It’s the First Day of School … Forever! 2 страница

He nodded. His eyes flashed. “That could work.”

“It would be a way of thanking our hosts,” I said, grinning. “You know. Give them a little entertainment.”

He pulled me into the center of the room. “Caitlyn, I like the way you think.”

He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me to him. He was stronger than I’d imagined. He held me so tight, I struggled to breathe.

And then he lowered his face to mine, and we began kissing. A long kiss. It made me even more breathless. I wrapped my hands in his hair, then lowered them to his back. We both had our eyes wide open, watching each other, enjoying the joke. Enjoying the kiss … Enjoying …

I glimpsed people moving out of our way. Couples stopped dancing, their faces twisted in surprise.

Blade and I ground our lips against one another’s, being as showy as we could. I soon realized it wasn’t just a joke, not just a way to shock people. We were kissing each other for real, with real feeling.

When did the joke end and the true emotion kick in? I don’t know. I only know there wasn’t enough time to enjoy it. Because the pounding dance music cut off suddenly. A hush fell over the room. And then I saw the red-haired woman striding toward Blade and me, her face tight with anger.

“Who are you?” she called. “Do I know you? Who brought you here?”

Blade and I clung to each other for a few seconds more. Then we broke apart and watched her approach, her hands balled into tight fists at her sides.

“Who are you? Do you belong here?”

“Oops,” I said. “Sorry.” I couldn’t think of anything better to say. But then I added, “Awesome party.” Then Blade and I took off, barging through some startled guests. Out the front door. It slammed behind us.

We ran down the driveway, laughing, shrieking, stumbling. As giddy as I’d ever been in my life. Was it the greatest night of my life? Probably.

We held hands and ran full speed till we reached the corner. No one was coming after us. I stopped and hugged a streetlight to catch my breath.

Blade was bent over, holding his knees, gasping for breath. “Awesome party. Awesome party.” He repeated my farewell line. He shook his head. “I can’t believe you said that. That was classic.”

“Ow.” I felt a stab of pain at my wrist and realized my silver bracelet still felt hot. I backed away from the streetlight and raised my arm to the light.

“What’s wrong?” Blade straightened up and walked over to me.

“It’s my bracelet,” I said. “This is so weird. It’s burning me.”

“Well, take it off,” he said.

I moved the fingers of my other hand to the clasp. I’d never had any trouble snapping the bracelet off. But now I was having trouble finding the clasp.

I smoothed my thumb and pointer finger around it. The bracelet seemed solid. A solid band of metal. “This is impossible,” I murmured. “I … I can’t find the clasp.”

Blade took my arm. “Let me try.” He held my arm high, lowered his face, and eyed the bracelet closely.

“Turn it over,” I said. “Spin it so the clasp is on top.”

He tried to turn the bracelet. “Ow!” I cried out again. He tried to spin it in the other direction. Pain shot through my hand and up my arm.

Blade let go of the bracelet. He raised his eyes to me. “Caitlyn, the bracelet won’t slide. I think … I think it’s melted onto your skin.”

 

 

6.

 

“No, Julie. The jeweler couldn’t get it off. He said he didn’t have the right kind of saw for silver.”

I had the phone to my ear in one hand and pushed the shopping cart with my other. Whoa. I stopped just in time. I almost rear-ended a woman with a little girl riding in her cart.

“Well, what are you going to do?” Julie asked. “You can’t just leave the bracelet on forever. It’ll cut off all your circulation!”

“Do you think?” I said sarcastically. “Think I haven’t thought of that?” I turned the cart into the produce aisle. Blade was ahead of me, halfway toward the frozen foods section. “My dad says he’s going to talk to a surgeon. You know. Like a bone surgeon. Someone who can cut off the bracelet without taking my hand off with it.”

“I-I … don’t believe it,” Julie stammered. “And you really think Deena Fear—”

“I don’t know what to think,” I said. “It’s not like she has super powers. Something happened to the silver. I don’t know what. Something made it melt, I guess.” I sighed. “At least it cooled down. It isn’t burning hot anymore.”

“Weird,” Julie said.

I grabbed a head of iceberg lettuce with my free hand and dropped it into the shopping cart. “I’ve got to go,” I said. “I’m at the Pay-Rite. With Blade.”

“Excuse me? Caitlyn, you’re food shopping with Blade? Are you moving in together or something?”

“Ha-ha. Very funny. I’m shopping for my parents. Blade came along because—”

“Caitlyn, here’s some unwanted advice from me,” Julie said, lowering her voice. “Maybe you’re going too fast with Blade. Maybe you should be more careful. You know. Take it slower.”

“You’re right,” I said. “That was unwanted advice. I’ll talk to you later, Julie.” I clicked off and tucked the phone into my bag.

Blade held up a gigantic frozen pepperoni pizza. “Is this on the list?”

“No. Maybe on your list, but not my parents’. Go put it back.”

He turned and walked back down the aisle, twirling the pizza box on one finger. I checked the shopping list again. My parents were making some kind of stew to take over to my cousin in Martinsville.

“Celery…” I pushed the cart alongside the produce shelves. An old Beatles song played in the background. In the next aisle, a little boy was crying his eyes out, screaming because his mom wouldn’t let him have a cookie.

Blade got there before I did. He grabbed a thick bunch of celery and tore off two sticks. He tossed a stick to me. “En garde!” he shouted. He came at me waving his celery stick, slapping it against mine.

I turned away from the cart and began to duel. Our celery swordfight became intense. I get aggressive with a stick of celery in my hand. Slapping at his stick, I drove Blade back. His arms flew up as he tumbled into a cereal box display, and the boxes went toppling noisily onto the floor.

I heard a few gasps. People were watching us with stern, disapproving faces. I saw a red-faced young man in a long white apron hurrying toward us, waving angrily.

Blade and I tossed our celery sticks into the cart. I brushed my hair back, took a deep breath, and prepared to face the angry store worker.

“What’s going on here?” he demanded breathlessly, lowering his hands to the sides of his apron. His name tag read: CHUCK W. He had short brown hair spiked up in front. His face was very red. I could see beads of sweat on his forehead.

“We … had an accident,” I said, motioning to the cereal boxes strewn across the aisle.

“Yeah. An accident,” Blade repeated. We both put on our most sincere faces. “We’re sorry.”

“They just fell,” I said. “Can we help you pick them up?”

He glared angrily at Blade, then me. “An accident?” He lowered his gaze to the celery sticks in the shopping cart. He stared at them a long while. He seemed to be thinking hard, considering how to handle this.

Finally, he sighed and shook his head and said, “I’ll take care of it. Have a nice day.” He walked off, wiping his sweaty forehead and muttering something about “teenagers.”

A few minutes later, Blade and I were lifting the groceries into the trunk of my mom’s Toyota. “Where did you learn those moves with a celery stick?” Blade asked.

“I took lessons after school,” I said. “I wanted to be a celery fighter in the Olympics. But my parents couldn’t afford the grocery bills.”

He kissed me. “You sure you have to go to work?”

I nodded. “It’s my duty. I don’t want to deprive people of their popcorn.”

We had fallen into a warm and teasing relationship. We felt so good together in such a short time. I kissed Blade again, said goodbye to him, and drove home to drop off the groceries.

On the way, I thought of Julie’s warning. Slow down with Blade. I knew she meant well. She wasn’t being jealous or mean. She’s known me forever, and she knows I can go overboard sometimes.

I’m an emotional person. As I said, I cry at movies. Maybe I hug people a little too long. Maybe I get hurt more easily than some people. One cross word from someone makes me feel like I’m a total failure.

That’s me. You can’t help being who you are, Diary. And why not live life large. I mean just grab the bull by its horns. Go whole hog. Live everything to the fullest.

Well … listen to me go on and on. I’ve become a real philosopher ever since I met Blade. Ever since I fell in love with him. Face it, Caitlyn. You’re in love with him. It was love at first sight.

And maybe that was making me a little crazy. A little hyper. A little more bonkers than I was before.

Later that night, maybe I overreacted to what happened. After my shift behind the popcorn counter … the most frightening minutes of my life … Maybe I overreacted. But that’s just me. What can I do?

 

 

7.

 

I was daydreaming about Blade, Diary, my elbows on the popcorn counter, gazing at the nearly empty movie theater lobby. Someone had spilled a plate of cheese nachos on the floor in front of the men’s restroom, and Ricky, the manager, was mopping up the mess. He was in a bad mood. But what else is new?

The popcorn machine was nearly full. It was a really slow night. I thought about helping myself to a bag of Twizzlers. I hadn’t had any dinner. But with Ricky in such a foul mood, I decided it wasn’t a good idea.

Ricky is twenty-four or twenty-five. He’s lanky and blond with freckles around his nose and cheeks. He has these big hands that look like cartoon hands because they’re too big for his skinny arms. Everything about him is bony and awkward. His jeans are too big, and the Polo shirts he wears are droopy and wrinkled.

He’s almost always in a grouchy mood. I think it’s because he doesn’t want to be the manager here. He told me once he planned to go to Penn and be a Business major. But he didn’t get accepted and now he takes courses online, and he still lives at home with his mother.

My phone vibrated. I pulled it from my pocket. A text from Blade: C U tomorrow?

Ricky finished mopping and walked over toward me, carrying the mop and bucket. I slid the phone back into my jeans. “Caitlyn, don’t just stand there,” he said.

“There’s no one here,” I said, motioning with one hand. “What am I supposed to do?”

“Wipe off the display case counters,” he said. “Check the ice machine.”

I nodded. “No problem.” I’d learned not to argue with him. I wanted to keep this job. It was pretty easy, and it paid fifteen dollars an hour (and all the popcorn I could sneak).

I found a cloth in back and started to wipe down the glass countertop. My stomach growled. Those Twizzlers looked mighty tempting. I was at the far end of the counter when I saw someone enter the lobby.

It took me a few seconds to recognize Deena Fear. I stared at her as she approached the counter. She wore a dark purple sweater over a short black skirt and black tights. Her purple lips matched the sweater.

Her long black hair flowed down her back in thick tangles. She had dark mascara circling her eyes. It made me think of a raccoon.

Is she following me? Why am I suddenly seeing her everywhere?

The questions made my whole body tense up. I could feel my muscles tighten. “Hey, Deena.” I tried to look casual.

She leaned her hands on the counter, her black fingernails glistening, smearing the glass I had just wiped. “I remembered you work here,” she said.

I nodded. “What movie are you seeing?”

She pointed to Auditorium Four. “Vampire High School III,” she said.

I should have known.

“The first two were awesome,” she said. “Life-changing. Seriously.”

“I … didn’t see them,” I said.

“I love the books, too. I have them all. It’s the best series.”

Over her shoulder, I saw Ricky watching us from the doorway to Auditorium Two.

“How’s Blade?” Deena asked. The raccoon eyes peered into mine.

“Fine,” I said. Ricky didn’t like for us to chat with people. We were supposed to stick to business. “Do you want some popcorn or something?”

She ignored my question. Her fingernails tapped the countertop. “Sometimes I see things,” she said, lowering her voice to a whisper. “Good things and bad things.”

I felt a chill. I suddenly remembered my bracelet. How her hand wrapped around it. How it burned hot, then melted onto my skin. I lowered my arm, keeping the bracelet out of sight.

“I … don’t understand,” I said.

“I want you to be my friend,” she whispered, not lowering her gaze, not blinking. “I don’t want anything bad to happen to you.”

“Uh … thanks,” I murmured.

Ricky hadn’t moved. He was still watching, an unhappy look on his face.

“Does Blade talk about me?” Deena asked.

My breath caught in my throat. “Talk about you? Well…”

“Does he? Does he talk about me?”

“Well … I don’t know,” I said. “About what exactly?”

Her eyes still hadn’t blinked. She kept them locked on me. The tiny silver skull on the side of her nose appeared to gleam. “We should talk,” she said finally. “We could be friends, right? We could be friends and sit down together and talk about Blade?”

I was too stunned to hide my surprise. “Talk about him? You mean?”

Her expression changed. Her eyes went dead. “I see,” she murmured. Her pale hands clasped together over the countertop. “I see. You don’t want to talk. I get it.”

“No—wait,” I said.

She slammed her hands on the glass. Behind me, the popcorn machine suddenly started to crackle, making new popcorn. I jumped at the sound.

I turned to the machine in surprise. Beside it, both soda dispensers began pouring out soda. Sparks flew from the glass hotdog warmer. It buzzed and shorted out.

“Hey!” I shouted.

Across the lobby, I saw the alarm on Ricky’s face. He came trotting toward us, shouting my name.

Deena had a triumphant grin on her purple lips. Her dark eyes flashed. “Sure you don’t want to talk?”

I lunged to the back counter to shut off the soda dispensers. The soda was already puddling on the floor. My sneakers sank into the sticky, dark liquid.

I saw Deena slide her hands off the glass countertop. She edged back a step.

Popcorn began flowing over the sides of the machine like lava pouring out of a volcano. I struggled with the soda dispenser. The levers were stuck. A river of soda ran behind the counter.

“I know we’ll talk,” Deena said. And then she whispered, “Sorry about your bracelet.”

Over the rattle of the popping popcorn and the rush of the soda pouring onto the floor, I wasn’t sure I heard her right. “What did you say?”

But she turned and began to stride quickly toward Auditorium Four.

Ricky stepped breathlessly to the counter. “What’s happening? What’s happening here? Why did you turn everything on?”

“I didn’t!” I cried. “I didn’t touch anything.”

Ricky swung himself over the counter. His shoes splashed in the soda on the floor. He reached behind the dispensers and pulled the plugs. I hit the Stop button on the popcorn machine again and again. Finally, it slowed and the crackling and popping stopped.

Ricky and I both stood there, breathing hard, staring at the incredible mess.

“This is impossible,” I muttered, shaking my head. “This can’t be happening.” I turned to Ricky. “I didn’t touch anything. I swear. I was talking to the girl from school and … and…”

Ricky swept a bony hand back over his hair. “Must have been a power surge,” he said. “Some kind of power problem. From the electric company. That’s the only thing that could have caused this.”

“Yes,” I agreed. “A power surge.”

But I didn’t believe it. I believed it was a warning from Deena Fear.

Ricky walked to the supply closet to get mops. I pulled a large trash can behind the counter and began shoving the extra popcorn into it.

I had no idea the evening was going to get even worse.

 

 

8.

 

The soles of my sneakers were sticky from the spilled soda. My shoes made swamp noises—thwuck thwuck thwuck—on the concrete of the mall parking lot as I made my way to my car.

It took Ricky and me nearly an hour to clean up the counter area. We worked in silence, but every few minutes Ricky muttered, “How could this happen?”

I had a pretty good idea. But of course I couldn’t share it with anyone. Who would believe it? If I said Deena Fear had power over those machines, people would lock me up as a crazed psycho, and I wouldn’t blame them.

I now realized that she had a thing about Blade. I probably should have caught on earlier. But what did that mean? Did she plan to ruin my life with wild stunts like with my bracelet and the movie food machines? Was that her plan to win Blade?

That didn’t make any sense at all.

I pictured her dark-circled eyes burning into mine, as if trying to penetrate, to invade my brain. And again, I heard the creepy click of her long black-and-white fingernails on the counter glass.

My head was swimming with these crazy, impossible thoughts. I debated whether or not to tell Blade about Deena, about how she kept asking about him, asking if he ever talked about her.

Did he know her before I met him? He said he didn’t. I should believe what he told me. He said he’d never heard of the Fear family.

Blade hadn’t lived in Shadyside for long, but that was a little hard to believe. I think when people move here, they are told immediately to steer clear of the Fears and Fear Street.

I always thought it was all superstition and made-up stories about them. But with Deena around, I was no longer so sure.

With all these thoughts making my brain whir, I walked past my car. I stopped and tried to remember where I’d parked. Level C. And the sign in front of me told me I had walked all the way to D.

Get a grip, Caitlyn.

I turned and started to walk back, my sticky shoes thwacking on the concrete. I guess the sound kept me from hearing the footsteps behind me.

I didn’t realize I was being followed until the man was only a few feet behind me. I heard the rapid scrape of shoes and wheezing breath.

I didn’t have a chance to run. I didn’t even have a chance to be scared. Until he grabbed me roughly and spun me around to face him.

I stared into the red eyes of a thick-stubbled face, angry, half-hidden behind the hood of a dark hoodie. I’d never seen him before.

He squeezed my shoulders and shook me hard, the red eyes glowing, his jaw clenched.

“Let me go!” I screamed. My voice rang loudly off the concrete parking garage walls. I whipped my head around. “Help me! Somebody!”

But the hooded man and I were alone.

“Give me your wallet. I can hurt you.” His voice was a harsh rasp from deep in his throat. He squeezed my arms so hard, pain shot up and down my whole body.

I struggled to breathe. “Let go,” I choked out in a frantic whisper. “Let me go. Please…”

 

 

9.

 

He was wheezing now, spit rolling over his lips.

“I can hurt you,” he repeated. “Your wallet. Hurry.”

I forced myself to breathe. My heart was thudding so hard, my chest ached. “Okay,” I choked out.

Still holding my arms, he lowered his head, brought it close to mine, so close I could smell his sour breath.

I knew this was my chance, Diary.

I’m not the kind of girl to give in easily, to surrender without a fight. I knew this was the moment those self-defense classes I took last year would be useful.

I arched back a few inches, as if trying to pull away from him. Then I brought my right leg up. I snapped it up hard and fast. He uttered a startled gurgling sound as my knee smashed the middle of his face.

I heard a sick crack. The sound of his nose breaking.

His hands slid off my arms. He grabbed his face, as bright red blood began to spurt from his nose. With an animal howl of pain, he dropped to his knees. He covered his face with both hands. Blood flowed through his fingers, down the front of his hoodie. He howled again.

I stood there for a long moment, gasping for breath, enjoying my victory, my heart thudding in my chest … thudding so hard I could feel every throb of blood.

I watched him for a second or two. Then I forced my legs to move. I took off, my sneakers pounding the concrete, ran to my car, and drove away.

* * *

 

“Wow. Is it heavy? Can I hold it?” Julie asked.

“The handle is pretty awesome,” Miranda said. “How do you open it?”

“This button here,” I said, raising it to her face. “You press it with your thumb and the blade slides open.” I waved it around. “It’s a stainless steel blade. Careful. It’s amazingly sharp. It’ll cut through anything.”

We were in the small den at Julie’s house, and I was showing them the knife I had bought at Hunters & Company, at the mall, the knife I planned to carry in my bag from now on.

The guy at Hunters told me all about it and how to use it. It’s called a Magnum Ypsilon Tan G-10 Folding Knife. The handle is black-and-tan and it feels great, heavy but not too heavy, comfortable in your hand. The blade is amazing.

I told the salesman my dad was a collector, and I was buying it for a birthday surprise. I think he believed me. I don’t think he could see on my face that I was buying it for protection, buying it for me.

“This is dangerous,” Julie said, shaking her head. “I know you went through a bad thing, Caitlyn, but…”

“It’s just for emergencies,” I said. “I’m not going to walk around stabbing people.”

“You’re not allowed to bring it to school,” Miranda said. “If you get caught…”

“I won’t get caught,” I said. “You know that big bag I always carry. I’ll keep the knife at the bottom, under everything else.”

They tried to argue. But they know me. Once I make up my mind, that’s it. I knew I’d never use the knife. But having it with me made me feel better.

I got lucky in the parking garage with my knee kick. But what if that creep had come after me? What if he had tried to kill me?

The thought made me shudder. I still thought about it all the time, still pictured his stubbly, drooling, red-eyed face, still felt his hands squeezing my arms.

My phone beeped. I tucked the knife into my bag and pulled out the phone. “A text from Blade,” I told them. “We’re going out tonight.” I tapped a reply. “We text each other all day long. It’s awesome.”

Julie and Miranda exchanged a glance. I knew what was coming. Their lecture on not getting too serious about Blade.

Well … it was too late for that. I couldn’t be more serious, and I knew he felt the same way, too. But for some reason, my friends thought it their duty to caution me.

“You always rush into things, Caitlyn.”

“You’re always so impulsive. You don’t really know Blade that well. You really should be careful not to get carried away.”

I rolled my eyes. “I seriously am beginning to believe that you two are jealous,” I said. “I’m sorry you don’t have boyfriends, but it really isn’t my fault.”

Julie jumped to her feet. “That’s not fair. We’re only thinking of you,” she said.

Miranda motioned for her to sit back down. “Okay, okay, we get it, Caitlyn. You don’t want us in your face. Fine. We’ll stop.”

Julie sighed and dropped back down.

“Blade and I are perfect,” I told them. “I know we haven’t known each other for long. I know it’s all been so crazy and fast. But … we’re perfect. I don’t know how else to say it.”

They both sank back into the couch cushions. I think I finally got through to them.

A short while later, I went home to get ready for my date with Blade. For a long while, I sat on the edge of my bed, daydreaming about him. I imagined his arms around me, holding me tightly against him. I pictured those strange gray-green eyes gazing so deeply into mine. I thought about the way we teased each other, the way we talked together so easily.

I thought about kissing him … kissing him till I felt lost … till I felt I was somewhere else in the world … somewhere far away from anyone and anything I knew.

When my phone beeped, it shocked me from my dazed imaginings. I grabbed my bag and fumbled the phone out.

I read the short text message on the screen—and gasped, “Oh no.”

 

 

10.

 

The message from Blade was short: “Can’t make it tonight. Got hung up.”

I read it over and over, as if I could get the words to tell me more. Why didn’t he explain what the problem was? Why didn’t he at least say he was sorry?

He must have some emergency, I told myself. He must be as disappointed as I am.

I punched his number into the phone and raised it to my ear. My hand was trembling. I knew I was overreacting, but I was very disappointed. My daydreams had gotten me all psyched to see him.

The call went right to voicemail. I listened to his voice: “This is Blade. You know what to do.” I didn’t leave a message. I knew I’d talk to him later. I knew he’d explain everything. And maybe we could get together later tonight.

Dinner with my parents seemed to last forever. I hadn’t told them much about Blade. I usually blurt out everything about my life to them. I’m not the kind of person who can hold anything in. But for some reason, I’d decided to keep Blade to myself.

My parents are totally great people. They’re not always in my face and pretty much treat me as an adult. They put up with my enthusiasms and my wild mood swings and my general insanity. And they’re not always trying to pry into my life.

I think they’d love to know what’s in my diary. But trust me, that’s totally off-limits to them. As I said, I keep it locked and I wear the key on a chain around my neck.

My dad is big and healthy-looking. I guess you’d call him robust. He brags that he still has all his hair at forty-three. Mom teases him that that’s his biggest accomplishment.

She likes to deflate him whenever he gets too full of himself. She says it’s her hobby.

He works out at a gym three days a week, and he’s a cyclist. He gets up at six most mornings and rides his racing bike for ten miles along River Road to the top.

He’s an administrator at Shadyside General Hospital. He says he just shuffles papers all day and deals with hospital staff problems. That’s why he likes to get a lot of exercise and fresh air before work.

Mom could be really hot-looking if she paid attention to her looks. But she isn’t really interested in what she wears or her hairstyle or anything. She wears a lot of baggy T-shirts and these dreadful Mom jeans.

She mostly has her blonde hair tied back in a tight ponytail, and she refuses to wear any makeup. She says she likes the fresh look. But just a little blusher and some color on her lips would make her look five years younger.

She teaches Business Ethics at the junior college in Martinsville. And she gives lectures at companies on the subject. I don’t really understand what she talks about, but she reads three newspapers a day online and every book on business that comes out.

So there we were at dinner. When it’s just the three of us, we eat in the little breakfast nook beside the kitchen. It’s a snug little area, lots of sunshine through the windows, and a picnic table and benches where we eat most of our meals. The dining room is saved for company, so we use it mostly on holidays.

Dad had brought home take-out fried chicken and mashed potatoes with gravy. Usually my favorite, but I didn’t have much appetite tonight. You know why, Diary.

I stared at the leg and thigh on my plate. Mom was talking about some kind of lawsuit against a company I’d never heard of and why it should be thrown out of court. Dad tsk-tsked and spooned more mashed potatoes onto his plate.

“Do you have a date with that boy tonight?” Mom’s question stirred me from my thoughts.

“Uh … not tonight,” I said. “I think I’m just going over to Miranda’s and watch some videos or something.”

Mom leaned across the table toward me. “What’s his name again?”

“Blade,” I said. “Blade Hampton.”

“Funny name,” Mom muttered. “No one has normal names these days. Do you know anyone named Jack or Joe or Bill?”

I laughed. “No. No, I don’t.”

“You’ve gone out with this guy a few times,” Dad chimed in. “Why don’t you invite him over sometime?”

I was pretty much keeping Blade to myself. Not exactly keeping him a secret, but not eager to share him with my parents. “Yeah. Okay,” I said. Always better to agree and not start a controversy.