Secret of McKinley Mansion

by K. F. Breene

  “I should probably start from the beginning,” I said into his undivided attention. “You see, this town—”

  The door to the office swung open and Mr. Morris barreled through it, his gaze sweeping across Susan’s desk before landing on me. His brow furrowed and he harrumphed.

  A renewed urge to defend my case rose to the surface. One of my biggest pet peeves was to be wrongly accused, and unfortunately, with Dirk always lingering close by, it was something that had happened a lot in my life. I started babbling before I could help myself.

  “In all fairness, Mr. Morris, how could I even have known it was you? And look.” I felt the tender spot on my forehead where a bump was forming. “Why would I want to bang my head on a door I was pushing closed? That doesn’t make any sense, you must see that.”

  He squinted at my head before his gaze darted to my cheek. His eyes narrowed, and I knew he had found the tiny bruise from the night before when I’d punched myself in the face.

  “No, no. That’s a different thing,” I rushed to say, then realized I was sticking my foot in my mouth. “What I mean is, that was just an accident. That happened last night during the storm—”

  The look in his eyes shifted to one of suspicion and fear. He knew the rumors about me. Everyone did. But he was one of the rare people who didn’t laugh it off. I couldn’t count the number of times he’d warned me not to spread tall tales that might frighten his students or send them on an expedition to the mansion.

  And mention my belief that Janine and Alex didn’t run away, that they were lost to the mansion like so many before them? He started throwing around the word suspension.

  Bringing up last night to Mr. Morris would put a nail in my coffin, especially since the new guy had shifted again, his body taut.

  “The lights went out and I stumbled, that’s all,” I said. “I stumbled into my bedpost. Because it was dark. And I’m clumsy. Which jibes with how I fell into the office door. See? It all makes sense if you think about it logically.”

  Lame.

  Mr. Morris glanced at the new guy, then back at me.

  I knew what was coming.

  Chapter Five

  “I am so sorry,” Scarlet said as she caught up to me after fourth period. We walked down the hallway filled with students. Metal clanked and slammed as books were thrown in lockers, changed out for the two classes after lunch. “I should’ve stuck up for you. I barely said anything. I just froze.”

  “It’s fine.” I rubbed the lump on my forehead as we turned the corner and walked toward our lockers. “I got two detentions. One for causing a ruckus, and one for spreading filthy rumors meant to inspire fear. His words.”

  “Filthy rumors—oh no, Ella, you didn’t tell him about…the big show…” She looked around us. “You know he doesn’t believe in that stuff. He punishes anyone who talks about it.”

  “I know. Trust me. Who has gotten the most detentions for talking about ghosts in this school?” I raised my hand. “He saw my bruise from last night when I pointed out the lump the door had left on my forehead. All I did was mention the storm. That was it.”

  “What bruise?”

  I paused in front of my locker and pointed at the tiny bruise on my cheekbone.

  “Oh wow, I didn’t even notice. It’s really faint,” she said, squinting into my face.

  “It seems our principal is exceptionally detail-oriented.” I rolled my eyes and reached for the combination lock.

  She did likewise, her locker and mine only separated by one.

  “Ah, great.” Sam, he of the in-between locker, came to a stop behind us. His shaggy hair fell halfway down his round face.

  “The man that stands between us,” I said to Scarlet.

  She snickered and opened her locker.

  “Why did I get stuck in a geek sandwich?” Sam moaned.

  “Takes one to know one,” Scarlet said.

  His eyebrows settling low over his eyes, Sam trudged forward and shoved his way between us. He grabbed his lock with a pudgy hand and clutched it in a death grip, apparently concerned we’d try to push him away.

  “Don’t wait your turn or anything.” I huffed and stepped farther away, getting into my locker at an angle.

  “Ella, did you hear?” Scarlet asked.

  “What?”

  “Can’t you wait to talk to each other until I leave? It’s annoying,” Sam groused.

  “Should’ve waited your turn,” I said.

  “There’s a new guy in school,” Scarlet said with a big smile. “He’s in my second period. He is gorgeous.” She bit her lip and a dreamy look crossed her face.

  “Get me outta here,” Sam mumbled. He snatched out a book and then jammed the lock shut before marching away in a huff.

  “He really needs to take a chill pill,” Scarlet said, watching Sam go.

  I swapped out books and grabbed my lunch, noticing a suspicious brown stain at the bottom corner. I would grab something small in the lunch line so I’d fit in, then eat the packed fruit and veggies on the sly. I wasn’t about to bring a sack lunch into the cafeteria. Dirk would have a field day.

  “He is definitely cute,” I said. “His family is the one that bought the Johnson house.”

  “Oh right, the Johnson house. I’d completely forgotten.” She pushed her locker shut and paused with her palm still spread out across the green metal. “Wait…” She stepped closer and lowered her voice. “Do they know it’s haunted?”

  “I doubt it. That’s not something a real estate agent would include in the write-up.”

  “I can’t believe you live so close to him. He—is—a—hunk.” She fanned her face. “And he seems smart. He was only called on once, but he knew the answer right away.”

  “Smart, or he learned the information already.”

  “If he did, he still remembered it. That means he’s smart enough. I much prefer a smart guy. They can carry a conversation.”

  “He can certainly carry one better than I can. I acted like a total ditz when I saw him in the principal’s office.”

  “You saw him in there?”

  “Yeah. He witnessed Mr. Morris telling me off.” I sighed as we left the hall and turned down the covered cement walkway between the buildings. “He’s not in any of my classes.”

  “Hello? You practically live next to him. That’s better. Plus, you never know. There are two periods left today. Maybe he’ll be in one of those.”

  A large, mostly cement area opened up to our left as we continued down the covered outdoor hallway. Three sets of low brick walls, perfect for sitting on, encircled groupings of stark trees and scraggly bushes. Pieces of landscaping bark littered one corner of the concrete.

  This area was pretty packed during recess, when the small snack shop near the vending machines in the corner was open, and before school, but the majority of the students hit the cafeteria at lunch. Only a few groups of students lingered here now, some with brought lunches, some munching items purchased at the snack shop earlier in the day, and a couple loners who preferred their solitude or had no friends.

  We walked past them to the double doors of the cafeteria, standing wide open. The end of the line nearly reached the opening, and we drifted closer as the smells of lunch wafted toward us.

  “He smells really good,” I said without thinking.

  The boy in front of us, a freshman or sophomore with a flattop, looked back.

  “Not you,” I said, frowning at him. He matched my frown before turning around.

  “Who?” Scarlet asked.

  “The new guy,” I whispered.

  “His name is Braiden.” The dreamy look crossed her face again. “He was across the classroom from me. I couldn’t smell him.”

  The kid in front of us looked back for the second time.

  “Do you have a staring problem?” Scarlet asked him.

  The kid huffed and turned away.

  “I had just gotten up my courage to tell him about you know who when Mr. Morris came in.�
�

  “Oh,” she said in a release of breath. “Do you think he might be affected?”

  It dawned on me that the morning’s commotion had kept me from telling her the full story.

  In hurried whispers and half mutters, I told her everything, from getting home from school and seeing the moving van, to his Corvette shooting out in front of the bus.

  “He has a Corvette?” she asked after we’d gotten our food and headed to the back corner where we usually sat.

  “Seriously? That’s your takeaway? I tell you about”—I lowered my voice again—“the Old Woman waiting on his sidewalk—not even the street, but the sidewalk—and you ask about his car?”

  “Hey, Ella.” Odis, a guy in a couple of my classes with brown hair and large teeth who insisted I join the chess club even though I was terrible at the game, waved from the other end of the table we were passing. His friends all stopped talking and eating to gawk. “I paged you last night.”

  I waved back, only slowing long enough to respond, “Yeah, sorry. I was trying to finish my homework before the electricity went out.”

  “Oh right. Did you finish— Okay, see ya.” He waved again as Scarlet and I increased the distance between us and his table.

  “Thank goodness he didn’t ask you to sit with him. It’s so awkward when he forces you to come up with a reason why you don’t want to,” Scarlet said.

  “It’s not that I don’t want to, it’s just that…”

  “You don’t want to. Just admit it.”

  “It’s more his friends that I don’t want to sit with.”

  “Well, don’t tell him that. He’ll try to get you alone. Anyway, I take your point that your story had a lot of bombshells, but a Corvette? Who has a Corvette in this town? I wonder where he’s from…”

  “Are you guys talking about Braiden?” someone whispered from behind us.

  I turned to find Shana, a girl I shared a few classes with and who hung out at our lunch table when she couldn’t weasel into the popular table. We saw her nine days out of ten.

  She tilted her face down with a coy smile, her signature look when she had juicy information. “C’mon.” She jerked her head in the direction of the table. Her poufy bangs, curled in layers that increased her height by three inches, didn’t even shift.

  “What’s up, beanpole?” someone said as we followed her.

  Scarlet hunched, trying to reduce her height. “I hate being so tall,” she muttered.

  “Five-ten is supermodel height,” I said. “If you could walk in a straight line without tripping, you could rule the basketball court. I’d kill to be your height.”

  “She’s right,” Shana said over her shoulder, clearly not realizing we didn’t want this particular conversation shouted to the whole cafeteria. “Your height and weight are perfect for modeling. Cindy Crawford is five-nine and a half.”

  “You can have my height and I’ll take your face,” Scarlet said to me. “And hair. And boobs.”

  “Ew, Buffalo Bill.” Shana glanced back with a disgusted look. “Next you’ll be throwing her down a well and yelling about lotion.”

  “What…” Scarlet’s voice caught.

  “Silence of the Lambs,” I said.

  “Oh. My mom wouldn’t let me go to the theater to watch that.”

  Shana threw us another look. “You’re not sheltered. Not!”

  I ignored Shana. “When it comes out on VHS, you can watch it at my house.”

  “I’m not sure I want to, now,” Scarlet muttered.

  Shana threaded between two tables and was jostled when someone leaned back unexpectedly and bumped her. “Watch out, butthead.” Shana rammed into his back with her upper thigh.

  “Cut it out!” the boy said.

  Shana had already passed him, leaving us to get the dirty look.

  We arrived at our table, the second from the wall in the last row. Shana slapped her orange tray down, making her milk wobble. A group of sophomores at the next table looked over at the commotion. Shana didn’t notice. “Have I got some juiciness for you…”

  She unslung her backpack and dropped it to the ground before kicking it under the table. Next she swung her legs dramatically over the bench seat, one after the other, and waved for Scarlet and me to sit down.

  “First.” Shana zeroed in on me. “I heard you got detention. What?” The word was a screech.

  I groaned for effect. “Two detentions.”

  “Two? What did you do, steal one of Susan’s pens?” She snickered and, before I could answer, moved on. “I’ve got the skinny on Braiden,” she said in a singsong voice.

  “Oh, did you know that—”

  Shana raised her voice over Scarlet. “From what I heard, his family lived in New York City.” She paused for effect. “Manhattan.”

  “Oh wow. I’ve always wanted to go there,” Scarlet said.

  “What’s he doing here?” I asked.

  “Well…” Shana took a bite of her pizza and chewed for a moment, a delightedly smug expression on her face. “A-pparent-ly he got in a lot of trouble in New York. A real rebel.”

  “What did he do?” Scarlet paused with a French fry halfway to her mouth.

  “All kinds of stuff. Vandalism, rowdy behavior, breaking and entering…” Scarlet gasped. Shana nodded dramatically. “Yup. That was the final straw, I guess. His dad up and moved the family here.”

  “But…why here?” I asked.

  The sophomore girls openly looked our way. Apparently they’d been eavesdropping, and were now waiting for an answer to that head-scratcher of a question.

  Shana noticed and leaned back a little so she’d be in the spotlight. She took another bite of her pizza as we all hung on her every word.

  “It seems…” she started.

  “Oh my God, there he is!” One of the girls at the other table flung out a pointed finger.

  Her friend dragged it out of the sky. “Don’t act like such a div, Jenny,” the friend chided.

  A hush fell over the cafeteria. Movement slowed, all eyes on the newcomer who was entering with a group.

  I groaned and sank in my seat.

  Right beside Braiden, as chummy as two chums could be, was none other than my red-headed nemesis, Dirk.

  Chapter Six

  “Looks like he’s already in with the popular group,” Scarlet said as she rose in her seat to get a better look. “Dang.”

  “What’d you think, he was gonna hang out with you?” Shana rolled her eyes. One of the sophomore girls scoffed and glanced back before leaning over to whisper something to her friend. They giggled.

  “Well, it’s not like he’d hang out with you, either,” Scarlet shot back. “And no way would he hang out with a bunch of der-brained sophomores.”

  The gigglers turned around to shoot her a nasty look.

  “Of course he’s in the popular group,” I said. “He has money and he’s attractive. But why would he be friendly with Dirk? Why is Dirk even in that group, with his Whac-A-Mole face and bad attitude? I’ve never understood it.”

  “Dirk may be a dog, but he’s one of the best football players,” Scarlet said thoughtfully. “That’s why. He’s friends with the other great football players, and they’re all rich, handsome, and famous. Birds of a feather…”

  “No one in this town is rich,” I said. “Or famous.”

  “Braiden might just be the first. And that makes him the hottest bachelor in town.” Shana finished off her pizza before turning to look behind her. I wasn’t sure what she was looking for. Unless she stood up, all she’d be able to see was crimped, permed, or teased hair.

  After lunch, I snuck out an apple as I took the long way around the school to my calculus class. That homework assignment was still unfinished, and I knew I’d get crap for the state of my book. I just wanted a little more time before the drama pressed down on me.

  Finally, unable to stave off the inevitable any longer, I turned into the hallway before coming to an immediate stop. A certain new stu
dent stood fiddling with his locker. He’d undergone a style change that I probably would’ve noticed at lunch if I hadn’t been so distracted by the Red Monster. The collar was popped on his dress shirt and a few buttons had been undone down the front. His tie hung loose at his neck and half his shirt was untucked from his slacks. The look screamed Footloose, a dated trend, but the way Braiden carried it made it seem fresh and rad. He’d be handsome in virtually anything, I had no doubt.

  He kicked his locker in a fit of rage, and all the things Shana had said about him came flooding into my mind. Words like dangerous, and bad boy, and rebel…

  And all I could see was the Old Woman standing in front of his house, pointing at me.

  She must have plans. Must. Why else would she try to send a guy like him over to me?

  Before I could decide what to do, Braiden stepped back and glanced my way. His gaze caught on me immediately, the creep standing in the middle of the hallway, staring at him. If he’d forgotten seeing me in the window yesterday or last night, the memory had probably just been jogged loose.

  “Sorry.” I yanked my gaze down and half turned to walk the other way. But my classroom was in his direction. Not only would it look weird if I about-faced, but I’d also be late.

  “Do you know how to work these things?” Braiden called down the hall.

  I started and then jabbed my chest with my pointer finger before looking around, wanting to make sure he was talking to me. A skinny kid with a big nose and glasses was standing a little behind me, exactly in the same position—pointing at himself and looking around.

  “Ella, right?” Braiden called, his voice ringing with frustration.

  “He means you.” The skinny kid turned and bolted out of the hall.

  “Isn’t that your name?” Braiden said, facing me with his hands on his hips.