Sammy Keyes and the Search for Snake Eyes (20 page)

“Well the dirt's flying fast and furious out there, so I thought I should get it straight from you.” He's still grinning. “Rumor is my
mom
made an appearance today.”

“Yeah. To provide that backstabbing snake-in-the-grass sister of yours with an alibi!”

He laughs. “Could you be a little more direct? All these niceties are going to make me miss the bus.” I just glare at him, so he gets serious. “You really think it was her?”

I tell him, “Du-uh!” and then right away I feel bad, so I give him a lightning-fast rundown of everything that happened and why I'm sure his sister's behind it all.

And when I'm done, he checks over his shoulder at the buses, then says, “But I heard that some neighbors around Bruster reported a girl in high-tops and another in a number-nine jersey.”

“Just how dumb do people think we are? You think we'd do this in broad daylight, with our
numbers
on our backs?”

“You
swear
you didn't do it?”

I just turn my back on him so he can read my shirt.

“Swear, Sammy.”

I whip back around and shout, “I swear, okay? I didn't do it!”

“Okay, okay!” he says, backing off toward the buses. “I believe you!”

I grumble, “Yeah, sure you do,” but then Marissa yells after him, “Hey! When are you going to give back her skateboard, anyway?”

“Marissa!” I hiss at her, because what in the world's she doing, bringing up my skateboard
now
?

“You want it?” he calls to me, still backing his way to the buses. “I thought you didn't want it anymore.”

“It's
mine
, isn't it?” I yell after him, because now I'm mad. I'm just mad.

“You gotta ask nice!” he yells back, then turns around and races to catch his bus.

I kick the rack with my high-top. “It's genetic—it's gotta be genetic.”

Marissa's actually taking time out from her misery to grin at me. “He's cute.”

“Shut up.”

“I especially like his freckles.”

“Shut
up
, Marissa! He's Heather's
brother
.”

“Uh-huh,” she says as she pulls her bike from the rack. “And unlike his sister, he
likes
you.”

I punched her in the arm.

Hard.

I have real trouble sitting around the apartment when my head's zooming with questions. And let me tell you, with everything that was going on, it felt like my skull was hosting the Indy 500.

So instead of doing like Marissa did and heading straight home after school, I headed straight over to Hudson's. Hudson has a way of steering me in the right direction. Of getting me back on track.

He wasn't hanging on his front porch watching the world go by, like I was hoping he'd be. And for a minute I was afraid he
still
wasn't home. But as I knocked on his door, I spotted him through the window, sitting in front of his new computer.

“Sammy!” he says as he throws the door open. “What a nice surprise! Feels like ages since I've had a visit from you.”

“Yeah, sorry. I tried the other night but you weren't here. Plus, I've been tied up getting ready for the Slug-gers' Cup tournament.”

He leads me inside. “Say, that's right. It's tomorrow, isn't it?”

“Yup. Only as of today, I'm not playing.”

He stops in his tracks and studies me for all of two seconds before saying, “Cocoa or iced tea?”

“I don't know,” I tell him, looking down. “Got any juice?”

“Sure.” He heads for the kitchen. “Apple or cranberry?”

“Apple.”

“Sounds good.”

So he pours us both a glass of apple juice and says, “Shall we?” and leads me out to the front porch. And after we're settled there and his feet are propped up on the railing, he says, “So. What happened.”

There's something about Hudson that makes me want to tell the truth. The whole truth. And even though I started out intending not to tell him everything, well, before you know it I'd spilled the whole enchilada. In fact, I'd spilled the whole plate, refried beans and all.

And when I was done, I turned to him and whispered, “Hudson, they scare me. Everywhere I go I feel like I've got to be looking over my shoulder. It used to be I only had to do that around the apartment. That was bad enough! Now I'm watching my back all the time. And it makes me feel so, you know, all
alone
. Marissa's sick to death of me getting involved with stuff, Officer Borsch is back to thinking I'm a juvenile delinquent, Grams would have a total fit if I told her a tenth of what was going on …” I threw my hands into the air. “I wish I could just forget about Lena, but I can't! I mean, Hudson, I cannot believe she killed her husband. I just can't. And maybe it's because I don't know her or understand any of
that gang-life stuff, but I just don't believe it. She was so scared of Snake Eyes.
So
scared. You should've seen her shaking. It doesn't make any sense!”

He was quiet for the longest time, just clicking the toes of his boots together, looking across the rooftops on the other side of the street. Finally he says, “You need to avoid this situation. At all costs.” He sits up and says, “Sammy, it's dangerous.”

“I know,” I grumble. “I
know
.” “And I do understand that you feel responsible, and I know that you're having trouble letting it go because of your own situation, but —”

“My own situation? What do you mean?”

He studies me a minute. “You haven't thought that maybe the reason you want Pepe to have his mother back is because you'd like to have your own back?”

I blink at him, then look down. “I'm past that, Hudson.”

He smiles at me. Kindly. “We never get past that, Sammy. And what you're feeling's okay. You've just got to stop putting yourself in jeopardy trying to rectify Pepe's situation.”

“But Hudson, what if they don't find her?”

“Sammy, listen,” he says, trying to sound cheerful. “Maybe the mother's fine. Maybe she's decided Pepe will be better off away from gang life.”

I scowl at him. “I don't believe that for a second.”

“Well, regardless of where she is, Pepe will be fine. He'll be well taken care of.”

“How can you say that? Remember Holly? Remember her nightmare life bouncing around from foster home to foster home?”

“There are lots of good foster homes. And there's a good chance he'll be adopted.”

“Hudson! He should be with his mother!”

He eyes me but doesn't say a word about
my
mother. Instead, he swings his boots back on the rail and says, “So Heather's at it again, huh? Now
she's
someone worth taking on.” He smiles at me. “How are you planning to expose her this time?”

I sigh and tell him, “I'm not.”

He looks at me, shocked.

“Hudson, the tournament's tomorrow! I've got no alibi and no proof.”

“You're not going to just let it go, are you?”

I throw my hands up in the air again. “What am I supposed to do? I almost don't care. If they want to be so dense as to think I would write that stuff and sign my
name
to it, well, it's hopeless.”

He thinks about this a minute, then says, “A person's true colors tend to emerge in these types of situations, don't they? That Ms. Rothhammer sounds like a fine woman. And you've got a real friend in Dot. It's not always painless to do the right thing, but those two are certainly making a stand for you.”

“I know. And if the rest of the school wants to be peabrained about Heather Acosta, I'm tired of trying to change their minds.”

“There must be some way to expose her.”

“Well, if there is, I'm clueless. I just feel bad for Marissa. I wish I'd never said I lived with her.”

He nods. “The majority of your problems would vanish if you didn't have to be a fugitive from the authorities yourself.”

“I know. But that's just the way it is, okay? I am
not
going to move to Hollywood to be with my mother.”

“What do you think about staying here?”

“Wow,” I said, blinking at him. Then I realized—it wouldn't change a thing. “There'd still be that whole mess about who's my legal guardian.”

“True,” he said, clicking his boots again. “I already tried to sway your grandmother, but she didn't seem to think it was doable, either.”

“You … you
did
?”

“Sure.” His eyes twinkled. “Invited you both, but I got turned down cold.”

I sat up straight. “Seriously?”

“Thought it would be a fine way for us all to get to know each other better.” He swirled the last bit of juice around in his glass. “Very strong-willed woman, that grandmother of yours. Says she'll find her own solution.”

I slumped back into the chair and grumbled, “Yeah. Hankies.”

“Pardon?”

“I take it she hasn't told you about her master plan yet?”

“Noooo.”

“Well, she'll kill me if I tell you first. Just be warned
that it involves your computer and some fancy booger catchers.”

His head crept up and down in a nod. “I see.”

“You will, anyway. Eventually.”

The phone rang. Hudson said, “Let me get that,” as he swung his legs off the rail. “I won't be but a minute.”

Twenty seconds later he was back, his head poking through the door. “You haven't spoken with her all day?” he whispered. He had the phone to his ear, the mouthpiece covered by a hand.

“Who?”

“Your grandmother!”

“Uh-oh.”

“Run, child!” he said. “I'll try to calm her down.”

Whatever he tried didn't work. She was steamy as a sauna when I walked in the door. “Samantha Jo, I thought I could trust you!” she said, then gave me the longest tongue-lashing I've ever gotten. Even from my mother. And believe me, I tried to tell her that I hadn't tagged the walls of Bruster, but I couldn't get half a syllable in edge-wise, let alone a whole word.

So I just sat there taking my verbal licks, getting more and more upset. And when she finally sputtered to a stop, I said, “I can't believe you believe them, Grams. Why do you and everybody else automatically believe everybody but me?”

“I didn't! I stuck up for you! I told Mr. Caan that you would never pull such a prank and that you would
certainly not be stupid enough to advertise yourself as a vandal by signing your name! And I was actually feeling sorry for you when I found
this
.” Then she does something that makes my heart bottom out. She whips out the clothes I'd hidden under the sink the night I'd been caught in the rain with Tippy. She shakes them at me, saying, “
This
made me realize that I don't know you, Samantha. I delude myself into thinking I do, but apparently I don't. And at first I couldn't figure out what in the world these rancid clothes were doing in the cupboard. But then I remembered that this is what you were wearing the night you went down to Maynard's for Mrs. Wedgewood.” She pulls a rumpled wad of bills off the kitchen counter. “
This
was still in the pocket. Soaked!” She slaps the money back on the counter and says, “You may take me for an idiot, but I assure you, young lady, I am not. One does not get one's clothes soaked while under the shelter of my umbrella. One remains virtually rain free. And yet these”—she flings my clothes at me—“are still soaked two days later!”

“Grams, I —” “You told me you'd washed up in the sink—it was all just a cover-up, wasn't it? I don't care so much
what
you're hiding from me, it's the fact that you're hiding things from me at all!”

“But Grams, I —”

“You need to make a decision, young lady. From now on, either you tell me the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, or you go live with your mother. I will not be deceived any longer, is that clear?”

“But Grams —”

“Is that clear?”

“Yes, Grams, but —”

“No buts! Is that clear or isn't it?”

There was a boulder in my throat. “Yes, Grams,” I whispered. And I was really hoping she would calm down and say, So, Samantha—explain yourself. Because I would have. No matter how much it scared her or worried her, I would have. Nothing was worth her being this mad at me.

But the minute I whispered Yes, Grams, she spun around, marched to her bedroom, and slammed the door.

She came out twice all night. And I tried to talk to her, but she refused to even acknowledge that I was there. I could tell that she'd been crying, and she could tell that I'd been crying, but still, she wouldn't talk to me. Not one word.

So I wrote her a letter. An eight-page letter, explaining everything. Apologizing for everything. And a little after midnight, when I was finally done, I signed it Love, Samantha, then blotted off the tears, folded it up, and slid it under her door.

I knew she was sleeping. I could hear her snoring through the door. But I was real quiet anyway as I made myself a peanut butter sandwich and stuffed it and a banana in my backpack. Then I grabbed my afghan off the couch, kissed Dorito between the eyes, and slipped out the door, down the fire escape, and into the night.