Trail of Secrets (8 page)

“Try to be on time Monday, Bannon,” Mr. Jacks barked. “No junk food this weekend. The meet is in two weeks, and you need to start getting into shape.”

I saluted and kept on jogging towards the street. Sometimes, it's best not to say what you're thinking. I slowed down when I reached the sidewalk and turned to walk home. I had my head down and was deciding what I'd make Dad for supper. He'd promised to be on time tonight. I could whip up some pasta and sauce without any trouble. Mr. Jacks ought to approve of that.

Without warning, I felt a hand on my back between my shoulder blades. My whole body stiffened, and I let out a scream. I spun around, raising one arm to strike my attacker. Evan Quinn's smile disappeared when he saw
my frightened face. He quickly lowered his hand from where he'd held it on my back a second before.

“I'm so sorry, Jennifer. I never meant to scare you,” he said. “I'm
really
sorry.”

I slumped in relief. “No problem, Evan. You just surprised me, that's all.” I lowered my arm too. “What are you doing here?”

“I just thought I might walk you home. It's getting dark and . . . well, if you don't mind some company.”

I started walking back towards home. “Okay,” I said. It
was
getting dark. The tree branches had lengthened into long shadowy fingers on the street, and the air was getting chillier. I stopped and faced him. “How did you know I'd be here?”

Evan met my eyes. “You mentioned the tryouts last week. I watched you cross the finish line, by the way. You weren't even breathing hard.”

“I might have held something back.” I smiled and really looked at him for the first time. His face was pale, and he had dark circles under his eyes. I turned and started walking again.

“Where were you all week?” I asked.

“Toronto.” He paused. “I had a some, uh, stuff to do.”

“Is everything okay?”

He answered quickly. “Sure, no worries. Did I miss much biology or English homework?”

“A few things,” I said. “If you want, I could lend you my notes when we get to my house.”

“Sounds good,” Evan said. “I haven't got much on tonight and can go through them at home.”

I made a sudden decision. “Would you like to have supper with Dad and me? I'm making pasta.”

“That would be great,” Evan said. “I like pasta. Are you sure, though?”

“Yeah. Dad will love talking cars with you, and I always like trying out my recipes on new tastebuds.”

I knew I shouldn't trust Evan Quinn, but for some reason, I didn't buy the rumours that painted him as a drug-pushing addict. The stories didn't add up. Until facts proved otherwise, I was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.

Dad was in the living room with his feet up on the coffee table, reading a book on car engines. He looked relaxed in jeans and a red and white plaid shirt rolled up at the sleeves. Wet hair meant he'd just come out of the shower. When he saw me, he smiled and the tiredness softened around his eyes.

“Hey, Jenny bear. I thought you'd been spending too much time alone, so I told Tyson Palmer he'd have to wait until tomorrow afternoon for his Camaro. I've ordered pizza and picked up a movie rental. Are you in the mood for comedy?”

“Sounds good, Dad,” I said as I motioned for Evan to come into the living room. He'd been standing out of sight in the hallway. “I've brought a friend home. Dad, meet Evan Quinn. His family's new in Springhills.”

Dad stood and reached out to shake Evan's hand. Evan shook Dad's hand firmly and looked him square in the eyes. “How do you do, sir?” Evan asked.

“You can call me Mark,” Dad said. “Where do you come from?”

The twenty million dollar question. I looked at Evan and wondered what city he'd name.

Evan's eyes were making a sweep of the living room.
“We move around a lot.” He pointed to a picture of me and Leslie on the wall. It had been taken the summer before when we were visiting my grandmother. “I didn't know you had a sister,” he said.

Dad and I exchanged glances. I said, “That's Leslie. She's living with Mom and her new husband in Los Angeles.”

The doorbell rang. “Pizza's here,” Dad said.

“I'll pour some milk,” I said. “Let's go sit in the kitchen, Evan.”

“Cool,” Evan said.

Dad divided up the pizza and served it around the kitchen table. I hadn't realized how hungry I was as I bit into the first piece.

Evan wolfed down a piece and said, “Good pizza. I haven't had any since I got to Springhills.”

“Have you tried any of our restaurants?” Dad asked. “The Butternut Diner next to Bill's Hardware has the best food in town.”

Evan shook his head. He was chewing on another piece. “My sister and I aren't much for eating out.”

I could see Evan's collarbone jutting from above the collar of his sweatshirt, which was faded and frayed at the seams. Maybe his family was poorer than I'd thought. Still, poverty didn't fit in with the rumoured family crime business and the car he'd been driving.

“Do you still have that Lamborghini Spider?” I asked.

Dad's head snapped up. “You own a Lamborghini?”

“No. That is,
I
don't own it. A friend leant it to me for the week.”

I could have sworn Evan had told me he'd had it just
for the afternoon. I opened my mouth to ask but decided not to. Chances were he wouldn't answer anyway.

“Nice friend,” Dad said. “What's it have under the hood? A V-10?”

Evan nodded, his blonde hair flopping into his eyes. The two of them launched into engine talk I couldn't follow even if I'd wanted to. Evan looked at me a few times apologetically, but Dad was so thrilled to have someone to talk with who seemed to know as much about cars as he did that he wasn't going to miss the opportunity. I nodded a couple of times then tuned them out.

After we'd finished the last morsel of pizza, I stood to gather up our plates. At the same time, Uncle Phil opened the back door and bounded into the kitchen. He was carrying a box of doughnuts that he plunked down on the table. “I thought I was bringing appetizers, but I see you've already dined,” he said. Uncle Phil had started growing a beard that gave him a masculine, rugged look. The nurses would be lining up in droves.

“Hey, Uncle Phil. Meet Evan Quinn,” I said.

Uncle Phil looked at Evan. “Don't I know you from somewhere?”

Evan shrugged. “Maybe you've seen me around Spring-hills.”

“No, that's not it,” Uncle Phil said. “I have a memory for faces. Give me time, and I'll remember.”

I glanced at Evan, who had an uncomfortable expression on his face. “Evan's in my biology and English classes,” I said quickly. “He lives with his sister . . . where is your house, Evan?”

“We're on Oakdale Road.”

“Isn't that the new subdivision going out of town towards Toronto?” Dad asked. “Some big houses there.”

Evan shrugged again. “We're just renting a bungalow from a family who wanted somebody to live there while they're overseas. Nice, but nothing special.”

Uncle Phil turned a chair around and straddled the seat. He folded open the cardboard box and motioned for us to take a doughnut. I reached for my favourite, a cherry cruller.

Evan said, “No thanks.”

“Your dad's moving here soon though, right?” I asked, trying to remember what he'd told me about his family.

“He'll be here in a week or two. His latest project should wrap up then.”

“Is your dad in sales?” Dad asked. The question the town had been dying to ask.

A slow blush crept up Evan's cheeks. “You could say that.” He looked over at me. “This has been great, Jennifer, but if I could borrow your notes, I should be heading home. I have a bit of catching up to do before tomorrow.”

“Okay,” I said, popping the last of my doughnut into my mouth and rubbing my hand on my pant leg. Evan followed me as I went into my bedroom to get the notes from my desk. He leaned against the door jamb and looked around. I'd actually made my bed and picked up clothes that had been accumulating on the floor, so it could have been worse. “My room's a work in progress,” I said.

“I know that feeling,” Evan said. “I like your room. It reflects your personality. It's got a warm and . . . happy feel.”

“Thanks, Evan.”

“I really appreciate this, Jennifer,” Evan said as I handed him the papers. “I'll see you at school tomorrow.”

“Sounds good.” I walked him to our front door and turned on the porch light. “It's getting dark early now,” I said. “Do you need a lift home?”

“No, I'm fine,” Evan said. “See you around.”

“See you.” I closed the door after him and wandered back into the kitchen. Uncle Phil and Dad both looked up at me.

“Seems like a nice guy,” Dad offered.

“He sure looks familiar. I wonder where I know his face from,” Uncle Phil said. “I'll have to give it some thought.”

Maybe it was a police lineup
. I gave my head a mental shake. Evan
was
a nice guy, and all the rumours swirling around Morton T. High had to be nonsense.

“I think he's okay,” I said. “Well, I have some French homework to do before we watch the movie.”

“I'll clean up,” Dad said. “We'll start the movie when you're ready.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

Friday was a disturbing kind of day. I slept through my alarm clock and made it to first period with seconds to spare. I slid into my usual seat and gave Evan a smile before we both turned towards Mr. Williams, who was dressed in a stained white lab coat that must have seen its share of experiments. It was unbuttoned, showing off a necktie patterned on the Canadian flag. With his wild red
hair, he could have passed for Gene Wilder in that movie
Young Frankenstein
.

“Get into groups of two,” he said. “Today we begin the dissection of frogs.”

“I'll be your partner,” Gillian Foster said, pushing her desk closer to mine. I glanced over at Evan. He hadn't been picked by anyone. Mr. Williams noticed too.

“Evan, you can join Tom Wiggins and Kevin Strong,” he said. Tom and Kevin didn't look pleased, but they weren't about to challenge Mr. Williams. It must be bad if Evan wasn't even welcome with the unpopular kids. Once your reputation is gone at school, there isn't a lot of forgiveness. It's a thousand times harder if you're an outsider to start with.

It turned out Gillian was squeamish, so I ended up doing the dissection from beginning to end, no pun intended. At one point, Gillian actually held her hand over her mouth as if she was going to be sick. Luckily, the dissection didn't bother me, except that it was going to take a long run to get the smell of formaldehyde out of my nose.

“Well, that was fun,” I said. “I hope you're not planning a career in the medical field, Gill.”

Gillian giggled. Her face was still an off-shade of grey. “They couldn't pay me enough.”

French class had turned into a training ground for first-year teacher Madame Grégoire, who was slowly rising to the challenge. Toby Manning and his two friends had given themselves the assignment of trying to crack her, but by the second week, she was getting into the swing of classroom control. On Thursday, she'd sent Toby
and his three friends to the principal's office after school for an hour of verb conjugation. Today, they were subdued and had stopped calling out ridiculous French answers that had nothing to do with the lesson Madame Grégoire was trying to teach. She had that determined look on her face that new teachers get when they've had enough of having their buttons pushed. I figured she might make it as a teacher after all.

Ambie was already in her desk in English class when I settled into mine. She leaned over and said, “Did you hear about Evan Quinn?”

“No, what now?” Something in her tone told me this wasn't going to be good.

“He started acting all weird last period, and his sister had to take him home.”

“What do you mean, weird?”

“I don't know exactly. Disoriented and staggering around.”

“He seemed fine first period. I wonder what happened.”

“Everyone thinks he's crazy and into things he shouldn't be messing with. You should be careful around him, Jen.”

“Do you think he's crazy, Ambie?”

“I don't know him well enough to say, but his reputation isn't good.”

I opened my copy of
Hamlet
, but the words on the page swam in front of my eyes. I didn't want Evan to be weird. I didn't want Mom and Leslie to live in Los Angeles and Pete to live in Montreal. All these awful, unchangeable things were piling up and threatening to collapse on me.

I heard Ambie's voice soften. “Meet you after school,
Jen. We'll go to my house and talk things over.” Her eyes were filled with concern.