Chapter 8 #2
I kept my eyes focused on the floor in front of me, but up ahead I could see and hear Elise amongst a group of students.
I couldn’t bear the thought of her asking if I’d made the team.
The humiliation of admitting I was a failure was too great, especially as it wasn’t my lack of physical skills but because I supposedly wasn’t a team player.
That was so much worse. I impulsively pulled my hair out of its ponytail, letting my long hair drape over my shoulders like a curtain and stopped behind a group of kids who were standing around a bulletin board.
Pretending to read the notices, I meshed my lips and teeth together to stop the flood of emotion threatening to burst out.
“You thinking about signing up?” A blond boy in front of me elbowed the boy next to him.
“I dunno,” the boy with a blue backpack answered. “Apparently it’s a lot of work.”
“Yeah, but you can make close to a thousand bucks.”
My ears perked up at the mention of a thousand dollars, my eyes sweeping across the board to see what they were looking at. They landed on a sign for the Spud Harvest which had a picture of a cartoon potato with a face and arms and legs.
“What is this?” I asked, making the blond boy jump, like he hadn’t realized I was there. The boy with the blue backpack also turned his head.
“Do you mean the Spud Harvest?” Blond Boy said, his cheeks flushing like he’d never spoken to a girl before.
“You said you can make money?” I asked. “What do you have to do?”
Blue Backpack boy chimed in. “You work at a local potato farm.”
“After school?”
“No, during school,” Blond Boy asserted himself back into the conversation. “Usually for two weeks.”
“The farms need help harvesting the potatoes,” Blue Backpack said, “so they get high school kids to help out.”
“It’s kind of a tradition for Snow Ridge High,” Blond Boy said. “My sister’s boyfriend did it last year.”
“And you get paid?” I kept the conversation going, seeing that Elise and the bunch of students hadn’t moved on yet.
“Yeah,” Blond boy said. “Steven made nearly a thousand dollars.”
“So, can anyone do it?” I asked, my curiosity piqued. “Can girls sign up?”
“Ah, yeah, sure,” Blond Boy said, “but it’s a tough gig. Like twelve hour days and hard physical labor.”
“What do you mean by hard physical labor?”
“Potatoes,” he said with a chuckle. “Picking, packing, sorting, lifting.”
I nodded, though pretty sure he was exaggerating. I mean, potatoes weren’t exactly big or heavy, not like pumpkins. It didn’t sound like back breaking work.
I glanced back down the hallway, Elise and friends finally on the way out. I mentally noted that Mrs. Burbank from the Arts Department was the one to see for sign-ups.
I left the school building, curious to see a line of buses out the front and a whole lot of kids milling about.
My heart beat faster at the prospect of going straight home and not having to wait at the salon.
I broke into a jog, searching for my bus, pleased to spot the Fisher twins standing together.
It meant our bus hadn’t left yet. Head down, I blended in with the crowd.
From what I overheard, there had been a medical incident with one of the drivers being taken away in an ambulance and they were waiting for a replacement driver to arrive.
Though it was bad luck for the driver, it was good luck for me.
It meant I could text Mom that I hadn’t made the soccer team which was easier than telling her face to face.
Though, she probably wouldn’t care that much.
I scrolled through my phone with one eye checking the movement of the buses.
As I looked up to see the Fisher twins moving forward, I heard the sound of a motorbike, actually two motorbikes.
I immediately recognized one of the riders was Miller.
Even though his head was covered with a white helmet, I seemed to know his body posture, the broadness of his chest, his upright back, holding the handlebars with a casual kind of confidence.
The two bikes revved and I watched them take off all the way down the street.
We were more than halfway home when I finally got the words right for my text: Didn’t need to stay for soccer, caught the bus home.
I was stating fact without telling the truth, because having to say I’d not made the team was totally embarrassing.
I’d never failed at anything before. Maybe Mom would be so engrossed with work stuff, she’d forget to ask.
I wasted no time jumping off the bus and walking ahead of the twins and the younger Trask boy. As I neared our driveway, Hamish the dog appeared at the Trask’s gate. There didn’t appear to be any sign of Miller’s motorbike, so I detoured slightly and called out, “Hey, Hamish.”
Hamish wagged his tail and made dog noises. The little Trask boy was far behind so I felt brave enough to go over and pat him.
“Hey, how you going? Have you had a good day?” I scratched behind his ears and he made a happy growling sound, his soft eyes appreciative. “Good boy.”
Not wanting to linger, I skipped down my driveway, coming to a complete halt at the front door.
Dumping my bags on the door step, I realized I didn’t have a house key.
I’d kept it on my car keychain but without a car, I hadn’t thought to carry it with me.
I lifted up the front door mat, then walked around the whole house lifting up plant pots in the hope Mom had hidden a key somewhere.
In frustration, I phoned Mom, but she didn’t pick up, likely busy with a client.
So much for this bright idea of coming straight home.
I made a second circuit of the house, this time looking for an open window.
I rejoiced to see my bedroom window open.
Great! But I’d need a ladder to climb up, a very long ladder.
I had a burst of inspiration to wander over to the stables at the back of our yard, a place I hadn’t been in for ages.
Once upon a time, when Mom was a kid, they’d kept horses here at Ambrose Manor, but after a worker was kicked by a horse and died, Grandad had gotten rid of them.
The only time I’d seen a horse here was when we had pony rides on my seventh birthday.
Mr. Jones had always parked his truck by the stables, so presumably that’s where the gardening equipment was kept.
Possibly, I’d find a ladder in there too.
Trying to figure out the old fashioned lock, I pushed and pulled and twisted the bolt before it finally opened.
Sliding back the heavy door required all my brute strength and a weird smell assaulted my senses as I slipped through the gap.
I switched on the light and a flood of memories returned.
William and I used to play out here, him riding his motorized go-kart and me pushing my dolls and teddy bears around in a pram.
I’d climb the ladder up to the loft and take the toys up there to have a picnic.
Dad had laid out straw and I had a striped blanket to sit on.
I went over to the ladder, pulling on it to make sure it was secure, then tentatively climbed, just high enough so I could peek up.
The space was smaller than I remembered—but I guessed I was little back then—and it was lined with various plastic crates.
Pulling myself up, I had to stay on my knees, too tall to stand upright.
I crawled over the hard floor, littered with dust and dirt and remnants of straw, to the crates, awestruck to find them filled with toys.
I smiled as I picked up dolls, animals and play sets I’d loved long ago.
Especially the picnic basket with all the pretend food.
I opened each crate, rummaging through the many long-forgotten toys which also included a bunch of cars, trucks and action figures that belonged to William.
My phone pinged and I read Mom’s message: Key hidden beneath brickwork on back porch.
I scrambled down the ladder and dusted off my clothes, now taking notice of the rest of the area. The riding lawn mower was parked in a corner and a variety of gardening tools lined a wall.
I found the key taped under the ledge of the third brick, which was pretty ingenious.
Letting myself in the back door, I headed for the refrigerator, my stomach reminding me that I was hungry.
The slim pickings made me consider picking up my phone to order a pizza, but knowing Mom would fly into a rage over spending unnecessary money, I pulled out the frozen waffles again.
With a bit of luck, I wouldn’t burn them this time.