Has she found the gargoyle too? Something twinges inside me at the thought of it . . . I don’t know why, it’s not like it’s mine , it’s just . . . well, it does kind of feel like my discovery.
I let go of Daisy’s collar and start to jog. Daisy stays by my side even though she’s faster than Usain Bolt if she wants to be.
Maybe she remembers our last trip to the church. Maybe it freaked her out too. That’s the funny thing about Daisy. She barks this big, deep bark that sounds like WOO WOO WOO! but really she’s as nervous as a squirrel. Once when she tried to chase off a pigeon, it turned around and flapped its wings in her face, and she jumped out of her skin and pegged it back inside the house.
“We’ve got to be quiet,” I whisper.
Daisy understands a lot of words. Most of all she understands food and treats and walk , but I hope she understands quiet too, because if she gives us away Jess will probably kill me. Whoever she’s going to meet, Jess obviously doesn’t want Mom to know about it, and that makes it Top Secret.
We run, run as quietly as we can across the crunching drive until it becomes road and we can run faster, on and on until we get to the grass bank. Behind the gate, the church reaches up as if trying to grab the clouds.
Daisy sniffs the grass, and her tail goes as straight as a stick.
I crouch down behind the nearest gravestone. It’s quite small, but it’s enough to hide behind. The engraving says:
C LAIRE S MITH
T AKEN TOO YOUNG
S EPTEMBER 12, 1928– J ANUARY 16, 1941
I start wondering what could have happened to Claire Smith when she was so young, but all of a sudden Daisy springs forward and dashes toward the church.
“Daisy, no!” I call, but it’s a whisper-call, because I don’t dare shout.
With a quick glance over my shoulder, I rush after her.
Daisy stops at the entrance and looks back, as if saying Come on, then!
“Is she in here?” I hiss. I squint around, but I can’t see Jess. If it was snowing, I’d be able to follow her footprints. Unless she was being Especially Clever and covering up her tracks.
Pushing the door open gently, I peer into the church. Big blocks of light beam through the windows, showing up all the dust in the stale air.
Where are you, Jess?
She could have snuck in before I got here. And if she did . . .
I creep into the church, trying to ignore the smaller gargoyles above me. Past the dust and the broken chairs and the bubble wrap. Daisy sniffs and walks ahead, through the mess.
“Daisy, wait . . . ,” I whisper after her.
She stops at the door to the crypt and turns back.
I make a shhh sign with my finger and walk up to her quietly. The door’s shut. I press my ear up against the wood.
Sudden giggling makes me jump so high I almost smack the low ceiling. Daisy looks back and cocks her head.
There it is again. Giggling and laughing and—
Jess.
Daisy bolts, and I go after her, cringing at the noise she’s making, willing her to stop, because she’s going torun right up to Jess; she’s going to give us away. Out of the corner and into the aisle, and there’s Jess, at the other end of the hall; she’s there with a boy, and he’s touching her face and kissing her. I almost throw up on the spot, but thankfully I’ve got a tough stomach.
The boy’s kissing her neck now, and she’s giggling and smiling and holding his hand, and then she opens her eyes and she looks right at me.
“LIAM!” she shouts, and her voice rings off the walls.
Daisy bounds over to them, wagging her tail, and Jess doesn’t even acknowledge her. The boy does, though. He crouches down to stroke her soft head. Jess has got her hands on her hips, which is always Bad News, and now she’s marching right at me.
“What are you doing here?” she says.
And I say, “I might ask you the same thing.”
I heard Mom say it once, and it seems good when anyone questions you. It’s like a Get Out of Jail Free card, except this time it
I let go of Daisy’s collar and start to jog. Daisy stays by my side even though she’s faster than Usain Bolt if she wants to be.
Maybe she remembers our last trip to the church. Maybe it freaked her out too. That’s the funny thing about Daisy. She barks this big, deep bark that sounds like WOO WOO WOO! but really she’s as nervous as a squirrel. Once when she tried to chase off a pigeon, it turned around and flapped its wings in her face, and she jumped out of her skin and pegged it back inside the house.
“We’ve got to be quiet,” I whisper.
Daisy understands a lot of words. Most of all she understands food and treats and walk , but I hope she understands quiet too, because if she gives us away Jess will probably kill me. Whoever she’s going to meet, Jess obviously doesn’t want Mom to know about it, and that makes it Top Secret.
We run, run as quietly as we can across the crunching drive until it becomes road and we can run faster, on and on until we get to the grass bank. Behind the gate, the church reaches up as if trying to grab the clouds.
Daisy sniffs the grass, and her tail goes as straight as a stick.
I crouch down behind the nearest gravestone. It’s quite small, but it’s enough to hide behind. The engraving says:
C LAIRE S MITH
T AKEN TOO YOUNG
S EPTEMBER 12, 1928– J ANUARY 16, 1941
I start wondering what could have happened to Claire Smith when she was so young, but all of a sudden Daisy springs forward and dashes toward the church.
“Daisy, no!” I call, but it’s a whisper-call, because I don’t dare shout.
With a quick glance over my shoulder, I rush after her.
Daisy stops at the entrance and looks back, as if saying Come on, then!
“Is she in here?” I hiss. I squint around, but I can’t see Jess. If it was snowing, I’d be able to follow her footprints. Unless she was being Especially Clever and covering up her tracks.
Pushing the door open gently, I peer into the church. Big blocks of light beam through the windows, showing up all the dust in the stale air.
Where are you, Jess?
She could have snuck in before I got here. And if she did . . .
I creep into the church, trying to ignore the smaller gargoyles above me. Past the dust and the broken chairs and the bubble wrap. Daisy sniffs and walks ahead, through the mess.
“Daisy, wait . . . ,” I whisper after her.
She stops at the door to the crypt and turns back.
I make a shhh sign with my finger and walk up to her quietly. The door’s shut. I press my ear up against the wood.
Sudden giggling makes me jump so high I almost smack the low ceiling. Daisy looks back and cocks her head.
There it is again. Giggling and laughing and—
Jess.
Daisy bolts, and I go after her, cringing at the noise she’s making, willing her to stop, because she’s going torun right up to Jess; she’s going to give us away. Out of the corner and into the aisle, and there’s Jess, at the other end of the hall; she’s there with a boy, and he’s touching her face and kissing her. I almost throw up on the spot, but thankfully I’ve got a tough stomach.
The boy’s kissing her neck now, and she’s giggling and smiling and holding his hand, and then she opens her eyes and she looks right at me.
“LIAM!” she shouts, and her voice rings off the walls.
Daisy bounds over to them, wagging her tail, and Jess doesn’t even acknowledge her. The boy does, though. He crouches down to stroke her soft head. Jess has got her hands on her hips, which is always Bad News, and now she’s marching right at me.
“What are you doing here?” she says.
And I say, “I might ask you the same thing.”
I heard Mom say it once, and it seems good when anyone questions you. It’s like a Get Out of Jail Free card, except this time it
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