"Just stop, Veronica; you're talking crazy. I know it's not Drea. I know she's not making this up."
"You're her best friend. Why should I believe you?" "Because I know. Look, whether you like it or not, we're going to help you."
"Save it for the movies, Stacey. A little too drama-fest for me." She pulls a handful of napkins from the dispenser and pokes a straw into her iced tea. "Oh, and when Drea's ready to 'come and get me,' tell her I'll be on the jock side." She motions to the right side of the cafeteria and then makes her way in that direction.
I look toward the left side, where I normally sit. Drea, Amber, and PJ are already engrossed in conversation. I'll just have to get Drea and Amber's help to convince Veronica that we need to collaborate. Even though I'm not completely sold on all the details of Veronica's story, I'm not willing to just cast it off as fiction. I definitely think it's possible that she too could be in danger.
I also think that helping her out might help us help Drea.
I collect a two-inch stack of napkins, extra straws if anyone needs one, and a wide assortment of condiments, ranging from mustard to jam. At least six people come to the condiment table while I'm stalling here, arranging everything in neat little rows on my tray. I wonder what the three of them are talking about and if I'll be welcome.
But more importantly, I wonder what Drea told them about this morning.
I make my way to the table, my haands keeping steady by gripping firmly onto the tray. "Hi guys," I say.
"Hey, Stace," PJ says. "What's up?'
"Not much." I park it beside Amber and peek up at Drea, who is already looking away.
"Have an extra straw, why don't you," Amber says. "Thought you guys might need am extra," I say.
"I could." PJ grabs a handful of them and begins blowing the wrappers at us.
"Bug off, PJ!" Amber says, pulling a wrapper from her hair.
"So what are we all talking about?" I ask.
Amber looks up at Drea and I Icatch an exchange of snickers. -Nothing much. Just bitclhing about how little time we have between classes. You know, like, how hard it is to make it from building to building in such short time." Amber picks at the turkey fricassee with her chopsticks.
'And how they're building a new admissions house on, like, the other side of the woods."
"Stopped building, you mean," Drea says.
"Oh yeah, because our school's so poor, they can't even finish what they start."
"You have to wonder where all the money goes," I say, relaxing enough to peel down the spout of my milk carton and actually take a sip.
"You know," Amber begins, "the other day I had to go all the way from O'Brian to Remington Building because Mr. Farcus' class didn't have heat and we had to change rooms."
"Were you late?" PJ smooshes a handful of corn chips inside his tuna sandwich.
"How could I not have been? That's, like, five miles."
"Well, it wasn't your fault," I say. "Teachers have to understand how hard it is, especially in the snow. I don't know how they expect us to do it in under four minutes."
'And what do you do when you have to go to the bathroom?" Amber says. "What? Am I supposed to pee in my pants right there in the middle of class?"
While Amber and Drea exchange giggles, I try to decide whether plastic drinking straws make suitable eye-gouging material.
"You know what they need?" Amber says. "One of those portable bathrooms, you know, like they have at the carnival?" Amber and Drea laugh out loud.
"What's so funny?" PJ asks.
"Private joke," Drea says.
"Very private," Amber says, elbowing me.
"Don't you think it's about time we start sharing privates, Amb?" PJ asks.
"Try never," Amber says. She turns, wraps her arms around my shoulders, and kisses me full on the cheek with glittery, sea-green lips. "Love ya," she says.
"Hey, how 'bout a little over here." PJ puckers up, a blob of tuna hanging from his bottom lip.
"Kiss this," Amber says, slapping her fanny.
"With pleasure," he says, taking a huge bite out of his sandwich.
"I think I've just lost my appetite." Amber throws her chopsticks down.
"Me too," I say.
Amber and I look at each other and I can't help but laugh--first a nervous giggle, then a full-fledged, belly
jiggling guffaw right along with her. Drea clears her throat and swivels toward the aisle, away from the table. "Drea," I say. "We really need to talk."
"What-ev-er," she says.
"No, we do. I know you're mad at me, but we need to put that aside for now and come up with a plan to help Veronica."
"Come on, Dray" Amber says, blowing a straw wrapper at her ear. "Loosen up and play Buffy with us tonight. I feel like slaying demons."
"Drea," I say, "I told you nothing happened last night." "I know nothing happened," Drea says.
"You're not exactly his type."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"We used to date, remember?"
"Whoa, that's news to me," PJ says. "You guys used to date?" He points back and forth between me and Drea. "No, stupid," Amber says, flicking a turkey cube at him,
"Chad and Drea."
Drea swivels back toward the table. -Why would he go for you when he has me?"
"Drea, let's not go there," I say. "You're obviously still really upset." I look at Amber to help me out, but she's decided to stay as neutral as Swiss cheese, busying herself by trying to get her chopsticks to stand up straight in the gooey mound of turkey fricassee.
"Think about it," Drea says. "He dates me on and off for three years and then decides to completely change his taste and go for you? Doesn't happen."
"I don't know," I say. "Maybe he just thinks you're a bitch."
"Meow," PJ says.
More like a full-blown roar. I hate talking to her this way. I hate having some guy come between us. It isn't worth it.
"Why don't we ask him?" Drea says. "Hey, Chad!" She straightens herself up on the seat and waves him over.
"I'm glad to see you guys talking again," he says, standing right behind me now.
"Would somebody please tell me what is going on?" PJ massages his temples.
"Chad," Drea begins, "Stacey wants to know if you think I'm a bitch. Do you?"
I can feel my cheeks crimson over, a burning combination of anger and grief.
Chad looks at me, his eyebrows arching up. "Is that what you told her?"
"No."
"I'm going back to the room." Drea stands up from the table.
"No, Drea," I say. "Not alone. Plus, we still need to talk. We need to decide about tomorrow. It's as much for Veronica as it is for you."
Drea stands there a moment, perhaps mulling the idea over, her pride struggling with her common sense. I know she wants to help us plan. But I also know she's more hurt and angry than I've ever seen her.
"Veronica?" Chad asks.
"Group project," Amber clarifies.
Chad still looks confused, but he doesn't question it. "Come on, Dray" He pats my shoulder for support and I watch Drea's eyes zoom in on the gesture.
"'Come on' what? As far as I'm concerned, Chad, you can have her. But I'm warning you, you'd better be careful. She wets the bed."
My heart falls to the floor and shatters into a million pieces. Is this really happening?
"Drea!" Amber shouts.
"What? It was funny only a few minutes ago." Drea looks at Chad. "Just ask her."
PJ lets out a gasp, launching a straw wrapper into the air.
"This is ridiculous," Chad says. "Drea, I don't know what you're talking about, but just stop.
Listen to yourself."
"Just ask her. What I'd like to know is whether she wet the bed before or after you left this morning."
The table goes quiet for seconds, practically test-taking conditions, the question just looming around my head.
"What are you talking about?" Chad says finally He looks
at Drea and then at me. "What is she talking about?"
But I can't even look at him. I can only stare down into my tray, waiting for the moment to pass, as if that's possible.
"Total ass," Amber says to Drea, in my defense. "I can't believe you just said that."
I can't believe it either. The whole idea of it time-travels me back to grammar school, with its playground bullies, all over again. My jaw aches from the severe grind of my teeth. I can't bear to sit here any longer. I get up from the table and walk away, grateful that no one decides to follow me.
194
twenty-four
It takes Chad two whole hours to find me in the library, and when he does, I'm hidden away in one of the study carrels in the very back, mentally decaying from breathing in all the musty fumes of old and decrepit books.
"I guess I beat Amber." He pulls a chair from the carrel behind me and sits down.
"Amber?"
"She's looking for you, too."
"Oh," I say, not looking up.
"We've been looking everywhere,'," he says. -What are you doing?"
"Studying." I flash him the cover off my French book--a group of teens eating baguette sandvwiches in a park--but keep focused on the yellow grammarr box in the middle of the page, my focal point. "Madame LeeSnore's gonna let me retake that test I fell asleep in."
"Do you want me to quiz you?"
"Not really."
"Can you at least look at me?"
I roll my eyes and manage to look ttoward the side of his face. "Okay?"
"I'm just trying to be a friend here,'," he says.
"Yeah, well, I've had enough friends for one day" "Do you mean that?" he asks.
No. But, of course, I don't say that:. I busy my fingers by folding over the corners of my book: pages, hoping my silence tells him for me.
"Look," he says. "I don't know winat's going on exactly, but if you want to talk about it, I'll list-ten."
I doubt I'll ever want to discuss my bedwetting with Chad, but I appreciate the offer. "You I must think I'm some kind of freak," I say.
'Actually, I think you're pretty greatt."
"Why?"
I nod, mentally gagging over how r pathetic I sound. It's just that I can't stop thinking about what Drea said--about how she and I are so completely diifferent. I mean, why would Chad be attracted to someone like me after dating someone like her--not to mention the mortifying little secret she just blurted out about me in front of everyone?
"Because you're not like other girls."
An understatement. I think he detects my cringe because he ventures a hand on my forearm. "I mean, you're more real," he continues. "It's hard to explain, but when I'm with you, I don't feel like I have to be something I'm not. I can just be myself." He smiles at me and squeezes my arm, like nothing's changed. So maybe nothing has. The moment is filled with awkward sweetness, like one of us should say something to break things up. That's where Amber steps in.
"Kodak moment," she sings. She takes a picture of us with her invisible camera.
"Where did you come from?" I say, moving my arm from Chad's touch.
'Are you kidding? I've been everywhere." She wipes an invisible stream of sweat from her forehead. "Never thought to look in the library. Have you been in here all this time? I'm surprised your skin isn't sallow See what studying does to you? Shuts you off from civilization." She points toward my evil books.
'A little civilization severance is fine with me tonight." "No deal," she says. "We have major business to attend to.''
"I think I can take a hint," Chad says. He turns to me. "I'll talk to you later."
I nod, half-wanting him to stay, but knowing he can't. Drea, Amber, and I need to make a plan for tomorrow.
"See ya," Amber says, hula-dancing a goodbye to him. And just as soon as he rounds the corner, she grabs my arm. "Dish."
"What?" I say, smiling. "Nothing."
"You two were way too cozy for nothing. Dish." "I should really be mad at you," I say.
"Oh yeah," she says. 'About the joking. Look, I'm sorry, all right? It's not every day one of your best friends pisses her pants while bunking up with the guy she's panting for. Total tease material. Tell me you wouldn't."
"I'm not bunking up with him."
"Whatever. Not exactly flattery, Stace. A few moans would have done the trick."
"You don't know what you're talking about."
"Hey, don't sweat it. I should really be giving you an award for bravery. I think I'd head for Siberia if that happened to me. You just came to the library"
"Thanks," I say, giving up on an explanation for now. "So are we cool?"
"I guess," I say.
Amber clutches me close like a favorite doll and then pushes me away. "So what's with the piss anyway?" "It's been happening since the nightmares."
"Freakish."
"Believe me, I'm not too proud of it myself."
"Have you gone to a doctor?"
"Too humiliating. But I went on the Internet. I guess it's fairly common if you have a small bladder."
"Do you?"
"No. Which leads me to believe that in some sick, twisted way, my wetting the bed is my body's way of telling me something."
"And what's it trying to say?"
"Your guess is as good as mine."
"So yucky." She smacks her hand over her mouth and crosses her legs.
"I know"
We leave the library and head to the dorm to meet Drea, the last person on Earth I want to see, never mind work with. It's not every day your best friend makes you feel like some freakish character straight out of a Steven King novel: Stacey Brown, coed by day, psychic bed-wetter by night. Of course, I suppose, it's also not every day one finds their best friend in bed with their ex.
I remind myself of this last part all the way through the lobby, down the hallway, and into the room.
Drea is lounging on her bed, one hand propping a chocolate bar up to her bottom lip, the other writing in her diary. She takes a bite and chews over her thought, jotting down her last few words, trying to act as though I'm not important enough to ruffle her.
The sight of her calm little self makes me want to rip the pen right out of her hand and scribble all over her face. I clench my teeth, hearing her voice play over and over again in my head: Stacey wets the bed. Stacey wets the bed. Stacey wets the bed.
"Hi Amber," she says, not looking up.
"Hey" Amber brushes by me. She plops herself down on my bed and pauses; "You did change the sheets, didn't you?" Bitch.
"How are we supposed to plan when Veronica's not here?" Amber asks.
"I already called her," Drea says. "She's not coming." "What do you mean not coming?" Amber asks.
"I mean she wants us to leave her alone. She actually
thinks I'm the one behind all this stalker business."
"You don't just change your mind like that," Amber says. "It's called being a woman," Drea says.
"We have the prerogative."
"We need to go there," I say, finally. "We have to convince her."
"Stacey's right," Amber says.
"Fine," Drea says. She caps her pen, gets up, and pockets the chocolate bar in lieu of the protection bottle. "But honestly, I think we're on our own."
tw-cuty-five_
It takes a few minutes of knocking and waiting before Veronica actually opens her door. "Can't you take a hint?" she asks, between clenched teeth.
"Not really, Snotty," Amber says, barging her way into the room.
"Excuse me?" Veronica says.
"No sweat." Amber makes herself at home on a fuchsia- pink beanbag chair. "Isn't this the cutest?"
Veronica's room is dripping in shades of pink, making it look like a bedroom straight out of Barbie's dream house.
"I told you guys already," Veronica says. "I'm too old to play Nancy Drew"
"Screw Nancy Drew," Amber says, peering into the magenta telescope by the window. "I want to be a Charlie's Angel."
r /> "Well, you've come to the wrong place." Veronica keeps a hand on the door, waiting for us to leave.
"Look, Veronica," Drea begins, "this isn't exactly my idea of a fun time either, but we need to help each other. You said so yourself."
"Well, I've said a lot of stupid things in my lifetime." "No doubts there," Amber says.
Veronica flings the door closed. "I already told you. I want nothing to do with this anymore."
"Look, Veronica," I say, "I know you said you think this is all some hoax, but what if it isn't?
Don't you think you should take as many precautions as possible? I mean, the guy says he's coming for you tomorrow"
But Veronica doesn't answer. She just stands there, super-rigid, eyes rolled toward the ceiling.
"Wait," Drea says. "What's that?" She takes a couple steps toward Veronica's dresser, her eyes locked on a chunk of white fabric sticking out from the jewelry box.
"What?" Veronica asks.
Drea presses the scalloped trim between her fingers. "This is my handkerchief." She pulls on it, tugging out an extra inch of fabric, revealing the embroidered D of her initials. "What's it doing here?" Drea tries pulling up on the lid, but the box is locked.
"What do you think it's doing here?" Veronica pulls the key necklace from around her neck to unlock the box. "You gave it to me. Stuffed it inside my mailbox." She dangles the handkerchief over Drea's nose.
"Why would I do that?" Drea snatches it out of Veronica's hand and traces her fingers over the stitched initials, D. O. E. S.
"Wait," I say, taking the handkerchief. "This is the same one that got mixed up in the wash when I was doing my laundry, when everything was stolen."
"The laundry was stolen?" Drea asks.
"Yeah. The stalker has your pink bra, by the way" "Thanks for that image," Amber says.
"The point is, Veronica, that whoever stole the laundry is the one who gave this to you," I say.
"Plus, even if it was Drea, why would she go stuffing her things into your mailbox? It would just give her away"
"To tell you the truth," Veronica says, "I have no idea what her logic is. But I want no part of it."