Read Online Between the Roots by A. N. McDermott - Free Book Online
Authors: A. N. McDermott
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Walt answered.
"That short, stocky guy was writing on the wall in the bathroom."
"Sorry, Sammy, I'll tell Skeeter to knock it off and clean it up."
"Thanks, I'd hate to have Mr. Lanton find out." Or anyone else , Sammy thought as he checked his watch. Time had slowed down considerably.
Sammy had never seen John so frazzled. "What's with these old gals? Three of them have been following me around like I was a magnet and they were wearing iron clothes. It's weird."
"Was one of them named Edna?"
"No, she prefers the older gents. These old ladies were asking me all sorts of questions: Who was my favorite movie star? What was my favorite music? And stuff about school."
Sammy said, "They must be old retired school teachers."
The next time the boys looked at their watches it was ten to nine. Walt was wandering around, tapping people, motioning them toward the door. He waved across the room. There was an obvious difference between the perky Colony group and the tired-looking, refined seniors from town. Within minutes Walt's friends were settled on the flatbed. Sammy and John watched the old truck bunny-hop down the street.
John said, "Letting them loose is like popping corn with the lid off. I'll go call my folks and see if we can get a ride home."
Mr. Lanton joined the two young businessmen. "Well, boys, it was a big success, not that it didn't have its moments." He looked at Sammy. "You wouldn't be tampering with city politics now, would you? Maybe you know something about those Colony folks, huh?"
"They spend their money more freely than most, Mr. Lanton." Sammy smiled.
It was now safe to sit on the curb, and soon John's dad flashed the car headlights, so the boys headed in his direction. Sammy whispered, "I'm not sure, but I felt like I knew some of the old folks from somewhere."
Chapter Eight: Bits and Pieces
Y OU'RE WASTING AWAY , Sammy." John flopped next to him on the bench, stood quickly, and brushed a flattened corn chip off his jeans. "It's like you're shrinking into your face. You gotta stop worrying."
"I've been telling myself the same thing. It's no good. All that work we put into the ticket sales was like a distraction."
"From what?"
"The old man, the secret, the weird feeling that keeps gnawing at me," Sammy answered curtly.
"Maybe you better tell someone, maybe your mom."
"I can't, John, I'm still under Walt's threat no matter how friendly he seems."
"Sammy, how about making me a promise? After the holidays, we blow this thing wide open, march right through that stupid gate and face Walt, tell him we know he was lying and we're going to turn the whole place over to the authorities."
Sammy slammed his fist on the table. Students near his table stopped eating their lunches. Sammy waved them off and leaned closer to John, and whispered, "That's crazy. You sound worse that those weasels from up north."
"So what's next?"
"I'll wait, like you said, until after the holidays. There's just too much going on at home with all the stress Mom's facing."
"Just don't slip away, Sammy. Have you looked in the mirror lately?"
It wasn't just his face, Sammy felt different, tighter, smaller, but he knew it wasn't so. Worry seemed to be messing with his whole body.
* * *
Time seemed to warp for Sammy, squeezing the rest of November right next to the beginning of February. A few days after the senior night Sammy had called Walt to get his impression of the evening.
"They loved it," Walt assured him. "They'd love another outing."
Sammy interrupted him. "Actually, I'm a little busy right now. Could you let the folks know we'll have to wait a few weeks?" There was no answer right away. Sammy raised his voice and began to repeat the question. "I'm a little busy right now. Could you let the folksâ"
Walt barked, "Quit that! I can hear you good enough. What do you think I am, deaf?"
Sammy was embarrassed. He had marveled at how sharp Walt's hearing was, just as good as his. "Sorry."
"Truth is, they want an
"That short, stocky guy was writing on the wall in the bathroom."
"Sorry, Sammy, I'll tell Skeeter to knock it off and clean it up."
"Thanks, I'd hate to have Mr. Lanton find out." Or anyone else , Sammy thought as he checked his watch. Time had slowed down considerably.
Sammy had never seen John so frazzled. "What's with these old gals? Three of them have been following me around like I was a magnet and they were wearing iron clothes. It's weird."
"Was one of them named Edna?"
"No, she prefers the older gents. These old ladies were asking me all sorts of questions: Who was my favorite movie star? What was my favorite music? And stuff about school."
Sammy said, "They must be old retired school teachers."
The next time the boys looked at their watches it was ten to nine. Walt was wandering around, tapping people, motioning them toward the door. He waved across the room. There was an obvious difference between the perky Colony group and the tired-looking, refined seniors from town. Within minutes Walt's friends were settled on the flatbed. Sammy and John watched the old truck bunny-hop down the street.
John said, "Letting them loose is like popping corn with the lid off. I'll go call my folks and see if we can get a ride home."
Mr. Lanton joined the two young businessmen. "Well, boys, it was a big success, not that it didn't have its moments." He looked at Sammy. "You wouldn't be tampering with city politics now, would you? Maybe you know something about those Colony folks, huh?"
"They spend their money more freely than most, Mr. Lanton." Sammy smiled.
It was now safe to sit on the curb, and soon John's dad flashed the car headlights, so the boys headed in his direction. Sammy whispered, "I'm not sure, but I felt like I knew some of the old folks from somewhere."
Chapter Eight: Bits and Pieces
Y OU'RE WASTING AWAY , Sammy." John flopped next to him on the bench, stood quickly, and brushed a flattened corn chip off his jeans. "It's like you're shrinking into your face. You gotta stop worrying."
"I've been telling myself the same thing. It's no good. All that work we put into the ticket sales was like a distraction."
"From what?"
"The old man, the secret, the weird feeling that keeps gnawing at me," Sammy answered curtly.
"Maybe you better tell someone, maybe your mom."
"I can't, John, I'm still under Walt's threat no matter how friendly he seems."
"Sammy, how about making me a promise? After the holidays, we blow this thing wide open, march right through that stupid gate and face Walt, tell him we know he was lying and we're going to turn the whole place over to the authorities."
Sammy slammed his fist on the table. Students near his table stopped eating their lunches. Sammy waved them off and leaned closer to John, and whispered, "That's crazy. You sound worse that those weasels from up north."
"So what's next?"
"I'll wait, like you said, until after the holidays. There's just too much going on at home with all the stress Mom's facing."
"Just don't slip away, Sammy. Have you looked in the mirror lately?"
It wasn't just his face, Sammy felt different, tighter, smaller, but he knew it wasn't so. Worry seemed to be messing with his whole body.
* * *
Time seemed to warp for Sammy, squeezing the rest of November right next to the beginning of February. A few days after the senior night Sammy had called Walt to get his impression of the evening.
"They loved it," Walt assured him. "They'd love another outing."
Sammy interrupted him. "Actually, I'm a little busy right now. Could you let the folks know we'll have to wait a few weeks?" There was no answer right away. Sammy raised his voice and began to repeat the question. "I'm a little busy right now. Could you let the folksâ"
Walt barked, "Quit that! I can hear you good enough. What do you think I am, deaf?"
Sammy was embarrassed. He had marveled at how sharp Walt's hearing was, just as good as his. "Sorry."
"Truth is, they want an
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