Rattled (7 page)

“Remember? Coral High? Same homeroom? Mr. Simmons, the crazy suspenders?” The blonde was not giving up.

My eyes flew back to Mrs. Swicker. I watched as she took a deep breath, pressed her lips together, and slowly turned around. Her hands were shaking slightly as she lifted the woman's hand off her arm and let it drop as though it was something infected. “I'm sorry,” she said. “You must have me confused with someone else.”

The blonde began poking herself in the chest. “It's me, Phyllis Gregory, of course now Phyllis Munroe.” Poke, poke. “Can you believe I married Jerry after all the miserable things I called him? Remember the three of us smoking Kools under the bleachers?” Poke, poke.

I frantically looked around for Sam and Megan. I couldn't believe they were missing all this. They were way over on the other side, a sea of people between us.

“Like I said, you have me confused with someone else,” Mrs. Swicker said coldly.

The blonde must have finally picked up on something in her voice. She took a step backwards. “Pardon me, I guess I have. You look exactly like a girl I used to go to school with.” The blonde tilted her head as she spoke, as if maybe she wasn't so sure anymore. “Sorry to have bothered you.”

Mrs. Swicker ignored the blonde's apology. Her eyes swept the shop and landed on me, still hiding behind the rack. I blinked and quickly looked away, making like I was flipping through the cookbooks. She picked up a couple of soaps and headed for the cash.

I stayed in my hiding spot for a minute, chewing on my fingernail.
That was more than a little interesting.
Too bad Sam and Megan hadn't seen it. I still didn't really know what to make of it. I wondered if Mrs. Swicker would say anything. Maybe not, if she didn't think anyone saw. She must know I saw at least some of it. Of course, it may have been totally legit, just an innocent case of mistaken identity. And maybe Mrs. Swicker's reaction was just because that big, loud, blonde woman freaked her out. She
was
kind of overwhelming…Nope. No matter how I tried spin it, I just couldn't convince myself. It was all way too bizarre.

The crowd in the store thinned. We finished our shopping and met up outside.

“That was actually pretty all right, as far as shopping goes,” Sam said.

“Oh yeah? What'd ya get?” I asked.

“This book on Maritime history, and this other one on local ghost stories. Oh, and I blew eight dollars on fudge.”

“Impressive. What'd you get, Megan?”

“I had to have this lobster. That pretty much drained me of all my cash.”

I turned to Mrs. Swicker, determined not to let on that I had seen the exchange in the gift shop. I plastered on a smile. “And what did—”

“I'm going to that booth to grab some maps,” she said, cutting me off.

We watched her walk away.

“I don't think she heard you,” Megan said.

“No worries,” I shrugged, not wanting them to feel uncomfortable. The way their mom acted wasn't
their
fault.

“What'd
you
get?” Sam asked. I got the feeling he was trying to divert my attention.

“Oh. I got this wicked ornament.” I dug it out of its gift box. “See, it's a bagpiper.” I flashed it quickly, my thumb covering the price tag, then jammed it back in the bag.
$12.95…I must be nuts.

Mrs. Swicker came back from the booth with a handful of maps and another coffee. I wondered what she'd put in it
this
time.

We began walking again. I glanced back over my shoulder, checking that she was lurking at an acceptable distance, if there was such a thing.

Sam unwrapped a piece of fudge and held it out to me. “This place kind of reminds me of when we lived in Portland.”

“Thanks.” I took a bite of fudge. “Maine?”

“Yeah, but only for—”

“Are we all done here now?” Mrs. Swicker butted in.

I couldn't tell if she meant the tour or the conversation. I decided both.

Chapter 9

I
was sitting on the end of my bed doing not much of anything except feeling sorry for myself. I had asked Sam and Megan to go swimming at Kearney Lake. Mom was going to drive us and everything. Mrs. Swicker wouldn't let them go. I know, big shocker. I seriously wanted to have it out with that woman, demand to know why she wouldn't let her kids go for a swim in this sweltering heat. It bordered on child abuse. Of course I didn't say a word. It was all just big talk, safe inside my head. But I was really starting to despise her, not to mention I was pretty sure she might have some kind of drinking problem.

Mom came into my room with a pile of clean laundry. “Special delivery,” she sang.

“Yay,” I mumbled.

“What's wrong, honey? You look like someone ran over your dog.”

“You won't let us have a dog.”

Mom sighed. “You know what I mean.”

“Nothing's wrong.”

She leaned against my desk and gave me a long look. After a minute she said, “I was thinking of inviting the Swickers over for a barbecue, let them meet some of the other neighbours. What do you think?”

“I dunno, could you somehow leave Mrs. Swicker out of the invite?”

“Well, that's highly unlikely.”

“Then I don't think it's a good idea. They won't come anyways.”

“Lydia, what
is
it with you and Mrs. Swicker?”

I didn't answer.

“Seriously, Lydia, what's the problem?” Mom persisted.

I picked at my fingernail, not meeting her eyes. “Mom, she's so…
mean
!”

“Has she been mean to you?” she demanded quickly.

“Yeah…well, no…not
mean
mean, more like
snarky
mean. But it's
more
than that…it's like there's something really,
really
creepy about her,” I tried to explain.

“Lydia.” She had that stern tone in her voice.

“Mom! You've got to trust me on this one. There's something not right about her. She's like something out of a horror flick.”

Mom crossed her arms and shook her head sadly. It was as if she had just realized she would now have to keep all her weekends free so she could visit me in the institution. “Lydia, I think it would be wise to let this go,” she said, reaching for the door.

“I know I'm right about this,” I said stubbornly.

She turned slowly, drilling her eyes into me, her lips pinched together.

No words were spoken. There didn't have to be. I knew all too well what that look meant:
Watch it
.

I almost told her about Mrs. Swicker dumping stuff in her coffee, but I figured she'd just say it was probably some nonfat dairy creamer substitute. Jeez, it couldn't have been that, could it? No, not a chance.

“Go ahead! Invite away!” I hollered after she left. “They're not going to come!”

No response. I knew I'd end up paying for that smartass remark somewhere down the road.

I got up to close my door. I was about to slam it then wised up at the last moment.

Of course I should have known better. I sat in my chair and slumped forward over my desk, my head resting on my arms. I mean, it's not that hard. I'm smart enough to know what to say and what not to say, to stay out of trouble, come in just under the radar, keep the 'rents happy. So why didn't I just do it?
Argh!

Whenever Mom was ticked at me, I always ended up with a sick feeling, like some tiny parasite was eating the lining of my stomach. I decided I might as well just get it over with and go apologize.

The door to Mom's office was slightly ajar. About to knock, I realized she was talking on the phone. The word “barbecue” floated through the air. I held my breath and pushed my back flat against the wall, inching my ear closer to the door. Not that I was an eavesdropper. Not like Mrs. Swicker, who made it part of her daily routine. I only encouraged it in very extreme circumstances. Was this one of those circumstances? I wouldn't really be able to make a fair ruling until after I heard the conversation.

“Well, it would just be a few neighbours from the street,” I heard Mom say.

Pause.

“Really, you wouldn't have to do or bring a thing.” Mom was using her most persuasive voice.

Pause.

“Oh. Well, okay…I understand.” I could tell by her tone that she didn't. “Maybe some other time.” In fact, I'd have to say she sounded a little put out.

Feeling rather pleased with myself and totally vindicated, I quietly tiptoed back to my room. Maybe I wouldn't apologize after all. Maybe I'd wait for the apology to come to me.

Chapter 10

J
illy sashayed into the kitchen looking like the cat that swallowed the canary.

I ignored her and kept focusing on my Sudoku.

She sat down across from me and started humming, really loudly, not to mention out of tune. I could tell she was just
dying
for me to ask her what was up. It was bad enough the Darcys had let her have the day off
with pay
. There was no way I was giving her the satisfaction. I kept my eyes down, concentrating doubly hard on my puzzle. I lasted about a minute and a half. The non-musicalness that ran in our family had hit Jilly the hardest. I slammed down my pencil.

“You win. What's up?”

She leaned across the table, checked behind both her shoulders (don't ask me who she thought was watching her) and whispered, “I asked Sam to a movie.”

“You did what?” My voice was so high-pitched, I sounded like a chipmunk.

“I asked Sam to a movie.”

“Oh my God,” I said, mostly to myself. My ears were ringing and my vision blurred. I was beginning to think I was having an aneurism right on the spot. “What do you mean you asked him to a movie?”

“What do you mean, what do I mean?”

“And he said
yes
?”

“Well…
yeah.
”

“And he's
allowed
?”

“I guess.”

I took a calming breath, turned, and marched out of the kitchen, head held high. Once in the privacy of my own room, I looked around for something to smash, throw, damage in some way. Huh! That wasn't too bright, this was all
my
stuff. I should have gone into Jilly's room.

Plunking myself down on my bed, I picked at my chipped fingernail polish. A movie was dangerous. At a movie, they'd be alone in the dark. I began calculating some kind of revenge. Blue dye in her shampoo bottle? Saw it on a TV show once. I sighed. They'd trace it back to me right away. I knew I was being overly dramatic and childish about the whole thing. This was so not like me. Until now, I've never been that jealous of Jilly. To be honest, most days I feel pretty superior to her. She really has mastered that whole
blonde thing
though. Actually, most people say we look a lot alike. She just seems to know how to work it better than me.

I brushed the flecks of nail polish onto the floor. Things were definitely going from bad to worse. Mom was all over me about Mrs. Swicker, and now…Jilly and Sam.

Feeling in a bit of a funk, I thought I might walk to the drug store and buy a new nail polish or a fashion mag to cheer myself up. It was a very Jilly thing to do, but as much as I hated to admit it, it had worked for me in the past.

I stood on the front step digging around in my pocket to make sure I had enough money. There was something going on in front of the Swickers'. I kept my head down pretending to count out my change, but my eyeballs were rolled up as far as they could go. From what I could see, Megan and Mrs. Swicker were arguing. I was kind of surprised that they were so loud. They obviously didn't see me. I tried to creep up the driveway a little, hoping to hear something. Megan seemed to be trying to walk away. My eyes popped out of my head when I saw Mrs. Swicker grab her arm and yank her back.

“Hey, Megan!” I shouted.

Mrs. Swicker quickly let go of Megan's arm.

Megan looked up and waved me over.

I crossed the street, what else could I do?

“I'll just give her my key, Mom. It's just for one night,” Megan said under her breath, then she turned to me. “We have to go away overnight. Poor Peter has a kidney infection and I was wondering if you would feed him and give him his medicine.”

“Sure,” I shrugged.

“It's not necessary, Lydia,” Mrs. Swicker said coldly. “We'll just leave some food out on the back step.”

I half expected her to say, “We're just going to have him put down.”

“Mom.” There were tears forming in Megan's eyes. “What about his medicine? He shouldn't be out all night when he's sick.”

It was at that moment my mom arrived on the scene. “Hello, Bernadette, Megan. Sorry to interrupt, but Lydia…don't forget you've got the dentist at four. Dad's coming home for an early lunch.” She leaned towards Mrs. Swicker and put her hand on her arm. “He's doing low-carb and finds it easier to eat at home,” she explained in a hushed voice.