Like Mandarin - Kirsten Hubbard [54]
“I know,” I replied.
We could liberate a million trophies. We could fill every river to the brim. But it would never fully substitute for liberating ourselves.
The liberation had lasted until five-thirty in the morning. As a result, on Friday I was having trouble keeping my eyes open in homeroom. For once, I could sympathize with the boys who fell asleep with their faces in their lettermen’s jackets. I wished I had a jacket for smothering snores.
I wasn’t the only one out of sorts. Samantha Dent scurried into the classroom after morning announcements, her cheeks ablaze.
“Samantha?” Ms. Ingle inquired.
Like me, Samantha was never late. Before she could explain, Alexis stood up.
“Ms. Ingle, Samantha was robbed last night!”
“Not me,” she protested softly as she sank into her seat. “The restaurant.”
The restaurant? Bleary-eyed, I stared at her as if she were a character from some dream I’d had. And then it struck me: the trophies.
The robbers were us.
For a moment, I had the awful suspicion Mandarin had taken more than the trophies—that maybe she’d slipped some money from the cash register when I wasn’t paying attention. I felt relieved when Alexis explained, “Somebody stole a hunting trophy off the walls of the Buffalo Grill. And all the ones from the grocery store.”
But then she added, “They’re worth, like, thousands and thousands of dollars, aren’t they, Samantha?”
Thousands and thousands of dollars?
I had never considered that the trophies might be worth something. I’d thought of them more as old belongings, like the flea market rubbish at the junk shop, or my great-grandmother’s old dresses and hope chests stashed in the attic of our house. Never as valuable property.
“The cops say it had to be a drifter of some sort,” Alexis continued. “Because if it was somebody in town, where’d they put all the heads?”
My relief came back so intensely I felt dizzy. A drifter. They blamed it on a drifter, just like I had hoped.
I glanced at Samantha again, trying my best to keep my face expressionless. Her cheeks were more fiery than before. But then, they turned red whenever a teacher called on her.
“I’m sorry about that, Samantha,” Ms. Ingle said. “I know how much your family values those hunting trophies.”
Samantha shrugged. “I never liked them anyway.”
The article didn’t come out in the Washokey Gazette until the following Monday. Mandarin pounced on me as soon as I set foot on the great lawn.
“I have something to show you. But …” She glanced at Taffeta, who was gazing up at her with eyes like crystal balls.
“Taffeta, get out of here,” I said.
My sister scowled. “Make me.”
“If you don’t go stand with the other kids, I swear I’ll—”
Mandarin caught my wrist. “Grace, what’s your deal?” She squatted in front of Taffeta. “Listen, girly. I’m gonna tell you how to play the best game ever. It’s called Red Rover.… Do you know it?”
Taffeta shook her head.
“I swear, it’ll make you the most popular kid in school.”
I waited as Mandarin explained the rules of the game with more patience than I’d ever shown my sister. When she finished, Taffeta went skipping off to the other kids. I watched her go, feeling vaguely mystified.
“Remember to use your elbows,” Mandarin called.
Then she tugged me behind a cottonwood tree. From her pocket, she withdrew a crumpled piece of newsprint. “Look,” she said, jabbing with her finger.
Hunting Trophies Stolen from Local Businesses
by Bill S. Moulton, Staff Writer On
Thursday night, all the hunting trophies were deviously stolen from the Buffalo Grill and the Washokey Supermarket, both located on Main Street. No other belongings were taken from either business. The shockingly deplorable crime, unprecedented in town, has been attributed to a drifter, probably somebody who swiftly left the state.…
“They called it ‘shockingly deplorable,’ ” Mandarin said with a grin. “Those idiot cops haven’t got