“What if someone attacks you first?” Jack said.
“Good question. Since it’s your life, you have a right to defend it.”
Jack pressed on. “What if you see someone attacking someone else? Can you step in?”
“Another good question. By defending others’ rights to their own lives, you defend your right to your own.” He beamed at Jack. “You’re thinking. Good man.”
Normally Jack would have basked in the praise, especially from his favorite teacher, but his concerns lay outside the classroom.
He had a right to his own life … it was so obvious, yet he’d never consciously formed the concept. Now that he had …
Toliver had attacked Weezy. She couldn’t strike back, so Jack had struck for her. Would he have been justified using the bat that night? Yeah, probably, since Toliver had already opened the door to violence by physically attacking Weezy, but what Jack had done to him instead—without laying a finger on him—had proven so much worse.
“So in the coming months, as we hear lots of talk from the president and his challengers, let’s hold up their ideas to the touchstone of owning your own life. We can decide if their ideas enhance or diminish that ownership, and by that we can judge whom we wish to support. Remember, it’s all a tug-of-war about control: Who has power over your life—you or the government?”
As the end-of-period bell rang he raised his voice.
“A U.S. senator named Daniel Webster once said, ‘There are men in all ages who mean to govern well, but they mean to govern. They promise to be good masters, but they mean to be masters.’ We’ll keep that in mind as we listen to the palaver.”
Despite the frustration of not having fully dealt Toliver what he deserved, Jack felt an inner glow as he gathered up his books.
“The right to my own life,” he muttered. “I like that.”
“I like it too,” said a girl’s voice.
He looked around and saw Karina standing behind him, smiling.
“But not everybody feels that way,” she added.
“Who wouldn’t?”
“Whole nations and religions don’t think that applies to women, only men.”
“Yeah, you’re right. Even here they couldn’t vote a hundred years ago.”
Her smile broadened. “You know about the Nineteenth Amendment?”
“Um, yeah.”
Weezy had mentioned it a few weeks ago.
5
In the caf, Jack was eating a ham sandwich with a group from his homeroom when Cristin came up to the table and started rapidly sliding her feet around while making spastic movements with her arms.
“Cristin?” Karina said. “What are you doing?”
She grinned. “A new dance. It’s called the Carson.”
That cracked up the table, Jack too.
Oh, yeah. Easy Weezy was history.
Jake Shuett came running up. “Carson’s by his locker and wants everybody there! He says he’s got a big announcement!”
Jack was first out of his seat and on his way as dozens of others rushed from the caf. He managed to snag a spot near the front of the crowd centered around Toliver and his locker.
He’d returned to his usual cool, calm, and collected self as he held up a new lock—a non-combination model.
“Take a look at this everybody: brand-new.”
Then he held up a tiny nail.
“See this? An upholstery tack.”
He then pulled a small hammer from his back pocket and tapped the tack into the keyhole at the bottom of the lock. The hammer returned to the pocket to be replaced by a small plastic vial.
“Krazy Glue.”
He put a few drops of the glue into the keyhole around the tack. Then he turned the lock right side up and emptied the rest of the glue into the shackle hole. He inserted the shackle through the latch in his locker door, then snapped the lock shut.
He turned to the crowd.
“It’s over. It ends here. No more games. This clown will not be getting into my locker again. We’ve all had some laughs, but it’s over. The last laugh is on him.”
We? Jack thought. I don’t remember you laughing.
“Nobody,” he continued, “but nobody is getting past that lock.”
“But what about you?” somebody called from the crowd. “How are you getting past it?”
“Let me worry about that,” Toliver said. “I’ve got it covered. See you all at the game tonight to watch us whip some Greyhound butt.”
A cheer went up. Jack had to admire the way he worked the crowd.
“And then we’ll all meet back here Monday morning for the grand opening.”
Another cheer as he wove through the throng and headed for class. With that, the crowd fractured and dissolved. A few of the guys hung back and approached locker 791. They stood in a small knot, staring at the lock. Jack joined them.
“Man, nobody’s getting past that,” one said as he upended the lock and stared at the nail in the gooey keyhole.
“No kidding,” said another. “I’ve played around with Krazy Glue. Once that stuff sets, it’s there to stay.”
“I can get past it easy,” said a third kid.
“How?” the other two asked in unison.
“Hacksaw.”
All three nodded.
“Yeah, that’ll do it,” the first said. “But we’ll all know as soon as we see it, so there’ll be no surprise. Carson’s got him beat.”
As they wandered away, Jack hung back, lost in thought.
A challenge had been issued.
Jack had already called it quits, unilaterally ending the operation, but Carson Toliver wasn’t letting it go. He’d thrown down the gauntlet.
Jack could still walk away. He’d stopped the talk about Weezy.
And yet …
If Toliver walked in here Monday morning with his locker untouched, he’d have a moral victory. He’d have proven that he could stop the pranks whenever he wanted. He’d be back on top. Even if Jack returned to pranking him later, it wouldn’t be the same.
Sure, he could sneak back with a hacksaw and cut the lock off, but that was so crude. Like throwing a bomb. No finesse, no style. Toliver was perceived as having style, so Jack had to show even more. He couldn’t be a bomber; he needed to be a sniper. Needed a surgical strike. Resorting to a hacksaw would be an admission of defeat. It said, Yeah, you beat me—I couldn’t open your lock.
Plus, cutting the shackle would kill the mystery of the moment and banish that instant of exquisite uncertainty when the door began to swing open.
Uh-uh.
Jack couldn’t allow the challenge to go unanswered. One more time … he had to get into Toliver’s locker one more time.
Mr. Big Shot had to walk in here Monday morning and find the lock on 791 just as he’d left it. But when he opened the door he’d find the surprise of his life.
But how to make that happen?
The lockers were steel and bolted to the wall. No way in through the back, and he’d need an acetylene torch to cut through the top. The door was the only way in.
Jack stared at the two-inch wide, laminated-steel Master padlock, saw the glue pooling around the shackle hole. Once it was fully hardened, he’d never get a shim in there. And with a nail glued into the keyhole, picking the cylinder was impossible.
Levi wandered by then and spoke out of the corner of his mouth.
“Well, I guess that ends your pranks.”
Pranks! Jack wanted to lash out at him. These weren’t pranks. They might look like it, but they were the only course Weezy had left open to him.
But of course Levi had no inkling of Jack’s higher purpose. He thought he was just goofing on Toliver. Best to play it that way.
“You might be right. Fun while it lasted, though.”
“Yeah. But not even you can get past that one.”
Don’t count on it, he thought, although he had no idea how on Earth he was going to pull it off.
Then he spotted Sa
ree down the hall and remembered what Levi had said when they were hiding a few hours ago.
… if she can touch something that’s real near and dear to someone, she can see all sorts of colors.
What would be near and dear to Toliver. Not his locker …
His Mustang.
Yes!
Jack was desperate for any clue as to how to get to Toliver. If Saree did have some weird “talent,” maybe she could help. He didn’t see how it could hurt.
He nudged Levi and pointed toward Saree. “Think she’d be interested in what colors she can see around Toliver’s car?”
Levi looked at him, then at Saree.
“She might be.”
“Talk her into it and meet me by his ’stang.”
6
Jack grabbed the lock-pick kit from his backpack and raced to the parking lot. With the lunch period coming to a close, no one was about. When he first got the kit from Mr. Rosen, he went around his house picking every lock he could find. That included the family cars. Cars were easy. Their door locks tended to have big pins that responded smoothly to a little raking.
He had Toliver’s Mustang open in twenty seconds and had the kit hidden away before Levi and Saree showed up.
“What do you want me to do?” she said, hanging back and staring at Jack.
“You said his locker was cold. Is his car cold too?”
She took a hesitant step forward and gingerly touched the hood with her fingertips. After a second, she pressed her palm flat against it.
“No … it’s warm.”
Yeah, well, of course it was warm—he’d just driven to a hardware store for the lock and glue.
Jack pulled open the passenger door. “How about inside?”
Levi gawked. “He left it unlocked?”
Jack didn’t look at him, but scanned the parking lot instead, check for anyone who might spot them.
“Sure looks that way.”
“You and locks,” Levi said with a chuckle. “You got a talent, all right.”
Jack gestured Saree toward the front passenger seat. “See any colors there?”
Said aloud, the question sounded ridiculous. What did he expect to get out of this? Probably nothing—the girl seemed a little off her rocker—but he couldn’t see a downside to trying.
She bent, looked, then shook her head. “No.”
“Maybe if you sit inside.”
She looked at Levi who shrugged and said, “Go ahead. But make it quick. We gotta get back to class.”
As Saree slipped into the seat, Levi turned to Jack. “Why you so tore up about this guy, anyway?”
Jack had figured this was coming, but hadn’t come up with an explanation he could use.
“Red,” he heard Saree say. “It’s all red.”
“It’s personal,” he told Levi.
“I figgered that. But what you ’spect to get outta this?”
“Well, I’ve got him thinking he’s haunted. Can we leave it at that?”
Levi nodded slowly. “I reckon we can. But about your talent—”
Jack heard Saree making noises like “Uhn-uhn-uhn!” and when he looked her eyes were rolled back in her head and she was twitching like she was being electrocuted.
“Get her outta there!” Levi shouted.
They both pulled her out and the noises and twitching stopped as soon as she was free of the car. Her eyes fluttered open as they started to lay her on the ground and she pushed herself up to standing. She leaned against the neighboring car, panting, a wild look in her pink eyes.
“Red! All red! Blood!”
“Blood?” Levi said. “Whose?”
“I don’t rightly know.” She rubbed both hands over her face and eyes. “He hurt somebody there. Hurt them bad. He’s got blood on his hands.”
Jack stood stunned, speechless.
Blood on Toliver’s hands? Not Weezy’s. She’d just been bruised and scared—bad enough, but no blood. So if not Weezy’s, whose?
“Levi?” Saree said, her voice quavering. “It’s piney blood.”
7
Between the final bell for dismissal and boarding the bus home, Jack squeezed in a trip to the boys’ room to unlatch the window. He didn’t know what he was going to do about Toliver’s latest lock, but if he came up with something, he wanted to be able to act on it.
As he exited the stall he let out a yelp of surprise when he almost bumped into Levi.
“How long’ve you been waiting here?”
“Long enough. Figgered this’d be your last stop. Listen, this ‘piney blood’ thing’s got me riled.”
It had been nibbling at Jack too. Gnawing was more like it. The whole episode had been majorly upsetting. But when he stepped back and took a hard look at it …
“How do you know there’s anything to it?”
“Saree said—”
“She doesn’t know. It’s just a feeling she’s got. She doesn’t know who, she doesn’t know when—”
“That don’t matter. She knows what she knows, and I gotta do something about it.”
Uh-oh.
“Like what?”
“Don’t know. First thing I do is ask around and see if anyone knows of a piney who’s been banged around by a towner. Second is, I join forces with you.”
“Oh, no,” Jack said, backing away. “No way.”
“Why not?”
“Because, like I said, it’s personal.”
“Well, hell, if he hurt a piney, it’s personal for me too.”
“You don’t even know if he really—”
“Pineys stick together—well, when they ain’t feudin’.”
Jack pulled open the door and stepped into the hall. “Sorry. Not gonna happen.”
Jack hurried for the bus, thinking how Levi Coffin was becoming a real problem.
8
“Aren’t you done yet?” Eddie said as he watched Jack rake up the grass clippings.
“Almost.”
“Well, hurry up so we can—uh-oh. Here comes Gargamel.”
Jack glanced up and saw Mr. Drexler stepping out the Lodge’s back door in his white suit.
“Gargamel dresses in black.”
“Yeah, but this guy looks like he eats Smurfs for breakfast.”
Mr. Drexler held up a wooden box. “Take a break and come over here. Both of you.”
Jack didn’t hesitate. Mr. Drexler might be strange, but he was standing on the shady side of the building and Jack needed a cool-off. Eddie held back a few seconds, then walked his bike over.
As Jack approached, Mr. Drexler leaned his cane against the door frame, then removed the top of the intricately carved box and held it out.
“Take a look at this. I believe you will find it entertaining.” A soft, white glob lay within. “Hold out your hand.”
When Jack did so, Mr. Drexler flipped the box over and dropped the glob onto his palm. It felt cool and squishy, and looked like vanilla pudding in a thin, clear skin.
Then, as Jack watched, it began to change color, moving slowly from white to deep blue.
“No surprise there,” Mr. Drexler muttered.
“Weirdacious!” Eddie said.
Mr. Drexler looked at him. “You’re Louise Connell’s brother, aren’t you.”
Eddie swallowed. “Um, yeah.”
He looked jumpy. Jack understood. The Lodge had always weirded him out.
“I haven’t seen her around. Is she well?”
Eddie seemed stuck for an answer.
“She’s home,” Jack said, figuring Weezy’s problems were none of the man’s business.
Mr. Drexler nodded, then said, “Let your friend hold it, Jack.”
Eddie put his hands behind his back. “Nuh-uh. Too weird.”
“Come on,” Jack said. “Don’t be a wuss.”
With obvious reluctance, Eddie cupped his hands before him, looking ready to drop the thing the instant it touched him. But he didn’t. After Jack dropped it onto his palms, he held it and jiggled it
.
“It’s like Jell-O. Sort of—hey, it’s changing color.”
Jack had already noticed the dark blue fading. The glob turned a paler shade of blue …
“Will wonders never cease?” Mr. Drexler said. “Give it back to Jack.”
Eddie did, and the glob turned dark blue again.
“Must be because my hands are hot and sweaty,” Jack said.
Mr. Drexler held out the empty box. “Do you think so?”
Jack placed it back in the box and watched it return to white.
“I don’t get it,” Jack said. “What is it?”
“A crude sort of meter. It measures a certain … inner quality.”
“Did we pass?” Eddie said.
Mr. Drexler’s cold blue gaze remained fixed on Jack as his thin lips curved upwards at the corners. Jack couldn’t quite qualify it as a smile.
“Passing or failing would depend on who is conducting the test, and what result is sought.”
He replaced the lid.
“Show over.”
He turned and walked back inside.
“Oh, he’s weird, Jack,” Eddie said in a hushed tone. “Majorly weird.”
Jack couldn’t disagree.
9
Eddie had moved on and Jack had just dumped the last of the clippings into a plastic bag when he heard Mr. Drexler say, “That’s enough for today. Come have a drink.”
He looked over toward the Lodge and was surprised to see that two chairs had been set out in the shade. Mr. Drexler sat on one, leaning on his cane. A can of Pepsi sat on the seat next to him.
Jack wanted nothing more than to head home for a shower, but that Pepsi was calling his name. As he walked over, Mr. Drexler lifted the can and held it out to him. Jack popped the top and took a long, cold, bubbly chug.
“Thanks.”
The man patted the seat of the chair next to him. “Sit.”
Jack complied. He closed his eyes and savored the cool shade.
“Look at all the little people at play.”
Jack opened his eyes and saw Mr. Drexler gesturing with his cane down the slope toward Quaker Lake. People sat or sunbathed on blankets by the water’s edge. With the arrival of an Indian summer, Mark Mulliner had brought his rental canoes back to the lake. People paddled them to and fro under the bridge.