For almost a full minute I considered what he had said, and while I did, he went back to his kite-making.
I had never heard of MacLaren Hall and didn’t know anything about Juvenile Hall.
“It’s a jail, right?” I said. “That MacLaren place?”
“You couldn’t leave; there were matrons. In effect, yes, it was. They wore uniforms, the whole thing. They brought you to court in handcuffs.”
I tried to imagine that happening to someone I knew, or me, and couldn’t.
“So, whoever did it, got away with it?”
“Not exactly,” he said. “There was a fifth girl. She was tried as an adult and convicted.” He paused. I wished I could see the images going through his mind.
“And what happened?”
“Oh yes,” he said. “Interesting story, alibi. She said the girls, all four of them, set her up.”
“What then? Did they—what did they do in those days? —hang her or give her the electric chair?” I shuddered.
“They haven’t hung anyone for a long time; that was way before my time. No, back then it would have been the gas chamber or lethal injection.”
“Oh . . . that’s morbid. I shouldn’t ask.”
“Not at all. You’re looking for information,” he said. “Maybe watching Law and Order, too, except for the sentencing part. Anyway, the girl in question—adult—killed herself in prison, I’m sorry to say.”
My eyes widened. “So . . . you don’t think she really did it?”
“I didn’t hear the testimony and I didn’t read the transcript.”
Before I could ask another question, he added, “If you’re going to search for evidence, make a list of everything you find. If you need a tablet use an eight by fourteen—I’ve got a stack of them over there next to Agatha—it’s easier to turn the pages with that size. They stay open and don’t flip closed while you’re trying to write. List the pros and cons, arguments for and against. Color-coding helps, too.”
“Like at school,” I said, thinking of botany.
“Like at school,” he agreed. “And be objective about it. Try not to draw conclusions too quickly or before you finish your investigation. If you do, it makes it harder to talk yourself out of a set position.”
Ever since I can remember, he had been telling me to make a list of the pros and cons and think of both sides.
I got off the barstool I had been sitting on. “Thanks,” I said, “that helps a lot.”
“Good luck,” he said. “Let me know what you find out.”
I said I would and left.
A year or ago or so, I would have asked him to help me research, but the idea is for me to do it, not have him set it all out for me.
I’m not sure why, but every time I talk to him, I feel better.
Chapter 9. Blindsided
The night of Homecoming dance finally arrived. To be more accurate it didn’t take that long, since I only knew for sure I was going a couple days before. But I had been worrying about it a lot and that counts, too.
After Justin set us up, I went out of my way to get a better look at Parker. He was as big and broad as ever and he wore a tie to school. That made him somewhat unusual, but nobody hassled him about it because he is likable and smart. He does not listen to gossip either. He talks fast, walks fast, and he has his own perspective.
A lot of kids get their sense of importance from other people, but not Parker. He is so busy that if you told him he was a total dork he would just look at you curiously, say “Oh, right,” and go on with whatever he was doing.
When Parker came to pick me up, he knocked about ten times before anyone had a chance to answer the door.
“Parker G. Bernstein, sir.” Parker introduced himself to Dad. “The G. stands for George. Nobody uses my full name. They used to call me Guppy when I was a kid. I was real small. It doesn’t fit anymore, so now they just call me Parker or Park.”
He gave a small shrug, raised his eyebrows, and smiled. You know how it is. I’m six feet three inches tall, two hundred ten pounds, so I’m a lot bigger but what can you do?
Dad’s usual reply is nice to meet you, come in, have a seat but he had never heard an introduction like that from one of my friends, and for a second he was not sure what to say. I think the consultant part of his mind was also at work. Should he do the same? Offer a nickname or add something to the normal? Consultants never want to offend anyone: they never know who a potential client might be.
“Do you think she’ll like it?” Parker asked, showing my dad a small plastic box with a wrist corsage while at the same time shaking his hand.
“It’s lovely, Parker, come in,” Mom said.
“Very nice . . . Parker is it?” Dad said.
“That’s right, sir, Parker Bernstein. Thank you. I’m happy to hear that. I was worried. I don’t know much about flowers except dahlias. We have those in our yard and I almost picked one, but Mom said I should buy it. She and my sister helped me pick it out.” He took a breath and went on, “It’s this one. They’re waiting in the car.”
I had been hiding behind my dad. When he stepped aside to let Parker in, I moved with him, staying out of sight, and trying not to gape too much. His mom and sister were in the car?
Was it too late to get out of this? Short answer yes. I straightened my shoulders, held my head high, and stepped around Dad.
“Hi, Olivia, I saw you peeking behind your dad.” Parker beamed at me as he came inside. “Are you ready? I like your dress, it’s nice. I think my sister will like it, too. She’s a big shopper online. Doesn’t buy anything, just looks.”
“Thanks,” I said, with a stiff smile.
Parker kept beaming and nodding in agreement.
“They’re really excited,” he said to my parents. “Mom and Sis, that is. And Dad, too, but he didn’t help with the corsage. He said it was nice.” Parker paused, took a breath, and went on.
“He couldn’t drive tonight because he’s home watching the Lakers. I’ve never been on a date and Mom wants to take our picture. My sister is ten. She wants to see what you’re wearing so she can find one, too.”
I groaned inwardly.
My parents looked extremely amused.
Strange as it seemed, it was fun driving to the dance with Parker, his mom, and his ten-year-old sister Amy. He slowed down, as far as talking, he was just nervous when he arrived. His mom, who said to call her Gloria, told me all about their family. Amy, who was sitting in the front, unbuckled her seatbelt to turn around and look at my dress.
“Ooo, it’s so pretty.” Amy reached out and smoothed her hand over the navy-blue silk. Her arm was wrapped around the front headrest as she peered at us from the side.
“Is that a real opal?” she asked.
“I think so,” I said.
“Mom, can I have one for my birthday? Please?”
Her mom said yes.
I think some of Parker’s well-meaning dorkiness rubbed off on me during the drive, because when we arrived at school, I did not mind being dropped off by a parent, and a little sister chanting Parker has a girlfriend.
He rumpled Amy’s hair and promised to read two stories the next night.
“She reads a lot,” he explained, “but she likes the way I do the squeaky princess voice.”
I was curious to know what it sounded like but was afraid to ask.
The dance was in the gym and it was jammed. Everyone was there.
Mindy came with her on-again, off-again boyfriend Scott Walker.
Jade was with Alex Freeman a senior. Justin brought Samantha Blaylock who dances as well as he does. I did not see James but figured he must be there somewhere.
An hour later, the music was blasting, and we were all in a circle watching Justin bust some moves. He looked like he was born to dance. And, just as I thought, Parker had not learned to dance, not one step.
It wasn’t his fault. A few days aren’t enough time to learn. However, after watching him, I think if he had two year
s’ practice it wouldn’t make a difference.
He had no clue where the beat was, no rhythm at all, but that didn’t stop him.
Have you ever heard the expression dance like nobody’s watching? Well, that was Parker. I have never seen an uncoordinated person dance with more enthusiasm.
We were all clapping and saying, “Go Justin, go Justin, go Justin . . .” and that was when I saw Abigail standing alone by the wall.
The perimeter of the dance floor was mostly dark, but there were sparkling lights overhead so you could still see people walking around in the shadows. The lighter color walls also reflected the different-colored lights and metallic decorations.
At first, I thought Abigail had just stepped into the background and was taking a break, until I saw her plaid skirt and noticed she was holding her beanie; not exactly dance wear. That’s because she wasn’t at the dance, not in the usual sense. She had a name tag pinned to her blouse. Only chaperones wear name tags, and she wasn’t old enough to chaperone, so what was up?
When I took a quick break to go to the bathroom, I walked by, said, “Hi, Abigail,” and saw her name tag. It said, “Miss Abigail Weems, Assistant Usher.” She was standing next to one of the parents and looked at me without answering.
Poor Abigail, I thought, as I pushed open the bathroom door. There was no one to usher. It was not a real job and no one else would have volunteered.
I washed my hands and held them under the hot air. I leaned closer to the mirror to check my mascara and in the reflection saw a door opening. Jade emerged.
“Hey, I like your dress.” She smiled and put her hand under the automatic liquid soap dispenser. “Your brother is a great dancer.” She lathered her hands and then held them under the faucet. She wore a fitted silver dress that shimmered with every movement.
How did she get her angular hair to stay in place without hairspray, I thought enviously? Mine is naturally curly. I spent an hour straightening it with a flat iron. One glance in the mirror told me by the end of the night it would be frizzy.
Jade wore a corsage of tiny white and black roses around her wrist; her nails were painted pearlescent black. The pink ribbon tattoo on her check was silver for the evening, done with some sort of face-paint.
“I’m sorry you didn’t want to come with James,” she said, applying mascara. The silver ribbon on her corsage caught the light, as did the tattoo which seemed to glow on her cheek. “But Parker is a good guy.”
“I thought James might bring Abigail,” I said, totally confused. “But she’s—well, I don’t think she came with anyone.”
“What do you mean?” Jade paused, mascara wand in hand.
“You know,” I said. “The festival, the goldfish—I thought . . .”
“Oh, I see,” she said slowly. “No, I meant it when I said he was just being nice, trying to make her feel better. He couldn’t come tonight anyway. He’s at a sweat lodge renewing himself.” She saw my surprised expression and held back a smile. “It’s a spiritual renewal.”
“Of course,” I said, hopefully covering my confusion.
An image of James in a steamy sauna had popped into my mind, a towel draped over him, his body damp with sweat. I blinked and forced myself not to think of it. A nice image, but this was not the time to dwell on it.
“About Abigail,” Jade said. “James doesn’t like seeing anyone get pushed around. He takes care of people—and so do I.”
She paused again as if her next statement had been considered long in advance. “This is a nice city, nice people,” she said, her voice quiet and serious. “We want to keep it that way.”
What did she mean by that?
I remembered the look she gave Pamela when she disappeared into the crowd. I had not thought of it at the time, there was too much else going on, but I wondered if she was planning to get even.
“Let’s get something to eat later,” Jade said, her momentary lapse over.
“Sounds good,” I said. We left the restroom and returned to the dance.
No matter what Jade said she still had not convinced me. I was sure James looked like he was interested in Abigail. But why did I think that? Was it just because he helped her out? That had to be it. Just because someone is nice does not mean they are going to ask you to Homecoming, or anyplace else.
But what about Abigail? Had she jumped to the same conclusion? I hoped not because then she would have been really let down. While she did not look particularly sad, I didn’t know her well enough to know whether she was upset or not, and I should have by now.
The music stopped and we gathered on each side of the aisle where the queen and king enter followed by their court. It was not a surprise who they were because it had been announced at the Homecoming Game the night before.
Expectations rose and the room buzzed with excitement. Then, as if on cue, the murmuring stopped, and a hush swept over the crowd.
At the back of the auditorium where it was darkest, the light reflected from necklaces, sequins, bouquets sprinkled with glitter; just enough to add to the excitement of something special about to happen.
A burst of music filled the air and the court processed elegantly down the middle.
Only seniors are eligible to be king and queen, the same with their court. As they came down the aisle, they smiled broadly and waved.
At the edge of the aisle—almost falling into it—was Pamela beaming at them. She lifted her chin, and waved back, as if she were the queen and passing them by.
She had her hand cupped, her wrist rotating from side to side the way they do in the Rose Parade on New Year’s Day.
She looks like she’s screwing a light bulb in a socket, I thought uncharitably, forgetting my promise not to think like that. Okay, I admitted, she looks spectacular.
The king and queen led off the first dance and soon everyone joined.
“Sorry! Oops, sorry! Oh, gosh, I’m ruining your shoes. Sorry!” Parker apologized every time he stepped on my toes, which he did constantly.
“Don’t worry about it,” I said, as I prayed the slow dance would end. “My shoes have padded toes like ballet slippers. I can’t feel a thing.”
“Really?”
He looked so happy I just smiled—or tried to. Every time his big foot rolled over mine, it felt like a car tire.
Just when I thought my toes would be permanently squashed, the music soared. I let go of Parker and danced out of reach, all the way to the loose circle around Justin and Jade.
“Go Justin . . . go Jade . . .”
Everyone clapped and moved their heads in time to the music—everyone that is except the man I saw out of the corner of my eye.
Instead of moving or being relaxed, there was a watchfulness about him that put him out of sync with everyone else.
Average height, skinny, with skimpy black hair. The yoga master who did the Firefly pose and twisted himself into a human knot!
I still judged his age to be thirty-five or fifty—I could not be sure—but what was he doing here?
He did not seem to hear the music or care about dancing. He stared at the darkest part of the wall where Abigail stood. She apparently had not noticed him.
I expected him to look away or stare at something else. There was plenty to see: decorations, food, lots of girls dressed to kill, but Mr. Firefly only had eyes for Abigail. I tried to keep him in sight, but Parker bounced from side to side in front of me, and each time he moved he blocked my view.
Before I knew what was happening, Parker made a one hundred eighty-degree turn—and I got caught in the Parker whirlwind. I lost sight of Abigail and the Firefly.
Who is he, I thought, as I bounced up and down trying to see around Parker? Why is he here? How did he get in? He was not wearing a name tag.
The only possible explanation was that he was someone’s father, and this was the first time he attended a school event. I dismissed that thought in the next second. Fathers never just showed up at dances unless they were picking up their kids�
��and that was rare.
Parker whirled around, and again I glimpsed Abigail.
Through colored lights, shadows, and dancers, I also caught sight of the Firefly as he edged his way along the wall and moved closer to Abigail.
I don’t know what prompted her to move—possibly she turned her head and saw him—but she pushed away from the wall and headed purposefully toward the exit. And he followed.
“I’ll be right back,” I yelled, trying to make myself heard over the music.
“What was that?” Parker yelled back at me.
“I said . . .”
I did not have time to explain. I wanted to reach Abigail before she got to the exit. I took three steps and heard, “Olivia!” “Olivia!”—and was swept into the circle of dancers.
“Go Liv, go Liv . . .”
I did a few moves, then tried to bob and weave my way between Parker and Justin and out of the circle.
“Don’t be shy,” yelled Parker. “You’re doing great!”
“Guppy!” I yelled, as I waved him into the circle. He grinned, spun around, and danced his way over to me. I had hoped to move out when he moved in, but his dancing blocked me again—and this time it totally distracted me.
“What are doing?” I yelled. I had never seen anyone dance that way.
“It’s called the Rollie,” he yelled back. “Cool, huh? I saw it on YouTube, Ayo and Teo.”
Oh, god, that’s what Justin had tried to teach him, hip hop! I never would have guessed. His arms waved back and forth, his shoulders went up and down one at a time. He made gestures that would have been obscene if anyone else made them. Instead, he looked like he was having a seizure. Everyone was yelling, “Go Guppy! Guppy! Go Guppy . . ..”
Next, he hopped from side to side, like he was on the field—that side-to-side move to block a runner—and for a few seconds there was no way I could get past him.
I stopped—which took me out of his rhythm—and he kept hopping. I dashed by him on the other side and saw Pamela focused like a laser on Abigail—and Jade focused even harder on Pamela.
What the . . .!
One of Us: The City of Secrets Page 7