by R. L. Stine
“Where’s Jessie?” Nancy asked.
“I think she’s upstairs in the bathroom,” Emily said, reaching for the salad bowl.
“Did you brush your hair today?” Mrs. Wallner asked, making a disapproving face at Emily.
“I have to wash it tonight,” Emily said, annoyed. Her mother knew she didn’t like to talk about her hair.
“Come on, Rich. Dig into that macaroni,” Mr. Wallner said, pouring more pepper on his. “It’s delicious.”
“I’m not very hungry,” Rich said sullenly.
“You’re never hungry,” Mr. Wallner grumbled. “That’s why you look like a macaroni noodle.”
“Hey, why are you always putting me down?” Rich shouted, immediately angry.
“I wasn’t putting you down. That was a compliment,” Mr. Wallner said, smiling at Rich.
“You can shove your compliments!” Rich cried, angrily tossing his fork down onto his plate and storming out of the room.
“Hey, come back here,” Mr. Wallner called after him, startled and obviously upset. “I was just teasing you!” He turned to Emily’s mother. “What’s with that kid?”
“Thirteen is a really hard age,” Mrs. Wallner said, suddenly looking very tired.
“I’ll make it a lot harder for him,” Mr. Wallner said. But it wasn’t a threat. Everyone could see that he was very upset by Rich’s angry reaction. He reached for the salad bowl and piled a heap of lettuce on his plate. “I’m getting sick and tired of him running away anytime anybody says anything to him.”
“He’s very sensitive,” Mrs. Wallner said softly.
“Don’t defend him.”
“I wasn’t defending him. I was just explaining—”
“Well, don’t explain either.” Mr. Wallner angrily forked lettuce into his mouth.
“Sorry I’m late. I got hung up,” Jessie said, hurrying into the room. Her blond hair sparkled under the dining-room lights. She was wearing gray wool slacks and a long, pale green sweater.
“Hey—my sweater!” Emily cried.
“What?” Jessie scooted her chair in and gave Emily a confused look.
“That’s my sweater. You’re wearing my sweater,” Emily insisted, sounding angrier than she had intended.
“No, it isn’t,” Jessie said, spooning a small helping of macaroni onto her plate.
“I’m afraid it must be cold by now,” Mrs. Wallner said, frowning.
“Jessie, that sweater was in my top drawer,” Emily said, unable to keep the shrillness from her voice. “I really wish you wouldn’t borrow my stuff without asking.”
“But it’s my sweater,” Jessie insisted.
“I know my own sweater,” Emily said, feeling herself lose her temper, knowing she was getting out of control but unable to do anything about it. “Look how big it is on you. The shoulders are almost down to your elbows!”
“They’re supposed to be. It’s an oversize sweater,” Jessie said huffily.
“Girls, please—” Mr. Wallner said, wearily resting his balding head on one hand.
“Mom, would you please tell Jessie not to wear my sweaters,” Emily pleaded.
Mrs. Wallner looked at Emily, then at Jessie. “I really don’t remember that sweater, Em,” she said uncertainly. “Maybe it just looks like yours.”
“Aaggggh!” Her mom’s reply really infuriated Emily. Why was she taking Jessie’s side?
“It’s not your sweater,” Jessie insisted heatedly. “I’ve had it for years.”
“Listen,” Mr. Wallner said, rubbing his eyes. He turned to Emily. “What difference does it make? You two are sisters now—right?”
“That’s right,” Emily’s mother said quickly, too quickly, as far as Emily was concerned. “I’m sure there will be times when you’ll want to borrow Jessie’s clothes, Em.”
“How could I?” Emily shrieked. “Look at her! She’s five sizes smaller than I am!”
Mrs. Wallner’s mouth dropped open. She always did that when she was surprised by something someone said. “Don’t exaggerate, dear.”
“Let’s finish our dinner in peace,” said Nancy, who had been watching the entire argument in silence. “Then we’ll go upstairs and do a fingerprint test on your dresser, okay?”
For some reason Mr. Wallner found this very funny. He laughed, scratching his bald head.
Obviously this was the end of the discussion. Emily didn’t feel much like eating, but she grudgingly began forking cold macaroni and cheese into her mouth. She knew Jessie was looking at her, but she refused to return her glance.
“Nancy, do you have a date Saturday night?” Mrs. Wallner asked, changing the subject. “Mrs. Bergen called and asked if you were free to baby-sit.”
“Yeah. I don’t have a date,” Nancy said, sighing. “I’ll call her later.”
“Glad someone’s earning a little money around here,” Mr. Wallner muttered, looking at Jessie. She didn’t respond. They finished their dinner in silence.
“Who’s going to clean up?” Mrs. Wallner asked. “Now, don’t everybody volunteer at once.”
Mr. Wallner grinned. “Not me. That’s what I like about living with four women. There’s always someone to clean up after dinner.”
“You’re a sexist pig,” Mrs. Wallner said. But she said it with a smile, and she walked up behind her husband and kissed him loudly on the forehead.
She’s totally crazy about him, Emily thought with some dismay. What on earth does she see in him? He really is a sexist pig!
“It’s Emily’s turn,” Jessie said. “Nancy and I cleaned up last night.”
“Can you take my turn tonight?” Emily asked, staring at her sweater on Jessie. “I’ve just got to get up to the computer and finish my social studies report. I’ll clean up three nights in a row. I promise.”
Jessie reluctantly agreed. Emily excused herself and started to leave the room. “How’s the report going?” Mr. Wallner asked. “It’s on Chile, right?”
Emily was a bit stunned that her new stepfather remembered what she was working on. She didn’t think he was at all interested in her schoolwork. “I’ve written pages and pages,” she told him. “I just have to finish writing the last part and then print it out.”
“Could I see it after you print it out?” he asked.
“Sure. Okay. Great,” Emily stammered.
It was the first time he had really tried to reach out to her, and she was surprised to see that she felt really pleased.
She hurried up to her room, sat down at the desk, and clicked on the computer. She slid in her disk, then remembered her sweater. She turned and looked over at her dresser. Was the top drawer slightly open? She couldn’t really tell. Besides, what would that prove?
Should she get up and look for it? No. She had to get the report on Chile finished and printed out before Josh arrived. Yes. She was too curious not to look.
She walked over to the dresser and pulled open the drawer. The sweater, she remembered clearly, had been right on top. It wasn’t there now. She searched through the drawer quickly. No sweater.
Jessie had been lying. Jessie was wearing her sweater.
“I can’t think about this now,” she told herself, pushing the dresser drawer back in and walking back to the desk.
She called up her report on the computer and then searched her binder for her notes. She had already written twelve pages. Just two more sections to write. She found her place and began to type, her fingers clicking rapidly over the keyboard.
Down the hall she could hear the blare of heavy metal music filtering through Rich’s closed bedroom door. From downstairs she could hear the clatter of dishes. Concentrating harder, she shut out all of the sounds and worked on transferring her notes onto the computer in sentences that resembled English.
She worked nonstop for nearly forty-five minutes, then realized that she was starving. Because of the dispute over the sweater, she hadn’t eaten much dinner. She scrolled back the last two paragraphs she had written and read them over,
leaning forward until her face was just inches from the amber monitor screen.
Pleased with what she had done so far, Emily took a deep breath, stretched, and headed down to the kitchen for a snack. “Hey, where is everyone?” she called, startled to find the dinner dishes all cleaned, everything back in place, and no one around.
She took an apple from the fruit bin in the refrigerator, washed it off at the kitchen sink, and took a bité. It was crunchy and fairly sweet. Hearing sounds in the den, she walked over to the doorway. Her mom and stepfather were on the brown leather couch. Making out like teenagers.
Emily tiptoed back to the hallway, then climbed the stairs to her room.
“Hey!” she cried out.
Jessie, seated at the computer, looked up slowly. “Oh, hi.”
“What are you doing there?” Emily cried. “I’m working on my report.”
Jessie’s tiny features narrowed in confusion. “Oh. I’m sorry. I thought you were finished.” She pushed the desk chair back and climbed to her feet. “It’s all yours,” she said, gesturing grandly to the computer with a sweep of her hands. “Let me know when you’re finished, okay?”
“Yeah. Sure,” Emily said. She sat down at the keyboard and called up her report.
But it didn’t come up on the screen.
Feeling her throat tighten with apprehension, she called up the report again.
START A NEW FILE? the screen asked.
She checked the list of files.
And uttered a silent cry when the report did not appear there.
Emily stared at the screen in disbelief. She realized her hands were trembling.
Her report had been erased. It was gone. Gone forever.
“Jessie—” she screamed. “You erased my whole report!”
“What?” Jessie’s pale blue eyes opened wide in surprise.
“You heard me!” Emily shrieked. “How could you?! You deliberately erased my whole report!” Emily was screaming at the top of her lungs, but she didn’t care.
All of those days and days of work. Gone forever. This was the worst thing anyone had ever done to her.
“You erased everything!”
“I did not!” Jessie cried, backing away from Emily. “The computer was turned off when I came into the room!”
“You filthy liar!”
Unable to contain her anger, Emily lunged at Jessie. She caught her by surprise, pushed her to the floor, jumped on top of her, and began pounding her with her fists in a rage that frightened even her.
Chapter
4
“I Could Kill Her!”
“What on earth—!”
Mrs. Wallner was in the room first, followed by her grim-faced husband.
Emily had already stopped fighting. She gave no resistance as Mr. Wallner pulled her off Jessie. She stood up unsteadily, jerking out of his grip, shaking all over, surprised to find that her face was wet with tears.
When did I start to cry? she wondered.
“Jessie—what happened? Are you okay?” Mrs. Wallner leaned down and gently helped Jessie to her feet. Jessie’s normally perfect hair was wet and matted against her face. She was breathing hard, gasping for breath, unable to speak.
“Oh, no! I tore the sweater!” Emily wailed, seeing the long rip on Jessie’s sleeve.
“Is that what this is about? The sweater?” Mr. Wallner asked, his hands on his hips. He was forcing himself not to shout, to stay calm, but the veins on his temples throbbed, and his face was very red.
“What’s going on?” Nancy and Rich pushed through the doorway into the bedroom at the same time.
“Nothing,” Mr. Wallner said quickly. “You two—out.” He pointed to the door. They stared at Jessie and Emily for a long moment, then obediently backed out of the room.
I’ve never been in a fight in my life, Emily thought. How did this happen? She grabbed up a handful of tissues from the box on her dresser and wiped her eyes and wet cheeks.
If only I could stop shaking.
“What is this about?” Mr. Wallner demanded.
“Ask her,” Jessie said bitterly, fingering the tear in the sweater sleeve.
“Jessie deliberately erased my report,” Emily said, her voice as shaky as the rest of her.
“That’s a lie,” Jessie said. “A total lie.”
“I went downstairs for a snack,” Emily started. “When I came back, Jessie was working on the computer, and my report—it was erased.”
“Oh, how awful,” Mrs. Wallner said sympathetically, shaking her head. “You’ve been working so hard on it. But, Emily, I’m sure it was an accident.”
“Accident?!” Emily shrieked.
“Now, calm down, Emily. You’re upset so you’re not thinking clearly,” her mother said.
“It’s clear she did it on purpose!”
Emily cried. “Emily! Don’t say things like that!” her mother raised her voice. “No matter what happened. There’s no excuse for fighting. I can’t believe you attacked Jessie.”
“I attacked her!” Emily shrieked, her voice so high and shrill, it hurt her throat. “I wasn’t the one who—”
“Stop. Just stop,” her mother said, balling her hands into tight fists at her side. “I don’t want to hear any more. I just know we can’t have this kind of fighting in our house.” She looked to her husband for support.
He nodded somberly but didn’t say anything.
“But my whole report—!” Emily wailed.
“You two have got to work out your differences,” Mr. Wallner said. “You have no choice. You have to get along.”
“This must never happen again,” Mrs. Wallner said.
“But don’t you want to know what happened?” Emily cried, more a desperate plea than a question.
“We don’t want to hear another word until you’ve apologized to Jessie,” Mrs. Wallner said through clenched teeth.
Emily uttered a cry of protest. “Me? Apologize to her?”
“Yes,” her mother insisted. “You jumped on her. You hit her. You tore her sweater . . . didn’t you?”
“Her sweater?!”
“Emily . . .” Her mother’s eyes narrowed in anger. She was about to explode, Emily realized. And if she exploded, the first thing she’d say was that Emily was grounded and couldn’t see Josh for a week, or a month, or a year.
Emily sighed, a sigh of defeat, of resignation.
“That doesn’t sound like an apology,” her mother said.
“She doesn’t have to apologize,” Jessie said, rubbing her arm.
“That’s very generous of you, Jessie,” Mrs. Wallner said. “But I said she does.”
“Sorry,” Emily muttered to the floor.
“Frankly, I’m ashamed of both of you,” Mr. Wallner said, shaking his head sadly. “This has made me very unhappy.” He strode quickly out of the room, his hands stuffed into his pants pockets.
“I know you two can get along,” Mrs. Wallner said, whispering for some reason after her husband left the room. “Just try harder—okay?”
Both girls muttered okay.
Mrs. Wallner stooped to pick up some notebook paper that had fallen from the desk, then walked out without looking at either of them.
I can’t believe she was on Jessie’s side, Emily thought, feeling completely betrayed.
She looked up to see Jessie, leaning against the closet door, glaring at her, her face tight, her normally placid eyes burning into Emily’s.
“Don’t ever do that again,” Jessie said slowly, pronouncing each word distinctly, in a menacing, low voice Emily had never heard before.
Emily was so surprised, she just stared back at her.
“I don’t know what you have against me,” Jessie said bitterly. “I don’t know why you’re trying so hard to make me look bad. But I’m warning you, Emily—just stop it. Don’t ever embarrass me like that again in front of my father.”
“You’re warning me?” Emily started to protest. But Tiger scampered into the room, sniffed
Emily’s ankles, then, his tail stub wagging furiously, hurried over to do the same to Jessie.
“Get out of here, you filthy thing,” Jessie snarled, and kicked at the little dog. Tiger yelped, more out of surprise than pain, and ran back to Emily.
“Don’t kick my dog!” Emily shouted, feeling her anger begin to rise again.
“I didn’t kick it,” Jessie said. “I just kicked at it.”
Emily picked Tiger up and hugged him. Carrying him against her shoulder, she turned and ran out of the room. She walked down the hall to Nancy’s room. The door was open, so she walked in.
Nancy was sitting on her bed, a book in her lap, as if waiting for Emily. Nancy’s room was smaller than Emily’s, long and narrow, with a tall, pink-curtained window overlooking the backyard at the end. Nancy was a collector. She collected glass bottles, and shells, and interesting stones, and antique dolls, and old children’s books, and charm-bracelet charms, and matchbooks, and baseball trading cards, among other things. To hold her collections, their father had built long wooden shelves that stretched along one entire wall of the room from floor to ceiling.
“Nancy has never thrown away or given away anything,” he had always complained. “Someday we’re going to have to give her the entire house just to hold her stuff.”
Emily, who never seemed to be able to save or collect anything, really admired this quality in her sister. Sometimes she would wander into Nancy’s room and just marvel at all of the things her sister had found interesting enough to save, running her hands over the smooth glass bottles, examining the tiny silver charms, even though she’d examined them at least a dozen times before.
Now she stopped in the doorway and put down Tiger, who immediately scampered away. “Can I come in?”
“Of course,” Nancy said, putting aside her book. “Come sit down.” She patted a spot beside her on the bedspread.
Emily gratefully sat down beside her sister. She stared down at the white shag rug at her feet, still feeling very shaky, and didn’t say anything.
“You certainly look a mess,” Nancy said with tenderness, not as a criticism.
Emily forced a faint smile. “I guess I do. But at least Jessie’s hair got messed up. That’s a first, right?”
