause of the girls.
“Peter,” Mr. Reinhard said, “you’re next.”
Breaking out in a cold sweat, Peter sucked in a deep breath, grabbed his bag, and stood.
“Pee-ter, Pee-ter.” Foster started a chant that spread across the back of the classroom.
Mr. Reinhard cleared his throat, and they stopped.
Peter set his bag on the teacher’s desk and pulled out a vintage Zenith radio. The bag fell to the floor, and a few kids snickered.
He took another deep breath. “Okay, so before television, computers, cell phones, internet, and video games, there was radio. Maybe you’ve seen one of these old things at the flea market or a garage sale. If you have one, chances are you can make it work, with a little effort. You just gotta take off the back . . .” He set the radio on Mr. Reinhard’s desk, brought out the screwdriver he had stuffed in the leg-pocket of his pants, and started unscrewing the back of the radio.
The first screw came out easily, and he grabbed it before it slipped, but the next screw took a dive and bounced under Josh Field’s desk. Josh laughed and kicked it back farther.
Peter threw Josh a death glare.
“Peter.”
Mr. Reinhard’s rumbling voice brought him back to his presentation. He pulled the back of the radio off and showed its innards to the class. “So, its got, like, tubes and wires and bulky old parts in the back. Pretty radical, huh? But you don’t want to touch anything, unless you know what you’re doing. You could get zapped pretty badly.”
Foster whispered to the kid next to him then raised his hand, a crooked grin on his face.
Roland West, Loner Page 15