Wake the Hollow

Chapter Three

"The whole neighborhood abounds with local tales, haunted spots, and twilight superstitions."

***** 

Eventually, the smell of bacon rouses me from bed. I amble into the bathroom, trying to ignore the cracked sink and toilet seat that shifts around when I sit on it. 

Entering the living/dining room, I see a bicycle in the corner that wasn't there before and someone new yet familiar sitting at the counter. In the kitchen, Bram shoots pancake batter from a pressurized can onto a rusted griddle. "Well, look who's up!" 

"Hey." I give him a small wave and look at the other guy. 

I almost don't recognize Jonathan Enger, if it weren't for those weird blue eyes of his. His and Bram's families, the Engers and Derants, have worked for Historic Hudson for fifty years, operating the area's historic homes and main library. Both families pride themselves on being descendants of Ebenezer Irving, brother of Washington Irving, the author who made Sleepy Hollow famous with characters like Rip Van Winkle, Ichabod Crane, and everyone's favorite, the Headless Horseman. 

For nineteen years, my mother worked for Historic Hudson as an historian and tour guide at Sunnyside, and from what she claimed, we were directly related to Washington Irving, too. This always made the Engers and Derants laugh their heads off. They loved to remind Mami that her parents were Cuban exiles who came to the U.S. in the 1960s, so there was no way in hell we could be descendants of a man as American as apple pie. 

For years, Historic Hudson has claimed there's a hidden fortune belonging to Washington Irving's descendants somewhere in Sleepy Hollow, but since he never had kids, said money would only belong to extended family—a.k.a. the Engers and Derants. Not that it matters. None of it. There's no proof. It's all talk, talk, and more talk. That's all this town ever does.

Jonathan stares at me, sizing me up. I do the same to him. His hair is now long and stringy. Thick mutton chop sideburns and a scruffy goatee cover half his face. He rises from the stool to greet me with a pot-smelly hug and lingering stare. 

"Hey, John." I force a smile. "Thought you were...somewhere else."

His eyes drift over me. "I was, but I had to see this for myself."

"John, bro," Bram mumbles. "Don't listen to him, Mica. He's completely lacking tact."

"I never listened to him before. Why would I start now?" I smile and take a seat at a counter stool. Jonathan returns the smile warily. Creep hasn't changed a bit. 

John is a year older than Bram and me, so when we were in fourth grade, John was in fifth when he suddenly developed a massive crush on me. He wrote me love notes, but I always politely wrote back, saying I didn't like him that way. The next year, he grabbed me in the hall one day and said, "Everyone's right about you." I never knew what he meant by that. 

"So, Mica..." Bram breaks the awkward silence. "Guess where we got jobs this fall? John, tell her what you told me."

"Tell me what?" I grab a few pancakes and lay them on my plate.

"We're working at Ye Olde Coffee Shoppe. Me after classes, and Bram after school, if you want to join us. They're hiring extra cashiers for October. Well, you probably don't need to, being the daughter of a successful millionaire and all..." Resentment simmers in Jonathan's voice. 

Jonathan may have started Tarrytown College last month and is dying to be on his own, but like he said, there's no reason for me to work. One, because I'm okay financially, and two, I won't be here long anyway. If it weren't for my mom's death, my only worry this year would be getting my Yale application together and finishing high school with a solid GPA. "Thanks, guys, but I won't be here long."