Return to Paradise
Page 4
“It’s all classified intel,” Todd says, raising his eyebrows just a little bit to make it sound really important. “You know. Homeland-security-type stuff. Apparently the government doesn’t like it too much if you try to destroy a school.”
“I bet, man.” I nod. “Hey, so I actually left my letter jacket in the locker room back before all this shit went down and—I know this is stupid, but I feel kind of naked without it. Do you think I could just run in really fast and grab it? I mean, you probably felt the same way about yours when you were racking up touchdowns, right? It’s like a second skin.”
Something weird happens to Todd’s face. He’s quiet, and it looks like he just got a big whiff of something foul. Finally, he just shakes his head.
“No can do, buddy,” he says slowly. “The place is off-limits. I’m not even supposed to go all the way to campus.”
“Yeah, but—”
“No,” he says again. This time there’s no room for argument.
I squint my eyes and try to see as far down the street that dead-ends into campus as I can, but all I can make out is a handful of big black SUVs and a couple of moving figures dressed in dark clothes.
Todd clears his throat, and I snap back to the present.
“It’s cool,” I say. “I just thought I’d ask.” I force a grin. “But if something happens to my jacket, I’m going to haunt you for the rest of your life.”
Todd gives a little smile as I back up and head away from the school.
They won’t even let him all the way up to campus? I think. What the hell are they doing there?
CHAPTER FOUR
MY GRANDMOTHER’S HOUSE IS AN OLDER HOME IN the country, two stories tall and filled with so much wood paneling that it feels kind of like a cabin on the inside. It’s where my parents and I are staying for the time being since our house is basically a pile of ash. My parents were going to start looking at building something new when everything in town went crazy, so now we’re camping out with Nana—my dad’s mom—indefinitely.
I’m hardly out of my truck before Abby, our golden retriever, is on her hind legs and trying to lick my face. Dozer, our bulldog, stands up on the porch and looks for a moment like he’s going to come greet me too before he just falls back down and starts to snore.
Inside, the house smells delicious—like pot roast and mashed potatoes. It’s my dad’s favorite, which means he’s probably in a bad mood today and Nana is trying to snap him out of it. My guess is justified, because when my grandmother peeks around the corner from the kitchen, she tells me Mom’s staying in Cleveland for another few weeks visiting her family, which, knowing my mom, is code for “I’m going crazy in this house with my mother-in-law.” She’s been acting kind of weird and distant since the whole house fire thing, but I keep telling myself things will be fine and she’ll come back to Paradise once everything’s blown over.
Dad gets home not much later than I do. I guess that’s one of the perks of being cut out of a big investigation—you get to have dinner on time every night. He tosses his dark sheriff’s hat on a table near the front door and heads to the guest room he’s staying in upstairs. Soon he’s back down in a sweatshirt and jeans, and the three of us sit down for dinner at Nana’s ancient round dining-room table that must weigh two tons.
Nana says grace and asks us about our days. I give a vague answer about school going well—as far as my family knows, there’s no difference in who I was at Paradise and who I am at Helena. My dad asks a few questions about whether or not the administration has decided if Paradise will have a baseball team this spring or if we’ll get merged with our new school, which would be worse than having no baseball at all. I shrug and dig into my dinner.
Eventually, I get to prodding about the investigation.
“I saw Todd today,” I say between bites of meat. “He told me they’re not even letting him up to the campus, even though he’s supposed to be protecting the site.”
“Officer Charleston,” Dad says, chewing through Todd’s last name, “is not supposed to be gossiping about police affairs. And certainly not about any ongoing investigations.”
“It was my fault. I stopped by when I saw he was manning the roadblock. Forced him into talking to me. Don’t worry; he wouldn’t let me step so much as a foot past him.”
Dad doesn’t say anything, just keeps on chewing with his eyes on his plate. I clear my throat a little and keep talking.
“So, uh. Have you been over to the school? What have they got going on over there? Any ideas about who or what was behind everything?”
“The Smith kid and his father were behind it,” Dad says, parroting the same thing everyone else has been saying.
I want to correct him and tell him that Henri wasn’t actually John’s father. That he was some kind of guardian who protected me and Sarah and the others—who died doing so. And that I watched his body burn in a ceremony behind a slummy motel close by.
But as far as Dad knows, John Smith was just a quiet guy in some of my classes, and I was nowhere near Paradise High the night everything went down. So instead I just ask: “How can they be sure it was him, though?”
“They’re sure.” Dad’s voice is gruff, meaning he’s done talking about the subject.
“Who wants more rolls?” Nana asks.
“Yeah, but what proof do they have?” I ask, feeling a little bad for ignoring my grandmother. “They must have something on him if they keep telling everyone he did it.”
“I bet, man.” I nod. “Hey, so I actually left my letter jacket in the locker room back before all this shit went down and—I know this is stupid, but I feel kind of naked without it. Do you think I could just run in really fast and grab it? I mean, you probably felt the same way about yours when you were racking up touchdowns, right? It’s like a second skin.”
Something weird happens to Todd’s face. He’s quiet, and it looks like he just got a big whiff of something foul. Finally, he just shakes his head.
“No can do, buddy,” he says slowly. “The place is off-limits. I’m not even supposed to go all the way to campus.”
“Yeah, but—”
“No,” he says again. This time there’s no room for argument.
I squint my eyes and try to see as far down the street that dead-ends into campus as I can, but all I can make out is a handful of big black SUVs and a couple of moving figures dressed in dark clothes.
Todd clears his throat, and I snap back to the present.
“It’s cool,” I say. “I just thought I’d ask.” I force a grin. “But if something happens to my jacket, I’m going to haunt you for the rest of your life.”
Todd gives a little smile as I back up and head away from the school.
They won’t even let him all the way up to campus? I think. What the hell are they doing there?
CHAPTER FOUR
MY GRANDMOTHER’S HOUSE IS AN OLDER HOME IN the country, two stories tall and filled with so much wood paneling that it feels kind of like a cabin on the inside. It’s where my parents and I are staying for the time being since our house is basically a pile of ash. My parents were going to start looking at building something new when everything in town went crazy, so now we’re camping out with Nana—my dad’s mom—indefinitely.
I’m hardly out of my truck before Abby, our golden retriever, is on her hind legs and trying to lick my face. Dozer, our bulldog, stands up on the porch and looks for a moment like he’s going to come greet me too before he just falls back down and starts to snore.
Inside, the house smells delicious—like pot roast and mashed potatoes. It’s my dad’s favorite, which means he’s probably in a bad mood today and Nana is trying to snap him out of it. My guess is justified, because when my grandmother peeks around the corner from the kitchen, she tells me Mom’s staying in Cleveland for another few weeks visiting her family, which, knowing my mom, is code for “I’m going crazy in this house with my mother-in-law.” She’s been acting kind of weird and distant since the whole house fire thing, but I keep telling myself things will be fine and she’ll come back to Paradise once everything’s blown over.
Dad gets home not much later than I do. I guess that’s one of the perks of being cut out of a big investigation—you get to have dinner on time every night. He tosses his dark sheriff’s hat on a table near the front door and heads to the guest room he’s staying in upstairs. Soon he’s back down in a sweatshirt and jeans, and the three of us sit down for dinner at Nana’s ancient round dining-room table that must weigh two tons.
Nana says grace and asks us about our days. I give a vague answer about school going well—as far as my family knows, there’s no difference in who I was at Paradise and who I am at Helena. My dad asks a few questions about whether or not the administration has decided if Paradise will have a baseball team this spring or if we’ll get merged with our new school, which would be worse than having no baseball at all. I shrug and dig into my dinner.
Eventually, I get to prodding about the investigation.
“I saw Todd today,” I say between bites of meat. “He told me they’re not even letting him up to the campus, even though he’s supposed to be protecting the site.”
“Officer Charleston,” Dad says, chewing through Todd’s last name, “is not supposed to be gossiping about police affairs. And certainly not about any ongoing investigations.”
“It was my fault. I stopped by when I saw he was manning the roadblock. Forced him into talking to me. Don’t worry; he wouldn’t let me step so much as a foot past him.”
Dad doesn’t say anything, just keeps on chewing with his eyes on his plate. I clear my throat a little and keep talking.
“So, uh. Have you been over to the school? What have they got going on over there? Any ideas about who or what was behind everything?”
“The Smith kid and his father were behind it,” Dad says, parroting the same thing everyone else has been saying.
I want to correct him and tell him that Henri wasn’t actually John’s father. That he was some kind of guardian who protected me and Sarah and the others—who died doing so. And that I watched his body burn in a ceremony behind a slummy motel close by.
But as far as Dad knows, John Smith was just a quiet guy in some of my classes, and I was nowhere near Paradise High the night everything went down. So instead I just ask: “How can they be sure it was him, though?”
“They’re sure.” Dad’s voice is gruff, meaning he’s done talking about the subject.
“Who wants more rolls?” Nana asks.
“Yeah, but what proof do they have?” I ask, feeling a little bad for ignoring my grandmother. “They must have something on him if they keep telling everyone he did it.”
