It’s no better to be safe than sorry.
Chapter 8: Take On Me
It’s no secret that I’m not one of the best and brightest students in our grade. Or school. I don’t deliberately fail or anything like that, but sometimes I have a really hard time concentrating in class when the subject matter is something I just can’t make myself care about. I do try, mostly for my parents’ sake, but for every time I manage a surprise “A” on an exam or assignment, there’s usually a corresponding “C” or “D” somewhere else. There have been a few times over the past couple of years where my quarter grade in math has slipped below 60 and garnered me both a stern lecture from my guidance counselor and a grounding at home, but for the most part, I’m able to keep my GPA in the high “C” to low “B” range. I figure that’s good enough to ensure I graduate somewhere in at least the upper 50% of our class next year and not bring too much shame down on Moms and Dad.
So it was with no small amount of cringe that I accepted the quiz paper from my English teacher as she walked down the aisle, knowing it was unlikely I’d be able to answer any questions about a chapter I’d forgotten to read in The Return of the Native. I could already hear my mother’s disappointed voice telling me I was letting outside things take up too much of my time and attention and I needed to refocus on what was truly important.
The thing was that helping my big brother was truly important to me, I thought as I glumly read the first question. I know my parents, and probably every adult I know, would say that was a situation best left to the grown-ups, but I wasn’t willing to sit back and take the chance that the real culprit was never found and Brian either took the blame or at least was forever branded a book thief in the public’s mind.
Lunch was a reprieve. I arrived at our table first and was just pulling my sandwich from my sack when the conversation at the next table caught my attention.
“Yeah, well, I heard he was part of a street gang and got sent here to get straightened out,” a boy I didn’t know was saying.
“Just because he wears a leather jacket, doesn’t mean he’s part of a gang,” Joan Claremont pointed out. “This isn’t some cheesy Hollywood movie.”
I watched as Scott Harper walked up the table and set down his tray. “If you’re talking about the new kid, I’d stay away from him,” he advised.
Joan shook her head. “Not you, too. Stop judging him based on his clothes!”
“I’m not judging him based on that,” Scott denied a bit hotly. “He was bragging to some of the guys in PE today about being part of a gang in Houston before moving here. And that was after he implied he’d beat up anyone who he thought crossed him. He just seems like trouble.”
Now, that was interesting, I mused. Our normally quiet little town was facing theft and arson just as a gang member turned up? Could it really be a coincidence? My friends arrived and I decided not to mention my suspicions until later when we could talk in private. Instead, I listened quietly as Di talked about meeting with our school counselor to discuss her college applications and Jim entertained us with a humorous story his Spanish teacher had shared about her trip to Europe the prior summer where she got hopelessly lost while touring Italy. It made me regret again choosing French for my foreign language. Senora Hallen sounded totally fun and cool any time Jim talked about her.
The rest of my school day wasn’t as bad as English, but it wasn’t much better. I was thoroughly relieved when the final bell rang and I trudged to my locker, ready to put it all behind me. Or, rather, behind me until the next day, when I faced the consequences of my failed quiz. The halls were filled with the usual chatter. There was an away game the following night, over in Rutledge, and that was the dominant topic, though I overheard some talk about Marv Easton and someone complaining about his homework load.
Mart met me at my locker to let me know Jim was requesting a short meeting at the library to discuss the theme of our Homecoming float. When we arrived, there were already several others there sitting at the study tables in back, including Honey and Di. I didn’t know every student by name, but assumed they were either classmates of Jim’s or other Honor Society members.
Jim was standing next to Honey’s chair, looking rather harried. “Are you all right?” I asked him quietly, grabbing his hand and linking our fingers together.
He blew out a short breath and smiled ruefully. “Yeah. But I’m glad you’re here. Maybe we can get started? So far, all the girls have wanted to talk about is Dan. We have this and Homecoming and mid-terms… plenty of other things to think and worry about.”
“Dan? You mean Dan Mangan?”
“Uh, huh. Apparently, the consensus is, he’s very ‘cute’. Even my normally level-headed sister thinks so.”
I glanced at Honey with one brow raised. She lifted both shoulders in a shrug, looking slightly embarrassed, but she didn’t deny Jim’s statement.
“Well, he is,” Di said with an easy laugh, gaining a small frown from my twin. “Whatever else you might think of him, Dan Mangan is fine.”
“Agreed!” Jane Morgan declared to the giggles of the two girls sitting with her.
Jim rolled his eyes and gave me a beseeching look. “Right,” I said loudly enough to get everyone’s attention. “He’s, like, totally bodacious, y'all. However, I don’t think we’re going to have a Dan Mangan themed float, so…”
Talk began in earnest about what everyone wanted the float to look like versus what we could probably manage to pull off in the short amount of time we had to build it. This was the part where I tuned out. I’m more of a doer than a planner, so I figured the others could hash out all the details and once everything was decided, someone would let me know what my part or tasks would be. Until this year, I’d been on the set crew for our school plays since 6th grade, mostly to get out of having to be in the plays. This year I was off the hook. Participation is voluntary for juniors and seniors, with the idea that we have other things like SATs and college applications to worry about. In any case, it means I do have some experience in the art of making paint and plywood magically turn into all manner of things.
By the time the meeting wrapped up, Di had created a sketch of a float that would consist of Spanish-style building, about the size of a large doghouse, to represent the school in San Isidro, and signs to hang on both sides, asking for donations. Meanwhile, Honey also offered up some suggestions for outfits we could wear to man the booth at the carnival.
We were filing out of the library when Honey slipped her arm through mine and waved Di over. “Let’s take advantage of the lovely weather and take the horses out,” she suggested. “It’s been ages and I’m sure Regan would appreciate the help.”
“That sounds like a great idea,” I told her. “Especially since I probably won’t be going to the game tomorrow night.”
“How come?”
“Because I completely failed my The Return of the Native quiz today and I know Moms will tell me I have to stay home and study. Which really isn’t a bad idea, anyway, with mid-terms next week.”
“Oh, you always say you did terrible on your tests and then you usually pass just fine,” Di said encouragingly.
“Not this time. I forgot the quiz on chapter six was today and I’ve only read through chapter five.”
Honey winced and patted my shoulder sympathetically. “Well, you’ve had a lot on your mind, obviously.”
“I know. But Moms is still not gonna be happy with me, and I deserve it. So let’s have some fun this afternoon for my last day of freedom.”
I told Mart I was going to ride home with Honey and Jim. He agreed to handle all of the dinner prep for the evening, and in exchange, I’d take his vacuuming chore over the weekend.
The Manor House estate is enormous. Along with Regan the groom, Honey’s family employs a chauffeur, two maids, a cook, a gardener, and a scarily efficient manager, Miss Trask. Once upon a time, Honey had attended boarding school. She doesn’t talk about it much, other than to say how much she hated it and was miserable every single day. Her parents finally consented to bringing her home, at first hiring Miss Trask on as a governess. Eventually, Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler recognized the benefit (thanks a lot to Miss Trask’s gentle urging), of letting Honey attend the local school along with all the other kids living on Glen Road, so now she’s officially one of us.
We found Regan just bringing Mr. Wheeler’s big, black gelding, Jupiter, in from a ride. I studied him carefully and decided he didn’t look particularly ill, but I knew looks could be deceiving in that case and I wasn’t yet ready to rule some debilitating or life-threatening disease out entirely.
We saddled our horses while we waited for Di to ride over from her place. I was delighted to be taking out Susie, the most adorable little mare imaginable. She’s the sweetest thing ever and I secretly like to pretend she’s mine, even though of course she belongs to the Wheelers.
“Oh!” I said suddenly, remembering the conversation I’d overheard at lunch. “I didn’t want to say anything earlier, but I heard something today about the totally fine and bodacious Dan.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, apparently, he used to be part of a street gang in Houston.”
Honey turned to me, holding the bridle she was intending to use with her horse, Lady. “Where on Earth did you hear that?” she demanded.
I noticed that Regan had stopped brushing down Jupiter and was staring at me, too.
“You know Scott Harper?” At Honey’s nod, I continued. “He said Dan was threatening kids in PE and claiming he’d been in a gang.”
Honey’s brow furrowed and she slowly shook her head. “I don’t know, Trix. I mean, if he was really that dangerous, wouldn’t he be in juvie or something?”
“Not if he never got caught.”
“Maybe it was a front?” Honey suggested.
“What do you mean?”
“Maybe he’s really scared, but doesn’t want anyone to know, so he’s trying to act all tough since he's new here and doesn't know anyone.”
“By saying he was part of a gang?” I asked skeptically.
“Some people talk that way, Trixie,” Regan said. “You know, trying to sound big because they think it’ll make other people like them.”
That seemed like a strange way of going about making friends to me, and I said as much. “Wouldn’t he say something else then? I mean, like claim he had famous parents or he’s a genius or, I don’t know… just not something that would probably make kids afraid of him?”
Regan shrugged, glancing away. “You said he was threatening kids? Maybe he felt threatened himself and this was his way of trying to protect himself. Being alone at a new school where he doesn’t know anyone can be tough.”
This was, obviously, not the first time I’d been reminded that it was hard to be “the new kid.” I tried to convince myself that this was just another sign I needed to be more sympathetic toward Dan, but it was still hard for me to grasp the idea that someone would pretend to be a street gang member in a place like Bowdon. I understood, as much as I could, that part of the attraction to gangs in cities was a sense of protection. But this was Bowdon. What protection could Dan possibly need?
Of course, to be fair, Dan didn’t know Bowdon like I did, so maybe he wasn’t sure who – if anyone – he could trust here. “Okay,” I said finally. “I will try to… be more friendly. I guess, if nothing else, I should do that for Mr. Maypenny’s sake. He’s always been super kind to me. The least I can do is return the favor for his grandson.”
Regan frowned. “Grandson? Where’d you get that? Maypenny hired the kid to be his assistant.”
“Oh,” I said in surprise. “I don’t know, really. We were just guessing, but there’s no reason he should be, I suppose. It would be kinda nice, though, since Mr. Maypenny doesn’t have anybody. Do you know for sure he isn’t his grandson or some other relation?”
Regan didn’t reply immediately and when he did, I wasn’t sure you could say he’d truly answered my question. “If you ask me, he’s probably satisfied without relations. Most of the time all you get from them is grief.”
Honey and I traded doubtful glances. Regan wasn’t exactly known for being Mr. Cheery, but that seemed like a dark sentiment, even for him. We silently agreed to let the matter drop, though, and concentrated on getting our horses ready for our afternoon ride.
The Wheeler estate has many crisscrossing trails perfect for horseback riding. We met Diana right outside the stable and took a path that led through the piney woods toward the bluffs. As we passed the old, abandoned and overgrown gatehouse that I personally think would make a perfectly awesome secret clubhouse, my attention was caught by something that caused me to rein Susie in.
“Dan’s been here,” I said, frowning heavily as I pointed at the black leather jacket tossed carelessly onto a fallen log. “Or maybe he’s still around?” I added, scanning the area.
“Well, he might be,” Honey agreed, “but I guess that’s not too surprising, if Mr. Maypenny’s hired him to be an assistant?”
She had a point, but somehow, I still felt something was not right about the jacket and its location.
“I hope he hasn’t forgotten it,” she murmured worriedly. “It’s supposed to be pretty cold this weekend and I don’t get the impression he has another jacket or coat to wear.”
“Should we take it with us?” Di wondered. “And try to return it to him at school tomorrow?”
I shook my head. “No. Better not. If he comes back looking for it and it isn’t here, he might think we deliberately stole it. If he doesn’t have it at school tomorrow, we can let him know we saw it.”
We spent our ride discussing a variety of topics, from the stolen books and who might have it out for Brian to Homecoming and our dates. Though Di asked some fairly probing questions, Honey stuck with her insistence that Nick Roberts was nothing more than a friend.
It was getting dangerously close to dinner time when I’d finally finished with brushing down Susie and cleaning the tack. I traded my riding boots for my sneakers, said my goodbyes to my friends, and headed for home, waving one last time as Diana rode off toward the Lynch estate.
I was almost to the end of the path that came out onto Crabapple Farm’s border when I ran into Dan. He’d just come off a branching trail and seemed completely surprised to see me. He was wearing his leather jacket, so I figured at least that was something we no longer had to concern ourselves with.
“So you went back for it,” I said, for lack of anything better to talk about.
“What?” He scowled at me and I didn’t think he was faking his confusion.
“Your jacket. You went back for it. We saw it over by the gatehouse earlier. Honey was afraid you’d forgotten it.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I didn’t leave my jacket anywhere and I wasn’t anywhere near any gatehouse. I don’t even know what a gatehouse is.”
I couldn’t stop myself from rolling my eyes. “Look, I don’t know why you think you need to deny it. We all saw it. Me, Honey, and Di.”
“You mighta saw something, but it wasn’t my jacket.”
I was at a loss at this point. Why was he being so adamant about this? So what if he’d left his jacket at the gatehouse? Was there some reason in particular that he didn’t want us to know he’d been near it? That question definitely got warning bells ringing in my head. “Despite what you’re claiming, your jacket was there and we saw it,” I said firmly. “End of story. Unless you have something to add?”
“Yeah. I have a question,” Dan said. He pointed toward the ground. “Why do you have ‘David’ and ‘Bowie’ written on your shoes?”
Huh? I looked down myself. Not because I didn’t already know exactly what was written on my shoes, but because I needed a second to process the abrupt change in topic. “So I can remember which shoe goes on which foot?” I finally replied in my most sarcastic tone. “You know, if you’ve got a problem with David Bowie, this conversation will absolutely end right now.”
Okay, so yes, I do have “David” written across the toe of one shoe and “Bowie” on the other, and no, obviously it isn’t because I need extra help in figuring out left from right. The truth is, I just like his music and I was bored one afternoon and this is what Bored Trixie with a Permanent Marker gets you. But I wasn’t really such a rabid fan that I was going to go running away just because someone else didn’t care for the man. I don’t know why I was feeling the need to defend him quite so fiercely at the moment. What was it about Dan Mangan that every time I talked to him, I found myself reacting so strongly to everything he said?
“No,” Dan said, surprising me and interrupting my thoughts. “He’s cool.”
“Oh.”
We regarded each other uncertainly for a moment. “What were we talking about again?” I asked as the silence stretched on.
“My jacket?”
“Oh, right. Are you still claiming you didn’t leave it near the Wheelers’ gatehouse this afternoon?”
“Yeah. Because I didn’t. Like I said, I wasn’t anywhere near any gatehouse, whatever that is.”
“I know what we saw.”
Dan shrugged. “Well, I don’t know what you saw. All I know is, whatever it was, it wasn’t my jacket.”
We were going around in circles. With a frustrated sigh, I reached up and ran a hand through my curls.
Dan suddenly huffed out a breath and shook his head. “Look, Freckles, I don’t know what you saw. You can keep grilling me ‘til next Tuesday, and I’m still gonna tell you the same thing. I wasn’t anywhere near your gatehouse all day and I never left my jacket there or anywhere else. I’ve had it on the whole time.”
Freckles? Did he really just call me that? Sheesh. I was trying to think of a suitable reply when he turned on his heel and marched off.
I filed the confrontation away as something to discuss with Mart that evening to get his opinion and hurried on my way. Moms never likes it when we’re late for dinner and since I was already facing the impending lecture over my failed quiz, I knew it would be to my benefit not to provide her any other reasons to be upset with me this close to Homecoming.
So it was with no small amount of cringe that I accepted the quiz paper from my English teacher as she walked down the aisle, knowing it was unlikely I’d be able to answer any questions about a chapter I’d forgotten to read in The Return of the Native. I could already hear my mother’s disappointed voice telling me I was letting outside things take up too much of my time and attention and I needed to refocus on what was truly important.
The thing was that helping my big brother was truly important to me, I thought as I glumly read the first question. I know my parents, and probably every adult I know, would say that was a situation best left to the grown-ups, but I wasn’t willing to sit back and take the chance that the real culprit was never found and Brian either took the blame or at least was forever branded a book thief in the public’s mind.
Lunch was a reprieve. I arrived at our table first and was just pulling my sandwich from my sack when the conversation at the next table caught my attention.
“Yeah, well, I heard he was part of a street gang and got sent here to get straightened out,” a boy I didn’t know was saying.
“Just because he wears a leather jacket, doesn’t mean he’s part of a gang,” Joan Claremont pointed out. “This isn’t some cheesy Hollywood movie.”
I watched as Scott Harper walked up the table and set down his tray. “If you’re talking about the new kid, I’d stay away from him,” he advised.
Joan shook her head. “Not you, too. Stop judging him based on his clothes!”
“I’m not judging him based on that,” Scott denied a bit hotly. “He was bragging to some of the guys in PE today about being part of a gang in Houston before moving here. And that was after he implied he’d beat up anyone who he thought crossed him. He just seems like trouble.”
Now, that was interesting, I mused. Our normally quiet little town was facing theft and arson just as a gang member turned up? Could it really be a coincidence? My friends arrived and I decided not to mention my suspicions until later when we could talk in private. Instead, I listened quietly as Di talked about meeting with our school counselor to discuss her college applications and Jim entertained us with a humorous story his Spanish teacher had shared about her trip to Europe the prior summer where she got hopelessly lost while touring Italy. It made me regret again choosing French for my foreign language. Senora Hallen sounded totally fun and cool any time Jim talked about her.
The rest of my school day wasn’t as bad as English, but it wasn’t much better. I was thoroughly relieved when the final bell rang and I trudged to my locker, ready to put it all behind me. Or, rather, behind me until the next day, when I faced the consequences of my failed quiz. The halls were filled with the usual chatter. There was an away game the following night, over in Rutledge, and that was the dominant topic, though I overheard some talk about Marv Easton and someone complaining about his homework load.
Mart met me at my locker to let me know Jim was requesting a short meeting at the library to discuss the theme of our Homecoming float. When we arrived, there were already several others there sitting at the study tables in back, including Honey and Di. I didn’t know every student by name, but assumed they were either classmates of Jim’s or other Honor Society members.
Jim was standing next to Honey’s chair, looking rather harried. “Are you all right?” I asked him quietly, grabbing his hand and linking our fingers together.
He blew out a short breath and smiled ruefully. “Yeah. But I’m glad you’re here. Maybe we can get started? So far, all the girls have wanted to talk about is Dan. We have this and Homecoming and mid-terms… plenty of other things to think and worry about.”
“Dan? You mean Dan Mangan?”
“Uh, huh. Apparently, the consensus is, he’s very ‘cute’. Even my normally level-headed sister thinks so.”
I glanced at Honey with one brow raised. She lifted both shoulders in a shrug, looking slightly embarrassed, but she didn’t deny Jim’s statement.
“Well, he is,” Di said with an easy laugh, gaining a small frown from my twin. “Whatever else you might think of him, Dan Mangan is fine.”
“Agreed!” Jane Morgan declared to the giggles of the two girls sitting with her.
Jim rolled his eyes and gave me a beseeching look. “Right,” I said loudly enough to get everyone’s attention. “He’s, like, totally bodacious, y'all. However, I don’t think we’re going to have a Dan Mangan themed float, so…”
Talk began in earnest about what everyone wanted the float to look like versus what we could probably manage to pull off in the short amount of time we had to build it. This was the part where I tuned out. I’m more of a doer than a planner, so I figured the others could hash out all the details and once everything was decided, someone would let me know what my part or tasks would be. Until this year, I’d been on the set crew for our school plays since 6th grade, mostly to get out of having to be in the plays. This year I was off the hook. Participation is voluntary for juniors and seniors, with the idea that we have other things like SATs and college applications to worry about. In any case, it means I do have some experience in the art of making paint and plywood magically turn into all manner of things.
By the time the meeting wrapped up, Di had created a sketch of a float that would consist of Spanish-style building, about the size of a large doghouse, to represent the school in San Isidro, and signs to hang on both sides, asking for donations. Meanwhile, Honey also offered up some suggestions for outfits we could wear to man the booth at the carnival.
We were filing out of the library when Honey slipped her arm through mine and waved Di over. “Let’s take advantage of the lovely weather and take the horses out,” she suggested. “It’s been ages and I’m sure Regan would appreciate the help.”
“That sounds like a great idea,” I told her. “Especially since I probably won’t be going to the game tomorrow night.”
“How come?”
“Because I completely failed my The Return of the Native quiz today and I know Moms will tell me I have to stay home and study. Which really isn’t a bad idea, anyway, with mid-terms next week.”
“Oh, you always say you did terrible on your tests and then you usually pass just fine,” Di said encouragingly.
“Not this time. I forgot the quiz on chapter six was today and I’ve only read through chapter five.”
Honey winced and patted my shoulder sympathetically. “Well, you’ve had a lot on your mind, obviously.”
“I know. But Moms is still not gonna be happy with me, and I deserve it. So let’s have some fun this afternoon for my last day of freedom.”
I told Mart I was going to ride home with Honey and Jim. He agreed to handle all of the dinner prep for the evening, and in exchange, I’d take his vacuuming chore over the weekend.
The Manor House estate is enormous. Along with Regan the groom, Honey’s family employs a chauffeur, two maids, a cook, a gardener, and a scarily efficient manager, Miss Trask. Once upon a time, Honey had attended boarding school. She doesn’t talk about it much, other than to say how much she hated it and was miserable every single day. Her parents finally consented to bringing her home, at first hiring Miss Trask on as a governess. Eventually, Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler recognized the benefit (thanks a lot to Miss Trask’s gentle urging), of letting Honey attend the local school along with all the other kids living on Glen Road, so now she’s officially one of us.
We found Regan just bringing Mr. Wheeler’s big, black gelding, Jupiter, in from a ride. I studied him carefully and decided he didn’t look particularly ill, but I knew looks could be deceiving in that case and I wasn’t yet ready to rule some debilitating or life-threatening disease out entirely.
We saddled our horses while we waited for Di to ride over from her place. I was delighted to be taking out Susie, the most adorable little mare imaginable. She’s the sweetest thing ever and I secretly like to pretend she’s mine, even though of course she belongs to the Wheelers.
“Oh!” I said suddenly, remembering the conversation I’d overheard at lunch. “I didn’t want to say anything earlier, but I heard something today about the totally fine and bodacious Dan.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, apparently, he used to be part of a street gang in Houston.”
Honey turned to me, holding the bridle she was intending to use with her horse, Lady. “Where on Earth did you hear that?” she demanded.
I noticed that Regan had stopped brushing down Jupiter and was staring at me, too.
“You know Scott Harper?” At Honey’s nod, I continued. “He said Dan was threatening kids in PE and claiming he’d been in a gang.”
Honey’s brow furrowed and she slowly shook her head. “I don’t know, Trix. I mean, if he was really that dangerous, wouldn’t he be in juvie or something?”
“Not if he never got caught.”
“Maybe it was a front?” Honey suggested.
“What do you mean?”
“Maybe he’s really scared, but doesn’t want anyone to know, so he’s trying to act all tough since he's new here and doesn't know anyone.”
“By saying he was part of a gang?” I asked skeptically.
“Some people talk that way, Trixie,” Regan said. “You know, trying to sound big because they think it’ll make other people like them.”
That seemed like a strange way of going about making friends to me, and I said as much. “Wouldn’t he say something else then? I mean, like claim he had famous parents or he’s a genius or, I don’t know… just not something that would probably make kids afraid of him?”
Regan shrugged, glancing away. “You said he was threatening kids? Maybe he felt threatened himself and this was his way of trying to protect himself. Being alone at a new school where he doesn’t know anyone can be tough.”
This was, obviously, not the first time I’d been reminded that it was hard to be “the new kid.” I tried to convince myself that this was just another sign I needed to be more sympathetic toward Dan, but it was still hard for me to grasp the idea that someone would pretend to be a street gang member in a place like Bowdon. I understood, as much as I could, that part of the attraction to gangs in cities was a sense of protection. But this was Bowdon. What protection could Dan possibly need?
Of course, to be fair, Dan didn’t know Bowdon like I did, so maybe he wasn’t sure who – if anyone – he could trust here. “Okay,” I said finally. “I will try to… be more friendly. I guess, if nothing else, I should do that for Mr. Maypenny’s sake. He’s always been super kind to me. The least I can do is return the favor for his grandson.”
Regan frowned. “Grandson? Where’d you get that? Maypenny hired the kid to be his assistant.”
“Oh,” I said in surprise. “I don’t know, really. We were just guessing, but there’s no reason he should be, I suppose. It would be kinda nice, though, since Mr. Maypenny doesn’t have anybody. Do you know for sure he isn’t his grandson or some other relation?”
Regan didn’t reply immediately and when he did, I wasn’t sure you could say he’d truly answered my question. “If you ask me, he’s probably satisfied without relations. Most of the time all you get from them is grief.”
Honey and I traded doubtful glances. Regan wasn’t exactly known for being Mr. Cheery, but that seemed like a dark sentiment, even for him. We silently agreed to let the matter drop, though, and concentrated on getting our horses ready for our afternoon ride.
The Wheeler estate has many crisscrossing trails perfect for horseback riding. We met Diana right outside the stable and took a path that led through the piney woods toward the bluffs. As we passed the old, abandoned and overgrown gatehouse that I personally think would make a perfectly awesome secret clubhouse, my attention was caught by something that caused me to rein Susie in.
“Dan’s been here,” I said, frowning heavily as I pointed at the black leather jacket tossed carelessly onto a fallen log. “Or maybe he’s still around?” I added, scanning the area.
“Well, he might be,” Honey agreed, “but I guess that’s not too surprising, if Mr. Maypenny’s hired him to be an assistant?”
She had a point, but somehow, I still felt something was not right about the jacket and its location.
“I hope he hasn’t forgotten it,” she murmured worriedly. “It’s supposed to be pretty cold this weekend and I don’t get the impression he has another jacket or coat to wear.”
“Should we take it with us?” Di wondered. “And try to return it to him at school tomorrow?”
I shook my head. “No. Better not. If he comes back looking for it and it isn’t here, he might think we deliberately stole it. If he doesn’t have it at school tomorrow, we can let him know we saw it.”
We spent our ride discussing a variety of topics, from the stolen books and who might have it out for Brian to Homecoming and our dates. Though Di asked some fairly probing questions, Honey stuck with her insistence that Nick Roberts was nothing more than a friend.
It was getting dangerously close to dinner time when I’d finally finished with brushing down Susie and cleaning the tack. I traded my riding boots for my sneakers, said my goodbyes to my friends, and headed for home, waving one last time as Diana rode off toward the Lynch estate.
I was almost to the end of the path that came out onto Crabapple Farm’s border when I ran into Dan. He’d just come off a branching trail and seemed completely surprised to see me. He was wearing his leather jacket, so I figured at least that was something we no longer had to concern ourselves with.
“So you went back for it,” I said, for lack of anything better to talk about.
“What?” He scowled at me and I didn’t think he was faking his confusion.
“Your jacket. You went back for it. We saw it over by the gatehouse earlier. Honey was afraid you’d forgotten it.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I didn’t leave my jacket anywhere and I wasn’t anywhere near any gatehouse. I don’t even know what a gatehouse is.”
I couldn’t stop myself from rolling my eyes. “Look, I don’t know why you think you need to deny it. We all saw it. Me, Honey, and Di.”
“You mighta saw something, but it wasn’t my jacket.”
I was at a loss at this point. Why was he being so adamant about this? So what if he’d left his jacket at the gatehouse? Was there some reason in particular that he didn’t want us to know he’d been near it? That question definitely got warning bells ringing in my head. “Despite what you’re claiming, your jacket was there and we saw it,” I said firmly. “End of story. Unless you have something to add?”
“Yeah. I have a question,” Dan said. He pointed toward the ground. “Why do you have ‘David’ and ‘Bowie’ written on your shoes?”
Huh? I looked down myself. Not because I didn’t already know exactly what was written on my shoes, but because I needed a second to process the abrupt change in topic. “So I can remember which shoe goes on which foot?” I finally replied in my most sarcastic tone. “You know, if you’ve got a problem with David Bowie, this conversation will absolutely end right now.”
Okay, so yes, I do have “David” written across the toe of one shoe and “Bowie” on the other, and no, obviously it isn’t because I need extra help in figuring out left from right. The truth is, I just like his music and I was bored one afternoon and this is what Bored Trixie with a Permanent Marker gets you. But I wasn’t really such a rabid fan that I was going to go running away just because someone else didn’t care for the man. I don’t know why I was feeling the need to defend him quite so fiercely at the moment. What was it about Dan Mangan that every time I talked to him, I found myself reacting so strongly to everything he said?
“No,” Dan said, surprising me and interrupting my thoughts. “He’s cool.”
“Oh.”
We regarded each other uncertainly for a moment. “What were we talking about again?” I asked as the silence stretched on.
“My jacket?”
“Oh, right. Are you still claiming you didn’t leave it near the Wheelers’ gatehouse this afternoon?”
“Yeah. Because I didn’t. Like I said, I wasn’t anywhere near any gatehouse, whatever that is.”
“I know what we saw.”
Dan shrugged. “Well, I don’t know what you saw. All I know is, whatever it was, it wasn’t my jacket.”
We were going around in circles. With a frustrated sigh, I reached up and ran a hand through my curls.
Dan suddenly huffed out a breath and shook his head. “Look, Freckles, I don’t know what you saw. You can keep grilling me ‘til next Tuesday, and I’m still gonna tell you the same thing. I wasn’t anywhere near your gatehouse all day and I never left my jacket there or anywhere else. I’ve had it on the whole time.”
Freckles? Did he really just call me that? Sheesh. I was trying to think of a suitable reply when he turned on his heel and marched off.
I filed the confrontation away as something to discuss with Mart that evening to get his opinion and hurried on my way. Moms never likes it when we’re late for dinner and since I was already facing the impending lecture over my failed quiz, I knew it would be to my benefit not to provide her any other reasons to be upset with me this close to Homecoming.