by P. J. Night
“No, thanks,” Ashley said firmly. “I can walk.”
“You sure?” Mrs. McDowell asked as worry flickered across her face. “Do you remember the—”
“Straight down Rural Route 12, turn left onto the side road that runs next to Perseverance Creek, then right onto Rural Route 13. I remember,” Ashley interrupted.
“Okay. I can’t wait to hear all about your first day at your new school!” her mom said with a big smile.
Ashley smiled back—or tried to, at least—and then she climbed out of the truck.
The first thing Ashley noticed was how small Heaton Corners Junior/Senior High was; it was kind of hard to believe that seven different grades of students all attended school in the same building. The school was two stories tall, built of faded orange bricks that had been weathered from decades of exposure to the elements. The small windows had been washed recently; they sparkled in the morning light. A bell tower perched on top of the slate-gray roof.
The second thing Ashley noticed was the group of kids staring at her. She looked straight ahead, trying to pretend that she hadn’t seen them.
“Nice truck,” one of the guys called out. He was definitely in high school.
“Uh, thanks,” Ashley replied.
Just then Mrs. McDowell pulled a U-turn and honked the horn as she drove past Ashley on her way back to the farm. Ashley thought she might die of embarrassment when all the kids started laughing.
But then one of the girls in the group said, “That color is so cool.”
And another asked, “What’s it got? A V8 engine?”
That’s when Ashley realized that maybe they hadn’t been laughing at her after all. “Yeah, I guess so,” she replied as she started walking up to the school before anyone else asked her a truck question she couldn’t answer. As Ashley followed the path, she noticed that there was a girl with long brown hair standing by the door, watching her. Once Ashley met her eyes, a warm smile spread across the girl’s face.
“Ashley?” she called out. “Are you Ashley?”
“Yeah,” Ashley replied.
“Welcome to Heaton Corners High!” the girl exclaimed. “I’m Mary Beth. Mary Beth Medina. My uncle sold your parents the farm. You met him—Chick Medina?”
“Right,” Ashley said, nodding as she remembered the real estate agent who’d given her parents the keys to the farm yesterday, right before the moving truck had arrived.
“We’re just so glad you guys moved to Heaton Corners!” Mary Beth said. “Now, I already got your schedule from the office, which is exactly the same as mine, so I can show you where all your classes are and stuff.”
“Oh. Thanks,” Ashley replied. “That’s really nice of you. I have a superbad sense of direction. Like, the worst.”
Mary Beth laughed. “Well, I’m pretty sure you won’t get lost here,” she said. “There’s only forty kids in seventh grade, so there’s just two classes for each period. If you’re not in Mr. Thomas’s English class, you’re in Mrs. Franklin’s.”
“Wow,” Ashley said. “Forty kids? I think there were, like, fifteen hundred kids in my last school.”
“Seriously?” Mary Beth said. “There aren’t even fifteen hundred people in Heaton Corners! Come on, we should get to homeroom before the bell rings.”
Clang. Clang. Clang.
The tarnished brass bell in the tower rocked back and forth, issuing a low, haunting chime that was nothing like the electric bells at Ashley’s old school.
“Or, like now!” Mary Beth laughed as she grabbed Ashley’s wrist and pulled her toward the stairs. “Mr. Thomas is really strict about tardiness. He gives out demerits if you’re not in your seat when the bell stops ringing. Let’s hurry!”
Homeroom was on the second floor, where a tall, bearded man stood next to the classroom that was closest to the stairs.
“Mornin’, Mary Beth,” he said; Ashley guessed that he was her new homeroom teacher. “And is this Miss McDowell?”
“Yes,” Ashley replied.
“Yes, sir,” he corrected her gently.
“Sorry. Yes, sir,” she repeated, wondering when she’d stepped through a time warp.
“Welcome to Heaton Corners and Heaton Corners High!” he replied warmly. “We’re glad to have you with us, Ashley. I’m Mr. Thomas, and I teach English and history here.”
“And homeroom,” joked Mary Beth.
“That’s right,” Mr. Thomas said with a smile. “Now, we’ve rearranged the seating a little so that you can sit next to Mary Beth. She’s offered to show you around and make sure you have everything you need.”
“Right over here,” Mary Beth said. “My desk is by the window.”
Ashley followed Mary Beth and sat in the empty desk next to her. She kept an eye on the door as the rest of the students filed into homeroom, joking and laughing just like the kids at her old school. Once the kids sat down, though, they stopped talking immediately, and moments later the brass bell stopped chiming. There weren’t any loudspeakers on the walls, Ashley realized, as Mr. Thomas stepped in front of the class and cleared his throat.
“Good morning, class,” Mr. Thomas announced. “As I’m sure you’ve all heard, we have a new student joining us today. I know you’ll all do your best to make sure that Ashley feels welcome here in Heaton Corners.”
Ashley tried not to blush as every person in the room turned to look at her. She stared down at her desk and ran her finger over the polished wood, which gleamed even though it had been nicked and scratched in various places. There were initials carved into the lower left corner: L. S.
When Mr. Thomas continued with the morning announcements, Ashley glanced up, sure that no one would be looking at her anymore.
She was wrong.
Two seats ahead and three rows over, there was a boy with short, sandy-colored hair and the most intense blue eyes Ashley had ever seen. Their eyes locked for one long moment, and Ashley’s heart started to pound. Then he—whoever he was—looked straight ahead, focusing all his attention on Mr. Thomas.
Ashley tried to do the same, but it wasn’t easy, not with her heart thudding so unevenly and the boy just within her line of vision. She could almost see his profile. She could definitely see the freckles scattered across the back of his neck.
He wasn’t looking at you, she told herself. He was looking out the window. Which is what everybody does during homeroom when they’re totally bored.
But no matter how much Ashley tried to convince herself that that was the case, she knew that it wasn’t true.
The rest of the day was such a whirlwind of new teachers, classes, books, and kids that Ashley stumbled home in a bit of a daze—with a grin on her face that she couldn’t get rid of. She felt like a celebrity at school—everyone treated her like she was the coolest girl they’d ever met. Mary Beth had been amazing all day, introducing Ashley to her two best friends, Danielle Ramos and Stephanie Gloucester, and to the rest of the kids in their grade . . . even that cute guy from homeroom, whose name was Joey Carmichael and who happened to be Mary Beth’s cousin. Ashley was pretty sure she’d played it cool in front of him, but now, walking home alone in the late-afternoon sunlight under the golden leaves that slowly drifted from the trees, she could let down her guard and smile as big as she wanted. It was official: Ashley had a big, huge, gigantic, enormous crush on Joey.
Ashley shook her head, as if to clear it, and paused as she reached Perseverance Creek. Wait—is it right or left at the creek? she wondered. I . . . think . . . it’s right? No. Left. Ashley turned left, hoping that she was still heading in the correct direction. After a quarter mile, she breathed a sigh of relief when she reached the small sign that read RURAL ROUTE 13. The McDowells’ farm was just over the next hill.
Ashley wasn’t sure if it was her good mood or if the farm really did look beautiful from a distance, but she paused at the top of the hill and looked down on the cozy gray house, the cheerful red barn, the sloping fields that were overgrown with wildflowers. Her par
ents had big plans for plowing those fields and planting all kinds of vegetables and row after row of blueberry bushes. And they talked all the time about the livestock they wanted to own—sheep in the meadow, cows in the pasture, maybe even a pair of pigs. For a moment—just a moment—Ashley suddenly understood why they were so excited about living on a farm.
Then she set off down the hill, pausing at the mailbox that was nailed to the picket fence around the house. It had been a big deal, back in Atlanta, when her parents had finally given Ashley a key to the McDowells’ mailbox in the lobby of their apartment building. This mailbox didn’t even have a lock. Ashley peeked inside, but there wasn’t any mail. Or else her parents had gotten it already.
Then she paused. Ashley knelt down to take a closer look at the wooden post beneath the mailbox. There was a strange symbol scrawled beneath it, like a sideways 8 with a thick lump in the middle. Ashley was almost positive that the symbol hadn’t been there yesterday.
Weird, she thought. Or did I just not notice it before?
“Ashley!” Mrs. McDowell yelled, leaning out the kitchen window. “I was just about to go looking for you! I was afraid you got lost! Where have you been?”
“Sorry!” Ashley said as she slammed the mailbox shut. “I was hanging out with some people after school and I guess it got kind of late. What time is it, anyway?”
“Almost five!” Mrs. McDowell replied, an edge of annoyance to her voice now that Ashley was obviously not lost somewhere in the countryside.
“I said sorry.”
“Can you come into the kitchen and help me, please?”
“Yeah. Be right there.”
In the kitchen, Mrs. McDowell was surrounded by piles of cardboard boxes. “I’m trying to find a frying pan,” she said with a sigh as she rummaged through a box.
“What’s for dinner?” asked Ashley as she knelt down near a different box.
“Scrambled eggs, I guess,” Mrs. McDowell said. “I went to the store this morning, but the kitchen’s not really unpacked enough to manage anything else.”
With her head bent over the box, Mrs. McDowell didn’t notice the face Ashley made.
“Tell me all about your first day! How was it?” Mrs. McDowell continued.
“It was good! People here are so nice. Like, really, really nice. It’s kind of surprising.”
Mrs. McDowell laughed. “Sounds like we got you out of the city just in time if you’re surprised by that.”
“Har, har,” Ashley said sarcastically. “Seriously, it’s pretty old-fashioned here, isn’t it?”
“I think so,” Mrs. McDowell said, choosing her words carefully. “I like it. Did you meet some potential new friends?”
“Yeah. There’s this one girl, Mary Beth, and she was supercool. I ate lunch with her and her friends. They seem—”
Just then the back door creaked open, and Ashley’s dad walked into the house.
“Hey, Pumpkin, you’re home! How was school?”
“Shoes,” Mrs. McDowell said, pointing to his muddy boots. “Leave them at the back door, please.”
“Whoops,” Mr. McDowell said with a grin. He trudged back to the door and started removing his heavy work boots. Ashley noticed a smudge of grease on his forehead and thick crescents of mud under his fingernails. It was getting hard to remember that he used to wear a suit and tie to work every day.
“Did we lose a box of kitchen stuff?” Mrs. McDowell asked no one in particular. “This is ridiculous.”
“Maybe we should have something else for dinner,” Ashley said hopefully. “Something that doesn’t need a frying pan. Hey! I know! What about the leftover pizza from last night?”
“That was my lunch,” Mr. McDowell said ruefully.
Ding-dong!
All three McDowells turned to the front door.
“Now who could that be?” Mrs. McDowell said with a sigh of frustration.
“I’ll go see,” Ashley said as she used a box to pull herself up from the floor. When she opened the front door, she saw a middle-aged woman with coffee-colored hair standing on the porch. Mary Beth was standing next to her.
“You must be Ashley!” Mrs. Medina said. “Mary Beth has told me all about you! We thought that you and your parents might appreciate a nice home-cooked meal tonight. It’s so hard to move in to a house.”
“Hi. Thanks. Ma’am,” Ashley stammered, trying to remember her best manners. She held the door open wide. “Please come in.”
Mrs. Medina swept into the house as if she owned it, proudly holding a steaming casserole dish with two red-and-white checked potholders.
“Ashley? Who is— Oh, hello.” Mrs. McDowell walked into the living room, followed by Mr. McDowell.
“Mom, this is Mary Beth, from school. And her mom,” Ashley said quickly.
“Nice to meet you!” Mr. McDowell said in a hearty voice.
“I apologize for the mess in here,” Mrs. McDowell said as she tried to smooth down her hair. “It’s just a disaster.”
“Not at all!” Mrs. Medina said with a bright smile. “We don’t want to interrupt your evening. We just brought over a little supper for you. Chicken-tortilla casserole. My mother-in-law’s recipe. It won first prize at the Harvest Days.”
“Back in 1965!” Mary Beth whispered to Ashley. Then she handed her a brown paper bag. “I made these myself.”
Ashley peeked into the bag and saw a stack of thick, chewy brownies wrapped in plastic wrap. “Awesome,” she said.
“I’ll just pop this into your oven so it’s hot when you’re ready to eat,” said Mrs. Medina.
“Wait, I’ll—” Mrs. McDowell said helplessly. But it was too late—Mrs. Medina had already wandered right into the messy kitchen.
“I’m so sorry. It really is awful in there—”
“Don’t be silly,” Mrs. Medina replied. “Tell you what. I’ll come back tomorrow afternoon while Mary Beth has her flute lesson and help you get your kitchen to rights.”
“That’s so kind—but I’d hate for you to go to any trouble—”
“Nonsense! No trouble at all! That’s what neighbors do! Now come along, Mary Beth, we’ve got to get back.”
“Would you—like to stay for dinner?”
“Another time—I’ve got to get Bill’s supper ready before he finishes his chores. We’re all just so glad you’ve come to Heaton Corners! We haven’t had a new family move here in what seems like forever. . . . Twenty years or more, it must be . . . ” Mrs. Medina trailed off as she let herself out. “I’ll be back tomorrow afternoon. Bye, now!”
“Bye!” Ashley and her parents called. Ashley grinned as Mary Beth waved from the walkway.
“Chicken-tortilla casserole!” Mrs. McDowell exclaimed. “I haven’t had that since I was a little girl.”
“Smells good,” Mrs. McDowell said. “That was so nice of them. I see you what you mean, Pumpkin.”
“Yeah,” Ashley said, watching out the window as Mary Beth and her mom walked toward their car. As Mrs. Medina paused by the mailbox, Ashley squinted, trying to see her better in the fading twilight. Was Mrs. Medina looking at the symbol drawn on the mailbox post?
And was that a troubled scowl that crossed her face or just a trick of the light?
CHAPTER 3
The next afternoon, Ashley was leaving the schoolyard when she heard a voice call her name. She turned around to see Joey Carmichael standing behind her!
“Hey, Joey,” Ashley said, hoping she sounded normal—and not like somebody who was falling head over heels for the cutest guy in Heaton Corners.
“You walking home?” Joey asked.
Ashley nodded. “Are you?”
“Nah,” Joey replied. “My brother’s going to pick me up, but he’s late. As usual.”
Ashley nodded again. Get it together, she told herself. Think of something—anything!—to talk about.
But that was easier said than done, especially when Joey was standing so close and looking right at her.
“So, anywa
y,” Joey finally said, “I was wondering if anybody told you about Harvest Days yet?”
“Not really,” Ashley said. “I mean, I heard somebody mention it, but I don’t know anything about it.”
“It’s the best!” Joey exclaimed, and an enormous smile lit up his whole face. “It’s this big festival that happens every October to, like, celebrate fall and the harvest and everything. This carnival rolls into town and brings all these great rides and games and stuff. It is seriously the best . . . and it’s this weekend!”
“That sounds awesome,” Ashley said, grinning back at him. “I love autumn, everything about it. Especially October. It’s my favorite month because of—”
A blaring truck horn just a few feet away drowned out her voice.
Ashley turned to look—and missed how Joey had suddenly started to blush.
“Chuckles!” a teenage guy yelled from the truck. “Get over here! I’m not waiting another minute!”
As if to show that he meant it, the guy moved the truck forward a few feet.
“My brother,” Joey mumbled.
“Did he just call you Chuckles?” Ashley asked.
“Forget it. So, uh, the Harvest Days? Maybe I’ll see you there?” said Joey.
“Oh yeah. Absolutely,” Ashley replied. “It sounds amazing!”
“Chuckles! Three—two—one—”
“All right! I’m coming!” Joey yelled. “See you tomorrow, Ashley.”
“Bye, Joey,” Ashley called after him. She stood there until the navy truck roared away.
Then she started walking home, wearing an even bigger smile on her face than the day before.
When Ashley got home from school, she was surprised to see an old man painting the fence around her house. He looked up as Ashley approached and raised a hand in greeting.
“Hello, young lady,” he said. “I’m Mr. Wagner. I’ll be helping your father over the next few weeks. Gotta get this old farm ready for winter.”
“Nice to meet you, sir,” Ashley said, staring at the mailbox. The post beneath it glistened with a sheen of white paint that was still wet; now there was no trace of the symbol that had been scrawled there. Ashley wished that she’d had a chance to show it to her parents, but it was too late now. She adjusted her backpack as she continued on to the house, where she found her mom and Mrs. Medina sipping tea on the front porch.