“I certainly hope so. School is a priority.”
“School is boring, Mom. I enjoy two classes. Everything else is a waste of time.”
“I wouldn’t say your education is a waste.”
“I can learn more in the courtroom.”
“Perhaps, but you’ll have a chance to spend plenty of time there one day. For now, though, we’re concentrating on the eighth grade. Okay?”
“I’m thinking about taking a few law courses online. There’s a cool website that offers some great stuff.”
“Theodore, honey, you’re not ready for law school. We’ve had this conversation. Let’s enjoy the eighth grade, then off to high school, then beyond. You’re just a kid, okay? Enjoy being a kid.”
He sort of shrugged, said nothing.
“Now, let’s get the homework done.”
Her phone buzzed and Elsa was sending back another important call. “Now, excuse me, Teddy, and please smile,” Mrs. Boone said. Theo eased out of the office. He carried his backpack through the copy room, always a mess, and worked his way through two storage rooms packed with large boxes of old files.
Theo was certain that he was the only eighth grader in Strattenburg with his own law office. It was a small boxlike closet that someone had added to the main house decades earlier, and before Theo took it over the firm had used it to store old law books that were out of date. His desk was a card table that was not quite as neat as his mother’s but much more organized than his father’s. His chair was a ragged swivel unit he’d saved from the junk pile when his parents had refurbished the library up front near Elsa’s station.
Sitting in his chair was his dog. Judge spent each day at the office, sleeping or roaming quietly around, trying to avoid the humans because they were always so busy. He was routinely kicked out of meetings. Late in the day, he eased back to Theo’s office, climbed into his chair, and waited.
“Hello, Judge,” Theo said as he rubbed his head. “Have you had a busy day?”
Judge jumped to the floor, tail wagging, a very happy dog. Theo settled into his chair and put his backpack on the desk. He looked around the room. On one wall he’d tacked a large Twins poster with this season’s schedule. To his knowledge, he was the only Twins fan in town. Minnesota was a thousand miles away and Theo had never been there. He pulled for the team because no one else in Strattenburg did so. He felt it only fair that they have at least one fan in town. He’d chosen the Twins years earlier, and now clung to them with a fierce loyalty that was tested throughout the long season.
On another wall, there was a large, cartoonish sketch of Theo Boone, Attorney-at-Law, wearing a suit and a tie and standing in court. A gavel was flying by his head, barely missing him, and the caption read, “Overruled!” In the background, the jurors were howling with laughter, at Theo’s expense. At the bottom right-hand corner the artist had scribbled her name, April Finnemore. She had given the sketch to Theo a year earlier, for his birthday. Her dream was to run away to Paris now, and spend the rest of her life drawing and painting street scenes.
A door led to a small porch that led to the backyard, which was covered with gravel and used for parking.
As usual, he unloaded his backpack and started his homework, which had to be finished before dinner, according to a rather rigid rule established by his parents when he was in the first grade. An asthma condition kept Theo away from the team sports he longed to play, but it also ensured straight A’s in school. Over the years, he had grudgingly accepted the fact that his academic success was a good substitute for the games he missed. He could play golf, though, and he and his father teed off every Saturday morning at nine.
There was a knock on the back door. Judge, who kept a bed under the desk, growled softly.
Sandy Coe was also in the eighth grade at the middle school, but in a different section. Theo knew him but not well. He was a pleasant boy who said little. He needed to talk, and Theo welcomed him to his room. Sandy took the only other chair, a folding one that Theo kept in a corner. When they were both seated, the room was full.
“Can we talk in private?” Sandy asked. He seemed shy, and nervous.
“Sure. What’s up?”
“Well, I need some advice, I think. I’m really not sure about this, but I gotta talk to someone.”
Theo, the counselor, said, “I promise anything you say is kept in secret.”
“Good. Well, my dad got laid off a few months ago, and, well, things are pretty bad around the house.” He paused, waiting for Theo to say something.
“I’m sorry.”
“And last night my parents were having this real serious talk in the kitchen, and I should not have been listening, but I couldn’t help it. Do you know what foreclosure means?”
“Yes.”
“What is it?”
“There are a lot of foreclosures these days. It means that a person who owns a home can’t make the mortgage payments and the bank wants to take the house.”
“I don’t understand any of this.”
“Okay. It works like this.” Theo grabbed a paperback and placed it in the center of his desk. “Let’s say that this is a house and you want to buy it. It costs a hundred thousand dollars, and since you don’t have a hundred thousand dollars, you go to the bank and borrow the money.” He placed a textbook next to the paperback. “This is the bank.”
“Got it.”
“The bank loans you the hundred thousand, and now you’re able to buy the house from whoever is selling it. You agree to pay the bank, say five hundred dollars a month, for thirty years.”
“Thirty years?”
“Yep. That’s the typical deal. The bank charges an extra fee for making the loan—it’s called interest—so each month you pay back part of the hundred thousand plus a chunk for interest. It’s a good deal for everybody. You get the house you want, and the bank makes money on the interest. All is well until something happens and you can’t make the monthly payments.”
“What’s a mortgage?”
“A deal like this is called a mortgage. The bank has a claim on the house until the loan is paid off. When you fall behind on the monthly payments, the bank has the right to come in and take the house. The bank kicks you out, and it owns the house. That’s a foreclosure.” He placed the textbook on top of the paperback, smothering it.
“My mom was crying when they were talking about moving out. We’ve lived there since I was born.”
Theo opened his laptop and turned it on. “It’s terrible,” he said. “And it’s happening a lot these days.”
Sandy lowered his head and appeared to be devastated.
“What’s your father’s name?”
“Thomas. Thomas Coe.”
“And your mother?”
“Evelyn.”
Theo pecked away. “What’s your address?”
“Eight fourteen Bennington.”
More pecking. They waited, then Theo said, “Oh boy.”
“What is it?”
“The bank is Security Trust, on Main Street. Fourteen years ago your parents borrowed a hundred and twenty thousand for a thirty-year mortgage. They have not made the monthly payments in four months.”
“Four months?”
“Yep.”
“All this stuff is online?”
“Yes, but not just anybody can find it.”
“How’d you find it?”
“There are ways. A lot of law offices pay a fee to gain access to certain data. Plus, I know how to dig a little deeper.”
Sandy sank even lower and shook his head. “So we’re gonna lose our house?”
“Not exactly.”
“What do you mean? My dad’s not working.”
“There’s a way to stop the foreclosure, stiff-arm the bank, and keep the house for a while, maybe until your dad goes back to work.”