Chapter 31
That afternoon after school, we crowd around Ms. Kendrick’s desk.
Sebastian twirls a piece of red licorice like it’s a team flag at a baseball game. “All that news stuff? That’s what sticks in your head. We need media coverage. Can I call channel eight news, Ms. Kendrick?”
Terrance taps his pencil against a legal pad. “Our letters are gonna be sick, man. I mean, how often do a bunch of kids write letters to a judge? It’ll definitely get his attention.”
“I hope so,” I say, laying poster board across the table. “We really need this to work.”
Ms. Kendrick smiles and stands as Mr. Farnswiddle sticks his head in the door. “Need any help, mates?”
“I’m here too,” Mrs. Costa wheels a load of paint and brushes into the room.
“We’re just about to start on letters to the judge and signage. Have a preference?”
“I’ll take letter writing.” Farnswiddle says. “If that’s your pleasure, pull up a seat.” He moves to an empty table, and Terrance and a few others join him. So does Ms. Kendrick.
Mrs. Costa hands out paint and brushes. “Use big letters.” She rakes her hand through the air. “Big enough that people in passing cars will see them.”
Off to the side, Mr. Farnswiddle’s British accent stands out. “Terrance, just so we’re clear, that isn’t a compliment.”
"We should start a civics club, Ms. Kendrick.” I say, as Mrs. Costa tilts my hand.
“Like this. Thick strokes, don’t be shy.”
Stuart leans forward. “Wait—that’s actually a cool idea.”
“There are lots of community problems we could work on.” I say, thickening up my letters with a smaller brush.
“Sick! We could do this every week!” Terrance fist-bumps Sebastian.
“Yeah man, I’m in.”
Ms. Kendrick taps her pen against the table, thinking. Then she nods, “I like where this is going. Want to be my second chair, Mr. Farnswiddle?”
“I’d be delighted.” He gives her a little wink.
By the time we leave school, we’ve done everything we can think of to help Grover, and we’ve started a new club. Not bad progress for a Monday, but it turns out we weren’t the only ones working on a strategy. Because Tuesday morning starts with kissing sounds.
I’m halfway to my seat in math when the noises start. Ezra Pitts sits in his seat behind Amelia, staring at me. He puckers his lips, smacking them together.
My eyes flick toward her, but it’s like she doesn’t even hear what’s going on right behind her head. She sits silently, eyes cast to the floor.
Whatever. I slide my pack off and slump into my usual spot, second seat by the window. Pulling out my notebook, I start working on the bellwork.
“Darcie!” Ezra whispers loudly. “How’s your lover boy?”
I turn around so fast that the girl sitting behind me, jumps. “Ezra, why don’t you just shut up.” I hiss.
“Ooh, such language,” he says. “It’s okay, everyone knows that you’re in love with the Shadow Man, and that’s why you’re making such a big deal about him.”
The tardy bell rings, and Ezra stands, pulling the girl behind me to her feet. “Switch places with me.”
All through math class, Ezra whispers behind me. “Remember the Daily Darcie memes? My favorite was Hairicane.” He chuckles so only I can hear as Mr. Farnswiddle babbles on about solving inequalities. “We thought we’d bring them back—only you can prevent that from happening.”
The pencil in my fingers snaps in half.
“Course, the Fall of Fame series…that was epic.”
Doodles quickly fill the border of my paper. Usually, I sketch flowers and hearts, but not today. I draw a lightning bolt.
“We thought we’d call our series, Darcie in Love.”
My pen moves across the page, drawing Ezra under the jagged streak. I raise my hand. “May I use the restroom?”
Mr. Farnswiddle takes one look at me and nods. “Everything okay, Miss Reynolds?”
“Yeah, I just—” I grab my book bag and flee.
Third-period PE is no better. Girls from the Peaks—at least one from the cabin—speak over the noise of lockers banging shut.
“Did you hear that Darcie and the Shadow Man are writing love letters back and forth?”
“Just like they do on ‘Life After Lockup.’” Shrill laughter echoes off the ceiling.
I shove my legs into my gym shorts and slam the locker.
Inside the gym, Amelia sits on the sideline, her pink cast peeking out from her long denim skirt. She’s hunched over, biting her nails. She never chews her nails.
I jog over. “Hey.”
She straightens her spine and turns away.
“How’s the leg?”
“Fine.”
I nod toward the locker room where another burst of laughter spills out.
“Sound’s like your fan club’s having fun.”
Amelia hides her fingers under her skirt.
“Big day’s coming up.”
“I heard.”
“Hope everyone has their story straight. I guess you’ll be there?”
Amelia lifts her chin toward me, eyes shining like she’s about to cry. Then the look suddenly disappears behind a tightened jaw, as she forces her mask back into place.
Lunch is more of the same: whispers, pointing, more kissing sounds. Four months ago, this would have destroyed me, but I’m not gonna let that happen. I plop my tray on the table beside Stuart. “This day is turning out to be a disaster.”
Stuart moans, “Tell me about it.” He lowers the ice pack from his face—his eye is black.
“Stuart!” I sink into my chair. “What happened?”
“Let’s just say my face fell into someone’s fist.”
“Oh my gosh! Who did this?” I brush my thumb over his bruise, and he flinches.
“Probably the same guy ruining your day.”
“This is all my fault. I’m so sorry.”
Stuart sets down the ice pack and opens his lunch bag. “Look, anyone who’s working this hard to scare us has something pretty bad to hide.” He grins. “And they know we’re on to them.”
Wednesday morning is actually pretty calm, like maybe the Peaks gave up, or Amelia actually told them to cool it. After math class, Ezra is waiting for me in the hallway. I try to move past him, but he blocks my path.
“Hold up, Darcie.” He rubs the back of his neck. “I owe you an apology.”
I open my mouth to say something, but quickly close it. What do I say to that? “Okay. Thank you.” I start to walk away, but he busts up laughing.
“You actually thought I was serious?” He gives me a little shove and moves past me. What a jerk.
The rest of the morning isn’t any better. Kissing sounds, accidental shoulder bumps, and more whispering leads up to the big squeeze that happens after lunch.
As we’re leaving the cafeteria, a group of Peaks cuts in around us—shoulders pressing into us—squeezing in. Stuart wraps his arm around me, trying to force us through the crowd, but we’re blocked on every side. Hands shove and poke us. Someone’s sweaty hand glides over my arm and I swat it away. The smell of Ax body spray, sweat, and something worse hovers over us; we can barely breathe.
“Get off me!” Stuart shoves a skinny kid to his left, opening up a hole in the mob. He grabs my hand and we run.
“This is getting on my last nerve,” I say, panting as I lean against the lockers.
Stuart pulls out his inhaler and takes a puff. “Not to mention my last breath. What was that smell, anyway?”
“Dog. Someone sleeps with their animals.”
“Oh. right.”
A second later, halfway up the steps, my backpack feels wrong. Lighter. I stop so fast, pulling it from my shoulder that Stuart plows right into me. The zipper hangs open. “Oh no.” I yank it the rest of the way and dig through the mess inside. Folders, paper, pencil pouch. No spiral.
“What’s wrong?” Stuart nudges me to the side as kids flow around us.
I check again, shoving the loose papers and folders aside. No. No, no…
“Darcie?”
“My notebook.” My voice catches in my throat. “We put it back, right?” I dump half the stuff on the floor. Crumpled worksheets scatter across the landing.
Stuart kneels beside me. “I’m sure we did.”
“Could it have come out…accidentally? In the hallway?”
His lips flatten out. “Maybe?”
“The bells’ about to ring.” We race down the hall, reaching the doorway just as the tardy bell sounds. “Ms. Kendrick!”
“What’s wrong?”
“Someone took my spiral!” I bounce on my toes. “It had all my stuff in it. I need that information for Friday!”
She places a hand on my arm. “Are you sure you didn’t leave it at home?”
“I’m sure!”
Stuart snatches my bag, searching through it himself. “She just had it at lunch because we were going over some of it—you know—getting ready for the mock trial tomorrow.” He turns toward his friend. “Sebastian had some questions.”
Sebastian nods. “Yeah, that’s right.”
“Well, there you go,” she says. “You just left it at lunch. Why don’t the two of you go look for it?” She scribbles her name across a hall pass. “I’m sure it will be right where you left it.”
We head back into the empty hallway, retracing our steps and hoping to find it laying in a corner somewhere. “I put it back. I know I did. Unless…someone took it?” My steps come so fast that Stuart has to jog to keep up.
“You did. I saw you.”
Just as we near the girl’s bathroom, a toilet flushes followed by loud laughter. Three Peak girls ease the door open and slip into the hallway, glancing both ways and whispering behind their hands. They’re headed towards the lockers when they spot me.
“Hey, Darcie! You’re just in time because we left something for you in there.”
“Hope you like it!”
They grab hold of one another, doubled over in laughter, and disappear around the corner.
“Oh no,” I say, grabbing Stuart by the hand.
“Wait! I can’t go in—”
I yank him through the doorway, and we freeze. ‘Darcie loves the Shadow Man’ is written all over the mirror in dry erase marker. Slanted hearts and smeared lip prints fill in between the words. The smell of strawberry body spray mixed with bleach and urine makes my lips curl. I cover my nose, trying to block out the odor.
“Give me your phone,” I say, holding out my hand.
Stuart reaches into his pocket. “My phone? Why?”
“Proof.” I aim the camera at the mirror, and snap several photos before giving it back.
“Why do people have to be so mean?” I yank off a paper towel and wipe away the mess. Lip prints smear across the mirror, but the words, at least, slip away easily.
A thin stream of water snakes around our boots as the unmistakable gurgle of a running toilet fills the space. With one finger, Stuart pushes open the stall door. “Uh, Darcie?”
The sound of too-loud running water bounces off tile and pipes and metal like the entire room is hollow.
“There’s more?” Bracing myself for more terrible words, I step into the stall and gasp. Wedged against the side of the bowl is my civics notebook; its swollen pages soaked beyond saving. “No,” I whisper. “No,no, no. Why would someone do this?”
Stuart points the camera, click, click. “Oh Man, Darcie…all that work.”
Water from the backed up drain spills over the seat in a constant sheet. It pours onto the tile, carrying bits of paper with it. I slosh through the puddles toward the toilet and pluck out my water-logged journal.
“Gross.” I turn my head away and squeeze the excess liquid from the pages. “I hope this is the last time I ever have to pull something from a public john.”
Stuart holds out a hand, helping me stay steady through the slick tile floor. “Ditto.”
We do our best to lay all of it out on the counter so we can document the damage with the phone. Long strips of paper towels rattle out of the dispenser as I tug, hands shaking. The ink is already bleeding, like bruises on skin as I press the brown sheets into the pages.
Stuart quietly dabs at the book. “Ugh.” He grabs more towels.
“Who invented such useless paper towels?” I wad them into a ball and toss them in the garbage. “This is getting extreme, don’t you think? Why is this thing with Grover such a big deal? Why do seventh graders care so much about a guy who lives in the caves?”
“We’re missing something.” Stuart dries his hands and shoots his paper towel into the trash like it’s a basketball shot. “What do we do now?”
“Well, we’re not giving up, that’s for sure. And we’re not telling a teacher either. Help me clean this up.”
We mop away the mess as best as we can and shove everything into my backpack—wet pages and all. The bell rings and we push out the door before anyone can see us.
In the hallway, the noise of school rushes back in, erasing what just happened in the restroom. “We’re gonna figure out why the Peaks care so much about Grover.” I say. “They picked the wrong person to push around.”
“Alright,” Stuart says. “I’m in too. See you on the bus.”
We split at the end of the hall. Two more periods to go. The rest of the day drags. I keep checking the pages in my backpack like the notebook is going to fix itself. It doesn’t. And the problem doesn’t solve itself either, no matter how much we talk it through on the way home. By the time the bus stops in front of our driveway, my brain just wants a break. And I get one—in the form of a three year old.
No one is happier to have me home than Andrew. He’s been watching for me at the window, and comes tearing out the door, hitting my legs with his body at a full-out run. We both topple over into the snow. He sits on my stomach and bounces. “Ozzie! Can we play in da snow?”
“Can I at least put my stuff away and get a snack?”
Andrew giggles. “Okay, Ozzie.”
The sweet smell of vanilla pudding rises from the bowls on the kitchen counter, as I drop my bag on the floor and shrug out of my coat. “This is exactly what I need right now.” I say. “And I like the powdery heart on top.”
“Rough day?” Mom hands me a spoon.
“Rough week. I don’t really want to talk about it. Can we talk about something else?”
Dad scoops a giant spoonful into his mouth. “We had some excitement today.”
I straighten because he always has the funniest stories. “What, another elk herd blocked traffic?”
“This time it involved a goat.” He takes a sip of coffee. “This is excellent, Es. Nutmeg?”
“Just a little.” She winks.
“So what happened?” I ask, grateful for anything to erase the horrors of the day.
“Goat got stuck in the women’s restroom.”
Andrew snorts pudding through his nose.
“Please tell me nobody was in there.” Mom wipes Andrew’s face.
“Hold up,” I say, raising both hands like I’m blocking a volleyball spike. “I cannot handle a restroom story today. I just…can’t.” The creamy warmth glides down my throat as my parents wait for an explanation.
“Darcie?” Mom’s hand squeezes mine. “How about you tell us your restroom story?”
I slide off the stool and pull my bookbag onto the counter. The notebook is soaked and carries that unmistakeable public restroom smell. I hold it out to them. “My civics notebook.”
Mom carefully lifts the cover. The pages peel apart, then dissolve between her fingers. “What happened?”
“Someone stole it and flushed it down the toilet.” I pull the rest of the soggy pages from my pack. “Stuart and I found it in the girl’s bathroom. And ‘Darcie loves the Shadow Man,’ was written all over the mirror.”
“Stuart was in the girl’s restroom?” Dad raises his hand. “Never mind. Did you report it to someone?”
“No. We cleaned it up and pretended like it didn’t happen. No one else saw it—except for the girls that did it.”
Andrew bangs his spoon on his dish. “Look what I can do!”
Dad rests his hand on the highchair tray. “Hang on, buddy. Mom and dad need to talk to Darcie a minute.”
“I don’t understand why you’re not reporting these things to the administrators.” Mom hands Andrew his sippy cup. “They need to know what’s going on.”
“Dad?” Andrew taps Dad’s hand. “Daddy? Look at me.”
Dad stands, lifting Andrew and wiping his hands and face.
“I know.” I say. “But, I’m handling it. I was thinking I should report it to the Public Defender’s office instead. We took pictures of everything, and as you can see…” I open my hand toward the sopping pages, “…we have proof.”
“Well,” Dad reaches for his wallet. “Patrick gave us his number, right?” He pulls out a business card and hands it to me.
I grip the edge of the counter. “Yep. And I think he needs to know that for some reason, someone really wants me to stop.”