Stacey's Secret Friend

  Barbara read “pig,” and I drew in a nervous breath as I turned over the poster. I hoped no one would yell out anything about Tess.

  The crowd burst into peals of laughter. For a second I thought it was just the idea of a pig for a mascot. Encouraged by the laughter, I held the poster even higher.

  But then I glanced at Barbara’s horrified face. She was staring at my card. I turned the card around so I could see it.

  Oh, no! I dropped it facedown on the ground.

  Someone had taken a photo of Tess, blown it up, and pasted it to the poster.

  “Swine-heart the Destroyer!” someone shouted. A chant rose up among the crowd. “Swine-heart! Swine-heart! Swine-heart!”

  My eyes went to Tess. She was bright red and looked confused.

  From somewhere near the top of the stands, someone threw a hot dog at her. The mustard smeared across her jacket. Another hot dog followed, hurtling through the air.

  Tess raised her arm and ducked to avoid it. She staggered back, then toppled backward off the bleacher.

  A horrified gasp swept the stands. Dropping the rest of my posters, I ran to Tess, but a crowd had already formed around her.

  Mr. De Young, a gym teacher, dropped down from an upper bleacher to reach Tess. “Everybody move back,” he roared at the kids.

  They stepped back, and I was knocked back with them. I had to see Tess. Was she all right?

  Wiggling through the kids standing on the bleachers, I climbed higher up, to where I could see down into the middle of the circle of kids. Mr. De Young knelt beside Tess.

  Tears streamed down Tess’s face as she gripped her ankle.

  Kristy climbed up beside me and looked down. “Oh, wow, she broke something,” she murmured. She turned to me. “How did that card get there, Stacey?”

  “I have no idea,” I replied, feeling like crying myself. “It wasn’t there yesterday afternoon.”

  An ambulance siren screamed in the distance. Within minutes, the white-and-red truck with its flashing red light had raced onto the field.

  Mrs. Rosenauer, another gym teacher, ran to the two medics who leaped from the truck. She hurried them toward the bleachers.

  “Make way,” she commanded the kids.

  “I think her ankle’s broken,” Mr. De Young told the medics. “Her wrist might be fractured too. I’m not sure.”

  Kristy turned to me and cringed. “Her ankle and her wrist. Oh, that must hurt.”

  I nodded. I had the horrible feeling this was all my fault, even though I’d had nothing to do with it. I’d never have held up that poster if I’d known what was on it.

  I hoped Tess knew that.

  What if she thought I’d done it on purpose? That I was in on it?

  The medics lifted Tess onto a stretcher and carried her toward the ambulance. I scrambled down the bleachers, desperate to talk to her before they took her to the hospital.

  I raced across the grass. “Tess,” I shouted, breathlessly. “Tess!”

  I reached her just as they were lifting her into the ambulance. “Tess, I’m so sorry,” I cried. “Believe me. I didn’t know anything about that. I had no idea!”

  Tess turned her head away from me.

  “You need to leave, miss,” said one of the medics. “We have to get her to the hospital.”

  “I’ll come,” I volunteered.

  “I’m going,” Mrs. Rosenauer told me as she climbed into the back. “Why don’t you call her parents? Are you a friend of hers? Do you know her number?”

  “I’m a friend, but I don’t know the number,” I replied. I turned to Tess. “What’s your phone number?”

  Tess turned her head back to me sharply. “Just go away, Stacey,” she said in a pain-filled voice. “You’re not my friend.”

  I felt hugely guilty about what had happened, even though I hadn’t done anything.

  Why was I feeling like this? I wouldn’t have held up the poster if I’d known Tess’s photo was there.

  “Stacey, stop being so hard on yourself. You know the truth,” Claudia said to me on the phone that evening.

  “Well, then, why do I feel like a creep?” I asked.

  There was silence on the other end. Was Claudia considering the question, or was she working up the nerve to say something she wasn’t sure I’d like?

  “What?” I said anxiously.

  “Could it be,” she began slowly. “I mean … I don’t know … this is just an idea … it’s probably not even true.”

  “Just say it!” I cried.

  “All right…. Maybe you feel bad about the way you’ve treated Tess in general, even though you didn’t know about the poster.”

  “That’s crazy! I’ve done everything I could to help Tess. You know that.”

  “I know. I know. I didn’t say you should feel guilty. I just meant it might be why you are feeling guilty.”

  “That doesn’t make much sense,” I replied. “I’ll see you in school. ’Bye.”

  That evening I couldn’t stop thinking about Tess, even when I slept. I dreamed I was pushing Tess off a castle tower.

  The next day, just as homeroom began, Barbara and I were called to the principal’s office. Mr. Taylor was very upset. I could tell he was ready to let us have it.

  Barbara and I told him we had no idea who had changed the poster. At first, he didn’t believe it. Slowly, though, we convinced him. We had to tell him what had been going on over the past week or so, with the Swine-heart jokes.

  “Tess’s ankle is broken and her wrist is sprained,” he told us. “She’s absent today, and her parents aren’t sure when she’ll be back. Frankly, they told me she never wants to come back.”

  “I can’t blame her,” Barbara said.

  “Neither can I,” Mr. Taylor agreed. “This kind of cruelty always shocks and bewilders me,” he said. “What motivates it?”

  “I have no idea,” I told him sincerely.

  By the time we were dismissed from Mr. Taylor’s office, I had only minutes before my first class started, and I had to hurry to my locker. On my way, I met Cokie as she came out of the girls’ room.

  She smiled at me in a knowing — and extremely annoying — way. I just looked away. She wasn’t going to let me ignore her, though. “I didn’t think you had it in you,” she said as I passed her.

  I whirled around. “Had what in me?”

  “Oh, come on. You know what I’m talking about.”

  “I had nothing to do with that!” I said angrily.

  “Yeah. Sure.”

  “I didn’t!”

  “Oh, relax. It was funny,” she said.

  “It wasn’t funny.”

  “I guess not, if you have no sense of humor.” Cokie strolled away down the hall.

  She left me standing there, stunned. How could she be so cold?

  I reached my locker and pulled out the books I needed. The halls were nearly empty. As I slammed the door shut, Emily Bernstein came hurrying around the corner. When she saw me, she skidded to a stop.

  She clutched my arm. “Don’t you feel awful?” she said.

  “I didn’t have anything to do with it!” I cried.

  “I know,” Emily said. “You would never do something like that.”

  I was relieved. I hoped other kids knew that too.

  I walked into class just as the PA system crackled to life. Mr. Taylor’s voice came on. “I’d like to address the school today in regard to the offensive treatment of a fellow SMS student at the football game yesterday. Rarely have I been so embarrassed by the actions of a student or students as I was yesterday.”

  He went on, reading us the riot act. I wondered if we’d find out who planted Tess’s picture on the pig poster. The photo looked as if it had been snapped in a hall at school, without Tess even being aware of it. Anyone could have taken it. My suspicions were with Alan Gray, Clarence King, or one of their pals in the Pep Squad such as Brent Jensen or Todd Long. Maybe it had been all of them.

  At lunchtime I saw Ba
rbara again. “I feel so guilty,” I said. “Don’t you?”

  “No. Why should I?”

  “Well … no reason … we shouldn’t,” I said. “But I do anyway. You don’t?”

  She shook her head. “I feel terrible for Tess, but I don’t feel guilty. We didn’t mean for that to happen.”

  Then why did I feel guilty?

  “I called Tess last night, and she sounded really out of it. She was in a lot of pain,” Barbara said. “She sounded depressed too. I told her you and I were as shocked as she was.”

  “You did? Good,” I said. “So, she understands?”

  “She understands that we didn’t do it,” Barbara said. “She doesn’t understand why it happened.”

  “Neither do I.” But maybe, in a way, I did understand. Tess had made herself an oddball. And, a lot of times, oddballs become targets.

  Tess didn’t return to school on Friday. All weekend, I meant to call her, but I kept putting it off. I kept remembering that she’d said I wasn’t her friend. Of course, she’d been hurt and upset at the time. Still, I didn’t look forward to hearing any more angry words from her.

  On Monday, I spotted her hobbling on crutches toward her locker. Her right leg was in a cast and her left wrist was wrapped in ace bandages. “Tess,” I said, rushing to her, “how are you feeling?”

  “Never better,” she replied sarcastically.

  “Mr. Taylor gave us a huge lecture,” I told her.

  She smiled grimly. “Gee, that should make me even more popular.”

  “Don’t feel that way,” I pleaded. “Some jerk, or a couple of jerks, did that. Not the whole school.”

  “The whole school seemed to think it was hilarious,” she snapped.

  “That’s not true.” I paused. “I guess you couldn’t go on your date last Saturday, could you?”

  “No. I had to postpone it until Saturday.” Tess studied me for a moment. “Stacey, please leave me alone,” she said in a flat, tired voice. “I’d just like to be alone. All right?”

  “Okay. But if you need anything, or want to talk, or whatever … I’m here.”

  Tess laughed scornfully. “Yeah. I’ll keep that in mind.”

  I left her alone for the rest of the day. I noticed, though, that kids were being especially nice to her — the nice kids were, anyway. Some held doors for her, and others helped her at her locker.

  At lunch, she sat down alone, but I saw several kids stop by to talk to her. On my way to return my tray I headed over to her to say hi, but she angled herself away from me and I couldn’t make any eye contact, so I just kept walking.

  As I glanced back at her, I saw Barbara sit down next to her. It looked as though they were talking pleasantly.

  Tess wasn’t mad at Barbara! Then why was she angry at me? If she believed I didn’t have anything to do with it what was the problem?

  This question drove me so crazy that after my BSC meeting that afternoon, I walked over to Tess’s house instead of going home.

  When I rang the bell, it was answered by a tall, elegant woman. Her pale blonde hair was swept up into a French twist. There was a very strong resemblance. It was obvious she was Tess’s mother.

  “Hi, I’m Stacey McGill,” I began, feeling very uncomfortable. Had Tess said anything to her mother about me? “I wanted to … uh … discuss our English project with Tess.”

  Her mother nodded. “Come in. Tess is in her room. I’d rather not have her come down the stairs again. It isn’t easy with the cast. Would you mind just going up? Her bedroom is to the right of the staircase.”

  “Okay,” I said as I climbed the stairs.

  “Tess, dear,” her mother called up to her. “Stacey is here.”

  I knocked on Tess’s door and she called for me to come in. “Hi,” I said, pushing open the door.

  I stood completely still. Tess’s room was amazing. A large mobile of colorful, swirling geometric shapes hung from her ceiling. A huge print of a woman, painted by the French artist Matisse, covered one wall.

  One side of the room was taken up by a large antique desk. On the opposite side stood her double bed, which was covered in various animal prints. Even the gauzy, see-through curtains at the windows were in a lizard-skin pattern.

  It was a great-looking room. I’d never have guessed it belonged to Tess.

  Tess sat propped up among her jungle prints. “Hi,” she said dully.

  “What a great mobile,” I said.

  “Thanks. It’s a replica of a Calder. I got it at the Pompidou Center.”

  “A what from the what?” I asked with an embarrassed laugh. I’d never heard of either.

  “Alexander Calder, the artist. He made a lot of mobiles like that one,” Tess explained. “They were showing his work at the Musée National d’Art Moderne at the Pompidou Center. My art group used to go there all the time.”

  “It sounds French,” I said.

  Tess laughed shortly. “I hope so. It’s in Paris.”

  “Paris!” I gasped. Almost as the words came from my mouth, my eyes swept across a pile of opened letters lying on Tess’s desk. The envelopes all seemed to have the letters “USA” below the regular address. With a closer look, I realized the return addresses were in France.

  “Did you go to school in Paris?” I asked, astonished by this discovery.

  “Yes. My mother is with the U.S. foreign service. She’s a translator for diplomats. And my father works for a French-based perfume company. There are some photos on the desk of my friends and me in front of my old school.”

  Paris, I thought, impressed. Growing up in Paris seemed to me even more sophisticated than growing up — as I had — in New York City. It also explained why Tess might not have understood all the jokes about Petunia Pig and Babe. She’d grown up away from American culture.

  Turning, I picked up a small stack of photos next to the letters. The top photo showed a smiling Tess, with four of her girlfriends, standing in front of a stone building.

  All of them were dressed in pink.

  Two of them were wearing black-framed glasses like the ones Tess wore. And another girl had fixed her hair like Tess’s. Every one of them wore an outfit I’d consider awful.

  But, as I flipped through the other photos, I saw different friends, and all of them were wearing a similar style.

  I suddenly realized that Tess’s strange look was the look in the school she’d just come from. In fact, on her desk, among the letters, was a French magazine. On the cover was a gorgeous model … in a shiny vinyl hot pink pantsuit, short blonde hair, and black-framed glasses.

  So many styles started in Paris. In a matter of months, everyone at SMS might be trying to look like Tess!

  “Why are you here, Stacey?” Tess asked bluntly, breaking into my thoughts. “If you’re worried about our project, don’t be. Mr. Fiske gave us an extension.”

  “I wasn’t worried. I came because I wanted to see how you are.”

  “I’m fine. Now you can go,” she said.

  “Why are you so angry at me, Tess? I haven’t done anything to you. Aren’t we friends?”

  “Give me a break. You’ve never wanted to be my friend. All you’ve done is pity me. I’m not a person who needs pity, Stacey. No thanks.”

  I felt my face getting hot. Was it from anger or embarrassment?

  “I knew kids were making fun, and I wanted to protect you from that,” I said. “Is that so bad?”

  “No. But you never wanted to know me otherwise. You only just now found out I used to live in Paris because we’ve never once had a normal conversation. All you do is drop your little improvement hints. You’ve never talked to me — or listened to me.”

  “I have too!” I protested.

  “No, you haven’t. You don’t even want to be seen with me. Like I said the other day, you’re not my friend.”

  I drew in a sharp breath. I couldn’t argue. The things she was saying were true, and we both knew it. I’d been so busy trying to improve Tess that I’d n
ever even given her a chance to talk. When she tried to, I didn’t listen.

  “I think you better go,” Tess said stiffly. “I’m sure someone could use your pity. But it isn’t me.”

  On Tuesday afternoon, Abby sat for the Rodowskys. Shea was at a friend’s house, so she had only Jackie and Archie to look after. Within minutes of Mrs. Rodowsky’s departure, Jackie was frantically phoning Nicky Pike.

  Abby watched as the color drained from his face. “What’s the matter?” she asked.

  Jackie replied in a small, terrified voice, “He’s not home.”

  “So? Invite someone else over.”

  Jackie shook his head and flopped onto the couch. “This is … this is … bad,” he mumbled, appearing stunned.

  Abby sat next to him. Archie ambled in and climbed onto the couch beside her. “What’s going on?” she asked.

  Archie poked Abby’s arm. “Jackie is scared that —”

  Jackie lunged across Abby and swatted at Archie. “Be quiet! Be quiet!”

  As Abby struggled to pull Jackie away from Archie, the front doorbell rang. “Excuse me!” Abby told the boys. “I have to answer the door.”

  When she opened it, she found three boys standing there. “Is Jackie here?” asked one of them. (Abby didn’t know it, but he was the boy with the blond buzz cut that Nicky had almost fought with at the touch football game.)

  “Hey, Jackie, your problem is solved,” she said, turning back toward the couch. “These guys want to …” Her voice trailed off when she realized Jackie wasn’t there. “Where’d he go?” she asked Archie.

  Archie pointed toward the back window. “He went to the yard to be invisible.”

  Abby turned back to the boys. They’d disappeared too. “There seems to be a lot of this invisible stuff going around,” she noted wryly, shutting the door.

  With Archie beside her, Abby hurried to the back window. She gasped softly at the sight of Jackie teetering unsteadily on the toolshed roof.

  She remembered reading Claudia’s entry in the club notebook and made the connection. Jackie was going up the tree to practice invisibility.

  In the next instant, the three boys appeared in the yard. A look of complete panic swept across Jackie’s face. He squinted up at the tree. It was too late. He hadn’t scrambled up the branches in time.