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Authors: Deborah Ellis

True Blue

BOOK: True Blue
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TRUE BLUE

Deborah Ellis

Hardcover edition first published in the United States in 2012

Text copyright © 2011
Deborah Ellis

This edition copyright © 2011 Pajama Press Inc.

All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written consent of the publisher or a licence from The Canadian Copyright Licensing Agency (Access Copyright).

For an Access Copyright licence, visit www.accesscopyright.ca or call toll free 1.800.893.5777.

www.pajamapress.ca

[email protected]

The publisher has made every reasonable effort to trace the persons depicted in photographs as well as the owners of copyrighted material. Any errors or omissions drawn to our attention will be gladly rectified in future editions.

The publisher gratefully acknowledges the support of the Canada Council for the Arts and the Ontario Arts Council for its publishing program. We acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund (CBF) for our publishing activities.

ePub ISBN 9781927485057

PDF ISBN 9781927485200

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

Ellis, Deborah, 1960-

True blue / Deborah Ellis.

ISBN 978-0-9869495-3-1 (bound)

I. Title.

PS8559.L5494T78 2011--- jC813’.54 --- C2011-904883-3

U.S. Publisher Cataloging-in-Publication Data (U.S.)

Ellis, Deborah, 1960-

True blue / Deborah Eileen Ellis.

[231] p. : cm.

Summary: The darker side of a friendship is portrayed by Jess, a seventeen-year-old who struggles to find the moral courage to remain loyal to her best friend Casey who has been accused of murdering an eight year old girl at summer camp. The
town becomes a media circus and the pressures far too great for Jess to cope.

ISBN-13: 978-0-9869495-3-1

1. Friendship – Juvenile Fiction. 2. Peer pressure in adolescence – Juvenile fiction. 3. Conduct of life – Juvenile fiction. I. Title.

[Fic] dc22 PZ7.E469Tr 2011

Cover and book design–Rebecca Buchanan
Cover photo–Courtesy of John Spray
Insect images–Shutterstock

eBook development by
WildElement.ca

Pajama Press Inc.
469 Richmond St E, Toronto Ontario, Canada
www.pajamapress.ca

To those who have the courage to be friends.

Acknowledgements

I’d like to thank and acknowledge the contribution to this book of Gail Winskill, Ann Featherstone, Rev. Elaine Poproski and Heidy van Dyk.

Welcome to the Roach House.

Nobody calls it the Coach House, at least nobody local. You’re not from around here, are you? Locals know better than to eat at this dump.

Still, it’s the middle of the night and we’re right off the highway. Any port in a storm, right?

Sit wherever. You have your pick of tables tonight.

Coffee? Coming up. It tastes like sludge, but it’s hot and it’ll keep you going. Take as long as you like to drink it. Take the rest of the night if you want.

You want some pie with that? The pie’s safe. It comes from the bakery in the village. Rhubarb’s the best. I can get you a slice…

Okay…why are you staring at me?

No, don’t try to deny it. You’re squinting at me, thinking to yourself,
where have I seen that face?

…And now you’ve figured it out. Or maybe you’ve known it all along.

Yeah, I’m that girl.

My face was plastered all over the front pages and on TV. And don’t get me started on the Internet. They’ve never let up, even after all this time.

It shouldn’t have been this way. My life shouldn’t have been dragged through the mud. After all, I wasn’t even around when it happened.

I was the best friend, though. Fame by association. A person doesn’t have to do anything special to become famous. It’s enough to know someone who does.

Parasitic fame.

Casey would appreciate the parasitic reference. There are a lot of parasites in the insect world and she knows every one of them, Latin names and all. I was Dragonfly and she was Praying Mantis.

You know how the female praying mantis bites the head off the male when they’re mating? That was our signal. You make a jaw out of your thumb and forefinger then bring them together fast. Like this—
snap
! It means, “This person is bothering me and deserves to have his head bitten off.”

But you probably know all that from the newspapers.

We were just kids when we thought it up. Don’t try to read anything into it—about her nature, I mean. She’s not a violent person. Probably she doesn’t ever call herself by that name anymore. But she used to. It was just a nickname. Just a little fun. But it was all put out there, for everyone to see. It’s like my childhood isn’t my own anymore.

I guess there’s a lot you know. But there’s a lot more you don’t know.

You might as well get comfortable. Strap in, drink your coffee.

Because suddenly I feel like talking.

My best friend Casey was arrested for murder just as church was getting out.

The whole congregation was there to witness it.

We were spilled out over the sidewalk like monkeys from a barrel. The sun had finally started to shine again, hot and bright, after three days of rain. Steam rose from the sidewalk. The little park across the street looked deep green and clean, more like late spring than the last weekend of August.

We stood around in little groups, more subdued than usual. Kathy Glass, Stephanie’s mother, was there. No one had expected her to come to the service. After all, Stephanie’s body had only just been found. No one wanted to laugh or smile in front of her.

I was standing on the sidewalk with my parents and one of the deacons as they talked about church business. It’s a fluke that I was there. I’d had enough of God after spending six weeks as a camp counselor at Ten Willows. There we had church every Sunday in the outdoor chapel. We sang the Johnny Appleseed grace before every meal and when we had morning reflection, Bible study, and so on.

Do you know the Johnny Appleseed grace? I’ll sing it for you.

Oh, the Lord is good to me,

And so I thank the Lord,

For giving me the things I need:

The sun and the rain and the apple seed.

The Lord is good to me.

We usually put in the word “dry” instead of “rain” because no one wants it to rain for camp. We didn’t do that during the last camp. The summer had been very dry and we needed the rain. Maybe we should have kept calling for dry.

I don’t usually go to church. But I knew Stephanie—more than I wanted to—so when she turned up dead, it seemed like the right thing to do.

Plus, my mother insisted.

Two police cars were waiting at the curb. At first I didn’t give them a thought. The police stayed inside their cars until Casey came out of church with her family. They were always among the last to leave because of her father’s wheelchair. He liked to wait until most of the people were gone so he didn’t have to maneuver it through the crowd.

Out of the corner of my eye I could see Casey and her parents approach Reverend Fleet, who stood by the open doors for the ritual post-service handshake. It was strange for me to see Casey in a dress after weeks in camp clothes.

Reverend Fleet shook hands with Mr. and Mrs. White, but when he got to Casey he did something different. He grabbed hold of her arm and placed his hand on her head, like he was praying over her.

Knowing how Casey felt about the pompous old reverend, I’m sure she wished she were truly a praying mantis at that moment, able to snap off his head in a single gulp. I’m sure she wished that a swarm of killer bees would fly up his robe and send him dancing and screaming down the street.

I started paying attention when three cops got out of their cars. We all did. It was like that moment of silence after the sermon when the minister finally stops talking that signals the congregation to wake up, it’s time to hand over the offering. Everyone stopped their chitchat and turned toward the open door of the church. The traffic stopped rolling and the birds stopped singing, and everyone clearly heard the words of the police officer, who stepped up to my friend.

“Casey White, you are under arrest for the murder of Stephanie Glass.”

Casey’s arms were pulled behind her back. We heard a quick series of clicks as the handcuffs were secured around her wrists.

The TV crews came out of nowhere. They filmed the cops taking Casey down the church steps to the police car. When they showed it later on the national news, there was a blurry spot over her face so she couldn’t be identified, since she was only seventeen. But everyone in town knew it was her. There are nine thousand people in Galloway and everyone knows practically everyone else. Word got around, and quickly.

We all watched the cop put her in the back seat of the car and hold the top of her head so she wouldn’t bang it on the doorframe. No one moved. No one tried to talk them out of it. We all just let it happen.

The car was pulling away from the curb when Casey’s mother sprang forward, just in time to land her fists on the trunk. Her cry must have been heard clear across town.

“Nooooooo!”

Casey’s father tried to get down the wheelchair ramp, but there were people blocking his way. They were all watching Mrs. Glass talk into the TV microphones, saying she was grateful to the police for making such a quick arrest.

By the time Mr. White finally made it down the ramp, he and his wife could only stare together down the road. My mother went up to them and said something comforting, but I don’t think they heard her.

Me?

I stayed where I was. And watched.

Until Mom stomped past me.

“Let’s go,” she barked.

I had to run to catch up.

I’m in grade three the first time I notice Casey.

It’s the end of recess. The bell rings and we all line up, yelling and pushing. Except for Casey. She’s standing still, her hands cupped in front of her, holding a large green insect.

“What’s that?” a girl asks, then screeches, “Ewww!”

A lot of girls start to shriek, the way girls do. They run around, and then the boys run, and everyone scatters across the playground.

I don’t run. I just watch.

Ms. Thackeray has a hard time rounding them up again.

“That thing belongs on the playground,” she snarls at Casey.

“It’s a praying mantis,” Casey says. “I found it in the bushes.”

“Then you can just put it back in the bushes.”

“After I look at it for a while.”

Casey doesn’t ask. She just says. I’ve never heard a kid talk like that to an adult before. Not asking. Not whining. Just saying. As if what she wants is as important as what the teacher wants.

Casey walks right past Ms. Thackeray and into the school. She makes it into the classroom before Ms. Thackeray catches up with her. The teacher grabs her arm and the praying mantis goes flying around the room. All the kids scream and carry on.

The bug finally lands on Nathan Ivory’s desk. Nathan smashes it with a book. Casey shoves him so hard he skids across the floor, knocks his face into a bookshelf, and bloodies his nose. Casey tries to pick up the pieces of the insect. Ms. Thackeray drags her away to the principal’s office.

After that, kids start calling Casey the Praying Mantis.

Casey loves it.

And we become friends. She likes me because I don’t squeal like an idiot at the sight of a bug. I don’t love bugs like Casey does, but I don’t see any reason to get worked up about them. Casey doesn’t care that no one else wants to be my friend. And I like that she likes me.

BOOK: True Blue
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ads

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