The Secret Tree

  “It won’t work unless she helps us,” Paz insisted.

  “What will she do?” I asked.

  “Just trust me,” Paz said. “Will you trust me?”

  I looked at Paz. We’d been best friends for so long. If I didn’t trust her now, what chance would we ever have?

  I can’t run away from this.

  “Go for it,” Lennie urged.

  “Okay,” I said. “It’s a team effort. Let’s do this.”

  “Hooray!” Lennie jumped for joy. “Let the torture begin!”

  I put Operation Annoy Thea into action that very afternoon. I knocked on her bedroom door.

  “Don’t come in!” she growled. Perfect. She was already in a cranky mood.

  “I have a message from Melina for you,” I called through the door.

  She yanked the door open. “What?” She blocked the entrance to her room, but I slipped past her. I walked straight to her dresser and picked up a seashell from the box of shells she kept there. I picked up one shell, looked at it, touched it a lot, and put it back. Then I picked up another one, looked at it, put it back.

  “Well? What’s the message?”

  “She wants her T-shirt back. The one with the blue heart on it.”

  “Why doesn’t she ask me for it herself?”

  “I guess she’s not speaking to you for some reason.” I picked up Thea’s watch, studied it, and made sure to cover the crystal with fingerprints.

  “Put that down.” Thea snatched the watch away from me and placed it carefully back on the dresser. “Is there anything else?”

  “Um … yes.” I moved on to her bookshelf. I picked up a geode she kept there.

  “Well, what? Would you please stop touching my stuff?”

  “Sorry. It’s an involuntary habit.” I opened her closet and tried on a pair of sandals. She practically slammed the door on my foot.

  “That’s it. Get out of my room,” she ordered.

  “You’re not the boss of me,” I taunted.

  “My room is my territory, and I’m the boss of my territory,” she shot back.

  Ooh, I was getting to her. But it wasn’t enough. Not yet.

  That evening, while Thea was helping Dad fix dinner, I decided to borrow some of her clothes without asking first.

  I sneaked into her room — her territory — and went through her closet. She had a lot of good clothes, but most of them wouldn’t fit me. Not that it really mattered.

  Aha — there it was. Her new sundress, the plaid one with spaghetti straps. She’d just bought it and hadn’t had a chance to wear it yet. Well, it was about to get broken in.

  I put on the dress. It swam on me. The straps were too long. I put a T-shirt under it to make it fit better. The skirt came down past my knees but it twirled in a very satisfying way when I spun around. And it didn’t look too bad with my blue Keds.

  “Minty! Dinner’s ready!” Dad called up the stairs.

  Showtime.

  I walked downstairs and paraded into the kitchen. “Do I smell barbecued chicken? Mmm.” Nice and messy.

  Thea glared at me. “What are you doing?”

  I filled a pitcher with water and started filling the glasses at the table. “What? It’s dinnertime. I’m here to eat some barbecued chicken. With my sticky, messy fingers. And then I’m going out later to play Capture the Flag.”

  “Not in my dress you’re not! Why are you wearing my dress?”

  I spun around. “It looks pretty good on me, don’t you think?”

  “Dad!” Thea cried. “Look! She went into my room, which she is not allowed to do, and took that dress out of my closet. And now she’s wearing it without my permission!”

  Dad carried a bowl of salad to the dinner table. “You two are old enough to settle these fights yourselves.”

  “But it’s not fair!” Thea sputtered. “You know what she was doing earlier? She came into my room and started touching all my stuff!”

  Dad grimaced. Thea fell right into my trap. Older sisters hate it when you touch their stuff, but when they try to tell on you, it sounds ridiculous. What? I didn’t break anything. The perfect crime.

  “Thea, I think you’re overreacting,” Dad said.

  “No I’m not!” Thea shrieked. “I’m one hundred percent right, and she’s one hundred percent wrong!”

  I’m lucky to have such an overdramatic sister. I sat down at my place and smiled what I hoped was an infuriating smile. Mom came in from the patio. “What’s going on?”

  “Minty is wearing my dress —” Thea began, but Mom held her hand up.

  “I thought I should dress up a little for dinner,” I said. “I’m just trying to make things civilized around here.”

  “Mom!” Thea’s voice rose to a high squeal. It was an unpleasant sound. Mom winced.

  “Stop right there. I don’t want to hear another word. Minty, if you’ve done something wrong to your sister, undo it. Now let’s have dinner in peace.”

  “You little rat!” Thea grabbed me by the arm and dragged me upstairs. “If you won’t take that dress off, I’ll take it off for you!”

  “Careful, you’ll rip it!” I warned. I went upstairs and took off the dress. She checked it for damage — amazingly, there was none — and put it back in the closet. “Never. Wear my clothes. Without asking me. Again. Do you understand?”

  I cocked my ear at her as if I were hard of hearing. “What’d you say?”

  “You heard me.” I swear I saw smoke coming out of her ears. I didn’t want her to have a complete heart attack, so I decided to lay off. For the moment.

  Operation Annoy Thea was running right on schedule.

  The next afternoon, I came home from the pool to find Mom and Wendy having coffee in the kitchen. I almost walked into the middle of a conversation I wasn’t sure I was supposed to be hearing. I paused outside the kitchen, listening.

  “Everything would be perfect if it weren’t for Troy,” Wendy was saying. “If Ken holds my hand, Troy karate-chops us apart. Whenever Ken and I have a date, Troy falls to the floor, pretending to have a seizure. He really, really doesn’t want his dad to have a girlfriend. I —”

  She stopped talking suddenly. There were a few tense seconds of silence while I tried not to breathe. Then Mom called out, “Minty, is that you?”

  Caught. So much for getting the real scoop on the Troy situation. I gave up and went into the kitchen.

  “Yes, it’s me. Hi, Wendy.”

  “Hi, Minty,” Wendy said. “I’m glad you’re here. Maybe you can give me some advice on a problem I’m having.”

  “With Troy?” I sat down at the table and helped myself to a cookie. “His problem is he’s a big jerk.”

  “I think he’s just unhappy,” Wendy said. “He misses his mother. That’s why he acts so …” She hesitated.

  “Obnoxious?” Mom suggested. “Is that the word you’re looking for?”

  “He was like that before his mother left,” I pointed out.

  “Okay, but maybe he was unhappy before she left too,” Wendy said. “She must have left for a reason, right? I bet she was unhappy for a long time, and Troy felt it.”

  It didn’t seem fair to let Troy get away with being bad just because he was unhappy. Everybody is unhappy sometimes. But we don’t all get a free pass to cause trouble.

  As if on cue, Troy and David roared through our backyard like a couple of feuding lions. Troy was throwing tomatoes at David, and David was chasing Troy with a rake.

  Wendy sighed. “David isn’t what I’d call a good influence. I wonder why he’s so … uh …”

  “Badly behaved?” Mom suggested.

  “If you like,” Wendy said. “What do you think, Minty?”

  “It’s his sisters,” I said. “They’re always telling him he’s stupid, and he believes it. Well, he is kind of stupid. Mostly, he can’t spell worth a dang, and he’s afraid he’ll have to be held back a grade.”

  Wendy and Mom stared at me. “How do you know that?”
>
  “I … just know.”

  “That boy may have behavior problems,” Mom said. “But he is not stupid.”

  “Poor kid!” Wendy shook her head. “Worrying about a thing like that. I know how belittling big sisters can be. I am one myself. I know all the tricks.”

  “You’re a big sister?” I was shocked. She seemed so good-natured and compassionate.

  “Yes,” Wendy said. “And I regret some of the mean things I did to my little brothers. Not that they didn’t deserve it, sometimes.” She stared out the window at the boys as they tried to stuff handfuls of grass into each other’s mouths.

  “Maybe you could help David,” I suggested. “You could tutor him on spelling and on big-sister wrangling.”

  “That’s a great idea, Minty,” Wendy said. “And if that helps calm him down, maybe he won’t be such a bad influence on Troy.”

  “Yeah … maybe.” I secretly felt it was an impossible dream. Also, I was pretty sure Troy was a bad influence on David, not the other way around.

  “That’s good advice, Minty,” Mom said. “Thanks for your help.”

  “Anytime,” I said. “Tell me all your secrets, and I’ll take care of them for you.”

  Just like the Secret Tree, I thought.

  Outside, Otis was calling, “Coooorn! Fresh corn! Caaaaaantaloupes …”

  “Mmm, corn for dinner,” Wendy said.

  “Stop him, Minty.” Mom grabbed her purse off the kitchen counter and looked for her wallet. “We’ll be right out.”

  I ran outside and flagged Otis down. He slowed Esmeralda with a click of his tongue. “What’s happening, Minty? Hey, look at that aura. Getting lighter. A little golden around the edges.”

  “Is that good?”

  “It’s an improvement, I’ll say that. I was getting depressed just looking at you with that dark, muddy aura you were sporting.”

  “I do feel a little better.”

  “Say, on my way over here I passed a police car driving fast toward the Witch House. Lights flashing and everything.”

  “What?”

  “I thought you might want to know —”

  I took off across the street and into the woods.

  “Minty, where are you off to?” Mom called after me.

  “I’ll be right back!” I yelled over my shoulder, though I didn’t know if that was true or not. All I knew was that Raymond might be in trouble.

  Otis was right. A police car was parked in front of the Witch House, its red light warning, Danger, danger. I lingered at the edge of the woods, watching to see if it was safe to approach.

  Two uniformed officers stood on the rickety front porch, banging on the door. The door opened. I couldn’t see who opened it. The police officers flashed their badges and said something to the person in the doorway. They went inside the house. The door closed.

  I waited for a few minutes. Nothing happened.

  Where was Raymond?

  I ran to the model home, darting between abandoned houses like a soldier running for cover. I made it to the front porch and tried the door. It was locked. I rang the bell. It made that stupid formal chime: ding-dong ding-dong…. I pressed my face to the window so Raymond could see that it was me and not the police.

  He opened the door. “Get inside — quick!”

  “What’s going on?” I was out of breath and could barely speak.

  “I don’t know.” Raymond locked the door behind me. “Don’t stand in front of the window.”

  He ran upstairs, crawled into the pink bedroom, and peered out the window, using the curtain to hide his face. I did the same.

  Every few minutes we saw a police officer pass a window of the Witch House. They walked through every room, every floor, searching the place.

  “What are they looking for?” I asked.

  Raymond didn’t answer. But his face was pale, and his hands shook.

  I thought about that neighborhood meeting, the rumors about the prowler and the thief. The things Raymond had stolen. Maybe someone had called the police on him. Maybe they were looking for stolen goods —

  — like Mr. Gorelick’s harmonica. But I gave it back!

  I put my hand on Raymond’s arm. He took my hand and held it. His palms were sweaty.

  At last the Witch House door opened, and the police officers came out. A woman lurked in the doorway. She wouldn’t come out. Her hair was ratty, and she was wearing an old nightgown with a hole under the arm.

  The Witch Lady.

  I’d never gotten a good look at her. No one had, except for Paz, and even then the Witch Lady had been wearing a mask. This was the best view I’d ever had of her, and it wasn’t great from this distance. She hung back in the shadow of her house, her face hidden.

  The police wandered among the unfinished houses, looking around. They started toward the model home. “Duck!” Raymond ordered.

  I ducked and held my breath. I waited to hear their footsteps on the porch, the doorbell ring, the door opening, their steps on the stairs….

  The front door rattled. And rattled again. There was a pause. Raymond and I stayed perfectly still, eyes locked on each other.

  After what felt like forever, I cautiously lifted my head and peeked out the window. Both officers got into the police car and drove away.

  “It’s okay,” I told Raymond. “We’re safe now.”

  Raymond rolled over on the carpet and shut his eyes. “That was close.”

  “Are you in some kind of trouble?” I asked.

  Raymond took a deep breath. “It’s a big mistake. That’s all.”

  He refused to say another word about it.

  “If the police get you, I promise I’ll tell them what a good person you are,” I said. “I’ll testify at your trial. I’ll tell them you’re innocent. Whatever you need.”

  Raymond looked at me sideways, like he didn’t believe me. Which broke my heart. Because I meant it. I’d do anything to help him.

  Invisible or not, he was my friend.

  He checked for signs of the police one last time. They were definitely gone, and the door to the Witch House was closed. We went downstairs to the living room. He picked up his harmonica and played a slow, sad song.

  “That’s beautiful,” I said.

  He paused. “I’ll teach you how to play it. Where’s your harmonica?”

  My heart nearly stopped. This was the question I’d been dreading. He watched me, waiting for my answer.

  “I don’t have it,” I confessed.

  “Oh. Well, bring it next time.” Raymond played a tweedleedeet!

  “I can’t,” I said. “I … don’t have it anymore.”

  “What do you mean? You gave it away?”

  “Sort of.”

  “But I gave it to you. It was a present.”

  “I know, but …” I didn’t want to tell him that I returned it to Mr. Gorelick. But Raymond was waiting for an explanation. “Raymond, was it stolen?”

  “No. I didn’t steal it.”

  “Mr. Gorelick said someone stole a harmonica out of his garage. And I knew you had taken things from other people’s garages, like my school picture, and Kip’s —”

  “So you think I stole the harmonica?”

  “Well, I —”

  “I didn’t steal it.”

  “I’m sorry. I was afraid it was stolen,” I said. “So I put it back in Mr. Gorelick’s garage.”

  “What?”

  I didn’t want to repeat it, so I stayed silent.

  “I gave it to you,” he said.

  “I know.”

  “So get it back.”

  “I can’t. It’s not mine. It’s Mr. Gorelick’s.”

  He dropped his harmonica on the floor. “I don’t believe it. You think I’m a thief.”

  “No, not really,” I said. “I just — I knew — well, I did catch you —”

  “I thought we were friends.” He ran upstairs.

  “Raymond, wait!” I ran after him. I found him in his room, the
room with the boats and the anchors, lying on the bottom bunk, clutching a black stuffed animal.

  “You think I’m a thief,” he repeated.

  “I’m sorry. I was wrong! I don’t think you’re a thief. I think you’re a great friend! I really like you.”

  “You gave away my present.”

  “I’ll ask Mr. Gorelick about it,” I promised. “Maybe I can get it back —”

  I looked more closely at the stuffed animal he was holding. It looked very familiar.

  It was a cat.

  Marcella.

  “Where did you get that cat?” I asked.

  “It’s mine.” He held it tighter, like he was scared I’d try to take it away from him.

  “I know. But where did you get it?”

  “I didn’t steal it, if that’s what you’re thinking. My mother gave it to me.”

  His mother … the Witch Lady.

  She’d ripped Marcella off of Paz’s shoulder. And she gave the cat to her son.

  To Raymond.

  Lennie wanted Marcella back. It was the only way she’d take the curse off of Paz.

  But Raymond thought Marcella was his. From his mother. From the way he held her, he’d never give her up — especially not to me, the horrible girl who gave away his harmonica and thought he was a thief.

  I could snatch Marcella away from him and run. I could run all the way home and give the cat to Lennie and save Paz.

  I could have done that. But I didn’t have the heart.

  I reached for Marcella. Raymond jerked her away. I reached farther and touched her fur.

  I petted her.

  He rolled over and pressed his face into the pillow.

  “Raymond, please forgive me.”

  He didn’t move. He didn’t say a word.

  I sat beside him, waiting, listening. The house was quiet. Raymond’s smell was stronger now, a mixture of mud and bologna and ketchup and glue. The paint and carpet smells had faded away. The house belonged to Raymond.

  Through the window, I could see the second floor of the Witch House. The Witch Lady stood in front of a torn screen, staring out. She had a hard face. I couldn’t tell if she was angry or very, very sad.