I kept remembering Poppy and me having good times together. I couldn’t keep the pictures from my mind. I saw us riding an elephant at the circus when we were ten. And baking apple pies all by ourselves in her kitchen when we were older.
I remembered what we wore at our junior-high prom, and the two geeks who were our dates. I saw us going for our driver’s test together downtown.
I stepped into the shower. I needed the hot water to splash the memories away. I let the water soak my hair. I lowered my head and raised the back of my hair to the steaming water.
Yes . . . Whenever I got stressed out, this was the only thing that ever calmed me.
I squeezed a puddle of shampoo onto my palm and rubbed it into my hair. Not enough. I poured out more shampoo and smoothed it down the length of my hair.
The shampoo had a coconut aroma. I shut my eyes and pretended I was down in a tropical island, with palm trees and coconuts and—
“Hey—!”
I cried out when I felt the tingle at the top of my head.
What’s up with that?
The tingle quickly spread. It became a burning sensation.
“Oh, wait. Oh, wait.”
I raised my hands to the top of my head. The pain spread over my scalp and down the back of my neck. “Owwwww.” It hurt. It really hurt. And it was growing more intense.
I grabbed at my hair—and a thick clump came off in my hand.
What is happening?
My head burned as if it was on fire. I lowered my glance and saw clumps of my hair on the shower floor.
“Nooooooo!” A scream burst from my mouth. I shut off the water. Stepped out of the shower. Hands clamped to my burning, throbbing head, I stumbled to the mirror.
Big bald spots. My scalp flaming red. The sink filled with my hair.
“Oh, it hurts. It hurts.”
I tugged out another clump.
Was something wrong with the shampoo?
My head was burning . . . my hands were burning . . . burning . . . on fire.
I couldn’t stand it. I couldn’t think. The pain was burning down to my brain.
I started to scream. “Help me! Please! Someone? Anyone? Please—help me!”
37
Jeremy Narrates
My asthma was kicking up, and I was using my inhaler when the phone rang. It was Ivy, screaming and crying. I thought something was wrong with my phone or maybe my ears because I couldn’t understand a word she was saying, she was so out of control—I mean, hysterical.
“I’m at Shadyside General.”
I finally understood. “The hospital?” I said. “Why? What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
“No, I’m not okay. I’m ruined, Jeremy. I’m in horrible pain. My head—it’s burning. I—I—She tried to kill me.”
I pressed the phone to my ear. I couldn’t believe I was hearing this. Ivy didn’t sound like herself. I actually thought it might be a joke. We’ve all been playing jokes on each other, and I just couldn’t imagine what she was screaming about.
“Please . . . take a breath,” I pleaded. “I can’t understand. What happened? Tell me. Who tried to . . . kill you?”
“I’m totally bald!” she screamed. “My hair—it’s gone. Do you understand that? I’m bald, and I have burns all over my scalp and hands.”
I swallowed. My mouth was suddenly dry. “But—why? How?”
“The police . . . they were at my house,” Ivy said. “My shampoo. They examined my shampoo. They found acid in my shampoo.” She burst into loud sobs.
My brain was spinning. How was this possible? Who would do a thing like that? It had to be a mistake. It couldn’t have happened. Ivy had such a thing about her hair. No one would do that. No one.
I waited for her to stop sobbing. “What did the doctors say, Ivy?” I asked. “Are you all right?”
“I have burns all over my head. They’re going to treat them. They say I can go home tomorrow.”
“I . . . I don’t know what to say. I—”
“It had to be Poppy.”
I swallowed again. “Huh? Poppy? What do you mean?”
“She did it. She put the acid in the shampoo, Jeremy. I know what she’s doing. I’m sure of it.”
“Please try to calm down, Ivy,” I said. “You sound like you’re berserk or something. I mean—”
“Berserk? Of course I’m berserk. I lost my hair, Jeremy. All of it. She tried to kill me. Don’t you see? Poppy is getting some kind of crazy revenge.”
I couldn’t believe it. “Poppy is your friend,” I said. “Yeah, she’s angry about the robbery prank, but she wouldn’t—”
“I told the police about her. It had to be her.” She started to sob again.
I didn’t know what to say. Acid in her shampoo? What a vicious attack. It could have blinded Ivy. It could have killed her. Could Poppy have done that?
I’ve known Poppy forever. Sure, she gets angry. She has a temper. She’s an enthusiastic person. She never goes halfway. But she isn’t a killer. And she isn’t vicious. She would never hurt Ivy like that, even if she’s angry at her.
Or am I wrong? Poppy did swear revenge that night.
“Jeremy, sorry. I just keep crying. I can’t stop.” Ivy’s voice shook me from my thoughts. “Can you come here? Can you come to the hospital?”
I let out a long whoosh of air. I wanted to be with Ivy, but I knew I couldn’t.
“I can’t leave the house,” I said. “I’m really sorry. My asthma is bad, and my inhaler is nearly empty. I have to be really careful, Ivy. I’m not breathing very well.”
A long silence. I could hear her breathing. “I see,” she said finally. “Well . . . hope you’re okay.”
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” I said. “I’ll come see you at your house.”
“I don’t want anyone to see me. Ever again. My head looks like a burned marshmallow.” She was crying and talking at the same time.
“I’m so sorry,” I said. “The police will catch whoever did it. Meanwhile, maybe you should get some rest,” I said.
“I’ve got to go. The doctors are here.” She clicked off.
I sat there for a while at the edge of my bed. Ugly pictures ran through my mind, visions of Ivy without her beautiful hair, Ivy with her head burned and bandaged.
I reached for the inhaler. The horror of her news was making my breathing more difficult. I realized I was making loud wheezing sounds with each breath, and each breath was a struggle.
I squeezed the inhaler once, twice. It was nearly empty. I knew I had to calm down and get my breathing under control.
I changed for bed, turned off the lights, and slid under the covers. The streetlamp outside my open bedroom window sent an angled pattern of light onto the wall. I turned on my side, away from the light, and shut my eyes.
It took a long time to get to sleep. I kept hearing Ivy’s angry, shrill voice, and her sobs. I finally drifted off into a deep, dreamless sleep.
I don’t know how long I slept. I was awakened by a loud buzzing sound. At first, I thought it was my phone. But the rasping sound rose and fell and seemed to surround me.
I cried out when something swiped against my forehead. I felt another bump at the back of my head.
I clicked on the light—and screamed.
The room was filled with big flying, buzzing insects. What were they? I swatted one off the top of my head. I kept blinking myself awake, blinking until I could focus on the swarming creatures.
Hornets!
Dozens of black hornets, swooping in a swarm up to my ceiling, then down again, circling my room, buzzing angrily. I sat up. Struggled to pull myself out of bed. But my feet tangled in the bed sheet and I fell to the floor.
How did they get in? I glanced and saw that the window was shut. But hadn’t it been open when I went to bed?
“Ow!” I uttered a cry at the first sting. My arm throbbed. And then another angry pinch, a pinprick of pain, as a hornet stung the back of my neck.
“Ow
!” I wrestled with the bedsheet. Managed to free myself. “Ow.” A sting on the middle of my back, right through my T-shirt.
I stood up. And they swarmed around me, circling me, flying inches from my body, buzzing louder . . . louder.
“Help!” I cried weakly.
The hornets were so thick over my face, I couldn’t see past them. I saw only the glistening black of their fat bodies as they circled. I tried swinging both arms, trying to bat them away. But they clung to my arms and began to sting. The buzzing grew lower as the angry creatures attached themselves to my chest, my legs, my face.
I twisted and turned and shouted and cried as they swarmed over me, stinging . . . stinging . . . my skin ringing in pain, the pain so overwhelming, I couldn’t see, I couldn’t think. I was being buried under the swarm, under their vicious bites . . . buried . . .
Oh, help. Please. I can’t brush them off. I can’t swat them away.
I can’t . . . I can’t breathe . . . can’t breathe . . . can’t breathe.
38
Poppy Continues the Story
I saw the black-and-white patrol car pull up our driveway. I watched them climb out of the car, two of them. I opened the front door before they rang the bell.
One cop was tall and thin—I mean very thin—with a tuft of short red hair on his pale face. Standing at the front door, he reminded me of a matchstick. He said his name was Officer Raap. He had a deep voice that made his Adam’s apple go up and down in his skinny neck. It looked like a small animal in his throat.
The other cop was Benny Kline, Manny’s brother. I’d never seen him with such a stern expression on his face. And when he spoke, he kept his eyes on me as if trying to dig into my brain. “Can we come in?”
What was I going to say? No? Sorry, I’m busy watching Dr. Who.
I led them into the living room. Mom and Heather came into the room, and everyone arranged themselves as awkwardly as possible. Because it has to be awkward when you have two police officers in your living room, questioning you.
Benny and Raap sat together on the couch. Mom and Heather perched on chairs on either side, and I dropped onto a leather ottoman across from everyone. It was too low and made my knees come up almost to my face.
I didn’t really care. Keith told me about Ivy and Jeremy being taken to the hospital. I was horribly upset and worried about my friends and not prepared to answer questions about the awful things someone had done to them.
Both cops dropped their caps on the coffee table. Raap scratched his short red hair. Benny’s belly poked at the front of his uniform. “We’re talking to all your friends,” he started. “Everyone in your group.”
“You want to question Poppy about Ivy and Jeremy?” Mom chimed in. She had her hands clasped tightly in her lap, and she kept shifting in her chair, unable to get comfortable.
“Yes, we do,” Raap said in his surprisingly deep voice. “You visited Ivy last night, Poppy. Yes?”
I nodded. “Yes. I did my shift at the taxi company where I work. Then I went home. Then to Ivy’s.”
“And where did you go after you saw Ivy?”
“Well . . . nowhere, really. I drove around for a while. I was upset and I didn’t want to just go home.”
Benny leaned forward. “You said you were upset. Can you tell us what you were upset about?”
“Well . . . Ivy and I . . . we were friends for a long time. And now we aren’t friends anymore. Because I’m furious at her. And she thought she could just apologize, and that would be that. But she and my other friends did a very mean thing to me. And . . . and . . . I’m not ready to forgive them.”
The two cops exchanged glances. Raap typed something with two fingers onto an iPad mini. They sat there silently for a few seconds, their heads down.
Then Benny said, “I know you were very angry about the robbery prank. I was there at Harlow’s store, remember? I was there, Poppy, and I heard you say you would get revenge . . . that you would pay them all back for embarrassing you like that.” His dark eyes locked on mine. “Did I remember that right?”
I couldn’t deny it. “Well, yes,” I started. “I went a little crazy. I was so hurt . . . so humiliated . . . I just lashed out, let my anger take control. Yes, you’re right, Benny. I did say that. I did say that I’d get my revenge. But, of course, when I calmed down, I realized that was . . . silly.”
They both stared at me, studying me. I suddenly felt cold. I wrapped my arms around myself. Mom fidgeted on her chair. I could see she was totally tense. Heather looked on, a silent observer.
“So you decided not to get revenge on your friends?” Raap said. “Are you sure? You abandoned the idea?”
I nodded. “Yes, I’m sure.”
“Someone put acid in Ivy’s shampoo bottle,” Raap said, not lowering his gaze. “Do you know anything about that, Poppy?”
“No way,” I said, feeling the tears well in my eyes. “No way. I would never do something like that. Poor Ivy. All she cared about was her beautiful hair.”
“And you don’t have any idea who might have put the acid into the shampoo bottle?” Raap asked.
I shook my head. “No.”
“Are you accusing my daughter of this hideous crime?” Mom broke in, her voice tight and shrill.
“No. Not at all,” Benny answered quickly. “We’re just gathering information. That’s all.”
I shuddered. “I don’t know anything about acid,” I said. “I’m telling the truth.”
Suddenly, Heather turned to me. “Poppy, what was that stuff you used to clean that old jewelry of Grandma’s?” she said. “Remember? Down in the basement?”
Both officers reacted in surprise. They both looked at Heather as if they hadn’t noticed her before. Then they turned back to me and waited for me to answer.
“I—I don’t know,” I said in a whisper.
“The instructions said to use rubber gloves to protect your skin, didn’t it?” she kept on.
Thank you, Heather. Thank you, dear sister. Now I can see that they both suspect me. They think they’ve solved their case.
“I used a cleaner that contains hydrochloric acid to clean my grandmother’s gold jewelry,” I told them. “The bottle . . . it’s in the basement. I never took it out of the basement.”
Raap started to his feet. “Can we see it? Mrs. Miller, is it okay if we go down to your basement?”
Mom just shrugged. “I guess.” She stood up. “I’m sure Poppy is telling the truth. The acid was just for cleaning jewelry.”
“It’s pretty powerful acid for jewelry,” Raap said, his eyes on me.
“Not for gold,” I said. “The woman at the store told me it’s best for gold.”
I led the way to the basement stairs. I noticed that Heather was avoiding my gaze. I hoped she was embarrassed for revealing I had a bottle of acid. I didn’t really know her motive. Had she just blurted it out without thinking?
Was she actually trying to get me in trouble?
The air in the basement was warm. We ducked under the low ceiling. “The acid bottle is on the shelf over there. In my dad’s old workshop,” I said.
Mom and Heather held back. I led the two officers to the shelf where I kept it.
My eyes glanced up and down the shelves. My heart started to beat a pounding rhythm. I squinted and let my eyes go over each item on the shelf—paint cans, brushes, piles of rags, cans of shellac.
“Oh,” I gasped. “I . . . don’t believe it. The bottle is gone.”
39
Poppy Continues
“Maybe you put it on a different shelf,” Benny suggested.
“Maybe.” My legs were shaking. “Maybe . . . uh . . . I finished the bottle and threw it in the trash.”
Raap narrowed his eyes at me. “Do you remember doing that?”
“No,” I said honestly. “No. I remember putting the bottle on this shelf.”
Everyone in the basement was staring at me now, including Mom and Heather. Raap stepped up to the shelf
and examined it himself. “Hydrochloric acid is powerful,” he said as he searched. “It’ll burn right through human skin on contact.”
I imagined Ivy in the hospital, her whole head covered in bandages. “How bad are Ivy’s burns?” I asked. “I haven’t been to the hospital.”
“Her face wasn’t burned,” Raap said. “Only her head and hands. If her hair grows back, it will cover most of the scars from the burns.”
“If her hair grows back?” I uttered. I had a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. A sob escaped my throat. “She was so proud of her hair. It was like . . . like her whole personality.”
“You wanted revenge, and you had the acid,” Raap said, almost in a whisper. “You can’t explain why the acid bottle isn’t here. Did you use it, Poppy?”
“No. Of course not!” I shouted.
“Does my daughter need a lawyer?” Mom demanded. “Are you charging her with this crime?”
“I’m not crazy!” I cried, before either cop could answer her. “Yes, I got angry at my friends. Yes, I said a lot of angry things. But I’m not a psycho. I’m not insane. I don’t go burning my friends’ hair off. I don’t! I don’t!”
I was screaming at the top of my lungs. Mom put her hands on my shoulders and then slid her arms down into a hug from behind, trying to calm me. My whole body was shaking, more with anger than with fright.
“Can we go upstairs?” Officer Raap was deliberately keeping his voice low and calm. I hated him. I hated him because I could read his thoughts. He thought he had solved the Case of the Acid in the Shampoo. A missing acid bottle was all it took. Case closed.
Perhaps he would get acid samples from Ivy’s scalp. He’d match the samples to hydrochloric acid, and if they matched, it would be obvious that I was the culprit; I was the psycho who sneaked into Ivy’s bathroom and mixed the shampoo solution.
As we headed back up to the living room, I had a sudden jolt of memory. I had used Ivy’s bathroom last night. I asked Ivy for the bathroom as soon as I arrived. I remembered that now, and I bet Ivy remembered it, too.
Case closed. I’m guilty.
As we took our old places in the living room, I watched for Officer Raap to whip out the handcuffs.