The fort, p.4
The Fort, page 4
Inside are neat rows of forks, knives, and spoons—all black.
“Bennett Delamere was a pretty weird guy,” Evan comments. “He spares no expense building the ultimate bomb shelter, fills it with nothing but the best stuff, and then cheaps out on the knives and forks.”
“Maybe rich people liked it that way in the 1970s,” Mitchell suggests. “You know, black is the new black.”
“No way,” I put in. “My dad bought the cheapest stuff he could find when he moved into his apartment and it’s still a lot nicer than this.”
Gross cutlery or not, we rinse it in the sink and use it. We heat up ravioli, beef stew, and baked beans on the counter cooktop and eat it on elegant china plates, using black forks. It’s our first official snack in our official fort, and it somehow feels important—like an opening ceremony or something. Forty-year-old cans or not, nothing ever tasted better.
Good news: Mitchell’s OCD means he can’t stand to have dirty dishes lying around, so we all let him clean up.
C.J. stretches out on the couch and puts the cold pack back on his head for a little more ice time. “I wish I could stay here forever,” he sighs in contentment.
We all know exactly what he means. Your own place. No parents. No teachers. No rules.
But we’ve been here a few hours by now, and the texts are starting to come in: Where are we? What time will we be coming home? Is everything okay?
“Oh man—I forgot Janelle!” I jump up so high that I almost hit the low ceiling. Somehow, being underground makes you lose track of everything on earth level. “She thinks I’m still fixing my bike! I’m so dead!”
It doesn’t help that the others are laughing their heads off. Some friends. You’d think that when you’re co-owner of a fort with a bunch of guys, it would be kind of a brotherhood. Fat chance. Pretty soon they’re chanting “Ro-me-o! Ro-me-o!” Even Ricky, who hasn’t earned the right to call me that yet.
They’re still chanting as we climb out of the fort and replace the scattered branches to camouflage the trapdoor.
I groan. “It’s already getting dark.” I turn to C.J. “You’ve got to come with me to Janelle’s. She’ll take one look at your head and forget how late I am.”
He grins at me. “I can’t lie to Juliet. Only Romeo gets to do that.”
“Well, somebody should back me up. Evan? Mitchell?”
Mitchell shakes his head. “Can’t. As soon as it’s dark enough, I have to go water my plants.”
Ricky is confused. “What plants do you water in the dark?”
“That’s for me to know and you to find out.”
We all know, but we’re not going to tell Magnet Boy. Mitchell may be strange, but he’s one of us. And Ricky isn’t.
“Later, guys!” I run ahead of the others, my mind on my bike and Janelle. They chant “Ro-me-o!” but I barely hear it.
I’m already dreaming up excuses.
Ricky is in my math class. He’s also with me in English and social studies, but he’s way more annoying in math. He knows more than Mr. Kanciper, and he never misses a chance to explain how he picked up all these wonderful fun facts in his magnet school. When you’re a jumped-up seventh grader, this isn’t going to make you very popular with anyone in the eighth grade. Why, oh why, does my grandma have to work with Mrs. Molina? It’s a genuine bummer to be co-owner of a fort with such a creep.
“I’d like to wrap him up in his magnets and attach him to the underside of the Brooklyn Bridge,” C.J. mumbles beside me.
All through the day Monday, I struggle to keep my mind off Ricky by watching the clock, which is moving the slowest it ever has. C.J. is doing it too. The swelling on his head has come down quite a lot, but Ricky’s bandage is still in place—another Ricky reminder. He probably got first-aid training in magnet school, where all good things happen.
Whatever. The school day still has hours to go, but my heart is already out the door. The other guys feel the same way. The minute the three-thirty bell sounds, we’re going to the fort.
“There’s no soccer practice, but I have to walk Janelle home,” Jason tells us. He’s trying to whisper, but his whispering is still too loud when we’re talking about the fort, which is supposed to be secret. “I owe her that much after standing her up last weekend. Don’t start the movie without me.”
Before we left last time, we discovered a whole box of videotapes, real classic old movies like the original Star Wars, Alien, and Jaws—which is considered to be the greatest shark movie in history. At this rate, we’re not going to be done watching all the movies, listening to all the records, and eating all the canned beans until we’re at least thirty.
“Don’t keep us waiting, Romeo,” C.J. warns.
In the cafeteria at lunch, we learn that Mitchell’s mind has been on our afternoon plans too. “I’ve heard Jaws is scary.”
“A giant shark swimming around sinking boats and eating people?” C.J. muses. “Nah—not scary at all.”
Mitchell doesn’t find this at all helpful. “So would you say Jaws is really scary or just medium scary?” he asks.
“How would we know?” I retort. “We haven’t seen it yet, same as you.”
Jason is willing to take a stab at it. “I’m guessing scarier than medium, but not as scary as really.”
“Well, okay, but we’re not turning off the lights,” Mitchell announces.
“You can say that again,” I tell him. “The only way to do that is to shut down power to the whole fort. And then the video thingy won’t play.”
When the bell finally rings, C.J., Mitchell, and I hurry to our meeting place in the crowded hallway. We’re anxious to get to the fort, sure. But part of our plan is to get out of the school before Ricky can latch onto us. Nothing personal—we all agree that it’s his fort too. Still, that doesn’t mean he has to be there every time we are.
“He’ll probably show up anyway,” C.J. predicts darkly as we rush for the exit.
“Yeah, to study,” Mitchell adds, making it into a five-syllable word. “Talk about a waste of a good fort!”
We burst out the front entrance and freeze. An unmuffled car engine is roaring in the pickup line. There, amid the minivans and SUVs, Jaeger’s red Mustang perches on its too-big tires. Jaeger’s at the wheel, his face its usual study in boredom and ill will. My brother, Luke, is in the passenger seat, scanning the departing crowd of kids.
“We could pretend we don’t see them,” C.J. whispers into my ear.
“No good.” I sigh. “They’ll just follow us. The last thing we need is those guys finding out about the fort.”
“So what do we do?” Mitchell asks.
“You guys go ahead of me,” I decide. “With any luck, I can ditch them quick and make it to the fort in time for the movie.”
“Watch yourself,” C.J. warns. “I know he’s your brother, but he’s Jaeger’s animal now.”
“I’m on it.”
“Hey, look who it is!” Luke exclaims with a big phony grin when I approach the Mustang. Like he’s totally amazed to see me leaving my own school at dismissal time.
Against my better judgment, I climb into the back seat, because I know they’re not going to go away until I do.
“Cutting ninth period?” I ask Luke. The high school doesn’t get out for another twenty minutes yet.
“Oh yeah. Started early. Like right after breakfast.”
I shrug. “It’s your funeral. If Grandma finds out, you’re a dead man.”
“You won’t tell her,” Jaeger drawls. That’s the difference between him and Luke. When Jaeger says it, it’s not a statement. It’s a threat.
We pull out of the driveway with a squeal. Somehow, Jaeger manages to cut off every parent at Canaan Middle School and leave them stewing and honking in anger.
“So what’s this about?” I ask as we lurch onto the main road, driving far too fast.
“I can’t give my little brother a ride home from school?” Luke demands.
“We have a small project that requires your special skill set,” Jaeger explains smoothly.
That makes me uneasy, because a) it’s coming from Jaeger, and b) I have no special skill set.
“What project?” I ask Luke. I never speak directly to Jaeger, even though he’s the one who answers most of the time.
We pull up in front of Doyle’s Luncheonette, a small greasy spoon diner that’s been in Canaan forever. It may have been started by someone named Doyle, but as long as I can remember, it’s been run by an ancient man named Kyriako.
They drag me inside to a table, and Jaeger orders Cokes all around and “a plate of your finest French fries with gravy!”
“I’m not hungry,” I protest as Kyriako shuffles off to fill our order.
“Fake it,” Luke snarls.
That’s when Jaeger explains what we’re there for, turning the blood in my veins to ice. “When Kyriako brings people their change, he always leaves the cash drawer open. So when that table in the back pays their bill, you sneak up, clean out the register, and buzz off. We’ll pick you up in front of the 7-Eleven down the block.”
“I’m not going to do that!” I hiss. “Why can’t you do it?”
Jaeger has an answer for that too. “You’re a kid. If you get caught, it’s a juvie offense—a slap on the wrist. But your brother and me—we’re over sixteen. We could be tried as adults.”
“Why does it have to happen at all?” I persist.
“Don’t be such a wimp,” Luke scoffs. “Like you never swiped anything.”
“I haven’t!”
“We’re doing it for you,” Jaeger reasons. “I’d feel terrible if I had to drive you out to Plymouth Springs and leave you there without a phone. That’s a fifteen-mile walk home along the interstate. And you know how the clouds of mosquitoes come out once it starts to get dark.”
He says it in the friendliest tone, but I can tell from the look on his smarmy face that he’d do it in a heartbeat. That’s why he chose a place fifteen miles away, not ninety. A fifteen-mile hike is just doable enough that you can picture yourself struggling along the soft shoulder in the pitch-black, while transport trucks roar by, just about blowing you into the ditch.
I turn to Luke. “And you’d let him do that to me?”
My big brother looks away uncomfortably, which says more than a giant billboard ringed with chaser lights. I never thought things could get worse for our family than when Mom and Dad walked away from us and we had to move in with Grandma and Grandpa. At least back then, it was Luke and me against the world, and all our problems made us closer than close.
So, yeah, this is worse. This is rock bottom.
“Of course he wouldn’t.” Now Jaeger’s voice is comforting. “And I wouldn’t ask him to. That’s why you’re going to do us this solid. Look—that other table’s paying their bill. You’re on.”
I can’t move at first, like I’m glued to my seat. Luke delivers a swift kick to the leg of my chair and up I pop to avoid being knocked over. I’m in a daze as I head for the front counter and the cash register, which sits open, just the way Jaeger predicted. As I move, zombielike, across the floor, it hits me that I have absolutely no idea what’s going to happen next. On the one hand, I can’t steal the money. I’m not a thief. But a quick glance at Jaeger reminds me that I can’t not steal it either—not unless I’m looking forward to a fifteen-mile hike home from Plymouth Springs.
I’m dragging my feet, but I’m almost there now. The cash drawer is right in front of me. All I’d have to do is lean over, grab a fistful of bills, and run. Kyriako is in the farthest corner of the restaurant, his back to me, exchanging bad jokes with his customers. It’s now or never.
I reach out—which is weird, because I have zero intention of taking anything. Maybe I’m just trying to see if my arm actually moves that way. Or I might be thinking that the longer I seem like I’m going along with the plan, the longer I delay the inevitable confrontation with Luke and Jaeger.
At that moment, the front door opens and none other than Ricky Molina walks in, smiling broadly. “Hi, Evan. I thought that was you!” His eyes fall on my hand and the open cash drawer, and his grin morphs into a look of confusion.
I reach down, pluck a mint from the dish on the counter, and pop it into my mouth. “Hey, Ricky. Let’s go.”
I push him out the door and yank him down the block in about eight seconds.
“Wasn’t that your brother and his friend in there?” Ricky protests.
“They’re still eating,” I explain. “I’m done.” The best part is that Kyriako is now looking our way so Luke and Jaeger won’t be able to come after me until they pay their bill for the Cokes and fries. So I’m off the hook for the moment. I’ll have to face them eventually, but at least I’ll have some time to think about how to play it.
Ricky searches my face. “You know, for a minute there, it looked like you were going for the cash in the register.”
I laugh. “Are you kidding? My grandma would kill me.” I sound a lot more certain than I am. The memory of standing in front of that cash drawer is going to stay with me for a long time. At no point was I ever planning to steal that money. But I wasn’t leaving either. Would I have done it? I guess I’ll never be sure. The one thing I know is that Ricky came along at exactly the right time.
I must be speeding up, because Ricky asks, “What’s the rush? Where are we going?”
I look at him. “Have you ever seen Jaws?”
We watch Jaws all the way through, and then we watch it again from the beginning so we can vote on what’s the grossest part—the dead guy’s head or the bitten-off leg. The boat captain sliding down the deck into the shark’s mouth takes third place.
We’re all really late for dinner, and none of us is very hungry, since we split three cans of forty-year-old chili while binge-watching a movie with—let’s face it—a lot of blood. Mitchell barfed in the chemical toilet, so at least we know that works.
I’m just finishing up some homework when the roar of Jaeger’s Mustang rattles the windows. A few minutes later, Luke comes into my room.
“Real stupid, Evan,” he tells me gravely. “Jaeger’s pretty ticked off at you.”
“I don’t lie awake nights stressing about Jaeger,” I assure him. It’s mostly bluff, because Jaeger scares the heck out of me. If he doesn’t keep me awake nights, it’s only because I refuse to think about him at all.
“Yeah, well, maybe you should,” Luke presses. “He’s not the kind of guy you want to mess with. How long do you think I can protect you from him?”
I glare at him. “You mean the way you protected me today from letting him turn me into a thief?”
“Kyriako’s a rich man,” Luke scoffs. “That’s his Lexus parked in front of Doyle’s. He’s got money to spare!”
“Right. And it’s his money, not Jaeger’s. Mom and Dad got their hands on other people’s money too, and we know what they bought with it.”
His face flames red. “I know all about Mom and Dad. I’m their kid too, same as you.”
“Then why would you hang out with a guy who’s only going to get you mixed up with the same kind of problems?”
“I don’t tell you not to run with that pack of nerds you call friends,” he shoots back. “Even that Ricky loser Grandma stuck you with. The kid almost bought you a fifteen-mile hike back from Plymouth Springs. You think Jaeger was joking about that?”
Luke’s face is carved from granite. But I know him too well. I detect the slight twitch in the skin of his right cheek. “You’re scared of him too!” I accuse him.
I’ve hit a nerve, because Luke changes the subject. “Where were you all afternoon?”
“Home.”
“Don’t give me that! That’s the first place we looked. We searched the whole town. It’s like you disappeared off the face of the earth!”
Maybe that’s because I wasn’t on the surface of the earth. I was below it.
As long as I’ve got the fort, I’ll have a place where my brother and Jaeger will never be able to find me.
It bugs me from day one—how can the fort have electricity? There are no power lines leading into the woods, no poles to carry them. And obviously, no utility bills arrive at the trapdoor every month. Where’s the post office supposed to deliver to—Hole in the Ground, #1 Termite Stump Lane, 26 Paces from the Trail, Canaan?
But when I mention this to Evan, his reply is: “What do you care where the power comes from so long as it comes?”
“But aren’t you curious?” I persist.
And he isn’t. Neither are the others. Mitchell looks at me like I’ve got a cabbage for a head just for thinking of it.
Or maybe it’s not so much curiosity as my willingness to do a little legwork. I find a fuse box below the ceiling at the far end of the fort, past the couch. And when I loosen that and check behind it, the wires lead into a piece of conduit pipe that goes out of the bomb shelter and into the ground. That could be why the fort had electricity the morning after the storm—its power line is buried instead of up in the air, where falling branches can damage it. After all, when Bennett Delamere built this place, he was preparing for the aftermath of a war, with who-knows-what kind of destruction in Canaan.
Guesstimating the direction of the pipe, I walk out of the woods into town, searching for where the fort’s wires connect to the power grid. Sure enough, right in front of the public library, the same kind of conduit piping comes up out of the pavement and climbs the pole, hooking into the transformer at the top.
“Don’t you get it?” I tell the guys. “Not only do we have electricity, but I’m pretty sure the Canaan Library is picking up the tab!”
C.J. shrugs. “It’s just a few light bulbs.”
“It’s more than that,” I argue. “There’s the TV and the record player. Even the water in the kitchen—it comes from a well. The pump that brings water to the tap runs on electricity.”
It’s not that they don’t believe me. They just don’t care. It drives me nuts, but I’m trying to see it from their point of view. My favorite food is pizza, and when I eat it, I don’t have to analyze how tomato sauce, cheese, and bread come together in a chemical reaction in your mouth. It’s enough for me to enjoy how it tastes.
