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“He's in the kitchen, loading up. I hear you guys had a little adventure last night. ”
Derek had insisted on telling Simon that contacting the zombie ghosts had been his idea, so if Simon was put out by being excluded, the blame would fall on him. I thought he'd been trying to grab the glory—pretend he'd figured out what my ghost wanted. But Simon's expression told me he felt he had missed out on something. So I was kind of glad he didn't think I'd been the one who left him sleeping.
As I settled at the table, Derek came in, glass of milk in one hand, juice in the other. Simon reached out for one, but Derek set them both down at his plate with a grunted, “Get your own. ” Simon pushed to his feet, slapped Derek's back, and sauntered into the kitchen.
“Are you okay?” I whispered.
Derek's gaze shot to the closing kitchen door. He didn't want Simon knowing he'd been sick. I wasn't sure I liked that, and we locked glares, but the set of his jaw told me it wasn't open for discussion.
“I'm fine,” he rumbled after a moment. “Tylenol finally kicked it. ”
His eyes were underscored with dark circles and were faintly bloodshot, but so were mine. He was pale,
his acne redder than normal. Tired, but recovering. There was no fever in his eyes and by the way he attacked his oatmeal, he hadn't lost his appetite.
“Do I pass, Dr. Saunders?” he murmured under his breath.
“I guess so. ”
A grunt as he spooned more brown sugar into his bowl. “Some kind of reaction, like I said. ” He ate three heaping spoonfuls of porridge. Then, gaze still on his breakfast, he said, “What's wrong?”
“I didn't say a word. ”
“Something's up. What is it?”
“Nothing. ”
His head turned, gaze going to mine. “Yeah?”
“Yes. ”
A snort and he returned to his bowl as Simon came back.
“Anyone see the chore list for this morning?” he said, handing me a glass of orange juice. He sat down and reached for the sugar bowl. Derek took it from him, paused, then spooned more onto his oatmeal. A look passed between them. Simon gulped his orange juice and said, “We're on leaf-?raking duty. Van Dop wants the dead leaves from last fall cleared…”
As he talked, Derek's gaze lifted to mine again, studying. I glanced away and bit into my apple.
* * *
Saturday was indeed chore day. Normally, I'd have been groaning at the thought—and wishing for school instead—but today it worked out perfectly. With Dr. Gill, Ms. Wang, and Miss Van Dop gone, Ms. Abdo out running errands, and Mrs. Talbot doing paperwork, we had the run of the house and I had an excuse for getting Simon outside alone, by offering to help him with the raking while Derek was upstairs changing the bedding.
* * *
“You're having second thoughts,” Simon said when we were far enough from the house to not be overheard.
“What?”
He bent and retied his sneakers, face down. “About running away. You're afraid to tell Derek because he'll give you a hassle, get up in your face. ”
“That's not—”
“No, that's okay. I was surprised you offered in the first place. Surprised in a good way but—If you've changed your mind, that's totally cool and I don't blame you. ”
I continued toward the shed. “I am coming… unless you're having second thoughts about taking me. ”
He swung open the shed door and motioned for me to stay as he vanished in its dark depths, dirt and dust swirling in his wake. “I should probably say I don't need any help. But honestly?” His words were punctuated by rattles and clanks as he hunted for the rakes. “Though I don't expect trouble, a second pair of eyes would really come in handy if I'm on the run. ”
“I'd rather be that second set of eyes than sit here waiting for rescue,” I said as he emerged holding two rakes.
“Like Derek you mean?”
“No, that wasn't a slam. ” I shut the shed door and fastened the latch. “Last night he told me why he was staying. Because of what he did. Which I already knew about because I kind of—”
“Read his file?”
“I—I was—”
“Checking up on him after he grabbed you in the basement. That's what he figured. Smart move. ” He motioned for us to start in the farthest corner, where a layer of decomposing leaves from last year blanketed the ground. “Don't let him razz you about it. He read yours. ”
I shrugged. “Fair is fair, I guess. ”
“He read yours before you read his. Bet he didn't mention that when you confessed. ”
“No, he didn't. ”
We started raking. For at least a minute, Simon said nothing, then he glanced over at me. “I bet he didn't mention how it happened either. The fight, that is. ”
I shook my head. “He just said the guy didn't pull a gun on him. He wouldn't discuss it. ”
“It happened last fall. We'd moved to some hick town outside Albany. No offense to small towns, I'm sure they're very nice places to live… for some people. Hotbeds of multiculturalism, they are not. But my dad hooked a job in Albany and this was the only place he could snag a sublet before the school year started. ”
He raked his leaves into the pile I'd started. “I was hanging out behind the school, waiting for Derek to finish talking to the math teacher. They were trying to come up with a special curriculum for him. Small school; not used to guys like Derek. Or, like me, as it turned out. ”
A mouse scampered from under a tree root, and Simon crouched to squint into the hole, making sure there weren't any more coming out before he raked around it. “I was shooting hoops when these three senior guys came strolling over. They're wearing Docs and beaters, and they're sauntering my way and I smell redneck trouble. I'm not going to bolt, but if they want the hoop, I'll get out of their way, you know?”
A blast of wind scattered the top layer of our pile. He sighed, shoulders slumping. I motioned for him to continue while I tidied it up.
“Only they didn't want the court. They wanted me. Seems one guy's mom worked at this 7-Eleven before it was bought by a Vietnamese family who gave her the boot. This was, like, a year before but, naturally, I must be related to them, right? I pointed out that, shockingly, not all Asians are related and we don't all own convenience stores. ”
He stopped raking. “When I say I'm not Vietnamese, one guy asks what I am. I say American, but eventually I give them what they want, and say my grandfather came from South Korea. Well, wouldn't you know it, one guy's uncle was killed in the Korean War. If this guy ever took a history class, he slept through it. He thought Koreans declared war on Americans. So I set him straight. And, yeah, I was a bit of a smart-?ass about it. My dad always says if I can't learn to keep my mouth shut, I'd better work on my defensive spells. And that day—” he resumed raking, voice dropping "—that day, he was right.
