Part 3 (2/2)
A guy with moonlight-white skin and spikey black hair, clothed in a black coat, black jeans, and black Doc Martens, quickly raised his arm to s.h.i.+eld his eyes-seemingly from the glare of the headlights rather than the imminent impact of Becky's pickup.
Becky slammed her brakes. We heard a thud.
”Are you okay?” she cried.
”Yes. Are you?”
”Did I hit him?” she yelled, panicking.
”I don't know.”
”I can't look,” she said, hiding her head on the steering wheel. ”I can't!” She started to cry.
I jumped out of the truck and anxiously peered around the front, afraid of what I might find lying in the road.
But I saw nothing.
I checked underneath the truck and looked for dents. On closer inspection, I noticed blood splattered on the fender.
”Are you okay?” I called out.
But there was no response.
I grabbed a flashlight from Becky's glove compartment.
”What are you doing?” she asked, worried.
”Searching.”
”For what?”
”There was some blood-”
”Blood?” Becky cried. ”I've killed someone!”
”Calm down. It could have been a deer.”
”A deer doesn't wear black jeans! I'm calling nine-one-one.”
”Go ahead-but where's the body?” I reasoned. ”You weren't going fast enough to catapult him into the woods.”
”Maybe he's under the truck!”
”I already looked. You probably just b.u.mped him and he took off. But I want to make sure.”
Becky grabbed my arm, digging her nails into my flesh. ”Raven, don't go! Let's get out of here! I'm calling nine-one-one!”
”Lock the door if you have to,” I said, tearing myself free. ”But keep the engine and the lights on.”
”Raven, tell me this...” Becky exclaimed breathlessly, gazing at me with terrified eyes. ”What normal guy would be walking in the middle of a pitch-black road? Do you think he might be a-?”
I felt the pleasant tingle of gooseb.u.mps on my arms.
”Becky, don't get my hopes up!”
I combed the bushes that went down to the creek. Then I headed for the hillside leading up toward the Mansion.
I let out a shriek.
”What is it?” Becky cried, rolling down the window.
Blood! Thick puddles in the gra.s.s! But there was no body! I followed the bloodstains, afraid bits of his corpse were strewn everywhere. And then I tripped over something hard. I looked down, antic.i.p.ating a severed head. I apprehensively shone my flashlight on it. It was a dented paint bucket.
”Is he dead?” Becky gasped as I returned to the truck.
”No, but I think you may have killed his can,” I said, dangling the bucket in front of her. ”What was he doing painting in the middle of the night? And where was he going?”
”It was just paint!” Becky said with a gasp of relief, hanging up her cell phone and revving the engine. ”Let's get out of here!”
”What was that jerk doing walking in the middle of the road at night?” I wondered out loud. ”Maybe he was going to paint some graffiti or something.”
”Where did he come from? Where could he have gone so fast?” she mumbled back at me.
In the rearview mirror I caught the reflection of the darkened Mansion just in time to see a light go on in the attic window.
6
Exposed
The story of Naked Trevor spread immediately through Dullsville High. Some students said he stumbled into Matt's house in a trash-bag diaper; others said he was found pa.s.sed out naked on the back lawn. No one had a clue I was involved. Only Trevor Boy knew the real story. Apparently he tried to pa.s.s it off to his buddies as an encounter with a cheerleader. Either way, everyone got a laugh.
Trevor left me alone. He wouldn't even make eye contact with me. Gothic Girl had finally gotten the goods on the popular Soccer Sn.o.b. But I didn't want him to accuse me of theft. I had to give his clothes back, right?
First there was the shoe. I think it was the left. I strung it on the outside of my locker. At first no one seemed to notice the hanging loafer. Those who finally did looked at it and walked on. But the next morning it was gone. One person had noticed it. Now it was time for others to take notice besides good ol' Trevor.
The right brown loafer was strung up in the same fas.h.i.+on. But next to it was a sign: MISSING SOMETHING, TREVOR?
This time I heard giggles as students pa.s.sed. They didn't realize whose locker it was. But they'd soon be catching on.
Each day a sock would hang out, or a T-s.h.i.+rt. I started noticing Sn.o.b Girls who would never talk to me suddenly looking over in algebra with smiling approval. They had been Trevor Tree Girls, promised everything, with nothing to show for it. Well, I had plenty to show.
By the time his khaki pants were hung out, complete with gra.s.s stains and dirt, everyone knew whose locker it was. Now kids in the hall were grinning at me. Guys weren't exactly asking me out, but I was suddenly popular-in a quiet kind of way.
Except, of course, with Trevor. But I felt safe. Now that everyone knew whose locker it was, he would be the prime suspect if anything happened to me.
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