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  Looking to his left, his right, and behind him, Sam leans in close. “What do you know?”

  I know I just received confirmation of a secret love affair between Sam and Mad Maxine! Oh, my day just got so much better.

  “Are you her boyfr—”

  A hand clamped over my mouth halts my sentence. Sam puts his nose to mine. “Don’t even say that word out loud. Whatever you want, I’ll give you, but you cannot tell Millie anything.”

  I lower my voice to a whisper. “Are you Maxine’s boyfriend?”

  Sam nearly does a 360, looking behind him for anyone near enough to hear. “I said not to say that out loud!”

  “Okay, how about are you Maxine’s special friend?” I wiggle my eyebrows for effect.

  Sam takes his old cap off, wipes his brow, and begins to wring the hat in his hands. “Look, I don’t know what you heard, girl, but Maxine Simmons and I are just friends. Friends, that’s all. But if Millie even suspects there’s more to it, my goose is cooked. So you just name your price, whatever it takes to buy your silence.”

  I consider this for a moment. “That cup of coffee would taste really good right now.”

  The old man snorts. “I meant like a five spot. Not something guaranteed to get me in even more trouble with Millie. You heard her tell you no.” He shoves his cap back on top of his bald head.

  Sam scans the room again, then rubs a rag over the black lacquer door, pretending to polish it. “Now, you want to tell me what you know?”

  I shrug. “I don’t really know anything. Sunday, when I went to get lunch with Maxine, the guy at the Burger Barn asked where you were, like you and Maxine were regulars, and when I asked Maxine who Sam was, she shushed me.” I narrow my eyes. “Anytime there is shushing involved, you know something is up.”

  Sam takes a deep, ragged breath and exhales slowly, and I’m pleased to note he doesn’t have nasty old-man breath but a pleasant wintergreen smell.

  “Do you want to tell me what’s going on and why you’re acting like you’re protecting a national secret here?”

  Sam is about to wear the door out with his polishing. “It’s nothing. Forget it.”

  I lower my voice. “Are you and Maxine . . . terrorists?”

  “No!” Alarmed at his own volume, Sam grabs a handkerchief out of his back pocket and again swabs his forehead.

  “Here you go”—Millie appears out of nowhere, carrying a tray—“two waters and a plate of homemade oatmeal cookies.”

  Sam and I both jump, the two of us looking guilty as thieves. Though I have no idea why I’m looking guilty. I have enough trouble of my own without taking on anyone else’s.

  Millie sets the tray down. I thank her, but my strange new friend stands there with his mouth hanging open like he’s waiting for a cookie to come in for a landing.

  “Sam, I’m going to run a quick errand in town. Can you get Katie started here?” Millie digs in her purse for her car keys, her earlier stress still apparent. A package is under her arm, but the only writing on it I can make out is Priority Mail.

  “Uh, sure thing, Millie. You take your time.” Sam’s voice is a little high pitched. This man really needs to work on his poker face.

  “Okay. Katie, are you going to be all right here?”

  I nod.

  “You just follow Sam’s orders. Oh, and Sam, if James calls, tell him I’ve stepped out for a bit, and I’ll be right back.” She calls out a good-bye and disappears behind the extremely shiny doors.

  “What was that about? She acted all nervous.” I’m talking mostly to myself.

  Sam scowls. “Let’s get to work.”

  “Wait a minute. You haven’t told me why you and Maxine are all hush-hush.”

  “There’s nothing to tell. Maxine and I are friends. We both live at Shady Acres, and occasionally she honors me with her company.” Sam’s face explodes in pink to the top of his ears.

  “You’re sweet on her.”

  “Friends. No more.” Sam chews his cookie. “But Maxine would devise cruel and creative punishments for me if she found out her daughter knew we’d been spending time together.”

  Cruel and creative punishments designed by Maxine. This woman would not bother with a simple tar and feathering. No yard forking for her. Egging Sam’s little porch at Shady Acres—baby stuff.

  “If you’re just friends, then what’s the problem?”

  “Come on,” Sam says gruffly. “We have work to do.”

  I cross my arms and lean on the doorway. “No information, no work.”

  “Little missy, if you don’t work, then I will report you to James and Millie, and you will be in a heap of trouble.”

  “If I don’t get information, then I’m telling James and Millie I caught you and Maxine making out in the back pew last Wednesday night.”

  A girlie gasp escapes from Sam’s mouth. “You wouldn’t!”

  I lean in. “I would.”

  “Fine!” Sam’s Adam’s apple bobbles. “I’ve been courting Maxine for the last year. She won’t hardly go out in public with me, and when she does, it’s when she knows James and Millie are out of town. We can’t be anything more than friends because Maxine feels it would upset Millie, and she says now is not a good time.”

  That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. Sam and Maxine are even more messed up than a couple of junior high kids. I’ve seen couples on Divorce Court make more sense than they do.

  “What do you mean, not a good time? Because I’m here? Because I got in trouble last weekend?”

  Sam shakes his head. “No, of course not. It’s not that. It’s . . . it’s . . .”

  “Yes?”

  “It’s . . .”

  He’s on the verge of telling me. Come on, Sam. You can do it.

  “It’s none of your business, that’s what it is. Now let’s get to work.”

  Chapter 29

  “So how was your day today, Katie?”

  James pours milk in each of our glasses, then waits for my answer.

  Tonight’s dinner theme is breakfast. Millie is whipping up more of her mean waffles, from scratch of course. Next she’s gonna tell me she tapped a maple tree to get the syrup. Actually tonight’s meal is surprising—not a vegetable in sight. Millie must not be feeling well.

  Even though I was exhausted after my long afternoon at the theatre, I set the table myself and even made little origami swans out of the napkins. I am quite artistic, I must say. I didn’t even know it, either, until I got out of band and into Art I.

  “My day was okay. School went better than expected, and then the afternoon at the Valiant flew by.”

  James is inspecting his napkin d’art.

  “This is a great turtle, Katie.”

  “James.” Millie brings the waffles to the table. “Are you blind?”

  Yeah, you tell him, Millie. Some people just can’t appreciate good art.

  Millie holds her folded napkin up proudly. “It’s a frog.”

  True artists (like Picasso or me) are always misunderstood.

  “Millie told me about your day at school. How did the theatre go? Did you meet Sam?” James passes a bowl of fruit.

  “Yeah, met Sam. Nice guy.” I steal a glance at Millie.

  “Sam’s very nice,” she says. “Not only is he going to help you, but you’ll probably learn a lot from him too.”

  “Sure,” James agrees. “Sam can teach you all sorts of things.”

  Oh, I’m learning a lot from Sam, all right. He has a wealth of knowledge.

  As if there’s some silent signal I still don’t quite get, James and Millie simultaneously reach for my hands, and James begins to pray for our food.

  “Dear Heavenly Father, we thank you for this day. We—”

  Ring! Ring!

  The sound of the phone rudely interrupts our prayer time. I don’t move. I’ve learned when you live in a preacher’s house, the phone calls are pretty much constant, but when these people pray, there’s no stopping.

>   James doesn’t miss a beat. “We thank you for this time together, and—”

  “I’m going to get that.” Millie pushes her chair away from the table, and James and I raise our bowed heads in disbelief.

  I’m instantly uncomfortable. I think Millie is probably breaking a cardinal rule in this house. No one has ever left the table during pre-dinner prayer. I ought to know—it took me five different attempts before I caught on. (Sometimes a girl just has to go to the bathroom . . . or catch the last five minutes of Wheel of Fortune.)

  “Millie?” There’s a slight edge to James’s voice.

  My foster mom wears a deer-in-the-headlights look. “I . . . I, um. Well, it could be an emergency. Then wouldn’t we feel badly if we didn’t answer it?”

  Ring! Ring!

  “Let the machine pick it up.”

  “I’m just going to get it. I’ll be right back.”

  Ring! Ring!

  James throws his napkin on the table and follows Millie into the kitchen. Rocky, who had been resting at James’s feet, jumps up and darts out of his way.

  Well, okay. Awkward moment.

  “Millie, come on, we’re praying. What is going on with you today?”

  James whispers, but I want to say, Hello! I’m right here. Ten feet away.

  Ring! Ring!

  Millie turns around to answer her husband. “Nothing. I just thought we should be courteous and answer the—”

  Silence.

  No more ringing.

  Millie looks toward the phone. And frowns.

  “Well . . .” Millie wraps her necklace around a finger, then lets it unwind only to coil it up again. “I guess they’ll call back if they want anything.”

  My foster parents stand between the kitchen and breakfast nook for a few uncomfortable seconds. They simply watch one another.

  “After amen we eat, right?” I had to break the silence.

  The Scotts look my way.

  “I just wanted to make sure before I committed a big Christian faux pas.” I lift up my fork like I will eat this waffle. I ain’t scared.

  The two return to the table. Millie smiles as if we didn’t just have a soap opera moment, and Rocky once again reclines at James’s feet.

  My foster dad restarts his prayer, and at his ‘Amen,’ I tear into my waffles.

  And they are all I could’ve hoped for. If James is right, and there is a heaven, waffles will surely be on the menu there. Hopefully the fruit and vegetables Millie is always pushing will not. I mean, it can’t be heaven if you still have to eat your broccoli, right?

  “So Katie, you were telling us about the theatre.” James stabs a sausage. “Did Sam introduce you to everyone?”

  “Yeah, I met the crew. They said they’ve been enjoying the homemade cookies Millie’s been bringing them everyday.”

  “Were they practicing for the play while you were there?” Millie frowns at the untouched fruit on my plate.

  I dutifully eat a few bites of strawberries and bananas. “Uh-huh. Romeo and Juliet, right? I recognize it from last year. We read it in English class.”

  I remember Ashley Buckingham, the captain of the junior high cheerleading team, was Juliet, but during the week she was out with the flu, I was picked to read her part. I acted like I didn’t want to read, but secretly I did. Ashley read her part without any expression at all. I mean, the scene in which Juliet thinks Romeo, the love of her life, is dead should not be read in the same tone of voice you would use to read your science book. So when my chance came, I read the part of Juliet like I meant it. I was Juliet.

  I still remember a few of the lines and like to quote them at totally inappropriate times.

  “That’s right. Romeo and Juliet. Millie and I thought we would open the theatre with a classic everyone knew. How were the actors doing? Were they able to rehearse around all the noise and workers?”

  I shrug. “It seemed like they were doing okay.” At least the lead roles, played by two In Between High seniors, said their lines with some enthusiasm. The guy who played Romeo, Chase Fitzpatrick, kept flubbing up his lines. But I think it’s only so his Juliet would continue to step close to him to point out his error in the script.

  James and Millie continue the conversation about the play. I use this opportunity to slip Rocky some sausage links under the table. Rocky sits by James’s chair, but I’ve figured out it’s just because it gives him the best access to my secret handouts. He can have all the sausage he wants. I’m more of a bacon girl myself.

  “Bev called me today.” James helps himself to another waffle and douses it in syrup.

  “Oh? What did she have to say?” Millie takes a drink of milk.

  Bev is the director of the play. That’s one of the many things I learned from Sam today.

  “She wanted to discuss postponing the opening of the theatre and the production.”

  Millie drops her fork. “No! I mean, we can’t. They’ve all worked so hard. We’re working so hard. We’ll get it done.”

  “I don’t think the theatre is going to be ready,” James says. “You don’t want to have the opening night if we’re not ready. It’s not fair to the actors and it’s not fair to all we’ve worked for.”

  I pick up my milk to wash down some guilt. The Valiant is pretty messed up. I don’t know how it can possibly be done on time.

  Millie pushes her hair behind her ears, then her hands return to her lap to grip her napkin. “No, we set the date and we have to stick with it. It’s important, James. The theatre will be finished. It has to be.”

  I’m so engrossed in their exchange I fail to notice Rocky has been licking my hands, cleaning off all traces of sausage. Ew.

  My dog-breath hands fly back to the table.

  “I just don’t see how we can work any faster than we are. I want the community to see the Valiant in pristine condition. I want the opening to be perfect.” James pushes his glasses up on his nose.

  “So do I. But the opening has to be on the thirtieth. There can’t be any delay in—”

  Millie’s rebuttal is interrupted by the door bell. Frazzled, she looks at the clock, running a hand through her hair. “It’s Frances. I forgot she was coming by tonight.”

  I choke on my waffle, my fourth for the night. “What?”

  Millie opens the door. “Frances, remember? She’s going to tutor you a few nights a week in algebra.”

  Oh, yeah. How could I forget?

  “Hi!” Frances calls out an uber-cheery greeting. A major contrast to the negative vibes we had going on at the dinner table.

  The Scotts surround the nerdily perfect girl, taking her books, her coat, her purse, getting her a drink. She’s like the foster daughter they wish they had.

  “Okay! Ready to hit the books?” Frances just radiates enthusiasm.

  It makes me want to hurl.

  There is no need for that level of excitement over mathematics. The grin she’s wearing right now would be the grin I’d have if I won the lottery. Or if a driver’s license magically appeared in my hand.

  I lead Frances and her smiling face up the stairs to my room. Rocky follows us.

  “Aw, hey, little guy. Aren’t you the cutest thing?”

  “Frances, Rocky is neither cute nor little. Are you sure you’ve got the smarts to help me with algebra?”

  Frances flops on my bed and looks around. Tonight my fellow Chihuahua and tutor is wearing a T-shirt promoting “Peace, love, and trees,” a hoodie, and some worn-out jeans with a cool-looking belt. If I wear that kind of stuff it looks like I’m a hobo. But on Frances, it looks like it’s straight out of Teen Vogue.

  “Your room is really awesome. You did a good job decorating.”

  I dig my algebra book out of my backpack. “Oh, I didn’t do any of the decorating. It was like this when I got here. Millie did it all.” I love my room. I never get tired of looking at it.

  “I guess this probably was Amy’s room.”

  “Who?” I nearly drop my book.

&n
bsp; “Yeah, Amy. The Scotts’ daughter.”

  In one leap I’m sitting right next to Frances. “What do you know about Amy?” I never thought of Frances as a source for info on the subject of the Scotts’ daughter.

  Frances flips through my algebra book. Her eyes light up as if she’s reading something interesting—like a romance novel.

  “Frances, focus.” I snatch the book out of her hands. “What do you know about her?”

  “Not much. Just that she doesn’t live around here.”

  “Where does she live?”

  “I don’t know.” Frances shrugs like this is no big deal.

  “Did she go to In Between?” Maybe I could search for her picture in an old yearbook in the school library.

  “Yeah, I remember she was homecoming queen a long time ago. She was really big in sports, choir, and track. Oh, and the theatre.”

  “Like in drama and stuff?” My mind races at light speed.

  “Yup. If you go in the school theatre, there’re all those pictures of the plays that have been done since the school started a million years ago. Pastor and Millie’s daughter is in quite a few of the photos. Why are you asking me this?”

  Why? Because things are totally weird around here. Because I think if I find out the story about Amy it will explain a lot.

  And because I think Amy is the reason the Scotts are reopening the Valiant.

  Chapter 30

  Today was another fine day of educational enrichment. The other kids aren’t glaring at me or anything anymore, and so far Angel and her groupies have stayed out of my way. Lunch was just as awkward as ever, though. I declined an invitation to sit with the skateboarders again, and instead sat with a group I thought looked pretty harmless. Turns out I sat down with the poetry club. It went a little something like this:

  “Hey, guys . . . um, mind if I sit here?”

  They looked friendly enough. A little oddly dressed, like they were expecting a Woodstock revival to be announced any time now, but they seemed nice.

  “Sure. We’re just discussing our poetry selections for the next issue of The Soulful Chihuahua.”

  I blinked twice. “The what?”

  “It’s the monthly poetry mag we put out.”