secluded spot—like this one—in order to take his revenge.
I rode a little faster the rest of the way home, even though my body was still aching like crazy from the beating.
When I got there, I walked around to the side of the house. There’s a broad alley of grass there and just at the end of it, at the corner of the house, there’s a little covered bike port next to an old willow tree. It’s a deserted little corner. Getting dark now as the rain clouds moved in above. The willow tree waving and whispering in the wind. I still had that strange feeling that someone was watching me. I kept looking around me, but there was no one in sight.
I wheeled the bike into the port and locked it up. Then I turned to go into the house.
And there was Jennifer Sales, standing right next to me, staring.
11
What Jennifer Saw
I nearly jumped out of my own skin—that’s how startled I was to see her. It was as if she’d appeared out of nowhere, and the way she was staring at me with that pale, serious face of hers—just standing and staring without saying anything—well, it was eerie. Very. It was like having a ghost stare at you.
“Oh!” I said, nearly choking on the sound. “Uh . . . hi, Jennifer.”
She went on staring another long moment. Then her lips turned up in a shy little smile. She lifted her hand in a shy little wave. “Sam Hopkins,” she said. And then she repeated my name: “Sam Hopkins.”
“That’s me, all right.”
She smiled and nodded for a long time. Then she said, “Thank you for stopping Jeff. The Winger. From hurting me. He was mean.”
“Yeah, he was,” I said. “I’m sorry he did that. I’m really glad you got out of there all right.”
“Because you helped me.”
“Well . . .”
She lifted her hand and reached for my face as if to touch the bruises there. I guess I kind of flinched a little. The bruises were still really tender.
But in any case, Jennifer didn’t touch me. Her finger just sort of lingered close to my cheek, then dropped back to her side.
“They hurt you,” she said sadly. “They hurt you because of me.”
“They hurt me because I busted Jeff in the grille. It wasn’t your fault.”
Jennifer smiled. “You were my Sam Hopkins friend,” she said.
It sounded so funny I laughed. “Well, good. I’m glad to be your Sam Hopkins friend.”
Jennifer looked this way and that, as if she wanted to make sure there was no one around to hear her. There wasn’t. We were alone in that little grass alley at the edge of the house next to the bike port and the willow tree.
Jennifer dropped her voice and leaned toward me. “I said your name last night,” she confided to me as if it were her great secret.
“You . . . what? What do you mean?”
“I said your name,” she repeated, even softer than before. “When the demons came to my house.”
I don’t know if you’ve ever seen a weeping willow tree in winter. It’s kind of a spooky tree to begin with. In summer it has those branches that hang down mournfully to the ground. But in winter, when the branches are bare, they sort of stick out every which way, all unruly like a witch’s hair. Then when the wind comes through them, they shudder and snicker and whisper almost as if the witch were coming to life.
The wind came through the willow now and the weeping willow shook and whispered. With that and with what Jennifer said about the demons and with her staring at me after she said it, I felt as if something cold and yucky had run up my back, like an insect with icy feet. I shivered like the tree.
“Demons, huh?” I said. I hoped maybe Jennifer was making some kind of joke, but I didn’t really think she was. “You get those a lot around your place?”
She nodded. “They come in at night. When no one else can see them. They change everything.”
“Yeah, I guess they would.”
“They put a coffin under the tree.”
“Sorry?” The bowing branches of the winter willow swayed and whispered and
I rode a little faster the rest of the way home, even though my body was still aching like crazy from the beating.
When I got there, I walked around to the side of the house. There’s a broad alley of grass there and just at the end of it, at the corner of the house, there’s a little covered bike port next to an old willow tree. It’s a deserted little corner. Getting dark now as the rain clouds moved in above. The willow tree waving and whispering in the wind. I still had that strange feeling that someone was watching me. I kept looking around me, but there was no one in sight.
I wheeled the bike into the port and locked it up. Then I turned to go into the house.
And there was Jennifer Sales, standing right next to me, staring.
11
What Jennifer Saw
I nearly jumped out of my own skin—that’s how startled I was to see her. It was as if she’d appeared out of nowhere, and the way she was staring at me with that pale, serious face of hers—just standing and staring without saying anything—well, it was eerie. Very. It was like having a ghost stare at you.
“Oh!” I said, nearly choking on the sound. “Uh . . . hi, Jennifer.”
She went on staring another long moment. Then her lips turned up in a shy little smile. She lifted her hand in a shy little wave. “Sam Hopkins,” she said. And then she repeated my name: “Sam Hopkins.”
“That’s me, all right.”
She smiled and nodded for a long time. Then she said, “Thank you for stopping Jeff. The Winger. From hurting me. He was mean.”
“Yeah, he was,” I said. “I’m sorry he did that. I’m really glad you got out of there all right.”
“Because you helped me.”
“Well . . .”
She lifted her hand and reached for my face as if to touch the bruises there. I guess I kind of flinched a little. The bruises were still really tender.
But in any case, Jennifer didn’t touch me. Her finger just sort of lingered close to my cheek, then dropped back to her side.
“They hurt you,” she said sadly. “They hurt you because of me.”
“They hurt me because I busted Jeff in the grille. It wasn’t your fault.”
Jennifer smiled. “You were my Sam Hopkins friend,” she said.
It sounded so funny I laughed. “Well, good. I’m glad to be your Sam Hopkins friend.”
Jennifer looked this way and that, as if she wanted to make sure there was no one around to hear her. There wasn’t. We were alone in that little grass alley at the edge of the house next to the bike port and the willow tree.
Jennifer dropped her voice and leaned toward me. “I said your name last night,” she confided to me as if it were her great secret.
“You . . . what? What do you mean?”
“I said your name,” she repeated, even softer than before. “When the demons came to my house.”
I don’t know if you’ve ever seen a weeping willow tree in winter. It’s kind of a spooky tree to begin with. In summer it has those branches that hang down mournfully to the ground. But in winter, when the branches are bare, they sort of stick out every which way, all unruly like a witch’s hair. Then when the wind comes through them, they shudder and snicker and whisper almost as if the witch were coming to life.
The wind came through the willow now and the weeping willow shook and whispered. With that and with what Jennifer said about the demons and with her staring at me after she said it, I felt as if something cold and yucky had run up my back, like an insect with icy feet. I shivered like the tree.
“Demons, huh?” I said. I hoped maybe Jennifer was making some kind of joke, but I didn’t really think she was. “You get those a lot around your place?”
She nodded. “They come in at night. When no one else can see them. They change everything.”
“Yeah, I guess they would.”
“They put a coffin under the tree.”
“Sorry?” The bowing branches of the winter willow swayed and whispered and
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