The Rise and Fall of Derek Cowell

by Valerie Sherrard

  He didn’t.

  “Whoa!” he said. “Is this a joke?”

  “Why don’t you just admit it?” I said. “In a way, I even get why you did it. Like you said, it was the only way anyone was ever going to see you skywalking.”

  I thought I was going easy on him, not bringing up the jealousy part of his motive, but apparently Steve saw it differently. He took a step back and slammed the door in my face.

  It was my turn to stand there blinking. A minute passed, maybe two, before I knew for sure the door was staying shut. I turned and headed home.

  By the time I reached my place I wished I hadn’t said anything. Who knew how long Steve was going to stay mad.

  And what if things were never the way they were before? What difference did it make, really? None of the people making fun of me were my actual friends. I knew that. So what if Steve made a dumb mistake? I should have waited for him to tell me the truth whenever he was ready. And if he never was, so what?

  Trying to make him own up to what he did wasn’t worth anything. At all.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Idecided, after a few lousy days, that maybe I should apologize to Steve.

  The first time I thought of doing that, it seemed weird, because I wasn’t the one who should be saying I was sorry. Yes, I’d done the wrong thing confronting him, but he’d started it when he humiliated me all over town. Of the two wrong things, his was definitely bigger.

  So that day, I did nothing. I also did nothing the second day, for the same reason.

  The third day I decided not to think about it at all. Fortunately, I have a girlfriend.

  Denise had some stuff to take to the shelter, so of course I’d offered to go with her and carry anything that was heavy.

  “Do you think Anna might like to join us?” she asked.

  “She wouldn’t be much help,” I pointed out.

  Denise gave me a funny look. “No, but she loves animals, she’d probably enjoy coming along.”

  And I’d probably enjoy leaving her home, I thought to myself but didn’t say. What I did say was, “Good idea. I’ll ask her.”

  Surprise, surprise, Anna was thrilled. In fact, she was so happy about it I decided it wasn’t that much of a bother letting her tag along. She skipped and sang happy nonsense songs all the way there, and talked Gabby into joining her in the kitten room while we put Denise’s donations on the shelves.

  “This is a lot of food and stuff,” I said. “Where’d you get it all?”

  “Neighbors, mostly. And my parents pick up a few things most weeks.”

  “Anna used to make regular contributions,” I told her. “But she got her supplies from her blackmailing career.”

  Denise laughed. “Yeah, I know,” she said. “She told me about it the first time she volunteered here. What a cutie pie.”

  “Easy to say when you’re not on the paying end of her extortion schemes,” I said. I tried to scowl, but a grin snuck through.

  “So enterprising,” Denise said. “So — are we going to talk about Steve?”

  That caught me off guard, which I’m almost sure was her plan. “What about him?” I asked.

  That earned me a raised eyebrow.

  “Come on — you haven’t said a word since the other night. Did he admit it? Are you guys okay?”

  “Not really,” I said. And then I told her everything.

  She listened. She never interrupted once.

  “Are you still sure it was him?” she asked gently.

  “Pretty much, but you know what, I don’t even care who it was anymore,” I said.

  “Then you’d better talk to Steve.”

  I didn’t know if he’d let me in or not. The days of silence might have made things worse, so when I knocked at his door later, I had no idea what kind of reception I might be in for.

  He looked surprised to find me standing there, and I braced myself for another door slam. It didn’t happen.

  “Hey,” he said.

  “I, uh, wanted to, uh, say I was sorry,” I said.

  “Go ahead then,” he said.

  “Well, I am. Sorry, I mean.”

  “Okay,” he said.

  And just like that, we were good. It wasn’t much of a conversation, I know. Definitely not what Denise had in mind when she urged me to go talk to him. But that’s how things are with some friends. I knew we’d sort out the details later, if we needed to. And we did, a couple of days later, hanging at my place.

  It was Steve who brought it up.

  “How’d you figure out it was Riley after all?” he asked, popping open a root beer.

  I must have looked startled, because he understood instantly that I still thought it was him.

  “Wait. You apologized and you still thought I did it?” he said.

  “I don’t care who it was,” I said. “Everybody makes mistakes. It’s not important.”

  He thought about that for a moment, took a long drink of pop and let out an even longer burp.

  “Not bad,” I said.

  He grinned, but quickly grew serious again.

  “I didn’t do it, Derek. I wouldn’t.”

  And I believed him. Which was weird, since I’d also been so sure Riley was telling me the truth.

  “Hey, I think I know how you can narrow it down,” Steve said. “At least ten different people sent it to me, once it was out there.”

  “So?” I said.

  Steve was scrolling down his list of messages, but he paused to explain his theory.

  “If we look to see who was sending it around first, that should give us a hint about the original sender.”

  “Makes sense,” I said. If the earliest messages came from people connected to Riley, that would point to her. Oddly, I almost didn’t want to know anymore.

  Steve looked up from his phone. “Check yours too.”

  “My phone practically exploded with messages that night,” I said, remembering the blast of alerts I’d received.

  “So just check the first few that came in,” he said.

  I swiped my phone on and started scrolling. “Sorry, pal,” I said when I found what I was looking for. “The first message I got was from Dayton.”

  Dayton is a pretty good friend of ours, which pointed the finger of blame squarely at Steve. I doubted if Riley even knew Dayton.

  I opened the thread and turned the phone to show Steve. It wasn’t much of a message — the video followed by a rude comment with a couple of laughing emoticons.

  Steve glanced over. His eyes narrowed and then his head jerked.

  “Give me that!” he said, reaching for my phone.

  Once he’d grabbed it out of my hand he stared in silence for a few seconds. I could see he was about to laugh, which was odd considering it incriminated him.

  “Dude,” he said, passing it back. “The video is on the right.”

  I glanced down. “So?” I said, but even as the word came out of my mouth, I got it.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, we’ve found our culprit!” Steve said.

  And we had. It was me. Dayton’s text was in answer to the video I had sent him!

  “Man, you must have butt-dialed or messed up some other way,” Steve said as I slowly absorbed the truth.

  It took a few minutes before it fully sank in. By then, I felt like crud. I’d accused two innocent people of something I’d done myself.

  “Look, Steve—”

  Steve stopped me right there.

  “Forget it,” he said, grinning. “Everybody makes mistakes. It’s not important.”

  And he was right. I know that because, in the strangest way possible, everything that’s happened has taught me a few things about what matters. And what doesn’t.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Back in 2001 I sent out sample
s of my very first young adult novel, and was thrilled when three Canadian publishers asked for the full manuscript. Even as a newcomer to this industry, I understood my book would be best served with an editor who had a genuine commitment to the story. I quickly realized that Barry Jowett was that editor, and happily, my first publication (and a good many others) found a home with him.

  It was, therefore, a real pleasure to find our paths connecting once again with this story. There is a sense of comfort and confidence in working with someone who was there at the start, and whose guidance you know you can trust.

  Thanks, Barry.

  VALERIE SHERRARD was born in 1957 in Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan, and grew up in various parts of Canada. Her father was in the Air Force so the family moved often, and was sent to live in Lahr, West Germany in 1968. There, her sixth grade teacher, Alf Lower, encouraged her toward writing, although many years would pass before she began to pursue it seriously.

  Valerie’s debut y/a novel was published in 2002. Since then, she has expanded her writing to include stories for children of all ages.

  Valerie Sherrard’s work has been recognized on national and international levels and has been translated into several languages. She has won or been shortlisted for numerous awards, including the Governor General’s Award for Children’s Literature, The Canadian Library Association Book of the Year for Children, the TD Children’s Literature, the Geoffrey Bilson, the Ann Connor Brimer, and a wide range of readers’ choice awards.

  Valerie currently makes her home in New Brunswick with her husband, Brent, who is also an author.

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