“Great,” he groaned.
“Mr. Morrison, you are already three minutes late for class.” Mrs. Trenton, the girls’ P.E. teacher and morning campus monitor, was standing at the end of the row of lockers, one eyebrow raised.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Trenton,” he said. “My bike broke on the way here and now somebody put gum all over this.” He moved the lock so she could see what he was talking about.
“This is the third tardy in the last six school days. I let you go on the last two but I’m afraid I’m going to have to send you to the office this time.”
“No, please. Just let me go to class. I promise this will be the last time.”
She shook her head knowingly from side to side. “I’ve heard that story a million times so I know it’s a promise you won’t keep.”
“But I will. I promise.”
“You promise to keep your promise? Oh, Mr. Morrison.” She wrote something on a pad of paper, pulled off the top slip, and handed it to him. “Off you go.”
Eric spent fifteen minutes waiting for Vice Principal Rose, then one minute being lectured about how important arriving on time was to his future. As he was leaving, he thought about asking Mrs. Cameron, the office secretary, about report cards, but then decided he would rather not know and headed to class.
The rest of the school day didn’t go much better. Cranky teachers, missing homework again — how did that happen? he could have sworn he’d done it all and packed everything in his backpack — and his absolutely least favorite lunch in the cafeteria: breaded fish and spinach.
So it was more than understandable that he was in a bad mood as he walked his bike home after school. He almost hoped some kid would try to pick a fight with him. The way he was feeling, he thought he might even be able to win.
“Excuse me.”
The voice came from somewhere off to his left, but he didn’t look. If it was one of his new after-school punching pals, he’d know soon enough.
“Hey, kid. Excuse me. I need your help.”
That was a new one. “I’m busy,” he muttered as he pushed his bike down the sidewalk.
“I just need some directions. I’m looking for the…Morrison house. Do you know where that is?”
Eric stopped, sighed, and looked over. Instead of one of the jerks from school, the guy doing the talking was sitting in the cab of a small white pickup, driving slowly down the road. He had light brown hair, a friendly smile, and looked old enough to be out of college already.
“Morrison?” Eric said. “My last name’s Morrison.”
“You’re kidding me,” the driver said.
Eric shook his head.
The driver looked down at something on the seat. “Are you one of the Morrisons who live at 239 N. Lime Street?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Awesome. Then you can tell me exactly where I need to take this.”
Eric cautiously approached the truck. A sign on the door read:
TFS Package Delivery Service
Shipping Troubles?
Not with us.
“So which way do I go?” the driver asked.
“Um…up two more blocks, then turn right. At the next block, turn right again then left on Lime Street. You can follow the numbers from there.”
“Excellent. Thanks!”
If Eric had been in a better mood, he might have been more curious about the package. Instead, he just said, “No problem,” and started walking away.
“Hey, Eric. One more thing.”
Eric turned back, but as he took a step toward the truck he realized he’d never given the driver his first name. He pulled up abruptly.
“How do you know my name?”
The driver’s smile disappeared. In a voice just loud enough for Eric to hear, he said, “We need to discuss your situation. Any chance you can sneak out for a little while tonight? We could meet right in front of your house.”
Eric took a step backward, almost tripping over the curb. “What do you mean discuss my situation?”
“What do you mean what do I mean? You called us.”
“I called you?” Eric asked. Then it clicked. “You’re the people I talked to yesterday?”
“Yeah. Well, no. I mean, not me directly. You talked to my sister, Fiona,” he said. “I don’t look like a girl, do I?”
Eric shook his head. “No. Of course not.”
“You had me worried there for a moment. So, later? Meeting? Possible?”
Eric thought for a moment. He guessed it wouldn’t be a problem if they were going to just talk in his front yard. And, well, he had called them, after all.
Getting out of the house wouldn’t be a problem. He was supposed to go over to Maggie’s at seven to finish their China report and she only lived a block away. In fact, he realized, maybe it would be even smarter to meet in front of her house.
“I could probably talk just before seven? But not at my house, at my friend Maggie’s.”
The driver winced. “Seven’s going to be tight. Can we make it seven-thirty?”
Eric would have to figure out how to sneak away from Maggie for a few minutes but he thought that wouldn’t be too hard. “Okay,” he said, nodding, then gave the man Maggie’s address.
“I’ll meet you out front.” The driver sat back up, looking like he was about to drive away. “Oh,” he said. “I almost forgot.” He grabbed a rectangular box off the seat and held it toward the window. “The package is for you.”
Eric hesitated, then took the box.
“Don’t open it until after we meet tonight,” the driver said.
This time it really did look like he was going to drive away.
“Wait,” Eric called out. “I don’t know your name.”
“My name?” the driver said, surprised. “Sorry. Thought you would’ve figured that out already. I’m Mr. Trouble.”
4
“Eric, what’s wrong?” Maggie asked.
They were sitting at her dining room table, books and printouts about China spread out before them.
“Nothing,” Eric said, then glanced at his watch.
“You did it again.”
“Did what again?”
“Checked the time.”
“I…I was…just…wondering…”
“Something’s up. I can see it in your eyes. Why are you hiding it from me? You’ve always told me when something’s bothered you before.”
“Nothing’s bothering me.” He looked at his watch.
“See. Again!”
“I just wanted to know what time it was, okay?”
She groaned. “Fine. If you don’t want to tell me, then don’t tell me.” She pulled her dark hair into a ponytail and wrapped a band around it. “I don’t want to spend all night finishing this report so let’s concentrate and get this done.”
She started typing on her father’s laptop again, while Eric returned his attention to the sack of travel magazines he was supposed to be looking through for pictures they could scan and use in the report.
As he finished thumbing through an old travel magazine, he sneaked another peek at his watch. Seven twenty-eight.
“I, uh, need to go check on my bike.”
Maggie looked over at him as if he’d lost his mind. “You walked here.”
“I mean, get some air. I just need to get some air.” He stood up.
“What’s going on with you?”
“Nothing. Nothing at all,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”
Wanting to avoid any more questions, he made a beeline for the front door.
It was 7:29 by the time he stepped onto Maggie’s front lawn and 7:30 on the dot when a beat-up black sedan pulled to the curb.