“How was school?”
Hmmm. Was this a test?
I tried to analyze the tone of her voice. Seemed calm. Normal.
So I tried to sound normal, too, as I said, “Fine.”
“Nothing to report?”
Uh-oh. Was she fishing? Was this a new, sly granny strategy?
My brain scrambled around for the right response and finally settled on, “Uh, not really.”
She switched feet and started clipping the big toe of her left foot. “These get so tough when you get older,” she grumbled. “They're like toe tusks.”
I laughed. “Toe tusks?”
“That's right.” She lopped off a chunk. “Look at that. It's hideous.”
So there we were, talking about toenails. Not dead birds, not ditching class, not forging notes.
Toenails.
And I wanted to ask her, Why did you call Mrs. Willawago's? What was on your mind? Did the school call and ask you about the note I forged? Did you pretend to be Mom? But she just sat there, clipping away. And I didn't want to give myself away by asking anything, so I just sat there watching. Wondering.
Sweating.
“So,” she finally said when she was done. “Marissa called earlier. She was concerned about you.” She looked me square in the eye. “She said you weren't feeling well and that you were acting strangely.”
I looked down.
Shrugged.
Toed the carpet with my high-top.
“Are you okay?” Grams asked. “Did something happen with Casey?”
I snapped to attention. “No!”
“Heather?”
I shrugged. “Nah.”
“But Marissa said—”
“I was just kinda in a frump, okay? Do I always have to be cheerful?”
She hesitated, then tried to be nonchalant as she asked, “Maybe it's puberty?”
“Gra-ams!”
“Samantha, we all go through it.”
Well, fine. If she wanted to think I was moody and frumpy and irritable because of puberty, that beat her knowing the truth. So I shrugged and said, “Can we not talk about it?”
“Would you be more comfortable talking to your mother about it?”
I rolled my eyes.
She laughed.
“Okay then,” she said. “I'm glad that's all it is. Marissa made it sound so … well, anyway, you should give her a call, let her know you're all right.”
I told her I would, but I didn't. Instead, I just moped around. And let me tell you, there was a raging battle going on inside my head. I'd killed Mrs. Ambler's lovebird.
Scratch that—her adored bird.
And I'd accidentally framed my archenemy for it.
It was beautiful!
Brilliant!
Beyond any payback I could ever have plotted on my own.
So what was wrong with me? After the year I'd had with her, Heather deserved a hundred brilliant paybacks.
But the dark spot on my heart seemed to be spreading. Weighing me down. Casting a shadow over everything I felt or thought or did. I'd plotted ways to lie to Grams when all she was, was concerned. I didn't want to talk to Marissa because I couldn't think of anything to say. Suddenly I felt like a stranger. To her. To Dot and Holly.
To me.
I went to bed early, thinking that maybe I'd feel better in the morning. Maybe time would make all of this fade away. People would quit asking questions. Quit wondering. After all, no one knew what I'd done.
No one but me.
Marissa did try calling again, but I just pretended to be asleep when Grams answered the phone. I wish I had been asleep because my brain kept fluttering with thoughts about Tango. I could see his broken little body in my mind. Could almost feel his soft little feathers in my hand. Poor thing! I'd just left him under an abandoned jacket in the closet. He deserved better than that! Maybe I should retrieve him. Bury him. I mean, what would happen to him if he just stayed there?
Would he shrivel up?
Decompose?
So I had one of those nights where you can't turn your brain off and every time you look at the clock it's half an hour later, until the hour before you're supposed to wake up and then you finally, finally fall asleep. Waking up after a night like that is like diving after a twenty-pound brick at the bottom of the deep end. It's hard enough to touch, let alone bring to the surface.
But anyway, at least one thing was back to normal—I was running late for school. And you'd think that being all out of breath from riding my skateboard so hard would have made walking past Mrs. Ambler's closet easier, but it didn't. I mean, panting and pumping blood around for oxygen sort of supersedes panting and pumping blood because of nerves, but when I walked into homeroom, I got like a double dose of panting and pumping.
I tried not to look at the closet. Tried not to look at Marissa. Or Holly. Or Heather. Tried not to look at … the substitute? Oh no! Was Mrs. Ambler so wiped out because of her missing bird that she couldn't bear to come to school?
I stumbled over to my desk, light-headed and wobbly. I stole a look at the closet. Had anyone been inside? I looked again. Had I left the door open that far?
The final bell rang, but instead of clanging in my ear, it sounded miles away. Kids' voices sounded like they were under water. Everything seemed a little … fuzzy.
The substitute ran through the morning routine. Roll. Pledge. Announcements. Through it all I stole looks at the closet. Was the bird still there? Had Mrs. Ambler found him? Was that why she was absent?
“Sammy!”
I jumped. “Huh?”
Marissa was kneeling beside my desk. She laughed, “It's just me.”
“Oh, hi.”
“Hey, why didn't you call me back last night? You're not mad at me, are you?”
“Mad at you? No!”
She laughed again. “Well, good, 'cause guess what?”
“What?” I asked, trying to forget about the closet.
She dropped her voice even further. “You and I …” Her eyes darted from side to side, and a little smile danced across her face. And that's when it hit me—she was about to drag me into dangerous territory. I'm not talking gang territory.
Or drug territory.
Or even trespassing territory.
Those I can handle.
I'm talking something much more dangerous.
Much more frightening.
Boy territory.
All of a sudden fuzzy edges became sharper. Sounds became louder. I fully focused on her and said, “What are you up to?”
“Shhh!” She leaned closer. “There's a limo ride in our future.”
A limo ride? My mind flashed with the image of chiffon dresses and blue carnations. “Marissa!” I hissed. “What have you done?”
“I've said yes.”
“To?”
“Danny Urbanski.”
“About?”
“The Farewell Dance.”
“You're going to that? In a limo?”
“We're going to that in a limo.”
“What?!”
“Shhhhhhh!” she said again, her eyes darting around like crazy. “I'm not supposed to tell you this at all, but I am 'cause I know how spastic you get, and how in denial you are, so I thought a little warning would stop you from doing something totally stupid.”
“Like?”
“Like saying no!”
“About what?”
She rolled her eyes. “Do I have to spell it out?”
“Yes!”
“But then I can't say I didn't tell you! And I'm under strict orders not to tell you!”
“By who?”
She rolled her eyes again, and this time she stood up. “Look. You have to go with us because I want you to, but also because I can't go if you don't. My mom said.”
“So you're saying I'm a chaperone?”
She let out a heavy sigh. “You are the densest person I have ever met, you know that?” She knelt again. “We are going out. On a date.
”
“Hey!” I said, shoving her shoulder. “I am mad at you! I ran into Brandon yesterday, and I found out you told him that Casey and I are going out!”
She blinked at me, then stood up again and said, “Don't tell me you still have a thing for Brandon!”
Everything else she had whispered.
This she announced.
I yanked her back down and said, “No! And for the record, I never had a ‘thing’ for Brandon!”
“See? See what I mean? When it comes to guys you are, like, some bean-brained ostrich.” Then she smirked at me and said, “And I told Brandon the truth. You are.”
The bell rang. And before I could say anything or get my books together, Marissa jetted out of class, dragging Holly along with her.
“Hey!” I called, but they completely ditched me.
Heather, however, was still hanging around looking mighty suspicious. My stomach started churning again. Had she overheard about Brandon? Did she know about the limo and …well, whatever Marissa was talking about?
Or maybe it was the bird.
Had she put it together about me and the bird?
I just acted like she wasn't there and tried not to look at the closet as I beat it out the door. Trouble is, I ran right into Casey. “Oh hey,” he said. “There you are. I was starting to think you were absent again.”
Again? Did that mean he'd been waiting for me the day before? While I was hiding in the closet? Framing his sister?
“You okay?” he asked, then he saw Heather coming out behind me. Glowering. He grabbed me by the arm and pulled me aside, calling over his shoulder, “You know what would be really scary, Heather? Act like you're in a good mood sometime.”
“Shut up, moron,” she growled.
“Back at'cha,” he said with a laugh. Then he pulled me over to the end of the building near the service alley, where I'd snuck through the gate the day before.
When he saw that Heather had taken off in the opposite direction, he smiled at me and said, “A bunch of us are getting together for a limo ride next Friday. We're going to get some dinner, cruise around town, then go to the dance. It's a group thing, so I'm hoping maybe your mom'll let you come along?”
He was standing so close. His eyes were so clear. So brown.
I managed a real intelligent “Uh …”
“It'll be fun. It's me, Danny, Billy, and Nick … we're all inviting a friend.”
I blinked at him. That's all, just blinked.
“We're going casual, so there's no, you know, pressure. What do you say?”
My eyes switched from blinking to darting around.
He laughed 'cause I'm sure I looked pretty freaky, but finally he said, “Can I take that as a yes?”
“No! I mean, I can't! I mean … I'm not …I don't …I can't …”
He looked away. “Yeah, I know. Dances are lame. But Danny's mom set it up and…”
His voice trailed off, and I started feeling really bad. I mean, yeah, dances are lame—at least they seemed like it in my head. I'd never actually been. But there was Casey, shifting from side to side with beads of sweat popping out of his forehead, and it hit me that he'd been really nervous about asking me to go.
So I said, “No, really, it does sound like fun …”
He looked up. He looked hopeful.
It was my turn to look away. “But aren't you supposed to be hanging with eighth graders?” I shrugged. “It's the Farewell Dance and everything…?”
He laughed. Then he laughed again.
“What?”
“In case you haven't noticed? Eighth-grade girls are really stuck up.”
I laughed, too. “Well, yeah. They can be.”
“Look. I want you to go, and if you can't, well, I'm not into asking anyone else. I'll probably just bail on the whole thing.”
In my mind I could hear Marissa screaming, Sammy! You idiot! GO! I could also hear her saying, Plus, remember—if you don't, I can't!
She would hate me forever.
So finally, I shrugged and said, “Can't have you bailing on your own Farewell Dance.”
He hesitated, then broke into a grin. “Are you saying you'll go?”
I gave a little grin back. “Are you saying I can wear my high-tops? I mean, you said it was casual, right?”
“You bet!”
“Then sure. Sounds like fun.” He was positively beaming, so I added, “But I should warn you—I can't dance.”
He laughed. “Neither can I!” Then he skipped a few steps backward, laughed again, and raced off to class.
The fastest way for me to get to my next class was to go up the service alley. But when I rounded the corner, who was beating it around the far end of the building?
Heather.
Well, great. Just great. She'd probably heard my whole conversation with Casey. Which meant only one thing.
Trouble.
And later, when Marissa pounced on me between classes and said, “Well?” like she thought I was holding a winning lottery ticket, I started really regretting that I'd said yes. I mean, my head was telling me that this trip-ina-limo was not a big deal, but my stomach kept fluttering and my heart wouldn't settle into a normal rhythm. It galloped. It skipped. It just kind of slammed around like it couldn't decide whether it wanted to hide or explode.
And now with Marissa's eager little face in mine, I wanted to say, Forget it! I'm not going! No can do!
She grabbed my arm and bounced up and down. “You said yes! I can tell! You said you'd go!”
I rolled my eyes. “But I'm changing my mind as we speak.”
She stopped bouncing and her eyes got all wide. “You can't change your mind. It's against the rules of dating! If you said yes, then you have to go!”
I looked her square in the eye. “This is not dating. It's … it's get-togethering.”
“Get-togethering?” she asked, her face all contorted. She leaned in. “Get over it already. It's a date! And it's going to be fun. Nick's nice, and Billy's a hoot. We'll get our yearbooks, dance, laugh…”
“Heather knows.”
“What?”
“She was eavesdropping. I'm pretty sure she knows.”
Marissa hesitated, then said, “So what? Look. She'll be so wrapped up in them announcing Class Personality winners at the dance that she won't have the time or energy to mess with you. Just forget her, would you?” She gave my arm a squeeze. “And thank you for saying yes. I know you're a little freaked out, but it'll be fun. I promise you, it'll be fun.”
I raced to my next class, telling myself, She's right. Of course she's right. We'll just go and have fun.
Everything'll be fine.
The good thing about the stupid date was, it kept my mind off the stupid bird. I didn't actually think about how I'd terminated Tango until the end of school, when I went back to homeroom to get my skateboard. Then wham, it all came slamming back.
Mrs. Ambler was sitting at her desk, looking off in the distance like she was far, far away in her mind.
“Oh, hi,” I stammered when she looked my way. “You were … you were absent this morning.”
She gave me a weak smile. “Yes, I'm sorry. I … I over-slept.”
Her too?
She leaned forward on her desk and said, “Have you heard anything about Tango? Are the kids talking at all?”
No one else was there. This was my chance. My chance to confess.
But … but I hadn't had time to think this through! I hadn't expected her to be there. Or to ask me!
So I looked down and shrugged. “I, um …I haven't heard anything…”
She let out a heavy sigh and said, “I'm sure it's Heather. I'm positive it's Heather.” She eyed me with a scowl. “And I now empirically know what a rough year you've had with that girl. I am so sorry for what you've had to endure—she is vicious.”
That was it. The one word that best described Heather.
Vicious.
But I couldn't say, Yes, ma'am. I couldn't sa
y anything. I felt cold. And drained. Like the blood in my body had oozed through the soles of my shoes, straight through the floor, and into the darkness of earth.
“If it weren't for kids like you,” Mrs. Ambler was saying, “I'd be totally disillusioned about teaching.” She shook her head. “Kids today don't seem to know right from wrong. They're disrespectful and unappreciative and cruel.” She eyed me. “You know what I'm talking about because you've been on the receiving end of a lot of that this year. And I really admire you because through it all you always held your head high.”
Other kids were in homeroom now, exchanging books or picking up stuff to take home. So she dropped her voice and said, “If you ask me, Mr. Caan should have expelled Heather with that first incident—the one when she pretended you broke her nose? Okay, granted, we all thought you were a hothead, punching her like you did, but how about when she made those embarrassing phone calls to Jared Salcido saying she was you? Or the time she framed you for that graffiti and lost us the Sluggers' Cup? That should have been the last straw! But no, they let her stay in school, and now she's absconded with my bird. What's it going to take? Is she going to have to commit a murder before they finally get rid of her?”
The voice in my ear was going, See? Heather deserves this! But my heart seemed hollow and my hands were clammy and I felt cold and shaky all over. One second I wanted to blurt out the truth—the next I just wanted to die. She was so convinced it was Heather… and she admired me? She thought I knew right from wrong? That I always held my head up high? Well, maybe I used to, but I sure didn't feel like it now.
What had I done?
What was I doing?
And what in the world would she think of me if she ever, ever found out.
Mrs. Ambler gave me another weak smile and said, “Do let me know if you hear anything, okay?”
I nodded.
Then I grabbed my skateboard and bolted out of there.
SEVEN
It was a relief to get to Mrs. Willawago's. And she was relieved to see me, too. “Sammy!” she called, covering the receiver of her phone. “Mrs. Stone says the Captain's digging under the fence again. Could you run out and stop him?”
I looked through the French door and laughed. It was like a scene out of a cartoon. Clear in the back part of the yard, Patch was halfway under the old wooden fence that divided the Stones' yard from Mrs. Willawago's, his tail wagging, dirt flying out between his back legs.