The Third Rescue Page 2

  “Yes, Mr. Jared,” CJ said, quietly so no one would overhear. “I’ve got the test with the number you said.” His stomach was flipping.

  Mr. Jared looked up. “CJ, I got a strange phone call this morning.”

  CJ wasn’t sure how to react.

  “A . . . a phone call?”

  “Yes. Apparently”—Mr. Jared nodded toward CJ’s manila envelope—“you’ve got highly unusual DNA.” He raised his eyebrows.

  “I do?” CJ thought playing dumb was the best option, at least until he understood the situation better.

  “At least, that’s what the man said on the phone.”

  “He did?” CJ shuffled his feet and switched his book and papers to his other hand.

  “He said he’s from FamilyHeritage, and that he’s sorry, but the company screwed up.”

  CJ was suddenly able to stand a little taller. He smiled. “They did?”

  Mr. Jared smiled back. “He said they would be willing to give you a new test, free of charge, if you want it.”

  “Okay, but this one took weeks to get back. I won’t have time to write my report if I have to wait for another test result before I write it.”

  “I thought of that, but he said they’d expedite it and get it back in less than two weeks. You’ll be fine. But that’s not what bothers me about this.”

  “No?” Uh-oh. Maybe I’m not going to get out of this clean.

  “No,” said Mr. Jared, frowning now and looking right at CJ. “He wanted your name. You know that all these tests are confidential, right? That they’re all coded, so nobody knows who the DNA belongs to.”

  CJ nodded.

  “Well, the guy said he wanted to send the test kit directly to you. When I told him that even I didn’t know the identities for each test, he balked. He insisted that was the only way to do it, but I told him that confidentiality is not negotiable. I don’t know if you were aware, but before we started offering this course a couple years ago, some parents raised heck when they found out we were doing DNA testing.”

  Now CJ was really confused. “So what do we do now? Was there something wrong with my spit?”

  “No, no.” Mr. Jared shook his head. “If there’s enough genetic material to get a reading, then that’s all they need. As far as next steps, that’s up to you.”

  “Well, is my test okay? Do I need another one?”

  “May I see your test? I don’t know what the issue is with it.”

  CJ nodded and thrust the envelope at Mr. Jared.

  He took the envelope, checked the number on the front, and then opened it. He removed and looked over all the pages, returning to the page with the “Unknown” result, frowning.

  “I’ll admit I’ve never seen a large ‘Unknown’ finding,” he said, “but I’ve only been doing this for a couple years. I don’t know what it means. Probably just that an error was made. As far as I’m concerned, you don’t need another test. If you want to redo it, the guy said I could call him, and he urged us to do it. He said he’d have a representative bring the test kit right to school and deliver it to me personally. And that I didn’t have to divulge the identity of the student taking the retest.”

  CJ thought for a minute. “Well, I guess I’ll take the test over. Is that okay?” He hated being different than other kids, so he didn’t like the idea that his DNA was screwed up. If he took the test again, maybe he’d get a “normal” result. And maybe he’d learn something about Nini.

  “That’s fine, CJ. I’ll let the guy know.”

  4

  Newport, Kentucky, April 2018

  CJ left feeling better about his strange DNA result as he rode home with his buddy, Oval Smythe, whose name had nothing to do with the shape of his face or any other body part, although anyone might doubt that if they heard the kids yelling, “Hey, Oval Butt,” or some variation. But “Oval” actually came from his kid sister, who had a hard time saying “Oliver,” his real name, when she was a toddler, and “Oval” stuck.

  Oval wasn’t in the Origins class, so CJ didn’t bring up his DNA problem, but he did wonder what a DNA test would reveal about Oval. One of the African-Americans in the Origins class had shared his results with the class. Less than half of his DNA came from Africa; the rest was from various European regions. Oval’s skin was darker than that kid’s, but that could mean many things, including which part of Africa his ancestors came from. At least, that’s what Oval had said once when CJ asked him about his skin color, back when that was an acceptable thing to ask about.

  On this ride home, Oval could barely contain his excitement. “I think we’re all set.” He grinned at his friend as they sat waiting for a red light.

  CJ looked over at him and cocked his head. “What?”

  “Yeah,” Oval continued. “Jordan says his dad is pretty much, you know, in. This is going to be epic.”

  Jordan Thomas was a friend of theirs, one of a group of guys that CJ and Oval hung out with. None of them fit into one of the major cliques—the athletes, with their letter jackets and attitudes; the nerds, with their eyeglasses and grades; the skaters with their long hair and drugs; the preps, with their cool clothes and cars; the English-as-a-second-language kids; or any other group. CJ’s friends were mostly the kids who, when you passed them in the halls, you couldn’t remember their names.

  Jordan’s family lived in an old Victorian house not far from the Ohio River, in a neighborhood with big 150-year-old mansions, most of which had been renovated. Newport was one of the old river towns founded on the Kentucky side of the river, across from downtown Cincinnati. If the river weren’t a state border, Newport would be a Cincinnati neighborhood, as would Covington, the other large city that sat just a bridge away from downtown Cincinnati. In fact, they’d be inner city neighborhoods, and both had sketchy areas befitting that location. But both also had neighborhoods where the old river captains and wealthy merchants had lived. Just a bit farther south of “Mansion Hill” where Jordan lived, the houses got smaller and were less likely to have been redone. That’s where CJ and Oval lived.

  The tops of some of the tall buildings in Cincinnati were visible from Jordan’s house, and that’s where Mr. Thomas, Jordan’s dad, worked. He drove a nice car and the family took vacations to nice places.

  It was that vacation thing that had Oval so excited. Jordan’s family, which included his older sister, a freshman at Northern Kentucky University, and his younger brother, an eighth grader, was planning a trip to Destin, Florida, over spring break. Oval had concocted a plan to get himself and CJ included in the trip.

  CJ asked, “What do you mean by ‘pretty much in’? You mean he’s going to call Nini and your mom and invite us? ’Cause you know Nini said that’s what it would take.”

  “Done deal.”

  “Right. And who’s driving? We going in their minivan?”

  “Those are just details, man. Think about the girls. College girls! On the beach! In thongs! Epic, man.”

  “Whatever.” CJ wasn’t convinced. And besides, it was more than a week away, so he hadn’t really been thinking that much about it. He had plenty of time to get excited if and when the trip actually happened.

  That night, thinking about his Origins class assignment, CJ once again considered writing his paper on Noga. But it wasn’t just the strip club thing that caused him to shy away; there was also a “mob” thing in Newport’s history that added to his discomfort. At one time Newport had been infamous for its illegal casinos, nightclubs, strip joints and every kind of vice imaginable. It was a mini-Vegas before Vegas was Vegas, and had been run by Mafia gangs.

  CJ didn’t know how he could write something on Noga that wouldn’t confirm what the kids thought—that Noga was an Italian mobster. And by extension, that CJ was involved with the mob, too. Kids already said he was his grandfather’s “muscle,” hurtful not only because of the Italian connections, but because CJ was small—five foot five, maybe 130 pounds on a good day—not exactly the stature for mob “muscle.”


  So the paper would have to be about Nini. He just had to figure out how to make an orphan into an interesting ancestry story. And he had to commit soon—his initial outline was due next week, before he left for spring break.

  The next day, just before class started, CJ asked Mr. Jared about the retake on the DNA test. Mr. Jared said to see him after class. So CJ had to endure what seemed like hours of his teacher talking about how civilizations with the worst diseases, like smallpox, were able to conquer other civilizations that were healthier.

  Finally, the bell rang and CJ sent a text to Oval, asking him to wait so he could spit in a tube. As the last of the kids filed out of the room—it was Friday, last bell, so nobody was hanging around—Mr. Jared motioned him up to the desk.

  “I’ve got your test kit here, CJ. Boy, you’ve really attracted some attention. This company apparently wants to do the right thing. There was a guy waiting for me when I got here this morning.” With a smile, he handed CJ a big envelope that had his ID code on it.

  When CJ opened the envelope, he found the DNA sampling kit inside different than the first one he’d used. This one had handwritten instructions, and no spit tube. Instead, the directions said to take the cotton swab, which looked like a giant Q-tip, rub it around inside his mouth, and then place it inside a plastic baggy.

  He wasn’t quite sure whether to proceed with this new kit or not. But Mr. Jared said, “I guess they’re trying something new, to make sure they don’t screw this one up.” So CJ followed the directions, put the baggy into a large envelope, and handed it all to Mr. Jared.

  “Okay. I’ll walk you out.” Mr. Jared gathered a pile of papers from his desk and shoved them into his backpack, carrying CJ’s envelope in his hand.

  As they walked down the hall, CJ said, “Since I’m not going to get my DNA results back for a while, I was wondering if I could have extra time to complete my paper. On account of, you know, I won’t have as good a picture of my ancestors as the other kids and all.”

  Mr. Jared shook his head. “No, the guy said we’d have the results back quickly. And if you’ve done your family tree . . .” He looked over at CJ and raised his eyebrows. “. . . like you’re supposed to have, then you have enough information for your paper.”

  CJ shrugged. He hadn’t really expected to get an extension and hadn’t planned to ask. The idea had just flashed into his mind, and he’d figured it was worth a try.

  As they neared the school office, just off the big lobby near the main door, Mr. Jared said, “Have a good weekend, CJ. I have to drop your kit off. The FamilyHeritage guy said he’d pick it up after school.”

  “Okay, thanks, Mr. Jared.” CJ waved. He watched Mr. Jared go into the office. Then, through the big windows that allowed the school admin people to see clearly out into the hall, he saw a man wearing a suit shake Mr. Jared’s hand and take the envelope from him. But the guy wasn’t paying attention as Mr. Jared talked. The guy had turned and watched as CJ hustled out the front door, suddenly feeling very self-conscious.

  5

  Newport, Kentucky, April 2018

  Saturday afternoon Oval and CJ went to a movie at Newport-On-The-Levee, a large entertainment and dining complex on the river, just about a mile from CJ’s house. As they walked back to CJ’s, they talked about the “epic” trip, with the “epic” beach, the “epic” girls and the “epic” partaking of (wink, wink) “refreshments” with the college kids.

  Nini was in the kitchen and overheard some of the “epic” discussion as the boys came in and rummaged around the refrigerator. She wiped her hands on her apron, and said, “I’d like just a few more details on this trip you’re discussing.”

  CJ tried to be nonchalant about it. “Oh, it’s the trip you’ve already said was okay. No big deal,” he said, finding some leftovers that looked interesting.

  “That may be what you remember,” said Nini, “but I seem to recall that I said you could go if, and I stress the word ‘if,’ I heard from a responsible adult with details about transportation, lodging and supervision. And so far I’ve heard nothing.”

  She crossed her arms and stared at CJ. He could see her out of the corner of his eye, and put the leftover dish back in the refrigerator, knowing he had to come up with the goods or he was toast. Nini was barely five feet tall, and weighed maybe one hundred pounds, but she could be absolutely scary when she got that look in her eyes. Oval, apparently not aware of the seriousness of the situation, stepped in blindly.

  “Not a problem, Mrs. M,” he said. “Mr. Thomas, Jordan’s dad, he’s all cool with everything. So you’ve got nothing to worry about. He’s rented a place down there in Destin and everything.”

  CJ closed his eyes and waited for Nini to let Oval have it.

  She barely turned her head, just enough to give Oval a steely sideways stare. “You do not look like a responsible adult to me,” she said. “So why, Oliver”—she always called him by his given name—“do you think I should listen to you?”

  Oval lost the grin he wore most of the time, the lopsided closed-mouth smirk that was a sort of trademark. Now he looked stunned, never having had Nini talk like that to him, at least not in recent memory. “I—uh . . . I—um,” he stammered. “I just thought . . .”

  “Don’t think, Oliver. You’re not cut out for it.”

  Ouch, that one had to hurt.

  CJ knew he’d better speak up before permanent damage was done. “No, it’s okay, Nini. We’ll have Mr. Thomas call you. No problem. Right, Oval?”

  Oval nodded vigorously. “Absolutely,” he said, looking relieved as Nini turned her gaze back to CJ.

  “See that he does,” said Nini. She turned on her heels quickly and left the boys to come up with a plan to deal with her concerns.

  “You know that you can’t lie to Nini, don’t you?” CJ asked Oval. “She knows what you’re thinking.”

  Oval nodded. He’d been friends with CJ long enough to experience Nini’s mind-reading ability, which Nini called empathy whenever CJ brought it up.

  CJ said, “Dude, you have to talk to Jordan.” With that, he felt like he’d clearly put Oval in charge of doing what was necessary to get the trip approved, and Oval nodded, like he was definitely going to follow up. CJ returned to the refrigerator to resume his search for food.

  And so on Sunday evening at the dinner table, when CJ was thinking mostly about family origins and his pending paper, along with the random thoughts like naked cheerleaders, miscellaneous superheroes, video games, and having sex with naked cheerleaders, Nini caught him off guard.

  “I talked to Mr. Thomas today,” she said, sweetly and calmly, so that after the beat or two it took CJ to realize what she’d said, he figured things were good, that Mr. Thomas had called Nini, that Oval had come through.

  “Cool.”

  “No, not cool,” Nini said, in the same sweet, calm tone.

  CJ frowned, confused. “Why?”

  “Because he said he knew nothing about you and Oliver coming with them on their vacation.” Nini looked very casual, actually stopping to take a bite of the meatloaf she’d prepared for Sunday night dinner. She always had some kind of comfort food on Sunday night, the one night during the week that the three of them, the whole family, could regularly eat together. But she was betrayed by the look she gave CJ as she swallowed and continued to talk. CJ knew this was not going to turn out well, and Nini was not calm, despite her demeanor.

  “Nope, it was all news to him,” Nini said, raising her eyebrows as if she was now asking CJ to respond.

  “Huh? That’s weird.” It was a weak response, but he needed time to think and regroup.

  “Weird? I don’t think lying is weird, do you Gus?” She looked over at Gus, who was in the adjoining family room, watching something on TV. Whether he knew what she was talking about or not, he didn’t seem anxious to get in the middle.

  “No. Lying is a lot of things, but it’s not weird,” he said, narrowing his eyes as he looked at CJ.

  CJ tried to
backtrack. “No, I just meant that Oval told me—”

  Nini interrupted before he could go further. “Oh, is that how you’re going to play this? Blame the whole thing on your friend? Is that it?”

  Noga, looking at him sternly, added, “You better think about what you’re going to say next, CJ. Because if I get any whiff of anything that sounds like a lie, just a whiff, your life as you know it will change forever.”

  Suffice it to say that the rest of the conversation didn’t go any better. The bottom line was that there would be no Florida vacation in CJ’s short-term future. Fortunately, he didn’t get grounded or lose his phone or internet rights.

  After dinner he was able to talk to Oval and to Jordan to find out what had happened. It was about what he expected, that Oval had based his whole “confirmation” of the trip on Jordan saying something like, “my dad thinks it’ll be cool if you guys come down to Destin.” Jordan hadn’t actually asked his dad if his friends could get a ride with the family to Florida, or whether they could stay in the condo they had rented. If he had, he’d have learned that there was no room in the car or in the condo for Oval, CJ, or anyone else not in the family. Every seat and bed had been accounted for.

  6

  Newport, Kentucky, April 2018

  Later that night, CJ mulled over the spring break skirmish. He wasn’t as upset about the trip falling through as he was about the reaction by Nini and Noga. They were so disappointed in him, and he hated falling short in their eyes. They might not be his real parents, but they were better, in a way. After all, it couldn’t have been easy to be raising a teenager when you were as old as they were. They’d even officially adopted him and given him their last name. Disappointing them was worse than getting punished for doing something wrong.