Hidebehind

Twenty-Nine

I could barely contain myself as I sat atop my bed and spread the papers across the quilt that evening. I kept the alphabet code on my lap, as a reference, and began deciphering the words on the various pages as best I could. A bunch of it meant very little . . . stuff about people and things I didn't know. Like "Ben is not allowed, here," or "hiding place for the swords," or "snakes a natural defense." It basically was like the kind of stuff I would've done with my old friends—create some coded way of labeling our world, so other people couldn't quite figure out what we were doing or where we were hiding, or whatever. The more I looked at all of it, the more I began to wish I'd been sitting there with whoever had come up with all of it. I felt almost guilty, like I was trespassing on somebody else's secrets. On the other hand, this awesome warm feeling of excitement filled me up, and I was still poking through all of it when Great Grandma called us in for dinner.

I was reluctant to sit down and eat, not just because I'd been so absorbed in my new mysterious find but also because I was unsure if anyone had discovered the mess in the fancy room. The way everyone talked, though, convinced me that no one had any idea about it.

My mind was so preoccupied that when Grandpa sat down across from me and asked me to pass something to him, I didn't even hear, so my sister elbowed me and shook me from my daze.

"Did you have fun with your friends, today?" Great Grandma was asking me and Penny.

"Yes! Maisie was so nice."

The Francises had left very shortly after Alex and I had found the folder. Though he'd wanted to go figure out the messages right away, I wanted more time to peruse the papers by myself, so I'd convinced him that it was better to finish cleaning up, first, and by the time we'd done that, his mother had returned. I'd promised I'd tell him what I discovered . . . but I'd see about that, depending on what I found. It was, after all, my discovery.

"We've got to probably get to the church tomorrow," Great Grandma said. "Planning for the Christmas choral event and all. I fully expect the two of you to take part."

"A Christmas show? How fun!" Penny chirped.

"I'm not singing anything," I blurted.

Great Grandma turned to me, probably just as startled at the fact that I'd spoken as she was miffed at what I'd actually said. "Robert, all the children in the church participate. It's a tradition. Plus, it will help you with making friends. The Francises do it every year."

"Then go adopt them; you obviously think they're the best," I muttered, slouching into my chair and promising myself I'd go back to my silence. I felt Grandpa's eyes on me but didn't care. All of it was too much. I shoved my pork steak back a bit on my plate. Then I got up and started off, thought better of it, and returned to put my plate in the sink. At least I appeared somewhat helpful. Nobody said anything, and I took that as permission to go back to my room.

I wasn't singing anything for anybody.

I plopped back down onto my bed, the papers rustling softly as the mattress moved up and down. I hadn't had a whole lot of time to think about it, but obviously the most important thing about my find was the fact that I could decode the graffiti that had popped up recently. The school had scrubbed the paint off, unfortunately . . . but I hoped to find a photo of it somewhere. The silo, however—I jumped back off my bed; the paint on the silo was still there! Great Grandma hadn't cared about it enough to pay someone to paint over it or scrub it off!

I whipped on my jacket and some shoes faster than it seemed possible. As I raced out of the house, not even bothering to brush my teeth, Great Grandma called to me, but I willfully didn't hear or notice the dazed expressions on the faces of my family members at the table and rushed out, the squeaky screen door slamming behind me.