“I said I had to think about it,” Marissa says weakly.
There’s a moment of awkward silence where I’m just staring at Marissa, wondering if she noticed that he’d just used all three of the excuses I’d told her he’d try.
And then Danny says, “So you’re checking up on me? Is that what this is?”
Marissa cries, “No!”
“So why didn’t you just call?”
Marissa is about to quiver apart, so I jump in and tell him, “Look, Danny, you may be able to convince Marissa that you’ve changed, but you’ve got a credibility problem with me. You can understand that, right? I just thought it’d be a good idea to talk face to face.”
He bristles. “So I’ve got to go through you to get to her?”
“The real question is, Why do you want to get to her?”
“Because I like her? Because she used to be my friend?”
Real calmly, I say, “See, I don’t buy that.”
“You don’t have to buy that,” he tells me, and from the glint of anger in his eyes I know I’m right—the new Danny is just a spit-shined version of the old Danny.
“So you’ve contacted Billy and Casey and all your other old friends, too?”
“Who I want to have back as friends is none of your business.” Then he just can’t help himself. He smirks and says, “I can tell you this, though—you’re not on the list.”
“But Marissa is, not because you actually like her, but because it’s just been a shock to your system that she’s not your groupie anymore.”
Marissa gasps, “Sammy!” and she’s looking horrified—like I just ripped the head off a bunny.
Danny looks at Marissa. “What is this?”
Marissa cries, “Sorry!”
“Well, what? Do I need her permission to talk to you?”
“No!”
“Good.” He gives me a hard look, then turns to Marissa. “I’ll call you,” he says, in a just-me-and-you-baby way. But as he opens the door and goes inside, I get a glimpse of someone moving quickly out of view.
Someone I recognize.
TWELVE
Before I can even think about what I’m doing, I jab my foot forward and stop the door from closing.
From inside I hear Danny mutter, “What the—” as Marissa gasps, “What are you doing?”
I turn to her. “Heather’s in there.”
Marissa goes pale. “She’s not!”
Danny body-blocks the opening in the doorway and looks down at my foot. “Come on. Really?”
I look him right in the eye. “So why’s Heather here?”
“Heather’s n—”
The door whips open and there she is, wearing way too much makeup and her usual sneer. “You got a problem with that, loser?”
Marissa stands there with her jaw on the ground while Danny pinches his eyes closed, then scrambles to explain. “Look, I’ve been through some really bad times and I’m trying to build my friendships back.”
I snort. “By telling the truth and going to church and … what else? Oh, right, changing.”
He looks at Marissa and points to me. “Why did you bring her? I know you and Heather don’t get along, but did you ever think that she’s the reason?”
“Let’s go,” I tell Marissa, and as I start to turn around, Danny taps his chest twice and does a little sweep of his hand toward Marissa.
Like, My heart beats just for you, baby.
He’s sly about it, too.
So Heather can’t see.
I drag Marissa out of there, and when we’re on the sidewalk, I say, “See? He hasn’t changed a bit.”
But instead of thanking me for exposing Danny for the snake he is, she snaps, “Why did you have to act like that?”
I stop dead in my tracks. “That was Heather back there. Heather! He was too busy to go to church because he was with Heather.”
“You don’t know that!” she calls over her shoulder as she keeps marching along. “You’re judging and jumping to conclusions!”
“I’ve got eyes! Open yours!”
“They are open!” she shouts back. “And I’m seeing a friend whose mind is closed!”
“Marissa, he lied to you. He said he didn’t go to church because he wasn’t feeling well and overslept.… Come on!”
“Maybe he did! You weren’t there! How would you know?”
“And he was about to deny that Heather was there, but she blew it for him.”
“You don’t know that!” she shouts back. “Maybe he was going to say, ‘Heather’s none of your concern’ or ‘Heather’s not your business’!”
“Get real! He was about to say, ‘Heather’s not here!’ ”
“See? Judgmental!”
She’s nearly half a block away and obviously not waiting for me. So I run to catch up with her. “Marissa, can’t you see he’s manipulating you?”
She gives me a detached look. “Or maybe you’re the one manipulating me.”
“Oh, and I’m the reason you and Heather aren’t friends?” I throw my hands in the air. “Fine. Go ahead. Be her friend. Don’t let me stop you.” And, really, I just feel like taking off.
“Okay, I’m sorry. I know.” She gives me a pleading look. “If he didn’t like me—if he didn’t want to be a better person—why would he call me and tell me all that stuff? And why would he act like he does?”
“Act like he does? You mean like giving you that phony little heart tap?”
“See? There you go again! Who says it was phony?”
“Marissa, he hid it from Heather. Can’t you see he’s just playing you?”
“Why would he play me? Why would he bother if he didn’t like me?”
I think about this a minute, then say, “You know what? I think you telling him off last month really did get to him, but not because he’s ever been in love with you, or cares about you as a friend.”
“Then why?”
“Because you were the one person he’d always had power over. If he gets you back, he’ll feel like he’s got his mojo back.”
“His mojo,” she says, like I’m the most ridiculous person she’s ever met. “Sammy, why can’t you ever just let things be what they are? Why do you have to pick them apart and talk about mojo?”
“How can you not want to understand what his game is?”
“Because it’s not a game.” She gives me a smarty-pants look. “Where’s the box? Where’s the board? Where’s the rule book?”
“Well, obviously you could use a rule book, but Danny’s not a board game kind of guy, and you know it. He’s more looking to get to the next level.”
“Whatever!” she snaps.
Which pretty much means she’s done discussing it. So I don’t say anything more, and our walk across town becomes a silent march. And after blocks, I really do want to give up and head for home, but it feels so wrong to leave things like this.
Plus, my skateboard’s at Hudson’s and I need to get it.
So we keep on marching along, and I know Marissa’s probably thinking that I’m being completely unfair and judgmental and mean, which bothers me plenty enough, but what’s bothering me a lot more is that a jerk like Danny could have any effect on a friendship as strong and long as Marissa’s and mine. And I don’t want to be combative about it, but, come on—how can she not see through him?
Apparently, Marissa can’t think of anything to say to me, either, because she keeps walking faster and faster, and by the time we reach the mall, she’s steaming along like a locomotive. But as we turn the corner and head down Cook Street, we both notice a crowd gathering across the street at the police station and start to slow down.
“What do you think’s going on?” I say, nodding at the crowd.
“Something big …” Then she says, “Wait, it’s Justice Jack!”
Sure enough, Justice Jack is making his way up the police station steps, carrying a big black Hefty sack over his shoulder.
Marissa shakes her head. “He looks lik
e a comic book Santa or something.”
“Yeah, huh?” I say back, and for some reason having those words come out of my mouth is a big relief.
Like, Phew. We can still agree.
“KSMY is there!” she says. “That’s Zelda Quinn!”
There’s no mistaking Zelda Quinn. She’s KSMY’s very own skunk reporter. She dyes her hair super-black, except for a fat white streak that’s right up front. Grams likes to watch her, but I think she acts like everything is life-and-death. Even when she’s covering something like an elementary school play, she’s all intense. Like any second terrorists might infiltrate the multi-purpose room.
Anyway, the closer we get to the gathering, the more it looks like some weird news conference. Justice Jack stops about halfway up the steps, turns around, and swings off the sack while Zelda Quinn and her cameraman move around, trying to get good positions, and the rest of the people form sort of a wide horseshoe on the lower steps and sidewalk. It seems like a strange group that’s gathered, too—a couple of them have shopping carts, a few have dogs.…
And then it hits me.
“I think he’s giving away jackets to the homeless.”
Marissa nods. “I think you’re right!”
All of a sudden Justice Jack’s voice booms through the air. “Downtrodden, you are not forgotten! The fair citizens of Santa Martina heard your shivers!” He opens the sack and produces a dark blue jacket. “Through their kindness I give you armor against the bitter cold! A shield against the chilling winds! And the strength that comes from knowing that people care.” He pauses a moment, then raises the jacket high. “Consider these your Justice Jackets!” Then he starts handing them out, one by one, while the cameraman moves in for close-ups and Zelda Quinn puts her microphone in people’s faces.
Marissa and I watch from across the street, because it’s not like I want to be on the news at all, let alone with a bunch of homeless people.
Heather Acosta would have a field day.
And I’m torn between thinking the whole scene’s cool, and thinking it’s just really bizarre, when a voice behind us growls, “Since when does giving out six jackets rate news coverage?”
Well, there’s no doubt that the voice belongs to Officer Borsch. But what I am doubting is the number of jackets. “It was more than that, wasn’t it?”
He sucks on a tooth. “I can count to six.”
And that’s when something hits me. “Hey, he didn’t give out Hudson’s jacket. I wonder where that went.”
“Hudson got suckered into giving up a jacket?” Officer Borsch asks.
“Well, I don’t know about suckered. But it was a really cool jacket. Like something out of an old war movie.”
Officer Borsch mutters, “Probably kept it.” Then he adds, “And why’d he choose the station steps? Why not over at the Salvation Army or St. Mary’s Church or somewhere that makes sense?” But before I can tell him, Beats me, he comes up with his own answer. “He thinks he can fool people into believing he’s real law enforcement by being seen on the station steps, that’s why.”
I eye him and say, “Are you thinking about kicking him off?” because I can tell he’s itching to.
“I’m going nowhere near him while cameras are rolling. It’s lose-lose. Either I come off as the heavy, or I get sucked into lending him credibility.” He gives his tooth a good slurp. “Looks like his little sideshow’s about over anyway.”
And it might have been, except right then Justice Jack spots Officer Borsch. “Commissioner!” he bellows across the street. “Join us!”
Officer Borsch groans, “Noooo.”
Well, Officer Borsch isn’t budging or even acknowledging him, so Justice Jack calls, “Commissioner!” again, and this time everyone on that side of the street turns around to see who Justice Jack is hollering at, including Zelda Quinn and her cameraman. And I’m sorry, but I do not want to be any part of a newscast where I’m standing by a cop, either.
Heather Acosta would have a field day.
And Danny Urbanski?
He’d start calling me a narc again, seeing how he accused Casey and me of being the ones who got him arrested.
Which, for the record, Casey had nothing to do with.
“Not good,” Marissa says, reading my mind.
“Sorry, Officer Borsch, but we’ve gotta go. Good luck with the Jackman.”
He snorts and grumbles, “He’s a jackass, if you ask me.”
So Marissa and I hustle out of there, and as we make our escape onto Cypress Street, Marissa grins at me and says, “I kind of like that our town has its own superhero.”
I grin back. “Only in Santa Martina.”
So the good thing about running into Justice Jack was that it cooled things down between Marissa and me. Nothing had changed, really, but I felt a lot better, and I think she did, too. And since I didn’t want to heat things up again, when we got to Hudson’s, I just told her, “Be careful, okay? And call me whenever you want.”
Then I got my skateboard and headed back to the Highrise.
THIRTEEN
I was so preoccupied with Marissa and Danny and poor Billy that I didn’t think about Mrs. Wedgewood until I was sneaking down the hallway and into our apartment.
“Grams?” I whispered after I’d slipped my skateboard under the couch. “Grams?”
The bathroom door was closed, so I just tapped on it twice and said, “I’m home,” figuring she’d give me the Wedgie Woman update when she got out. Then I went to the kitchen to find something to eat, because I was starving!
There was leftover tuna salad in a small bowl in the fridge and some Triscuits in the cupboard.
Good enough for me!
So I sat at the table and shook a ton of Tabasco on the tuna and ate straight out of the bowl.
“Meow!” Dorito said, rubbing against my leg.
“Sorry!” I mewed back. “It’s spicy!” I rubbed him and whispered, “Don’t tell Grams, okay?” because Grams hates it when I’m on the loose with hot sauce.
I ate fast, too, partly because I was so hungry, and partly because I didn’t want to be scolded for eating right from the bowl, or for “ruining” the tuna with hot sauce … or for eating it all up!
But as it turns out, I didn’t have to eat so fast because I’d practically licked the bowl clean and Grams still hadn’t come out of the bathroom.
Now, okay. When I’m doing my business, I do not like people tapping on the bathroom door, telling me I’m running late or taking a long time.
You think I don’t know that?
So I didn’t exactly want to go up and rat-a-tat-tat Grams. But I started getting the feeling that something was off. Not wrong, but not right, either.
So I finally went and tapped on the door and said, “Grams?”
No answer.
So I tried the door, and when I discovered it was unlocked, I opened it.
No Grams.
And I’m standing there feeling pretty stupid when I hear a little thump come through the wall that our bathroom shares with Mrs. Wedgewood’s bathroom. Then there’s another thump.
And another.
It’s a strange kind of thumping, too. A small sound. Like someone’s knocking quietly.
And r-e-a-l-l-y slowly.
Now, if Mrs. Wedgewood had been a normal neighbor, I would have just thought, Hey! She’s back! But the Mighty Wedge is not a normal neighbor. And the Mighty Wedge doesn’t make small sounds. From falling off the toilet, to pounding on the wall for help, to lumbering across the floor with her walker, to breathing, everything Mrs. Wedgewood does is seismic.
Especially when she’s in the bathroom.
And that’s why a little lightbulb finally pops on over my head. “Holy smokes!”
I hurry to the front door and check the hallway to make sure the coast is clear, then I slip out of our apartment and tiptoe down to Mrs. Wedgewood’s.
I try the knob, and when it turns, I look over both shoulders quick, then whoosh inside t
he Wedge’s apartment, lock the door behind me, and beeline over to the bathroom.
And sure enough, there’s my grandmother, nosing through the Wedge’s drawers.
I just stand in the doorway with my hand on my hip, watching her, waiting for her to notice me. And after checking out the medicine cabinet, she finally does.
“Samantha!” she gasps, grabbing her heart.
I shake my head. “Unbelievable.”
“I was just looking for clues as to her whereabouts!”
“In her bathroom?”
“I’ve heard you’re supposed to look in the most unlikely spots! That if you can think of it in ten minutes, it won’t be there. I thought maybe she—”
“Shhh!” I poke a finger in the air because something just went click.
“What?” Grams asks, but then we hear a woman’s voice say, “Quick! Get in!”
I swoop inside the bathroom and close the door enough so we can both hide behind it, but leave it open enough so I can still see through the crack between the hinges and the doorframe. And there, across the living room, go Screwdriver Sally and Blue—the same two old biddies who’d been trying to break into the apartment earlier.
Screwdriver Sally pulls two empty pillowcases from under her sweater. “Here,” she says, handing one to Blue. “Anything that looks like we could pawn it.”
Blue nods. “I’ll start in the bedroom.”
“You’re going for the jewelry!” Screwdriver Sally says, like she’s accusing her of something.
“So? We’re splitting everything. Find what you can out here.”
But Screwdriver Sally shakes her head. “I’m coming with you.”
“What if Rita shows up? Someone needs to stay out here on watch!”
“Why would Rita show up?”
“She has a key!”
“She told Vinnie she doesn’t!”
“Well, everyone still thinks she does, and that’s the whole point! No one will suspect us—they’ll think it was her!”
But Screwdriver Sally isn’t about to let a little thing like getting busted stop her from keeping an eye on her partner in crime. She follows Blue into the bedroom, going, “Well, I’m coming with you.”