And then I begin to type.
Once I’ve got my letter all set, I dig my bike out of the garage. It’s been a hot minute since I used this thing because the chain on Oscar’s bike broke last year and he hasn’t gotten a new one yet, so we walk just about everywhere our parents won’t drive us. Valentine is easy enough to get around. The downtown is just one single square where the newspaper, city hall, and a few other random shops, like Bill’s Boots & Cobbler, By Design Florals, and The Jerky Emporium, which sells nothing but—you guessed it—jerky, all surround a bronze Cupid statue next to a big sign that says “Welcome to Valentine, the Heart of Texas.” Mom says the Cupid statue was bought by some rich oil investor as kind of a joke, but that the town takes it very seriously.
To get to downtown, I have to cross six blocks and Ancestors’ Park, which was the town’s first graveyard, but so much of it was destroyed during a tornado that it’s hard to tell where it starts and ends. Honestly, Valentine should be onAmerica’s Most Haunted, if you ask me. Cliff VanWarren would find plenty of stories to tell in this place.
As I pedal down my driveway to embark on my journey, the tassels on my handlebars feel childish, and I can’t believe I ever even wore this helmet with a unicorn horn sticking out the front, but I did, and now I am again.
“Let’s ride,” I say to myself as I take a wide turn out of my driveway and pedal toward downtown.
Passing the park, I stand up on my pedals and move as fast as I can. “Not haunted, not haunted, not haunted, not haunted, not haunted.” Above me a bird squawks. “A little haunted, a little haunted, a little haunted, a little haunted.”
The paper is located just off the main square, in between the civic center and the library. I hadn’t really thought about how I might get in, especially since the place is already closed. This is ridiculous. What was I even thinking? Maybe this is like Mrs. Young said and this is the kind of mistake I’ll have to learn from instead of fix.
I turn my bike around, but as I do, I spot a light spilling out into the alleyway. Walking my bike down the alleyway, I find a side door left open. Maybe there’s hope yet! After ditching my bike behind the dumpster, I duck my head inside to find the janitor, a tall, bearded guy who looks a whole heck of a lot like Hagrid from Harry Potter. If I weren’t here on a mission, I might ask him to sayYou’re a wizard, Sweet Pea!to me.
Heavy metal music crackles through his earphones ashe deep lunges like he’s rocking out live in concert while he slides the vacuum across the floor. With his back turned to me, I tiptoe around him. When he moves in one direction, I do the opposite.
I pay close attention to vacuuming Hagrid and try to check all the names on the office doors.Senior Copy Editor: Carol Tinsley, Lead Photographer: Sam Ortega, Sports Editor: Zoe Corbin...
I gasp!Editor in Chief: Joe Salazar.I turn for his office and stub my toe right on the corner of a cubicle. The wall of the cubicle rocks back and forth, and I catch it with one hand, while hopping on one foot and trying so hard not to scream my head off. Yowza!
When the throbbing in my big toe subsides, I check the handle on Mr. Joe’s door. Unlocked! Looking back and forth and with eyes on Hagrid, I let myself into the office and close the door behind me.
I take a moment to let out a long-held breath. Mr. Joe’s office is covered in framed articles and a few certificates and diplomas. His desk is littered with coffee cups and food-stained papers. This place is a mess, and I don’t know which way is up. What the heck am I even doing? I don’t know how newspapers work or where Miss Flora Mae’s letters might be. And with that giant dude out there cleaning, I’m like a sitting duck!
Okay, okay, okay.Be cool, Sweet Pea. I start checking drawers and cabinets and thumbing through papers. This guy has enough paper in his office to make up a whole forest. Geez.
I hear the knob on the door turn. Oh dang!
I hide in the only place I can, under Mr. Joe’s desk next to his trash can, which definitely contains an old bologna sandwich or two. Footsteps clomp around the desk until two very giant work boots stand before me.
I clap my hand over my mouth as the janitor reaches under the desk. I press my body against the back of the desk, doing my best to make myself small, which, to be honest, is not an easy task for me.
His hand continues to search until—the trash can! He’s looking for the trash can. Despite the heavy metal music still blaring from his headphones, I do my best not to make any noise as I slide the metal bin into his grasp.
He pulls the trash can and I hold my breath as he changes the bags before tossing the trash can back under the desk and completely nailing me in the shin. I can’t contain the yelp that slips from my mouth.
The big work boots don’t move.
He heard me. He so totally heard me.
The music grows louder as he tugs his earbuds out of his ears and stands perfectly still for a moment.
Hagrid lets out a loudhmmphbefore walking back out of the office and slamming the door.
I collapse onto the floor, and holy cannoli, that was a close one. My nerves are shot. I was not meant for a life of crime, that’s for dang sure.
And then I see it. Sitting on top of the filing cabinet behind Mr. Joe’s desk, Miss Flora Mae’s envelope sits, unopened.
Carefully, I open the envelope and swap the letters out, doing my best to reseal it while also crossing my fingers that Mr. Joe isn’t sensitive to details. Based on the state of his office, though, I think I might’ve lucked out.
I crack the office door and wait for the janitor to walk into one of the other offices before I make a run for the back door. My bike is right where I left it, and by an act of God or maybe just a late client, I beat my mom home from work with just enough time to pretend I’m knee-deep in homework. Maybe there are some benefits to only having one set of parental eyes on you at a time.
My brain is running a thousand miles a minute. I wonder what Kiera will think when she sees her letter and my response in the paper. I hope Oscar isn’t still mad at me. And what the heck was Dad even talking about when he mentioned papers from a bank in Connecticut to Mom?
Cheese rolls around on my math homework and leavesa loving bite mark on the top corner of my grammar worksheet. Who can even think about long division or participles at a time like this? I glance down at the date on my calendar and count out the days. I have less than thirteen actual school days before I’m officially an eighth grader. How did I go from hanging out with Oscar bored out of our minds just last week to my life completely exploding all at once?
I scratch the top of Cheese’s head as he nudges my history book off the kitchen table and rolls over on his side so that he looks like a crescent roll–shaped cat. “You’re not being very helpful, but I appreciate the thought.”
