The Summer of Moonlight Secrets (5 page)

12

Allie Jo

The next morning, I catch a glimpse of someone tall with long, black hair at the back of the dining room. Half jumping out of my seat, I knock into the table, then watch as one of our cooks opens the door to the kitchen, his long, black hair swinging in a ponytail.

“What?” Mom asks, holding her coffee cup in two hands. We're just finishing our breakfast.

I sink into my chair. “Nothing,” I say. “Thought I saw someone I knew.”

Mom suddenly sits straighter. “There's someone you know!”

I twist in my seat. “Sophie!” I call out across the dining room. She's with her parents. I wave them over.

“Allie Jo!” Mom sets her cup down. “Don't yell—you'll disturb the other guests.”

A bunch of old ladies take up three tables and I can spot the hearing aids from here. The only other guests are a couple with a baby in a high chair, and the baby's making a lot more noise than I am.

“Hello, Becky!” Mrs. Duran greets Mom. Then she turns to me. “And how are you today, Allie Jo?”

She has kind blue eyes with crinkles at the sides.

I smile at her. “I'm fine.” I like her because she's Sophie's mom and I like Sophie.

Mom invites them to join us; then the fathers start to make a big production of pulling tables together, since we're at a four-top.

“No, no!” I say, and quickly get up, grabbing my plate and fork. “I'm done.”

“Are you sure?” Mrs. Duran asks.

The moment they sit down, they'll talk about
Oh, this weather!
and
Did you see those gas prices?
and other boring stuff, like on the news. “Yes, I'm sure,” I say.

“Can I come with you?” Sophie asks in a rush.

“Honey,” Mrs. Duran says, “you haven't eaten.”

Sophie makes a face and touches her middle. “I have a stomachache.”

They decide that Sophie will meet them in their room at eleven thirty to go to a museum. Until then, Mrs. Duran says, “Have a good time!” She pulls Sophie in for a quick peck on the cheek.

“Mo-om!” Sophie steals a quick glance at me.

“Don't worry,” I say. “My mom does the same thing.”

Sophie smiles. “I'm almost a teenager, you know.”

“Me too!” I'll be thirteen in one year and seven and a half months.

As we pass the kitchen, I push open the swinging door and spot Chef. “Got any tuna fish?”

He hands me a little to-go container already filled. “Enjoy,” he says.

“Thanks, Chef Boyardee,” I say in a super-sweet voice.

He lifts a spatula and waves me away.

Sophie looks positively repulsed when I turn from the kitchen with my little container. “You eat tuna fish for breakfast?”

“Brain food,” I say, turning left out of the dining room. “Haven't you ever heard that about fish?”

She follows me down the hall. “Well, yeah, but—”

“Students who eat a protein-filled breakfast score higher on tests and are more creative in everything they do.” That's in my school handbook.

I look both ways, then duck into the service tower. “You coming?”

“Where are you going?” she calls from the hallway.

I gesture with the tuna fish. “I've got to feed my cat.”

13

The scent woke the girl up, filled her being. Fish! Her stomach growled in recognition. She sat up from the floor, letting the blanket fall from her. She'd discovered this small room last night, a room with shelves and blankets. From them, she'd made something of a nest for herself and had slept well. Perhaps that had something to do with the door. It blocked people out.

But it didn't block out that wonderful fragrance! She followed it through a narrow door and up a staircase. She could hear voices—Allie Jo and another.

She thought to dash back to her nest, but hunger demanded she go forward. She must eat. The stairs ended at a place with lots of rooms. Faint notions came to her, but the growling of her stomach drowned them out.

Suddenly footsteps and talking neared her! Her heart, usually slow and controlled, pumped up. She tucked herself into an alcove, waiting until they passed.

Yes, it was Allie Jo, and a girl, fair and light. The air was pleasant around the girl she hadn't met, but she did not wish to reveal herself. She must be sure it was safe. Waiting in the alcove, she stilled herself, breathing slowly.

Laughter came from the other room, but the laughter of many, not just two. Her heart leaped. How did she miss these others? Was she losing her senses?

Then there was much sneezing, and the footsteps neared her. Again they passed by her—only the two of them—and descended the stairs.

She tarried in the alcove, straining her ears for the other voices she'd heard, yet none sounded. The smell of fish drifted teasingly under her nose. She could deny her stomach no more and swept through the rooms toward the scent.

Ah, but what curious thing was this—a black creature with fur, devouring the very food she sought. She drew near cautiously, for she had never seen such a being. She sat on the floor and watched it. Perhaps it would leave some for her.

14

Chase

This is what the wood floor sounds like:
Irrp! Crack! Reee-raw.
I make that last sound by slowly stepping on this one spot and lifting my foot again.
Reee-raw, reee-raw.
And that's not the only noise either. Pipes line the ceiling—they're in the rooms too—and something's clinking in them. If I weren't thirteen, I might think it was a ghost.

I'm walking down the hallway, fingering the cuff of my cast. Feels like there're ants in there, it's so itchy. Dad's gone to cover a waterskiing attraction, but first we went out for lunch.

Usually, I like to stick my hand out the window and let the wind whip it around, but I didn't think the cast was made for winds at sixty-five miles per hour. So I daydreamed and stared out the window. All of a sudden, I saw it.

“Kudzu!” I hollered. I couldn't believe it—it covered everything: telephone poles, billboards, whole sections of woods. Allie Jo was right.

“What?” Dad yelled back. We zoomed down the highway. He probably couldn't focus on the scenery.

“Nothing!” Kudzu was not worth a car crash.

After lunch, Dad secured me in the room—
Sorry, bud
—and left.

I rake the top of the cast; it's driving me crazy. I stick my fingers in to scratch, but I can't squeeze them in far enough. The doc had said,
Tap on the cast if you're itchy
. Yeah, right. I'm doing Morse code, but it ain't working.

I head out of the room. Dim chandeliers cast just enough light to see the cobwebs hanging from them. I have a crazy urge to jump up and swing from them. I could swing from light to light, Tarzan of the hotel. The sounds from televisions seep under the gaps of several doorways, but other than that, no sign of life.

My arm's on fire with this itching. I jog downstairs, through the main hallway, and straight toward the front desk. They gotta have something to help me with this crazy itch. But just before I reach the desk, I hit one of those displays with all the attraction flyers.
Wax Museum! Experience the Light of Flight! Learn to Water Ski!

This last one is the one I pull out. That's where Dad is today, where I would have been except for my stupid broken arm. Fumbling with my left hand, I stick one edge of the flyer into my right hand and stretch the brochure open. I look at a picture of a guy being pulled on water skis by an overhead rope tow. Forget it—I don't get to be that guy, not this summer. I take a deep breath. Trying to fold the flyer back up is impossible. I crumple it instead and leave it on top of the display.

“Um, excuse me?”

The vending-machine girl! I slip into doofus mode.

She smiles. “Um … I thought maybe you could use this?” She waves a knitting needle.

My brain's gone dead. I'm not making the connection. I tilt my head like a dog that doesn't understand something.

“You know,” she says, “for your arm—to scratch your arm. You keep scratching your cast.”

“Oh, yeah—yeah, that would be great.” It's great that I can talk again. This girl is so pretty. I take the needle from her and slide it under the cast. “Aw, man.” I shake my head. “You don't know how good that feels.”

She laughs and I do too. Then we don't say anything.

“Hi, Chase!” Allie Jo walks up behind her. She's holding knitting needles too; some kind of green thing hangs from one of them. “This is Sophie. Can she sign your cast?”

Sophie's mouth drops open and she turns. “Allie Jo!”

“No! It's okay!” I say too loudly. “You can sign it.”

Allie Jo grins at Sophie, handing off her knitting. “I'll go get a marker.”

“Not pink!” I yell after her.

Allie Jo comes back with a blue marker, and when Sophie signs the cast, she lays one hand on it and writes with the other. Her hair tickles my fingers. She's so close, I can smell her strawberry lip gloss.

“Sophie,” she says, and gives me a strawberry smile.

I smile back, feeling something like a current between us.

“Nice handwriting,” Allie Jo says. She talks in capital letters—loud and important.

I like how Sophie dotted the
i
, a circle over big, loopy letters. She had to write her name on the inner side of the cast because
Allie Jo Jackson
takes up the entire top of it, and
Clay
and
Dad
are on the other side. That's okay, though, because Sophie's side of the cast is closest to me.

“How's your arm feeling?” Sophie asks.

“Still broken!” Good one, Chase.

They tehee for a moment, then Sophie goes, “No, I mean … um—”

“You've got her needle stuck in your cast,” Allie Jo says.

“Oh!” Doofus. I slide the needle out and hand it to Sophie. “Sorry about that.” I feel a hangdog expression creeping over my face like kudzu.

“No big deal.” She gives me a huge smile. “You can use it again if you need to.”

Hmm. I foresee an itchy arm in my future.