“Yes.”
I considered lying. I considered saying I was skipping school.
I realized that only the truth would save me now.
I told the truth. The whole truth. Including where I’d spent the last two days.
“I see,” said Mom when I’d finished.
That was the last thing she said. We drove home in silence. I couldn’t think of anything else to say. Part of me wanted to beg. The other part of me felt that keeping quiet might give me a better chance of survival.
I went to my room and lay down on the bed. The long, quiet afternoon crawled by, punctuated only by the sounds of my mother in the kitchen.
Finally, right before Anna was due home, I heard my mother’s footsteps in the hall. She knocked on the door and waited until I said come in. I sat up as she walked into the room.
“What you did,” she said, “was wrong. You lied. You deceived me. You persuaded other people to lie for you.”
“I never said anyone else —”
Mom held up her hand. “I’m not asking what Anna knew or didn’t know, or for that matter what your friends knew or didn’t know. I’m just saying that your actions have had far reaching — and negative — effects for everyone involved. I’ve always thought of you as honest. I am more disappointed in you than I can say.”
I felt the sudden sting of tears behind my eyelids. I blinked them back with an effort. “I’m sorry,” I whispered miserably.
Mom said, “Starting next Monday, you are grounded for one month. You may baby-sit. You may engage in your afterschool activities. However, that is it. No sleepovers. No visits from friends. No phone privileges. No parties.”
I nodded. In spite of myself, I sniffled.
Mom is not any more demonstrative than I am. She reached out and took a tissue from the box on my dresser and handed it to me. As I took it, she patted my shoulder, just the way Anna had on Monday morning.
It made me want to cry even more.
“Abby,” said Mom. “I do believe you about the study guide. I want you to know that. I know that you could never deliberately cheat. Ms. Frost had no business not giving you the benefit of the doubt. I suspect that she has let her own personal prejudices against you — and against your outspoken mother — interfere with her judgment.”
“Thanks,” I said, feeling slightly better.
“Tomorrow, after school,” Mom continued, “I’m going to pay Ms. Frost another visit. And we’re going to have a talk about this whole business.”
“You don’t have to do that,” I croaked.
Mom had turned to leave. She looked back over her shoulder. “Yes, I do,” she said, and was gone.
I returned to school the next day feeling relieved, tired, sad, and apprehensive. Anna was sympathetically silent on the bus ride to school. I’d told Anna everything that had happened the night before. She knew as well as I did that nothing anyone could say or do would make things better.
But I couldn’t even be comforted by the thought that at least they couldn’t get any worse. I knew Mom would be there that afternoon to talk to Ms. Frost. That could very well make things worse.
I wasn’t sure how. I wasn’t sure what else Ms. Frost could do to me, or how much less she could think of me.
I decided to believe that I didn’t care. I didn’t care so much that it was all I could think of all day long. The minutes crawled by like years, and by the time we’d reached the last class of the day, I was trudging through the halls feeling as if I were a thousand years old. My head ached. My feet felt like lead. My books weighed a ton.
I was so out of it that I barely realized that Mary Anne was walking ahead of me. She was talking to someone whose back was turned to me, but who looked familiar.
“Mary A —” I began, then let my voice trail off. I recognized that plaid flannel shirt. And when the boy half turned to lift his backpack off his shoulder and reach inside, I froze.
It was him. The guy who had sold me the study guide. As I watched, I saw him hand a couple of sheets of paper to Mary Anne in exchange for three one-dollar bills. Mary Anne smiled up at him — good, nice, polite Mary Anne — and said thank you.
Then, as the boy walked away, she looked down at the piece of paper.
“Don’t do that!” I shouted, racing forward. I dashed to her and grabbed the cheat sheet.
“W-what? Abby, what are you doing? What’s going on?” Mary Anne looked totally shocked.
“That guy who sold you this. What did he tell you it was?”
“Brad Simon? He said it was a study guide for Ms. Frost’s class. She’s giving us a test the day after tomorrow and —”
“It’s not a study guide,” I said. I unwadded the test, which was clutched in my fist, long enough to see that the format was the same as the study guide I’d bought. Some of the problems were the same, too, although not all of them. “It’s a cheat sheet,” I explained. Suddenly the truth came tumbling out. “I bought a study guide from that guy, too. So did four other students, kids who actually knew it was a cheat sheet — the test with the answers. I don’t know how this kid is getting his hands on the tests ahead of time, but he is. And he’s selling them.”
Mary Anne’s eyes were wide. “But how … ?”
“One of the answers was wrong on the cheat sheet. All five of us made the same grade and missed the same answer. We all got suspended for it. That’s where I’ve been. Not studying for my Bat Mitzvah — suspended.”
“Oh, Abby. Oh, how awful for you,” said Mary Anne.
That’s Mary Anne all over. I would have gotten a little choked up over her concern for me, but we had a crisis on our hands. It was almost time for our last class of the day, and there we were standing in the hall, holding a hot study guide in our hands.
Finally we agreed to meet after the last class and go straight to Ms. Frost’s room. Mary Anne would keep the study guide, folded up, and not look at it. We would show it to Ms. Frost and tell her what had happened — and name names.
And that’s what we did. After the longest last class in the history of the world, Mary Anne and I met and went to Ms. Frost’s classroom. We ran all the way there, to make sure we would beat my mom. When we arrived, we were gasping for breath.
“We have to talk to you,” I said.
“Urgent. It’s urgent. Very, very urgent,” added Mary Anne.
Ms. Frost said, “Very well.”
Mary Anne produced the folded study sheet from her pack and laid it on the desk in front of Ms. Frost. “I just bought this from Brad Simon,” said Mary Anne. “He told me it was a study guide. Abby saw me buying it and rushed to warn me that it wasn’t a study guide, it was a cheat sheet for your test. She told me he told her he was selling her a study guide last week and she believed him and got suspended.”
I have to say, I was amazed at Mary Anne, who is usually shy. Although her voice was soft, there was nothing shy about her words, or the firmness of her tone.
“Uh, I didn’t know who he was until Mary Anne said his name,” I added. “Now I do.”
Mary Anne said, “I haven’t looked at the study guide.”
“I have,” I said. “It’s the exact same format as the study guide Brad sold me. Some of the questions are even the same.”
Slowly, Ms. Frost unfolded the study guide. She ran her eyes down the first page, and then the second. She put the papers back on her desk and looked from Mary Anne to me.
She doesn’t believe us, I thought. She thinks Mary Anne is lying. Sudden indignation flooded me. Who did Ms. Frost think she was, not to trust Mary Anne? Okay, so I was new at SMS. Maybe that gave Ms. Frost a reason to doubt me. But how could anyone who had known Mary Anne for any length of time at all think she would lie? Or cheat?
“It’s the truth!” I cried. Loudly. Very loudly. “Mary Anne would never lie!”
Mary Anne jumped.
Ms. Frost looked startled.
Then Ms. Frost startled me. “I believe you,” she said. “You know, you’
re the only one of the five students, Abby, who’s come forward. I should have listened to you, I admit it. Taking that test was a mistake, but I don’t think you deliberately, knowingly bought a cheat sheet. Especially not in light of this new evidence. You did the right thing, Abby. And so did you, Mary Anne. I’m proud of you both.”
Whoa. Ms. Frost had taken the chill off. For the first time in what seemed like forever, I felt better. Lighter. The lead was gone from my feet, the burden lifted.
“Thanks,” I said.
Mary Anne, of course, started to blush.
“Guess you’re going to rewrite that test, huh?” I said.
“I am,” said Ms. Frost. “I’m not sure how Brad is getting his hands on these tests, but I have a good idea it involves his student job in the principal’s office, where the copy machine is. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of Brad. And the test.”
“You’d better start studying, then,” I told Mary Anne.
“And you, too, Abby,” said Ms. Frost. “I think you should have a chance to take the test over. You can do it after school next week. I believe I can trust you and Mary Anne not to discuss the contents.”
“You sure can,” I said fervently. And, I thought wryly, remembering that I was grounded, I’d have plenty of time to study.
And that was the scene my mom walked in on. She marched in, prepared for battle. But when Ms. Frost started praising Mary Anne and me, the battle turned into an embarrassing brag fest. Soon I was blushing almost as much as Mary Anne.
At last I grabbed Mom by the arm. “I have to get home, Mom,” I said urgently. “I have a speech to write.”
And I did, too. Suddenly, I had a lot to say about the responsibilities of adulthood.
By the next Friday of the great television ban, our suffering clients didn’t seem to be suffering any longer. In fact, when Stacey arrived at the Arnolds’ just after dinner carrying a Kid-Kit in case they were sitting mutinously in front of the blank television, she found them waiting, packs on their backs.
Mrs. Arnold said, “They have big plans for the evening, Stacey, I warn you. But I’ll let them tell you. I’ll see you after the show.”
Their mother had barely gotten out the door before the twins hurled themselves at Stacey.
“What show?” asked Stacey.
“It’s time to go,” said Carolyn.
“I’m the theme song,” said Marilyn. “They can’t start without me.”
“What?” said Stacey. “Slow down. What are you talking about?”
“Our show. Boo Hoo, Cassandra Clue!” explained Marilyn. With Marilyn holding onto one arm and Carolyn holding onto the other, Stacey found herself being dragged out the door.
“I thought it was called Cassandra Clue’s Casebook,” Stacey began.
Carolyn interrupted her. “No, no, no. That’s television,” she told Stacey scornfully. “This is our show. In the Pikes’ backyard.”
Stacey and the twins arrived in the Pikes’ yard to find a swarm of kids. A curtain made of old sheets was strung across the clothesline that was extended from the side of the garage. A haphazard collection of chairs, picnic table benches, and cushions was being set up on the grass by Margo, Nicky, and Claire. Kristy, who had an official Papadakis sitting job that evening, waved and came over with Sari on her hip and Andrew next to her. Mr. and Mrs. Pike had already claimed a picnic bench in the front row. Mr. Hobart walked through the gate, closing it behind him, and wandered over to claim an Adirondack chair next to the Pikes. Kids darted back and forth from behind the garage to the curtain.
Then Vanessa came out onto the stage. “Who knows what weirdness lurks in the hearts and minds of people and jerks,” she chanted.
The tones of a Casio keyboard could be heard, punctuated by what sounded like the metal tops of saucepans clanging together. Kristy pointed, and Stacey realized that it was Marilyn, playing the opening theme. It sounded very good, but familiar. “The beginning of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony,” explained Mallory, sliding in beside Kristy and Stacey. “That’s what Marilyn told the triplets. That’s their keyboard. Linny is playing the, ah, cymbals.”
“Saucepan lids?” guessed Kristy.
Mallory nodded, grinning.
“I’m impressed,” remarked Stacey. “How long has this been going on?”
“Ever since television got banned,” answered Kristy. “All the kids have been in on it.” She gave Stacey a reproachful look. “Haven’t you been reading the club notebook? We’ve been writing about it.”
“Shh,” said Stacey, ducking the question. “They’re about to begin.”
Marilyn played some crashing chords on the keyboard, Vanessa bowed her way offstage, and the curtain swayed back.
Boo Hoo, Cassandra Clue had begun.
The curtain opened upon a terrible scene. Railroad tracks made out of scraps of lumber had been laid across the stage. Karen, who was Cassandra Clue, was tied across one of the tracks. The triplets, all wearing big moustaches and hats, strode out rubbing their hands.
“Ha,” barked Adam. “Now you will never interfere with us again.”
Byron made an elaborate show of picking up a dime off the track. “Completely flat,” he announced, holding it up. “Not even enough left to make change. That’s what the train is going to do to you, Clue.”
“You’ll never get away with this!” proclaimed Karen, struggling very convincingly against her bonds — so realistically that one hand popped free. Quickly she stuffed it back into place.
“HHHaaaahahahahaha,” shouted Jordan, rubbing his hands together fiendishly.
“Did I miss anything?” gasped Claudia, sliding in next to Stacey.
“Nope,” said Stacey. “You are just in the nick of time. I think the train is about to run over Cassandra Clue.”
Offstage, Haley Braddock and Vanessa crooned, “Whooo, whoooo!”
“There’s the train,” snarled Jordan. “Good-bye forever, Clue.”
The triplets dashed off.
“What will I do?” cried Cassandra. “Oh, where is Marvella?”
A chorus of voices offstage were chanting, “Choo, choo, choo, choo,” punctuated by the Haley-Vanessa duo singing, “Whoooo, whoo!” Faster and faster the sounds came.
Suddenly a cardboard train appeared at the far side of the stage, with Matt, Carolyn, and Nicky holding it up. They began to hop down the tracks toward Cassandra.
“Noooo!” screamed Cassandra.
The train kept coming. The train sounds got louder and faster.
Suddenly, Margo, wearing pointed ears and a fuzzy tail, ran out toward Karen.
“It’s Wonderwolf,” cried Cassandra. “Quick, Wonderwolf! Bite through these ropes.”
Wonderwolf cocked her head.
“The ropes,” shouted Claire, from offstage.
“The ropes,” said Cassandra quickly.
Wonderwolf knelt down beside the tracks. The train came closer. Closer.
Hannie ran up behind the train and saw what was happening. She clapped her hands to her face.
“Marvella!” cried Cassandra. “Help!”
The curtain swung shut just as Cassandra gave a horrifying scream.
“Will Wonderwolf save Cassandra in time? Or will she be flattened like a dime?” intoned Vanessa, strolling out onto the stage. “Stay tuned next week, same time, same place, for Boo Hoo, Cassandra Clue.”
Marilyn played some more Beethoven, accompanied by the crashing of cymbals.
The audience rose as one and gave the players a standing ovation.
“Wow,” said Claudia. “That was excellent. Much better than television!”
Stacey said thoughtfully, “I don’t think I’ve ever truly appreciated live theater, even when I was living in New York and going to Broadway shows, until now.”
The cast came out and took several bows, applauding themselves and each other.
Then Mr. Pike announced, “We have lemonade and snacks ready for the cast and audience inside if someone will volunteer to help se
t up.”
Naturally, there were plenty of volunteers. In no time at all, crew, cast, and audience were eating and drinking, and the cast and crew were arguing about the script for the next show.
Mal said, “I’m very much afraid that the train really wants to run over Cassandra.”
Kristy laughed. “Don’t worry. Karen will never let it happen.”
“What happened to the diamonds?” asked Claudia, referring to the plot from last week.
“Stay tuned,” said Mallory.
“Awesome,” said Claudia. “Four stars and two thumbs up.”
Mr. Braddock, who was pouring himself some lemonade, overheard Claudia’s glowing review and laughed. “You know what’s awesome?” he said. “We’ve let the kids start watching television again, albeit on a more limited basis. But I don’t think they’ve even gone back to watching the real Cassandra Clue show. I think they like this better.”
“What do you know?” remarked Kristy. “There is life after television.”
By Friday afternoon, half of Long Island had arrived in Stoneybrook.
Okay, I’m exaggerating. A little.
My father’s father and mother, Grandfather David and Grandmother Ruth, and my mother’s father and mother, Grandpa Morris and Gram (never Grandma!) Elsie were going to stay with us. The rest of our relatives were going to stay (to my relief) at the Strathmoore Inn. In fact, so many Stevensons, related by blood or marriage, had arrived that they had basically taken over the inn. That included my father’s younger sister, Judith, who brought her children, five-year-old Sarah and four-year-old Lillian, and her husband, our uncle Saul; Aunt Esther and Uncle Mort, who are really our paternal great-aunt and -uncle, and who had come with their son Micah and his three kids, Aaron, Bette, and Jonathan, ages six, four, and two (his second wife, Janet, their mother, is a doctor, and was on call that weekend, and his teenage son Eli, who at seventeen-and-a-half was bored with Bat Mitzvahs and Bar Mitzvahs and all the rest, was visiting his mother in Baltimore); and my mother’s first cousin, Jean, who had just gotten divorced. Cousin Jean had brought her two little kids, too: Amy and Sheila.
Abby's Lucky Thirteen Page 6
