“Seventeen?” Ruby repeated, trying to pump more information from his brittle bones.
“Yes, seventeen…going on one hundred.”
“I know how that is,” Ruby interjected. “My girl just turned thirteen, and she thinks she knows everything!”
“He acts like he’s lived before, if you know what I mean, with all his grand opinions about the world.” Creepy Man laughed a maniacal laugh that sent him into a coughing frenzy.
“Can I get you anything else?”
“I’d like a town map.”
“Our town?” she asked, with a laugh. “I’m not sure we even have them.”
She turned to Janice, who just shook her head.
“There’s the main square and the cornfields,” Ruby said, rifling through her desk. “Are you sure you don’t want a map of somewhere more exciting?” she asked, offering him a map of Greece.
“This is all the excitement a man of my age can handle, thank you,” he said with a grin. “The square reminds me of my village in Europe. It’s been centuries since I’ve seen it.”
“Centuries?” Ruby asked, curiously. “Then you hide your age well,” she teased.
If anyone could get info on the walking dead, it was Ruby. She could flirt with the best of them.
Creepy Man’s face turned from a white wine to a bright burgundy.
“You are so kind, dear,” he said, tapping his bald head with a red silk handkerchief. “Thank you for your time,” he said, preparing to leave. “It’s been lovely, and you have been lovely, too.” He grabbed her hand in his bony fingers and smiled a crackling smile.
As he stood up, he looked directly at me and through me like he knew he had seen me before. I could feel his cold stare as I frantically turned around, quickly gathering together the thirteen copies of my hand.
I didn’t dare turn back around until I heard the door close. I peered out as he walked past the front window—and he glanced back like he was looking straight through me. I felt a chill go through my body. I loved it.
The rest of the day whizzed by. I hardly noticed it was after six.
I slung my black bag over my shoulder.
“Wow, we’ll have to pay you for overtime!” Ruby said, as I got up from the reception desk.
If I couldn’t be Elvira or the Bride of Dracula, I’d be Ruby. She was the complete opposite of me in her white-on-white—white go-go boots with a tight white vinyl dress, or a smart white pants suit with white heels. She wore bob-length white-blond hair and always touched up her make-up with a white compact that bore an R made of red rhinestones. She even had a white poodle that she sometimes brought to the agency. She always had boyfriends coming in to visit. They knew she was major class.
I approached her desk, which was covered with white crystals, white angel ornaments, and a smiling thirteen-year-old girl framed in white Lucite.
“Ruby?” I asked as she fiddled with her white leather purse.
“What, honey?”
“I was just wondering?” I said, twisting my purse strap. “Do you…”
“What is it, dear? Sit down.” She grabbed Janice’s chair and wheeled it next to hers.
“About today…I know this sounds crazy, but do you…well…do you believe in…vampires?”
“Do I?” She laughed, fingering her crystal necklace. “I believe in a lot of things, honey.”
“But do you believe in vampires?”
“No!”
“Oh.” I tried not to show my disappointment.
“But what do I know?” she chuckled. “My sister, Kate, swears she saw the ghost of an old farmer in a cornfield when we were kids. And I dated this guy who saw something silver shoot straight up in the sky, and my best friend, Evelyn, swears numerology helped her find a husband, and my chiropractor heals people by putting magnets on their joints. What’s fantasy for some is reality for others.”
I hung on her every word.
“So do I believe in vampires?” she continued. “No. But I also didn’t believe Rock Hudson was gay. So what do I know?” She smiled a sparkling white smile.
I laughed as I walked to the door.
“Raven?”
“Yes?”
“What do you believe in?”
“I believe in—finding out!”
11
Mission Improbable
“I’m on a mission!” I screamed to Becky, who was already waiting on the swings in Evans Park. I had told her to meet me at seven P.M. “You’ll never believe what’s happening!”
“You have another pair of Trevor’s underwear?”
“Trevor who? No, this is way beyond him! Way beyond the city limits. This is totally out of this world!”
“What gives?”
“I have all the dirt on the Mansion family!”
“Oh, the vampires?”
“You know?”
“It’s all over town. Some say it’s the way they dress. Some say they’re just weird. Mr. Mitchell told my father they must be inhuman since they ate at Georgio’s and held the garlic.”
“But that’s the Mitchells. Still, I may have to add that to my journal. Every bit of info is crucial!”
“Is this why we’re meeting?”
“Becky, do you…believe in vampires?”
“No.”
“No?”
“No!”
“That’s it? You’re not even going to think about it?”
“You could have asked me that on the phone. I cut out early on a second helping of macaroni and cheese!”
“This is of major importance!”
“Are you mad? Do you want me to believe in vampires?”
“Well…”
“Raven, do you believe in them?”
“I’ve wanted to for years. But who knows? I didn’t believe Rock Hudson was gay.”
“Who’s Rock Hudson?”
I rolled my eyes. “Never mind. I asked you to meet me here to help me out on my mission. See, the answers lie not in rumors, but in truths, and the truth lies in that Mansion. And every Saturday night Creepy Butler Man goes to Wexley’s for an hour of grocery shopping. I drove by the Mansion, and they don’t seem to have a security system. And if I play my cards right, Gothic Guy will be keeping to himself in his attic room of blaring Marilyn Manson angst. He’ll never hear me.”
“He’ll never hear you doing what?”
“Finding the truth.”
“This sounds so way out.”
“Thank you.”
“So you need me to be at my house waiting by the phone, so when you get safely home, you can call me and share all the details?”
I stared at her hard.
“No, I need you to be my lookout.”
“You know this is trespassing? Like really trespassing? Like breaking and entering?”
“Well, if I can find an open window, then I won’t be breaking. I’ll only be entering. And if it all goes as planned, no one will be the wiser and so then I won’t even be entering. I won’t even get in trouble for exiting!”
“I shouldn’t…”
“You should.”
“I can’t.”
“You can.”
“I won’t.”
“You will!”
The conversation stopped. “You will!” I said, this time sternly. I hated to be bossy, but it had to be done. I got up from my swing. “I won’t steal anything. You’ll be an accomplice to nothing. But if I do find out something major, colossal, spectacular, totally out of this world, then we can both share the Nobel Prize.”
“We have till Saturday, right?”
“Yes. Which gives me plenty of time to gather more info and comb the Mansion grounds. And you have plenty of time to—”
“Think of excuses?”
I smiled. “No, to finish your macaroni and cheese.”
12
Quitting Time
It was better than graduation day: the day my part-time job was over. I had safely cleared $200 after taxes. Enough for dear old d
ad to buy a sparkling new tennis racket and a new can of bright neon-yellow tennis balls.
I felt a little tinge of melancholy as I picked up my sweater to leave Armstrong Travel, my check safely in my purse. Ruby gave me a huge hug, a real hug, not like Janice’s porcelain baby-doll hug.
I waved good-bye to Big Ben, the Eiffel Tower, and the Hawaiian sunset.
“Feel free to come back anytime!” Ruby said. “I’m really going to miss you. You’re one of a kind, Raven.”
“You are, too!”
She really was, and it was nice to have finally bonded with someone who was different from the average Dullsvillian.
“Some day you’ll find a one-of-a-kind guy who is just like you!”
“Thanks, Ruby!”
It was the most tender thing anyone had ever said to me.
Just then Kyle Garrison, Dullsville’s golf pro, came in to flirt with Ruby. She had found a lot of one-of-a-kinds for herself. But she deserved it.
I placed my paycheck on my night table, and I curled up in bed, happy that my prison sentence was over and that I could cash the check tomorrow and proudly hand all my earnings over to Dad. But of course I couldn’t sleep. I lay awake all night, wondering what my one-of-a-kind guy would look like. I prayed he didn’t wear plaid pants like Kyle the golf pro.
Then I thought about the guy at the Mansion. And wondered if I’d already met my one-of-a-kind.
“What are you so smiley about?” Trevor asked me the next day after lunch. I couldn’t help but smile, even to Trevor. I was that happy.
“I’m retired.” I beamed. “Now I can just live off the interest!”
“Really? Congratulations. But I got so used to seeing you in your cute secretary outfits. You can wear them just for me now,” he said, leaning in close.
“Get off,” I yelled, pushing him away. “You’re not going to spoil my day!”
“I won’t spoil your day,” he said, standing back. “I’m proud of you.” He smiled a gorgeous smile, but it was mixed with underlying evil. “Now you should have enough money to take me out. I like horror films.”
“But they’re too scary for children like you. I’ll call you in a couple years.”
I laughed and walked on. This time he didn’t stop me. I guess he really wasn’t going to spoil my day after all.
Eighth period was finally over. I quickly went to meet Becky at my locker for an after-school ice cream and Mansion plan update. There was a crowd of students standing around my locker. Becky tried to lead me away, but I pushed past her, through the gawking students.
As I approached, the gawking students stepped back.
I looked at my locker, and my heart fell to the floor. Hanging by rope attached to silver duct tape was my father’s Prince tennis racket and a sign that read, GAME OVER! I WIN!
My head started to spin like in The Exorcist. Trevor Mitchell had kept the racket the whole time. Could he have somehow gotten it the day Creepy Man came to school?
My body shook with fury. All those ringing phone lines, all those angry customers, all the boring faxes, the sickening taste of envelopes. Watching people fly, drive, and ski their way out of Dullsville as I handed them their tickets to freedom. All because Trevor had been waiting for the right moment to return the racket.
I let out a scream that started in my boots and ended echoing off the walls.
Several startled teachers ran out to see what had happened.
“Raven, are you okay?” Ms. Lenny asked.
I didn’t know if the crowd had dispersed or was still hanging on; I only saw the tennis racket. I couldn’t breathe, much less speak.
“What happened?” Mr. Burns shouted.
“Are you choking? Do you have asthma?” Ms. Lenny asked.
“Trevor Mitchell—” I began through gritted teeth.
“Yes?”
“He’s been beaten up. He’s in the hospital!”
“What? How?”
“Where? When?” the panicked teachers inquired alternately.
I took a deep breath. “I don’t know how or where!” I turned to them, my body fuming and my head ready to explode. “But I’ll tell you this—it’ll be soon!”
The puzzled teachers stared back.
I grabbed the tennis racket with all my might, yanking it so hard the duct tape ripped off a band of green paint from my already grungy locker.
I bolted out of school, thirsting for blood.
Students were scattered on the front lawn, waiting for rides. When I didn’t find Trevor, I marched around the back.
I spotted him at the bottom of the hill on the soccer field. Waiting for me. He was surrounded by the entire soccer team.
Trevor had planned this. He had patiently waited for this day as I impatiently worked. He knew I’d come after him. He knew I’d be fuming. He knew I’d want to fight. And now he could prove to his buddies that he was king again, that he had gotten Gothic Girl, if not by the tree, then by the racket. And he wanted all his buddies to witness it.
I moved quickly, charged with a bloodthirsty rage. I stormed down the hill to the soccer field, thirteen jocks and one proud antagonist staring at me. Everyone waiting for me to get the bait, and the bait was Trevor.
I pushed past the soccer snobs and walked up to Trevor, clutching my dad’s racket, ready for the kill.
“I had it the whole time,” he confessed. “I chased that freaky butler dude down that day after school. He wanted to give the racket back himself, but I told him I was your boyfriend. He seemed disappointed.”
“You told him you were my boyfriend? Gross!”
“It’s grosser for me, babe. You’d be going out with a soccer player. I’d be going out with a freak show!”
I pulled back the racket to take a swing.
“I was going to return it sooner, but you looked so happy going to work.”
“You’re going to have to wear more than a golf glove when I get through with you this time!”
I swung at him and he jumped back.
“I knew you’d come running after me. Girls always do!” he announced proudly.
His crowd of puppets laughed.
“But you’re running after me, too, aren’t you, Trevor?”
He stared at me, puzzled.
“It’s true,” I continued. “Tell your friends! They’re all here. But I’m sure they knew it all along. Tell them why you’re doing this!”
“What are you talking about, freak?” I could see by his expression he was ready for a battle, but he wasn’t expecting to play this kind of game.
“I’m talking about love,” I said coyly.
The whole crowd laughed. I had a weapon that was better than any two-hundred-dollar racket: humiliation. To accuse a soccer snob of being attracted to a Gothic girl was one thing, but to use this mushy gushy word in front of a sixteen-year-old macho guy was sure to bring the house down.
“You’re really freaking out!” he shouted.
“Don’t be so embarrassed. It’s rather cute, really,” I said smugly and smiled at the goalie. “Trevor Mitchell loves me. Trevor Mitchell loves me!” I sang.
Trevor didn’t know what to say.
“You’re on drugs, girl,” Trevor declared.
“Lame comeback, Trevor.” I looked at all his smiling soccer snob friends and then glared at him. “It was so obvious the way you felt, I should have known all along.” Then I said in my loudest voice, “Trevor Mitchell, you’re in love with me.”
“Right, you clown! Like I have a poster of you on my bedroom wall. You’re nothing but a skank.”
The skank bit hurt, but I let the pain fuel me for the next round.
“You didn’t go to Oakley Woods with a poster. You didn’t dress up like a vampire to impress a poster. And you didn’t hide my dad’s racket so you could gain the attention of a raging poster!”
The soccer guys must have been impressed by my argument, because they didn’t attack me or defend Trevor, but instead waited to see what would happen next
. “None of your friends here give me the time of day,” I went on. “It’s ’cause they don’t care about me, but you care. You care like crazy. You’re telling me the time every day.”
“You’re crazy! You’re nothing but a drugged-up, freaked-out loser girl, and that’s all you’ll ever be.”
Trevor looked at Matt, who only smiled awkwardly and shrugged his shoulders. There were snickers from his other mates and whispered words I couldn’t hear.
“You want me so bad,” I shouted in his face. “And you can’t have me!”
He came at me, everything swinging, and it was a good thing I had my dad’s tennis racket to defend myself against his punches. There must have been something pitiful about a furious jock trying to attack a girl, or maybe Trevor’s gang of soccer dudes secretly enjoyed seeing him humiliated, because they pulled him back and Matt, along with the goalie, stepped in front of me like a handsome barricade.
Just then Mr. Harris blew his whistle for practice.
There was no time for thank-yous to Matt and the others or “Gee, this has been fun—we’ll have to do it again some time.” I ran back up the hill triumphantly. I couldn’t wait to tell Becky.
Did I really believe Trevor was in love with me? No. It seemed as unlikely as the existence of vampires. Mr. Popular loves Ms. Unpopular. But I had made a good case, and the important thing was, everyone had bought it.
I was finally free.
13
A Girl Obsessed
Suddenly other Dullsvillians reported Gothic Guy sightings.
“He’s really great looking, but a major weird-fest must be going on in that haunted house!” Monica Havers whispered to Josie Kendle in algebra class.
“He actually came out of his dungeon?”
“Yeah, and Trevor Mitchell spotted him coming out of the cemetery at night and said he had blood dripping from his mouth. And when Trevor drove closer, he suddenly disappeared!”
“Really? Hey, you’re hanging out with Trevor again?”