Don't Die Dragonfly (13 page)

Trapped. And the only hope of a rescue would result in my being blamed for crimes I didn’t commit. Why had I been dumb enough to believe Evan? He’d called me naïve, and he was right. I knew he was a jerk and had never liked him. Yet I’d followed him anyway.

My eyes watered from paint fumes and rubbing them only made them sting. Sinking with hopelessness, I whispered into the darkness, “What am I going to do? Opal, why didn’t you warn me?”

I tried to,
she sassed back.
Only you chose not to listen.

“Shout next time.” I sagged against the door. “Not that there’ll ever be a next time. Evan is arranging an alibi while I’m waiting to be caught. The janitor will think I was stupid enough to lock myself in after spraying graffiti and no one will believe it was Evan. Everyone will turn against me. I’ll have to leave school … and Josh.”

Such negativity is unbecoming for a young lady. In my day, I was too consumed with exhausting chores to give thought to my own comfort. You need to worry less about trifles and focus on the larger picture. Wallowing in self-pity will accomplish nothing. Seek a positive action.

“News flash: I’m stuck in here. Can’t do squat.”

Are you sure about that?

I started to argue, but when her energy pulled back, I knew it was useless. What did she know anyway? Safe in spirit-land where you could bet doors were never locked.

Still, she was right. I couldn’t give up.

My eyes were beginning to adjust and I explored the room, feeling the wall for a light switch. I remembered that the janitor had reached up for an overhead bulb. Within seconds, my black hole of despair flooded with light.

Now all I needed was an open door.

In movies, locks were jimmied open with credit cards or hairpins. I was too young for a credit card and the scrunchie around my ponytail was the closest I had to a hairpin. I started searching the room, checking drawers that weren’t locked. I found pencils, pens, paper, rubber bands, paperclips and tape. Unbending a large paperclip, I tried poking it in the lock—but no luck. So I searched again—then shrieked with joy when I found a screwdriver.

Forget the lock, I’d unhinge the whole damn door.

Like the rest of the school, the door was old. The hinge was held on by a few screws. My knees ached as I kneeled on the floor and set to work. I pressed my arm against the door for leverage. As the first screw began to turn, I heard a noise from outside in the hall.

Please, not the janitor so soon! I needed more time!

The knob jiggled and turned. The door swung open, and I saw—

“Dominic! Am I glad to see you!”

“Well, that’s a first.” He flashed a wry smile, showing dimples that softened his rugged face. “You okay?”

“Yeah. How’d you know I was in trouble?” I thought of the shadow I’d seen earlier by a tree. “Oh, don’t tell me—a little bird told you.”

“A big bird,” he said, looking around curiously. “How’d you get locked in?”

“Evan did it.” I could tell by Dominic’s puzzled expression that he didn’t recognize the name. I returned the screwdriver to the drawer then said hastily, “I’ll explain later. Let’s get out of here.”

Once in the hall, the smell of paint was overpowering. A very rude message was scrawled on a wall above an insulting drawing of Principal Dunlap sitting on a giant cowboy hat that resembled a toilet.

Dominic touched the wall, then glanced at the blue smear on his finger. “Fresh paint. Your artwork?”

“No! I would never!”

“I didn’t think so.”

I bent over to toss the cans in a nearby trash, but Dominic pulled my hand back. “Don’t,” he warned. “You’ll leave fingerprints.”

“Oh. Right.” I stared at his hand holding my wrist and tingled with hot embarrassment. Jerking away, I said we’d better go.

Wait, your locker.
It was Opal again.

I stopped. I thought, maybe I should listen this time.

“What?” said Dominic.

“We’ve got to check my locker.”

Dominic just nodded and followed me down the hallway.

I quietly thanked Opal, because when I opened my locker, there were two spraypaint cans sitting inside.

“This Evan guy isn’t messing around.”

I nodded. Evan was clearly playing hardball.

* * *

When we finally stepped outside in the cool night air, I sucked in a deep breath then let it out slowly. I was safe—for now.

There was a fluttering of wings and Dominic’s falcon landed on the protective leather band he usually wore on his arm. I regarded the sleek bird with new respect. “Did Dagger really tell you I needed help?”

“Not in words, but I understand his gestures. It’s really not hard. When he dips his head like that, he’s showing he’s proud of himself.”

“Yes, you’re a smart guy,” Dominic added to the bird.

“Very smart,” I said gratefully. “Tell him thank you.”

Dominic nodded, and tilted his head back and closed his eyes for a moment. No sounds were exchanged, but Dagger seemed somehow to understand. Maybe Dominic got mind-pictures like my visions, only his were from animals. I wanted to ask him about his own gift, but my heart was fluttering, and I wasn’t sure what I should say.

We had reached Nona’s front yard, I turned to Dominic, my fingers lingering on the latch. “I better go inside.”

“Yeah.” He nodded.

“It’s late. I have—homework.”

“And I have chores.”

But he didn’t leave and neither did I. He looked at me, as if waiting for something. I was waiting, too, although I had no idea for what. Silence stretched between us, long and awkward, until he shoved his hands in his pockets and started to walk away.

“Wait!” I shouted, startling us both.

He turned. “What?”

“I—I just wanted to say—” I faltered. “To say—you came through for me tonight, and I’ll never forget it. Thank you.”

Then I whirled around and ran into the house.

Nona had left a note on the door for me. “Poker at Grady’s. Casserole in the oven. Your mother called again.”

I was exhausted physically and emotionally. The last thing I needed was a talk with my mother. It wasn’t like we ever talked anyway; we argued. So I crumpled the note and tossed it into the garbage.

Sunday I woke up with dark circles under my eyes and purple bruises on my knees. I didn’t feel very good, and ended up spending the day in bed, talking on the phone and watching videos with Nona. She fussed over me and didn’t even bring up the unpleasant topic of my mother’s call. I couldn’t shake my worries, but for one blissful day I felt a little better.

Unfortunately, Monday came too soon, and I knew staying home from school wouldn’t make my problems go away. On the outside, everything appeared normal. I did regular stuff like help Nona make breakfast, listen to Penny-Love’s latest gossip on the walk to school, and meet Josh at my locker with a cheerful smile. But inside I was a jumble of nerves, imagining I was poised on a guillotine, waiting for the ax to fall. The ax teetered a little when Josh asked me if I minded going on another double date with Evan. Yes, I minded! Was this more of Evan’s idea of fun?

“What’s the problem?” Josh asked, clearly disappointed when I refused to go anywhere with Evan. “Are you still mad at him because of Danielle?”

“It’s more than that.”

“What?”

I remembered Evan saying that the football team would give him an alibi, that any accusations against him would backfire on me. Who would Josh believe? A new girlfriend or his childhood best friend? I didn’t want to put this question to the test—not without solid proof.

“He just isn’t someone I can respect. Not the way I respect you,” I added, curling my fingers in Josh’s gentle hand. “And maybe I’m selfish, but when we go out, I want to be with you alone.”

“Can’t argue with that. But at least try to get along with Evan, for my sake.”

I shrugged, which wasn’t a yes or a no.

All through first period, I squirmed in my seat, constantly expecting an announcement over the loudspeaker about the graffiti. But it never came. So during break, I detoured by the supply room and discovered the walls were clean. When I leaned close, I just smell ammonia and paint. Had the janitor cleaned up without reporting the crime? Or was the principal planning more questions and locker searches? At least I was safe there. But would Evan find another way to shift suspicion to me?

I had to find out what was going on, and I knew just the person to ask. After telling Josh I was skipping lunch to work on the newspaper, I found Manny busy in the computer room, putting the finishing touches on this week’s edition of the
Shout-Out
.

“Hey, Beany.” He looked up from his papers. “Coming to save a drowning guy from a sea of work? The edition is running late.”

“Maybe later.” I pulled up a chair next to him. “Have you heard anything about more vandalism?”

He lowered his voice, “Nothing. What’s up?”

“Too much.” I told him everything—well almost. I didn’t mention Dominic, letting Manny assume I escaped from the supply room on my own.

“Not Evan Marshall!” Manny exclaimed. “I can’t believe it! He’s fantastic on the football field. Are you sure he’s guilty?”

“That is so typically a male reaction.” I put my hands on my hips and glared at him. “Just because someone is good at sports doesn’t make him a saint. Evan thinks he’s so smart, bragging about trying to frame me. He’s guilty all right, and I’ve got the bruises on my knees to prove it.”

“Okay, okay.” Manny drummed his fingers on the desk. “I’m shocked, but I believe you. It’ll make a great story. As soon as I have solid proof, I’ll print it.”

“Danielle knows and I know, isn’t that enough?”

“Not if we want to convince Dunlap. Aside from being a big supporter of school sports, he’s tight with Evan’s parents. They play golf together.”

“But Evan is guilty. He only dated Danielle to use her. And she fell for him so hard, she’d do anything he asked—even steal a test. But when things went bad, he had to go after the test himself, and he must have attacked the janitor to cover his tracks.”

“The janitor wasn’t hurt as badly as he let on,” Manny said. “He’s out of the hospital—and out of a job because stolen school supplies were found in his locker. The school board is embarrassed that an employee turned out to be a thief, and they’re refusing to let me run the story.”

“But that’s censorship!”

“Tell me about it,” he complained. “I’m thinking of going underground with a special edition or selling it to the local newspaper.”

“So what about Evan? He admitted his guilt, but I don’t have any proof. Isn’t there anything we can do?”

“Unless you want to go on record as a witness.” He looked squarely into my face. “You’d have to tell everything. About Danielle, Evan—and yourself.”

I felt the color drain from my face. “And have another school turn against me? No one believing me, accusing me of being crazy? I can’t go through that again.”

“You won’t have to, Beany.” He smiled. “Some people think I’m shallow, and I don’t mind because it’s mostly true. But I won’t write a story that hurts a friend. So the investigation ends now.”

“Thanks—but it’s so unfair.” I sagged in defeat. “Evan gets away with vandalism, battery, and trying to frame me. He’ll ace his bio test and probably score the winning touchdown at the next game and get a scholarship from some big-time college recruiter. He wins everything.”

“Hmmm—maybe not everything.” Manny tilted his head thoughtfully. “Isn’t his bio teacher Blankenship?”

“I think so. Why?”

“Because Mr. B is a huge fan of my Mystic Manny column.” Manny grinned. “Which gives me an idea.”

“What?” I asked cautiously.

“It’ll involve some changes to this week’s
Sheridan Shout-Out
and the special talents of my two favorite psychics.”

“I don’t know about Thorn, but I’ll help.” Hope rose in me. “So when do we start?”

“Now.”

* * *

Instead of Josh driving me home from school, Thorn, Manny, and I walked to a half-hidden, brick candy shop at the end of Maple Street called Trick and Treats. When I stepped through the door, crystal chimes jangled and delicious chocolate smells wafted on the air. I couldn’t believe I’d lived in Sheridan Valley for months without discovering this yummy shop. The cheerful red-and-white-decorated room was lined with glass cabinets and displays of chocolates in all shapes and flavors. I’m sure I gained ten pounds just inhaling the sweet aroma.

The owner, a thirty-something woman dressed conservatively in beige slacks and a yellow blouse, click-clicked toward us on high heels, and greeted Thorn with a hug. “About time, Thorn. I had a feeling you might turn up, so I made a fresh batch of taffy nutballs.”

“Thanks Velvet, but they’ll have to wait.” Thorn gestured to us. “These are my friends, Sabine and Manny. We’re here for your specialty.”

“I hope it’s chocolate,” I said, looking around.

A display with chocolate-marble-fudge shaped like tiny shoes caught my attention. Next to that was a glass case of caramel and chocolate-chip apples. I couldn’t figure out what we were doing here, but I’d long held the motto: Never say no to chocolate.

“Most people come here for chocolate,” Thorn explained. “But I prefer the special room.”

“I only invite special customers back here,” Velvet added a little mysteriously. Then she led us through a short hall and into a darkened room. Once the light was flipped on, my eyes nearly popped out. From sugar treats into New Age delights—crystals, oils, candles, stones, books, jewelry, and more.

“Does my grandmother know about this place?” I asked, running my fingers over a smooth amber stone and admiring a seashell-covered box.

“What’s her name?” Velvet’s lilting voice had a hint of an English accent. She seemed so proper and refined, like someone who would be more comfortable leading a PTA meeting or serving a formal tea.

“Nona Wintersong.”

“Ah!” Velvet beamed. “Her favorite scent is lilac and she has a weakness for divinity cream puffs. So, you’re the granddaughter she mentioned. You have her eyes, although yours are more emerald green than hazel.”

I blushed a little, then turned to look at Manny when he cried out, “Gross!” as he sniffed a yellow candle. “What the heck is this stuff? It smells like vomit.”

“Cake-batter scent,” Velvet explained with amusement. “Perhaps you’d prefer bayberry or honeysuckle.”

“Maybe later.” He turned from the candle display. I walked with him over to a bookshelf.

“So what are we doing here?” I asked in a low voice.

“Shopping. This looks promising,” he added, plucking a book titled
Mastering the Elements of Luck
off a shelf. Across the room, Thorn was admiring a gold spiked chain similar to the silver one around her neck. On another counter were rows of peculiar jars, boxes, and packets. And a colorful rope of dried herbs draped across a window like a curtain.

“Did you get that info from Danielle?” Manny glanced at me as he flipped pages.

“Yeah, but it wasn’t easy tracking her down. When I found out gym was her last class, I caught her before she left school. She told me the bio test is scheduled for this Friday, and Evan has a copy of it. Danielle said this test will probably be multiple choice, like the last one.”

“All the easier to cheat.”

“So how do we stop him?”

“Mr. B will switch the test. Evan may think he has all the answers—but they’ll be the wrong answers.”

“Blankenship won’t be easy to convince,” I said, bending over to sniff a bayberry candle. “He hasn’t changed his hairstyle or bought any new clothes since 1978. I doubt he’ll be inclined to write a new test.”

“But he will because he’s very superstitious,” Manny explained. “He takes the day off every Friday the thirteenth and will walk a mile to avoid a black cat. We can’t just blurt out that Evan plans to cheat without explaining how we know—which could get complicated. So we’ll create an unlucky test.”

I sighed and sank down onto a small cushioned bench. “He’ll never believe that.”

Manny sat beside me, setting the book on luck on his lap. “Don’t doubt the persuasive powers of Mystic Manny. I convinced Pauline Shoemaker to go to the Winter Ball with me last year, even though she was dating someone else. And to raise money for a charity, instead of offering a free TV or concert tickets, I raffled off a scrawny abandoned kitten—and made over a thousand dollars. Persuading Mr. B will be easy.”

“How do you make a test unlucky?”

“When Mr. B reads my Mystic Manny column tomorrow morning, he’ll find a prediction warning a person in authority who carries a rabbit’s foot and loves Zinc that Friday will bring misfortune unless precautions are taken.”

“Zinc? Like the mineral?”

“Also the name of Mr. B’s basset hound.” Manny chuckled. “As a journalist and card-carrying snoop, I know all kinds of useful information about people. And I can calculate behavior. For instance, when Mr. B reads my column, he’ll want to know what precautions to take against bad luck.”

“So he’ll come to you for advice?” I liked this crazy idea even though I had serious doubts it would work.

“Exactly. When he shows up, I’ll offer him a good luck charm and warn him of papers in an unlucky order.”

“That’s too cryptic. Just him tell Evan plans to cheat.”

“He’s superstitious, not stupid. I can’t accuse one of his students without strong evidence. But don’t worry, I got it all figured out.” Smiling confidently, Manny pointed in the book to a list of ingredients to ward off bad luck. “Mr. B will only be impressed if I give him an authentic good luck charm. So we’ll need a pinch of crushed bone, stinkweed, and beetle extract. Combine them into a powder and pour it into a small cotton pouch.”

In the strangest shopping trip of my life, we found everything except the beetle extract, but Velvet assured us that worm extract was a generic substitute. By the time we were finished, we had a lumpy, odd-smelling good-luck sachet.

Manny also bought the book on bad luck. “It’s fascinating,” he said, pointing to a page with a spooky picture of a skull and scrawny cat. “Did you know that sailors kept cats on their ships for luck and some of the superstitions about black cats go back to King Charles I?”