Finding Mighty

by Sheela Chari

  “Mighty, looks like your kind of place,” Tops said.

  “I’ll say,” I murmured. I felt the spray can that was still inside my hoodie. But who was I kidding? I was in the company of a master graffiti artist. I didn’t want Peter’s brother laughing at me. It was hardly the time to try out my tagging skills.

  “Anybody seen an Om?” asked Randall.

  “Maybe it’s on the second floor,” I said. “I’m going up.”

  “I’ll come with you,” said Peter.

  We made our way gingerly up the narrow steps.

  “Be careful,” Randall called out. “There’s no light up there. Nike, you go up with them.”

  “We’re fine,” Peter said. “You don’t have to baby us.”

  There was tension between Peter and his brother. I could see why. Randall was like a big-brother version of Peter, with the same hair and frame, but his face was cocky, and he had this way with him like he thought he was better than you. I could see Peter wanting to punch his brother down. Maybe Peter had been in Randall’s shadow his whole life, and now it was like, no more. For a moment I wondered if Cheetah felt the same way around me. Like if one day I was going to get a punch in the nose at the dining table.

  By now, Peter and I had reached the upstairs and skirted along the walls. There were actually two rooms, and we started with the first one. “I don’t know what we’re going to find here without a flashlight,” Peter said grimly. “Plus I don’t even know what we’re looking for. Would Grandma Rose really hide the diamonds in this house? It’s a disaster.”

  “Well, it’s a landmark, which means they can’t demolish the house, right? Maybe that’s why she chose it. But it’s got to be somewhere in here that won’t be renovated.”

  “Right, like a permanent structure,” Peter said. “How about the fireplace over there?” We crossed the room, and felt the ground buckle under our feet. We quickly ran to the other side.

  “The floor isn’t sound,” Peter said. “Don’t go in the middle.”

  I nodded. We got on all fours, peering along the sides of the fireplace, and then inside, feeling with our fingers. As far as I could tell, there was nothing. Nothing etched in the brick or on the hearth. But we kept looking. The house had seemed small when we first saw it from the outside. But now that we were inside, the place had suddenly become vast. The Om could be anywhere. It could take days before we found anything. I wondered if that’s what we would do. Come here night after night, climbing through the window, and getting down on our hands and knees.

  From outside came a distant rattling. It grew louder, and it sounded like the gunning of a car engine. Peter groaned. “I know who that is. And he still hasn’t changed that muffler.”

  “Who?” I asked.

  “You stay here. I’ll handle it.” He stood up and made his way to the stairs. “And don’t walk in the middle,” he reminded me.

  Meanwhile, I continued my search of the fireplace, now feeling with my hands along the mantel. It was actually a beautiful fireplace, the kind you read about in books. I wonder if the Keeper who lived here had sat by this fireplace with his family, warming their hands. Was it a hard job, looking after the Aqueduct? I imagined the tunnel underground where the Aqueduct Trail ran, ninety million gallons of water rushing though it every day.

  By now, I heard a new voice downstairs, and it was loud. I could hear him say that someone from his work crew saw us breaking in, and he was here to check it out. Then a moment later the loud guy said, “Shazam! If that’s true, then the best place to look is upstairs!”

  Peter said, “Fine, Uncle Richard.”

  “That’s where all the original parts are still intact,” the uncle explained as he came up the stairs with Peter. He sure didn’t try to be quiet for one second. He was like his car, loud and reverberating. Behind him I could hear Peter telling him to keep his voice down.

  I crossed the room so I wouldn’t startle them. His voice was strangely familiar, but I couldn’t place it. Then Peter’s uncle was standing at the door, saying something about the fireplace. When I saw his face, I let out a small shriek.

  Even in the dark room, he could see me. “It’s you,” he said. Then he laughed like I was some joke he couldn’t believe.

  “Peter, it’s him!” I shrieked, scrambling back.

  “What? What?” Peter called out, looking back from him to me. “You know each other?”

  “It’s him.” I couldn’t stop screaming, even though I knew I was being a big baby. “That’s Craggy.” I stepped back as far as I could, and suddenly felt the ground give under me, as a century of plaster and wood crumbled under my feet and I crashed through the floor, falling and falling through the unlit air.

  One minute I was standing there with Nike and Tops, the next minute the girl came crashing down like a meteor. Everywhere there was dust and plaster, and the girl was screaming. Nike, Tops, and I ran toward her, while everyone else came down the stairs.

  “Myla, are you okay?” Peter cried out. We gathered around the girl.

  “I’m all right, I’m all right,” she said, coughing, as plaster shook from her hair. Then her face twisted in pain. “My ankle,” she gasped.

  Tops came forward and squatted down. “It looks injured. Let me see.”

  Then Uncle Richard, who was standing nearby, gave a low whistle. “Well, if it isn’t Michael Biggs coming to save the day. I didn’t smell you when I came in.”

  I turned to Tops, surprised. “You know him?” Even before I could get a good look at this uncle of mine, I find out they’ve got a connection?

  Tops looked uneasy. “Yeah, but it was Omar I was friends with.”

  “And I know why you were friends with him,” Uncle Richard said coolly.

  I looked at Uncle Richard more closely as he stepped out of the shadows, and for one gut-stopping moment, it was like Pop was in the house. Then a second look told me not. He was the same height, with the same features, but spaced out differently on his face. But I remembered him now. If not his face, then the idea of him coming to our place to chill with Pop.

  By now, Tops was brushing rubble from the girl’s leg. “Where is it hurting?”

  “Over there, near my heel.” She sucked in her breath while he felt the area with his fingers.

  Tops turned to Nike. “Those bandanas on your wrists. I need them.”

  Nike paused, then took them off. I knew about his handkerchiefs. They were his lucky ones, what he wore when he didn’t know where he would end up in the night. Then Tops made a knot at one end. “That will stop the swelling. But you need to see a doctor to make sure nothing’s broken.”

  “Then you best get the lady home,” Uncle Richard said. “That goes for everybody. Time to go, folks. Let’s call it a wrap, ha-ha, get it?”

  Tops stood up. “I was thinking maybe some of you can take her home, and the rest of us could stay back and check out the place more.”

  “Negative on that,” Uncle Richard said. “I could lose my job letting you all stay, now with the ceiling caving in. Petey and Randall, move it. You too, Bandana Boy. And of course, I’m booting you out first, Mr. Tops.”

  Tops flinched at Uncle Richard’s tone but he continued calmly enough. “Richard, I’ve driven Mighty all the way from the city. He’d be disappointed if we didn’t do one sweep of the place.”

  “Oh, right, poor Randall,” Uncle Richard said, “when you’re the rat.”

  “Actually, you’re the rat,” Myla spoke up from the floor. “You parkoured into my room and stole the necklace.”

  “Me parkour?” Uncle Richard exclaimed. “Don’t make me laugh. Leave that stuff to Omar and Topsy-Turvy to break their necks.”

  “Hey, don’t disrespect the sport,” said Nike.

  Uncle Richard looked at Myla. “Anybody can climb up to your room. They just need a good foothold. And let’s get one thing clear, girlie. You took that necklace. I don’t care if you paid money, my ma had no right selling something that was mine.”


  “So are we staying or going?” Nike interrupted. “Personally, I say we blow this place before the roof falls on our heads.”

  “Just an hour more,” Tops said. “We’re so close.”

  “So you can get the diamonds,” Uncle Richard said.

  “You’re the one who’s after them,” Tops said. “Omar said he was sick of listening to you talk about them all the time. You think I don’t see how you’re using this girl as an excuse to get us out of here?”

  “It’s true,” Myla butted in. “We’re letting him get the place all to himself.”

  “I work here,” Uncle Richard said. “None of you have a reason to be inside, and I could have you all arrested myself. I’d start with this here girl because she’s the biggest pain, then I’d move to Tops, who’s been looking for the stones before Omar’s body was cold in the ground.”

  “Omar was my friend!” Tops shouted. “You have no idea what you’re saying, or what his death did to me. Who do you think taught him PK in the first place? And he was really good—but that’s the problem. When you’re good you forget the risks you take every time you go out.”

  “That’s what my pop did? He forgot what he was doing?” I demanded. All I could say was when I was on the wrong side of the fence on High Bridge, it was hard to forget the swirling river below. But what if you were inside a building? Did you forget the cost of falling down? I didn’t understand how you could. Or how you could be jumping on the inside, and then land on the outside, dead on the pavement.

  Tops’s face softened. “Mighty, it could have been me who fell down those thirty floors. We all forget. Only now I try to do it less. I remember your dad every time I run. That’s why I use the chalk. I never forget the chalk.”

  Uncle Richard folded his arms. “That’s real sweet, Tops. We’re all crying here.”

  Nike, who was at the window, suddenly cut in. “Listen everybody, there’s somebody coming up the front. Oh God, he’s at the front door.”

  Uncle Richard groaned. “I knew it. You dumb people.”

  Myla was struggling to her feet. We were all freaking out, but it didn’t make any difference. The door opened and a body framed the entrance so he was like one big, solid wall of misfortune.

  “Everybody freeze!” he shouted, just like in the movies.

  What happened next went by so fast I didn’t remember it all. First, the cop shone a flashlight on us, and we looked like ghosts with the plaster all over our faces. Then he informed us we were trespassing, and he’d have to bring us in, and nobody was going anywhere, so we shouldn’t even bother trying. That’s when Uncle Richard spoke up, and it was like mumble-mumble-jumble and him showing his contractor’s card. But the gist was he’d come on behalf of the construction company because somebody called to say the roof was caving in. When he came, he found us kids out front, the ones who called him in the first place. Then, against his advice, we dumb-asses followed him inside where more plaster fell on us, explaining our freaky appearance.

  That’s when Tops cleared his throat. “Yeah, I’m his assistant.”

  Which was like the biggest joke, but still we all kept quiet.

  Even so, the cop wasn’t buying a single word. “That girl is injured,” he said, pointing to Myla who was hobbling on one foot.

  But when we looked at her, she wasn’t hobbling but shaking with excitement. In the middle of the cop saying how we were all going to the station, she burst out, “Look, it’s the Om!”

  All conversation in the room stopped—that is, the cop shut his big trap. I waited for him to say, What’s an Om? What are you talking about, girl? But he knew exactly what she meant. We all knew exactly what she meant.

  “Myla, are you sure?” Petey said.

  The cop cleared his throat. “You kids are looking for . . . the Om?” He looked at us for a moment and said, “You know I’ll have to report all stolen property. And . . .” He paused. Then, like he could wait no more, he said, “So, where is it?”

  With one finger, Myla pointed straight ahead of her to the front of the house, where an old mirror hung on the left side just before the staircase. We all looked hard, seeing nothing. Then I saw it—not paint, not marker, not anything I’ve ever seen used to tag before. “On the mirror,” I cried out. “She scratched it.”

  Petey shook his head in wonder. “That’s right. Diamonds scratch glass.”

  Everyone hurried to the wall except for Myla who stood there balanced on one foot.

  “I didn’t see it until the flashlight went over it,” she explained.

  The cop and Uncle Richard stood on either side and held on to the frame of the mirror.

  “On the count of three, okay?” the cop asked. Uncle Richard nodded.

  “One, two, three!”

  With a heave, the two of them hoisted the mirror off the wall and set it carefully on the ground. There behind the mirror was a small shelf built into the wall. Perfect for hiding a secret.

  “There’s something in there!” called out Tops.

  The cop shone his flashlight onto the shelf and we all hovered around.

  “Is it the diamonds?” Myla yelled from behind, shorter than all of us, and on one foot.

  Uncle Richard reached in and pulled it out. “Son of gun,” he said in disbelief. But that was nothing compared to the shock on Tops’s face. Or the way he looked at me, like he was sending a ball of fury my way. Honest, what was he getting mad at me for?

  Meanwhile, I couldn’t believe what Uncle Richard was holding in his hand. Seemed like I could hear Pop laughing his head off somewhere in heaven, just like that day I told him I thought his chalk was meant for drawing on the sidewalk.

  It turns out it was good for something else. Because that’s all we found filling up that space inside the shelf: a big, hulking piece of climbing chalk.

  On the two-minute drive home, Officer Filnik decided to lecture Randall, Peter, and me on the dangers of being outside after dark, unsupervised. “Plus you don’t know who can be out there,” Filnik said. “Just a couple of days ago, a youth was at the train station, defacing public property.”

  It took everything in me not to glance at Peter or Randall. I couldn’t believe it was the same cop from the other night—Kai’s dad! Did he really not know it was the three of us at the station? Also, I was still hyperventilating over the chalk. Think about it, a diamond, the hardest substance in the world, and chalk, the softest, except for talc. This was something we learned in fifth grade science. So it had to be a joke, the chalk behind that mirror. That, or another clue. But why chalk?

  Meanwhile, Randall was all cool. “Graffiti is a disgrace,” he announced. I stared at him, wondering where he found the nerve. For all we knew, Filnik could still put two and two together and come up with runaway graffiti artist.

  “Graffiti is ugly,” Peter said next.

  I wasn’t one to be left out. “Graffiti doesn’t mean anything,” I added.

  Then we were all grinning like fools as Filnik pulled into my driveway. He turned off the engine and looked at us. “Graffiti is more trouble than you think,” he said. I thought, he’s onto us, this is when we get the book thrown at us, or whatever cops did to juveniles.

  But all he said was, “You boys stay in the car,” as he got out and helped me to the front door. I dreaded the thought of seeing my parents. I’d rather see Peter’s mom and the look on her face when she saw Randall. She’d be the happiest mom in the world.

  Not my mom. Her face turned ashen when she opened the door and saw me limping on one foot beside Dobbs Ferry’s finest law enforcement officer.

  “Myla!” she yelled. Well, not “yell” exactly, because my mom doesn’t do that. But as close to yelling in a quiet way as possible.

  Filnik explained the whole thing in excruciating detail while she listened, throwing me appalled looks every few seconds. I wondered where Dad was, but I didn’t say anything. I just waited and waited through the whole explanation, wondering when Filnik would announce all the charges a
gainst me. Would he take my fingerprints here or at the station? Would there be a photograph taken, too? Would I be written up in the newspaper by his daughter?

  But at the end of his spiel, Filnik said, “All right. Consider this a warning, young lady. I don’t want to run into you again at night where you don’t belong. Got it?”

  I didn’t want to run into him either. I didn’t think we’d have any problems. He and Mom said goodnight, and the front door was closed.

  Mom’s face was a picture of fury. “You don’t know how worried we were,” she fumed.

  “Where’s Dad?” I asked.

  She didn’t answer. Instead she took out her cell phone. It began to dawn on me that my “lookout” had failed, and Mom and Dad had realized I was gone. But why wasn’t Cheetah coming down the stairs, telling everybody stuff already?

  “It’s all right, she’s here,” Mom said into the phone. “You can come home.”

  “Dad was looking for me?” I squeaked.

  “They both were. Cheetah was hysterical. Do you have any idea what you did to him?”

  “Oh! I’m so sorry.” I felt terrible. This was worse than being brought home by a cop.

  We sat on the sofa without Mom uttering a word. Getting yelled at would have been so much better. Then at last the front door opened, and Dad and my brother came in. Cheetah raced into the living room, and when he saw me, he kind of shrieked and landed on the sofa, burying his face into a cushion.

  “Cheet, I’m sorry,” I whispered. I didn’t know what else to say. I laid a hand awkwardly on his back. He didn’t say a word, but I could tell he was crying, and it was my fault. He was my little brother, and I’d left him behind.