Kevin rewound the tape. “I guess so. But Mr. Sidhu was the closest to your backpack. Why would he give them to you?”
“He could have seen me sketching on the boardwalk one morning when we first got to the shore and thought I would like them. Maybe he found the box mixed in with a bunch of used books and figured no one would want to buy used paints.”
“You think?”
“It’s possible. He’s a very nice man. Remember how he said he’d give you first dibs on those DVDs you like? You should give him a green star too.”
“Okay. Where was your backpack when we were on the boardwalk and the beach?”
“I had it when we got the Italian ices, but it was on my towel when we went for a swim. We asked that couple next to us to watch our stuff, and they didn’t seem like people who would sneak paints into a kid’s backpack. Did they?”
“I don’t think so. But what kind of people would do that?”
“And why?” I added.
“That’s a good question,” Kevin said. “And one we haven’t explored yet. What’s the motive?”
“Motive?”
“Yeah, you know, on all those TV cop shows, they talk about whether the criminal had the opportunity to do the crime and what their reason, or motive, for doing it was.”
“You think a criminal gave me the paints?”
“Could be,” Kevin said. “It’s a pretty weird thing to do. And look what happened after you used them. It’s kind of scary.”
“I guess. But a criminal?” A chill ran through me, even though the thermometer on the porch read ninety degrees. “It’s creepy thinking someone I may not even know went into my backpack.”
“Hang on,” Kevin said. “I didn’t mean to scare you. Criminals don’t give you things. They steal them, right?”
“That’s it!” I jumped up from the chair.
“What?”
“Maybe someone stole the paints and then stashed them in my backpack when he—”
“Or she,” Kevin said. “We haven’t ruled out Serena.”
“Okay. Or she was about to get caught.”
“Hmm,” Kevin said. “I suppose that’s a possibility.” He picked up the box and examined it. “Why would anyone want to steal these? They look like they’re fifty years old.”
“That’s true.” I pointed to the list. “We’re getting off track. Where were we?” I sat back down.
“Number Five—the beach and the couple that was supposed to be watching our stuff.”
“Let’s look at the film you took of the stegosaurus. They might be in the background, and we can see if they look suspicious.”
Kevin played the tape. First there was a close-up of the sand, then the stegosaurus, then Mateo and me, running down the beach. “Wait,” Kevin said, rewinding a little. “There’s the couple in the corner. Their eyes are totally shut. They weren’t watching our stuff at all.”
“Could someone have hidden the paints in my bag while they weren’t looking?”
“Could be,” Kevin said. “Or maybe someone at the beach got confused and thought your backpack was theirs.”
I pointed to the pink hearts and yellow flowers I’d painted all over my backpack. “I don’t think anyone could mistake this for theirs.”
“You’re right,” Kevin said. “But we still can’t rule out someone on the beach.” He crossed out Number Four, since the bag never left my shoulder at the Italian ice stand, but drew a green star next to Number Five. “Okay, let’s see, Number Six. Did anything weird happen while I was getting the cow suit?”
I shook my head.
“I didn’t see anyone touch your backpack while we were here making cannolis.” He drew red lines through Six and Seven. “Number Eight,” Kevin said, suddenly getting a strange look on his face. “Could your parents have put them in your backpack when you went home?”
“Why would they do that?”
“To surprise you?”
I shook my head. “No way. Especially with Mom’s germ phobia. If she found a box this old, she would have thrown it away and washed her hands with alcohol ten times.”
“What about your dad?”
“Same thing.”
“You’re sure? I mean, they haven’t told you yet about the baby. They’re keeping one secret. Maybe they have another one.”
“I get why they kept it a secret about Mom’s pregnancy—she’s been trying for years to have another baby. They probably didn’t want me to get too excited until they knew for sure everything was okay.”
“I’m sorry,” Kevin said. “I didn’t mean they were hiding things from you on purpose. I just thought maybe they wanted to distract you with the paints . . . you know, until they thought it was the right time to tell you.”
“You could be right.”
“So what should we do? Cross out or green star?”
I took a deep breath and whispered, “Green star.”
“Okay. Moving on. We’re up to Number Nine: Atlantic City. We can cross out A and C. There was no one near us when we were watching the gamblers or shopping for souvenirs.” Kevin’s eyes grew wide. “But what about that sketchy guy sitting behind you at the Mexican restaurant?”
“I guess it could be him.”
“He was really strange,” Kevin said. “And he was wearing a suit. Who wears a suit on the shore in summer? But . . .”
“But what?”
He played back some film from the restaurant. “Look. Dracula never went near your backpack.”
“Wait a minute.” My heart raced. “Yes! Yes, he did!”
CHAPTER 31
What?” Kevin said. “Watch the film—he wasn’t near your backpack at all.”
“Not today. But you don’t remember that very first day when you blew the straw paper across the table. I missed, and it hit the man on the neck. After a while, he leaned down like he was looking for whatever hit him. He could have shoved the box in my backpack when he was bending over.”
“Hmm. Another strong suspect,” Kevin said. “What would his motive be?”
I thought for a minute. “If he’s a writer, like we thought, he could have done it for a story.”
“What do you mean?”
“Maybe he didn’t know the paints were magic, but he put them in my backpack to see what I’d do with them. Remember, we kept seeing him at the hotel. He could have been watching us to find out what we’d do when I found the paints.”
“Then what?”
“He’d have the beginning of a new novel—depending on what we did with them.”
“But you didn’t find them till you got home. Wouldn’t he have tried to get you to open your backpack before we left the hotel?”
“I guess.” My head was spinning with all these theories. “The paints are so old. He could have gotten a good deal on a bunch of them and put the boxes in a lot of kids’ backpacks. Maybe some other kid found them first and the guy got his story idea without me.”
“That is one weird hypothesis,” Kevin said. “Maybe you should be a writer.”
“I’m an artist. Not a writer. But if my theory is true, I am a little sad I didn’t get to be in his book. I feel kind of sorry for him. He probably had no idea he was missing out on a story about magic.”
All of a sudden, Kevin jumped out of the rocking chair and yelled, “Magic! Why didn’t I think of this sooner!”
“Think of what?”
“Marty the magician. He had his hands right near your backpack when he pulled that scarf out.”
“I thought you didn’t believe in magic?”
“I don’t. It had to be a trick. You know, sleight of hand.”
Kevin pressed play again. “Look. I got a shot of him covering one hand with the other when he pulled out the scarf. That’s how he does it. He gets you looking at one hand while he does something else with the other one.”
“Why would Marty do a trick like that and not follow up on it? Wouldn’t he have shown everyone how he put the box in there without anyone
seeing it? It would be his moment of glory, right?”
Kevin paced across the porch. “I don’t know. Maybe he got distracted by a customer—and we left the store.” Kevin drew two green stars next to Marty’s name. “He might be the most likely suspect so far. He had the opportunity to do it and he had a motive.”
“I guess so, but I’m still going with my writer theory. Draw two stars next to him.”
“All right. But we still need to finish with the list. What did we do next?”
“You went to tell your mom that we were going to play mini golf.”
“That’s right. And when I came back, your backpack was unzipped. That proves it was Marty.”
“Are you sure? He’s good with the cards and the scarves, but I can’t believe he could hide a whole box of paints. And . . . wait a minute!” I narrowed my eyes at Kevin. “You came up from behind me and said my backpack was open. You could have put the paints in there!”
Kevin flinched as if I’d slapped him. “Why would I do that? And where would I have gotten the paints?”
“I don’t know. Maybe your mom found them at home when she was cleaning out your stuff.”
“Why wouldn’t I tell you that I was giving them to you?”
“To surprise me?”
“With a set of old, used paints?”
I rocked back and forth at rapid speed. “I guess not.”
“Besides,” Kevin said, “I already know what I’m getting you for Christmas, and it isn’t used.”
Christmas? Had Kevin already been planning that far ahead? Why had I been so worried we wouldn’t see each other after summer? It was like I’d been preparing for something before it even happened.
Mom once told me about this thing called the self-fulfilling prophecy, how sometimes if you think the worst is going to happen, it will—because you end up making it happen. Had I always drifted apart from my friends because I expected to? Was I the one who was really pulling away because I was afraid they’d do it first? Had I even done it with Abbey?
At that moment, I wanted more than ever for time to move forward. I had to find out who gave me the yellow box. I looked at Kevin’s hurt face. “I know it wasn’t you . . . maybe it was someone at mini golf.”
“But you had the backpack with you the whole time.”
“No! No, I didn’t. You don’t remember, but on that first day, the rickshaw driver swerved and knocked you down. I didn’t get there in time to pull you out of the way, like I did today. He took me by surprise the first time, and when I ran to help you, I left my backpack on a bench at the last hole.”
“It’s weird I can’t remember that,” Kevin said. “Did I get hurt?”
“You skinned your knee.”
“Why were you able to pull me away in time? But we can’t save G-Mags?”
“I wondered that for a long time, but . . .” I looked away and rocked faster in the chair. “I think some things are just meant to be.”
Kevin was quiet for a while, and I wasn’t sure what to say. Finally, he looked up and drew a green star next to mini golf. Then he added, “We can cross out Number Ten. There was no one at dinner but all of us. And your backpack was here the whole time.”
“So what do we have?”
Kevin followed the numbers with his index finger. “It could be Serena. Or Mr. Sidhu. Or someone on the beach or at mini golf. Or . . . your parents?” He looked up at me for approval.
I nodded. “Go on.”
“Still . . . I bet it’s either that guy in the restaurant or Marty.”
“Okay, how do we figure out who it is?”
“We have to ask them all,” Kevin said. “We don’t have any choice.”
“You said, ‘we.’ You still want to help?”
Kevin nodded.
“Even if it means something bad might happen to G-Mags?”
Kevin’s eyes welled up. “I believe you’d do anything to save G-Mags, just like I would.”
I looked away. “You understand that tomorrow morning you will have forgotten all of this?”
“It’s hard to believe, but . . .”
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“What do you think I should say tomorrow morning to convince you I’m telling the truth?”
Kevin kicked a rock off the porch. “Tell me about G-Mags again. After a while, just like today, I’ll realize you’d never joke about something like that.”
“Is that it? That’ll make you want to help me?”
“Tell me about your mom being pregnant right away. I know how much you’ve always wanted a brother or sister. And tell me about how I’ll never see Michael again.”
I put the paints in my backpack. “Are you sure that’ll be enough? I’ll need you to believe that we already filmed the day and figured out who the suspects are.”
Kevin thought for a minute. “I’ve got it! I’ll tell you something that only Michael and I know, something we’ve kept a secret forever.”
“What is it?”
Kevin leaned all the way across the table and whispered, “Once, when I was little, I took out one of Michael’s baseballs and started throwing it in the air and catching it. The ball hit a glass clown that my mother loved, and I ran crying to Michael. He found some Krazy Glue and glued the clown’s hat back on so I wouldn’t get in trouble. Then the next day, he used his allowance to buy another clown. But he made me promise to never play ball in the house again—and to pay him back one day.”
“Did you?”
Kevin nodded.
“So, if I tell you this secret, you’ll believe everything else?”
“I think so.”
“Okay. That’s what I’ll tell you.”
CHAPTER 32
The next morning, I rewrote the names and places, adding the stars and color-coding. And as soon as I got to Annie’s, I texted Kevin and ordered breakfast for both of us.
Once he arrived, I waited until he finished his egg and sausage bagel before reciting the story of the time loop, saving his secret for last.
He looked at me, wide-eyed, then put his face in his hands. Finally, he raised his head. “There’s no way you’d know that secret if I hadn’t told you.”
“That’s what you said yesterday.” I slid the paper I’d worked on across the table. “These are the suspects.”
“This doesn’t look familiar at all,” he said.
“We worked on it together.”
“I know you wouldn’t lie to me. But this is so weird.” He studied the list. “So you said we’ve already ruled out Annie, right?” He glanced toward the counter where she was adjusting Joey’s hairnet.
“It’s definitely not Annie.”
“Okay, then.” He got up from the booth. “On to Serena.”
Breathing a huge sigh of relief, I followed Kevin out the door. I still thought he was wrong about Serena being a suspect, but it was a good idea to ask her about the paints. She’d been an artist since she was my age, so she might recognize the box. And even if Kevin was right, and she had given me the paints, I was sure she’d done it to surprise me—not to ruin my life.
“So, let me get this straight,” Kevin said. “How will it help to find out where the paints came from?”
“I need to find the instructions. There must be some explanation about how the magic works. If I can find that out, maybe I can reverse what’s happening.” As the blazing sun beat down on us, I wanted more than ever for summer to be over.
“Okay, I get it,” Kevin said as we passed the funnel cake stand. “What’s our strategy?”
The sweet smell of fried dough and sugar distracted me for a second. “I don’t know. What do you think we should do?”
“Get right to the point. Pull out the paints and ask Serena if she gave them to you.”
“Really? Isn’t that kind of rude? Shouldn’t we talk a little like we usually do and then ask if she’s ever seen the paints before? You know, ease into it before accusing her.”
Kevin looked at me with a serious expression. “We don’t have time for that. Besides, there’s a difference between asking and accusing. It’s all in the tone.”
After arriving at Serena’s spot, we watched as she drew the last red polka dot on the little girl’s bow. “Now can I have an ice-cream cone?” the girl asked.
As the mother and daughter left for the frozen custard stand, Serena turned to us and sighed. “Some people really don’t appreciate art.”
I nodded with sympathy, remembering how some of my teachers would stand over me and frown when they saw me drawing in the margins of my notebook pages. But, like Kevin had said, there was no time for nice conversation. I took out the paints and shoved them in front of her.
Serena squinted up at me, startled.
“I’m sorry,” I said, giving Kevin a sideways glance. “I didn’t mean to be rude. I, uh, was wondering if you’ve ever seen these paints before.”
She took the box and turned it over. “They look pretty old. Where did you get them?”
Was she faking innocence? “Someone gave them to me.”
“Really? Seems like a weird gift.” She shook the box. “How much do you want for them?”
“What? No. I don’t want to sell them. I just want to know where they came from.”
“Why don’t you ask the person who gave them to you?”
“I, um, wanted to see if I could return the paints to get something else. And . . . I don’t want to hurt the person’s feelings.” No matter how much I’d learned to lie all those weeks, it still felt so wrong.
Serena gave me a strange look. “I don’t think you’ll have much luck returning them. It seems like they might have come from a thrift shop or somewhere like that. They wouldn’t be too interested in getting these paints back.”
A thrift shop! Why didn’t I think of that?
She opened the box and pulled out the tube of red paint. “Looks like someone’s already used them.”
As she twisted the cap off, I snatched the tube from her.
“We’ve got to get going now,” Kevin said. “Do you know if there’s a thrift shop around here?”
The First Last Day Page 8