Sammy Keyes and the Night of Skulls (20 page)

He just shakes his head again and keeps walking. “Why can’t you guys just get along?”

Well, I didn’t think I needed to explain that to
him
. And it felt like a slap. I mean, with all the things Heather’s done to me, I can’t give her a little of her own medicine?

So on the one hand I was hurt that he didn’t get that I was just protecting myself, but there was also this little knot in my stomach that I was having trouble ignoring.

I
didn’t
feel good about what I’d done to Heather.

But why?

She’d started this war. Why did I feel bad about finally firing back?

Billy and I made it over to drama without saying much more to each other. I was really looking forward to talking to Marissa because she’s also in that class, but instead I wound up witnessing this weird little non-conversation between Marissa and Billy while Mr. Chester talked.
Instead of a dialogue, it was like a
shy
alogue, where Marissa would peek over at Billy—who would smile or pull a goofy face—then she’d give a little smile back, blush, and turn away.

So obviously her mind wasn’t on
my
problems, and when we got put into groups, Billy happened to be in Marissa’s but I was not.

So great. I’m out in the cold with this knot in my stomach, and the more time goes by the worse I feel.

Not about Marissa ignoring me.

About what I’d done to Heather.

And then Billy zips over to me and whispers, “I just got a text from Casey. He wants you to meet him at the mall at five o’clock.”

“Five o’clock? Why five o’clock? And what for?”

He shrugs and gives me a goofy Billy Pratt smile. “Dunno!” Then he zips back to his group.

Well, obviously
he’s
forgotten all about Heather, but now I’m
double
knotted because I’m thinking that Casey doesn’t want to meet me at the mall to, you know, meet me at the mall. He wants to meet me at the mall because he found out I started a rumor about his sister and he’s
mad
at me.

When school finally lets out, I’m dying to talk to Marissa, but she jumps in with, “Billy wants to hang out with me after school. You don’t mind, do you?”

Well, obviously I’m not invited to this little after-school hang, and normally that would be fine. Actually, normally I’d be
excited
.

Marissa showing interest in someone besides Danny?

Come on, I’d be ecstatic.

But I’m so tied up in knots that I can barely even get out, “That’s fine.”

And since Holly’s working at the Humane Society after school and Dot always gets a ride from her dad, I leave school by myself feeling completely tangled up and nauseous.

And dreading five o’clock.

I wound up at Hudson’s and right away he could tell something was bothering me. “I’m glad you’re here,” he says, guiding me toward the kitchen. “I’ve been a little worried about you since you left here Saturday.”

It had only been two days, but Saturday seemed like a lifetime ago. “Yeah, that was about seeing a dead body and some skulls and a bunch of other death-related stuff. This is worse. This is about Heather.”

He pulls down two glasses and starts filling them with ice. “Back to the critical things in life, huh?”

“More like annoying. And confusing.”

“So what happened?”

“I gave her a little of her own medicine. It was totally in self-defense, too! But she winds up crying in the bathroom and now I feel like I did something wrong. Why should I feel bad? She started it! She always starts it!”

He pours tea on the ice, then cuts us each a piece of homemade cinnamon swirl cake. “Why don’t we start at the beginning, huh?” He hands over my cake and tea. “Is the porch okay?”

“That’d be great.”

Now, I know Hudson can’t fix my school problems, but something about the way he listens always helps. Talking to Hudson is like soaking your feet in a river after hiking all day—it won’t get rid of your blisters, but it sure makes you
feel
better.

But, wow, did I have a lot of unlacing to do to get to a place where my shoes were off and I could dip my feet in the water—I had to go clear back to Halloween night and the aftermath of the Preacher Man being beat up, and then tell him about spying on Danny Urbanski and all of that.

I did try to stick to the parts that mattered and leave out anything that had to do with the graveyard or the skulls. And even though I started to get sidetracked about seeing the Deli-Mustard Car after calling Officer Borsch, I stopped myself and fast-forwarded to Danny seeing us come down the police station steps.

Through it all Hudson didn’t say a word, but now he stops me with, “Why did you go to the police station if you’d already made that ‘anonymous phone call’ to Officer Borsch?”

I hold on to my forehead and tell him, “We went there because of some skulls, but that’s a whole other story and I’m trying to just stick to the Heather problem.”

He nods, takes a bite of cake, and says, “One thing at a time. Go on.”

So I tell him about picnicking at the graveyard—something that seems to really please him—and then how I’d confessed the truth to Casey, which gets a “Good for you.”

And after I tell him about Casey asking me to not tell
Marissa but how Holly already had, and then about how things unfolded at school, I shake my head and finish up with, “So I guess the stuff I said to Heather kinda spread, and now Heather’s getting hate texts and Casey told Billy to have me meet him at the mall at five o’clock.” I look over at him. “Why am I so nervous about meeting Casey? Why do I feel so bad? Why do I feel so
guilty
?”

He’s quiet for a little while, collecting little crumbs off his plate with the back of his fork. And when he finally turns to look at me, all he says is, “I think you know why.”

“I do?”

He nods. “I don’t blame you for what you did to Heather. But the goal isn’t to become like her … is it?”

Like cool water across hot, angry blisters, there’s my answer.

I shake my head and groan, “Maaaaan,” and look down. And when I look up again, I ask, “So what do I do?”

Hudson takes a deep breath. “Ideally you’d find some way to stop the rumor and clear her, but this may just be a case of having to learn from your mistakes.” He shakes his head a little. “The real tragedy here is that the issue’s been so badly twisted—Danny’s the one who should be on his peers’ chopping block, not the person who reported him.”

“I know, but that’s not how it works. Junior high’s a war zone, Hudson. And high school sounds like it is, too.”

He nods. “I understand that. And that’s why I said before that nobody can blame you for what you did.” He eyes me. “Just remember—you don’t want to become what you hate.”

I let out a heavy sigh, then drink some tea and just sit
there, thinking about what I should do. I mean, I can’t exactly announce at school that it was me, not Heather. That would be suicide!

Plus, there’s still a part of me that thinks Heather deserves everything she’s getting.

But I can tell now
that’s
the part that’s making me a little crazy.

That’s
the part tying me in knots.

I start thinking what it must be like to be Heather. She’d always been mean to me. Condescending and catty and just
vicious
. But why? When did acting that way become her M.O.? It must’ve happened way before she met me, because the day she started harassing me she was already a pro.

So did it start with one little thing and build from there? Did she tell herself she had to be mean in self-defense?

Is that how she turned into the Heather I know?

Hudson shakes me from my thoughts. “You have some time before you have to be at the mall. Feel like telling me about those skulls?”

“Uh … skulls?”

“Mm-hmm,” he says with a little smile. “There was also mention of a corpse? And something about a vampire and a deli-mustard car?”

I shake my head and laugh a little. “Haven’t you heard enough for one day?”

He sips his tea. “I get the feeling we’re just warming up.”

So after a little hemming and hawing I dive in again and
tell him the skull story from the beginning. And unlike Officer Borsch, he soaks up every word and even asks me for details and to
repeat
parts. And when I’ve finally got the whole thing out, he smoothes back one of his bushy eyebrows and says, “That’s everything? You’re sure?”

I nod, but then I remember about Ofelia Ortega’s grave and Dusty Mike wishing he had been there on Halloween and all of that. And while I’m talking, I’m noticing that Hudson’s eyebrows are taking a slow stretch up. So much so that by the time I get to the end of it, his eyes are wider than I’ve ever seen them.

“You say the dirt was smooth?” he asks. “Like someone had taken care to make the grave look nice?”

“Yeah! Which didn’t make sense to me. If you’re going to dig up a grave to get at something valuable, you’d just dig like mad, get it, and leave. I don’t know why you’d put the dirt back and smooth it out. It was still really noticeable. And grass doesn’t grow overnight!”

Hudson’s eyebrows have come in for a landing, and his eyes are now twinkling. “What if the person who dug up the grave smoothed it over because they respected the person who’d been buried?”

“Then why would they dig up their grave!”

“Ah,” Hudson says, standing up.

“Where are you going?”

He tosses me a twinkle. “Follow me.”

Hudson’s got the most amazing library I’ve ever seen in a house. It’s floor to ceiling books, and any time I have a question he doesn’t have an answer to he takes me back there and
finds
an answer.

But this time he didn’t go for a book.

This time he went to his computer.

Hudson types with only his first fingers, but he’s still quick. And before I can ask, What are you looking up, he’s typed in
Day of Skulls
.

“Day of
Skulls
?” I ask.

He scans the list of websites that come up. “That’s right.”

“How many days of dead things are there?” I hold my head between my hands and start pacing around. “There’s All Saints’ Day for dead people who
have
made it to heaven, there’s All Souls’ Day for dead people who
haven’t
made it to heaven”—I throw my hands in the air—“which is also known as Day of the Dead.… And now we have Day of
Skulls
?”

Then a gaspy squeak eeks out of me because all of a sudden a life-sized human skull pops up on the computer screen and it seems to be laughing at me through the ether. It’s brown and spotty with dark sockets, but what’s making it creepy is that it’s
decorated
. It’s wearing a little red and blue knit cap that has side flaps.

Side flaps!

For what?

Keeping the ear holes warm?

It’s also on a bed of small, unlit white candles and flowers, and on top of the knit cap is a big headdress of flowers.

But what really pushes it into Crazy Town is that there’s a burning cigarette clamped between the teeth.

I blink at the smoking skull. “Who
does
that?”

Hudson points to the caption below the picture and reads, “ ‘Aymara Indians revere the skulls of their relatives and believe they protect them from evil and help them attain their goals.’ ”

“You’ve got to be kidding me. They worship skulls?”

Hudson shakes his head. “I don’t think it’s worshipping so much as it is treasuring.” He clicks to another picture, this one of a big group of people carrying decorated skulls on platters and in box lids and on pillows.

And that’s when a little chill comes over me.

Not because of the skulls.

Because of what some of the men are wearing.

I point to the screen and whisper, “Zarapes!”

Hudson nods, then reads the caption. “ ‘People attend a ceremony on the Day of Skulls at a church in the General Cemetery of La Paz. Bolivians who keep close relatives’ skulls at home flock to the cemetery chapel once a year to have the craniums blessed and to bring themselves good luck in the future. These indigenous peoples believe the skulls will protect them from evil, help them achieve goals, and even work miracles.’ ” He looks up at me. “Their ancestors’ skulls are their good luck charms.”

I sort of stagger into a chair that’s to the side of his computer desk. “So you think those skulls Billy had were El Zarape’s
relatives
?”

Hudson nods. “I think if you exhumed Ofelia Ortega’s grave you’d find bones, but no skull.”

“But …” I shiver. “I just can’t imagine!”

He gives me a little smile. “Different cultures, Sammy, remember? If it’s what you’ve grown up with, there’s nothing strange about it.”

I think about that a minute, then ask, “But why did he have
two
skulls?”

“Maybe he’s reuniting his parents?”

So I think about
that
for a minute and shake my head. “But El Zarape isn’t old enough to be her son. Ofelia was buried fifty years ago!”

Hudson gives a little shrug. “Well, I’m sure there’s an explanation.” Then he eyes the wall clock and says, “Isn’t there someplace you’re supposed to be?”