The Fight for Kidsboro (18 page)

BLACKMAIL

I
WAS WALKING TOWARD MY
office when someone snuck up from behind and tricked me.

“Jim!” he shouted.

On impulse, I turned around. I immediately wished I hadn't.

“Gotcha!” he said, laughing. It was Jake Randall—a face from the past I had hoped was out of my life forever. “I knew you were Jim.”

“My name's not Jim,” I said. “It's Ryan.”

“But you turned your head when I called you Jim.”

I had to think fast, before he noticed how nervous I was. “You were 10 feet behind me and you screamed something. I would've turned around no matter what name you called.”

“What a lie,” he said, bumping me with his shoulder.

He was right. I was lying, but I had good reason. My real name was Jim Bowers, and he was the only one in Kidsboro who knew it. I had known Jake since we were kids in California, before I moved to Odyssey. There Was a secret surrounding my life in California, and Jake knew some of it. Now he was spending his summer in Odyssey, harassing me here just as he had done in California. Since the day I had run into him again after four years, I had tried to act like I didn't know what he was talking about when he called me Jim. But he knew my real name, and he knew I was running away from it. He didn't know everything—at least I didn't
think
he knew everything. I had to prevent him from finding out the whole truth. It would be too dangerous for my family.

I continued walking toward my office. I was hoping he would go the other way. He didn't.

“I've heard about this nice little … like …
town
you've got here. Cute little clubhouses everywhere. And I hear you're the mayor or something?”

“Yes.”

“How many people have you got livin' here?”

“Thirty.”

“Wow. Congrats. Leader of 30 people—five months before you're even a teenager.” He leaned down and whispered in my ear, “Notice how I know your exact age?”

“Good guess. Maybe you can get a job at a carnival.”

“Yeah, this little town's nice and comfy. Got a bakery, a newspaper … I ran into your police chief back there. That girl's a tank.” He was referring to Alice, of course.

“I wouldn't say that to her face.”

“You think I'm nuts?”

“You know,” I said, “I have some things to do. I'll see you around.” I sped up and ducked my head into my office. He didn't take the hint. He followed me in.

He sat down in a chair and put his feet up on my desk. “I was thinking about maybe becoming a citizen myself. Where do I sign up?”

For the first time, I looked directly at him. My veins turned to ice. If Jake became a citizen, I wouldn't be able to sleep at night. I would be constantly looking over my shoulder and checking behind trees.

“You know, it's pretty hard to get in,” I said. “You have to go through a screening process, and you have to win an 80 percent majority vote in the city council. It's not really up to me.”

“I see,” he said. “So, you don't think I have a chance?”

“Well … you're new here. I don't really know you, and I don't think anyone else on the council does either. It might be a long shot.”

“But you're the mayor. You can make things work out for me, right? Or don't you want to?” I didn't answer. “You know what? I've got something that might make you want to. Come with me.”

“Look …
Jake,
is it? I don't have the time. Maybe …”

“I think you're gonna want to see this.” I looked up and saw him smiling. He had me. I didn't know how, but he had me. I was compelled to follow him. Without a word, he headed for the movie theater. Pete was setting up for that night's feature. We stepped across the series of extension cords that led from the woods to Whit's End and approached him.

“Ask him if we could use the video projector for a bit.” I did, and Pete agreed. He turned the power on, and then went back into his office/house. Jake and I were alone.

Jake pushed a videocassette labeled “Tenth Birthday” into the projector. “After our last little encounter, I did some research. I had my mom send me this video from California. I think you'll find it very interesting.”

The screen lit up and showed a birthday party. The cake said
Happy 10th Birthday, Jake
, and in the background was a 10-year-old Jake. He puffed up his cheeks and blew out the candles as everyone clapped. Then the camera panned and caught a little boy wearing a purple superhero shirt—an eight-year-old me. The person operating the camera said, “Jim! Make your funny face.” The eight-year-old me scrunched up his face as though he had just eaten a box of lemons. Jake pressed the pause button, crossed his arms, and glared at me.

“You know,” Jake said, “that kid looks … like …
exactly
like you. But … they called him Jim. I wonder why.”

“I guess his name is Jim,” I said as calmly as I could. “I admit, he sure looks like me. Thanks for showing me that. It was interesting.” I started to head back to my office.

“You want to see another coincidence?” he said, stopping me in my tracks. He pressed a button and the video started up again. I was still making faces, and there, coming up from behind me, was my mom. She hugged my neck. Then she looked right into the camera and the two of us smiled. Ten-year-old Jake came into the picture and called her “Mrs. Bowers.”

“You see, that's what's weird,” Jake said. “That kid's mother looks just like
your
mother. And yet her name is Mrs. Bowers. Can you believe that coincidence?” He paused for effect. “No. You don't believe that's a coincidence. And neither will anybody else. Can you imagine how awful it would be if, for some reason, this tape accidentally got switched with the tape Pete's going to play at the Cineplex tonight? You would have a lot of explaining to do, huh?”

The tape was still rolling. There were only five or six kids at the party that day. Jake was not real popular. He had invited me only because he had very few other friends. My mom and I were sitting together as we watched Jake open his presents. I got excited when he opened the one I gave him—one of those super water guns. Jake immediately ran to the bathroom to fill it up. I smiled at my mom and said, “I told you he'd like it.” Times were much simpler then.

“So what's your story, Jim? Why are you hiding out here with a bogus name? It's not because you're scared of
me
, is it? Surely you don't think I'm still mad about that whole detention center thing.”

Just a few months after that birth day party, Jake had taken me out to the woods and showed me his father's gun. I got scared, and I ran and told my mom. She called the police, and they came and picked him up. Of course, the gun episode hadn't been the only reason Jake had been sent away, but I sensed he blamed me anyway.

“Surely you didn't move away just because I had to spend the next three months in a juvenile detention center.” Jake said. He was telling me now, four years later, that he wasn't mad about it. But I couldn't imagine that he had put it behind him. I was sure he wanted revenge.

“You know what? I don't think that's it,” he said. “This is a long way to come just to get away from me. I think you ran away from California for a different reason.” I swallowed a lump in my throat. “It was a weird thing. Nobody in our old neighborhood could figure it out. You and your mom just suddenly disappeared. Not even your father knew where you were.” He smiled. “I think you were running away from
him
.”

He knew it all. When I was eight, my mother and I gathered up our belongings and left the house in the middle of the night to escape an abusive husband and father—my dad. If he had known we were leaving, or where we were going, he would've found us and maybe hurt us even worse than he had before. He was an alcoholic and we never knew how violent he would turn at any given moment when he was drinking. So we left that night and went to an abuse shelter, where they helped us start our lives over. They gave us new names, a new address thousands of miles away, and a new life. They told us not to tell anyone in Odyssey about our past, not even our closest friends. Now … my worst enemy knew.

“Jake, you can't tell anybody.”

“Oh, I don't plan to. You know, as long as you keep me happy.”

He had me. I had to give him whatever he wanted.

“What do you want?” I asked him.

“I want to be a citizen.”

“Why?”

“I haven't gotten to know many people here. I think it'd be nice to settle down in a small town …” This part I believed. Jake was never one to make friends easily. But I didn't believe This was the only reason he wanted to be a part of my town.

“I told you, it's not completely my decision,” I told him.

“Then you'd better hope your friends follow your lead and vote for me.”

“They don't even know you.”

“Tell them about me. Tell them what a good pal I've always been to you.” In other words, lie.

“I can't guarantee anything,” I said.

“Sure you can.”

“I'll do my best.”

“That's the spirit.”

But don't ask me any questions
, I thought.
You don't need to know anything else.

I rolled back over onto my stomach. I could never sleep on my stomach, but I wasn't sleeping anyway. I thought about waking Mom up and telling her everything, but I didn't want her to panic and insist that we move out of Odyssey. I liked it here.

I also considered telling Mr. Whittaker. He was the only person in Odyssey besides my mom and I who knew the truth about our situation. When we moved to Odyssey, we immediately knew he was a person we could trust. He helped us out a lot, and was responsible for my mother and me becoming Christians. I wanted to tell him, but I knew he would want me to tell my mom, and I didn't want her to worry. Why did Jake have to show up and ruin everything?

I couldn't imagine Jake being a citizen of Kidsboro—to look across the way and see Jake eating a donut from Sid's Bakery, attending a movie at the Cineplex, talking with all of my real friends. I would be constantly wondering what the topic of conversation was …

I would have to look straight into the faces of the city council members and tell them that Jake would be a wonderful asset to our community. I had no choice.

I called a city council meeting first thing the next morning. Everyone was there—Scott, Nelson, Alice, Jill, and me. None of them knew why I had called the meeting.

“I want to vote in another citizen,” I said, my stomach turning.

As I expected, Jill immediately objected, “I thought we were going to stop at 30 for the rest of the summer.”

“That's right. We did say that at the last meeting,” Alice agreed.

“Then someone must be leaving,” Nelson said.

“Who's leaving?” Scott asked.

“No one's leaving. There's just someone I think we should consider.”

“Who?”

I took a long breath. “Do you guys know Jake Randall?” I got blank stares.

“Never heard of him,” Scott said.

“He's from California. He's visiting for the summer—staying with his grandmother or something.”

“He doesn't live here?” Jill asked with an exaggerated shrug of her shoulders.

“No, he doesn't. But I think he could turn into a very valuable citizen.”

“Why?” Jill asked.

“Because,” I could tell that I hadn't rehearsed this well enough. “Because … he's … smart …”

“That's it? He's smart?”

“No, that's not it.”

Jill wasn't going to let up. “Well, you're going to have to make a better case for him than that. None of us knows the guy. How do you expect us to vote for him?”

Alice spoke up. “Can we ask some questions about him?”

“Sure.”

“Does he have a record?” she asked, without a hint of a smile.