Stolen Secrets (4 page)

Chapter 10

The day dragged
as we waited for news. Coach Baldwin ran us guys to death in gym class, getting us ready for our time trials in the mile.

I nearly fell asleep in English class and would have if Mrs. Ferguson hadn’t decided to tell us a spooky short story about a teenage girl who decides to run away with some guy in a car.

“Good literature—stories—help us make sense of what’s going on around us,” she said. “Some great stories have come out of terrible circumstances.”

This was all leading to something I wasn’t sure I liked. Mrs. Ferguson glanced at her watch. “Think about something bad that’s happened to you. Make up a character, give him or her a name, and change that story’s outcome. You’ll read your stories aloud tomorrow in class.”

Only one thing came to
my
mind. My dad.

Chapter 11

Just before English was over,
Mr. Forster made an announcement over the PA system that he wanted everyone to exit at the front of the building. There are a million doors in our school, so going out only in the front means lots of crowding and pushing. I figured the guy who had attacked the two girls was still loose.

Bryce and I can make it home in about 10 minutes on our ATVs, but when we ride the bus we have to go to the high school and take the long way home up Red Rock Hill, so it’s an extra 45 minutes.

I wrote my story on the way, imagining that on the day Dad went on his trip I had spilled cereal on his suit and he had to change. Then I had a bike accident as he was backing out of the driveway, and he had to help me. I kept doing dumb things, and he kept getting delayed until he missed his flight.

The last line of my story read, “On the day all the planes in the world were told to stay on the ground, my father came home and hugged me for saving his life.”

I wished it were true.

Then I thought about Sam and his confession. I hoped I didn’t have another story to tell.

Chapter 12

When I found out Ashley
had written her story about Dad, I tore up what I had written. It was only two sentences, but I made a big deal about it, acting angry and hurt. Our upcoming basketball game was against Coronado, a team that had barely beaten us the last time. I could write about that.

But I didn’t.

I put off writing and played video games upstairs in the barn. Sam has an office there and an exercise room where he lets us play games and walk on the treadmill or lift weights.

I was in there alone when Sam’s phone rang, and his answering machine picked up.

My heart thumped as the beep sounded. I hit the Pause button on my game and strained to hear the message.

A fast-talking man said, “Sam . . . have to get used to that. It’s Tim in D.C. Just making sure you got back okay. Hope things are going better for you.” The man paused. “Look, we’ve been talking about your situation. This is the kind of thing we were concerned about when you started this new family. The director thinks it’s best you keep as much information as you can to yourself. If we have to move you again, we’ll make it happen. Good seeing you again. Been a long time. Take care.”

Chapter 13

That night on the phone
Hayley said her mother saw Cammy and Tracy going into the Toot Toot Café at about noon. That seemed odd, unless the police were taking them to eat.

Mom kept the house locked tight during the day. Even our dogs, Pippin and Frodo, seemed skittish, milling around the back door and whining. When I let them out, they went as far as the invisible fence allowed and stuck their noses in the air.

Sam said if the police hadn’t caught the guy by now, whoever it was had probably gotten away—maybe by hopping a freight train. The guy could have headed north to Denver, bought a bus ticket, and could be anywhere.

Still, Mom and Sam wouldn’t let us ride our ATVs to school, and the local Girl Scout troop canceled its meeting. Leigh wanted to practice driving and get more night hours so she could get her license, but Sam had left to take Dylan for a haircut and Mom said she didn’t want to be out after dark.

Leigh stomped to her room and slammed the door. I felt bad for her, having lost her mom and little sister in the same plane crash that killed my dad. I could tell she was trying hard to like Bryce and me, but she wasn’t trying hard enough, if you know what I mean. I couldn’t help feeling that Bryce and I were just one of the inconveniences in her life.

I read a little in my Bible before I went to sleep. I try to read something out of it every day, but I don’t always. Tonight it was a passage in Luke 10. Jesus had just said you have to love your neighbor as yourself, and an expert in the law asked him, “Who is my neighbor?”

Jesus said:

“A Jewish man was traveling on a trip from Jerusalem to Jericho, and he was attacked by bandits. They stripped him of his clothes, beat him up, and left him half dead beside the road.

“By chance a priest came along. But when he saw the man lying there, he crossed to the other side of the road and passed him by. A Temple assistant walked over and looked at him lying there, but he also passed by on the other side.

“Then a despised Samaritan came along, and when he saw the man, he felt compassion for him. Going over to him, the Samaritan soothed his wounds with olive oil and wine and bandaged them. Then he put the man on his own donkey and took him to an inn, where he took care of him. The next day he handed the innkeeper two silver coins, telling him, ‘Take care of this man. If his bill runs higher than this, I’ll pay you the next time I’m here.’

“Now which of these three would you say was a neighbor to the man who was attacked by bandits?” Jesus asked.

The man replied, “The one who showed him mercy.”

Then Jesus said, “Yes, now go and do the same.”

I’ve heard a whole lot of sermons about this guy, the Good Samaritan, but it struck me tonight that Jesus was like this man. He didn’t have to come to earth and help us, but he did. He must have felt deep pity for us because we were so trapped by our sins. And he paid a lot more than just money to help us—he paid with his own life.

I wrote in my journal:

I want to be like the Good Samaritan, full of love and compassion. So much that I don’t think about myself but about others. God, help me be like this guy and do something, even at school tomorrow.

You have to be careful what you pray for, because God just might take you up on it.