Young Whit and the Traitor's Treasure

by Phil Lollar

Wilson muttered softly, “At least I have hair.”

  Mr. Greeley turned and said, “Pardon?”

  “Uh, I said, ‘I guess I’ll sit over there.’”

  “Please do.”

  Wilson slowly walked to an empty seat next to Arty, eyeing everyone in the class as he went. When he reached Johnny, his eyes narrowed. Suddenly he tripped over Arty’s bag, and everyone snickered. He righted himself and sank into his chair.

  Mr. Greeley addressed the class. “All right, everyone, calm down. If Mr. Knox is finished with his acrobatics, we have a lot to cover today.” He consulted some papers. “Who is John Whittaker?”

  Wilson piped up loudly: “He means you, Sherlock!”

  The class laughed again. Johnny gave Emmy a look that said, “Thanks a lot” and then raised his hand. “I am, sir.”

  “Come up here, please.”

  Johnny grabbed his admissions papers and walked to Mr. Greeley’s desk. He glanced in Wilson’s direction and noticed Wilson was keeping an eye on him, too, examining him from head to foot. And when Wilson got to Johnny’s shoes, his eyes widened suddenly and a sneer curled his lips. Johnny remained calm but knew the ruse hadn’t worked.

  Mr. Greeley had several papers at his desk for Johnny to fill out, and as Johnny did so, the teacher addressed the class again. “All right, everyone. We’re going to be doing a lot of projects this semester about world history, but the first one is more personal in nature. Your assignment is to prepare a presentation for the class on your family history.”

  This was met with a mixture of groans and enthusiasm. Mr. Greeley went on. “History is made up of people just like you and your ancestors. Now, you may not think your family is all that exciting, but you never know what you’ll find when you start climbing your family tree.”

  “Some people will find monkeys, right, Sherlock?” said Wilson.

  The class laughed, but the brute still sneered.

  “Oh, so you’ve already researched your family, Wilson?” Emmy quipped.

  The class laughed louder.

  “All right, that’s enough,” said Mr. Greeley. “Your presentations are due at the end of the week, so you need to get started right away. Oh, you may return to your seat, Mr. Whittaker.”

  “Or your tree,” said Wilson, still glaring at Johnny. More snickers.

  Wilson whispered something to Arty, who nodded and also glared. Johnny sank into his desk chair. Emmy shrugged at him, and he sighed and shook his head.

  When class ended, Wilson and Arty bolted from the room. Johnny and Emmy gathered their things, and as they made their way to the door, she asked, “What is going on?”

  He took a breath and said, “I think you’re about to find out.”

  Sure enough, as soon as he stepped out of the classroom, he felt himself grabbed roughly and slammed against the lockers, pinned there by Arty and Wilson.

  “Hey!” Emmy exclaimed.

  “You stay outta this, Emmy!” Wilson retorted, and then he got right in Johnny’s face and growled. “It was you, wasn’t it? I saw the shoelace on the mop! You think that new one can fool me? You did it!”

  Johnny swallowed and replied, “Yes, I did.”

  Wilson gritted his teeth. “I said you best watch yourself, but you didn’t listen, didja? You just had to get in my business. Some people gotta learn the hard way!”

  “Hard way!” Arty echoed, then snorted.

  “Stop it, Wilson!” Emmy said, grabbing his arm.

  Mr. Greeley appeared at the door. “What’s going on here?” he asked.

  Wilson and Arty immediately let Johnny go but stayed close to him. “Nothin’, sir,” Wilson said. “Just welcomin’ our new student.”

  “It didn’t sound very welcoming, Knox,” Mr. Greeley snapped. “Get to class—all of you! Now!”

  Wilson and Arty backed off and took a few steps down the hallway. Johnny and Emmy also stepped into the hall, and Mr. Greeley went back into his classroom. As soon as he did, Wilson and Arty whipped back around to Johnny.

  Wilson stabbed a finger in Johnny’s chest. “You and me, after school, behind the woodshop,” he growled. “Be there.”

  “Count on it,” Johnny replied.

  Wilson stormed off, Arty trailing after him.

  Johnny sighed. “Nothing like making a good impression on your first day,” he told Emmy. “It’s not even lunch, and the school bully wants to pound me. That has to be some sort of record.”

  Emmy gaped at him. “What in the world?” she asked.

  The bell rang. Johnny hefted his book bag onto his shoulder and said, “I’ll tell you at lunch. Let’s get to science.”

  Chapter Six

  The rest of the day passed without incident. Mr. Bustamonte, the science teacher, confirmed that their first big science project was due mid-October. Everyone but Johnny paled at the prospect, and he heard several whispered conversations about giving in to Wilson’s demands—and his confrontation with Johnny in the hallway. Several students shot furtive glances in his direction. Johnny got the impression they were all going to be behind the woodshop later as well.

  At lunch, Emmy sat across the table from him in the school’s multi-purpose room. It was part gym, part theater, and, now that tables and chairs had been set up, part cafeteria. Brookhaven was one of the few schools in the area to offer a lunch program, paid for by the government. But Johnny was not impressed by the slop on his plate that was supposed to pass for goulash, the piece of stale bread and butter, the wilted carrot, the bruised apple, and the small bottle of milk.

  “You locked Wilson in the bathroom—with your shoelace?” Emmy exclaimed.

  “In a manner of speaking,” Johnny said, poking at the goulash with his fork. “That’s why I needed your lace.”

  “I thought you were gonna try to stay away from him.”

  “He was going to beat up Luke,” Johnny replied with a shrug.

  Emmy shook her head. “So you locked him in a bathroom.”

  Johnny opened his milk. “I didn’t have time to think of anything else. I had to get to class.”

  Emmy studied him for a moment. “You really aren’t afraid of him, are you?”

  Johnny swallowed a gulp of milk. “No. And no one else should be either. My Grandpa Jackson told me most bullies are cowards. We need to stand up to them.”

  A determined look crossed Emmy’s face. “Right! You can count on me. I’ll be there with you after school.”

  “You really don’t—”

  “I’ll be there!”

  He nodded. “Okay, then, I could actually use your help.”

  She swallowed. “Well ... I should mention that I don’t really know how to fight.”

  He smiled. “You won’t have to. And hopefully, I won’t either.”

  The bell rang in their last class, English. Johnny and Emmy lingered while their classmates rushed from the room. They gathered their things, descended the same stairs Johnny had bolted up that morning after rescuing Luke, and headed outside.

  They made their way down the passage alongside the main building that led to the woodshop. Johnny and Emmy paused, exchanged looks, and then walked around to the back of the building.

  Wilson was there, standing next to a stack of scrap lumber, with Arty on his other side. Gathered behind him were Luke, the rest of the kids from the hallway that morning, and a few other kids Johnny hadn’t seen before. Beyond them was a small field, bordered by woods at the far end.

  Johnny strode up to Wilson, with Emmy a few steps behind, and met him eye-to-eye. “Sure you want to do this?” Johnny asked.

  Wilson snorted. “Why, you turnin’ chicken?”

  “No. But if you still want to fight, I need to show you something before we start.”

  “What, a note from your mama?”

  Johnny ignored the jab and the snickers from the kids. He walked over to the lumber pile and picked up a board about three feet long and a half-inch thick.

  “You wanna use weapons?” Wilson sneered.


  “No.” Johnny handed the board to Emmy. “Hold it up alongside you like this, the bottom end on the ground,” he said, showing her. “Hold it firm. Brace it at the bottom with your foot. Good.”

  “What is this, dweeb?” Wilson scoffed.

  For an answer, Johnny wheeled and lashed out at the board with his right foot. “Yeee—ah!” The board snapped clean in two.

  The crowd murmured. Wilson swallowed hard.

  Johnny picked up another board about the same size and had Emmy position it again. This time he wheeled the opposite way and lashed out with his left foot. “Yeee—ah!” Another clean break.

  The murmurs turned into low “Ooo’s!”

  “One more, I think,” said Johnny, retrieving another board and giving it to Emmy to hold. Johnny faced it in a fighting stance this time, then lashed out with the side of his right hand. “Yeee—ah!” He broke the board in half.

  There were loud gasps from the crowd. Emmy’s eyes grew wide as saucers.

  Johnny turned to face Wilson, who looked very pale. “We can fight if you want to,” Johnny said evenly, “but I just want you to know what you’re up against.” He took a step toward Wilson, who stumbled backward and nearly fell.

  That’s when Johnny saw him—the man in the hooded cloak.

  He appeared only for an instant, gliding out of the woods on the other side of the field, pausing for a second, and then melting back into them. Johnny froze. Emmy nudged him and whispered, “What’s wrong? What are you doing?”

  “Did you see that?” he whispered back.

  “See what?”

  But before he could answer, a voice from behind them boomed, “What’s goin’ on here?”

  Johnny and Emmy whipped around. A large black man strode toward them. He wore overalls, a long-sleeved blue work shirt, and scuffed work boots. His close-cut hair was thinning on top and graying at the temples, and he had coal-black eyes.

  “Mr. Huck!” whispered Emmy.

  “Who?” asked Johnny.

  “The school janitor!”

  Mr. Huck was right with them now. “I said, what’s goin’ on here?” he boomed. “You all fightin’?” He stopped and looked at the small pile of split lumber. His eyes blazed. “Who broke my boards?”

  “He did!” said Wilson, pointing at Johnny. “And he was going to attack me with one!”

  “That’s a lie!” Emmy yelled.

  “Enough!” Mr. Huck roared. “All y’all get on outta here now! Go on home!”

  The crowd started to scatter.

  Mr. Huck jabbed a finger at Johnny. “And you ... you come with me!” He turned and headed back toward the main building. Johnny and Emmy exchanged glances, and Johnny followed the janitor meekly.

  As they went, Wilson’s voice wafted after them. “This isn’t over, Sherlock!” he said. “I’m layin’ for ya! I’m still gonna get ya! See if I don’t!” They rounded the corner of the woodshop, and Wilson’s voice faded.

  The two walked in silence back into the main building and down the hallway to the custodial closet Johnny had used that morning. Mr. Huck unlocked the door, and they went inside. He pointed to a stool and said, “Sit.” Johnny sank onto it. Mr. Huck walked past, his back now to Johnny, and said, “I saw what you did.”

  Johnny swallowed. “W-what I did?”

  Mr. Huck picked up something and replied, “Earlier today. I saw what you did. With this.” He turned. Johnny noticed his powerful hands were scarred with what looked like burn marks, and in them he held a mop—the mop.

  Johnny’s brow furrowed. “You did? But how? I didn’t—”

  “See me?” the man said, now smiling. “That’s probably ’cause you were too busy. By the way, this is yours, ain’t it?” He held out his hand.

  In it was Johnny’s shoelace.

  Johnny smiled. “Yeah,” he answered. He took the lace and stuffed it into his pocket. “So how did you see everything, Mr. Huck? Where were you?”

  Mr. Huck gestured to the room. “In here. My headquarters. Well, one of ’em. And most folks around here call me Ben.”

  He held out his hand again. Johnny took it, and they shook.

  “I’m John Whittaker. But I’m afraid my parents won’t approve of my calling you Ben. I’m supposed to call all adults Mr., Mrs., or Miss.”

  Ben’s eyebrows rose. “Even us colored folks?”

  “All adults.”

  “Well, good on your parents for teachin’ you proper manners! I tell you what: Around them I’ll be Mr. Huck. The rest of the time, I’m just Ben, okay?” He smiled again.

  Johnny grinned and nodded. “Deal!”

  “I thought people called you Sherlock.”

  Johnny scowled. “That’s Emmy’s doing. It’s just John or Johnny.” His brow furrowed again. “How’d you know about that?”

  “I don’t stay in here all the time. I heard it in the hallway this morning, and that Knox boy used it just now.” Ben turned and walked back farther into the closet.

  Johnny watched him and said, “This room is much bigger than I expected.”

  “It is that,” said Ben. “I was back behind the shelf over there. When I saw you bust in and grab Sally here”—he set the mop in a dry bucket—“I thought I better see what’s goin’ on.”

  “You call your mop Sally?”

  Ben’s eyebrows rose. “Just this one. That one over there I call Susan. And they three sisters, Sophie, Sonia, and Sarepta, are in my other headquarters down in the basement.”

  For a second, Johnny wasn’t sure if he was serious or not. Then Ben snorted, and they both burst out laughing. Ben threw back his head, and when he did, Johnny noticed something he hadn’t seen in the hallway: The glow from the naked lightbulb revealed a long, thin scar on Ben’s left cheek, near the ear, and another, bigger scar around his neck.

  Johnny quickly looked away as Ben’s head bobbed up and down, his laughter dissolving into a chuckle. Johnny also chuckled. “Well,” Johnny said, “I hope neither Wilson nor I hurt Sally.”

  “Just a few strands pulled out of her head is all,” Ben replied. “And she was happy to sacrifice ’em for such a good cause. I gotta say, you’re a very inventive young man.” He began pulling cleaning items and trash bags off the shelves and loading them onto a custodial cart.

  Johnny’s smile faded. “Yeah, too inventive for my own good.”

  “Now, why you say that?”

  Johnny sighed. “All my inventiveness did today was get me threatened.”

  Ben stopped loading the cart and frowned at him. “You ain’t afraid of that boy, are you? ’Cause from what I saw, you got no reason to be. You can handle him just fine.”

  Johnny shook his head. “I know. It’s the losing friends part I’m not sure how to fix.”

  Ben returned to his cart. “Well, I wouldn’t be too worried about that, neither.” He finished loading the cart and pushed it out of the closet. Johnny followed. Ben turned off the light and closed the door. “See, kids is fickle. Kinda like the weather. It do what it do. You watch: You’ll be their hero now, at least for a while.”

  Ben headed down the hallway, and Johnny walked with him. “I’m not trying to be a hero,” Johnny replied. “I don’t really want to be one.”

  Ben nodded. “Most heroes don’t. That’s why they heroes.”

  Johnny sighed again. “I dunno. Sometimes I think life would be easier if I just did what everyone else is doing.”

  Ben stopped so suddenly that Johnny almost ran into him. He gave Johnny a stern look. “You mean give in to Knox?”

  “Well ... yeah.”

  “So, just let him pick on smaller kids and beat ’em up, is that it?”

  Johnny shrugged.

  Ben’s eyes bore into him. “Now, I don’t know you very well, John Whittaker, but from where I stand, that ain’t the kind of person I sized you up to be. Or am I wrong about you?”

  Johnny lowered his head.

  “Look at me, boy,” said Ben. Johnny looked up. “I saw you s
tand up to the biggest bully in this school today, and get the better of him, and rescue a smaller boy along the way. The good Lord done made you courageous and inventive. He done that for a reason. Ain’t no good tryin’ to dance around His plan for you ’cause you think it’ll make your life easier. It won’t. You understand me?”

  Johnny slowly nodded. Ben smiled.

  “Good. Now you go on home and let me get back to work.” He started pushing his cart again, leaving Johnny behind.

  “Ben?” Johnny said.

  Ben stopped and turned back.

  “I’m sorry about the boards.”

  Ben waved him off. “Aah, I was gonna burn ’em anyway.”

  Johnny smiled. “Say hi to Sonia, Sophie, and Sarepta for me.”

  Ben laughed. “I’ll see you around, Johnny.” He kept laughing all the way down the hall.

  Johnny also chuckled, and then he shook his head. This has been quite the first day! he thought. He took a deep breath, hitched up his book bag, and headed for the door.

  Chapter Seven

  When he got home, Johnny went directly to his room and plopped down on his bed, taking mental inventory of the day’s events. His feelings were mixed. Academically, the classes and workload were no sweat, and it didn’t seem as if anything in the future would be too terribly difficult, either. Of course, schoolwork never was for him.

  Socially, things were a different matter. He’d learned he could count on Emmy, which was good. Johnny felt pretty positive about standing up to Wilson, too, though he wished he hadn’t had to use the threat of physical force to do it. Unfortunately, he had also made an enemy of Wilson, and probably Arty, in the process.

  His conversation with Ben had been great. It was nice to know he had an adult friend at the school whom he could count on for advice.

  But when Johnny thought more deeply about that conversation, he felt ashamed. He had actually thought of changing who he was, of going along with the crowd, just to make his life easier. If he had such thoughts when the decision was simple, like today, what would he do in a situation where it wasn’t so simple, where he didn’t know what was right or wrong?