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“WHO’S GOING WITH WHO?” Phoebe stood with her hands on her hips, the sunlight reflecting off her silver bracelets and illuminating the purple streaks in her hair. They’d agreed to go around by twos so they could hit more houses but always have backup.
Kiara shielded her eyes from sunlight and peered in the direction of the houses down the street from Brice’s split-level on an inner corner lot. Kiara’s mother had picked up everyone—Phoebe, Caitlyn, and Roland—dropped them a few houses away from Brice’s house, and given them two hours to “play” before she would return and take everyone home. Kiara never liked to make waves, so Roland wondered what she’d told her mom. Certainly not that they planned to investigate into the vandalism of Brice’s house.
“Oh, I thought you two . . .” Caitlyn glanced at Phoebe and Kiara and then at Roland, her reddish eyebrows slanting over gorgeous green eyes that glittered in the sunlight.
Roland held her gaze. He’d thought the same thing: Phoebe and Kiara would pair up, and he and Caitlyn could go around together. He’d been looking forward to it more than he cared to admit. But who would do the talking when they knocked at doors? No, that wasn’t a question. He would. He would take the lead, and he’d get comfortable talking to strangers. Wasn’t that one reason he’d decided to go? Hi, mind if we ask you a few questions? Roland started rehearsing in his mind. Did you happen to see who set fire to your neighbors’ tree?
“I want to go with you,” Kiara said to Caitlyn. “You’ll know just what to say.”
“Oh.” Caitlyn’s eyes opened wide. “Maybe we should all say the same things. We can practice before we split up. Then it won’t matter who’s with who.”
“Practice? It’s not that complicated.” Phoebe shifted her weight to one leg and folded her arms over her quilted brown vest. “We’ll just ask if anyone saw anything that night or if they’ve heard any neighborhood gossip about the Escott family and their foster children.”
Hi, mind if we ask you a few . . . Roland stopped rehearsing in his mind.
“Right.” Caitlyn nodded, looking relieved. “See? Phoebe knows just what to say. And we have our phones, right?” Caitlyn opened the purse that hung from her shoulder and dug inside, probably looking for the phone Peter had given her. “We can call each other if there’s anything . . .” She pulled a candy bar, rosary, and brush out of her purse. “I know it’s in here.” A pocket notebook jumped out and landed at her feet.
Acting on impulse, Roland stooped for it. Unfortunately, so did she and they bumped heads before either of them touched the notebook. Then they both straightened. “Sorry,” he said.
Head dipped, she gave him a shy smile and ran a hand through her hair. “Me too,” she said softly, her pupils dilating as she gazed at him.
“Okay, then,” Phoebe said.
Her voice snapped Roland from his trance. He snatched the notebook off the sidewalk and handed it to Caitlyn.
“You can look for your phone when you actually need it,” Phoebe said, bossy as ever. “Besides, Kiara has a phone too. Let’s get going.” She directed her last words to Roland.
“Oh, I thought . . .” He stood with his mouth hanging open, not actually admitting what he’d thought.
“You’re with me.” Phoebe stomped off, not giving him a chance to contest her decision.
Or did he have a chance? Of course, he did. He only had to say something. I’m with Caitlyn. He should say that. Why didn’t he just say it?
“Okay, come on.” Bouncing on her feet and looking as happy as a kid about to go trick-or-treating, Kiara grabbed Caitlyn’s arm.
Caitlyn stood motionless, her chin tilted down and her eyes looking up at him. A frown on her face. “Bye,” she whispered, stepping back.
“Yeah, see you in a few.” Guilt needling him, Roland watched until she turned away and looped arms with Kiara. She wouldn’t have looped arms with him, but it would’ve been nice hanging out with her for two hours. Why hadn’t he spoken up?
“Come on!” Phoebe shouted. She had almost reached the driveway of the nearest house.
Afraid to jog, Roland speed-limped to catch up to her and they strode up an empty driveway together. How was he going to take the lead with her? She’d probably do all the talking. Maybe they could switch partners in an hour.
Reaching the door first, Phoebe pressed the glowing doorbell button and turned eyes surrounded in black to Roland. “We didn’t get much from the kids at school, so I hope we get something tonight.”
Not sure how to talk to her, Roland stuffed his hands into the front pockets of his jeans and nodded. “Yeah.” She was wrong, though. They did have a few things to go on. A gas can and bracelet found at the crime scene, even though Peter didn’t think the bracelet mattered anymore. And Caitlyn had said that some redheaded boy thought the mean jocks had done it. Roland had seen one of them in his speech class, the kid in the Coyotes shirt with the scraps hanging out of his spiral notebook.
No one answered, so Phoebe opened the storm door and pounded on the door with her fist.
Roland would’ve never done that. He’d have taken off for the next house, assuming no one was at home or that they wanted privacy.
A few seconds later, the doorknob jiggled and the door creaked open to a stale-smelling, dimly-lit house and an old man with silver whiskers and a tan button-front shirt. “Whatever you’re selling, I don’t want any.” He started to close the door.
“Wait, sir.” Phoebe held the storm door open. “We just wanted to ask you a question. We’re worried about what’s going on in the neighborhood.”
The door creaked back open. “Don’t know what you mean.”
A few minutes later, they left with nothing more to go on. The man heard the firetrucks that night but thought he’d been dreaming until he saw the burnt tree the next day. He figured neighborhood kids had done it, but he didn’t have names. “Kids today got no respect. Think they can go around and do anything they want.”
“Thank you for your time,” Phoebe had said. “We appreciate it.”
“Not saying all kids are bad,” the man replied. “You two seem mighty respectful.”
As Roland limped alongside Phoebe to the next house, he realized he’d get absolutely no practice talking to strangers with her as a partner. But she made him uncomfortable too, so he could still get practice by talking to her. “So . . .” he forced himself to say, “did Caitlyn tell you about the kid at school she talked to, the junior?”
“No, what? Who?”
“She didn’t give a name.” And Caitlyn hadn’t mentioned it at lunch, but it could be important so they ought to think more about it. “The kid said he knew who vandalized Brice’s house.”
“Oh, I know what you’re talking about. Yeah, he thinks the football players did it. But that’s not likely. I mean, they go out and party, but they’ve got to be careful or they’ll get thrown off the team.”
“No, she said it wasn’t the jocks but a subgroup of jocks, the mean ones.”
“The mean ones?” She gave him a skeptical look. “Oh, right, the mean jocks. The boys who love sports but are too undisciplined to join organized sports.”
“Right.”
“Could’ve been them. Some of them are mean. And they pick on people. And I’ve caught a few rumors about the stupid things they’ve done over the weekends.”
“So, who knows all their names?” He would add it to the list of people he wanted to spy on and learn more about.
“I bet between the four of us, we can make a list.”
He debated telling her about the notebook, since it could be nothing, but he wanted to conquer his fears so he made himself say it. “One of them’s in my speech class. And he’s got a spiral notebook with a bunch of pages missing.”
“Oh?” They climbed the porch steps of the next house. “You mean, he could’ve been responsible for those posters all over school.”
Roland shrugged. “It’s not really proof, but yeah. Could’ve been him.” Too bad he hadn’t thought about grabbing one of the posters for comparison.
“That would make sense. The posters came directly after the school assembly, the diversity talk. And some of the mean jocks have been vocal about Empowerment’s goals. But they aren’t the only ones who don’t like the Empowerment group.”
“What do you mean?” Roland hadn’t heard this before.
“Some people think the Empowerment group is pushy. They insist that everyone agree with them.” Phoebe pressed the doorbell and, without hesitation, yanked open the storm door to knock. “But they don’t speak up because they don’t want to be labeled.”
“Labeled what?”
“Haters.”
Almost an hour later, Roland stood beside Phoebe on yet another front porch, the last on this side of the street. Canvassing the neighborhood no longer seemed like such a good idea. His leg begged for a break and they’d discovered little to nothing. They knocked on doors that no one answered. The few that did answer saw nothing. Apparently, the perpetrators worked so quietly that even the couple of people who’d been up at that hour hadn’t heard them. And no one had heard any negative talk about Brice’s foster family either. Those that knew the family, liked and admired them.
And as far as getting practice talking to strangers, the only practice Roland got was talking to Phoebe.
“Let’s turn around after this house.” Phoebe pressed the doorbell, pounded on the door, and glanced at her watch. “We’ll see what Kiara and Caitlyn found out.”
The door swung open. A gray-haired woman in a thick bathrobe eyed them suspiciously. “May I help you?”
“Oh, hey.” Phoebe kicked into action with a smile and hand gestures as she rolled out her spiel.
When she finished, the woman scratched her neck and glanced across the street. “You’re talking about last Saturday, right?”
“Right.” Phoebe glanced at her watch again and gave Roland a look that said they were wasting their time. “Or more like early Sunday morning.”
“Seems no one in the neighborhood saw anything,” Roland said, just to make himself speak at least once before going home. So far, he’d only nodded a few times and said yeah or don’t think so at the appropriate times.
“Well, I can’t see the house from any of my windows, too far down.” She turned her head in the direction of the Escotts’ house. “But the firetrucks woke me, and I did see a boy in the middle of the road.”
Phoebe jerked back. “A boy?”
Roland sucked in a breath. “How old was he?”
“About your age. Standing in the middle of the road in shorts and bare feet, watching the firetrucks, I suppose.” She looked across the street again and pointed. “I think he lives over there.”
“Thank you for your time,” Phoebe said, then she led their retreat down the porch steps. “At least we got something.” Eyes on the house across the street, Phoebe stopped on the sidewalk and stood hands on hips, evening sunlight glinting off her armful of bracelets. “But the boy was probably doing what she was doing, trying to see what the commotion was about.”
“Probably.” Roland studied the house, an ordinary tan two-story with green shutters, five steps leading up to a wraparound porch, and a white cat and red South Dakota Coyotes decal in the window. They’d been visiting houses on both sides of the street, skipping only the few that seemed empty. They hadn’t gone to the last three houses across the street though.
“I wonder what Caitlyn and Kiara found out.” Phoebe took her phone out.
“We should at least knock on that door.” Rather than ask her the time, Roland pulled his own phone from his back pocket. As he tapped it, the display lit up and played his ringtone. His heart skipped a beat. Caitlyn was calling.
He tapped to answer the call, brought the phone to his ear, and said, “Hey.”
“Hi, Roland.”
Even over the phone, her voice rippled through him, disturbing every cell in his body. “You guys done?”
“Um, no. But we have a lead.”
Phoebe must’ve heard Caitlyn because her eyes popped open and snapped to the phone.
Roland held the phone out so they could both hear. “Okay, Phoebe can hear too. Tell us what you got.”
“Well, someone told us that the neighbor over the fence—he lives on another street—he doesn’t like the Escott family because of that tree.”
Phoebe gasped, her gaze connecting with Roland’s. “Do you know why?”
“I guess it was a gumball tree—”
“No, not gumball.” Kiara’s voice came over the phone, cutting off Caitlyn. “It was a sweetgum tree. They’re kind of pretty, especially in the fall, but they drop all those brown, spiky balls.”
Phoebe nodded. Roland knew the type of tree too. He’d almost twisted his ankle, walking under one of them.
“Right,” Caitlyn said. “And apparently, the neighbor was always complaining because the gumballs fall over the fence and into his yard. And they’re impossible to rake up.”
“And”—Kiara jumped in—“he was always complaining that you can’t even mow them up because they’re like grenades.”
“And to make things worse,” Caitlyn said, “he recently slipped on one and broke his ankle.”
Phoebe and Roland’s gazes connected again, giving Roland a feeling of solidarity.
“Wow,” Phoebe said. “He definitely had a motive for burning down that tree.”
“Yeah,” Caitlyn and Kiara said at the same time.
“Let’s go talk to him.” Phoebe snatched Roland’s phone and turned away, peering down the street. “Where are you?” She paused but Roland could no longer hear the other side of the conversation. “Well, wait for me.”
Phoebe turned back and handed Roland his phone. “You can get that last house on your own, right?”
“Yeah, sure,” he said, though he would’ve rather gone with the rest of them. Maybe no one would answer, and he could jog to catch up. No, his aching leg said that wasn’t an option. “Go check it out. Then let’s meet where Kiara’s mother dropped us off.”
“Great.” Phoebe took off running, her bracelets making a soft clinking sound with every step.
With a sigh, Roland turned to the house across the street, the one with the wraparound porch and the five steps he’d need to climb. He took a breath, steeling himself and, favoring his leg without inhibition, hobbled across the street. Grabbing the handrail for support, barely caring who saw how pathetic he looked, he mounted the steps.
Another South Dakota Coyotes decal hung in the little decorative window high on the door.
Roland reached for the doorbell but stopped two inches away. He’d have to do this one alone. What was he going to say? Phoebe’s spiel was too long. Hi, mind if we ask you a few questions? Roland’s rehearsed words came to mind. Did you happen to see who set fire to your neighbors’ tree?
Forcing his finger the last two inches, he pressed the doorbell and knocked on the door for good measure. Then he shifted to alleviate pressure on his leg.
A few seconds later, the door swung open to a familiar face, and a lump formed in Roland’s throat.
“Hey, hey, it’s one of the West boys.” Gavin Wheeler, the jock with the suspicious notebook, pushed the storm door open and leaned against the door frame. “Your name’s on the tip of my tongue. You’re in my speech class, right?”
“Uh, yeah.” Roland fought with himself to keep from shrinking away. He couldn’t possibly ask about the vandalism now, could he? Gavin would realize he was investigating. But Gavin had been there, standing outside and watching it happen. Had he been involved? How could Roland find out anything if he didn’t ask. Should he? Shouldn’t he?
“You gave that memorable speech on Monday.” He toyed with the scruffy hair growing on his chin. “Your name’s Roman? Romulus? Romeo?”
“Romeo? No, I’m Roland.” He couldn’t help glaring.
Still holding the screen door with one hand, Gavin slapped his leg with the other. “Oh, that’s it. What brings you to my neighborhood? You out slumming?”
“Huh?”
“You live in a castle, don’t you? Somewhere off Forest Road? I didn’t get invited to your Halloween party last year. You having one this year?”
“Uh, no.” Roland glanced over his shoulder, wishing he had back-up. “And we don’t live in a castle. It just sort of looks like one.”
“Oh, well, that’s cool anyway.” While his words could’ve sounded friendly, his tone came across condescending. “What’s up, Roland?” One side of his mouth turned up and stretched into a smirk as he looked Roland over.
What should he say? Hi, mind if I ask you a few questions? No, no, no, not that. Come up with something else. “So, I, uh—”
“Wait.” Gavin lifted his index finger. “Don’t tell me. You’re selling cookies to raise money for the diversity club. What’s it called, Empowerment?” He raised his brows and tilted his head as if waiting for an answer.
Face burning under Gavin’s cocky glare, Roland gritted his teeth. “No, not selling cookies.”
Gavin shifted his gaze and peered over Roland’s shoulder, making a show of looking around. “Where’s your mom? Shouldn’t she have a wagon loaded with boxes of cookies for me to choose from?”
Every fiber of his being tensed like a rubber band being pulled taught, and he envisioned himself slugging Gavin across his scruffy chin. But his leg ached and wouldn’t tolerate the forceful step he’d have to take to do it. Besides, Gavin probably didn’t know his mother had died. He was just being annoying.
“You know which ones I really like? Those gooey chewy ones with the chocolate stripes. Mmmm.” Eyes rolling back in his head, he rubbed his belly and moaned. “Those are to die for.”
“Look, you know I’m not selling cookies.”
Gavin’s eyes turned hard. “Right, so whatdya want?”
And then, whether or not it was a mistake, the words just came out. “You live near the house that was vandalized.”
“Yeah, so?”
“So, we’re just trying to see if any neighbors saw anything that night.”
“Who’s ‘we’?” He leaned out of the house again and looked in both directions. “You seem to be alone, Roland.”
Roland took a breath and forced it back out. Okay, so he’d messed up his line. Probably should’ve come up with something else to say. Judging by the attitude, Gavin wasn’t going to give him anything useful anyway. He could almost hear himself saying “forget it” and see himself taking off, but he’d come out here for two reasons: one to gain information and the other to speak to people regardless of how uncomfortable it made him feel.
Taking another breath, he said, “So did you? Did you see anything?”
Mouth hanging open, Gavin rubbed his chin. “See anything like what? Firetrucks screaming down the street in the middle of the night? Tree burning in an outcast’s yard? That’s the only reason I’d be looking in the direction of that girl’s house. She’s of no interest to me . . . or any dude. Let the entire house burn, I say.”
Irritated by the comments, Roland gritted his teeth but he forced a cool reply. “All right. Thanks for the help.” And he turned to go, hating that Gavin would watch his every pathetic step as he hobbled off the porch.
“Hey, Romeo,” Gavin called as Roland reached the first step. “You’d better watch out. All your snooping could get you in some deep trouble. And you saw the signs at school, right? So you’ve been warned. Don’t want to wake up to a tree burning in the front yard of your castle.”
Hand to the rail, heart hammering in his chest, and praying he didn’t stumble while Gavin was watching, Roland descended the steps.
Then Gavin spoke again, his voice dark and dramatic.
“Outcast, beware.”
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