Trueluck Summer by Susan Gabriel

Author:Susan Gabriel [Gabriel, Susan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: fiction
Publisher: Speedy Publishing LLC
Published: 2016-08-14T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty

Trudy

The elevator door closes. My shoulders drop. Do all adults fall short of what kids need them to be?

“What do we do now?” Paris whispers. “How are we going to get that flag down by ourselves?” The look on his face mirrors how I feel.

Meanwhile Vel stares at the elevator like she wishes she had gone with Nana Trueluck.

“We’ve got to try,” I whisper back to Paris. “Then we can go home knowing we did the best we could.” But the best we could doesn’t feel nearly good enough.

Wally, the guard, waits for us in front of the main stairway. Is he part of the old guard we have been warned about? He turns to ask our names.

I pause and swallow hard. Has our luck run out? The last thing we need is for Les Lester or Wally Whatever to know our real names and be able to trace us back to Charleston. Paris and Vel shoot panicked looks in my direction.

“I’m, uh, Ida,” I say. I am not sure why I chose Nana Trueluck’s name, except I wish she were here.

All eyes turn to Vel, who for a wide-eyed moment appears speechless.

“I’m Nancy,” she says finally. “Nancy An-drew.” She flashes a huge smile, and then tucks her pencil behind her ear and shakes Wally’s hand like Nancy Drew might do.

“Pleased to meet you, Nancy,” he says. “And you?” Wally asks Paris.

“Martin King,” Paris answers in his best southern accent.

To my surprise, Paris’ color hasn’t seemed to bother Les Lester or Wally Whatever. Maybe they don’t want to answer to Nana Trueluck.

We walk up dozens of steps, and I am glad Nana Trueluck is in the lobby. The higher we go in the State House building the hotter it gets, like the world is backward and we are ascending into hell instead of heaven. Sweat pours down my back and into my sneakers at world record pace.

Vel, who I have never seen sweat, is covered in it, as is Paris. We are all starting to smell like the marsh on a hot day. Vel and I look like goopy globs of white paste. Her Toni perm is the only thing that hasn’t wilted. In contrast, the sweat on Paris’ skin practically glistens.

Wally’s face is red, and his whole shirt is covered in sweat. He takes a wet handkerchief from his wet shirt pocket to mop his wet, bald forehead. With each step, my guilt grows. He is making all this effort for three kids, with an absent grandmother as an accomplice, who want to take down a flag.

We stop at a metal door. From his pocket Wally takes out a set of keys that are big enough to choke a gator. They jingle their importance. He pulls a key from about halfway and unlocks it. Inside the door is another set of steps. Vel and I exchange eye rolls, and then she throws in a glare to voice her displeasure.

The stairway of the building is narrow now, and we have to walk in single file.

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