Haunted Waters (2 page)

Chapter 2

My cell phone vibrated
with only a few minutes left in my last-period class. I pulled it out and hid it under my desk, because you’re not supposed to use cell phones during class. I looked at my sister Ashley a few rows from me. We have first and last periods together—band and English.

The screen on the front read “Bryce’s Phone,” showed the time as 2:14, and had a little envelope telling me I had a text message. I coughed as I punched the Read button so the teacher wouldn’t hear the beep, then scrolled through the message.

Bryce,

Surprise for you and Ashley. Come home as fast as you can. Also, move snow shovel from porch. Somebody’ll get hurt.

See you soon.

Sam

Sam is my new father. Ashley and I haven’t felt right about calling him Dad since our real one died. Sam said if we never call him Dad, it would be okay, but if we wanted to it was all right too.

Those last six minutes dragged so slowly I could hardly stand it. Giving a kid English during last period ought to be a crime, punishable by torture if you have gym right before it.

Mrs. Ferguson went on and on about how important next week was for us. “As you know, you have the day off tomorrow and then the CATs begin Monday. Make sure you take advantage of the long weekend.”

We’d been hearing about the Colorado Aptitude Tests for a whole year, since the last time we had taken them, so this was not news.

“Get plenty of sleep Sunday night,” she continued. “Try not to do anything that would sap your energy. We want you all bright-eyed Monday.”

Ashley rolled her eyes at me.

I held up the little beanie cat that had been passed around the room to motivate us and grabbed it around the neck.

Ashley looked like she was fighting a smile.

I glanced at the clock again. I think when the sun gets high in the sky, it loses some kind of gravity pull and everything slows down. Whatever, the seconds t-i-c-k-e-d by in agony until the bell finally rang. I tossed the cat to Mrs. Ferguson, and it landed on her desk next to her big, yellow thesaurus.

“Have a nice weekend, Bryce,” she purred.

“You too, Mrs. Ferguson.”

Ashley followed as I raced into the halls of Red Rock Middle School. I threw my books in my locker. CATs kept teachers from giving us homework—that’s about the only good thing about them. I slammed my locker and saw Aaron Heckler at the end of the hall.

Chapter 3

Bryce froze when Boo Heckler called his name.
The big eighth grader stood at the end of the hall under one of the stuffed cats the school had hung there for the assembly earlier in the week. The drama teacher had even dressed up in one of the costumes from the musical
Cats
for it.

Everyone calls Aaron Heckler Boo because that’s what he yells at every sporting event. Every referee, umpire, or official hears his boo waft over fields and through gymnasiums. He boos when the referees are introduced. He boos when someone calls a time-out. We heard he even booed at a spelling bee his first year of middle school.

“Hey, Timberline!” Boo boomed through the hall.

To say Boo is scary is like saying the Grand Canyon is deep or Mount Everest is tall. He’s bigger than most of the teachers and has long, apelike arms that dangle like tree limbs. His hair always hangs in his face, except for once or twice a year when he gets it cut. He has yellow fingertips, and Bryce says that’s because he smokes. His teeth look like a multicolored Popsicle—green at the top, yellow in the middle, and orange at the bottom.

Several boys usually hang around with Boo, probably because they’re afraid of him too. I couldn’t imagine what Bryce had done to flash on Boo’s radar screen.

“Saw you and your sister ride up on those four-wheelers today,” he hollered.

“Great,” Bryce muttered.

“Let’s get out of here,” I whispered.

“Hey, sis,” Boo called, walking toward us.

Kids on the way to their buses hung around as long as they could. I guess to see what would happen. A couple of my friends gritted their teeth and stared at me. It was like watching a train wreck. You didn’t want to see what was about to happen, but you couldn’t turn away either.

“You two splashed mud on my friend,” Boo continued, nodding at someone behind him, his big feet clomping toward us. “We’re lookin’ for payback.”

“I don’t remember passing anyone this morning,” I said.

A boy about half Boo’s size stepped from behind him with a few mud splatters on his shirt and pants. Some of them looked fresh, which was strange if we’d splashed him hours before. I started to say something, but Bryce put a hand in the air and said, “I-I’m sorry your c-c-clothes got mud on them. We ride through the pasture, so I’m not sure how we could have—”

“You callin’ my friend a liar?” Boo said, stepping closer. He had a small scar above his right cheek, and his socks stuck through holes in the sides of his sneakers. If he wasn’t so mean, I would have felt sorry for him.

“It was him and his sister,” the smaller boy said, pointing.

Bryce, looking pale, folded his arms. He stutters sometimes, especially when he’s nervous, but it doesn’t seem to bother him. “W-what do you want me to d-do about it?”

I was ticked that Bryce wouldn’t let me talk, but I figured he was protecting me. And that made me madder.

I turned and walked away, hoping to find a teacher.

Chapter 4

I was glad when Ashley left.
Nobody wants his sister to watch him get beat up. I didn’t want her to see me cry or bleed.

The longer I faced Boo, the drier my throat got. It was hard to breathe, and I could feel my heart thumping.

I’d never been in a fight. I’d been in shoving and shouting matches where nobody really gets hurt, but I’d never been in a ball-your-hand-into-a-fist-and-start-swinging kind of thing. This was quickly turning into a get-smashed-like-a-bug fight.

I kept thinking of Jesus saying to turn the other cheek. But turning the other cheek to this guy could mean a short life or at least plastic surgery. Did Jesus ever get into a fight when he was a kid? I wished Boo was a money changer so I could turn over his tables.

“Hit him, Bryce!” somebody shouted. It was my friend Duncan Swift. He’d been in more fights than Mike Tyson and always had a few bruises.

“L-look, I-I-I don’t want to fight you,” I said.

Boo and the other kid laughed. Boo said, “Did you hear that? Sounds like h-h-he can’t figure out whether he’s a b-b-boy or a g-g-girl. Your sister’s more of a man than you are.”

A few people ran for their buses, but there was still a crowd. I locked eyes with Boo and tried to stare him down.

“Let us take your four-wheelers home for the weekend,” Boo said, steely eyed. “We’ll bring ’em back Monday and call it even.”

Sam had told us not to let anybody, no matter how trustworthy, ride our ATVs. I was catching on to Boo’s game. They’d faked the mud splatters to get our bikes.

“No way,” I said. “My dad won’t let—”

Boo lurched forward and jabbed his finger hard into my shoulder. “Your dad won’t know unless you tell him.”

I heard a commotion down the hall. Ashley ran toward us with Mr. Micelli, our science teacher.

Boo gripped my shoulder and turned me around. “We’re gonna get those four-wheelers. You don’t let us ride them and you’ll be sorry.”

“What’s going on?” Mr. Micelli said.

Boo turned and walked away.

Mr. Micelli put a hand on my back. He didn’t have to say anything. He had to know I was scared.

“You should have hit him, Timberline,” Duncan said, grabbing his backpack and leaving. “Bigger they are, the harder they fall.”

More likely, the harder I’ll fall.

I tried to think of something snappy to say to get everybody to laugh, but my bottom lip twitched, and everything I thought of was kind of mean.

“Come on,” Ashley said, taking my backpack.

Chapter 5

My ATV, the Ashleymobile,
is one of the best things about moving to Colorado. My friends back home can’t believe I actually get to ride it to school, except when it’s raining really hard. Kids under 16 shouldn’t ride them, but Mom and Sam say we’re pretty responsible. Sometimes Mom sends us to the grocery store for milk or bread, and we’ve found a way there without going on too many streets. We even drive to the gas station and fill up by ourselves.

I reached Mrs. Watson’s barn first, strapped on my helmet, and fastened my backpack to the rear carrier. We always park our ATVs a few blocks from the school at Mrs. Watson’s. She knows our stepfather, and Bryce mows her yard. She says she loves having us around.

Bryce’s eyes were puffy and red. You can tell a lot about people just by looking at their eyes, especially when they won’t look at you.

Mrs. Watson waved and offered us a snack, but Bryce yelled that Sam wanted us home for something. After we started the four-wheelers, I glanced across the road and punched Bryce’s shoulder. On the hill above the school stood Boo and his muddy little friend.

Bryce took off up Mrs. Watson’s driveway toward the open pasture, and I followed.

Boo shouted something and waved, and I hoped Mrs. Watson didn’t have her hearing aid in.