A large black dog padded across the deserted street. It stopped under the walnut tree and looked up in my direction. The dog's tongue lolled out in a pant. Its eyes fixed on me, glinting with blue light. My shoulders collapsed with a shiver, and I shifted my gaze up to the tree. It had snowed before Halloween, but that had all melted away a few days later, and it probably wouldn't snow again until Christmas. In the meantime, everything in the yard was crusty and brown and yellow, except for the walnut tree, which creaked in the wind. It was white as ash and stood like a wavering ghost in the light of the full moon.
Daniel had been right about my drawing. The branches were all wrong, and the knot in the lowest one should have been turned up. Mr. Barlow had asked us to illustrate something that reminded us of our childhood. All I could see was that old tree when I looked at my piece of paper. But in the past three years, I had made it a point to avert my eyes when I passed it. It hurt to think about it--to think about Daniel. Now, as I sat on the porch, watching that old tree sway in the moonlight, it seemed to stir my memories until I couldn't help remembering. The afghan slipped off my shoulders as I stood. I glanced back at the front-room window and then to the tree. The dog was gone. It may sound weird, but I was glad that dog wasn't watching as I went around to the side of the porch and crouched between the barberry bushes. I braved a nasty scratch on my hand as I felt under the porch for something I wasn't even sure was there anymore. My fingertips brushed something cold. I reached farther in and slid it out. The metal lunch box felt like an ice block in my bare hands. It was spotted with rust, but I could still make out the faded Mickey Mouse logo as I wiped years' worth of grime off the lid. It came from a time that seemed so long ago. It used to be a treasure box where Jude, Daniel, and I kept our special things like pogs, and baseball cards, and that strange long tooth we found in the woods behind the house. But now it was a small metal coffin--a box that held the memories I wished would die.
I opened the lid and pulled out a tattered leather sketchbook. I flipped through the musty pages until I found the last sketch. It was of a face I had drawn over and over again because I could never get it right. He had hair so blond it was almost white then, not shaggy and black and unwashed. He had a dimple in his chin and a wry, almost devious smile. But it was his eyes that always eluded me. I could never capture their deepness with my simple pencil strokes. His eyes were so dark, so deep. Like the rich mud we used to sink our toes into at the lake--they were mud-pie eyes.
MEMORIES
"You want it? Come and get it." Daniel tucked the bottle of turpentine behind his back and lunged sideways like he was going to run away.
I crossed my arms and leaned against the trunk of the tree. I'd already chased him through the house, across the front yard, and around the walnut tree a couple of times--all because he'd sneaked into the kitchen while I was working and stole my bottle of paint remover without saying a word. "Give it back, now."
"Kiss me," Daniel said.
"What?"
"Kiss me, and I'll give it back." He fingered the moon-shaped knot in the lowest branch of the tree and flashed me a devious grin. "You know you want to." My cheeks flamed. I wanted to kiss him with all the longing in my eleven-and-a-half-year-old heart, and I knew he knew it. Daniel and Jude had been best friends since they were two, and I--only a year younger---had trailed behind them since I was old enough to walk. Jude never minded when I wanted to tag along. Daniel hated it--but then again, only a girl could play Queen Amidala to Daniel's Anakin and Jude's Obi-Wan Kenobi. And despite all Daniel's teasing, he was my first real crush.
"I'll tell," I said lamely.
"No, you won't." Daniel leaned forward, still grinning. "Now kiss me."
"Daniel!" his mother shrieked from the open window of his house. "You better come clean up this paint."
Daniel shot straight up, his eyes wide with panic. He looked at the bottle in his hand. "Please, Gracie? I need it."
"You could have asked in the first place."
"Get in here, boy!" his father roared out the window.
Daniel's hands shook. "Please?"
I nodded, and he ran toward his house. I hid behind the tree and listened to his father yell at him. I don't remember what Daniel's father said. It wasn't his words that ripped me open; it was the sound of his voice--getting deeper and more like a vicious snarl as he went on. I sank into the grass, with my knees pulled to my chest, and wished I could do something to help. That was almost five and a half years before I saw him in Barlow's class today. It was two years and seven months before he disappeared. But only one year before he came to live with us. One year before he became our brother.
Chapter Two Promises, Promises
THE NEXT DAY, FOURTH PERIOD
My mother had this weird rule about secrets. When I was four, she sat me down and explained that I was never to keep one. A few minutes later I marched up to Jude and told him my parents got him a Lego castle for his birthday. Jude started to cry, and Mom sat me back down and told me that a surprise was something everyone would eventually know, and a secret was something no one else was ever supposed to find out. She looked me right in the eyes and told me in this real serious tone that secrets were wrong and no one had the right to ask me to keep one. I wish she'd set the same rule for promises.
The problem with promises is that once you've made one, it's bound to be broken. It's like an unspoken cosmic rule. If Dad says, "Promise you won't be late for curfew," the car is fated to break down, or your watch will magically stop working, and your parents refuse to get you a cell phone so you can't just call and tell them you're running behind.
Seriously, no one should have the right to ask you to keep a promise--especially if they don't consider all the facts.
It was completely unfair of Jude to make me promise not to have anything to do with Daniel. He didn't take into account that Daniel was back in our school now. He didn't have the same memories that I had. I didn't intend to speak to Daniel again, but the only problem was--because Jude had made me promise not to--I was afraid of what I might do.
That fear gripped the breath in my chest as I stood outside the art-department door. My sweating palm slipped on the knob as I tried to turn it. Finally, I pushed the door open and looked to the table in the front row.
"Hey, Grace," someone said.