moved out of his way againâbut the kid almost connected. Worry filled me up so fast, I didnât even realize I had let go of Angel until she was standing between Peavine and Max, both hands raised, palms out.
âYou leave my brother alone!â she yelled.
Max made like he was going to walk off, then turned in a blink and planted his fist right in Angelâs belly. She cried out and doubled over, hitting her knees. BeforePeavine could react, Max kicked Peavineâs left-hand crutch out from under him.
I shouted and smacked the sides of my head with my hands. Peavine seemed to fall in slow motion. The smell of smoke burned my nose. My ears buzzed, then roared. Dizziness washed over me, and the world started changing and the day turned dark.
Happening again . . .
Not real . . .
But it was real.
A little boy crashed to the ground, right in the spot where Peavine had been standing. The boy was so small, so much thinner than Peavine, so much more breakable. A man loomed over him, fists swinging.
The world tilted and I ran forward, heart thudding. I threw myself at the man and hit at him before he could hurt the boy. He hit back. I expected pain and darkness, but his fists barely stung my chest and shoulders. I hit him some more, and people started yelling loud enough for me to hear it through the buzz in my ears, and the fire kept burning.
âLeave him alone!â I yelled. I couldnât breathe. Tears stung my eyes, then streamed down my face. âDonât touch him!â
My knuckles hit skin over and over, and the man let go of the little boy and covered his face with his arms and rolled into a ball, and hands grabbed me. Somebody shook me.
âFooter. Footer, stop!â
What was Ms. Malone doing at the Abrams farm?What was I doing at the Abrams farm? I tried to pull away from the shaking, but I couldnât, and little by little the darkness and fire rattled right out of my head. Everything that wasnât real faded away, the day got bright and hot, and I was looking at my teacher instead of a man beating up a little boy. Max Selwin was curled up on the ground nearby, and some teachers were talking to him.
Across the street, the guy in the plaid shirt stood watching. He was drinking a Coke. I couldnât really see his face for the sweat in my eyes, but for some reason I thought he was laughing.
I glanced at Peavine, who had gotten to his feet. He had both metal crutches back in his grip. One looked a little dented. His right elbow was cut and bloody. Angel used the hem of her dress to dab at it, and she didnât look at me. Peavine nodded in my direction, like, Thanks . The hundred thousand million kids who had crowded around us, and the guy in plaid across the street, they just stared.
âI think youâd better come with me, Footer,â Ms. Malone said.
She took my arm, and I let her lead me toward the office.
From the Notebook of Detective Peavine Jones
Interview of Rocky Davis, Eleven Days After the Fire
Location: Television Room in Footerâs House
Mr. Davis: Iâm only doing this to make Footer happy because she had a rotten day. You know that, right? None of us are actually suspects.
Footer: Thanks, Dad. [Hugs Suspect.] Letâs start with the fire. Where were you the night the Abrams farm burned?
Mr. Davis: At work.
Footer: Can anybody verify your alibi?
Mr. Davis: [Sighs] Will the night shift of the Bugtussle police force do?
Footer: I suppose. [Journalist chews the end of the pen sheâs carrying, even though she doesnât write anything during these interviews.]
Mr. Davis: Your mom always did that thing with the pen. [Suspectsmiles.] All through school. Even back then she shone like a star for me, and I set out to be her sky.
Footer: Her sky? Dad, thatâs lame.
Mr. Davis: What does âlameâ mean?
Footer: Dad canât be a real Suspect, Peavine. Heâs too clueless. âLameâ means lame,
âYou leave my brother alone!â she yelled.
Max made like he was going to walk off, then turned in a blink and planted his fist right in Angelâs belly. She cried out and doubled over, hitting her knees. BeforePeavine could react, Max kicked Peavineâs left-hand crutch out from under him.
I shouted and smacked the sides of my head with my hands. Peavine seemed to fall in slow motion. The smell of smoke burned my nose. My ears buzzed, then roared. Dizziness washed over me, and the world started changing and the day turned dark.
Happening again . . .
Not real . . .
But it was real.
A little boy crashed to the ground, right in the spot where Peavine had been standing. The boy was so small, so much thinner than Peavine, so much more breakable. A man loomed over him, fists swinging.
The world tilted and I ran forward, heart thudding. I threw myself at the man and hit at him before he could hurt the boy. He hit back. I expected pain and darkness, but his fists barely stung my chest and shoulders. I hit him some more, and people started yelling loud enough for me to hear it through the buzz in my ears, and the fire kept burning.
âLeave him alone!â I yelled. I couldnât breathe. Tears stung my eyes, then streamed down my face. âDonât touch him!â
My knuckles hit skin over and over, and the man let go of the little boy and covered his face with his arms and rolled into a ball, and hands grabbed me. Somebody shook me.
âFooter. Footer, stop!â
What was Ms. Malone doing at the Abrams farm?What was I doing at the Abrams farm? I tried to pull away from the shaking, but I couldnât, and little by little the darkness and fire rattled right out of my head. Everything that wasnât real faded away, the day got bright and hot, and I was looking at my teacher instead of a man beating up a little boy. Max Selwin was curled up on the ground nearby, and some teachers were talking to him.
Across the street, the guy in the plaid shirt stood watching. He was drinking a Coke. I couldnât really see his face for the sweat in my eyes, but for some reason I thought he was laughing.
I glanced at Peavine, who had gotten to his feet. He had both metal crutches back in his grip. One looked a little dented. His right elbow was cut and bloody. Angel used the hem of her dress to dab at it, and she didnât look at me. Peavine nodded in my direction, like, Thanks . The hundred thousand million kids who had crowded around us, and the guy in plaid across the street, they just stared.
âI think youâd better come with me, Footer,â Ms. Malone said.
She took my arm, and I let her lead me toward the office.
From the Notebook of Detective Peavine Jones
Interview of Rocky Davis, Eleven Days After the Fire
Location: Television Room in Footerâs House
Mr. Davis: Iâm only doing this to make Footer happy because she had a rotten day. You know that, right? None of us are actually suspects.
Footer: Thanks, Dad. [Hugs Suspect.] Letâs start with the fire. Where were you the night the Abrams farm burned?
Mr. Davis: At work.
Footer: Can anybody verify your alibi?
Mr. Davis: [Sighs] Will the night shift of the Bugtussle police force do?
Footer: I suppose. [Journalist chews the end of the pen sheâs carrying, even though she doesnât write anything during these interviews.]
Mr. Davis: Your mom always did that thing with the pen. [Suspectsmiles.] All through school. Even back then she shone like a star for me, and I set out to be her sky.
Footer: Her sky? Dad, thatâs lame.
Mr. Davis: What does âlameâ mean?
Footer: Dad canât be a real Suspect, Peavine. Heâs too clueless. âLameâ means lame,
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