Double Date

by R. L. Stine

  Bobby laughed. “She’s just jealous.” He shook his head. “Sorry, Kimmy,” he said in a low voice. “I wish I could give you a break. But I just don’t have time for all the bow-wows in this school!”

  Arnie laughed and slapped Bobby on the back. Paul started to say something. But he stopped when loud applause and cheers rose up from the auditorium.

  The gymnastics display had ended. Kids were pulling away the floor mats. Mrs. McCuller, the show director, was shouting for everyone to get quiet so the band could come on.

  “Here we go, guys,” Bobby said, adjusting his shirt collar as he headed onto the stage.

  “Here come the Desperadoes!” Arnie exclaimed.

  They were greeted by a mix of cheers and hoots as they stepped onto the brightly lit stage. Bobby turned to gaze out at the audience. But the auditorium was too dark to make out any faces beyond the first two rows.

  Their instruments had been placed at the back of the stage. Bobby picked up his white Fender Strat and slipped the strap over his shoulder. He saw that Arnie had a nervous frown on his face as he climbed behind his drums.

  Paul rolled his keyboard centerstage. Bobby bent to turn on his amp. It let out a low buzz. He turned it up nearly as high as it would go. It might drown out Paul a little, he thought, but so what?

  He stepped in front of Paul. “Hey, move aside, man. You’re blocking me!” Paul protested.

  Bobby pretended not to hear him. He turned back to Arnie. “Ready?”

  Arnie raised the drumsticks in one hand. “Let’s do it.”

  Bobby pulled a pick out of his pocket. He strummed the pick over the strings.

  A hard jolt—like a punch in the stomach—sent him sprawling backward.

  Stunned, he heard a loud crackle.

  The crackle became a roar.

  His arms flailed helplessly above his head as his body jolted again. Again.

  I can’t breathe! he thought just before he dropped into a shimmering pool of deep, endlessly deep blackness.

  chapter 17

  Death

  Bobby blinked his eyes. Gray faces floated in the misty light above him.

  Gray faces, open-mouthed, eyes wide with worry.

  He blinked again. The faces didn’t go away.

  This is death, he thought. Floating gray faces. I’m dead.

  “He opened his eyes,” someone said.

  “He’s breathing okay.” Another voice.

  The mist swirled above him. The faces shifted and moved.

  “Don’t try to sit up,” someone said.

  “No. Make him sit up,” another voice argued.

  Bobby began to recognize faces. Mrs. McCuller, her features strained. Arnie, a strange, frightened smile on his lips. Melanie, staring down at him blankly. Kimmy, her face just as expressionless as Melanie’s.

  “Am I dead?” Bobby’s voice came out a choked whisper.

  Someone laughed.

  “You’ll be okay,” Mrs. McCuller whispered. “You had a bad shock. We’ve sent for an ambulance. Do you think you can sit up?”

  “But am I dead?” Bobby repeated. The faces floated in and out of the mist. He had to get an answer to that question. He had to!

  “You’re going to be fine,” Mrs. McCuller assured him.

  “Hey—check this out!” Bobby heard Paul’s voice from somewhere in the distance.

  The faces turned in the direction of the voice.

  “The amp lead wire—it’s been cut!” Bobby heard Paul exclaim.

  Bobby sat straight up. Paul’s words brought him back to life. The mist vanished. The faces floated back.

  “What did you say?” Bobby asked, squinting across the dimly lit auditorium stage.

  He saw Paul near the back, holding the amp wire in one hand, examining it closely. “The lead wire is totally frayed,” Paul announced. “Looks like somebody cut it.”

  “No wonder you got shocked, man!” Arnie cried excitedly.

  Why is he grinning like that? Bobby asked himself. Is he just stressed out because I got zapped?

  Melanie and Kimmy stared down at him, their eyes narrowed, their lips in tight lines.

  Bobby suddenly pictured the slashed tires in the mall parking lot He stared across the stage at the frayed cord still in Paul’s hand.

  What’s going on here? he asked himself, staring from face to face.

  Is someone trying to kill me?

  “Do you think it could have been Bree?”

  Bobby pulled off his sneakers, cradling the cordless phone between his chin and shoulder. He listened to Samantha’s gasp of surprise at the other end of the line. Kicking his sneakers across the room, he settled onto his bed, gazing up at the ceiling as he talked into the phone.

  “Someone messed up the wire,” he told Samantha. “Someone really wanted to zap me.”

  “Don’t you think it could’ve been an accident?” Samantha suggested.

  “The cord was cut,” Bobby told her, lowering his voice as his mother walked past his room. “It was a brand-new cord. It couldn’t fray overnight like that.”

  “Wow,” he heard Samantha murmur.

  “So do you think it could have been Bree?” he asked her again. “I mean, do you think she could have found out about you and me?”

  “I—I don’t think so,” Samantha stammered. “I mean, I think she suspects something. But I really don’t think …” Her voice trailed off.

  “Well, if she did find out I was seeing you,” Bobby demanded, staring up at the ceiling, “she wouldn’t do anything really—berserk, would she?”

  “I warned you about my sister,” Samantha replied softly. “She—she really could do anything!”

  Bobby started to reply, but a sound at his door made him stop and turn around.

  “Bree!”

  She was standing just inside his room, eyeing him intently.

  Bobby’s breath caught in his throat.

  How much had she heard?

  chapter 18

  Not Samantha!

  Bree took a few steps into the room, her eyes locked on his.

  “Talk to you later,” Bobby said into the phone. He turned it off and dropped it beside him on the bed. Then he swung his feet around and sat up. “Bree—hi! How’d you get in?”

  “Your mom let me in,” she replied. “Who were you talking to, Bobby?”

  “Just Arnie,” he lied. He studied her face, trying to read her expression, trying to figure out how much of his conversation she had overheard.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  He nodded. “Yeah. I’m okay. Still a little shook up, I guess.”

  “Oh, I was so worried!” Bree cried with sudden passion. She dropped down beside him on the edge of the bed and grabbed his hands. “I was so worried, Bobby. So worried. When I saw you collapse on the stage—I thought—I thought …”

  “I’m okay. Really,” Bobby insisted.

  Was Bree being sincere? Or was she putting on an act?

  She threw her arms around his neck and started to kiss him. “Oh, Bobby,” she whispered. “You mean so much to me. So much to me …”

  Bobby leaned over the bright yellow counter and sipped his Coke through a straw. Arnie, on the stool next to him, slapped him hard on the back, nearly making him spill the glass.

  “Good guitar solo, man!” Arnie joked. “It was a little too short though.”

  Bobby glared at his friend. “Not funny.”

  “Hey—short!” Arnie cried. “Short! Get it? I made a pun and I didn’t even know it!”

  “You’re not funny, man,” Bobby insisted moodily, swinging his weight around on the round stool. “Give it up. I could have been killed, you know?”

  Arnie spun around to face Bobby. “I doubt it, man. Not enough power in that amp to kill you. Come on, what happened to your sense of humor, Bobby?”

  They were sitting side by side at the counter at The Comer, a popular hangout for Shadyside High students. It was a summer-hot Monday afternoon. The booths were
jammed with laughing, shouting kids. Bobby and Arnie were the only ones at the counter.

  “I’m through with the band,” Bobby muttered, avoiding Arnie’s eyes.

  “Hey, no way!” Arnie cried. “You’ll get a new guitar and—”

  “You don’t get it!” Bobby snapped, scowling at his friend. “I think someone tried to electrocute me, no matter what you say. Someone is out to get me, man. First my tires. Then my guitar. I’ve got to be real careful!”

  Strong hands grabbed his shoulders from behind.

  Bobby screamed.

  He heard loud laughter. He spun around to face David Metcalf, a big ox from the Shadyside wrestling team, grinning down at him. “Hey, Bobby, I love your band!” David declared. “You guys know any other numbers?” He let out a high-pitched laugh and squeezed Bobby’s shoulders again.

  Bobby glared angrily at him. “How come it’s so funny that I almost got fried? What’s the funny part?”

  David didn’t answer the question. “What do you guys do for an encore? Blow up the school?” Laughing, and shaking his head, David hurried to catch up with his pal Cory Brooks at a booth near the back. “Glad you’re okay, man!” he called back to Bobby.

  “Funny guy,” Bobby murmured sarcastically.

  “You can’t quit the band,” Arnie insisted. “Hey—there’s Melanie. Tell her to sit here, okay? I forgot to call home. Be right back.”

  Arnie waved to Melanie, then hurried to the phone booth at the back of the restaurant. Melanie made her way down the long counter. She let her backpack slide off her shoulder to the floor, and lowered herself on the empty stool next to Bobby. “You okay?”

  “Yeah. Fine,” Bobby replied curtly.

  “Maybe someone is trying to tell you something,” she said smugly.

  He glared at her, then took a long sip of Coke. “Like what?”

  “Like stop dating both Wade twins at once?”

  The waitress mopped the countertop in front of Melanie. Melanie asked for fries and a Sprite.

  Bobby rolled his eyes. “Like to repeat yourself much?” he asked her sarcastically.

  She frowned at him, leaning forward on the yellow counter. The door opened behind them, letting in a blast of warm air. “Look,” she said softly, “I’ve known the Wade twins since elementary school.”

  “Thought they just moved here,” Bobby interrupted. He made slurping sounds with the straw, tossed the straw on the counter, and tilted the glass to his mouth to chew the ice.

  “They did,” Melanie continued. “But our parents have been friends forever. Our moms went to college together.”

  “Why are you constantly on my case?” Bobby demanded. “What business is it of yours?”

  “I remember what it was like to be hurt by you,” Melanie replied, lowering her eyes. “I just don’t want to see them hurt.”

  “They’re big girls,” Bobby told her. “They can handle it.”

  “Bobby, you don’t know what you’re saying,” Melanie said heatedly, glancing around the crowded restaurant. “Look. Your tires have been cut, your guitar was tampered with—”

  Bobby grabbed her wrist. “What do you know about that, Melanie?” he demanded. “What did you have to do with it?”

  “Huh? Me?” She jerked her arm free. “Me? I don’t know anything about it. I’m just trying to be a friend.”

  “A friend?” Bobby’s expression softened. “Oh. I get it. You want me back. Is that it, babes?” He shook his head, laughing to himself. “Is that what all these warnings are about? You want Bobby the Man back, huh? I should’ve guessed!”

  He leaned toward her and nuzzled her neck with his nose. “Maybe you and I should go talk about this, Mel. Somewhere private.”

  Melanie let out a groan of disgust. “You really are a pig, aren’t you,” she murmured, pulling away from him. “Well, Bobby, I know it’s hard to believe, but I don’t want you back. No way.”

  Bobby jumped to his feet and tossed a dollar onto the counter. “I wasn’t serious about getting back with you. I was just trying to make you feel good. Tell Arnie I said bye.”

  He turned and strode out of the restaurant without looking back.

  After dinner Bobby drove to Fear Street. Samantha met him a few blocks from her house. She climbed in beside him and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “I thought we’d just cruise around,” he replied. “Your mom didn’t mind you going out on a school night?”

  “She wasn’t home,” Samantha replied, settling low in the seat, resting her knees on the dashboard over the glove compartment. She was wearing a silky blue tank top over white tennis shorts. “Bree wasn’t home either. I think she and Mom went somewhere.”

  Bobby guided the car off Fear Street and onto Old Mill Road. “I didn’t have much homework,” he explained, his eyes on the road. “And I didn’t feel like sitting home. I’ve been kind of restless lately. Stressed out.”

  “Poor baby,” Samantha murmured.

  “I figured you were probably bored too,” Bobby said.

  “You figured right,” she replied, smiling at him.

  Bobby turned up the air conditioner. Even though the sun had gone down, the air was still hot and damp. There was no breeze at all. The trees they passed were still as death.

  “You’re very quiet tonight,” he told her as the trees ended and flat fields, one after the other, rolled past the windows.

  Samantha sighed. “Just thinking.”

  “Thinking about me, I hope,” Bobby teased. Then he added, “I’ve been thinking too, Samantha. About your sister.”

  Samantha’s eyes grew wider. She turned to him. “About Bree? What about her?”

  “Did she say anything to you about my guitar? About what happened at the spring show?”

  Samantha bit her lower lip thoughtfully. “No. Not a word, Bobby. But she never talks about you to me. Bree and I haven’t been talking as much as we used to. I—I guess you know why.” Samantha turned her face to the window.

  “Well, do you think Bree might be the one who—”

  Samantha placed her hand over Bobby’s to stop him. “Let’s not talk about Bree tonight, okay? I really don’t want to talk about her.”

  Bobby glanced at her. “Okay. No problem,” he said.

  Samantha is acting very strange tonight, he thought. It’s not like her to be so quiet, so moody.

  “I just want to ride and ride and ride!” Samantha declared, shutting her eyes and resting her head against the seat. She scratched her arm.

  And as she scratched, the slender strap of the tank top dropped, revealing her left shoulder.

  Bobby turned his eyes from the windshield, glanced at her shoulder—and gasped.

  No butterfly tattoo.

  No tattoo!

  Her shoulder was smooth and unmarked.

  She quickly pulled the strap back into place.

  But too late.

  Too late.

  Bobby had already seen the smooth, bare shoulder.

  He realized to his horror, This is not Samantha!

  chapter 19

  Something Smells Bad

  Bobby’s heart pounded. He struggled to concentrate on his driving and keep the car in the lane.

  He watched her reach out to turn on the radio. It came on with a loud blast. She laughed and turned down the volume.

  “Where’s your tattoo?” Bobby asked.

  “What?” His question, he realized, had been drowned out by the loud music.

  “What station is this? Q-One hundred?” she demanded. He could barely hear her over the music, a reggae-rap song. “Have you seen the video for this song? It’s so weird!”

  “Your tattoo,” he repeated. “Samantha, you—”

  “What?” She couldn’t hear him.

  Was it Bree or Samantha? Bree or Samantha?

  Samantha had the butterfly tattoo. So this girl had to be Bree.

  Bree had taken Samantha’s place. Bree was
pretending to be Samantha.

  That meant that Bree knew. Bree knew about Bobby and Samantha.

  A dozen questions jammed Bobby’s head at once: Did Samantha know that Bree knew? Did Samantha know that Bree was taking her place tonight? What did Bree plan to do? Why was Bree doing this?

  He accidentally swerved the car onto the soft shoulder and bumped along the tall grass. Trying to shake all the questions from his head, he guided the car back onto the road.

  I’ve got to find out some answers, he decided. He slowed the car, pulled it onto the grassy shoulder, and stopped. Then he clicked off the radio.

  She smiled at him, a devilish smile. “Bobby, parking so early? What do you have in mind?”

  She started to lean toward him, shutting her eyes and raising her face to kiss him.

  “You’re Bree, aren’t you,” he said.

  Her eyes opened wide. She pulled her head back. “Huh?”

  “You’re Bree, aren’t you?” Bobby repeated, staring intently at her.

  She laughed. “Bobby, are you still in shock or something? Can’t you tell us apart after all this time?”

  “Yeah, I can,” Bobby told her. “And I know that—”

  “Are you totally losing it?” she demanded shrilly. “I told you Bree wasn’t home. You know Bree doesn’t know about us.” She let out an angry sigh. “I don’t believe you, Bobby. I am really hurt. How can you think I’m my sister? I mean, is that all I mean to you—just one of the Wade twins? It doesn’t matter which one?”

  She had tears in her eyes. He could see she was about to explode.

  “But what about the tattoo?” he blurted out.

  Her face twisted in surprise. “Tattoo? What tattoo? Bobby—I’m really worried about you. That shock—I think it did something to your brain.”

  “The tattoo on your shoulder,” Bobby insisted.

  “You want me to get a tattoo on my shoulder?” Samantha asked, bewildered. She touched her shoulder. “My parents would kill me! Why do you want me to get a tattoo?”

  Bobby stared at her, confused thoughts spinning through his head. “But, Samantha—”

  “Are you sure I’m not Bree?” she snapped angrily.

  Oh, wow, Bobby thought. I’m in major trouble now. She’s getting really steamed. How do I get out of this?