I kept looking at the clock. 1:00, 2:15, 3:50, 5:23. Would morning ever come? I could see a slight glow around the curtains. Why couldn’t I fall asleep? I was so tired.
Should I get up now or wait just a bit longer and then take a long, hot shower? I closed my eyes, choosing the later. Please, Please, let me see something peaceful and beautiful, or nothing at all, I prayed.
I woke to the sound of the shower. I had slept. 6:45.
Thank you, Thank you. I whispered into the air, hoping someone important would hear it.
With the glow around the curtains brighter now, I got out of bed and opened them, quickly closing my eyes to the bright morning light. I smiled and prayed for more dreamless sleep tonight.
“Morning, Christy,” Marybeth said, walking from the bathroom. She had a slight smile on her face. I was still getting used to her speaking again.
“Morning!” I said with as much enthusiasm as I could muster. I wondered how she would feel if she knew about what had happened last night with Jeremy.
I took a quick shower, dried my hair straight, then used Marybeth’s flat iron, with her help, to make it completely smooth. I could actually do it. If the sun was shining, my hair would stay straight for at least half the day, maybe longer. It was all dependent on the crazy humidity factor. Humidity made my hair curly and frizzy. If only I had naturally straight, sleek hair. I grabbed a pony-tail holder just in case it did turn out to be a normal humid D.C. day. Marybeth wouldn’t like it, but frizzy hair wouldn’t do either.
Marybeth had waited for me and put the final touches on my outfit before we headed down to breakfast. All my avoidance of food had finally caught up with me. I loaded my plate and headed for the juice.
I stopped short when Jeremy, the handsome FBI guy, walked in front of me. I turned as fast as I could to get away from him. I couldn’t deal with him again so early in the morning. I wasn’t ready to give my “statement” yet, but the more I thought of it, it was kinda cool to go give a statement to the FBI. Just not right now.
“Hey Christy. Ya hungry?” Alex asked, eyeing the over-flowing plate I had just set down on the table.
I had been so bent on putting some distance between myself and Jeremy, that I hadn’t noticed that I was about to sit down next to Alex. I wouldn’t have made this mistake otherwise. I blurted, “Oh, yeah. I’m starving.” I could feel my face burn. My insides, on the other hand, filled with lovely butterflies—Jeremy forgotten.
“I love a girl with an appetite,” Alex said, his smile friendly.
Man, he thinks I’m a pig. I felt the butterflies die in one horrible blast.
I kept my head down, pretending not to hear, and started to eat, feeling stupid.
“No, I’m serious about the appetite thing.” I guess he wasn’t buying my act. “I hate it when I take a girl out and she barely eats anything. It’s not right. Everyone eats, you might as well enjoy it.”
I looked at him, to check his sincerity. The moment my eyes met his, the butterflies came back en masse and I couldn’t think. He was looking at me, so I smiled. My stomach was doing somersaults now, and I wanted to get up and dance. Luckily, I didn’t. At home, I just might have, but not here. I would be in control even if it was curious he talked to me.
Out of nowhere, orange juice stood in front of me. I looked behind me and saw Jeremy, my very own FBI man.
“My orange juice was all watery,” Jeremy said. “They brought some more, so I got you some. You did want some juice didn’t you?”
“Yeah, thanks,” I said. “How did you know?” My eyebrows crushed together.
Why did I ask that? I didn’t want to talk to him any more than I had to. He made me nervous. His good looks made it hard to be too mad, though.
“I thought I saw you going for the juice earlier, so I brought you some.”
“Oh,” I said. “Thanks.”
“Well, enjoy it,” he said, walking away. Alex stared at me like I’d just grown horns.
“He brought you orange juice?” Summer asked, her face incredulous.
Wildfires lit in me. Why did I let her make me feel bad? Uh, maybe because I wished I were her. Maybe because my whole life no one important socially ever noticed me and I wanted to change that somehow. The attention I was getting here was mostly better than at home, but what did Summer have against me? Maybe my mom was right, that wishes could be dangerous. I certainly didn’t want to act like Summer. I only wanted her popularity and her money. I would never be snotty or rude. Did money automatically make a person snotty and rude?
I didn’t say anything and just looked at her, wishing I could disappear.
“What’s the big deal?” Alex asked, his eyes narrowing at Summer. My heart stuttered. Was he sticking up for me?
Mrs. J. interrupted, giving us our ten minute warning to be on the bus, and my group hurried to get the coveted back rows. Just as I climbed onto the bus, I started to feel sick.
“Kira! Kira!” I called out. She was only a few feet in front of me, but it was always hard to hear on the bus.
“What?” she asked, turning to look at me.
“I’ve got to run to my room,” I said. “I’m not feeling so great, don’t let them leave without me.”
“’Kay!” she yelled back.
I turned around to find Marybeth right behind me.
“I won’t let them leave without you,” she said, her ultra long, light brown hair, curly and fragrant, made me feel queasy.
“Thanks.”
I felt really queasy in the elevator. Afraid I wouldn’t make it to my room, I ran as soon as the doors opened. I started heaving as I pushed on my door and barely made it to the bathroom. Some throw-up ended up on the tile floor. The thought of it made me even sicker. I couldn’t stop. Everything I’d eaten for breakfast was now in the toilet or on the floor. I wanted to cry, but couldn’t because I continued to puke. I puked until there was nothing left. The dry heaves were painful. Hot, sweaty and tired, my hands clutched the seat and my head rested on the front edge of the toilet.
Marybeth walked in on me. “Christy, are you …Ooooh, you really are sick. I’ll go tell Mrs. J., be right back.”
I wanted to tell her not to tell anyone but Mrs. J, but I was once again, heaving.
Please don’t let anyone else come…please don’t let anyone else come.
A bit later, I heard Mrs. J’s voice. I had finally stopped puking for more than a minute and was lying on the bathroom floor, exhausted.
“Oh, Christy,” Mrs. J. said. She flushed the toilet and got a wash cloth wet in the sink and wiped up everything that didn’t make it into the toilet. I was mortified, but unable to object.
I sat up dry heaving yet again. When would it end? This time it didn’t last long, or at least it didn’t seem like it did.
“Would you like someone to stay with you today, Christy?” Mrs. J. asked.
“No, please, no,” was all I could get out before lying on the floor.
I didn’t want anyone else to witness my embarrassment.
“I’ll get one of the other chaperones to stay here with you,” Mrs. J. said. “I can’t leave the group.”
“No,” I said with all the force I could muster. “I’ll be fine. I don’t need anyone to stay with me.”
“I shouldn’t have asked “if”, I should have asked, “who”. Tell you what, Christy. One chaperone will stay behind, just in case. She won’t come to your room unless you ask her to.”
I shook my head, no.
“You don’t have a choice. We can’t leave you here all alone when you’re sick. Do you have a cell phone?” she asked.
“No,” I said.
“Hmm,” she said.
“I have one she can use,” Marybeth offered. “It’s here in my suitcase.”
The phone. There it was again. The phone she didn’t carry with her.
“Okay. Let’s program my cell number into it,” Mrs. J. said.
“It’s already in there,” Marybeth said. Her parents must be
ultra-over protective.
“Great. Marybeth, here’s Mrs. Dean’s cell number,” she held her phone out for Marybeth to see the number. “Could you put it into your phone for Christy? Thanks. Do you have water, or soda, or anything like that in here, Marybeth?”
“No.”
“Alex, would you please go get some water and drinks for Christy? She’s going to need to stay hydrated,” Mrs. J. said.
“Sure. Be right back,” he said.
Ugghh! Why? Why did he come? What had he seen? Heard?
I thought I couldn’t feel any worse than I had, being sick and all, but then my heart started aching, too, discovering that Alex was there, watching. I’m sure he was disgusted. Seriously, I always wanted to puke when others got sick around me. The smell must have been the worst in my little bathroom.
Mrs. J. laid down the law. I was to stay in the room, drink lots of fluids, and call Mrs. Dean with any troubles. At least she wouldn’t be in my room.
There was no way I was going to call her.
I started heaving again. It felt like my head was going to explode.
Mercifully, they left me to the toilet and bathroom floor.
After what seemed like only a few minutes, I felt a tap on my arm. With effort, I lifted my head from the floor, wondering what Mrs. J. could have forgotten. It wasn’t Mrs. J., though. Jeremy held a card, smiling. If I hadn’t felt so terrible, I might have laughed in his stupid smiling face. Couldn’t he see that I was totally sick and couldn’t help them any time soon?
The little card he held read, “FBI. Shhh!”
Then he put the Shh card behind more little cards that were in his hands.
“You will feel a prick,” the next card read.
A prick? Was he kidding me? I would have kicked him in the face if I’d been able at the time.
He moved toward me and sure enough, a prick. I wanted to scream, but could only moan.
“Moan,” the next sign said.
That, I could do, sick moaning sounds were natural for me at that moment. I noticed I was feeling a bit better of a sudden. What was that shot? How had they known to bring it? My mind still swam, but started to clear up.
“Stand up silently,” it read. I thought it was a great idea to use those cards to communicate with me. They were completely silent. The bugs wouldn’t hear a sound. The FBI was clever.
Jeremy helped me up. I felt a lot better. I saw movement behind Jeremy and jumped. Standing next to my bed, a woman, about my height, fair-skinned with blue eyes looked at me. I guess she was part of this whole thing. Jeremy looked at her and then held up the next card.
“Walk to your bed,” it read.
I did, eyeing the lady as I went, my muscles aching, and feeling light headed.
“She’ll help you dress and then while we’re gone, she’ll pretend to be you,” the sign said.
I nodded.
“Quietly, please,” the sign continued.
The lady pointed to some clothes laid out on the bed and I moved toward them, reluctant to look away from her. Realizing I would have to take the clothes off that I already had on, I turned to look at Jeremy. He gave me a knowing look and turned around to face the opposite direction.
Dressed in my new clothes, the woman walked toward me and put makeup on my face and then a wig over my hair. She smiled at me when she was done. It gave me a weird sensation, like she was my mom, sending me off to Sunday School all clean and pretty. Instead, I was headed for questioning. Without a sound, she tried to get Jeremy’s attention, but happily, he still faced away from us. I tapped him on the shoulder and gave a little sick moan. He turned and smiled at me, leading me to the door and pulling it open without a sound. He held up the last sign,
“Go with the man in the hall.”
I peeked out and saw a tall, massive, blond-headed guy looking at me, smiling, lips pressed together. What was up with all the smiling? I couldn’t make myself smile. Maybe they thought it would help put me at ease, but it didn’t. It was creepy. I looked back momentarily into the room and saw my decoy climbing into my bed. The door shut behind me. The man in the hall reached his arm out and looped it through mine, pulling me in tight. I felt like I’d been pressed up against a brick wall. With his other hand, my new escort pulled an index card out of his pocket and handed it to me.
It read, “Stay very close to me. Respond to me when I speak to you. Act like you are enjoying yourself, but don’t overdo it. We are a couple who are on vacation in D.C. We’ll be getting into a car out front. Just relax. I’m Lance. You’re Susi.”
Was he kidding? I couldn’t help but stay close to him, his tight hold on me sure to leave bruises. Couldn’t he see I was just a kid? I plastered a smile on my face, even though it was the last thing I wanted to do, and let my shoulders fall forward a bit to help me relax.
“Would you like to get something to eat?” Lance asked.
“Sure. I’m starving.” I tried not to let sarcasm fill my answer, but a bit seeped in. Of course I was starving, every last particle of food from my stomach was racing through the D.C. plumbing system. A thought raced through my mind—did they drug me? The FBI doesn’t drug people, not really, do they?
We got into the elevator with four other people inside. They stepped back and pressed their bodies against the walls to make room for the huge mass that was “Lance”.
Just like the other four people, we didn’t say a word in the elevator and then we all walked out, heading for the front doors of the hotel the second the elevator doors opened. Every step I took made me feel a bit more anxious. What would happen to me? What questions would they ask? Could I answer them? Better yet, would I even make it to the FBI building? Had they drugged me and if so, what else would they be willing to do to me?
As if he could feel my tension rising, Lance started talking to me. I tried to be amiable and answer the questions naturally, which was a stretch to say the least.
I felt a bit better when I sat in the taxi. It felt nicer, roomier than the one Rick, Kira, Marybeth and I had taken to and from Georgetown. We went to a café a few blocks away and got something to eat. We talked about touring D.C. and what we had seen so far. Making things up to answer his questions got easier as time passed.
I ordered a BLT and it truly was the best BLT I had ever had, quite possibly because my stomach was more than empty; since I wasn’t paying, I decided to try a crème brulee. It was so creamy smooth, that the anger I clung to from my morning date with the toilet seemed to lessen. Instead of murdering the man who most likely drugged me, I’d settle for a hardy punch in his gut and the chance to bawl him out. How had they drugged me? Then it hit me. I remembered the large arms that brought me my orange juice; they were Jeremy’s.
CHAPTER EIGHT