Bad Dreams

  Coach Randall had asked the four girls to come to practice fifteen minutes early, so they could race while they were still fresh. The locker door opened just then, and Carly Pedersen, Claudia Walker, and Renee Larson, all members of the swim team, strolled in. “Hey, you guys, good luck today!” Carly called.

  Maggie grinned and waved, but her heart did a flip turn. That’s what it felt like, anyway.

  In competitive swimming, the racer somersaulted at the end of each lap, pushing off the wall with her feet. It was called a flip turn. About five minutes before every race, Maggie’s heart and stomach started doing flip turns.

  “Okay, okay,” Andrea suddenly said, and slammed her locker shut. “Let’s have it, Maggie.”

  Maggie turned to her sister in surprise. “Have what?”

  “My bathing cap. Where did you hide it?”

  Unbelievable! Maggie thought. Andrea was always accusing her of things. “Did you lose it?” Maggie asked.

  “Did I lose it?” Andrea mimicked nastily. “Very funny. Hand it over.”

  Everyone in the locker room was staring at them. “Andrea,” Maggie said as patiently as she could, “I didn’t take it.” She bent into her locker. “Here, maybe I have an extra one.”

  “I don’t want an extra one. I want mine,” Andrea insisted.

  Andrea had dumped most of her stuff on the floor. Tiffany pointed to something white sticking out from under Andrea’s backpack. “Is that it?”

  Andrea yanked the backpack away, revealing her bathing cap. “Oh—yeah,” she mumbled, red-faced.

  Some of the other girls in the locker room started giggling, which only made Andrea blush harder. Maggie turned away. Even when Andrea was acting like a spoiled brat, she didn’t want to see her get teased.

  Tiffany finished dressing and started some warm-up stretches. “I think I’m going to hurl!” she declared as she bent her head toward the floor.

  “You’re that stressed out?” Dawn asked. “Relax. You have nothing to worry about. You always swim great. Besides, we’re all on the same team, right?”

  “That’s right,” agreed Maggie, glancing at Andrea.

  The locker room door swung open, and Coach Randall walked in, carrying her clipboard.

  Martha Randall was tall and stick-thin, even thinner than Maggie. As a teenage swimmer, she had once made it all the way to the Olympic trials. Now she was in her forties, and she still had the intensity of a champion. It was a quality Maggie really admired.

  Coach Randall rarely said much. Today was no exception. “Okay, the four girls for the two-hundred IM,” she said, studying her clipboard. “Let’s go.”

  This was the one part of swimming that Maggie hated, the time just before she got in the water. She knew she’d be all right once the race started. But now she was starting to feel dizzy as they padded barefoot through the long hallway that led to the pool.

  The familiar smell of steam and chlorine swept over her. The pool gurgled softly, the water slapping gently against the sides.

  “Good luck,” Maggie murmured to Andrea.

  Maggie glanced at the bleachers. A few of her teammates had pulled on their suits and come out to watch. They waved and Maggie waved back.

  Dawn was right, Maggie told herself. Why should I feel so nervous? I’ve raced against these three girls in practice all year.

  “Let’s get started,” Coach Randall said curtly. She checked her clipboard. “Tiffany, lane one; Andrea, two; Maggie, three; Dawn, four.”

  The four girls bent over and scooped up water to splash on their bodies. Then they took their places on the starting blocks.

  Before Maggie pulled her goggles on, she spat into them to moisten the rubber edge. She always did this, to make sure the seal was watertight. But this time she had trouble spitting. Her mouth was dry.

  Nervous, nervous, she scolded herself.

  She glanced at Andrea. Her sister was staring straight ahead with an expression of cold determination.

  On Maggie’s right, Dawn was nervously flexing her hands. She had known Dawn Rodgers long enough to know that her confident manner was mostly an act. Dawn was as worried about the race as Maggie was.

  “Okay, this is the two-hundred IM,” Coach Randall reminded them. “Butterfly, backstroke, breaststroke, freestyle—in that order, two lengths each. Any questions?”

  No one had any, except for the one question they were all silently asking: Who will win?

  • • •

  Coach Randall moved into a crouch to watch the race and judge the finish.

  Maggie shook her head, trying to clear it. She had so many stray thoughts flying around—Andrea, the new house, Justin….

  She knew if she wanted a shot at winning this race, she was going to have to concentrate. Focus! she told herself. Focus!

  Below her, the water stretched, blue, still, and cold. The four girls lowered themselves into a diving crouch.

  Coach Randall called out, “On your mark, get set—” Then the whistle blew shrilly.

  Maggie dove.

  She hit the water, glided up to the surface, kicking hard.

  The key to the butterfly was the rhythm of the dolphin kick. Maggie tried to picture the grace and strength of a dolphin diving in and out of the water.

  Before she knew it, the first length had ended. Maggie tucked and somersaulted.

  A perfect flip turn.

  She could tell she was in first place.

  Concentrate! Concentrate!

  Maybe she had started too fast. It was only the second length, and she was feeling tired, slowing down.

  Concentrate!

  Halfway through the first length of the backstroke, Maggie saw Dawn pass her on the right. Then Andrea started edging by on her left. There was no way to know where Tiffany was, since she was two lanes away.

  So much for her early lead! The coach was screaming instructions, and her teammates were screaming encouragement.

  But their voices were only a jumbled echo. “Dig! Dig!” was the only thing Maggie picked up.

  Breaststroke next.

  Maggie was breathing hard now, and every muscle ached.

  But the thought of losing hurt a lot more.

  She silently commanded herself: Faster! Faster!

  She pushed harder, harder—as she came to the end of the breaststroke. But then she made a poor turn at the wall.

  I’ve blown it! she thought.

  She had never lost a really big race before.

  Could she still win? It was now or never.

  Freestyle was her strongest stroke. But she had only two laps to catch up.

  She felt as if she were skimming over the water. The shrill cheers and screams in the gym reached an even higher pitch. Nearing the far wall, Maggie passed Andrea—then Tiffany.

  Maggie kept charging. She was swimming very close to the lane marker, but there was no time to straighten out now. She just had to hope that her hand didn’t smack into the little lane markers, or she’d lose for sure.

  Faster! Faster!

  She pulled herself forward, churning through the water with all her might. She was only inches behind Dawn now.

  Only a few strokes left.

  She pulled with all her might and stretched for the wall.

  Her wet palm slapped the tiles—

  And a split second later—

  Dawn hit the wall.

  Maggie was first.

  Tiffany arrived a full second later.

  And a stroke behind her—Andrea, who finished fourth.

  Holding on to the wall with both hands and gasping for breath, Maggie gazed up at Coach Randall with a happy grin. The coach was studying her stopwatch and making notes on the clipboard.

  “First place, Maggie Travers,” she called. Maggie didn’t bother to listen to the rest, she just pushed off the wall into a lazy backstroke as she started to unwind.

  Then she swam back and dragged herself out of the pool. After swimming so hard, her arms ached and her body felt like de
ad weight.

  “Nice finish, Maggie,” Coach Randall told her, and smiled.

  Maggie beamed. Compliments from Coach Randall were like gold.

  “Next time I want to see you pick up the pace on your butterfly and backstroke,” the coach added.

  She never let you have a pure compliment. There was always a catch.

  “Whoa! Time out!” Dawn cried. She was out of the pool now and charging over to Maggie and the coach. “There was interference! Didn’t you see it? Maggie shoved the line right into me.”

  “She didn’t shove the line,” Coach Randall replied firmly. “Her wake pushed the line over.”

  “Well, so what?” Dawn continued. “You’re not going to allow that, are you?”

  “Save it, Dawn,” Coach Randall replied sharply. “You came in second.”

  Andrea picked up a towel and wrapped it around her broad shoulders. Maggie gave her a sympathetic glance. Andrea turned away.

  Some congratulations!

  Tiffany sat on the edge of the pool, kicking her feet in the water, shaking her head unhappily.

  “Okay, girls,” Coach Randall said with a smile. “Let’s not get down. That was just one race. We’ve got three more.”

  Maggie glanced up to see Dawn glaring at her, breathing hard. “Dawn,” Maggie said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

  “Of course not,” Dawn replied, rolling her eyes.

  Maggie glimpsed Andrea watching them, obviously enjoying the argument.

  “All right,” Coach Randall called to the girls in the bleachers. “Everyone in the pool!”

  Maggie groaned. The race had been so intense. She had forgotten they still had an hour of practice!

  By the time practice was over, Maggie was exhausted. Every muscle ached.

  She took a really long shower.

  Some girls talked excitedly about the practice and the races. But Maggie dressed in silence, lost in her own thoughts.

  She was the last one out of the locker room.

  She walked out through the pool.

  Most of the lights were off now. Maggie’s eyes were still burning from the chlorine. They kept blurring, watering over.

  So it wasn’t until she got right up to the water that she saw the body floating facedown in the pool.

  chapter

  7

  “Dawn!” Maggie shrieked.

  In the middle of the pool Dawn’s body was slowly drifting with the water’s gentle movement.

  Maggie hesitated for only a second. Then she dove into the water with all her clothes on.

  Please—let me be in time! Maggie prayed. Please!

  When she surfaced, Dawn was still several yards away.

  Please—be alive! Be alive! Maggie prayed.

  Dawn raised her head.

  “Dawn!” Maggie gasped, swimming over and grabbing her.

  Dawn’s face twisted in surprise. “Let go,” she said, shoving Maggie away. “What’s your problem?”

  Maggie treaded water, staring at her in disbelief. “My problem? What do you think you’re doing?”

  Dawn blinked water from her eyes. “Practicing breath control, what do you think?”

  “I—I thought you were dead!” Maggie stammered. She grabbed Dawn’s arm again. It was hard to tread water with her clothes weighing her down.

  Dawn laughed. “Dead?”

  Maggie started laughing too, partly from relief and partly from embarrassment.

  “I guess I got you,” Dawn said, splashing water at Maggie’s head.

  “You did this on purpose, didn’t you!” Maggie demanded, splashing Dawn back.

  Dawn backstroked out of Maggie’s splashing range. “No way!” she insisted. “How was I supposed to know you’d be such a jerk! Look at you! You’ve got all your clothes on!”

  Maggie reluctantly admitted to herself that it was pretty funny.

  Dawn threw her head back, laughing. She had a contagious laugh, and soon Maggie felt herself losing it as well. The two girls laughed till they nearly cried, their voices echoing off the high tile ceiling.

  Tuesday night. Maggie struggled to fall asleep.

  Staring up at the canopy over her head, she tried to clear her mind, to relax her muscles, to relax—relax.

  As her eyes closed, she felt a force pulling her down.

  It was as if she were being dragged down into the darkness.

  A darkness that became a swirling gray haze.

  As the haze circled around her, she drifted lower. Down toward a square of pink.

  Focus! Focus! The square of pink became a canopy on an old-fashioned four-poster.

  Under the canopy, Maggie could hear someone in the bed. Someone moaning, “No—no—”

  Maggie drifted down through the pink canopy. Into the bed.

  She saw the girl, who was tossing fitfully beneath pink blankets.

  The girl with the ash-blond hair.

  Maggie knew she was dreaming, but somehow that made the dream twice as frightening.

  It was cold in the room, but there were beads of sweat glistening on the girl’s bare shoulders. She lay still now, her head turned away.

  If only Maggie could see her face!

  Maggie wanted to call to the girl to turn around. But when she opened her mouth, no sound came out.

  This girl was in trouble. Maggie knew it.

  And then she knew why. It came over her suddenly, like a shadow rolling across her body.

  She and the girl were not alone. There was someone else in the room!

  Maggie whirled. And saw—

  The glint of a knife blade in the darkness!

  Then all at once the darkness exploded violently as a figure leaped forward.

  The blond girl tried to twist away. And her skull smacked against the headboard. Then the knife came slashing down through the air.

  Maggie jerked so sharply in her sleep that she woke herself up. She lay in her bed in the darkness, gasping in air, her heart thudding, her eyes still shut.

  Just a dream, she told herself. Just a dream, just a dream, just a—

  An image from the nightmare loomed in her mind. The pink canopy! The same pink canopy she saw when she opened her eyes. The canopy. Her canopy.

  The girl in the dream was sleeping in her bed!

  The realization made Maggie’s heart start to pound even harder. What did it mean?

  I’m just stressed out, she told herself, gripping the bed-sheet. I’m sleeping in a new bed. So I’m dreaming about it. That’s all.

  But then another frightening thought came to her—one she’d had before. Maybe the dream was a warning. Maybe her own subconscious mind was trying to warn her about something through the dream.

  But what? What?

  She closed her eyes and rolled over onto her side, gazing at the window.

  Only then did Maggie feel the presence of the intruder. Her eyes popped open. Her mouth contorted into a silent scream.

  The girl stood blanketed in darkness next to Maggie’s bed, staring straight down at her, straight down into her face.

  With a desperate gasp, Maggie jerked backward, banging her head against the headboard. She couldn’t get away.

  The girl reached out to grab her.

  chapter

  8

  Maggie opened her mouth to scream.

  “It’s me, it’s me, it’s me!” the girl kept repeating in a desperate whisper.

  Maggie stopped yelling and covered her mouth, her shoulders heaving.

  The girl leaned closer, close enough for Maggie to see her face. “Andrea!”

  “Are you okay?” Andrea’s features showed her concern.

  “Andrea!” Maggie murmured. “I keep thinking you’re the one in the dream. I keep mistaking you—Why?”

  Andrea squeezed Maggie’s hand. “You’re not making any sense. Get yourself together, Maggie. You’re scaring me.”

  “S-sorry,” Maggie stammered. She pulled herself up and shook her head as if trying to shake the dream aw
ay.

  “You were moaning and making all these frightening cries,” Andrea whispered. “I thought I’d better wake you.”

  Maggie swallowed hard. Her mouth was dry. She covered her face with her hands. “Wow.”

  “Another nightmare?” Andrea asked, settling down on the edge of the bed.

  “No,” Maggie replied through her hands. “Same one I had the other night. Only this time—”

  “What?”

  Maggie shut her eyes, picturing the dream again. “This time the girl got stabbed! It was so awful. She was being stabbed, and I—I couldn’t do anything about it.”

  “Who stabbed her?” Andrea asked.

  “I don’t know. I couldn’t see.”

  “It’s like a horror movie,” Andrea said.

  “Yeah. Only it’s playing right in my head.”

  They sat in silence for a moment. Not total silence. The rickety old house was full of quiet sounds—creaks and cracks.

  “Did my cries wake you?” Maggie asked, her voice still shaky.

  “Nah,” Andrea said. “I was up. I couldn’t sleep. I went downstairs for a glass of water—and guess where Gus is sleeping?”

  “Next to the rocking chair?”

  Andrea nodded.

  “Dumb old Gus,” Maggie murmured affectionately.

  Officially, Gus was Maggie’s dog. But really, Gus had been Mr. Travers’s dog. Wherever Mr. Travers was, that was where you’d find Gus, sleeping with his head on Mr. Travers’s lap or feet.

  Mr. Travers liked to read in the rocking chair at night, and so that was still Gus’s favorite spot to snooze.

  From somewhere in the house came the sound of something snapping. Maggie jumped.

  “Relax, will you?” Andrea cried. “You’re getting me scared.”

  “I hate this house,” Maggie admitted suddenly.

  “You’re not the only one.”

  “I feel like it’s haunted.”

  “Please,” Andrea begged. “I’ll be up all night.”

  “No, you won’t. You’re not the one having nightmares.”

  “Maggie, you’ve got to calm down. Don’t start losing it. It’s only a dream.”

  Maggie wasn’t listening. In her head the dream started to replay itself. Something was bothering her—teasing at the edges of her memory.