The Mighty Quinn (26 page)

“Where did they take Matt? Did he go to foster care?”

“No, Quinn,” Mr. Standers said. “He's staying with relatives in Portland while the authorities conduct their investigation.”

“I could tell the authorities about the bruises I saw.” Neally elbowed Quinn. “It's so official, having something to tell the authorities.”

“Me too,” Quinn said eagerly. “I can talk to the authorities.”

“Quinn had an
Oh, Yeah!
moment,” Neally said. “He told me about it when he called this morning.”

“An
Oh, Yeah!
moment?” Quinn's mother turned around in the front seat and looked questioningly at Neally.

“It's when you remember something that happened, and you suddenly realize it's important. But you didn't know how important when you first saw it.”

“Oh, yes,” Ruthanne Maxwell nodded, “
that
kind of moment.”

“What was this memory, Quinn?” Mr. Standers asked.

“I was brushing my teeth last night, and I started thinking about Neally seeing bruises on Matt's arm. Matt always has scratches and bruises on his arm. He plays a lot of sports, so I figured you could get scrapes and stuff doing that.”

Quinn paused, noting the warm feeling in his stomach. It felt good, in an odd way, to be the center of attention. Four adults were turned around in their seats, and along with The Girl With the Coolest Name Ever, they hung on his every word. If only his words were about something—or someone—else.

“I didn't think about it before, but some of the bruises were in places you wouldn't think they'd be. I never saw them on Tay or Josh or Kelsey, or the other kids who played sports.”

“Tell them about the ...”

“I'm getting there!” Quinn snapped at Neally.

“Sorry,” Neally said meekly.

Neally's parents exchanged glances, and Quinn saw the trace of a smile dance across Mr. Standers' face.

“What I remembered was some weird marks Matt had at the beginning of school. They were half scratches, half bruises. It's hard to describe; they went crossways, here.” Quinn pointed to his forearm. “I asked Matt about it. He said Tay gave him an Indian burn.”

“Tay gave Matt an Indian burn?” Neally asked Quinn.

“I don't think so. I asked Tay about it, when Matt wasn't around. Tay said he didn't know what I was talking about, and that I could get in trouble for making fun of Native Americans.”

Quinn's mother chuckled softly. “The important thing,” she said, “is that Matt is safe. As Mr. Standers said, we don't know all the details. Quinn, Neally, perhaps you two can set the example in your class, and stop others from spreading rumors.”

“Great idea, Mom,” Quinn said brightly. “That'll make us
real
popular.”

“This is what comes from being born forty,” Neally groused. “You have to set an example. We'll be social lepers.”

“Never underestimate the power of a social leper.” Mr. Standers flashed a wicked grin at the back seat. “I hear they get their own special section in the school yearbook.”

“Yikes!” Quinn clapped his palms over his eyes. “Can we get going now?”

Quinn's father tooted three sharp blasts of the horn.

“How long does it take one eight-year-old to brush her teeth?” Neally wondered.

Quinn's parents exchanged knowing smiles and laughed.

“Did I say something funny?” Neally asked.

Mickey ran out the front door, slamming it shut behind her.

“What's she carrying?” Neally asked.

Quinn looked out his window and moaned, “Oh, great.”

“Does she have to take that ratty thing wherever we go?” Ms. Lee sighed. “It's one of her stuffed animals,” she explained to Neally's parents. “She thinks she can't ride in the car without it. Last week at the grocery store it left a trail of stuffing in the aisles. It's a cheetah; well, three years ago it used to resemble a cheetah. It was a birthday present from her grandfather.”

“What's that wrapped around its stomach?” Ms. Maxwell asked.

“Duct tape, her latest obsession, which she wraps around everything. Don't worry,” Ms. Lee reassured her husband, “I spoke to her about your toothbrush. She promised never to do it again.”

Mickey climbed into the back seat. “Can you scoot next to Quinn?” she asked Neally. “I want to look out.” Mickey pressed her face to the window and waved goodbye to her house. “Ow-wee!” She covered her eyes. “The sun is brighting me.”

Quinn squinted and turned away from the window. “Don't worry, the clouds will come back. I hope.”

“Have you met our Native Oregonians?” Ms. Lee winked at Neally's parents. “They whine about the rain and clouds, then the moment it clears up, they act like they're blinded by a sliver of sunlight. Sometimes we think we're raising vampires.”

“Mickey, I love your cheetah,” Neally's mother said. “I hope you'll let me pet it when we get to the park.”

“The duct tape feels so soft on your hands,” Quinn teased.

Mickey glared at Quinn and puffed out her lower lip.

“That's a way cool cheetah!” Neally beamed her most dazzling smile at Mickey.

“I
know
what you're doing.” Mickey covered her ears. “Don't anyone be happy at me.”

“Marion, Jim, we appreciate you driving,” Ms. Maxwell said. “Bryan and I want to treat everyone to a post-picnic dessert. We can go downtown for ice cream floats.”

Mickey perked up. “Who invented ice cream?” she asked dreamily. “I bet it was a pirate.”

“It never looked this good before. I'm certain of it. You remember, Jim? The ponds were choked with grasses the last time we were here, and there was litter everywhere. Bravo!” Quinn's mother swept her arms left and right, clapping her hands together. “This won
third
place?! You all did a spectacular job!”

“Yeah, we got third.” Quinn crouched to inspect a deer track in the dirt by the side of the trail, and heard the telltale rustling of leaves as a garter snake quickly slithered under a swordtail fern. He watched Mr. Standers show Mickey and Neally where a bobcat had buried its scat in the gravel by one of the bridge posts, and he watched his and Neally's mothers amble across the bridge. He watched a beaver that was leisurely
swimming upstream, and he watched three orange-bellied newts float in a pool of water, a pool that had contained crumpled paper and hunks of decomposing reed grass until Quinn's group had cleaned it out.

“Spectacular” was perhaps overdoing it, but as Quinn looked around the park he was truly proud to recall what his class had done. It didn't seem to matter what number a group of judges had put on their project.

Neally followed her father and Mickey across the bridge. “First and second place was a tie, can you believe that?” she said to Ms. Lee. “Oh, Quinn, show them what Sam did.”

Quinn crossed the bridge and removed a piece of notebook paper from his jacket pocket. He unfolded the paper, smoothing the wrinkles against his leg. It
was a comic Sam had drawn, showing the two sixth-grade teachers wrestling over a pizza while a pack of chattering monkeys cheered them on.

“That is too cute!” Quinn's mother exclaimed.

Quinn folded the paper. “Sam said I could keep it.”

“I thought this year's prize was a plaque with the winners' names on it?” Ms. Maxwell said. “It was to be hung on the wall at City Hall, by the mayor's office, for a year. A big to-do, with the winning class getting to attend the ceremony.”

“Yes, that's the plan,” Mr. Standers replied.

“Sam said he can't draw a plaque, but he likes to draw pizzas,” Quinn explained. “Besides, who'd wrestle for a plaque?”

“Ever seen Mr. Danner?” Neally grinned at the adults. “He looks like he wrestles for
lots
of pizzas—and wins every match.”

Quinn gave Neally a high-five. Mickey ran up the trail, toward the meadow. Ten feet from the bridge, she dropped to her knees by the side of the trail and yelled, “Caterpillar alert!”

The four adults joined Mickey and helped her look for bugs. Quinn followed Neally back to the bridge. They stood side by side, leaned against the railing, and gazed at the creek below.

“Listen to them. Can you believe that?” Neally cocked her head. “My mom's doing her sales pitch. She's
trying to get your dad to think about going to nursing school.”

Quinn leaned out over the railing, craning his neck to look up the trail at his father. “I've seen that face before. It's the one grownups wear when they pretend to be interested in what someone else is saying.”

“I know that face too, and your dad's not wearing it. I don't think he's pretending.”

“He could go to nursing school.” Quinn shrugged his shoulders. “That's cool, I guess.”

“I can't wait for summer.” Neally flicked her finger at a woodchip on the railing, and the chip sailed across the creek. “I'm going to an astronomy camp. We get to camp in the desert for an entire week. The instructors bring the kind of telescopes astronomers use, and we'll learn to identify stars and galaxies. Are you doing anything special this summer?”

“I don't know if it's special, but I'm going to a camp. Not the kind where you go away and sleep in a tent; it's the kind that's right in your own city. You meet every day for a week, in a classroom if it's an art or crafts camp, or outside if it's a sports camp.”

“What kind of camp are you doing?”

“It's called Introduction to Cross-Country. Cross-country runners from the high schools teach it. It goes all summer, and you can sign up for more than one session if you like it.”

“You'll love it,” Neally enthused. “You could be a brilliant runner, I know it. I've
seen
it.”

“Ah, foof. Brilliant—yeah, right.”

“Yeah,
right
. This just might be your special thing. I'm serious, Quinn. Look at me.”

Neally's eyes shimmered like the surface of Rock Creek, and Quinn remembered that not so long ago he was intimidated by their intensity. But that was then.

Quinn knew that he wasn't special, not by himself. He was not a top student in all subjects like Brandon, nor accomplished in one particular skill, like Sam's drawing. But when he considered what would be the conversation at the dinner table that evening, he knew that there were good things in his life.

Hillsboro, Oregon, was no place special. It wasn't the magical Olde England of the books he read for fun, where sorcery ruled the day. It wasn't bustling New York or exotic New Delhi ... it wasn't even Spokane, or Portland. But what was it Neally had said? Its skies change so often. And change, Quinn was beginning to realize, could be a very good thing.

Neally scooped up a handful of pebbles someone had piled by the bridge's rail post. She gave half the pile to Quinn, and dropped her pebbles one by one over the railing. “Let's see if we can make the most perfect water rings in the world.”