And what's weird about seeing him in the picture is that it feels like he's watching me. Like he's grinning at me. I move a little to the left and back to the right, but no matter which way I shift, there he is, grinning away, right at me.
Dot says, “What are you doing?”
“Huh…? Oh, nothing.”
“So why isn't it going to happen?”
“Why isn't…what?”
“Sammy! You were telling us you weren't going to get the skateboard back. Why not?”
I turn away from the picture and say, “Because it was just Marissa bait. My skateboard's in Taylor's brother's truck. Apparently it's been there all day.”
“So?”
“So nobody's scraped the paint off, nobody's seen my initials, and nobody's planning to return it. Taylor just said that to get Marissa to come to the party.”
Marissa stares at me and I stare at her, and finally she says, “Well, if that's true, let's get out of here!”
Taylor and Casey seem to be having a pretty serious discussion over by the Pac-Man game, but it's easy to see that Taylor's the one calling the shots. And I'm thinking, Yeah, let's just forget it and go, when I notice Heather whispering with Tenille, kind of blocking the door to the kitchen.
Going through them would be like trying to walk through barbed wire, and really, I wasn't up for that. I'd been beat up enough for one day already. Then it hits me that there is another way out. I just have to step over the Edge of the World to get there.
Dot sees me looking toward the backyard and says, “Oh, Sammy, no. Let's not go that way.” I nod at Heather and say, “You'd rather go out that way?”
Holly says, “There are four of us and two of them. And Tenille doesn't even really count, so let's just plow 'em over.”
They're right, of course. Four against one and a half weren't bad odds—what was Heather going to do? Throw earrings at us? Still, I had scars to prove that tangling with her could leave you seriously gouged, and I wanted to get out of there in one piece.
But suddenly it's too late anyway. Casey and Taylor are right beside us, and Taylor starts laying it on, thick and sweet. “Sorry about the misunderstanding. I guess Jake's kind of flakin' out. I don't know what the deal is with the skateboard. Maybe we'll get it from him tomorrow.”
Marissa just looks down, so Taylor says, “That doesn't mean you have to leave. Why don't you stay and ring in the New Year?”
At first, Marissa doesn't say anything. She just stands there with her arms crossed and her eyes to the ground. Then, very quietly, she says, “Why'd you lie to me?”
He wasn't expecting that. No one was expecting that. And while we're all looking at Marissa with our eyebrows up and our jaws down, Taylor takes his first swing. He stutters, “Lie to…why do you think I…I didn't lie to you!”
Strike one. She looks straight at him and pitches another. “Then get the skateboard.”
He swings again. “Okay, but I…I've got to clear it with Snake first.”
Strike two.
She keeps right on looking at him. “Why? I thought this was his idea.”
“Well, it was our idea, but—”
“But he doesn't know anything about it, right?”
“No…I mean…sure he does. But I can't just give it to you without telling him first, right? I mean, it's his board.”
Strike three, and we are out of there. Marissa says, “No, it's Sammy's board.” She pushes past him saying, “Silly me to think you were trying to do the right thing.”
He says, “I…Look, I…,” but it's too late. There's no way he's going to make it to first base with Marissa.
The rest of us stand there for a few seconds, stunned, while Marissa marches away. We snap out of it and chase after her, and I want to slap a high-five on her for what she's done, but by the time I catch up to her, we've got the Guerrilla Girls to deal with.
Marissa says, “Heather, please. Get out of the way.”
Tenille's trying to act all tough and together, but really she looks seasick swaying there in her platform shoes. Heather smirks at Marissa like, Make me, but she doesn't say a word, she just stands there.
I take a step forward and say, “Look, I thought you wanted us to leave. Why don't you—”
Out of nowhere, Casey grabs my hand and pulls me up the steps behind him, saying, “Jesus, Heather—get out of the way!” And when we're past the doorway, he keeps right on holding my hand, then turns around and says to Heather, “Would you work on not being such an embarrassment?”
Now I've seen Heather mad before. Lots of times. I've also seen her upset and shocked. But I've never seen her mad, upset, and shocked, all at the same time.
She was, though, all three. And for once her eyes weren't shooting darts at me. She was looking from Casey's hand to his face, and for the first time since I've known her, Heather Acosta was dumbfounded.
Casey guides me through the kitchen and down the hall, saying, “This whole situation's jacked. I can't even believe it.” He turns to me. “It might not happen tonight, but I'll get you your skateboard. I promise.”
All of a sudden we can hear gears grinding and tires squealing out of the driveway, and then Karl comes slamming into the house through the front door. He practically plows us over going down the hall, and as we watch him go, Casey says, “Not a good time to be asking to get in the truck.”
I laugh. “No kidding.”
He walks us outside and says, “Not that we could anyway. That must've been Ben peeling out of here.” He looks at me. “But if I do manage to get your board, how can I get ahold of you?”
Now my tongue's acting normal. I can't think of a thing to say. I mean, what am I supposed to do, give him Grams' number? That would fly like a zeppelin with her. So I'm standing there like an idiot, not knowing what to say, when Dot comes to my rescue. “You could bring it over to my house. Sammy's spending the weekend. It's right up the road, on Meadow Lane. Just follow the signs to DeVries Nursery.”
“DeVries Nursery?”
“That's right.”
He nods and looks real serious when he says, “Okay, I will,” then gives me a little wave and says, “See ya.”
The minute he goes back inside, all three of them grab me and say, “What is going on!?”
“What do you mean?”
“Sammy…he was holding your hand!”
I blush. Completely. Dot says, “Well…? Do you like him?”
“I don't know! I don't even know him!”
Marissa says, “Then why did you let him hold your hand?”
I look straight at her. “This from the girl who let Taylor put his arm around her?”
Now it's her turn to blush. “Sorry.”
I kind of scowl and say, “Me, too.” Then I get on my bike and sigh. “It's all just…confusing. Casey's…I don't know. Nice.”
I said it to regret it. Dot practically squeals, “She does like him!” and since she's riding right beside me, I give her a little punch in the arm. But all that does is make her wobble and say, “You do! I can tell!”
They teased me the whole way home. And I kept telling them to shut up, but it was no use; it only made them tease me more. And by the time we turned down Meadow Lane, I was really sorry I'd ever gone to Taylor's. I mean, my skateboard meant a lot to me, but life was confusing enough without getting tangled up with, you know…
Boys.
THIRTEEN
Lights were still on when we rode up to Dot's house. We parked our bikes around by the carriage house and I asked, “Are we in trouble for getting back so late?”
Dot said, “We shouldn't be…,” and I'm just thinking, Wow, that's amazing! because I'd be in a whole lot more than trouble if it were Grams waiting up, when Dot adds, “I called them from Lucinda's house.”
“You did?”
She looks at me like I'm squirrel bait. “Of course.”
“When?”
“While you were getting the diary…?” She shakes her head and says, �
��They'd have been worried sick if I hadn't. I promised them we'd be home before midnight, so we're okay.”
To tell you the truth, I'd forgotten all about Moustache Mary's diary. But I had the copy right there in Hudson's saddlebag, and with everything that had happened at Taylor's, well, the thought of reading about a gunslinging woman in a moustache seemed like just what I needed. I said, “Wait for me, okay?” then raced inside the carriage house to stash the diary with my stuff.
After that, we tiptoed into the house, but Dot's parents were wide awake, sitting next to each other on the couch. Anneke's head was in one lap and Beppie's head was in the other, and both girls were sound asleep. Mrs. DeVries whispers, “Glad you girls are back.”
Dot says, “Sorry it took so long.”
“That's all right—New Year's only comes once a year.” She scoots forward to the edge of the couch and cradles Anneke in her arms. “Thanks so much for having Stan and Troy call. You'll have to tell us more about the fire in the morning.”
Dot looks at the clock and asks, “Aren't you staying up?”
Mr. DeVries shakes his head. “We watched the ball drop on TV.”
“But that's in a different time zone…!”
He picks up Beppie. “It's all relative, ja?” He smiles and says, “Pleasant dreams.”
Dot's mom gives her a kiss on the forehead. “Your father put a flashlight out there for each of you, but you're still welcome to sleep inside if you'd like. It's getting pretty cold, so maybe long johns are in order?”
The minute they're gone, Dot whispers, “Anyone else want some oliebollen? I'm starved!”
Well, I was, too. We all were. So we sat around the table eating powdered-sugar grenades, talking first about Pioneer Village and Taylor's party, and then about Mary's cabin and what we were going to do the next day about the missing gas can. And when every last crumb was gone and we were all talked out, Dot looks up at the cuckoo clock on the wall and says, “It's almost midnight, should I let him out?”
Holly asks, “Let who out?”
“Cuckoo.”
Now this is no shoebox cuckoo clock. It's as massive as a moose with antlers to match. And it seemed that a clock like that would bark or growl or roar, so I said, “Sure!”
Dot jumps up and pries down a little metal lever, then stands back. “Hope it doesn't wake up Mom and Dad!”
We stood there, watching the big hand tick toward the little hand, and when they were both pointing straight up, out pops the bird crying, “Cuckoo!” twelve times.
It was loud—really loud. Not quite a roar, but close. And when the bird went back in for the last time, Dot pried up the lever quick as can be and we all busted up.
Now you may think it's not much of a celebration, eating fried grenades and watching a wooden bird roar, but it was the best New Year's I'd ever had. I was with my friends, and we were happy just to be together talking and cuckooing in the New Year. And when I thought about Heather and Tenille and all the people at the Briggses' house, imagining what they were doing right then, I was really glad I wasn't there.
We hung around a little longer, then Dot passed out long johns and we brushed our teeth and went to bed. And I know I should've been tired, but I wasn't. I was wired. And long after Dot and Holly and Marissa had fallen asleep, I was still lying there in the dark, thinking about everything that had happened. About the fire and the gas can, and what I was going to say to Officer Borsch in the morning. About Lucinda and Penny, and Kevin and Dallas. About the Murdocks with their zitty butler and their steamy tempers. And Casey. My brain wouldn't stop coming back to Casey. And every time it did, my stupid cheek would tingle. Right where he'd touched it.
Now, I'd much rather think about police and pigs and pioneer people than some guy, so when my brain just wouldn't behave itself, I decided to give it something else to do.
I dug Moustache Mary's journal out of my stuff, scrunched inside the sleeping bag so my head was covered, and clicked on the flashlight.
At first, it was way too bright, but after rustling around for a bit I got comfortable, and before you know it, I was on the high plains with Mary heading west.
And really, it was the most amazing thing I'd ever read. Some of the entries were really short. Like:
But in others she wrote about the people she was traveling with—the emigrants—and her hopes and fears for the “fertile and earthly paradise” she'd heard missionaries and mountaineers talk about. And it didn't take long for the name Murdock to appear.
Lucinda had told the story just the way Mary had written it, except reading the story in Mary's own hand sent shivers through me. It's like I could hear her voice; could practically see Lewis Murdock rip the moustache off her lip and hear him cry, “Impostor!”; could feel her tiredness after walking twenty miles beside the wagon train, and her worry that Ezekiel was “worn to the bone.”
There were words and phrases that, at first, I didn't understand, or didn't recognize right away because of the spelling but, after a few pages, started making sense. Like:
I knew grouse was a bird, but I didn't realize that chips were dried buffalo poop until I was pages and pages into the journal, and then I still couldn't quite believe it. I mean, burning poop to heat your soup doesn't sound too appetizing to me.
And Mary talked about people dying like it was something that happened every day. In one entry she says,
So I kept trying to figure out what a “rut” was. And then a few pages later I realized that it was the path left by wagon wheels. I had to stop and think about that a minute. I mean, what a choice—being dug up and scalped or having your grave run over again and again by wagon wheels.
Mary did mention the gold. Several times. Sometimes she called it “the coins,” sometimes “the gold,” and once she called it “our family treasure.” And she thought that the Murdocks “were envious over it” because they had seen “the weight of the satchel” when she'd used a piece to trade for supplies at a post in Fort Hall. After that she kept it “secreted from those scoundrels” and felt it best that even Ezekiel didn't know where she'd stashed it.
So there was gold. And sometime after I read about supplies being scarce and Mary being “sorry for having to shoot” Lewis Murdock for dipping into her barrel of flour, I started wondering if it was the flour he was after, or if maybe, just maybe, he was searching for her gold.
I read the whole journal, cover to cover. And on the last page was the riddle Dallas had mentioned. It was all by itself, and in handwriting that was still Mary's, but not as smooth and flowing. Like it had been added later, when she was much older. I kept re-reading it, trying to make sense of it:
The next thing I know, Dot's flipping back my sleeping bag saying, “Sammy…Hey, Sammy…Are you going to sleep all day? Breakfast is on the table.”
“Wh…what?”
She sees my flashlight and says, “Have you had that thing on all night?” Then she sees the diary. “You were reading in there?”
The last thing I felt like doing was getting up. But after I grunted and pulled the bag back over my head, Dot says, “You were going to call Officer Borsch, remember? First thing in the morning?”
That was true. And part of me was mad at Dot for saying it because she knew it would get me out of bed. I flipped the cover off and moaned, “You're a brat.”
She laughs, “I just don't want you to miss out. Mom made appelflappen.”
“Appelflappen? Let me guess…that's some kind of flying Dutch apple?”
“Ha, ha. C'mon, they're great. They're like apple pancakes, only round like a ball, and you eat them with jam. You can have them with syrup if you want, we've got syrup…or just powdered sugar…or jam, syrup, and sugar…or even—”
“I'm coming, all right? I'm coming.” I raked my hair back and flipped it through a rubberband, then reached for my clothes.
“Oh, don't worry about that—you look fine.”
Now the long johns Dot had lent me weren't ones I'd have picked out for my
self. I didn't mind so much that they were old and tattered and missing buttons. And underwear-white is pretty standard when it comes to long johns, so it wasn't that. It was the swooshing red hearts that went from head to toe that looked ridiculous. On me, anyway.
And during the night I had been glad to wear swooshyhearted underwear. They'd kept me nice and toasty. But they weren't exactly the kind of thing I'd want to socialize in.
I said, “It'll only take a minute…”
She grabs me by the arm and yanks. “Good grief, Sammy. My brothers are over at Marko's, my parents are in their robes…everyone's waiting!”
So I shuffle into the house with my high-tops dangling laces, double-checking to make sure all those swooshy hearts are fastened in places where they might be trying to further embarrass me.
When we get to the dining room, sure enough, everyone's waiting with a fork in one hand and a knife in the other, looking like they're going to start pounding the table for food. Especially Anneke and Beppie.
Mr. DeVries sees me and says, “At last!” and the minute Dot and I slide into our chairs he proclaims, “Smakelijk eten,” and everyone digs in.
Marissa says through a mouthful, “How come you were so zonked?”
Dot answers for me. “She was up all night reading that diary.”
Holly asks, “Really? Was it any good?”
All of a sudden I didn't feel tired anymore. “It's the most amazing thing I've ever read. It's almost spooky.”
“What do you mean, spooky?” Marissa asks. “Cause of the ghost?”
“No. Because it feels so real. It's like going back in a time machine or something. I mean, Lucinda told us how Mary passed herself off as a man, and about the trouble she had with the Murdocks, but she didn't talk about the trip. It was treacherous! And the farther they got from Missouri, the worse it got. They didn't ride in the wagons, they walked next to them.”
Dot asks, “Why?”
Sammy Keyes and the Curse of Moustache Mary Page 10