The Mansion Secrets

CHAPTER ONE The clock hanging on the classroom wall wasn’t working. Michael Richards had been staring at it since lunch. It had barely moved. He decided he should bring it to his teacher’s attention. She called on him when he raised his hand. “Yes, Michael?” “Miss Kingsley, I don’t think the clock is working.” Sitting behind her desk, her chin dropped to her chest and her eyes closed. She looked like the people in church when they are praying. When she lifted her head, she drew in a long, slow breath and let it out even slower. She pointed to the wall where a poster of the Pledge of Allegiance and a photo of President Reagan hung below the clock. “The clock isn’t broken, Michael. And it wasn’t broken when you asked yesterday. Or the day before that.” She seemed sure, but just in case, the next time he saw Mr. Lowe, the custodian, Michael was going to ask him to check it out. This was his third day at his new school. He didn’t like it any better than the first two. Janesville, Wisconsin was less than three hundred miles from his hometown of Fort Wayne, Indiana but it felt like he moved to the dark side of the moon and left everything that mattered behind. Miss Kingsley brought her ample figure to a stand. The wooden floor boards groaned as she stepped around her desk. She tottered down an aisle between the rows of student desks and came to a stop at Michael’s. With a tilt of her head, wire rimmed glasses slid to a halt past the bridge of a generous nose. Michael focused on the squinted eyes peering over the glasses so as not to be staring up two cavernous nostrils. “We have ten minutes before recess. I suggest you use this time to finish reading the nutrition chapter in your health book.” She turned her back to him and took steps toward her desk. “I’ve already read it.” Giggles drifted from the back row, then stopped abruptly with Miss Kingsley’s sideways glance in that direction. She turned back to Michael, eyes above her glasses still narrowed. When she spoke, the sugary words didn’t match the steely stare. “That’s very fast reading, Michael. I’m certain your teacher back in Indiana must have been very proud of you.” Without warning the sweetness dissolved and once again her tone matched her eyes. “Here at Roosevelt Elementary we feel it’s important to use all of our learning time. If you’ve finished, I suggest you reread it to see if you have any questions.” Her pudgy fingers flipped open the closed book on his desk. She shook her head without saying anything else before doddering back to her desk. He only had one question. What food group are doughnuts in? He read it again but he still didn’t find the answer. He wasn’t crazy about Miss Kingsley. She didn’t seem to like him much either. It didn’t bother him because she didn’t seem to like any of the other kids any better. Except maybe Charles Arneson, that know-it-all guy in the front row. Whenever Miss Kingsley asked a question, Charles was the first one with his hand in the air, flailing his whole arm around to be sure everyone could see he knew the answer. He missed his hometown a lot and the friends he’d grown up with even more. Being the new kid in fifth grade was the worst thing a guy could be. The other kids had their buddies, their games, their secrets, and Michael felt left out. The only one who had bothered to say hi to him this morning was that strange little guy named Russell Farwell. When the bell finally rang for recess, the kids darted out the door, scrambling to the playground leaving Michael behind feeling invisible. He walked alone to the playground where most of his classmates gathered for a foot race. Michael had already witnessed two of these races, which was enough for him to know who the winner would be. Charles Arneson looked like he might be the best athlete in the fifth grade. From what Michael could tell, he didn’t pass up opportunities to prove it. Russell Farwell stood on the sideline all by himself. Michael hadn’t seen him participate in the previous two days recess competitions. The other kids didn’t pay him much attention. Michael guessed he was the kind of kid who’d never had a ton of friends. Russell’s red hair, actually more orange than red, always looked like it needed to be combed. He didn’t appear to have any muscle at all on his scrawny frame, and except for the freckles that dotted his nose and cheeks, he had very pale skin. He’d worn the same sweatshirt to school for three days. Michael wondered if anyone else had noticed. As the race was about to begin, Michael walked over to Russell and said, “Come on. Let’s go beat the pants off that Arneson kid.” Russell smiled a wide toothy smile and followed Michael to the starting line. “Can we get in on this race?” A surprised but cocky Charles turned to Michael as he placed his feet into position at the line. “Sure. Why not?” He probably thought the more kids he beat the better. “But keep your mouth shut,” Charles continued, “or you’ll be eating my dust.”