Tells Read online

  Tells

  1. Will

  2. Gifts

  3. Old Money and Older Secrets

  4. Entrance Interview

  5. Commute

  6. Noel and No Decorum

  7. Bento and Gossip

  8. Back to Stately Wayne Manor

  9. Chapel Day

  10. Spy 101

  11. The Office

  12. Girls’ Night Out

  13. Protection Detail

  14. Dina’s Condition

  15. Rat Boy

  16. The Dogs of War

  17. The Gates of Hell Café

  18. Delay of Game

  19. Boss Battle

  20. What It All Comes Down To

  21. Interruptions

  22. Back to School

  23. Dinner

  24. Seeing is Believing

  25. Unicorns

  26. Circles

  27. The First Cheater doesn’t stand a Chance

  28. Duel

  29. Zak Attack

  30. Silence of the Lambs

  31. Shelter

  32. Favor

  33. Sunday

  34. Creeps

  35. Bring me Morris

  36. A Burning Building

  37. Off the Record

  38. Survivors

  Tells

  by Scott Rhine

  Amazon Edition

  Copyright 2019 Scott Rhine

  For my daughter, Emily, who accomplishes everything she sets her mind to.

  For my wife, Tammy, who taught her to read and be a strong woman.

  Thanks to the writers on Scribophile for feedback on the first draft: Lindsey Clouse, Dayton O’Donnell, and Richard Jacobs.

  Cover art by MoorBooks Design

  1. Will

  At the police safe house, a SWAT officer from the helicopter kept pressing me for details in front of the video camera. I had to ensure community safety, but I also needed to stall to give my brother and friends time to escape. Since lying was the only crime my father ever spanked us for, I always told the truth. I just wouldn’t be direct about it. “It all started the evening I asked for my first cell phone.”

  ****

  The Friday before school officially started, my varsity volleyball game gave Dad and me something to talk about over supper. I was hoping to steer the conversation toward the big question. We ate at the kitchen card table because the dining room was too big for two people. Our first game, against the Pirates, took place tonight. I asked, “How could someone pick such a stupid mascot for a Massachusetts town ninety miles from the ocean?”

  “Your team is the Lions. When was the last time anyone saw one of those outside a zoo? Besides, they beat you every time.” His accent was mostly British, but it had hints of the Middle East because he grew up in Lebanon.

  “This year, Coach says I’m the team’s secret weapon.”

  “That, I believe. You practiced serving two hundred times a day.”

  Last spring, I broke my arm when I flipped over the handlebars of my new ten-speed, and I lost my place on the team due to the cast. Because I was younger and shorter than the other girls, I had to work my butt off.

  I played with the take-out lasagna on my plate. “So I was thinking. I’m fifteen now. With all my away games and practices, I should get a cell phone. You know, so you don’t have to wait in the corner of the gym every time.”

  “I’ll wait. It’s my duty to protect you. If you need me, just shout.”

  “Yeah, but a phone can do so many other things, like take pictures.”

  He blew out a puff of disgust. “Digital cameras have no soul. Don’t get me started on selfies. It’s a symptom of what is wrong with this country, Isa.”

  He didn’t abbreviate my name. It’s not something beautiful like Isabella or Lisa. Isa means “willful” in German. My brother’s name means “intelligent” in Arabic. Yeah. Welcome to my life.

  I refused to give up. “Everybody else in my school has a phone, even the old teachers who nobody wants to text.”

  “Spoiled rich kids at a private school aren’t a good model. Your mother wanted you to interact with people, not a screen.”

  “Be honest,” I said. Honesty was huge in our house. “You made up this rule. Mom had a phone.”

  “She was a healthcare provider. It’s how she made appointments and people contacted her in emergencies. You have no such need.” As a therapist who specialized in crime victims, every cop and doctor in town knew Mom on sight. Because of this, when ten kids had set off fireworks in the park, my brother had been the only one identified. I didn’t dare misbehave in public after that. “I don’t want some deranged kidnapper luring you away. No. I’ll keep you safe.”

  Stubborn old man. I stabbed the salad with my fork, and an olive rolled off my plate.

  He bent over and scooped the mess up with his napkin. “Hurry up. We have to leave for your game in ten minutes, and you still have to do the dishes. If you’re late, you’ll run laps. I won’t speed because you dawdled.”

  I growled. When it rains, it pours. With my brother, Zak, gone away to college, I got stuck with all the chores. “Fine, tie a broom to me, and I’ll sweep the floors while I’m at it!”

  He went upstairs, unmoved by my plight or my arguments.

  I stared at the string-art mandala that my mother had hung by the back door—a rainbow pinched at the bottom. Hindus used them for meditation. Making one took weeks of planning and intense concentration. As a hobby, she’d decorated every room in the house with a different pattern. This one was supposed to represent peace and acceptance. Instead, it reminded me how much I needed her. Since she’d died two weeks before Christmas, her absence had been the loudest thing in our house.

  ****

  I gave the old man the silent treatment on the ride there. He didn’t crack. In fact, he counter-attacked. He used to be some kind of award-winning war journalist, but now he prefers snapping pictures of weddings, graduations, and well-fed babies. Thus, our station wagon was plastered on all sides with the name, phone number, and website of his business, “Morris Family Photos.” To spite me, he parked in the middle of the empty lot.

  “Dad! Everyone will see this billboard.”

  “That’s the idea,” he replied. “Wedding season is over. Since I quit my job teaching at the university to spend more time at home with you, we need the advertisement.” He got the accent on the wrong syllable, but I didn’t correct him.

  “This is my school,” I explained.

  “Private school, which this business pays for.”

  “You don’t understand.”

  “I speak four languages, poppet. You’re not making sense in any of them.”

  “Gah!” I jogged the vast black expanse to the front doors, holding my backpack over my shoulder so nobody would recognize me. Dad waved at all the other parents and called them by name, blowing any possibility of stealth. I was able to lose him at the door because he stopped to tell someone his stupid cow jokes. Shoot me now.

  Inside the school gym, I dropped my backpack and water bottle beside Libby’s chair. She was majorly blonde but nice, so I didn’t pick on her like other people did. Our captain, Jessica, once told her someone had written the word gullible on the ceiling, and Libby had spent five minutes looking for it. She asked, “Which phone is he buying you?”

  “None.”

  The tall blonde blinked. “What is he, Amish?”

  More of a Quaker, actually. I glared at Dad where he stood, in the far corner by the light switches, away from the concession-stand workers and foot traffic. “A hermit, and he wants to turn me into one, too.”

  I joined the others for warm-up drills on the court.

  My friend Dina high-fived me. “Yeah! The cannon.” Her height was only a little above averag
e, but her thick-muscled legs made her ideal for jumping and blocking. Not that anyone would see those muscles because we both wore black leggings under our shorts for modesty. Given that my dad was one of the few Arabic speakers in town, our families had been friends forever.

  Her father ran a Persian import shop in the mall. Mr. Hamadi has accused me of being a bad influence on Dina, which was ridiculous. She’s the one addicted to YouTube and teen-gossip sites.

  As I sprinted from one side of the court to the other, my ponytail bounced up and down in time with my good-luck pendant. The finely carved, white-jade disc was the last thing Mom had given me before she died. The abstract pattern resembled a snowflake. I kept it tucked in my bra because we’re not supposed to have jewelry on the court. In theory, it could snag on the net or clothing, but I don’t pay attention to stupid rules.

  A reporter was in the front row with his camera. Sweet. I’ll make the paper the first week!

  Queen-bee Jessica wasn’t as enthusiastic. “We’ll start out with last year’s rotation. You’re a little weak on returns.”

  “It’s not my fault I’m short.” Our Amazon spikers on the front lines knocked the ball into the net or out-of-bounds half the time.

  “Even if you get in, I’m not setting to you.” Jessica was punishing me because I didn’t follow her every whim like the others.

  I’ll show her.

  As we warmed up, ten of our fans milled around the home side of the bleachers. Every parent and grandparent of the opposing team must have shown up, over fifty people in all. Our principal sat between the two groups, filming the games so we could improve our performance next time. We had a small school, and he wore a lot of hats.

  Each match was decided by winning three games out of a possible five. We lost the first game 15 to 25. Every time the Pirates scored, their side of the bleachers went wild. One of our teachers left. He had the right idea because we failed again, 17 to 25. Two more of our supporters departed.

  “We’re wearing them down,” said Jessica.

  “Yeah, by game six, we’ll tie them,” I replied.

  The rest of the girls on the team were so depressed that no one laughed.

  She squinted menacingly at me, but the coach overrode her. “We need to rally. I’m starting Isa. She always has good energy.”

  I pumped my fist in the air. Yes!

  “I’ll sub her in for Libby.”

  Front-row, center. No! The spot was also four feet from the reporter, for maximum humiliation.

  Jessica gave an evil grin.

  I was doomed. At the start of game three, I walked across the wooden floor like Anne Boleyn to the chopping block.

  Dad clapped. “Go, Isa!”

  The Pirates scored four points before we broke their serve. Jessica aced one and then biffed her second try. Five to two. Our morale was rock-bottom, no matter how hard I cheered and encouraged. The next server doled out thunder. We missed or knocked the next six out-of-bounds. Eleven to three. Arg! The match is going to be over before I even get my turn.

  We rotated. I was now right-front corner. “Come on, ladies. We can do this!”

  Dina went through her usual aiming ritual, bouncing the ball six times. Her serve went long, but one of the girls jumped for it out of reflex. Hey, it still counts. Eleven to four.

  “Seven more, Dina!” I cheered.

  Over. Volley. I popped up to block, but it bounced off my fingers into the net.

  Crap! Twelve to four. We couldn’t catch a break. The coach looked pissed. Please don’t take me out. Everyone else messed up ten times each, and you left them in.

  She scribbled something on her clipboard.

  Dina said, “At least I’ll get home in time to see my show.”

  I grabbed Mom’s pendant again and prayed, “Don’t let me be the one who blows this.”

  I didn’t have to worry about screwing up. Every time the ball got close to me, Jessica hustled over to knock it away—sometimes into the stands. I just stood there watching mistake after mistake until the Pirates reached eighteen points. We managed a feeble return, and they batted it back with no problem. Then I saw it. “Double hit!”

  The impossible happened. The girl who’d made the illegal hit lowered her head and admitted the foul, rolling the ball back to our side. The point changed to ours. Eighteen to five.

  Dina waved me toward the back corner. “Come on. Get ten in a row.”

  No pressure. I patted the pendant and posed behind the white line with my arm cocked back. When the ref blew his whistle, I let fly. It tipped the net on the way by. The Pirates expected it to stay in the net, so no one dove for it. It landed between the two rows untouched. “Ace!”

  I waved to the video camera in the top row.

  Our eight fans cheered. Dad signaled me with a vertical hand to his forehead. “Focus.”

  The ball skipped back to me, and I took a deep breath as I scanned the other team. Two girls on the back row were chatting, convinced we were no threat. As soon as the whistle sounded, I smacked the redhead in the jaw with the ball so hard that she fell over.

  “Point,” called the ref, holding up a finger on our side.

  I was in the zone. Every serve went just like practice. Over and in. Half of them were aces, and the rest, the Pirates couldn’t return worth squat! Once they shifted people to reinforce the redhead’s position, I put the ball into the new gap. By my fourth serve, our fans were screaming with pride. Even the concession lady was out of her booth, jumping up and down.

  On the sixth ace, my homegirls chanted, “Isa, Isa, Isa.” They played like a real team, shoving balls down the opponents’ throats. Even Jessica got into the spirit, leading us in a cheer. The fans would triple-clap and stomp along with us.

  I nailed eighteen in a row before I smacked one too hard and it grazed the back line.

  The line judge called, “Out.” Lions twenty-three to the Pirates’ nineteen.

  “We can do this!” Libby said.

  Dina said, “If we start Isa in the serving position for the next two games, we can win the match!”

  The next few volleys seemed to last forever. Whoever made the first mistake would lose a point. We were all hustling, digging, and jumping to make saves. I wore a hole in my right knee pad during one dive.

  Sweat splashed off Jessica when she high-fived us all after breaking their serve again. We had the ball. The teams were tied at twenty-five all, but we had to win by two. I rotated to the front row. Uh-oh. That put me face-to-face with a vengeful redhead.

  I clutched the jade disc as I whispered, “Don’t hit it to me. Please.”

  Our server pelted them with a fast one.

  “One more ace!” The hot-dog lady shouted.

  “Make them eat leather,” said the principal.

  Even Dad was smiling. I hadn’t seen that in forever.

  The serve went low and close. Their twin towers on the front line were going to bat it back immediately. We’d be tied. I had to be taller. I mustered all my will and jumped, stretching as high as my fingertips could reach.

  It worked. Time slowed, and my palm connected. Over! I collapsed on the floor, exhausted.

  Then I heard a sickening sound of a high bump. Someone on the other side had saved it.

  The redhead grinned at my vulnerable position. “Here,” she called to her setter. Red wanted to spike it into my face.

  I pushed myself up to my knees. This is going to hurt. I couldn’t raise my hands in time as I stood. My only hope was a soccer-style head-butt, which would be legal but hard to keep in-bounds.

  Redzilla smashed the ball gleefully downward.

  All noise faded, and I had a moment of perfect calm. Then a flash blinded me.

  Way to go, newspaper guy. You finally take a shot of me, and you lose us the game.

  When I could see again, the ball landed on the other side of the net and dribbled away. Our team and fans when bananas. The roar was deafening.

  Dina picked me up, and Jessica join
ed the hug. “Our first win!”

  Then the ref blew his whistle repeatedly. “Unsportsmanlike conduct,” he shouted when the noise died down. “Jewelry on the court. Point Pirates.”

  What? They couldn’t do that.

  Our coach looked around in confusion.

  The ref pointed at me as he announced my number for the foul.

  Jessica turned from giddy to furious. She shoved my shoulder. “You idiot!”

  Members of the crowd grumbled in anger and frustration.

  That’s when the fire alarm went off.

  The ref waved us off the court, and teachers guided people to the safety of the parking lot.

  Dad was the last one to come out of the gym. By the time he ambled over to me through the crowd, the fire department had arrived. The principal was pissed, ranting about some kid triggering a false alarm, which was a two-thousand-dollar fine.

  “Why would anybody do that? Were they that afraid of losing?” I asked.

  “Never mind,” Dad whispered. “We’re going home.”

  Our principal was putting students from both schools in a line, palms up.

  I wanted to see this. “Cool. The fire marshal is going to shine a special UV light on them.”

  “Why?”

  “Fire alarms squirt invisible ink when someone pulls them.”

  “Now!” When he pressed his hand against my back, there was a memory card in it.

  Furrowing my brow, I tried to argue. “We haven’t finished the game.”

  “No. They’d make you remove your necklace. Your mother told you to keep it on.” He practically dragged me by my elbow.

  “Wait. I need my bag.”

  He held up his other hand to show he was carrying it. In French, he said, “Life or death. Please. Immediately.”

  Mom and Dad used to speak in French when they didn’t want us kids to know what they were talking about. So naturally, I learned it as soon as possible. It turned out to be mostly mushy stuff, and I’d want to wash my ears out afterward. This time, it shocked me.

  He was looking from side to side as if worried someone might see him.

  Hah, bet you’re regretting how far out you parked now! What said out loud was, “Oui.”