The following day, I spent study hall in the cafeteria. The lunch ladies were sorting trays and preparing meals for four hundred hungry students. The smell of schoolhouse chili filled our study hall. I was stretched out over a table, resting my head against my backpack when I overheard a soccer snob talking to Jenny Warren at the table next to me.
"Did you hear about Trevor?" he asked her.
"No, tell me."
"There was this freaky kid hanging at Hatsy's Diner last night. He kept staring at Trevor and when Trevor confronted him, the kid tried to choke him."
Two majorly thin brunette soccer snob groupies were sitting at a table behind me. "Well, I heard the coffin boy jumped him and held a knife to Trevor's throat," one said.
"I thought it was a lightsaber," replied the other.
"Quiet down there," Mr. Ferguson chided.
By the time I gathered my belongings, I had overheard the same story five different ways.
I rose and walked over to Mr. Ferguson, who was grading English papers. "I need to be excused," I said.
"Why are you taking your backpack?" he asked skeptically. "Are you planning on not returning to study hall?"
"Listen, if I leave it here, students will fill it with garbage."
"That was you?" Mr. Ferguson asked, surprised. "I heard about that the other day in the teachers' lounge."
I rolled my eyes.
"You'll need a hall pass," he said, opening his briefcase.
"That's okay, I already have one," I said, pulling a blank one out of my back pocket.
I hurried down the hall, passing Mr. Wernick, our intimidating security guard, who was sitting on a chair reading Sports Illustrated. It was rumored Mr. Wernick used to be a prison guard.
"Raven—," he said, rising.
"I'm going to the ladies' room."
"I'll need to see your hall pass." He slowly rose from his chair as if his legs were not used to carrying his weight.
I unfolded the pass and presented it to him.
"It doesn't have a date on it," he said, glaring down on me.
I was ready for him to read me my rights.
"Really?" I asked, faking shock. "Mr. Ferguson must have forgotten."
Mr. Wernick grabbed a pen from his shirt pocket and signed the pass. "Good for today only."
I took my pass back, annoyed that he had ruined my golden ticket.
I continued down the hallway and turned the corner. I peered into Mr. Hayden's algebra class and noticed Trevor sitting in the fifth row, flirting with a cheerleader.
I hung out in the restroom for what seemed like an eternity and returned to Trevor's class just as the bell rang.
Mr. Hayden's classroom door opened and students burst into the hall.
Trevor, still fixated on the pom-pom girl, whizzed right past me.
"Trevor," I called to my nemesis. But he didn't hear me.
I caught up to him and pulled his backpack strap until it fell off of the soccer snob.
"Hey, jerk!" Trevor spun around and stopped in his tracks. "Oh, it's you."
"As much as I hate to admit it, I need to speak with you."
"Take a number," Trevor said, and walked on.
"What did you do to Valentine?" I asked, catching up to him.
"Who's Valentine?"
"You know who—the Goth kid at Hatsy's."
"Oh, that punk?"
"People are saying he tried to choke you. But I know that's not what happened. Is it?"
"How do you know what he did or didn't do? You weren't even there."
"I just do. Now tell me."
Trevor paused. "It'll cost you." He gazed down at me, his blond eyelashes accentuating his sexy green eyes.
My stomach turned. "Forget it."
"Forgotten." Trevor adjusted his backpack and joined the crowd of walking students.
"No, wait," I said, catching up to him. "Fine. I'll carry your backpack to class," I offered.
Trevor didn't hand over his North Face pack. Instead he turned to me. "Prom. That's what it will cost."
I almost gagged. "I'm not going with you. I'm going with Alexander."
"One slow dance," he said with a grin.
The thought of slow dancing with Trevor in front of all of Dullsville High made me feel like a contestant on Fear Factor. However, I needed the info. I stuck my hands in my pockets. "Fine. I'll do it. Now tell me."
Trevor seemed pleased. He leaned against a locker and began to tell me his story. "I was sitting in Hatsy's Diner with my team when this freaky ghost boy walks in. We looked at him as if he'd just crawled out of a grave. The kid didn't make eye contact with anyone as he walked through the diner. When he reached my booth, he suddenly stopped and stared straight at me—like he knew who I was. I'd never seen him before, but then I realized he looked familiar—just like Luna's brother Jagger, only smaller."
"Did he say anything?"
"No, he went to the counter and ordered fries. The kid was a major freak, so I had to check him out."
"What did he say?"
"Nothing, he was busy counting his change. He only had sixty-five cents."
"So…"
"He looked emaciated enough as it was, like he barely had enough blood running through his veins. I took out a five and ordered him a Hatsy's meal."
I almost melted. I had no idea Trevor had a nice side. "I'm impressed," I said truthfully. "Then what happened?"
"I said, 'Are you Jagger's brother?' Then he gave me a death stare and asked, 'Are you Trevor?'"
I felt chills run down my spine.
"So I asked him how he knew me, but he didn't answer. Then I asked, 'How's Luna?'"
A twinge of jealousy ran through me. "You still like her?" I asked.
Trevor didn't respond and continued on. "Instead of answering me, the kid looked at me like he'd just seen a ghost."
"Go on…"
"He seemed confused, like he didn't know. Then, all of a sudden, he reached out and he put his hand on my neck."
I was surprised by Valentine's actions. Instead of hiding like he had at the tree house, Valentine was becoming increasingly daring—this time with Trevor.
"Did you hurt him?"
"No, I called him a freak and pushed him away. He grabbed his Hatsy's meal, jumped on his graveyard-themed skateboard, and sped out of the diner. Now let's talk about prom."
"I need to know…when he grabbed your neck— what were you thinking about?"
Trevor paused and smiled a sexy grin. "I was thinking that I should have been at the Graveyard Gala with you instead of his sister."
"Really?" I asked, half flattered, half horrified.
"Are you insane? No one puts their hand on me, unless they're a girl."
The bell rang and Trevor stepped into his classroom. "I get to pick the dance," he said, gloating.
I held up my hand, revealing my fingers had been crossed the whole time I'd made the promise.
Instead of being angry, Trevor cracked a smile. He loved our game. And I knew this time he'd come back playing even stronger.
"Anyone home?" I called out when I arrived home from school.
The house was silent.
"Billy Boy?" I yelled as I roamed through the kitchen and family room. Both areas were empty. I opened the basement door. The light was switched off, but I hollered down anyway. "Billy—are you here?"
I ran up to Billy Boy's room and knocked on his door.
He didn't respond. "Nerd Boy—are you in there?"
When I failed to hear a response from calling him his least favorite name, I figured the nerd lab was clear.
Fortunately, my brother didn't have Henry's Mr. Gadget security system and was unable to lock his door from the outside. I gently turned the knob and opened the door.
I began my search for Valentine's gravestone etchings, hoping they would provide a clue to his motives in Dullsville. I quietly scoured my brother's dresser drawers, but all I found were tons of white socks and folded T-shirts. I checked under his bed and pulled out a baseball bat, a chessboard, and an unopened model spaceship, but no gravestone etchings.