CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

The Day the Networks Came to Town

After leaving the grocery store, I wander for a while, trying to kill time. No way I’m heading back to school. When I finally get home, Gabe is waiting for me, perched by my front door, back pressed into the red brick of the house and head bent over the Nintendo DS he’s clutching. He thumbs feverishly at the controls. My shadow stretches across Gabe and he looks up, squinting.

“Figured you’d have to come home eventually,” he says. He pushes to his feet and tucks the DS into his backpack.

“I needed some air. And you’re never going to guess what I found.”

I step past Gabe and unlock the front door, motioning him inside. He squeezes past me, making my stomach clench at the brush of his body against mine. In a different world, if I was a different person, maybe I’d be brave enough to tell him how I feel.

Upstairs something thumps to the floor and we both look up. I glance at my watch. Mom should still be sleeping; she won’t start getting ready for her shift for another couple of hours.

“Be right back,” I tell Gabe and dash upstairs.

I pause outside Mom’s room, hand raised to knock. The sound of someone crying stops me. I let my hand drop to my side and press my forehead against the door, listening. A good person would go inside and comfort her. A good person would forgive her for being so caught up in her grief that she doesn’t have time for anything else.

I turn and walk away.

“Everything okay?” Gabe asks when I enter the kitchen.

I shrug and pop some frozen pizza bites into the microwave, zapping the hell out of them. When Gabe’s stuffed a bunch in his mouth, I tell him about the wishing well. He chokes.

I scramble up and get him a glass of water before he turns blue from lack of oxygen.

When he can breathe again he glares. “Are you trying to kill me? Don’t spring that stuff when I’m eating!”

“Sorry,” I mutter. I wait a long second, giving him a chance to gulp down some more water. “I got some pictures.”

Gabe nods. “Excellent, let’s have a look.”

He studies them for a long time and I wait impatiently before finally blurting, “You see it, don’t you?”

When he doesn’t immediately respond with “Yes! Of course. You’ve solved it all, you genius!” I lean over and move the detail shot in front of the other Polaroid.

Gabe tilts his head to the side and wrinkles his nose. “It’s a blurry photo. Not sure what I’m supposed to be getting out of this.”

I drag a finger over the faint gouge mark by Mary’s feet. “Look! Someone traced the image first and then somehow painted it. That tool mark proves the miracles are a fake.”

Gabe lifts the picture and squints, then shakes his head. “Looks like part of the wood grain.”

I throw my hands up. “Grab a magnifying glass and let’s go over there now. I’ll prove it.”

“Where am I supposed to dig up a magnifying glass?”

I glare at Gabe, convinced he’s being deliberately difficult, and then inspiration strikes. I hold up a finger. “Give me a minute.”

I dash to my bedroom and rifle through my nightstand drawer. Back in the kitchen, I brandish the tiny figure at Gabe.

Gabe’s wariness dissolves as he starts laughing. “Garfield? Seriously? We’re going to solve the great miracle mystery with a toy Garfield?”

“Shut up,” I mutter, holding the plastic toy tighter. I yank on Garfield’s tail and part of his back slides out, revealing a magnifying glass panel. “I got him at McDonald’s when I was like five. He has sentimental value. And he magnifies things.”

Gabe takes Garfield when I hold him out, but he’s still laughing too hard to talk. Okay, I know my mini Garfield is ridiculous but it’s the best I can do on short notice. Gabe’s laughter is starting to get annoying. He gets up and takes a package of powdered doughnuts off the microwave top, using the magnifying glass to read the tiny print on the label.

“This might work,” Gabe says, voice hoarse. He slides Garfield closed and shakes his head. “Detectives everywhere are hanging their heads in shame for us.”

Taking Garfield back, I sniff, narrowing my eyes. “Do you want to go see the well or not?”

Gabe tries his best to look solemn, but I can tell he’s still hiding a grin. “Sure.”

We never make it to Melanie Teasedale’s place. There’s a fleet of news vans blocking every side street leading into her neighborhood and a crowd of people thick enough for the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade.

Gabe parks his car five blocks over and we thread our way through the crowds. We stop behind a knot of people, unable to move any closer. Everyone is talking and it sounds like a giant engine rumbling.

Gabe leans close and yells in my ear, “This place is a zoo. Is that a CNN truck?”

I crane my head, trying to distinguish one news van from the other. They clog the narrow streets like an artery blockage, tight packed and out of place. I finally spot the van Gabe means and my eyes widen. It is CNN. I look more closely at the other vans. A couple are local stations from Ashby, but there’s one van from Dallas and I spot a Houston station as well. There’s a black car with an AP logo plastered on the side. A lanky guy in ratty jeans and a T-shirt gets out, holding a camera as big as my head.

Gabe and I linger for an hour and the crowd gets bigger and bigger. At one point Officer Crowley, one of the local cops, raises a bullhorn and asks the crowd to disperse, warning us that we’re trampling private property and blocking homes. No one moves. Mel’s neighbors have dragged lawn chairs in front of their houses and one old lady, Mrs. Renley, is gleefully munching on popcorn as she ogles the press vans and the crowd.

It’s impossible to hear any of the news anchors from where we’re standing. After someone jabs an elbow in my back for the third time and I’ve had my foot stomped yet again, I squeeze Gabe’s arm, saying, “This is stupid. Let’s grab a couch at your place and find a news station. We might actually learn something.”

Gabe nods, eying Melanie’s roof in the distance. After we’ve fought our way back to the car, Gabe leans over and gives me a quick hug. “Sorry Garfield has to miss his shining moment.”

I shove him away, laughing. Unfortunately, Gabe’s car is now gridlocked by other vehicles, so we leave it parked and walk back to his place. We check every single lawn ornament along the way, searching for rogue miracles. This time, if we find one, I’m taking the thing and asking questions later.