Spam turns to peek at him and finds that he’s looking at her. She freaks and turns back.
“Go. You’ve got this,” I tell her.
She exhales a giant puff of nerves, fluffs her hair, smooths her eyebrows, and straightens her clothes. Game face on, she turns and sidles up next to Journey.
“Would you like to know more about our CSI summer camp?” Spam asks him.
“I would.” His smile broadens. “Especially from you, shortcake. You’re one of them, aren’t you?”
Spam twists the tip of her hair around her finger. “One of who?”
Lysa and I stand back and try to appear nonchalant, like we’re not really listening, but we totally are.
“The crime-stopper girls from TV,” he says. “My name’s Lyman, by the way.” He offers her a fist bump.
Spam meets his fist bump and they do the exact same flourish at the end. So weird, how’d she know? I’m surprised at how smooth and calm she seems. I’m barely past my complete stammering, nervous scarecrow stage around Journey.
“Pleasure to meet you, Lyman.” Her voice is soft as velvet. “My name’s Sp—Samantha.”
Lysa and I lock eyes in shock, our eyebrows peaked in the middle like circus tents. Holy crap. Starting in fourth grade she would literally punch you if you called her Samantha.
Lyman looks confused. “I thought you’re the one they call Spam.”
She giggles. “Yeah. That is what my friends call me.”
Lyman checks her out. She’s wearing a striped top and striped pants—same color field, different stripes. No one else would ever put these two clothing items together, but Spam pulls it off in the very same way that Lyman pulls off his plaid.
“What do I have to do to get to call you Spam?” he asks.
“You could sign up for the camp,” she says, and I swear she’s batting her eyelashes.
“Already done.” He nods toward Journey, counting out a bunch of small bills.
Journey hands Lyman a receipt. “You’ll get the paperwork in the mail for your parents to fill out.”
“Thanks, man,” Lyman says.
“Then I guess I’ll see you at camp,” Spam says, being flirty.”Unless…”
Lyman looks disappointed. “Unless I can’t wait that long?”
She grins and pulls her cell phone out of the pocket of her hoodie. “Snapchat?”
He pulls out his phone and they both open the app. Spam hovers her phone under his. He clicks, then pulls his phone back and grins: “@spamalot?”
She nods.
He keys a few things into the phone. “See you around, @spamalot.” He tips a pretend hat before strolling off into the crowd.
I peer over her shoulder. He sent a Snapchat photo of her talking to me just a few minutes before she turned around and saw him. Her expression goes all dizzy and she fans herself with what’s left of our stack of applications.
Lysa and I just shake our heads.
“There was a time when I might have been like this over Journey, too,” I whisper to Lysa. “But I at least had the sanity to keep it to myself.”
Lysa gives me a look. “Oh, girl, please. You didn’t keep anything to yourself. Do you not remember the lectures and almost-interventions we tried to run on you?”
Okay. Maybe I wasn’t that covert after all.
“I need a job as a counselor, too,” Spam says.
“What about working at your dad’s store?” I ask.
She waves away my concern. “The stuff I do for him, I can schedule my own hours.”
“Are you sure?” Lysa asks in that tone she uses that sounds like her mother.
“Yes, Mom,” Spam says. “Besides, I don’t want you getting any ideas about stealing that one away from me.”
“You don’t have to worry about that,” Lysa says. “I can’t compete with you for that snappy dresser.” There’s an element of sarcasm in Lysa’s tone. I glance quickly at Spam to see if her feelings are hurt. But she’s too much in dreamland to care about what either of us thinks.
“I know,” she says. “His style is crazy amazing.” She taps my nose to get my attention before drifting out of the booth. “You’ll talk to Victor, right?”
I nod. “Yeah. I’ll talk to him.”
Spam isn’t gone thirty seconds before we get another visitor. Detective Sydney shows up and asks to snag Lysa and me for what she calls a face-to-face.
“Where’s the other one?” Detective Sydney asks.
“Spam? She left early. Why?” I ask.
“Because I know you three and it’s best to nail you down all at once,” she says.
Lysa and I exchange worried looks.
Detective Sydney digs in her purse and comes up with the envelope containing Lysa’s phone. She hands it to her. “You can have this back now.”
Lysa brightens. “Oh. Thank you.” She pauses. “Was everything…”
“Settled?” Detective Sydney asks. “I wouldn’t say that. You might still hear from the driver about the mirror on your case. But, for now anyway, we’ve decided the skateboarder incident is no longer a police matter. You girls just need to continue to mind your own business and you’ll be fine.”
We thank Detective Sydney for her advice and breathe a sigh of relief. Rachel always says timing is everything. And now Spam’s free to pursue a guilt-free relationship with her knight in shining plaid.
Meanwhile, Coach Wilkins is having a meltdown on his side of the camp sign-up booth. Victor has announced that our camp is overfull and is taking names for a waiting list.
Apparently, Coach Wilkins only has twenty sign-ups.
I get him being upset … kind of.
But he looks foolish over there balling up his brochures, throwing them on the ground, and stamping on them.
I’ve got to hand it to Victor. The guy has class. He’s willing to wade straight into the middle of Coach Wilkins’s meltdown by pretending to rap a song about cool camp. The rap is horrible, but Victor is great because his little show takes the pressure off the football players and cheerleaders helplessly watching the coach blow up. Pretty soon, everybody is clapping and stomping along with Victor and Coach Wilkins has worn himself out.
Miss P would have done something similar, to diffuse the situation. It wouldn’t have been a goofy rap, but she would’ve done something.
26
Being a hostile witness doesn’t necessarily indicate guilt, but you have to wonder why someone would be reluctant to discuss what they saw or agree to tell the truth.
—VICTOR FLEMMING
CSI camp registration was a success. Victor allowed us to sign up ten more campers than he planned, plus the waiting list. This means he has the budget to hire Spam as a part-time counselor too. She’s beyond thrilled.
All we have left is finals week and Journey’s graduation. Then one week of intense setup before camp begins.
Victor and Journey are working on finishing the lab, including the security and safety features. This means when Journey’s not studying for finals or reading trial transcripts, he’s off running around with Victor.
With all this Journey-free time, Spam, Lysa, and I have started meeting after school at the library. I’m keeping a three-ring binder of the camp activities we’ve come up with. Lysa is keeping a notebook that tracks the details of Jameson’s case as they come to us. Coach Wilkins’s public meltdown was added to the list. And Spam’s keeping track of Bella sales—we’ve delivered thirty so far, and have orders for fifty more.
“Victor is expecting us to turn in our list of activities today,” I say. “So here’s where we stand: Week one, analyzing the crime scene, is done. Week two, hair, fingerprints, and impressions, done. Week three, blood, done.”
Lysa cheers after each, but Spam is buried in her phone.
“Week four, ballistics testing. That’s mine. It’s almost done but I need a few more facts. I knew nothing about guns before I started this.”
“You should have asked Coach Wilkins,” Lysa says
.
I chuckle and Lysa nudges Spam. “You’re not even listening.”
Spam doesn’t look up, she simply waves her hand. “I’ll do it tonight.”
Lysa and I exchange a cuckoo look.
“Spam?” I say.
“What?” She looks up.
“Who are you Snapchatting with?” Lysa asks.
Spam gives us her silly, crooked smile. “No one.”
But the way she tosses her hair to the side is a definite clue.
“It’s Lyman, isn’t it?”
She suddenly drips innocence. “Who?”
“Yeah. Right,” I say.
“Okay.” She drops the façade. “I’ve been seeing him.”
“You mean dating?” Lysa says.
I gasp. “I thought you were going to set up a meeting with us so we could find out what all the secrecy was about.”
Spam shrugs. “I didn’t think you still needed to do that since Detective Sydney said he was clear. And we’re not exactly dating, we’re playing games together.”
“He comes to your house?” I say.
She gives me the well-worn Spam look of scorn. “Have I taught you nothing about technology? We hang out on Ventrilo while we’re playing, which means we can talk privately to each other.”
Lysa and I share an eye roll. Only Spam would consider this seeing somebody.
“Well,” Lysa says politely. “Tell us about him?”
I’m more direct. “What’s the big mystery? Did he ever talk to the police? Why did he give you his video and not the police? Did he just move here? Will he be coming to our school?”
“Wow. Slow down, Johnnie Cochran,” Spam says. “His mom works nights at the hospital. He didn’t tell her about the almost-accident because he says she’s super overprotective and would have freaked out.”
“I know how that is.” I flash them my phone with six text messages. “These are all from Rachel in just the last ten minutes.” I pause to text back a reply: EVERYTHING’S GREAT, RACH. I’M HAPPY. READY 4 FINALS. HANGING OUT WITH S&L.
“Anyway,” Spam says. “He said by the time he learned that the driver of the car was claiming he was responsible for the accident, he was too scared to tell anyone but us.”
“I don’t blame him,” Lysa says. “I’m still not sure I’m not going to get blamed for having a mirror on the back of my phone case. My father said there doesn’t have to be a police investigation for that to happen.”
“But is he coming to our school?” I ask.
“No,” Spam says. “He homeschools.”
I shudder. “Ugh. I’d hate that. The best part of school is friends.”
Lysa shrugs. “It can be the best of times and the worst of times, but in theory I agree with you.”
“He says he likes it,” Spam says. “But he’s looking forward to camp. He says summer camps are how homeschoolers learn to socialize. I told him he’d get to meet all of you.” Spam starts packing up her stuff. “Anyway, I have to go. I have to get ready for our date tonight.”
“Whoa,” Lysa says. “It’s Friday night. I thought we had plans.”
“Calm down, I’m not ditching you,” Spam says. “Lyman and I are getting together after. But I have to download some software and upgrade my system before I can go out with you.”
“That late?” Lysa says. “And your dad’s okay with that?”
Spam shakes her head. “Date. Game. His house. My house. What don’t you guys get about this?”
“It must be a lot,” Lysa says, switching her attention to me. “What are you and Journey doing tonight?”
“No clue. Between working for Victor and studying for finals I’ve hardly seen him this week. He is giving me a ride home today, though, so hopefully we’ll come up with something.” As I say this I spot Journey striding toward us … and he’s carrying a bouquet of flowers.
* * *
Journey asked me on a proper date.
It’s our first proper date since the prom. And the prom was our first proper date ever.
That makes tonight date two.
He’s taking me to dinner at a fancy Italian restaurant. I enlisted Rachel’s help with what to wear and she showed up with a new little flowered sundress that looks amazing.
While she’s helping me with the curling iron on the back of my hair I notice she’s not wearing her engagement ring.
“Rachel, your ring?”
She looks at her hand and shrugs a little. “I gave it back.”
“What? Why?”
She shakes her head and I can’t believe it. The famous, unmovable Rachel fog of sadness is back. How did I not notice this?
“I love Charles,” she says. “I truly do. But things started moving too fast.”
“Too fast for you?”
“Yes.” But she pauses before she says it and I know.
“No. Rachel. No. You can’t make that decision because of me. You can’t not do this.”
“Erin, Charles and I will still get married … someday.” She sits down on the bed next to me. “I have loved that man since high school. Which is why we’re not in any hurry.”
“Oh my god, Rachel. You broke up with him because of me.”
“Now, that’s not true,” she exclaims. “We didn’t break up. We’re just not charging headlong into a wedding.” She swipes some hair off my face. “I have a bright star to launch first.”
I tear up and move to give her a hug.
She tears up too, but stops me. “Don’t. You’ll mess up your makeup. Just go and have the time of your life with that handsome boy. That will make me happy. We can talk more about this later.”
Victor calls from downstairs. “Erin. Journey’s here.”
I race downstairs to be greeted with even more flowers, and Journey, wearing a suit.
“You are the most handsome guy on the planet,” I say.
“Okay, got the hint,” Victor says. “I’ll just go out back and eat worms.”
Out in the driveway there’s another surprise. A decent car.
“It’s no big deal, it’s my mom’s,” he says.
“Trust me. Compared to the beast, this is as grand as Cinderella’s coach.”
At the restaurant, Journey has made reservations for the chef’s table, which is inside the kitchen. All night long, the chefs come to our table with little tastes of this meatball and a bit of that pasta. Italian sodas in all flavors and garlic bread to die for.
We are having absolutely the best time.
Until I slip off to the bathroom.
As I’m heading back to our grand table, I see two diners that I never expected to see together.
Arletta Stone and Blankface are here, in this restaurant, having dinner together.
I pat my dress. No pockets means no phone. But I have to get a photo of this.
I hurry back to the table and pick up my purse, heading back to the bathroom.
“Is everything okay?” Journey asks.
“Oh yeah,” I say. “I just need to—”
One of the chefs dances up before I can finish, singing Italian opera directly to me. My cheeks flame. I wait until he’s finished, but then I hurry back to the dining room.
They’re done with their meal. Arletta pushes the check to Blankface, who pushes it right back to Arletta. They’re too absorbed with haggling over the check to notice me.
I quickly snap the photo and head back to the table.
It’s been a great night and I’m still ecstatically happy with Journey. But seeing those two together has popped up a sinister scorpion tail of worry. When I get a chance I’ll send this to Spam and Lysa.
“How’s Jameson’s case? Is it okay to call him Jameson? I love that name and always saying your father sounds weird.” I’m babbling, a sign of scattered thinking. Fortunately, Journey doesn’t seem to notice.
“Of course,” Journey says. “Victor’s been consumed with the camp and lab. He says we’ll have more time to work on the case in a week or so.”
&nb
sp; “Have you come up with any other suspects?”
Journey shakes his head. “It’s been fourteen years. So, the chance that someone would set my father up, see him go to prison, and then stick around for fourteen years is slim.”
I nod. “Yes. I bet that would be pretty rare.”
27
Whether you are a victim or only a witness, the stress of the crime can distort your memory of what happened.
—VICTOR FLEMMING
Finding out that Rachel put her wedding on hold makes me want to spend more time with her. She needs to know that even though I was shocked by the news, I’m okay with her having a life. In fact, I want her to have everything she missed because of me.
I offered to cut my hours back at the camp to part time so Rachel and I could have some special time. But she won’t hear of it. So it’s full steam ahead with Camp CSI summer. Rachel and I pledge to schedule dinner once a week, just the two of us.
Since camp starts in one week, our assignment for today is to pack up Miss P’s classroom and set it up in the new space. It’s Spam’s turn to drive, and Lysa’s already in the backseat by the time I get downstairs.
“I thought you were bringing Lyman so we could meet him.” I climb into the passenger seat.
“He might show up later.” Spam makes a wishy-washy wave with her hand as she backs out of the driveway and heads toward our local coffee stop. “I’ll explain while we’re waiting for our coffee,” she says.
“Okay.” I pull down the visor to check my hair in the mirror and catch Lysa’s worried expression. It’s not like Spam to be mysterious or to hold back commentary for a better discussion time.
She parks, and all three of us get out. My curiosity is gnawing at me. “Tell us about him. It sounds like you and Lyman have been hanging out a lot.”
“He’s really cool. I can’t wait for you to meet him.” Spam holds the door open. “He’ll probably show up at some point. He just wasn’t sure if he could get out.”
“You make it sound like he lives in lockdown,” Lysa says.
“I told you, he’s got a wacko hover parent—he has to check in a lot. She wants to know where he’s going and who he’s going with. Even who he’s talking to online. Aggh. He said if we continue to see each other I’ll have to meet her.”
To Right the Wrongs Page 14