The Graham Cracker Plot (14 page)

I ran for the wire cutters as Ashley scooted past me and climbed to the top of the truck with the sheet.

“Get down!” I yelled. “We need you to drive!”

Ashley pulled each end of the sheet and held it in front of her. Written in huge letters, in three shades of lipstick, was FREE THE CHEMIST.

My heart about exploded from love for that woman. My skull even loosened a bit. Before I could pick up the cutters, I saw Graham, still following the Beefy Bit parade, accidentally step on Fred's leash. When the leash quit moving, poor Fred's neck wrenched. The dog skidded to a halt, but Graham was still running, trying to get around the leash.

Graham crashed into Fred. He flipped over Fred and took a face-plant in the street. The red stuff on the street was not ketchup. He was pouring blood everywhere. Fred stopped and sniffed him, but that lady kept riding. “Call the police,” she screamed at the fed-mates.

“Sure. Let me get my cell phone.” Then the guys laughed. That voice was the Chemist.

Judge Henry, Graham's job as distractor worked better than we'd planned. It was
real
. A man fixing a car in his garage ran toward Graham, calling for help.

My turn. I whirled around, facing the fence. And holy crap, there was Ashley, still holding the sheet. Her eyes were clear; Ashley was back!

“Now or never, flower girl.” Ashley winked at me.

I ran with the wire cutters. Fast. I
felt
like a blur. What stood between me and the Chemist: the street, a sidewalk, some grass, the fence topped with razor wire, more grass, and the hill where they smoked. And my right arm.

My feet kept going as I lifted the wire cutters. I needed that forward speed to get them over the fence. I closed my eyes and threw so hard my arm almost snapped off and soared with the cutters.

I heard a clink. They weren't supposed to
clink
. They were supposed to
thump
on the ground.

Sure enough. I'd missed. I threw the cutters with a nice arc, but the arc was too short and the fence was too high. The wire cutters were hooked on the fence. On the
outside
of the fence. Unreachable to anyone locked
inside
the fence.

There was no way the Chemist could climb the fence without those wire cutters in his hand. No possible way. The sharp wires at the top would slice him like Christmas ham.

By now, a crowd of neighbors had gathered around Graham, and Fred was barking up a storm.

Another brain shock. No feelings, no thinking. Just forward. Fast-forward.

I ran back to the truck, screaming at Ashley to jump down, which she did. She wouldn't be able to drive. She'd panic. In ten seconds, she'd have that sheet wrapped around her head.

So I got in the driver's seat, buckled up, and shoved the steering wheel stick from
P
for park to
D
for drive. It wasn't a train, or dynamite, which would've worked better, but where does a girl find cheap dynamite? A speeding farm pickup truck was all we had left.

The truck charged forward. I don't remember using my foot. It just moved and when I say moved, I mean
raced
.

The truck roared into the street.

The truck staggered over the curb and sped across the grass.

The truck punched a hole through the fence.

Metal screeched and scratched and screamed.

The next thing I knew, I was standing on the grass. I blinked and tried to remember what happened in last few seconds. Fear turned me into stone. Or else I had smacked my head on the steering wheel.

The fence had banged and scratched the truck, but it was still running.

The Chemist raced down the hill toward me. “Daisy? Daisy? What the hell!” He hugged me. “Are you hurt?”

“Get in the truck and drive!” I ordered.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Escaping! To Canada! You're going to marry Ashley and build solar panels, and then clear your name and get an Internet job. But you gotta hurry.”

He looked at the truck with wide eyes. The Chemist's hand shook as he reached toward the door. His fingers stopped an inch from the truck, like an invisible force separated them. His eyes blinked, and he looked lost.

“Hurry!” I said.

The Chemist stared at the truck. But he wouldn't
move
. He looked at the sky and a tear fell from his face. He took a big breath, like the air smelled better down by the fence, because it was closer to freedom.

That brain-shock feeling? The tight skull? It squeezed sound from my head. I could see, but I could barely hear. Everything sounded deep and slow and far, far away.

I tugged on the Chemist's arm. He pulled away and punched the truck. He rubbed his fist with his other hand, and leaned his face against the truck like it was a warm shoulder. Then he turned around and slid into the grass. On his knees, he blinked tears and stared at the sky.

Sound came back to my ears. Somebody yelled and then a siren roared.

Was I spinning? Must have been because I saw everything around me. Ashley stood inside the fence, still holding the FREE THE CHEMIST sheet. She held it high and proud, but purple mascara and tears trickled down her face. Graham sat on the sidewalk with neighbors holding a towel on his face. Guards circled the fed-mates who pushed and shoved each other.

The Chemist scrambled to his feet and backed away. I grabbed his hand and pulled, but he snapped his hand from mine. He backed away from
me
. His Daisy girl.

I think I shouted, “Do you want out of here or not? Because I want you out of here!”

The speakers on the building said, “Intruder alert. Begin Code Three Lockdown. Repeat: Intruder alert. Begin Code Three Lockdown.”

From the hilltop, Aaron waddle-ran toward us. He yelled something like, “It ain't worth it, Jacob. Just do your damn time—it's not that long. If you run, you'll be hiding forever. The guards are here—don't make any funny moves. Don't make your baby see the ugly stuff.”

The Chemist gazed at the blue sky, streaked with spring clouds, and a strange smile spread across his face. I think he whispered, “You are one gutsy kid,” but there was so much racket I couldn't tell.

Then another voice: “Get your hands in the air.”

Then the same voice: “Stay nice and easy.”

A long gun pointed at the Chemist's back. He didn't move, just stared through me.

I've felt shame, felt it sink into my stomach and turn my face red, but I'd never seen it on another face until then. Especially not the Chemist's face. He wouldn't—couldn't—look at my eyes.

The voice repeated: “I said, arms in the air. Nice and slow.”

The Chemist put his arms in the air, nice and slow, like the voice said.

“Do not make any sudden moves. We are authorized to fire.”

Fire what?

Aaron yelled, “I got the kid.”

The guards handcuffed the Chemist, and up the hill they went. From the back, the Chemist looked like all the other fed-mates, just a skinny guy, head hanging low, in an orange uniform.

Aaron got in front of me and blocked my view. I tried to look past him, but he held my shoulders tight.

“You don't need to see this. C'mon. I'll take you to my office.”

“See?” Ashley yelled. “Even hope can't get through that fence! I told you: ‘What was dead was Hope.'”

“Who's the crazy person?” Aaron asked.

“My friend.”

 

DEAR JUDGE HENRY,

I got crackers in Aaron's office while we waited for a County person to come for me. My brain shock faded. I looked around at Aaron's big metal desk, a bulletin board with official-looking papers, and shelves with official-looking books.

Aaron gave me a glass of water and sat down. He watched me eat for a minute, then he said, “The cops aren't allowed to talk to you because you're underage. But I'm not a cop. I'm security. What we tell each other stays in this room, okay?”

I pushed another cracker in my mouth and chewed.

“Daisy, what were you thinking? Do you realize a guard could have shot all of you?”

“We almost made it. We got so close.” I held back tears. I didn't want Aaron to see me acting like a big baby.

“You sure did.”

“We could have been halfway to Canada by now.”

“At least to the edge of town,” Aaron said. “So, Canada? You know you need a passport to get into Canada?”

“A passport? Really?” Now that was a huge hole in the plan. But the Chemist would've figured a way around it. “Aaron, where are Graham and Ashley?”

“The boy that got hurt? The ambulance took him. And the girl? The one in all black?”

“That's her,” I said.

“I think the city police were talking to her.”

There was a long pause. I put another cracker in my mouth and chewed and chewed, but I couldn't swallow it. So I spit the mess in a tissue from Aaron's desk.

Aaron put his elbows on his desk and leaned closer. “Daisy, we got a saying here, ‘You do the crime, you gotta do the time.'”

“But he didn't do the crime!”

“I got a secret to tell you. Your grandma and I have gone to dinner a few times.” He blushed. “We talk a lot. We even use the email. And I keep telling her it's time.”

“Time for what?”

“To tell you the truth. And since your mom doesn't know how to do it, and your grandma doesn't know how to do it, I'm going to. Your grandma might not speak to me again, but I know what's right and wrong, and they're wronging you with this silence.”

I didn't know his big truth, but his face told me it was bad. I sat as straight as possible, waiting for the punch.

“I know you think everything was an accident—the house blowing up, the firefighter getting hurt, your dad trying to put out the fire. But that's kinda misleading. You know what
misleading
means?”

“Lying?”

“Not quite. It's keeping out some information. You get a nugget of truth, but not the whole story. Your family is misleading you. See, your dad wasn't doing some chemistry experiment. He mixed up a batch of drugs. Real bad drugs that hurt people. He was going to sell those drugs. It's against the law.”

“I don't believe you. You're a guard. You're paid to lie about the people here.” My voice sounded hoarse.

“Daisy, that's not the way it is. The truth is in the police reports, the court reports, and even the fire department reports. Your dad stepped outside to have a cigarette at the perfect moment. He's a lucky son of a gun. If he'd have stayed in that house, the explosion would've killed him. Yes, he tried to put out the fire, but—”

“But you can't put out that kind of fire with a regular garden hose.” I sounded like a robot.

“That's right, Daisy,” he said. “That's right.”

There wasn't much more to say. We looked at each other—me and my grandma's secret boyfriend, the jelly-belly guard who watches over my father, the secret drug maker.

“You okay?” Aaron asked.

“I'm never calling him the Chemist again. Not ever. To infinity.”

 

 

THE FINAL PART

 

DEAR JUDGE HENRY,

Mom knew about the County. She knew about the court. She knew we better start looking like good, responsible kids. She called the church people right away, and three days later, we were headed back to the farm. Mom said it would make us look good to clean their house without being ordered to do it. This, she said, would improve our chances with the judge when we went to juvenile court.

Graham had spent a night at the hospital, but he was fine. Bruised and stitched and missing front teeth, but fine. Ashley had been whisked away by a County worker, but I wasn't surprised to hear that. The County was in charge of Ashley's life.

So Mom drove me, Ashley, and Graham to the church people's house. Their names are Marv and Lillian Gunderson. Mom said to call them Mr. and Mrs. Gunderson so we didn't sound like hillbillies.

Kari didn't come with us. Graham said she had a headache. Mom frowned when he said that, and I wondered if Kari and Mom were best friends anymore.

Nobody talked in the car. Mom had finally calmed down, and none of us needed to hear the yelling again. Let me tell you, I had about ten minutes of “Oh, God, you're home—thank you, Lord—we were so worried, my baby, my sweetheart, my angel.” And about ten
hours
of “What were you thinking? You could have been hurt or worse—killed—and this is not shoplifting or cheating in school, it's serious stuff and you are so grounded!”

Ashley didn't have parents to yell at her, but she has to see the head doctor. Mom said the doctor would probably give her new head medicine, and the County would take away her car keys forever.

But that morning, on the way to clean for the church people, Ashley was all smiles and bright eyes. She wore a white sundress. How was she going to clean in that? Her wig had long red curls, and instead of working shoes, she wore sparkly sandals with spike heels.

Graham wore the same old jeans and flannel shirt he wore every weekend. His face was swollen and both eyes were circled in purple bruises. Stitches made a track across his forehead. He lost two teeth when he tripped on the leash and somersaulted over Fred. He couldn't say the letter
s
right. It wath tho annoying!

Everything about him annoyed me. That day at the prison, I didn't have any leftover energy to be mad about the Idea Coin. Now I had energy. If he hadn't hypnotized me with that coin at the play dump, none of it would've happened. None of it.

*   *   *

Mrs. Gunderson answered the door. She was short with an old-lady belly bulge. Her hair was silver-gray and—here's the coolest thing—her glasses were red! For some reason, this gave me hope. A lady with a church heart and Ashley fashion.