Chapter Twenty-Four

Trudy

 

The next day, Paris and Vel and I meet at Hampton Park underneath a maze of azalea bushes. We are getting good at hiding our friendship. Meanwhile, for the last 24 hours, I have been waiting for the FBI to show up at my door.

The bushes shake, and a voice startles us from behind.

“I’ve been looking all over for you,” Hoot says, crawling into the bushes after us.

We make room for him. He has a rolled up newspaper in his hand, and I think how strange it is that Hoot Macklehaney might actually read a newspaper.

“I knew you were up to something,” he says, “and it looks like I’ve finally got proof. He unrolls the newspaper and drops it in my lap.

On the front page of the Sunday edition of The Charleston Post the headline reads: CONSPIRACY AT THE STATE HOUSE. Next to the headline is a photograph of Les Lester and Wally, whose last name turns out to be Wiggins. Underneath the photograph is the story:

 

Authorities are searching for an elderly woman and three juvenile suspects—two females and a Negro male—responsible for defiling the Confederate flag on Saturday. They believe the elderly female, who also gave an impromptu music concert in the building, may have been the master planner of the uprising. Anyone knowing the identities of these suspects must come forward immediately. A $500 reward will be given for any information leading to their apprehension.

 

For a few seconds I forget to breathe and Vel spells DAM under her breath. I don’t take the time to correct her spelling. Paris looks like he is wondering whether to fight Hoot or run away. I wonder the same thing. I never expected for Hoot to put two and two together and actually get four, as in the four of us going to the State House.

“We weren’t anywhere near Columbia yesterday,” I tell Hoot, crossing my fingers behind my back.

“Liar,” Hoot says. “You two and your grandmother were gone all day yesterday.” He points at Vel who holds Nancy Drew like a brick she might pelt him with. “You must have ridden with somebody else,” he says to Paris.

All this time I have watched out for the FBI when I should have been watching out for Hoot Macklehaney.

“How dare you watch my house,” I say, but it comes out half-hearted. His spying is the least of my worries. Shutting him up is my big concern now.

“What do you want?” I ask him.

Hoot looks like a cat whose claws are sunk into three juicy mice. He aims his pimples heavenward. “I want money for starters,” he says. “The newspaper is offering five hundred dollars as a reward. That’s a lot of money.”

Vel, Paris, and I look at each other. You would think Daddy makes a lot of money as mayor, but the job actually doesn’t pay that much. Vel’s dad probably makes more at the bank. At least they can afford to have Rosemary.

“We don’t have five hundred dollars,” I say. “If you haven’t noticed, we’re just kids. Besides, that’s blackmail.”

“Exactly,” he says, looking pleased with himself.

He motions for us to put any money we have in his hand. Paris pulls out a couple of quarters from his shorts pocket, and Vel digs seventeen cents out of the bottom of her pink purse. I have a dollar bill in my back pocket that I got for babysitting Teddy three nights ago, but I am not about to hand that over to Hoot Macklehaney. At any rate, this isn’t adding up to anything close to five hundred dollars.

“Where’s your money?” Hoot asks me.

“I’m broke,” I say, pulling my empty front pockets inside out.

Hoot taps his head like he is trying to knock some sense into it.

“If you don’t have money, then I want you to be my girlfriend.”

I don’t know whether to laugh, cry or barf. Instead, I toss the dollar bill from my back pocket at Hoot.

“There’s your stupid money,” I say.

He tosses the bill back at me.

“That’s not enough. I want you to be my girlfriend,” Hoot repeats.

“Vel can be your girlfriend. She is much more girly than I am,” I say.

Vel shoots me a look like I have thrown her into an alligator infested swamp.

“I don’t like Vel,” Hoot says. “I like you. You’re funny.” He flashes his yellow corn kernel teeth at me, and Vel gives me a wicked smile, like this is what I get for suggesting he choose her.

“You must be blind as a bat if you didn’t see that one coming, Trudy,” Vel says. “Hoot’s been sweet on you for years.”

His face turns red like Vel has just spilled the one secret he wants to keep.

“Are bats blind?” Paris asks, as if this—like freckles—is news to him.

Despite my rising panic, I tell myself to stay calm. The last thing I want to be is somebody’s girlfriend, especially if that somebody is Hoot—middle name Moron—Macklehaney. Not to mention that I resent being called a blind bat by my best friend.

Hoot waves the newspaper as if to remind me of his threat.

“I would consider being your girlfriend, Hoot, but my parents won’t allow me to have a boyfriend yet.” My words sound sweet, like he is a Thanksgiving turkey, and I am buttering him up.

“We can just pretend for one day,” Hoot says, his voice cracking in earnest. “If you could just come by the Esso station, then maybe my oldest brother, Hank, will quit kidding me. He says no girl will ever like me because I’m ugly as sin.”

“His brother has a point,” Vel says to me.

I shush Vel, and for a split second I actually feel sorry for Hoot Macklehaney. This is something I never thought possible until the freezing over of hell and the flying of pigs.

“If I pretend to be your girlfriend for one day, will you keep our secret?” I ask.

“I swear,” he says, as though the winner of the better deal.

“Trudy Trueluck, don’t you dare agree to this,” Vel says. “Once you do, he’ll just want something else.”

I wonder how Vel got so versed in blackmail.

“How do we know you’ll keep your promise?” I ask Hoot.

He puts his hand over a mustard stain on his shirt. “Cross my heart, hope to die.”

I ask Hoot to give us a minute so we can talk things over, and he climbs out of the bushes.

“Do you really want to do this?” Paris asks me.

“Not in a million years,” I say, “but do I have a choice?”

Not only do I not want Paris and Vel and me to get in trouble, but I have Nana Trueluck to think about, too. The newspaper said she was the ringleader. I can’t imagine Nana Trueluck the ringleader of anything, except maybe Doris Day songs, and I surely can’t imagine her in jail.

“You don’t have to be Hoot’s girlfriend,” Paris says. “If the news comes out, it comes out. I’m not ashamed of anything we did.”

“But if my parents find out, I’ll be in huge trouble,” Vel says.

“I agree that we’ve got to keep Hoot quiet somehow,” I say.

“Let’s knock him out and put him on an Amtrak train to Alaska.” Vel’s eyes glimmer.

“Don’t you think someone would miss him?” I ask.

“Probably not,” Paris says.

We pause to come up with a more viable plan. I peek out of the azaleas. Hoot waits under a magnolia tree reading the comics.

“How much harm could it be to act like his girlfriend for one day?” I ask.

“What if he wants to kiss you?” Vel grimaces as though this is the most disgusting thought imaginable.

The oatmeal I ate that morning rises with the thought, and I glance over at Hoot again, who is now picking his nose and flinging his findings like they are darts. Does he think no one sees him? Does he think at all?

“It would definitely be the longest day of my life,” I say. “But it’s only one day.”

Hoot Macklehaney needs to keep his mouth shut. If he doesn’t, Nana Trueluck could be arrested for being a ringleader, and Paris could get in big trouble for running with that flag. Plus, who knows what happens to girls who pull fire alarms when there isn’t even a fire. I could be in more trouble than anybody. After yesterday I was actually looking forward to being bored for the rest of the summer. But no such luck. Our adventure is still going strong.