Last in a Long Line of Rebels (11 page)

“Okay,” I answered.

“Wait!” Patty yelled. “We forgot something.” She ran back into the junkyard. After several minutes, she emerged carrying a shovel and an old bucket. “Now we're ready!”

A few hours later, we were tired and sweaty, all for nothing. We'd made a small pile of cola tabs, nails, and even what looked like a retainer under the oak tree, but nothing resembling gold.

“That stunk,” Patty said, throwing herself down on the grass. “I don't even want to know whose retainer that was. Gross.”

“Totally.” I sat down and leaned against the tree trunk. “My aches have aches. I've spent the last week cleaning this monstrosity of a house, and now I'm pretty sure I have a splinter in my thumb.”

Franklin leaned an elbow on the metal detector. “Operating the machine is much harder than it looks in the catalog, I have to admit.”

Benzer sat down next to me. “So what's the next step?”

I shook my head. “Ask Franklin. I'm too hot and tired to think.”

“I suppose the next logical step is to search the junkyard,” Franklin answered.

“Then the next logical step is to just give up,” I said. “We'll never find it under all that crap.”

Patty yawned. “I'm with Lou. There's fifty years' worth of metal back there. It'd be too deep for us to find, anyway.”

“Hmm,” Franklin said. “I hadn't thought of that.”

“What now?” I asked, groaning.

“Well, the junkyard has only been here fifty years. Before that, I'm assuming it was just land, and probably the first place gold seekers would have looked. So there's no reason to look again. Either it wasn't buried there or someone found it long ago.”

“Great,” I said. “So some third cousin twice removed might have found it, and spent it all.”

“Or maybe it never existed,” Franklin said.

“Franklin!” Patty yelled.

“Sorry, I was just being honest.”

“Well, stop it,” Patty said.

I lay down in the grass and stared up at the oak, the one my mother had just informed me probably had a disease. This had to be the worst summer vacation ever. “Franklin's right,” I said. “Let's face it. The gold might not even exist.” I turned my head to look at my friends, my throat growing tight. “It's over, you guys. I give up.”

“To be clear,” Franklin said, “are you giving up on finding the gold, or saving the house too?”

“The whole shebang!” I yelled. “I'm officially giving up on summer.”

From the diary of Louise Duncan Mayhew
March 1862

A ruckus in town today provided excitement, something most of us would gladly do without. Mr. Altman gave a speech on the courthouse steps that was pro-Union in nature. While I knew Olivia
to be in agreement, no one else supported his
position, at least publically, and he was driven out of town by a small mob. Madness everywhere.

I
was in a deep funk for three whole days until something awesome happened. Posters showing a giant Ferris wheel and a clown started appearing on telephone poles all over town. The county fair is the best part of the summer, and I'm usually so excited about going I mark the days off on a calendar. This year, I'd been so busy thinking about losing the house, I'd forgotten.

Mama teased me about going, saying we'd be out of town or inventing some crazy statistic about kids falling off of Ferris wheels, but Friday evening, we all piled in the car. A couple of miles from the fairgrounds, we rolled to a stop. It's the only time of the year that Zollicoffer has a traffic jam, and we joined everyone from three counties on the two-lane blacktop. I could see my favorite ride, the Bullet, lit up and turning in the distance.

“Daddy, hurry. I want to ride everything before the little kids puke and ruin them all.”

“Settle down. We'll be there in a minute.”

“I told you we should have left an hour ago,” Bertie mumbled under her breath.

Mama looked at us in her vanity mirror, but didn't respond. Bertie loves the fair as much as I do. She says she can get a whole month's worth of gossip in one good night on the midway.

Daddy handed a man from the Optimist Club five dollars and parked. I was out before the car had completely stopped.

“Louise Mayhew,” Mama said, “you hang on one second.”

I looked at my watch. “Mama, I was supposed to meet everybody fifteen minutes ago!”

“They'll wait.” She held up a ten-dollar bill. “What are the rules?”

“No talking to strangers, no leaving the fairgrounds, and no gorging myself on cotton candy.” I grabbed the money, grinning.

“And stay together,” she said.

“See y'all at ten o'clock,” I called over my shoulder. I ran in and out of the parked cars, headed for the midway.

“Meet at the Ferris wheel,” Daddy yelled, “and don't be late.”

I rolled my eyes. We were late getting there; you'd think we could have stayed a little longer. I got to the Bullet just as Benzer, Franklin, and Patty were getting off the ride.

“It's about time,” Benzer said. “Pete King almost lost his caramel apple.”

“Yes,” said Franklin. “You should have seen him. He was a very unnatural shade of green.”

And Patty was a very unnatural shade of orange, I could have added.

“Been doubling up on the tanner?” I asked.

“Why? Does it look weird?”

I sniffed. A strange smell, like burnt rubber, hit my nose. “Um, no. You look great.”

“Do you want to borrow it? All the girls in junior high will be coming back from summer break super tan.”

I pretended not to hear her. “Why don't we go ride again?”

We rode four more times, and then everyone voted to take a break. Even Benzer looked a little sick.

“Would anyone like a burger?” Franklin asked. “My parents get home tomorrow, so we might as well spend the rest of the money they left me.”

A few minutes later, we were eating at picnic tables, watching the waves of people pass by. Several kids from school stopped to talk to us, reminding me that the summer would eventually end. My stomach hurt just thinking about it. The only good thing was that I'd heard Sally Martin was still on her cruise, so I wouldn't have to see her.

“C'mon, you guys,” Benzer said. “I think I can handle the Spinning Genie now.”

“We'd better hurry,” Franklin said. “The line will be extensive at this hour.”

I swallowed hard, ignoring the knot in my stomach, and joined my friends.

We had ridden every ride at least three times, eaten caramel apples and cotton candy, watched the Fairest of the Fair contest—Tracy Kimmel won, big surprise—and lost all of our money helping Franklin try to win stuffed animals.

“You want to ride the Haunted Helicopter one last time?” Patty asked. “I've got a few tickets left.” It was her favorite ride, mainly because the operator was our age and winked at her every time she handed over two tickets.

“No way,” Benzer answered. “That ride is lame. Maybe the—” He stopped suddenly and peered over our shoulders.

We turned together, curious to see what had caught his attention. A crowd of people stood around the dunking booth. Coach Peeler sat on the small metal seat, his shirt soaked and clinging to his fat belly. I barely had time to notice the smug grin on his face before the
ting
of a ball hitting the target sounded, followed by a
whoosh
,
splash
, and he disappeared.

A few people in the crowd cheered, but most stood by, frowning.

“Hey, kid, give it a rest,” shouted a burly man in the crowd. I recognized Mr. Kramer, the road commissioner. Bertie went on a couple of dates with him a year ago, but quit. “He's a drinker,” she'd told us. “It's a wonder every yellow line in Zollicoffer's not crooked.”

“That's Isaac,” whispered Franklin.

“C'mon,” Benzer said.

I had told the three of them about overhearing Isaac and Daniella, and we'd tried to guess what he was planning. Mostly we'd come up with egging the coach's house or something involving toilet paper. We hurried over to the crowd.

Sure enough, there was Isaac, standing at the booth. He wore Levi's and work boots, a white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled back to show strong forearms, and a beat-up UT cap. My mind searched for a word to describe him. “Fierce,” I finally said in a quiet voice.

TING, WHOOSH, SPLASH.

The crowd moved and murmured. “Stupid, uppity jerk. What's he trying to prove?” Their voices rang out clearly across the fairground, over the bells and whistles of the carnival games.

The four of us walked through the crowd, pushing our way to the front. Daniella put a hand on Isaac's elbow, but he shrugged it off.

I noticed Bertie standing nearby, and I made my way toward her.

“What's going on?” I asked.

She put an arm around my shoulders and leaned down. “Isaac is soaking the creep, that's what's going on. It's been going on for fifteen minutes.”

“Three more,” Isaac said in a tight voice.

“Just a lucky shot,” Coach Peeler called out. “I've seen that arm in action. There's a reason you didn't play quarterback.”

“Show him, Isaac,” one voice called, then another said, “He ain't got what it takes,” and “Somebody needs to teach him a lesson.”

I wasn't sure if they meant Coach Peeler or Isaac.

The attendant pocketed Isaac's money and handed over three more balls.

“Drown the son of a gun,” Bertie yelled.

I turned, scanning the faces of the crowd. I couldn't tell who was for Isaac and who was against, but the white faces outnumbered the black ones by a mile. One face stood out, pale and shaky: Drew Canton. He hung toward the back with Tracy Kimmel, peering around the person in front of him, as if trying to get a better view while staying unnoticed.

Isaac threw a ball.
TING, WHOOSH, SPLASH.
Coach Peeler went down. Isaac picked up another ball, tense, staring at the place where Coach Peeler had been, waiting for the next chance to soak him.

“We get it, boy,” a guy called out. “You can throw a ball. Now, move on.”

Daniella looked around, glaring. She looked like she was ready to march into the crowd and punch the guy. I moved forward to go and stand with them, but Bertie held me back.

“Oh, no you don't. Isaac can handle this without you.”

Coach Peeler laughed, but he didn't look happy. He slowly climbed out of the water and sat on the seat. He'd barely settled when Isaac hurled another ball, dunking him again. He disappeared under the beige water, his Zollicoffer High hat floating along on the waves. He finally stood, waist deep in the water.

“That all you got?” he called.

“Get back in the chair!” Isaac roared.

Isaac pulled his arm back, ready to throw, when suddenly the ball was grabbed from his hand. He spun around, looking ready to fight, but it was Mr. Coleman, Isaac's daddy. He put his hand on Isaac's shoulder and spoke to him in a low voice. Isaac nodded, stiffly as if his neck hurt to move, while his dad continued talking.

The crowd stayed, watching, until finally Isaac smiled grimly and put his arm around Daniella, breaking the tension. The three of them walked, head high, off the midway without a backward glance.

“What, you done already?” Coach Peeler called to their backs. “I was just getting cooled off.”

A few people laughed, already dispersing.

“Whew,” said Patty. “I thought we were about to see a major fight!”

“I'm glad that's over,” I said. I ran my hands through my hair, surprised to find them shaking.

“Did you see that ball?” Benzer asked. “It had to be going ninety miles an hour. I'd love to be that good.”

“It's a good thing Isaac's daddy showed up,” Patty said.

“Speaking of daddies,” Bertie said, looking at me, “yours is going to whip us like a rented mule if we're not at that Ferris wheel in two minutes.”

“May I have a ride home?” Franklin asked. “I don't want to wake my grandmother, and Tracy might not remember me for hours.”

If ever,
I thought. But I just nodded and started down the midway.

On the way home, Mama found a radio station and began singing. Her sculpture,
A Bird in the Hand
, had won second place in the three-dimensional art category. I didn't point out that there were only four entries, and two of those were from fifth graders.

We pulled up to Franklin's house, with its neat front porch and glossy black shutters. Even the landscaping was perfect, with a large water fountain in the middle of the yard. It was the opposite of my house, with its peeling paint and rickety handrails.

Franklin waved good-bye and turned to walk up the brick stairway. For some reason, watching him go into that dark house all alone made me sad.

I watched the countryside speed by the window as we drove home. There were no streetlights, and the inky-black sky was full of bright stars. I knew from science class that even though their light was just now reaching us, some of them were already dead. We just lived too far away to know any better. That had always bothered me. Maybe everything was just a glimmer of what used to be. What if my house, my old
life
, was already gone and I just didn't know it yet? I couldn't see anything to do but wait.