by Marina Cohen
Relax, show no fear, Mike always said.
AJ stood and began making her way up the aisle.
“Let’s bounce, Javon,” Maniac said.
“Yo, Cody, grab my backpack,” AJ said, swinging around and motioning to the seat where she’d left it.
Cody and Javon.
It was as if someone had thrown a switch. Suddenly, these guys seemed a lot less threatening. Sam took a deep breath and steadied his nerves. He remained seated as the two guys shuffled up the aisle. AJ had gotten off the bus, and so had Javon. Just then Sam got an idea. “Yo, Cody.”
The guy halted and swung round.
This was Sam’s only chance. He couldn’t blow it. “My dad drives a black Volvo. Ring a bell?”
Cody narrowed his eyes as Sam rose and started walking toward him. “You’ve got a blog, right? I think I have some pictures you might be interested in.”
Sam dangled his cellphone like bait on a hook.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The air in Sleepy Hollow smelled like a closet full of last season’s clothes. Each time he inhaled, Sam swore he tasted mothballs.
As he sauntered from the Tenth Line through the tunnel of branches, Sam had to practically dive to avoid the blue Mustang that thundered down the street. He spun round and watched the vehicle barrel onto the main road without even pretending to slow down, let alone come to a full stop.
“How was your first day?” his mother asked when he entered the house. “Classes go all right?”
“Okay, I guess,” Sam said, even though the day had ended up being pretty darn good.
For one thing, Walter wasn’t in any of his classes — not one. And apparently Walter had missed the bus back home. Too bad, thought Sam, grinning. But best of all, Sam had managed to hold his own with Maniac. It was the first step in getting the guy to accept him.
Sam yanked the heavy wooden door, slamming it accidentally. The entire house shook.
“Keep it down,” his mother said, stepping into the foyer. “Your father’s not feeling well. He worked from home today. He’s upstairs having a nap right now.”
Sick? I can’t remember the last time Mr. Perfect missed a day at the office, thought Sam. Not like he ever lets me take a day off school …
Dropping his backpack in the hall, Sam moved toward the stairs. “Did the cable guy come? Is the wireless hooked up?” He couldn’t wait to check out Cody’s blog, not to mention access his email account and send Cody the pictures that would solidify their friendship.
“Wireless is up and running.” His mother turned and headed toward the kitchen. “Shame you won’t be able to use it until tomorrow,” she added casually over her shoulder.
Sam stopped short. Miranda stood at the top of the stairs, arms folded, grinning ear to ear. She fanned her fingers mockingly.
“You’re such a rat, Moronda,” Sam snarled. “A skinny, slimy rat!”
“Moooommmm! Sam’s calling me names again!”
“Two days,” his father said, appearing behind Miranda.
Robert had a woollen blanket wrapped around his shoulders. His eyes looked as if he hadn’t slept in days. The calmness in his voice was a warning. It said: Don’t push it. He’d taken away Sam’s computer privileges for an entire month once and hadn’t even batted an eye.
Sam frowned, choking back his anger. He muscled past Miranda, marched up the second flight of stairs to his room, and threw himself onto his bed.
Sam’s new room was the third-floor loft. It was fairly large, housing his bed, a nightstand, a dresser, and a desk. On the walls Sam had pinned a few posters — two of his favourite rap singers and one of a girl in a bikini and high heels, leaning over a red Porsche. After only four days, the hardwood floor was already littered with socks, boxers, jeans, and T-shirts so that the blue area rug was lost beneath the various piles of washed and unwashed laundry. If his father saw the mess, he’d be all over him. He liked having the third floor to himself.
Sam dug his cell out of his jeans. He searched his list, scrolled to Mike’s number, and pressed talk.
“Hey,” said the familiar voice of his best friend.
“Hey.”
“What’s doing up there?”
“Not much,” Sam said. “You?”
“Same old.”
“How was your first day? Who’s all in your classes?”
“Ryan’s in English and math with me. Harjot’s with me in science and art.”
Sam chuckled. “You took art?”
“Yeah? So? I needed something easy.”
“You can’t draw worth crap.” Sam could feel the anger in him settle like fizz on a freshly poured can of pop. He missed Mike. He’d never say it, of course, but then again he didn’t have to. “So are your parents gonna let you come up here some time?”
“Probably, but not for a while. You’re practically in a different time zone, you know.”
Sam sighed. “Yeah. Maybe next month or something?”
“Sure.”
They talked for a while about school, teachers, sports, and girls. Sam was about to tell Mike all about Maniac, Javon, and AJ when he heard his mom calling him. “Gotta go.”
“Easy.”
Sam stared at his phone for a moment and then pressed end.
“Coming,” he said when his mother shouted a second time. Sam trudged down the stairs and into the kitchen where his mother was preparing dinner.
When she saw him, she wiped her hands on a dishtowel and reached for the clean lasagna dish that had been sitting on the counter for the past couple of days. “Will you take this over to Walter’s house for me?”
Sam rolled his eyes. “Me? Do I have to?”
“Yes.” She handed him the dish.
“Why can’t you do it? Or Miranda?” He could see his sister making faces at him from the family room.
“Because I asked you.”
Sam eyed the dish as though it were a giant wad of used tissues.
“Listen, take the dish over to Ms. Moon and I’ll talk to your father. Maybe I can get him to knock off a day from your Internet sentence.”
He snatched the dish. “Fine. I’ll drop it off, but it’s not like I’m gonna go over and hang out with that guy or anything …” But even as the words left him, Sam got an idea. Maybe ol’ number five could be some use to him, after all.
Sam cut across his lawn and up Walter’s driveway. He studied the house as he approached. There was something odd about it. Sam couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was, but somehow the place gave him the creeps. Not that any of the old houses in Sleepy Hollow appeared particularly inviting, but this one seemed somehow … different.
He held the glass dish under one arm as he walked up the steps to the porch. The paint on the front door was cracked and faded. The windows were grungy. The drapes were drawn so that Sam couldn’t tell if there were any lights on in the house. He reached up and hammered the rusty knocker twice. The sound was thick and dull. He took a step backward.
Seconds passed. No answer.
Something prickled the back of Sam’s neck, and beneath his sweatshirt the fine hair on his arms stood on end. He had the distinct feeling he was being watched.
Carefully, he peered over his shoulder and searched the area. The street was empty except for the old lady sitting in her rocker at number two. She faced his direction, rocking back and forth. Was it her eyes crawling under his skin?
He considered her for a few seconds. Other than the slow rocking the woman sat completely still as if someone had placed a mannequin in the chair and was moving it by remote control.
When Sam turned toward the door again, the breath caught in his throat. He sprang back and nearly tumbled down the steps, grabbing the handrail at the last second and steadying himself. Luckily, he managed to hang on to the dish.
Walter was standing right in front of him.
“Crap!” Sam said, finding his balance. “You nearly gave me a heart attack.”
Walter merely stared.
“Don’t you know better than to go sneaking up on someone?” Sam practically shoved the dish into the guy’s gut. “Here!”
Walter took the dish mechanically. He looked down at it as though there was something amusing about it. Sam scowled, shook his head, and started to leave.
“You’re the one who came here,” Walter said. His voice was small, almost a whisper.
Sam swung around. “What?”
“I said you’re the one who came here.”
“So? What’s that got to do with anything?”
“How can I sneak up on you when you came here.”
Walter had a point. Sam frowned. A strange glint in the boy’s eyes made Sam even angrier.
“Look, dude …” Sam waved a hand dismissively. He took a few steps toward his house, calling over his shoulder, “I just came by to return that dish. That’s all. And —” Sam could see the old woman still rocking back and forth in her chair. “And …” He knew he was going to hate himself. “And to see if maybe you had Internet access …”
He waited. The rocking chair was mesmerizing. Back and forth. Back and forth.
Walter didn’t respond.
Sam tried again as he turned to face Walter “I said …” The rest of his sentence died in his throat. He swallowed. The porch was empty. Walter was gone.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Sam stomped back into his house and marched into the kitchen.
“So?” his mother asked. It was a simple word, but it was loaded.
“What?” Sam threw open a cupboard and rifled through it for a snack.
“Did you give the dish back?”
“Yeah.” He grabbed a handful of chocolate chip cookies and popped two into his mouth whole.
His mother paused. She eyed Sam in that unique way that always made him feel guilty even when he hadn’t done anything wrong.
“What?” he asked, sputtering crumbs.
“Dinner will be ready in five minutes.” She took the rest of the cookies from his hand and was about to turn when she added, “You know, you could give the poor guy a chance.”
Sam practically choked “Poor guy? Who? Walter? A chance to do what?”
Now more than ever, Sam disliked Walter. For one thing, Wally had scared the crap out of him. Then the kid had had the nerve to leave without even saying a word. This guy wasn’t only a loser; it was as if he didn’t even care that he was.
“To be friends,” Elizabeth said.
Sam rolled his eyes and sighed. “Friends? I already told you, Mom. I’m not going to be friends with him.” Sam felt he needed to spell things out for his mother once and for all, or she wouldn’t stop bugging him. “First of all, he’s a geek. A total geek. He dresses all geeky like he’s only got one set of clothes. And second, he creeps me out. He’s always staring at me funny and stuff.”
Elizabeth moved closer to her son, and her voice dropped to a whisper. “I can remember a time, not so long ago, that you didn’t have many friends.”
Sam quit chewing and shot her a venomous look. It was as if she’d drawn back a bow, waited for the right moment, and then let the arrow fly straight into his heart.
But Sam’s mother wasn’t done. She let loose with a second arrow. “Don’t you remember what that was like?”
Remember? No, he didn’t remember. He didn’t want to remember. He’d managed to cram all those memories into a huge metal box, bolt it shut, and shove it far into the recesses of his mind where even he couldn’t find it. He’d forgotten all about what it was like to be the kid no one wanted to play with. No one wanted to sit beside. No one wanted to talk to. Those days were gone for good.
Everything had changed the day Mike had come into his life. Mike had moved into the house next door when the two of them were in grade six and had befriended Sam. With Mike’s help, Sam had reinvented himself.
No, Sam wasn’t going to relive the awful days before Mike. Not for anything or anyone. Least of all for Walter.
“All I’m saying is,” his mother continued, “would it kill you to show a little kindness?”
Sam frowned, took a deep breath, and exhaled through flaring nostrils. “Kill me? No. Try obliterate me.”
Just then his father entered the kitchen, still wrapped in a wool blanket. “Don’t you have homework to do, Sam?”
This is great. Mom wants to make me a geek. Dad wants to mould me into his own perfect image. Can’t they both just leave me alone?
Sam awoke with a start. Sweat trickled down his forehead. His heart hammered against his rib cage.
He must have had a nightmare, but the moment he’d opened his eyes, it was snuffed out. He lay there catching his breath, trying to recall what it was that could have scared him half to death. All he could remember was the colour red. Somehow the dream had been red.
Outside, rain battered his window. The illuminated digits on his alarm clock read 1:09 a.m. Sam shut his eyes. Taking a few deep breaths, he sat up, swung his legs over the side of the bed, and ran his fingers through his scraggly hair. The fear that was now fading behind a curtain of fog in his brain was replaced with anger.
Sam had never been completely disobedient before, but this time his father was asking for it. He didn’t deserve to lose his computer privileges for calling his sister a few harmless names. After all, it wasn’t as if she hadn’t had it coming.
Walking over to his desk, Sam switched on his laptop. While he waited for it to boot up, he searched the piles of clothes on the floor for the jeans he’d worn the previous day. His pulse was steady now. The incessant drumming of the rain was soothing.
What had he been dreaming about? Why was his memory drenched in red?
He found his jeans and dug into the pocket, pulling out the crumpled piece of paper on which he’d scrawled the name of Cody’s blog: maniacstunts.badblog.com. Cody’s email address would be in the contact section of his profile. Perfect, thought Sam, but first things first.
Sam crept toward the door and opened it a crack. He could see down to the lower hallway. It was pitch-black. That was good. Sam slipped through the door and tiptoed across the upper landing. He stood for a moment and listened. Aside from the relentless hammering of rain on the windows and roof, all he could hear was his father’s raspy breathing.
Fast asleep. And what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.
Sam snuck back to his room and sat at his desk. He launched his Internet provider and held his breath. It opened. He released a sigh of relief. I’m in!
His fingers sped across the keyboard, and in seconds Cody’s blog popped up on the screen. It was the coolest thing Sam had ever seen. The title, Maniac Stunts, had letters dripping with blood. They were emblazoned across a background of skulls and bones that seemed real, not animated. On the right-hand side was an “About Me” section, but instead of a picture of Cody, there was a photo of the head of a Doberman pinscher, its lips curled in a fierce snarl, its fangs fully exposed, foam drooling from the corners of its jaws. Beside the photo it said: “Name: Maniac. Location: Sticksville, Butt of the World.”
Sam grinned. Exactly. This guy gets it.
The last entry was dated two weeks ago. The title was “What a Ride!”
Check out this dope stunt. It was too hot. Last Sunday night I rode down Vinegar Hill on three boards. It was a huge rush! I must have been doing a hundred. I had no idea how I was going to stop, but hey, who cares about that stuff? Check it out!
Posted: August 21, 11:30 p.m.
The photo wasn’t clear. The background was dark and there was a blur in the centre. Sam squinted. He was pretty sure he could make out the body of Cody, lying stretched out, almost flat on the ground with three skateboards under him. His arms were spread like wings. He looked as if he were flying. Five comments were posted. Sam clicked on them. The first comment was from Homegirl:
Yo, Maniac, that was pretty M&M. But it’s been done to death … literally!
Posted: August 21, 11:49 p.m.
The next message was from
J-Man:
M&M? Mediocre? Yo! Maniac, Homegirl don’t know nothing. That stunt was off the hook! Especially when that big body came right at you and you had to roll off into the ditch!
Posted: August 22, 12:03 p.m.
There were three more messages. Two approving of Cody, but one that said he was a total moron. The person went on to say they knew a kid who had sliced his leg open clear to the bone doing that exact stunt. Nearly bled to death.
Somehow, thought Sam, Cody doesn’t strike me as the type to worry about minor details like bleeding to death!
Sam scrolled down. There were several more entries with pictures of bizarre stunts. Cody tobogganing off the roof of a garage. Cody riding a shopping cart down the street. And one Sam couldn’t quite figure out: Cody trying to do what appeared to be a back flip in the middle of a parking lot. Sam shook his head. I’m not sure if this guy is really cool or really stupid. Either way, Sam was intrigued.
Below the photo of the Doberman was a section entitled “Links to Cool Dudes.” The long list included Homegirl, J-Man, and a bunch of other weird names. Sam thought he should check out some of them, but not tonight. This evening he was on a mission.
Thunk!
Sam snapped to attention. What was that noise? His father? If he was caught now, he’d lose his Internet privileges for an entire year. And that wouldn’t even be the worst of it.
He sat completely still. Should he shut off his laptop and dive for his bed? He strained his ears.
Thunk!
Sam relaxed. The sound was coming from outside. His desk was right by the window. He leaned over and lifted the heavy curtain. Sam had a clear view of the street. Someone was standing in the driveway beside a red car at number six. Through the darkness and rain Sam couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman. He couldn’t see a face, or a head for that matter, since the person was under a large black umbrella. Whoever it was, he or she kept opening and closing the trunk of the car.