Blood Trail

Blood Trail

Nancy Springer

To Jaime

chapter one

“Crawdad fight!” Aaron yelled, holding a humongous crayfish in one hand as he lunged through the water at me. He aimed its claws toward my face. “C'mon, Jeremy, defend yourself!”

I yipped and dived for the bottom of the river, searching for a weapon of my own. All I saw were itty-bitty crayfish sending up puffs of silt as they backed under rocks. How had Aaron caught that monster? It was practically the size of a lobster, and pissed off. If it got its claws on my bare skin, it would give me one hell of a nip. Trust Aaron to grab the biggest, baddest crawdad in the swimming hole—

And here he came, diving at me in a rush of bubbles, that hellacious crawdad aimed my way. Even underwater, he was grinning.

Crawdad fight, my eye. I didn't stand a chance. I pushed off the bottom of the swimming hole and shot to the surface, where I sucked in a big breath of air. Then I swam hard toward shore.

There was an Aaron-size splash behind me as he surfaced. “Booger,” he yelled, “where you going?” He sounded puppy-dog hurt, but I knew he was clowning around. I mean, Aaron and I had been friends since third grade. When we were little, he used to fool me, but now we were starting senior year, and I knew when he was kidding.

“You think you're hot snot on a silver platter,” he yelled, “but you're just a cold Booger on a paper plate!”

I started laughing, which is not a good idea when you're trying to swim. Water went up my nose and made me cough. Aaron swam after me, but he was splashing like a hippo, because with that crayfish in one hand he couldn't swim right. Even coughing, I got to the boulders at the edge of the river in plenty of time to haul myself out and look around for some kind of counter-crawdad armament. Okay, my bike helmet. Aaron and I had been biking to get in shape for football, and we'd stopped at the river for a swim.

He did an end around past the boulders and climbed out of the river, still grinning, still wielding his giant crayfish. “Better give it up, Booger,” he teased.

“No way, nimrod.” Arms outstretched, bike helmet in both hands as a shield, I faced off with him.

“Then prepare to be creamed.” Aaron advanced with crayfish at the ready.

With every step he took the crawdad looked bigger. “Jeez, man,” I said, “that thing's enormous. You should take it home and feed your family.”

Just like that, Aaron's hand dropped, and he lost his grin. He turned away from me, crouched by the river, and let the crayfish go scuttling back into the water. Without a word he sat on a boulder, just staring.

What the hey? I had no idea. I parked myself on another boulder and did some staring myself, watching the minnows swarming in the sunlit shallows at the river's edge. My wet shorts trickled on the rock. The sun dried my shoulders.

After a while I asked, “What's the matter?”

Aaron muttered, “Nothing.”

“C'mon, Aaron. What's got you torqued?”

He sighed, then said, “Family, schmamily. I don't want to go home.”

“How come?”

There could have been lots of reasons, like too many decisions waiting for him, whether to join the army or go to college, all that. Or maybe he was in trouble with his parents because his kid sister had ratted on him about something. Or maybe he was fighting with his brother. Or maybe his parents were fighting with each other. I expected him to say something like that.

But what he actually said was, “Booger, I'm scared.”

I was so surprised, I didn't say anything. Just for a minute I thought he was setting up one of his jokes, like the time he got into the girls' locker room and switched all the bras around.

“I mean it, Jeremy!” He wasn't clowning. He faced me with his eyes shadowy dark, with his round face stark serious. “I'm scared.”

“Huh?” I didn't have a clue what he was talking about.

He said, “Huh, hell, pay attention,” but he didn't roll his eyes as usual.

I said, “Scared to go home? You mean, like, today?”

“Noooo, next year. Duh.” But he didn't smile. He looked down, picked up a round stone, and held it like an egg in his hand.

“How come?”

“Just—I've got this stupid feeling. Like something's gonna happen.”

In all the years I'd known Aaron, I'd hardly ever seen him without a big grin spreading across his chipmunk cheeks. I mean, we could be two yards from our own goal line and Aaron would still grin. But not now.

I said, “Something's going to happen? Like what?”

Aaron stared at the river. He tossed the stone into the water, splat. The minnows scattered.

“Nothing,” he muttered.

We were back where we'd started. “Nothing, my ass. What's the matter? What are you scared of?”

He pressed his lips together, but then he said it. “Nathan.”

His brother.

“Nathan? What about him?” I'd barely seen Nathan all summer. Maybe if Aaron and I were at his house watching a movie, Nathan might ghost through. Never said anything. Mostly he just stayed in his room with the shades pulled down. But Nathan was always weird that way, at least for the past couple of years, anyway.

I asked, “You guys been fighting?” Once, back in eighth grade, they fought so bad, Aaron broke Nathan's arm.

It was hard to believe Aaron and Nathan were twins—not identical twins, just the other kind. They were both a lot of fun—at least Nathan used to be fun—but they were way different. Aaron was like a big friendly golden retriever, always wanting to play catch or go for a walk, whatever. Everybody liked him. But Nathan was more like one of those racing dogs, a greyhound, all edges, always in a hurry to get somewhere. When he grinned, it was more like he was showing his teeth. Nathan was a cut master. Some kids kind of admired him, but not like friends. More like spectators. Nobody hassled Nathan, because he could carve you up just by saying something. A guy's got to be good at verbal abuse in high school, and Nathan was the best. Not just abuse, but any kind of talk. Nathan was a brain. He was on the debate team, and teachers said he was brilliant, but for some reason he didn't do great in school. Aaron got better grades—I could never figure why.

I said, “What's wrong with Nathan?”

“Oh, nothing.” Aaron got up, flexing his muscles, and reached for his shirt. “Come on, I gotta get back. Ma said I have to unload the dishwasher and stuff.”

“Aaron—”

“Come on, Booger. I'm just being stupid. Imagining things.”

Whatever it was, I figured he would tell me about it when he was ready.

We pushed the bikes up a shale slope, then pedaled along the river road. Aaron pumped his dirt bike like he had a devil after him. It was all curves, all uphill, with scrub pine and locust trees leaning over us tired and gray at the end of summer, with the bored old Appalachian Mountains looking down. Aaron rode so hard he kept me out of breath all the way back to the development.

A brick sign at the entrance said
PEERAGE HEIGHTS,
which is really stretching it in an armpit town like Pinto River. I mean, it's just a half-dead coal town along a rocky, polluted river with a goofy name, Pinto, nobody knows why, and there's nothing classy about living here. Peerage Heights? We're sure not nobility and there isn't any hill. Why don't they ever give developments names like Possum Swamp or Roadkill Hollow? But they don't. It's Peerage Heights. Aaron and I rode on back to our street, Regency Drive.

We got to my house first and stopped the bikes at the bottom of the driveway. By then I was thinking about a drink of water and my aching legs and not much else. “Well, see you at practice,” I said.

But Aaron had that weird look on his face again. “Jeremy, do me a favor? Call me in about ten minutes.”

“Huh?” I was fumbling to get my stupid bike helmet off my sweaty head. I hate bike helmets, but Coach had made us promise to wear them.

Aaron didn't even say
Huh, hell, pay attention.
He just stared at me, shadowy-eyed.

Hands under my chin, I stared back at him. “Call you? Why?”

“No reason. Just call me.” Aaron made it like an order, then got out of there fast so I wouldn't ask anything more.

Aaron was a big guy, and his bike looked too small for him as he rode away. He had his helmet off already, hanging by its straps from his arm. The sun on his buzzcut hair made it look kind of reddish.

I got my helmet off, feeling dead tired. Worn out. I stomped into my house and glubbed water in the kitchen, just wanting a few minutes of peace—but nah, in the next room my kid sister, Jamy, was parked in front of the TV with three of her pimply middle-school girlfriends. The three extra brats squealed like guinea pigs when they saw me.

“Oooh, it's Jeremy!”

“Stud muffin!” That was Aaron's kid sister, Aardy. Well, her real name was Cecily, but everybody called her Aardy, because Aaron said she looked like an aardvark.

“Look at those big sweaty muscles!”

“Look at those big sweaty feet!”

“Look at that big sweaty booger nose!”

I told Cecily, “You should talk, aardvark nose.” Actually, she just had a narrow face, like her brother Nathan—half brother, I mean. Mrs. Gingrich had been married before. But Mr. Gingrich always acted like he was really Nathan and Aaron's father.

“Your nose is uglier!” Aardy yelled.

“But
studly
,” cooed one of the other brats.

“Okay, studly ugly.”

“I want to marry you, Jeremy!”

“Sure. Tomorrow,” I grumped, heading past them and giving Jamy a whack on the head because she was laughing. She yelled “Ow!” and laughed harder. Once I got to my room and slammed the door, I flopped on my bed. It was more than ten minutes, more like fifteen, before I got up to go look for a snack and remembered I was supposed to call Aaron.

“Ooooh, your brother smells so
good
!” Aardy squealed at Jamy as I barged through on my way to the kitchen phone.

“Shut up,” I said. They laughed. Trying to tune them out, I hit the quick-dial for Aaron's number.

His phone rang three times, then somebody picked it up and put it down again without saying a word.

“Huh.” I hung up, then picked up again and hit redial. The phone rang four times, then the answering machine at Aaron's place said, “You have reached the Gingrich residence …”

“Damn it!” I waited for the beep, then said, “Aaron, it's Jeremy. Pick up, would you?”

Nothing.

“Aaron?”

Nothing.

“Aaron, pick up!”

Nothing, except the TV room got quiet and Jamy called, “Jeremy, what's wrong?”

Okay, I was freaked out, and she'd heard it in my voice. I slammed down the phone.

“Jamy, listen, I gotta go home,” Aardy said all of a sudden. Sounded like her chest was tight, like she was about to have one of her asthma attacks. Not that I really noticed. I was pacing around the kitchen, breathing deep before I tried Aaron's number again. Three rings …

“Hello.” Somebody had picked up. I felt a wash of relief.

“Hi, Nathan?” It was Nathan; I knew his voice, flat and edgy, like a rectangle. “Is Aaron there?” Stupid question—I knew he was.

“No,” Nathan said.

“He isn't?” Forget relief. I started to get that freaky feeling again. “Where'd he go?”

“He's not home.” Nathan hung up.

I just stood there a minute before I turned to see Jamy in the kitchen doorway staring at me. “Jeremy, what's going on?”

“Bye, Jamy!” sang the other two girls as they left after Aardy. They'd smelled trouble and bailed. Good move.

I told Jamy, “Listen, tell Mom I went to Aaron's.” I headed out the garage door. Saw Aardy running toward her house, her ponytail flapping. She shouldn't be running if her asthma was bothering her.

“Hey, bung brain, you're supposed to be cleaning the basement!” Jamy yelled after me.