Don't Scream (9780307823526)

by Nixon, Joan Lowery

Mrs. Emery sat on the edge of her desk and smiled. “Why wait? I’d like to hear what you and Mark have in mind, Jessica. It might be a project the entire class can do together. Why don’t you or Mark stand up and tell us about it?”

  Reluctantly I slid out of my chair and faced the group. I knew my face was burning. I wanted to hold my hands to my cheeks, hiding behind them, but I said, “Last week, when we visited the children’s ward, it was obvious that the staff is so small that the kids badly needed more attention—people to play with them or to read to them. A little boy named Ricky stays mostly in his crib because no one has the time to teach him to walk. The head nurse said that his mother had to work two jobs and wasn’t able to visit him often. And I—”

  Suddenly Mark was beside me, his hand pressing my shoulder. “Jess and I talked about setting up a regular volunteer program,” he said. “High-school kids could help out every afternoon after class and even on weekends. People could sign up for whatever times they had open.”

  Mark went on to describe how great it would feel to read to a kid who might never have heard a story or to teach a child to catch a ball. The pressure of his hand increased, and I found myself sinking into my chair.

  A finger poked the middle of my back, and I turned to see Lori stretching toward me. “Did you talk to your parents already?” she whispered.

  I shook my head, and her eyes widened in surprise. “Then why …?”

  Shrugging, I turned back to face Mrs. Emery, who gleamed as though someone had turned on her power switch.

  “This is a good idea, and it’s completely workable,” she said. “It gives a teacher hope that all those days spent in the classroom with kids who ‘didn’t know we had any homework’ can turn out to be worthwhile.”

  Suddenly Scott spoke up. “We should form an organizing committee,” he said. “I’d like to be on it.”

  “So far we’re just talking about it,” Mark said, and turned and stared at Scott.

  “Just talking won’t get us anywhere,” Scott said challengingly.

  Mark’s voice was tight. “We can set up a committee when we’re ready,” he began, but Mrs. Emery stepped in.

  “Setting up a committee is a good idea. I don’t know how much of this project is Jessica’s idea and how much is Mark’s, but I’d suggest that Jessica head the committee because of her familiarity with Oakberry.”

  “Actually, I—I’ve got to talk to my parents and see if I can make some changes in my job hours,” I stammered.

  Mark interrupted. “Jess is the brains behind all this,” he said, “but the job of committee chair means that someone’s going to have to supervise, to make sure all the volunteers show up when they’re supposed to, and even to take the places of the volunteers who find out at the last minute that they won’t be able to come. Maybe being new here is an advantage, because I’ve got lots of free time. I’ll be glad to be the committee chair.”

  “Jess should head the committee,” Scott insisted. “She won’t have to quit her job to do it. She can handle the work if we help her.”

  Mark’s glance was cold as it flicked from Scott to me, but he suddenly gave me that all-out smile that made my legs wobble. “Why don’t we make Jess honorary committee chair? Is that okay with you?” he asked. “As I said, it’s your idea. We’ll do it your way.”

  I searched for the right thing to say. “What’s important is getting the work done,” I managed to tell Mrs. Emery. “It doesn’t matter to me who heads the committee.”

  Mrs. Emery said, “I’ll call Mrs. Hopkins. She supervises the children’s wing of the hospital. I’ll tell her what you have in mind. I’m sure she’ll be delighted and will give us her full support. Jess, Mark, Scott … will you be able to come in after school today so that we can outline the direction we should take?”

  I had my mouth open to answer, but Mark said, “We’ll be here,” and sat down. He reached across the aisle, grabbed my hand, and squeezed it with obvious delight.

  What’s with Mark? Furious one minute, happy the next, and giving away a plan I’d told him to keep to himself. I struggled to fight back a rush of anger and reminded myself, I meant what I told Mrs. Emery. It doesn’t matter who the committee head is. The plan’s going to work out—just what I wanted to help the little kids. That’s all that’s important, isn’t it?

  Sweeping my mind of the raggedy gray lumps of guilt that had made me wish Mark had stayed out of my ideas and plans, I thought, I should be grateful to Mark. He’s just trying to be nice. He’s trying to help. And Scott—I guess I’m glad that Scott wants to help, too.

  But something bothered me. Scott had offered to help the instant Mark brought up the idea. I couldn’t put my finger on what it was about these two guys, but something seemed odd.

  Lori later complained when we met in the cafeteria, “I don’t like Mark taking credit for your idea.”

  I climbed over the bench and opened my brown bag, pulling out a sandwich and some carrot sticks. “It’s okay,” I told her. “Mark just wanted to get the program going.”

  “You should be the real head of the planning committee,” Lori said. “Mrs. Emery wanted you to be.”

  “What Mark said was right. He’s free to help out when he’s needed, and I’m not. I wasn’t giving in,” I told her.

  Lori made a face. “Oh, sure. Like you’d have to leave your job and couldn’t just call someone to fill in at the children’s ward?”

  “Lori,” I asked, “did you tell Scott what I said about maybe having to quit my job if I got the project going?”

  “Of course not,” she answered. “I didn’t tell him anything about it.”

  “Then how did he—”

  Lori nudged me with a sharp elbow. “Here comes Mark with a cafeteria tray,” she said. “And look! There’s Scott, too!” She waved to Scott, glowing and smiling like a contestant in a Miss Texas pageant.

  As Scott and Mark joined us, I thought I sensed a tension between them, but Scott nodded at Mark, sat down, and pulled out an apple as though they were old friends.

  Mark plopped down his tray and asked, “Am I the only one going for cafeteria food? Do you know something I don’t know?”

  Scott shrugged. “My aunt’s not much on making lunches, and I woke up too late to fix one for myself.”

  As Mark poked at a bowl of macaroni swimming in a bright yellow cheese sauce, Scott added, “My apple looks better and better.”

  “I’ve got some Oreos. I’ll share with you.” Lori beamed at him.

  “Thanks,” Scott said solemnly, and I wondered if he ever smiled.

  “What part of New York are you from?” Scott suddenly asked Mark.

  Mark blinked. “What do you mean?”

  “It’s a simple question, isn’t it?” Scott asked. “You’ve got the accent. I recognize it. So, what part of New York are you from?”

  “The Bronx. How about you?”

  “Jersey,” Scott said.

  “Where in Jersey?”

  Scott hesitated just a moment. “Galesburg,” he said.

  “I never heard of it.”

  “It’s there,” Scott said, and concentrated on his apple.

  As Scott began to demolish the apple, I studied him. He’s lying, I thought in surprise. I can see it in his eyes. Why is he lying?

  CHAPTER

  five

  Late that afternoon, as I hunched over the kitchen table, intent on my homework assignment, a sudden rapping at the back door startled me so much that I jumped straight out of my chair, scattering some of the papers on the floor.

  “Jess, open up!” Lori shouted, and then I heard a subtle softening in her voice. “I brought Scott with me.”

  I unlocked the door and opened it wide. “Hi,” I said. “Come on in.”

  “I’m showing Scott around town,” Lori explained as they entered the kitchen. “I told Scott you lived here, so he wanted to come by and say hello.”

  But Scott stopped short, the door still open, his gaze fixed on Peppe
r, who had sauntered into the room. “Does he want to go out?” Scott asked, and edged against the wall, clearing plenty of room to the door.

  “Don’t you like cats?” I asked.

  Scott kept his eyes on Pepper. “When we were kids, my younger cousin had a cat, and I hated that cat, but when it died … Well, it doesn’t matter how it died. It’s just that ever since then I don’t like to be around cats. They make me uncomfortable.”

  “You don’t have to explain. I know that cats drive some people crazy,” I said. “I’ll put Pepper outside.” I scooped up my squirming, complaining cat, put him on the back step, and closed the door. “Now,” I said, “anybody want something to drink?”

  “Sure. Thanks,” Scott answered. He glanced through the kitchen window toward the Maliks’ house. “Lori said Mark lives over there.”

  “That’s right,” I answered. As I pulled three cans of Coke out of the refrigerator, Lori bent to pick up some of the papers on the floor.

  “What are these?” she asked. “They look like copies of newspaper stories.”

  “They are. It’s my journalism class homework. We have to learn to write headlines for the stories.”

  Scott picked up the remaining two papers and read aloud, “ ‘Tucson. The state senate, in discussing financial aid to schools …’ How about ‘Dealing for Dollars’?”

  Lori and I groaned, but she said, “Here’s one: ‘Denver. A mother terrier and four puppies were rescued by a police squad last night when they became trapped in a sewer.’ That’s an easy headline: ‘Big Stink in Police Department.’ ”

  As I laughed, Scott glanced at the top page in his hands. “Well, how about this? ‘Atlanta. A tearful cheerleader was cut from the Gurney Island pep squad for having gained ten pounds.’ I’d say, ‘Are Women’s Rights Measured by the Pound? Ask the Gurney Island Pep Squad Faculty Advisor.’ ”

  “No way,” I said, and giggled, not sure if he was joking or not. “Your headline is longer than the story.”

  “Okay, I’ll try another. ‘New York,’ ” Scott read. “ ‘Twenty-one percent of all shooting victims are under the age of twenty-one, as are twenty-four percent of their killers, according to Police Lieutenant Charles—’ ” Scott threw the papers down on the table. “Forget it,” he said. “The game’s getting boring. Let’s talk about something else.” As he reached for the Coke in my hand, I noticed that his fingers trembled.

  Lori took a long slurp of her drink. “We won’t stay long. Part of our tour is walking down to the bay.”

  Scott’s attention was drawn to the window again. “Mark just turned the corner on his way home,” he said to me. “Why don’t both of you go with us?”

  Surprised, I answered, “Well … I guess I could, except that after our meeting with Mrs. Emery I thought maybe—”

  But Scott had already opened the kitchen door and stepped outside. “Hey, Mark!” he yelled.

  Through the window I watched Mark loping across the lawn.

  “What about the meeting with Mrs. Emery?” Lori asked.

  “Didn’t Scott tell you?” I shrugged. “We got everything settled, and the project to volunteer at the children’s ward is under way. I guess that’s all that matters.”

  “Come on. What happened, Jess? I mean with you and Mark?”

  “Nothing,” I said. “Mark had some good ideas, and Mrs. Emery thinks he’s terrific.” Lori raised one eyebrow, and I said, “Okay, I felt like I was on one of those super roller coasters at Astroworld, and it was going too fast, and I couldn’t get off.”

  “Did you want off?”

  “Yes. No. No, I didn’t. I want a volunteer program, and I want it to succeed. It’s just that between Mark and Scott I didn’t have a chance to say what I thought about anything. So when Mrs. Emery insisted that I should be head of the committee—”

  “She did? Great!”

  “Mark was angry, Lori. He tried to hide it, but he couldn’t. Maybe he’s one of these terribly competitive people. I don’t know. But for some reason he wanted to be in charge.”

  Lori sympathetically put a hand on my arm, but I shook it off. “Scott wanted a big hand in the project, too,” I told her. “It surprised me when you two walked in the door, and I was even more surprised when Scott wanted Mark to walk with us.”

  “If Scott was angry, he’s over it now. It was his idea to come and see you. You deserve the credit and to head the volunteers, not Mark or Scott, so just be happy about it.”

  “Happy about what?” Mark asked as he and Scott walked into the kitchen.

  I looked directly into his eyes. “Happy about our meeting with Mrs. Emery. You both had a lot of good ideas, and I know you can make them work.”

  “Right,” Mark said. He didn’t look at me. He glanced at the scattered papers on the table. “Homework?” he asked.

  “Yes, for journalism class.”

  His eyes widened. “I didn’t know you were on the school paper. I could have saved time and come directly to you.” He included Lori and Scott as he added, “Publicity for what we’re doing is important. After our meeting with Mrs. Emery I went to the journalism room and talked to Mr. Clark. He took notes and promised there’d be a write-up in next week’s school paper.” Mark beamed.

  He looked like a little kid wanting to be praised. I was confused. Why would two good-looking guys who were new to town get so involved in a volunteer program? I was glad, but surprised. “That’s great, Mark,” I told him, and his smile grew even broader.

  “We’re going to walk to the bay,” Scott told Mark. “Want to come?”

  Mark glanced toward the window. “Walking because you don’t have wheels is one thing, but walking for fun when it’s so hot? Are you all nuts?”

  “We’re going to take a path through the woods,” Scott said. “Lori tells me it’s a little longer but it’s shady and a whole lot cooler.”

  Surprised that Lori would give away our special place, I quickly looked at her. Her lips twisted into a sheepish smile, and she shrugged.

  “Okay with me,” Mark said.

  “I’ll leave word for my mom, in case she comes home from work before I get back,” I said, and bent to scribble a note, attaching it to the refrigerator with a magnet.

  “How about you, Mark?” Lori asked. “You were on your way home when Scott called you over here. Do you need to let anybody know where you are?”

  Mark flushed. “No,” he snapped, and strode to the door, where he stopped and turned. “Well?” he asked. “Are we going or not?”

  “Going,” Lori answered. She led the way out the back door, pausing only while I locked the door.

  AS WE CAME to the corner, Scott reached out and snapped a bloom from Mr. Chamberlin’s oleander bush.

  With a shriek that made us all jump, a fluffy yellow cat leaped from the shade under the bush and streaked to the safety of the dim front porch.

  “Not again!” Mark groaned.

  Mr. Chamberlin, his elderly face a puckered, sour-mouthed copy of the cat’s, struggled to his feet. “I’ve been waiting and watching for you!” he shouted, waving his cane at us. “What kind of a stupid, sick, perverted kid are you to get pleasure out of frightening a cat?”

  “I—I don’t. I mean, I didn’t know your cat was in the bushes,” Scott answered.

  “You’re a liar,” Mr. Chamberlin snarled. “Get out of here and don’t come back! And leave my cat alone!”

  “I’m sorry—” Scott began, but he didn’t look sorry.

  I broke in. “I’m sorry, too, Mr. Chamberlin,” I told him. “We didn’t hurt Peaches. We just startled her, and we didn’t mean to.”

  His scowl didn’t lighten. “What are you stupid kids doing, hanging around here? You ought to be in school.”

  “It’s me, Mr. Chamberlin. Jess Donnally,” I said. “I’m one of your neighbors. Second house down. Remember?”

  “Of course I remember,” Mr. Chamberlin grumbled. “Get away from me. Go home. Just go home.” He retreated into the shadows
and disappeared.

  As we crossed the street, Scott whispered, “Who and what was that?”

  “Don’t mind him,” I said. “He’s not a very happy person, so he talks to everybody that way.”

  Mark bristled. “He called us stupid.”

  “Don’t let him get to you. Just feel sorry for him. The only love in his life is his cat.”

  “Come to think of it, the scowl on his face is like his cat’s,” Mark said.

  Scott nodded. “It’s really an ugly cat.”

  “I don’t think so,” Lori said. “Persians may have crabby faces, but they also have long, beautiful fur.”

  “Thus bigger hair balls,” Mark said, which made us all laugh.

  “He really does love Peaches,” I told them. “Peaches doesn’t eat cat food. She eats boiled chicken—white meat only—and tuna. Top-quality tuna, right from the can, is her favorite.”

  Lori took the sprig of oleander from Scott’s hand and tossed it into the gutter.

  Startled, he asked, “What did you do that for?”

  “Oleander is pretty, but it’s deadly poisonous,” she answered. “You don’t even want the juice on your hands.”

  “Technically, the liquid in a plant is not called juice,” Mark began, as Scott rubbed his hands on the seat of his jeans.

  Lori laughed. “Hey! School’s out for the day. Look—over there’s where we enter the woods.”

  “We came all the way to see this bunch of scraggly trees? It doesn’t look like much of a woods,” Mark said.

  “It isn’t,” I told him. “It’s just a shady way to get to the bay.”

  “And it’s not just a bunch of trees,” Lori said defensively. “The woods gets thicker farther back where it joins the piney woods that covers a big part of east Texas.”

  “Wow! Oakberry’s big, famous woods!” Mark teased.

  Lori didn’t laugh. “It’s got real history. Even a cemetery where early settlers are buried, along with a Wild West train robber named Harry Pratt.”

  Scott perked up. “Where is this cemetery?”

  “Nobody knows,” I said. “It’s probably overgrown with vines and shrubs—if it really exists. It could be a legend.”