14
After dinner, I was watching an old Sopranos rerun when the phone rang. Thinking it might be Arthur, I ran to answer it. To my amazement, it was Nina. First of all, she asked if my knee was okay. I couldn't believe she'd called just to ask about a cut, but I told her it was fine. Mom had doused it with something that stung like mad and then slapped a big Band-Aid on it. "They won t have to amputate after all," I joked.
Nina laughed politely and asked if she could speak to Mom.
"Did you find out something new about the murder?" I asked.
"No," she said. "I just want to talk to her."
There was something odd about her voice. With some misgiving, I handed the phone to Mom and went back to the living room. On TV, a bunch of guys were shooting at each other from speeding cars. The noise of the show drowned out Mom's conversation with Nina.
After a while, Mom walked into the living room and turned off the TV.
"Hey, what are you doing?" I asked. "I'm watching that!"
"I want to talk to you," she said. "Right now."
She stood over me, her arms folded across her chest. I didn't like the look on her face. She knew something, I was sure of it—but I didn't know what. The situation made me very uncomfortable.
"Nina Stevens just told me you and Arthur got into trouble at the library today."
My heart dropped to the bottom of my belly. "She wasn't there. How could she possibly—"
"Someone told her all about it."
"Nina knows Mrs. Bunions?" I stared at Mom, amazed.
"It doesn't matter who told her," she said. "What matters is that you and Arthur slung file folders all over the library and scattered maps and pamphlets on the floor. Then you vandalized the men's room."
My amazement turned to disbelief. "Nina told you this?"
"And that's not all. You stole valuable material from the local-history file." Mom stared at me, her eyes filled with tears. "Oh, Logan, how could you behave like that? You were brought up properly. You come from a good home—"
"Wait, wait." I held my hands up. "All Arthur and I did—"
"Arthur, Arthur, Arthur!" Mom spoke so loudly, I was scared Arthur would think she was calling him and come running. "Do you know how sick I am of seeing that boy stuffing my food into his face? He has no manners, he comes and goes as if he lived here he—"
"But, Mom—"
"I don't want that boy in my yard or in my house."
I stared at her, bewildered by her anger. "What do you mean? He's my only—"
"Nina is also concerned about your friendship with him," Mom cut in. "She and I agree it would be best for you to—"
"Don't believe Nina. She's lying, she—"
"Arthur is off limits!" Mom talked right over me, as relentless as a steamroller flattening asphalt. "His grandmother pays no attention to where he goes or what he does. And he drags you along with him. He's a bad influence, a—a—"
She caught her breath, her face red with anger. "Let's just say Arthur is not the sort of boy I want my son to associate with. If you continue to hang out with him, you'll have no friends in middle school. Is that what you want? To be a misfit like Arthur?"
I stared at Mom in disbelief. "Please don't do this," I begged her. "Nina must be crazy, she—"
Dad poked his head into the living room. "What's Logan done now?" He spoke in a joking way, but Mom wasn't in the mood for his humor.
"Go to bed," she told me. "We'll talk about this in the morning."
Knowing it was useless to argue, I dragged myself upstairs. Instead of getting into bed, I sat on the windowsill and tried to get my mind around Nina s motives for telling Mom a pack of lies. I was sure she hadn't been in the library to witness Arthur's and my behavior. Nor did I think Mrs. Jones or Mrs. Bailey would concoct a story like that about Arthur and me.
So who, what, why?
And then it came to me—the only explanation. Silas had told Nina about Arthur's and my behavior in the library. Silas. Nina knew Silas. She'd believed everything he'd told her.
Utterly miserable, I sat and stared at Arthur's dark house. I'd liked Nina, I'd trusted her, I'd admired her. And what had she done but betray Arthur and me with lies? I never wanted to see her again.
The next morning, I rushed downstairs in time to see Arthur standing at the kitchen door. Mom faced him, her back to me, her shoulders squared. If I'd dared to hope she was over being mad, I was wrong.
"I'm sorry," she was saying, "but Logan and I have something to do today."
"Like what?" Arthur pressed his face against the screen, but Mom didn't invite him in. "Maybe I could come, too," he said. "I don't have anything special planned."
"Not today."
"But—"
"You heard me," Mom said in her coldest voice.
Arthur turned away as if he knew the game was up. From the back, his shoulder blades poked against his faded T-shirt.
"Mom," I began, but she shut me up by grabbing my arm and hustling me out of the kitchen.
"What's the matter with you?" I yelled. "You were really rude to Arthur. He's my friend and—"
Mom gave me a little shake. "I told you last night you were not to associate with Arthur."
"But—"
She held out her hand. "Give me what you took from the pamphlet file, Logan. Then we'll go to the library, and you can return it—with apologies."
Despite myself, I turned away. "I don't have it," I muttered.
Mom tilted my chin up so I had to face her. "Look me in the eye and say that, Logan."
"Arthur has it." I was telling the truth—or at least part of it.
Mom shifted her attention to my cargo shorts. "What's in your pocket?"
"Nothing." I backed away, but Mom grabbed my arm.
"Show me," she said.
Reluctantly, I produced the map. "It's just an old—"
She snatched it and saw the library stamp. "Oh, Logan," she said. "I'm so disappointed in you."
"You don't understand, Mom. If you make me take it back to the library, these really bad guys will get it. That's why we took it—to keep them from finding..."
Mom stared at me as if she'd never seen me before. "Is this some craziness Arthur dreamed up?"
"Why can't you trust me?" I was yelling now, but I didn't care. "Why take Nina's word over mine? I'm your son!"
"Stop shouting at me, Logan!"
Dad came to the kitchen door. He was holding a brush dripping with moss green paint. Johnny was right behind him, Dad's shadow.
"What's going on now?" Dad asked.
Mom waved the map at Dad. "Your son stole this from the library! He and Arthur!"
Dad looked at the map and then at me, obviously puzzled. "Why did you take some useless thing like this?"
Behind him, Johnny stared at me with interest, but I kept my mouth shut. I wasn't about to say anything important in front of him.
"Arthur's been a terrible influence on Logan," Mom told Dad, eager to blame my one and only friend for everything.
"Stop picking on Arthur!" I yelled.
"That's enough," Mom said. "Come along now."
As Mom rushed me outside and into the car, I heard Johnny say, "I told him to dump Arthur. Nobody likes that kid. He's weird. Crazy."
When we pulled away from the house, I saw Arthur sitting on his front steps, shoulders hunched, watching us glumly. I waved, and he lifted his hand in farewell.
Behind him, Danny sulked in the doorway, his nose pressed to the screen. Bear sat beside him.
Although I argued with Mom all the way to the library, she paid no attention to a word I said. She'd made her plans, set her goals, organized her priorities. Nothing would alter her decision.
Mrs. Bailey and Mrs. Jones were chatting at the information desk. When they saw me, they smiled and said hi—which they surely wouldn't have done if Arthur and I were guilty of the things Nina had accused us of doing.
"I'm Logan's mother, Carolyn Forbes," Mom said. "Logan has come t
o apologize for his behavior yesterday."
Before I could say a word, Mrs. Jones said, "Logan and Arthur were just horsing around, acting silly. I gave them some work to do. And then they went on their way."
"They didn't vandalize anything?" Mom asked.
"No, of course not."
"They're good kids," Mrs. Bailey put in. "It's been so nice to see Arthur with a friend."
Mom looked surprised to hear this, but she went on with her agenda anyway. "Logan has something to return to you."
Red-faced, I handed the Magic Forest map to Mrs. Jones. "I took this," I mumbled. "I'm sorry, but—"
Mrs. Jones looked at the map. "For heaven's sake, I've been searching all over for this. A man asked for one yesterday. We're supposed to have several, but I couldn't find any of them."
She paused and stared at me. "Why didn't you make a photocopy?"
"I didn't have any money," I said, "and we—"
The librarians glanced at each other. "Does Arthur by any chance have the other maps?" Mrs. Jones asked.
"I don't mean to be rude," I said, "but Arthur's my friend. I can't tell on him."
"He's not your friend anymore," Mom said. Turning to Mrs. Jones, she added, "I suggest you call Arthur's grandmother if you want the rest of the maps."
As she led me away, I asked her why she didn't just call the police. "Maybe they'd send me to jail and you wouldn't have to put up with me any longer."
"That's not a bad idea," she snapped in a sort of joking way.
On the way to the car, she stopped to look in the dry cleaner's window. "What are all these posters about saving the Magic Forest? I thought a big development was planned for the property."
"Arthur says a lot of people in town don't want a zillion newcomers moving in here."
Mom frowned at the sound of Arthur's name. "In Rhoda's opinion, the people opposed to it are fighting progress. What's wrong with a population increase? We'll have a larger tax base, better schools, decent places to shop and eat."
I felt like saying Rhoda was a worse influence on Mom than Arthur was on me, but what was the use—she'd just get mad.
"The bulldozing's scheduled to begin soon," Mom went on. "I don't think there's much hope of 'saving the magic.'"
We got back in the car. The seats were so hot from the sun, I expected to get second-degree burns on the back of my legs.
"Are we going home now?"
Mom shook her head. "I talked to Rhoda last night. She has a son your age, and we thought it would be fun to get you two together. School begins in a couple of weeks. Wouldn't it be nice to make a new friend?"
"I already have a friend," I muttered.
A grim look settled on Mom s face. Full of resolution, she headed the car out of town and into Fair Oaks, which meant passing between two curving stone walls. I expected an armed guard to stop us and demand to see our IDs.
Big houses with huge windows and multilevel decks sat in the middle of landscaped lots. The grass was a uniform green, the trees and flower beds were planted in symmetrical perfection, and NEIGHBORHOOD WATCH signs sprouted on every corner.
After negotiating a series of winding streets with names like Trembling Aspen, Summer Hat, and Woven Fancy, Mom finally stopped in front of a big stone-fronted house with hanging flower baskets swaying from the porch rafters.
Rhoda waved from the front door. "Come in, come in," she called. "Glad to see you, Logan. I've heard so much about you." She shook my hand firmly. Her hair was colored—even I could tell that—and she wore makeup and expensive clothes, and lots of jewelry, too. Though I hated to agree with anything Billy Jarmon said, she really did look slick enough to sell George's picture off a one-dollar bill.
She led us into air-conditioned perfection of the sort you encounter in model houses where no one lives. Everything smelled new. No mess, nothing out of place. In other words, the interior was even more boring than the exterior.
Mom looked around, taking in the ivory carpet and the dried-flower arrangements and the furniture. "oh, Rhoda, it's beautiful. I love it."
Rhoda smiled modestly. "I'm sure your darling little house has much more charm. And think of its potential."
"It's a work in progress," Mom said. "It takes Hank forever to finish anything. He and Johnny are still painting the exterior. Heaven knows when they ll get around to the rest of the house."
"Tell me about it." Rhoda rolled her eyes, obviously agreeing that all men were undependable, unreliable, and slow.
"Well, now." Rhoda turned to me. "The boys are in the family room playing video games."
Reluctantly, I followed her down a flight of carpeted steps to a large room with sliding glass doors. Outside, a deck bloomed with potted plants and more hanging flower baskets.
"Here's Logan," Rhoda called to the three boys crowded around a large-screen computer where action heroes dashed through a labyrinth, lobbing fireballs at menacing hooded figures popping up here and there. The graphics were incredible, but the game itself seemed to be based on the same old formula of good guys and bad guys going at each other with loud sounds and spurts of blood and brains.
The boys got to their feet slowly and faced Rhoda and me. "Logan, this is my son, Anthony," she said. "Boys, meet Logan Forbes. From Richmond."
A tall boy with dark hair smiled politely. "Glad you could come over, Logan." He sounded as if his mother had told him what to say.
"These two young men live in the neighborhood," Rhoda went on. "Robert oliver and Mackenzie Stone. They're practically part of the family."
Robert was shorter than I was but huskier. Mackenzie had curly hair and freckles. He was about my height. Like Anthony, they mouthed polite greetings.
One look and I knew all three. They were good at sports. They wore the right clothes. They had the right haircuts. They were full of whatever it is that makes you popular.
"We're playing my new video game," Anthony began, but his mother interrupted him.
"Let's turn that off now, boys," she said. "I've made a big pitcher of lemonade. Go out on the deck, and I'll bring it to you."
With some reluctance, Anthony left the computer and led the way outside. "I hear you live in the murder house," he said as we all sat down around a big table with a glass top.
I nodded, once again reminded that my house was famous all over town, even out here in Fair oaks.
"It must be creepy," Mackenzie said.
"I'd hate to live there," Robert put in.
"And not just because of the murder," Anthony said. "You know who Logan's next-door neighbors are?"
The boys looked at him. "Who?" asked Mackenzie.
"Arthur Jenkins and his fruitcake grandmother!"
All three laughed and groaned and carried on. Rhoda chose that moment to appear with a tray. Setting down four frosty glasses of lemonade, she smiled. "Look at you all. Laughing like old friends already."
As soon as his mother left, Anthony said, "Arthur is the weirdest kid in Bealesville. How do you stand living next door to him?"
Here was my opportunity to turn my back on Arthur and make friends with Anthony, Robert, and Mackenzie. A few weeks ago, I would've jumped at the chance. But now I found myself remembering that guys like them never liked me. Sooner or later they'd dump me. Maybe I'd fumble the ball or strike out in a big game or say something dumb. They'd decide I was socially inept. A nerd. A creep. A weirdo like Arthur.
But Arthur—well, Arthur was Arthur. He didn't care about clothes or haircuts or striking out. He loved books and riding his hopeless old bike and doing interesting stuff. Best of all, he was never boring. Irritating, maybe, but not boring. And he lived right next door, not miles away in a big fancy house.
Before answering, I swallowed a mouthful of lemonade. Fresh squeezed, not made from a mix. It was so sweet, it made my jaw ache.
"Arthur's not bad," I said.
"You like Arthur Jenkins?" Anthony and his friends looked at me as if I'd just confessed to something totally gross, like ordering
ice cream with olives and anchovies on top.
"Well, yeah, he's okay," I blundered on despite their incredulous stares. "In fact, we re trying to figure out who killed Mrs. Donaldson," I added, hoping they'd find that so interesting, they'd change their opinion of Arthur.
The three exchanged glances and started laughing. "It was probably Arthur's grandmother," Mackenzie said.
"She looks like an ax murderer," Robert added, snickering.
"I tell you seriously, Logan, you'd better not hang out with Arthur at school," Anthony said.
Mackenzie laughed. "It'll be you and Arthur ... against the world."
The three stared at me, waiting to see if I'd change my mind about Arthur. But how could I? I remembered how sad he'd looked watching me ride off in Mom's car. Plus I knew full well these guys had no genuine interest in being friends with me. I was there because Anthony s mother, with some input from my mother, had invited me.
I shrugged and looked down at my running shoes, the same brand as theirs but not the same style. Not the right style.
Back in Richmond, I was used to hanging out around the edges of things. Here it seemed even the edges would be out of my reach. As Arthur Jenkins's sidekick, I was doomed to be way, way out there, on a distant planet of no interest to anyone.
"I hear your dad's the new art teacher at Beale High," Anthony said, mercifully changing the subject.
"Yeah."
"I guess that's why you live in Arthur's neighborhood," Mackenzie said.
I looked at him and frowned, not sure of the connection.
Robert sighed. "Teachers can't afford to live out here. Not on their salaries."
I looked from one boy to another. They sat back in their chairs, grinning, waiting to hear my reply. That was another thing about popular guys. Nothing I said would bother them. They knew they were my superiors. What was the use of trying to talk to them?
So I just shrugged and reached for my glass of lemonade.
Mackenzie put down his empty glass and got to his feet. "Anybody ready to finish that game?"
The other two followed him inside. Nobody asked if I wanted to play, so I stayed where I was and wished my mother would take me home. This had to be one of the worst mornings of my life.