The New Girl (Fear Street)
Page 2
“Later,” Cory muttered disgustedly. He tossed his wet towel over David’s head and angrily shoved his way out through the locker room door. He’d just had the worst practice of the year, maybe of his life. And he knew why.
It was the new girl.
Cory had been looking for her for three days. He hadn’t seen her since that brief moment in the hall before fifth period on Monday. But he hadn’t been able to get her out of his mind ever since. She was just so beautiful!
He had even dreamed about her that first night.
In the dream he was eating lunch in school. She seemed to float across the lunchroom. She came up to his table, her blue eyes shimmering like the ocean in sunlight. She leaned down and her hair fell over his face, soft and fragrant.
She started to kiss his face, his cheek, his forehead, his other cheek, soft kisses, so soft he couldn’t feel them.
He wanted to feel her kisses. He tried to feel them. But he couldn’t feel a thing.
He reached up to touch her face. His hand seemed to go right through her.
And he woke up.
The dream stayed with him. It should have been a nice dream, an exciting dream. But it wasn’t. There was something eerily cold about the dream. Why couldn’t he feel her kisses or touch her face?
For the next three days he had looked for her in the lunchroom and in the halls between classes. He had even waited by the front doors after school, hoping to get a glimpse of her. But she had never appeared. And none of the guys Cory had asked knew who she was or even remembered seeing her.
Now, as he trudged through the empty corridor, he tried to think about why his timing had been so off during gymnastics practice, but her face kept floating into his mind. And once again he imagined her floating across the hall.
“Are you real?” Cory asked aloud, his voice echoing off the tile walls.
“Yeah, I’m real. But what are you?” a girl’s voice replied, nearly startling him out of his Converse.
“Huh?” He spun around to find Lisa behind him, a questioning look on her face.
“Talking to yourself these days?”
He could feel his face reddening. “What are you doing here? It’s after five o’clock.”
“It’s my school, too, you know. I can stay as long as I like. You jocks think you own the place.”
He shrugged. He wasn’t in the mood to joke around with her.
“I was working on the Spectator. We were pasting it up today.” Lisa was assistant editor of the Shadyside High School paper. “I suppose you were doing flip- flops in the gym?”
“It’s not flip-flops,” he said grumpily. “We have a match against Mattewan Friday night.”
“Good luck,” she said, punching his shoulder. They’re pretty good, right?”
“They’re not that good.”
They walked down the hall, their footsteps echoing loudly. At their lockers they stopped to pull out jackets and backpacks.
“You going home?” Lisa asked. “Want company?”
“Sure,” he said, although he really didn’t.
They walked out the back doorway and stepped down into the teachers’ parking lot. Beyond the parking lot stood the football stadium, a concrete oval with long wooden bleachers on two sides. And behind the stadium stood Shadyside Park, a wide, grassy park dotted with ancient oaks and sycamores and sassafras trees, sloping gradually down to the banks of the Conononka River, actually a narrow, meandering stream.
The nearness of the park made it an afternoon hangout for just about everyone who didn’t have an after-school job. It was great for meeting friends, relaxing, enjoying after-school picnics or impromptu parties, studying, making out, playing endless games of Frisbee, taking an afternoon siesta, or just staring at squirrels or the slow-flowing river.
But not tonight. The wind was cold and gusty, and it swirled tangles of brown leaves in fast circles over the parking lot. Zipping their down jackets against the unexpected cold, Cory and Lisa looked up to a sky that was heavy and dark, a November sky, a snow sky.
“Let’s go the front way,” he said. They headed around toward the front of the school. She leaned against him as they walked. He figured she was trying to keep warm.
“Guess it’s really winter,” she said.
They turned up Park Drive and headed toward North Hills, a walk they had made together thousands of times. Tonight seemed different to him somehow. He guessed he was just in a bad mood.
They were silent for a long time, leaning up the hill, the gusting wind first behind them, then blowing hard in their faces. Then they both spoke at once.
He: “Have you seen a girl with blond hair and—”
She: “Are you doing anything this weekend? Saturday night?”
They both stopped talking at the same time, then started again at the same time.
She shoved him. “You go first.”
He shoved her back, but not as hard. “No. You.”
A car horn honked at them. Probably someone from school. A dark blue Honda Accord sped by. It was too dark to see who was inside.
“I asked if you were doing anything Saturday night,” she said, leaning against him again.
“No. I don’t think so.”
“I’m not either,” she told him. Her voice sounded funny, a little tense. He decided it was just because of the wind.
“Have you seen a girl with blond hair and big blue eyes?” he asked.
“What?”
“A very pretty girl, but strange-looking. Kinda old-fashioned. Very pale.”
She let go of his arm. He didn’t see the disappointed look on her face. “You mean Anna?” she asked.
He stopped walking and turned to face her, his expression suddenly excited. The streetlights flickered on. It looked as if he were lighting up because of her answer. “Anna? Is that her name? You know her?”
“She’s a new girl. Very pale. Blond. Has her hair just brushed straight back with a barrette in front? Wears dresses all the time?”
“Yeah. That’s her. Anna. What’s her last name?”
“I don’t know,” Lisa snapped, then regretted revealing how annoyed she was. “Corwin, I think. Anna Corwin. She’s in my third-period physics class.”
“Wow,” he said, still not moving, the trees casting shadows across his face as they bent in the wind. “You know her. What’s she like?”
“No, Cory, I don’t know her. I told you. She’s a new girl. I don’t know her at all. She never says a word in class. Sits in the back row, as pale as a ghost. She’s absent a lot. Why are you so hot to know her?”
“What else do you know?” Cory asked, ignoring her question. “Come on.”
“That’s it,” Lisa said impatiently. She started walking on ahead of him, taking long strides.
He ran to catch up. “I thought I made her up,” he said.
“No. She’s real,” Lisa replied. “She doesn’t look real. But she’s real. You in love with her or something? Oh. I know. David and you made a bet to see which one could get a date with her first.” She shoved him again, nearly knocking him off the sidewalk. “I’m right, aren’t I? You two always pick on the new girls.”
Again he didn’t seem to hear her. “Don’t you know anything else about her? Whose homeroom is she in? Where does she live?”
“Oh. Yeah. I did hear that. She transferred here from Melrose. Her family moved into a house on Fear Street.”
“Fear Street?” Cory stopped short, suddenly chilled.
Fear Street, a narrow street that wound past the town cemetery and through the thick woods on the south edge of town, had a special meaning for everyone in Shadyside. The street was cursed, people said.
The blackened shell of a burned-out mansion—Simon Fear’s old mansion—stood high on the first block of Fear Street, overlooking the cemetery, casting eerie shadows that stretched to the dark, tangled woods. Terrifying howls, half-human, half-animal, hideous cries of pain, were said to float out from the mansion late at night.
When Cory and Lisa were kids, their friends liked to dare one another to go for a walk on Fear Street at night. It was a challenge few kids were willing to accept. And those who did never stayed on Fear Street for long! Now, even though Cory was older, the words Fear Street still brought a chill.
“I think Anna belongs on Fear Street,” Lisa said, giving Cory her half smile. “She could haunt one of those old houses as good as any ghost.”
“I think she’s the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen,” he said, as if he felt he had to defend her against all attacks.
“So do you have a bet with David or what?” she asked.
“No,” he snapped, lost in thought.
They reached their houses, dark shingled ranch houses, almost identical, set back far from the street behind tall hedges of evergreens, on wide manicured lawns, as were most of the houses in North Hills, the nicest section of town.
“About Saturday night—” she tried again.
“Yeah. Right. See you tomorrow,” he said, and began jogging up the long, paved drive to his house.
Anna. Anna Corwin. The name repeated in his mind. What a nice, old-fashioned name.
“That’s right, Operator. The family’s name is Corwin. It’s a new number. On Fear Street.”
“I’m looking for it, sir,” the Information operator said. There was a long silence.
Why am I so nervous just calling Information? Cory asked himself.
He had thought about Anna all through dinner. Now, up in his room, he had decided to get her phone number. I know I’m going to be too nervous to call her, he thought. I just want to get the number. In case I want to call her someday.
There was a long silence. He sat leaning over the desk in his room, pencil poised over the yellow pad he kept near the phone.
“Yes, here’s the number. It’s a new listing.” The operator read him the number, and he scribbled it down.
“And what’s the address on Fear Street, Operator?”
“We’re not supposed to give that out, sir.”
“Come on. I promise I won’t tell anybody.” Cory laughed.
Surprisingly, the operator laughed too. “I guess it’s okay. It’s my last night, anyway. It’s Four Forty-four Fear Street.”
“Thanks a lot, Operator. You’re a nice person.”
“You’re nice too,” she said, and quickly clicked off.
Cory stood over his desk and stared at Anna’s phone number on the yellow pad. Should he call it?
If he called her, what would he say?
Call her, Cory. Go ahead. Don’t be such a chicken. She’s only a girl, after all. Sure, she’s the most beautiful girl you’ve ever seen. But she’s only a girl.
He picked up the receiver. His hand was cold and clammy even though it was quite hot in his room. He stared at the number on the yellow pad until it blurred before his eyes.
No. I can’t call her. What would I say? I’d just stammer around and sound like a jerk. She already thinks I’m a jerk after seeing me standing on my head in the lunchroom.
He put down the phone receiver.
No. I can’t. I just can’t.
Sure. Why not?
He picked up the receiver.
This is stupid. I’m going to make an idiot of myself.
He punched her phone number.
Put the phone down, Cory. Don’t be a jerk.
It rang once. Twice.
Maybe she won’t even remember who I am.
It rang again. Again.
Nobody home, I guess. Whew!
He let it ring four more times. He was just about to hang up when he heard a click at the other end, and a young man’s-voice answered, “Yeah?”
“Oh. Hello.” For some reason he wasn’t expecting anyone but Anna to answer. His mouth was suddenly so dry, he wondered if he could speak.
“Yeah?”
“Is Anna there?”
“What?”
Who was this guy? Why did he sound so annoyed? Maybe Cory had woken him up.
“I’m sorry. Is this the Corwin house?” Cory asked.
“Yeah, it is,” the young man rasped in his ear.
“Could I speak to Anna please?”
There was a very long silence.
“Sorry. This is the Convins. But there’s no Anna here.”
The phone clicked off.
chapter 3
When Cory arrived at school the next morning, Anna Corwin was the first person he saw.
It was raining hard, a freezing rain driven by gusty winds. He ran into the building through the side door, his letter jacket pulled up over his head. His wet sneakers slid across the floor, and he nearly collided with her.
“Oh.” He grabbed the wall and stopped. He pulled down his jacket and stared at her. Her locker was the first one next to the door. She was pulling books off the top shelf and didn’t seem to notice that he had nearly run into her.
She wore a white sweater over a gray skirt. Her hair was tied back behind her head with a white ribbon.
She’s so pale, he thought. It’s like I can almost see through her skin.
Suddenly the young man’s raspy voice on the phone came back to him. This is the Convins. But there’s no Anna here.
Well, here she was.
What was that guy trying to prove? Why had he lied to Cory?
Maybe it was a jealous boyfriend, Cory thought. Or maybe Cory had dialed the wrong number, and the guy was just pulling a mean joke
“Hi,” he said, swinging his backpack down off his shoulder. A stream of water poured from it, onto his already soaked sneakers.
She turned, surprised that someone was talking to her. Her eyes, those amazing eyes, looked into his, then quickly looked down. “Hello,” she said. Then she cleared her throat nervously.
“You’re new,” he said.
Brilliant line. Cory. Wow, that’s a real winner. You say two words to her and she already knows what a dork you are!
“Yes.” she said. She cleared her throat again. Her voice was little more than a whisper. But she seemed pleased that he was talking to her.
“Your name is Anna, right? I’m Cory Brooks.”
That’s a little better, Cory. Just calm down, man. You’re doing okay.
He reached out to shake hands. He had to touch her, to know for sure that she was real. But his hand was dripping wet. They both stared at it. He quickly brought it back to his side.
“Nice to meet you,” she said, turning back to search for something in her locker.
“You moved onto Fear Street, right?” It was almost time for the bell to ring, but he didn’t want to leave her. It had taken so long to find her.
She cleared her throat. “Yes.”
“You must be pretty brave. Have you heard all the scary stories about Fear Street? About the ghosts and things—”
“Ghosts?” Her eyes grew wide and her face filled with such sudden fright, he was immediately sorry he had said that. She seemed to grow even more pale. “What kind of stories?”
“Just stories,” he said quickly. “Not all of them are true, I don’t think.”
Nice going, Cory. Was that the only thing you could think of to say? How feeble can you get?
“Oh,” she said softly. The fear didn’t leave her eyes.
She’s so pretty, he thought. Everything about her is so soft, so light.
His dream about her came back to him. It made him feel a little embarrassed.
“Hey, Cory—lookin’ good!” some guy called to him.
He turned to see who it was. It was just Arnie, giving him the
okay sign from down the hall.
“Later, Arnie!” he called. He watched Arnie go into the wood shop, then turned back to Anna.
“I—uh—I called your house last night. I—I just wanted to say hi. Uh … a guy answered and said you didn’t live there. Did I have the wrong phone number, or—”
“No,” she whispered, closing her locker and locking it.
Then she turned without looking back at him and ran down the hall, disappearing into the crowd of kids heading to homeroom.
“Good mat routine,” Coach Welner said, giving Cory a hearty slap on the back. Cory, still breathing hard, grinned back at the coach. He knew he had done a good routine, but it was always nice to hear it from the coach. Mr. Welner, a stern, powerful-looking man with a body builder’s physique even though he was in his late fifties, was sparing with his compliments. So when he said something nice, it meant something.
Behind them the match against Mattewan, the first match of the season, continued. Cory looked to the bench for David, wondering if his friend had witnessed his near-perfect routine. Then he remembered that David had sprained his ankle at the last practice. David was somewhere up in the bleachers feeling sorry for himself and being miserable.
“Now, don’t press too hard on the rings,” Coach Welner warned. “You’ve been pushing yourself, trying to go too fast up there, and it’s been throwing you off your rhythm.”
“Yeah,” Cory said, still trying to catch his breath.
“You feel nervous?” the coach asked, staring at Cory as if trying to see the nervousness in his eyes.
“No. Not really. Just excited.”
“Good. That’s what we want.” Mr. Welner seemed very pleased. “Just remember—don’t push it. Easy does it.” He turned away from Cory and let out a loud groan. “Get up, Tobin. You can rest later!”
Arnie had just done the backflip to finish his mat routine and had landed flat on his backside. The twenty or thirty spectators in the bleachers were laughing their heads off. Arnie’s face turned bright scarlet as he pulled himself up and slumped off the mat.
Coach Welner closed his eyes and shook his head disgustedly. Arnie’s slip wasn’t going to help the Shadyside team score. And the floor routine was the best part of Arnie’s program. He was a complete klutz on the rings, and his parallel bar work was uneven to say the least.