“I don’t care who you call,” he yelled. “Call the cops, call the sheriff, call the FBI, hell, call the Marines for all I care. I just want to see my family.”
Calmly, Mr. Boone said, “Well, they don’t want to see you, and you’re headed back to jail if you don’t leave.”
“I ain’t leaving, okay, mister? Not without my wife and kids. You have no right to keep them in there.”
More lights from across the street. Mr. and Mrs. Ferguson were standing on the front porch in their pajamas. Randy tried to pick up another rock from the flower bed but lost his balance and fell into some shrubs. As he scrambled to get up, mumbling and cursing and wiping off dirt, he noticed the Fergusons watching him. This upset him, so he yelled, “Why don’t you folks just mind your own business?”
The Fergusons said nothing.
Randy pointed at them and yelled, “Bunch of nosy people in this neighborhood, that’s what I think. I might just come over there and throw a rock through your door. How would you like that?” But as he walked across the Boones’ front lawn, he lost his balance again, then tripped over his own feet. Down he went, tumbling and clawing to get up.
Thankfully, blue lights appeared at the end of the street.
Randy Holland surrendered without a fight, and when the policemen slapped on the handcuffs and led him to the patrol car, his family was watching from the front window, and all four were in tears.
With her husband back in jail, Mrs. Holland decided to return home and put the kids to bed. She thanked the Boones repeatedly, as did Pete and Sharon, and they left around 3:30. As Theo was helping his parents straighten up the den, he said, “Gosh, there’s no way I can go to school tomorrow. I’m already exhausted.”
To which his mother said sternly, “Then I suggest you get upstairs right now and go to sleep.”
“And take your dog with you,” Mr. Boone said. “What a great guard dog.”
“But what about school?”
“You can sleep until seven thirty,” Mrs. Boone said.
“Wow. Thanks. You guys are really sympathetic.”
“Knock it off,” Mr. Boone said. “I’m tired of the whining.”
Chapter 5
The mood in the auditorium was somber early Tuesday morning as the entire eighth grade filed in. Ten perfect rows of seventeen desks each covered the floor, with four odd ones along the back wall. Each homeroom adviser showed his or her students to their places. Mr. Mount’s gang was in row two, and they sat in alphabetical order. Theo was third from the front, with Ricardo Alvarez and Edward Benton in front of him. To his right was a girl named Tess Carver; to his left was a girl whose first name was Lellie. He didn’t know her last name. There were 174 in all, and Theo knew most of them, but it was impossible to know everyone, especially the girls. The school was in its third year of an experiment that separated the eighth-grade boys and girls.
Theo nodded at Pete, who was four rows over and half the way back. He wondered if Pete was as tired as he was. Probably so. What a night. He himself was still rattled by what had happened. He couldn’t imagine the confused state of mind Pete was in.
The principal, Mrs. Gladwell, made a few opening remarks, boring standard stuff about trying to relax and trying to work efficiently. They would be on the clock, and it was important to finish each section, and so on. This had already been covered more than once. The tests would last for three hours, with only two short breaks, then lunch. They would then spend three hours each afternoon prepping for the next day’s tests. Friday afternoon seemed like a year away.
The teachers passed out the exams as quickly as possible. Theo had a knot in his stomach as he took his. When every student had an exam, Mr. Mount, the head proctor for the day, told them to begin. As the students began, their teachers fanned out through the auditorium in a display of force. The message was clear: Keep your eyes on your own exam.
The room was silent. The agony had begun.
During the lunch break, Theo ate hurriedly and went to find Pete. They walked the same path as the day before, along the edge of the playground and away from anyone else. Pete said he couldn’t go back to sleep after he got home, and he was too tired to think. He was blowing the exam and didn’t care. His mother had talked to the police, and they had assured her Mr. Holland would remain in jail for a few days, so at least they would be safe. “What’s a felony?” Pete asked.
“It’s a more serious crime. Misdemeanors are small crimes. Felonies are not. Why?”
“The police said he’s charged with a third-class felony called malicious destruction of property. I guess that means a lot of jail time, right?”
“Probably, but I doubt if he’ll get a long prison sentence. Just a few weeks in the county jail. Who knows?”
A divorce, a jail sentence, the loss of a job; it was a lot for a kid to comprehend. “Thanks for last night, Theo.”
“It was nothing.”
“My mom is supposed to see your mom this afternoon, I guess to talk about the divorce. I can’t believe this.”
“My mom is very good at finding ways to avoid divorce, Pete. She almost always gets the couple to agree to meet with a marriage counselor. Don’t give up yet.”
“Thanks, Theo.”
“And don’t give up on these tests either.”
“I’d like to run away right now.”
Me too, Theo wanted to say, but instead he played tough and said, “Can’t do that, Pete. You gotta buckle down and concentrate.”
“I’ll try.”
The final bell rang at 3:30, and Theo was on his bike within seconds and flying away from the school. At the office, he said a quick hello to Elsa, his mother, and Judge, and raced five blocks to the VFW building where Troop 1440 met on the first and third Tuesdays of each month. This was the second Tuesday and not an official meeting, but when the Major, their scoutmaster, called, you didn’t ask questions.
Theo was a few months away from the big prize: Eagle Scout. He had twenty merit badges, including all but one of those required, and the Major was pushing him hard. He expected all of his Scouts to become Eagles. Theo suspected the Major wanted to review his progress, something he liked to do privately when the troop wasn’t meeting. He parked his bike next to Woody’s and went inside. The Major was chatting with Cal, Woody, Hardie, and Mason, an eighth grader from East Middle School.
The boys gathered around their scoutmaster in folding chairs, and he said, “I understand this is a rough week for eighth graders, all that testing they put you through.”
“It’s awful,” Woody blurted.
Hardie said, “Four straight days of testing.”
The Major smiled and said, “Well, I have an idea. This troop has thirty-nine Scouts as of today and sixteen of those are in the eighth grade. I know you’re having a tough week so I have an idea for a little camping trip this weekend. It’s completely voluntary.”
The boys perked up. Nothing excited them like a weekend in the woods.
The Major continued: “There’s a new hike that’s been opened in the Sassaqua National Park, a forty-mile trail that requires two nights in the wild. You have to hike in with everything on your back — tent, sleeping bag, food, clothes, toilet paper. It has some tough spots, some cliffs and steep inclines, there’s a gorge and some caves. It runs along the Sassaqua River, in the most secluded part of the park, and the scenery is said to be spectacular. The plan is to take off Friday afternoon as soon as the tests are over. It’s about a two-hour drive, so we should get there well before dark. I think we can get five miles into the woods before we set up camp. Who’s in?”
The boys were almost too stunned to speak. The troop spent one weekend each month in the woods, and those adventures were not to be missed. This, though, was something even better. A small group of the best Scouts hiking with the Major and living out of their backpacks. They were all in!