few yards when I heard his voice again behind me, still oddly quiet. “Where you think you’re going?” he asked, sounding amused.
I reined in the dogs and turned around. Maybe he only wanted his ropes back.
“I’m going home,” I said as I fished for the leashes in the pocket of my sweatshirt. “My house is right over—”
“I don’t care where you live,” he cut in. “You can’t cross the cemetery with those dogs. You’ll have to go through there.” He jerked his head toward the direction of the woods.
“You mean Hickory Hill?”
“Bingo.”
Was he crazy? It was getting dark, and going home through the park would take three times as long. Kilgore’s mouth twitched with laughter. “You better get a move on. You could lose your way in those woods around nightfall.”
What was the
deal
with this guy? I took my time leading the dogs toward the park, determined not to give him the satisfaction of seeing me run. Then, once we were a few steps into the cover of the woods, I pulled C.B. and Spunky behind a thick mound of brush. I couldn’t resist looking back. I hunched down and peered through the branches as the dogs sat beside me with their tongues hanging sideways. Kilgore was still there, at his post beside the wall. I watched him reach into his front pocket for something. Suddenly the sharp hollows of his face were lit up as he held a match to the cigarette clamped in his mouth. I ducked lower and froze while he stood smoking, scanning the edge of the woods where I hid.
When Kilgore finally finished his cigarette and turned to go, I sank down into the layer of rotten leaves at my feet. My knees felt spongy from crouching for so long. But even with Kilgore gone, I was too scared to risk taking the shortcut home. The dogs snuffled closer, and for a minute I stared out at the night descending over Oakland, my mind spinning through all the lousy things that had happened to me that day.
Everyone at school thought I was a loser.
My mother wasn’t speaking to me anymore.
And to make matters worse, I still didn’t have a decent idea for my Adopt-a-Grave Project.
I was beginning to think I was cursed, just like that Black Angel.
The Black Angel
.
I smiled into the shadows.
Maybe I had an idea after all.
I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN . Instead of letting us quietly hand in our work sheets the next day, Mr. Oliver wanted us to announce our picks for the Adopt-a-Grave Project. Out loud. To the whole class.
Sylvie went first. She sounded like she was running for Miss America. “I chose Lenora S. Cadwaller, MD, born 1840, died 1910,” she told us loudly, “because I’d like to be a doctor too someday and Lenora must have been one of the first female physicians in our state.”
I rolled my eyes along with everybody else.
Pretty soon it was Mellecker’s turn. All day long I had been waiting for him to pounce, to tap my shoulder at my locker or stop by the BattleBots table, ready to teach me a lesson for daring to call him Teddy Blair. But so far nothing. Obviously, he was saving his revenge for fifth period, when the entire class would be watching.
“All right, Mellecker,” Mr. Oliver called out. “Who’d you pick?”
Mellecker leaned back in his desk with his fingers laced behind his head. “Is it okay if I pick more than one person?”
“What do you mean?” Mr. Oliver asked.
“I mean I picked a whole family. The Ransom family.”
“That might be all right. Why’d you choose the Ransoms?”
“Because they were
rich
,” Mellecker said, sending a ripple of laughter through the room.
Mr. Oliver was trying not to smile. That’s how it was for Mellecker. Even teachers let him get away with being a smart aleck. “And how did you reach that conclusion?” Mr. Oliver asked.
“Well, they’re all buried in one of those giant, creepy-looking vaults with columns and fancy carvings. So they must have been pretty important, right?”
“It’s a good possibility,” Mr. Oliver said. “I guess
I reined in the dogs and turned around. Maybe he only wanted his ropes back.
“I’m going home,” I said as I fished for the leashes in the pocket of my sweatshirt. “My house is right over—”
“I don’t care where you live,” he cut in. “You can’t cross the cemetery with those dogs. You’ll have to go through there.” He jerked his head toward the direction of the woods.
“You mean Hickory Hill?”
“Bingo.”
Was he crazy? It was getting dark, and going home through the park would take three times as long. Kilgore’s mouth twitched with laughter. “You better get a move on. You could lose your way in those woods around nightfall.”
What was the
deal
with this guy? I took my time leading the dogs toward the park, determined not to give him the satisfaction of seeing me run. Then, once we were a few steps into the cover of the woods, I pulled C.B. and Spunky behind a thick mound of brush. I couldn’t resist looking back. I hunched down and peered through the branches as the dogs sat beside me with their tongues hanging sideways. Kilgore was still there, at his post beside the wall. I watched him reach into his front pocket for something. Suddenly the sharp hollows of his face were lit up as he held a match to the cigarette clamped in his mouth. I ducked lower and froze while he stood smoking, scanning the edge of the woods where I hid.
When Kilgore finally finished his cigarette and turned to go, I sank down into the layer of rotten leaves at my feet. My knees felt spongy from crouching for so long. But even with Kilgore gone, I was too scared to risk taking the shortcut home. The dogs snuffled closer, and for a minute I stared out at the night descending over Oakland, my mind spinning through all the lousy things that had happened to me that day.
Everyone at school thought I was a loser.
My mother wasn’t speaking to me anymore.
And to make matters worse, I still didn’t have a decent idea for my Adopt-a-Grave Project.
I was beginning to think I was cursed, just like that Black Angel.
The Black Angel
.
I smiled into the shadows.
Maybe I had an idea after all.
I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN . Instead of letting us quietly hand in our work sheets the next day, Mr. Oliver wanted us to announce our picks for the Adopt-a-Grave Project. Out loud. To the whole class.
Sylvie went first. She sounded like she was running for Miss America. “I chose Lenora S. Cadwaller, MD, born 1840, died 1910,” she told us loudly, “because I’d like to be a doctor too someday and Lenora must have been one of the first female physicians in our state.”
I rolled my eyes along with everybody else.
Pretty soon it was Mellecker’s turn. All day long I had been waiting for him to pounce, to tap my shoulder at my locker or stop by the BattleBots table, ready to teach me a lesson for daring to call him Teddy Blair. But so far nothing. Obviously, he was saving his revenge for fifth period, when the entire class would be watching.
“All right, Mellecker,” Mr. Oliver called out. “Who’d you pick?”
Mellecker leaned back in his desk with his fingers laced behind his head. “Is it okay if I pick more than one person?”
“What do you mean?” Mr. Oliver asked.
“I mean I picked a whole family. The Ransom family.”
“That might be all right. Why’d you choose the Ransoms?”
“Because they were
rich
,” Mellecker said, sending a ripple of laughter through the room.
Mr. Oliver was trying not to smile. That’s how it was for Mellecker. Even teachers let him get away with being a smart aleck. “And how did you reach that conclusion?” Mr. Oliver asked.
“Well, they’re all buried in one of those giant, creepy-looking vaults with columns and fancy carvings. So they must have been pretty important, right?”
“It’s a good possibility,” Mr. Oliver said. “I guess
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