Finally, he turned to her. He looked at her as though she were an alien from another planet.
“Your mother quit on me,” he said. “Everyone quits on me. Why won’t you?”
“Because I love you,” she said. “You’re my daddy, and I love you.”
Slowly, agonizingly, he handed her the knife. She took it gingerly. She tossed it into the sink.
Then she grabbed him and hugged him as tightly as she could. He returned it.
“I love you, Daddy,” she said. “I never want to lose you.”
“I love you too,” he whispered.
He buried his face in her hoodie. She stroked the back of his head.
All the fear drained out of her. Everything that had terrorized her for the past couple weeks left her. She had her father. Everything would be all right.
Nineteen
“What’s here?” Sally said, lying on the tomb onstage. “A cup, closed in my true love’s hand?” Brian lay not far away from her pretending to be dead. “Poison, I see, hath been his timeless end.”
The lights shone in her eyes, turning the audience into a blurry curtain of darkness. She could hardly believe it was opening night. Had it really been six weeks since that terrible afternoon in October? It didn’t seem possible.
Alison’s plan had worked. Brad came to find her in the boiler room and had arrived just as Kylie had been about to douse Alison in pink paint. Alison’s nose had been broken, but she told Principal Carter everything she knew. When it looked like severe consequences for the entire Set, Wendy sold them out and confessed all the details. Molly, Kylie, and Brinna were expelled. Moira received a month-long suspension. Wendy got two weeks. Alison’s family pressed charges against Brinna for assault. The case hadn’t made it all the way through the courts yet.
Meanwhile, Sally’s father quit drinking and joined Alcoholics Anonymous. Sheila didn’t recommend the children be removed from the home, and she got Sally’s father enrolled in some state assistance programs to help him find a new job and to collect unemployment while he looked.
Life was neither easy nor good, but it was not a disaster. Things were getting better.
Sally slipped off the tomb and put her mind back in the play. This was her big scene. She couldn’t blow it. She moved to Brian’s side, bent down over him, brushed his cheek, and then wrung her hands in imitated fury.
“O churl!” she said. “Drunk all and left no friendly drop / To help me after? I will kiss thy lips – / Haply some poison doth yet hang on them / To make me die with a restorative.”
Sally bent over Brian and kissed him. She put her lips to his and spent a long moment there. Brian, even though he was supposed to be dead, returned it softly. Sally pulled away and put a hand to her heart.
“Thy lips are warm,” she continued.
“Lead, boy. Which way?” Tanner Kowalski called from offstage.
“Yea, noise?” Sally said. “Then I’ll be brief. O happy dagger! / This is thy sheath.” She pulled the stage knife from Brian’s belt and then plunged it into her chest. “There rust and let me die,” she finished. Then she collapsed onto Brian and pretended to be dead.
The play raced to its conclusion, and moments later, Sally found herself taking a bow as Alison screamed louder than the entire rest of the audience. Brian grinned at her, and try as she might to be humble, Sally could not suppress a big, big smile.
Alison practically tackled her out in the hallway. She squealed and hugged her and jumped up and down with Sally in her arms.
“You were awesomazing!” Alison shrieked. “Très manifique!”
“Merci beaucoup,” Sally said, answering in the only French she knew.
“Nice job, Sally,” Mr. Jamison said as he came up. “Hopefully, my daughter won’t kill you, so you can perform again tomorrow.”
“Daaad,” Alison said, throwing him a mock glare.
“Nice work, dear,” Mrs. Jamison said. “You should be very proud of yourself.”
Brian came over with his mother in tow. Sally recognized her from the vision in the hall of mirrors. She had a disapproving frown on her face. A boy, who bore a striking resemblance to Brian but was a few years younger, flanked her.
“Mama,” Brian said. “This is my friend, Sally Prescott. Sally, this is my mother, and my little brother, Chuck.”
Chuck waved. Mrs. Pomeroy scowled.
“Nice to meet you, ma’am,” Sally said.
“Hmm,” Mrs. Pomeroy said. She looked Sally up and down. “You act well.”
“Um, thanks,” Sally said.
“Hurry up and get out of your costume, Brian,” Mrs. Pomeroy said. “I want to get home before you boys have been up too late.”
Brian made sure his mother couldn’t see him, and then he rolled his eyes at Sally, flashing her one of his signature toothy smiles.
“Yes, Mama,” he said. He lowered his voice. “I’ll text you later.”
Sally sighed. Brian was a good boyfriend, but he was hard to date with an imperious mother like that. She smiled at him as he headed off to the dressing room.
At last, her father and Tommy made their way over. The look on her dad’s face told her everything she wanted to know.
“Oh, Sally,” he said. “I’m so proud.”
“I’m proud of you,” she replied. “This is Day Forty-Five of your sobriety, isn’t it?”
“It is!” he said, breaking into an even wider grin. “I can’t believe you remembered with all this going on.”
Sally shrugged.
“This isn’t the only big thing happening today, Dad,” she said.
He hugged her. She felt only a little embarrassed. After they parted, he looked into her eyes.
“I’m sorry your mom didn’t come, sweetheart,” he said.
“I’m not,” Sally said, and she meant it. “Why would I want her to spoil everything?”
There was an uncomfortable pause. Alison broke it.
“You know what we should do?” she said. “We should totally go for ice cream.”
“Totally?” Mr. Jamison said.
“Yeah,” Alison said as though it should be obvious. “We can’t let Sally’s triumph go uncelebrated!”
“You know, she’s got a point,” Sally’s father said.
“Well, I’m game if you are,” Mr. Jamison said.
“Très bien!” Alison said.
Sally smiled. Then she saw Mr. Pipich speaking with Principal Carter over by the stage door.
“Excuse me for just a second,” Sally said.
She walked over. He turned just as she arrived and smiled broadly.
“Ah, here’s our Juliet,” Mr. Pipich said.
“Wonderful,” Principal Carter said. “I was just telling Mr. Pipich how wonderful you were, Miss Prescott. I complimented him on how well he coached you on the language, and he told me you were a natural, that he hardly needed to help you at all.”
“Thank you,” Sally said.
“Good job, Tom,” the principal said. “See you Monday. Congratulations again, Miss Prescott.”
He waved a goodbye and then headed off. Mr. Pipich turned to Sally, his eyes shining.
“Thank you,” she said.
“You’ve nothing to thank me for, Sally,” he said. “You did the work, and you earned that praise.”
“Yes, but you gave me the opportunity,” she said. “You could have cast someone else.”
“Sure I could have,” he said, “if I’d wanted to put the wrong person in the role.
“You’ve been terrific, Sally. It’s been my pleasure to work with you and to have you as a student. I’m so glad things are going well for you now.”
She blushed.
“Thanks, Mr. Pipich,” she said. “See you tomorrow.”
“Good night, Sally.”
She returned to Alison and their families feeling as though she might float down the hall. Alison was practically bouncing off the wall.
“Come on, girl,” Alison said. “I am in serious nee
d of some Rocky Road.”
“Just give me a minute to change.”
She got out of her costume quickly and hung it up. Then she dressed in her new usual attire of jeans, camisole, and nice sweater. After her harrowing adventure in Shakir’s dimension, she’d burned her red hoodie. She’d turned away from regret at her mother’s leaving. She didn’t need any more souvenirs from it.
As she strolled out of the dressing room, she reflected in amazement what a transformation she’d undergone. At the beginning of the school year, she was a loser – a flat-chested late bloomer, whose mother had abandoned her and who never got anything she wanted. Three months later, she was Juliet, she had a boyfriend, and she’d helped her father climb out of the bottle. For the first time she could really remember, Sally was happy.
It was a very nice feeling.
The end.
Click here to tell John what you thought of Little Red Riding Hoodie.
If you liked Little Red Riding Hoodie, please write a review on Amazon.com.
Turn the page for a preview of John’s novella, The Secret Thief: A Modern Fairy Tale.
To receive announcements on new releases and special deals, including how to get a free book, sign up for John’s mailing list.
The Secret Thief:
A Modern Fairy Tale – Excerpt
Billy Johnson knew from the moment he sat down this was going to be a deplorable day. He liked the word “deplorable.” He’d first read it in C.S. Lewis’s The Magician’s Nephew and hadn’t known what it meant. So he looked it up like his teacher, Mrs. Scott, had taught him. The dictionary told him it was something very bad that caused grief or regret, and he thought that made it an excellent word to describe the spell in Lewis’s novel that destroyed all life on the magical world of Charn.
He’d used it himself frequently since then, and it was the perfect word to describe what was about to happen to him.
As soon as the bell rang and Mrs. Scott called for them to take their seats, Billy realized his science project was due today. It was sitting in his bedroom. The posterboard with the carefully drawn pictures of the different parts of a flower, illustrating how water and sunlight combined to make food, was leaning against the wall by the door. He’d put it there so he wouldn’t forget it. So much for that strategy.
It was bad enough his grade would suffer. But worse, his partner was Ricky Manders. Ricky had made Billy do most of the work, and now he was going to be mad that Billy had blown it. That wasn’t going to go well on the playground.
So, yes, “deplorable” was the right way to describe the day. Before it even began, it was certain to be regrettable.
“Okay, class,” Mrs. Scott began, “if we’ve all got the assignments copied off the PowerPoint into our planners, I think we should get started. We’ll continue with our science presentations. Our first group is Billy Johnson and Ricky Manders. Boys?”
Billy heaved a deep sigh. Of course, they were called on to go first. Before he’d even had time to panic, Mrs. Scott had exposed his failure.
Ricky was already heading up to the front of the class, but Billy couldn’t make himself budge from his seat. He didn’t know what to do. What he could say?
“Billy,” Mrs. Scott said. “Let’s go.”
“Um,” Billy said.
Ricky stopped short of the front of the room. He turned a cold gaze on Billy, a blue-eyed glare that promised trouble if Billy had messed this up. Ricky was the smallest kid in the fourth grade. Even the girls were bigger. His thin, short frame and pale skin made him look like he might be blown over the rainbow by a strong wind.
But Ricky was not to be trifled with. He was the most physically nonthreatening boy in school, but he commanded two heavies – Marcus Morris and James Esmond – who were large and brutish and enjoyed breaking things. Crossing Ricky was asking for a pounding from those two.
“Um?” Mrs. Scott said. “‘Um’ has no meaning, Billy. Why aren’t you coming up here for your presentation?”
“Um,” Billy said again. The cold stare from Ricky was chasing the words away from his mind. “I kind of forgot it at home.”
“Kind of forgot?” Mrs. Scott said. “What does ‘kind of forgot’ mean?”
“Um,” Billy stammered, “I, um, I actually forgot it. Forgot the whole thing.”
Billy risked a quick glance at Ricky. His glare was so frosty it made Billy think of Medusa turning anyone who met her gaze to stone. He wished he were one of her hapless victims now. Being petrified would be preferable to whatever wrath Ricky had in mind for him.
“You forgot the whole thing,” Mrs. Scott said.
“Yes,” Billy said. “I got it done, and I set it by my door so I wouldn’t forget.”
“And yet you forgot,” Mrs. Scott said.
“Yes,” Billy said.
“You know, Billy,” Mrs. Scott said, “you may be one of the best students in the class, but that doesn’t mean you’re allowed to turn in your assignments whenever you feel like it. We have a schedule to keep. I planned for a certain number of presentations each day, so everyone would get a chance. Now our schedule is off, because you couldn’t be responsible enough to bring yours in.
“Additionally, Ricky was depending on you to bring in your half of the project. This was a group exercise. So now you’re hurting his grade too.”
“Wait,” Ricky said. “Just because he forgot means I’m gonna get a bad grade?”
“You were both equally responsible for having all your materials here and ready for presentation today, Ricky,” she said. “You were equally responsible for the homework. You succeed or fail as a group.”
Ricky turned an even more hateful death-glare on Billy, who wanted to crawl under his desk.
“Turning in an assignment late is an automatic ten-percent reduction in your grade, gentlemen,” Mrs. Scott went on. “I hope you can remember to bring your materials in on Monday, Billy. Otherwise, your grade will be in serious trouble.
“I’m very disappointed in you.”
Ricky looked desperately at Mrs. Scott for a moment, as if he thought she might offer him some sort of reprieve for Billy’s mistake.
“Take your seat, Ricky,” she said. “We’ll have to move on to Amy and Jeremy.”
Ricky shoved his hands in his pockets and slunk back to his desk. He fixed Billy with a murderous looked and mouthed, “You’re dead.”
Billy sighed. This was deplorable.
***
He managed to avoid Ricky and his bruisers at recess, although he didn’t get any help. He tried to get Sandy Franklin to hang out with him, hoping that if there were two of them, Ricky would be less inclined to menace him. But she refused.
“No freakin’ way, Billy,” she said. “I’m not getting sideways with Ricky just to protect your dumb ass. Especially since I got in trouble with my parents over Jeremy’s stupid football card.”
“What?”
“Yeah, I know it was you who told Jeremy I took the card so my little brother could see it. You know Peyton Manning is his favorite player, and you were the only person who knew I took it.
“How was I supposed to know he’d lose it? Do you have any idea what a Peyton Manning rookie card costs? Some of ’em are hundreds of bucks! Luckily, Jeremy’s was only worth fifty, but he told my parents, and now I have to do, like, a thousand chores to pay back the money they gave him. If you hadn’t told on me, this wouldn’t have happened!
“So I hope Ricky makes James pound you real freakin’ good. You deserve it, you rotten tattletale.”
Billy’s shoulders sagged as Sandy stomped off. He hadn’t told on Sandy; Missy had. Not that there was much difference. He wished he’d never met Missy, never helped her.
The story continues in The Secret Thief: A Modern Fairy Tale, available August 18, 2015. Turn the page to learn more.
Secrets are dirty things. . . .
Billy Johnson has a problem. He can’t keep a secret.
He’s lost all his friends. No one trust
s him. Everyone hates him, even his sister.
But it’s not his fault. He’s haunted by a monster, who feeds on the private information Billy can’t keep hidden. He’s powerless against her and can’t stop feeding her.
Billy knows something about heroism, though. If Perseus and Hercules could fight mythic beasts and defeat them, surely he can. And maybe he can persuade his friends to help if he can get them to believe him.
Can four ten-year-olds really hope to defeat an ancient monster, though? Can they defeat her magic, or will The Secret Thief consume them all?
The Secret Thief: A Modern Fairy Tale
Available August 18, 2015 from Amazon.com.
He wanted his father’s love.
What he got instead will change the world.
Gothemus Draco – world’s most powerful sorcerer – is dead. Locked away in his tower are the tools for total domination of every city-state in the Known World. The person who possesses them can become a king, and everyone, it seems, has a claim – his warlord brother, the fairy from whom he stole a powerful artifact, even the sorceress who murdered him.
But the man who shaped the balance of power through wizardry isn’t done playing games with world politics. Just because Gothemus is dead doesn’t mean he doesn’t still have plans. Against all understanding, his magic lives on after his demise, preventing anyone from breaking into the tower.
Meanwhile, he’s left a gift for his son Calibot – Wyrmblade. The legendary dragon sword makes its wielder nearly invincible, and Gothemus has enchanted it with all sorts of new abilities.
But Calibot wants nothing to do with Wyrmblade or his father. He’s a poet with a powerful patron, and he’s been estranged from his father for years. All he desires is a peaceful life of composing verse and to one day marry the man he loves – a former soldier and advisor to the duke.
Little Red Riding Hoodie: A Modern Fairy Tale Page 24
