The Stepsister

by R. L. Stine

Chill out, girl, she warned herself. Or else Jessie’s going to win this battle of nerves without even trying.

  Jessie brushed past Emily, her nose in the air, as they left the bedroom. The aroma of roast lamb, Emily’s favorite, drifted up the stairs. But Emily didn’t care. She wasn’t very hungry.

  As Emily took her seat next to Nancy, she saw that Rich’s cheek was cut, and he had a black eye. “What happened to you?” she blurted out.

  Rich looked away, embarrassed. “Nothing.”

  “He got into a fight after school,” Mr. Wallner said through clenched teeth.

  “It was nothing,” Rich repeated.

  “A black eye and three stitches,” Mr. Wallner grumbled.

  “Really, Hugh. Let’s talk about it later,” Mrs. Wallner said, a forced smile on her face. “We should talk about more pleasant things at the dinner table. What did you do today?” she asked, turning to Nancy.

  “Oh. The usual.”

  “Fascinating!” Mr. Wallner grumbled, chewing enthusiastically.

  They ate in silence for a while. “I made all your favorites tonight,” Mrs. Wallner said, smiling across the table at Emily.

  “And it’s all delicious,” Emily said, even though she could barely taste any of it. Down the table from her, Rich and Jessie were having a private, almost-whispered conversation.

  “Hey, Jessie,” Mr. Wallner interrupted them. “Did I hear you talking on the phone late last night?”

  “No. Wasn’t me,” Jessie said, looking surprised by the question.

  Emily knew she was lying. Jessie made whispered, secretive late-night phone calls just about every night. She always waited until she thought Emily was asleep, then pulled the desk phone down to the floor and made her calls in the corner. She had also sneaked out the window in the middle of the night again two nights before, reappearing just before breakfast time.

  “I had indigestion, so I had to get up,” Mr. Wallner told Jessie. “I could’ve sworn I heard you on the phone.”

  “No. Must’ve been mice or something,” Jessie lied.

  Mrs. Wallner served baked apples for dessert. Emily ate less than half of hers, then asked to be excused. “I’ve got tons of homework,” she explained.

  “Tell me about it,” Nancy grumbled.

  “Josh is coming over later. Call me down if I don’t hear the bell,” Emily said, and went upstairs to try to concentrate on the chapter in her government textbook.

  A short while later she thought she heard the front door slam. Was it Josh? No one called her down, so she continued to read.

  She heard voices.

  It did sound like Josh.

  She closed the book and walked quietly to the stairs. She could see him in the hallway below. He was standing very close to Jessie, leaning with one hand against the closet door. They were talking animatedly, laughing together.

  How cozy, Emily thought, feeling the anger grow inside her.

  What does Jessie think she’s doing?

  What does Josh think he’s doing?

  She bounded down the stairs, deliberately making a lot of noise so they’d know she was coming. She stepped into the hallway, her eyes on Josh.

  “Oh, hi, Emily,” he said, sounding a little bit as if he hadn’t expected her to be there. The anger must have been evident on her face, for he suddenly blushed and held up his book bag. “I’ve brought my books,” he said. “Where do you want to study?”

  “Let’s get out of here,” Emily said, not looking at Jessie but stepping in front of her to open the coat closet. “It’s too crowded in this house to study.”

  Jessie turned angrily and started up the stairs. “See you, Josh,” she called back.

  “Yeah. Later,” Josh said, standing back to give Emily room in the narrow hallway to pull on her down coat. “Wow,” he said, tugging on a strand of his black, curly hair, as Emily pushed past him and opened the front door.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked curtly, still wondering why he and Jessie were suddenly so chummy.

  “Just ‘wow,’” he said, pulling the door closed after them. “You don’t have to jump down my throat, you know. Just because you’re mad at your stepsister, you don’t have to take it out on me.”

  “I’m not mad at my stepsister,” Emily corrected him. “I’m terrified of my stepsister. How many times do I have to tell you? I think she’s totally deranged.”

  The air outside was cold and heavy. There was no moon in the gray-pink night sky. It felt like snow. Emily’s sneakers crunched over the hard ground.

  “She doesn’t seem so bad,” Josh said, struggling to catch up to her. “I can’t believe she’d really do all those terrible things.”

  “Stop defending Jessie,” Emily said sharply, spinning around to face him. “Why do you keep defending her?”

  “I’m not,” he said, surprised by her anger.

  She looked up at the house. There was a shadow in the upstairs window, her bedroom window. It was Jessie, she realized. Jessie was watching them.

  “Why is she spying on us?” Emily asked aloud without realizing it.

  Jessie’s diary flashed into her mind. She thought about it often. Sometimes Jessie’s written words came back to her without warning:

  They think I killed Jolie, and I don’t care what they think!

  She reached out and grabbed Josh’s arm. Leaning against him, she struggled to catch her breath.

  “What’s wrong?” Josh asked.

  She couldn’t answer. How could she explain to him that, watching Jessie stare at them from the bedroom window, a dark shadow against the pale yellow lamplight, she was suddenly overcome with fear—fear for her life!

  Chapter

  12

  Up in Smoke

  “What is this stuff?” Emily held up her fork and examined it, making a disgusted face.

  “I don’t know.” Kathy, sitting across the table from her, shrugged. “It’s too yellow to be macaroni and cheese.”

  “I’ve never seen this color before,” Emily said, dropping her fork into the bright yellow puddle on her plate.

  Kathy shoved her lunch tray away. “I’ve had enough.” She pushed her chair back, stood up, and stretched. The lunchroom was emptying out quickly. Everyone was probably in a hurry to get away from the yellow substance in case it was radioactive!

  “Later,” Kathy said. “I see Lisa Blume over there. I’ve got to talk to her about our math test.” She gave Emily a little wave and, balancing her tray in one hand, hurried off across the large, fluorescent-lit room.

  Emily sighed and picked up her fork. She poked at her food for a few seconds, thinking about Josh, and then became aware that someone was standing beside her.

  “Oh. Hi.” She looked up to see Jessie’s friend Krysta. Emily blinked a few times. Krysta was wearing the brightest, most garish Day-Glo orange blouse Emily had ever seen. With her brown corduroy slacks and that bright orange top, she looks like a Popsicle, Emily thought.

  “You spilled something,” Krysta said, pointing.

  “What?”

  “You spilled something on your shirt.”

  Emily looked down. “Oh, I don’t believe it!” she exclaimed angrily. She had spilled a blob of the yellow macaroni-type substance on the front of her new pink shirt. She grabbed a napkin off her tray and tried dabbing at the spot, but that just buried it deeper into the fabric.

  “Better get some cold water,” Krysta said, frowning and shifting her weight. She sat down on the table edge and leaned toward Emily. “I just wanted to . . . uh . . . say something to you. I mean, ask you something, I guess.” Her normally bland expression turned serious.

  Uh-oh, Emily thought. What now?

  “I’d better take care of this spot,” Emily said, starting to get up.

  “It’ll only take a second,” Krysta said, not moving from her position on the table. “I just wanted to know why you’re being so terrible to Jessie.”

  “Huh?” Krysta’s question caught Emily complete
ly by surprise.

  “Jessie is very upset,” Krysta said. “Why are you being so awful to her?”

  Emily started to sputter something, but no words came out.

  “I know it’s none of my business, but Jessie is my friend,” Krysta continued. “Why don’t you give her a break? She’s not a bad kid, once you get to know her.”

  What do you know about her? Emily wanted to ask.

  Do you know that she probably murdered her last best friend?

  She stared up at Krysta, still too shocked to move or respond.

  What horrible lies has Jessie been telling her? Emily wondered.

  Jessie was such a good liar. All she had to do was widen those big blue eyes and smile her angelic smile, and everyone believed anything she told them. What had she made up about Emily? Whatever the lies were, Krysta was sure to spread them all over school. The two of them were the perfect team, Emily thought bitterly. A liar and a gossip.

  She pushed herself to her feet, turned, and, leaving her tray on the table, shook her head at Krysta, as if to say she wouldn’t dignify Krysta’s questions with an answer. Then she started jogging toward the wide double doors.

  “Hey, Emily—” Krysta yelled after her.

  A few kids looked up to see what the fuss was about.

  But Emily hurried on, without looking back. She stepped into the hall and turned toward the girls’ room, which was at the end of the corridor across from the gym. “Hey, Em—” someone called, but Emily pretended she didn’t hear.

  As she neared her destination, Nancy came around the corner, looking troubled, a stack of books and notebooks in her arms. “Did the bell ring yet?” she asked Emily, not stopping.

  “Not yet,” Emily said. “Are you—”

  “You spilled something on your shirt.” Nancy was past her now, picking up speed.

  “I know,” Emily called after her. “I’m going to wash it off.”

  Nancy doesn’t look good, Emily thought. She’s working too hard. She’s worrying about her school-work too much. And about her social life. She’s never had trouble finding boys before. I don’t know why she’s so concerned that she isn’t going out with anyone now.

  She started to pull open the girls’ room door and bumped into Jessie, who was on her way out.

  What’s going on? Emily thought. Can’t I go anywhere without bumping into my whole family?

  “I can’t take this anymore,” Jessie said, her features set in a grim expression. She stopped in the doorway, holding it open with her shoulder, blocking Emily’s way.

  “What are you talking about?” Emily asked coldly.

  “I can’t take this silent treatment.”

  “Jessie—do we have to talk about this now? Can’t I go into the bathroom without having a major confrontation?” She looked at her watch. “Give me a break. The bell is going to ring in two minutes.”

  “Why are you doing this to me?” Jessie asked. Her expression was hard, like stone. But her eyes were red-rimmed. She looked as if she were about to cry.

  What an actress, Emily thought.

  Doesn’t she know I can see right through her phony theatrics?

  “I’m not doing anything to you,” Emily said impatiently. “Please. Go away.”

  “Answer my question. Why are you doing it?” Jessie said, not budging. Her voice trembled. Her whole body started to shake. “Why are you trying to ruin my life?”

  “I’m not doing it. You are!” Emily said, starting to lose her cool. “How dare you try to turn things around! Don’t you think I know all the horrible things you’ve done to me? Don’t you think I know it’s been you all along?”

  “Me! What are you talking about?” Jessie cried loudly. “You’re crazy!”

  “I don’t think you should be calling anyone crazy,” Emily said heatedly. “I’m not the one who sees a shrink twice a week!”

  She regretted saying it immediately. It had just slipped out.

  But so what?

  Why should she be careful about what she said to Jessie?

  Jessie’s eyes grew wide. Tears rolled down her pale cheeks. She opened her mouth to say something, changed her mind, and pushed past Emily, running full speed, her shoes clicking against the hard floor.

  Emily breathed a loud sigh of relief and hurried into the bathroom, grateful there were no other family members inside. Her eyes quickly surveyed the large, black-and-white-tiled room, the row of sinks to her left, the stalls to her right, a painted-over window against the far wall. No one here.

  Someone had left the water running in the first sink. Emily walked over and turned it off. As usual the bathroom was a mess. The sink was clogged with paper towels. And there were crumpled paper towels all over the floor.

  She walked to the next sink, turned on the cold water, and dabbed at the spot on her shirt with a clean paper towel. She realized she was still breathing hard, still upset by her encounter with her stepsister.

  First Krysta. Then Jessie.

  What was the point of this campaign they were mounting?

  What had Jessie and Krysta cooked up between them? What were they trying to prove, anyway?

  Was Jessie trying to prove for some reason that Emily was some sort of horrible person? What was the point of that? Was it Jessie’s way of denying the truth—that she was crazy, that she was the horrible one?

  Emily dabbed at the spot on her shirt. She couldn’t tell if the stain had come out or not. Now she had a dark, wet circle on her chest.

  Oh, great, she thought wearily. That’s really going to look great in English class next period.

  Feeling sorry for herself, wishing the school day were over so she could get outside, away from everyone, and breathe some fresh air, Emily entered the middle stall, locking the door behind her.

  Sitting down, she let her mind wander. She tried to think of something pleasant, something nice, to take her mind off Jessie. She started to think about Josh, but then she pictured him leaning so close to Jessie, talking and laughing with her so cozily. “Yuck!” she said aloud.

  She heard someone come into the girls’ room. Heard shoes scraping against the tile floor. Heard water running into the sink.

  The water stopped. Someone coughed. Then the shoes scuffed against the floor. The door opened and closed. The bathroom was empty again.

  A few seconds later Emily smelled smoke.

  She got up quickly and hurried out of the stall. Her heart was pounding.

  The room was filling with white smoke.

  Where was it coming from?

  Emily held her breath. The wastebasket. Flames leapt from the wastebasket at the end of the stalls.

  So much smoke, she thought, for a wastebasket fire.

  Coughing, her eyes starting to tear, she ran over to see if she could smother the flames. But the flames were leaping high from the can, too high to get near enough to move the can.

  And then suddenly the paper on the floor caught fire. And now the flames were leaping up to the wooden moldings on the walls.

  I’ve got to get out of here, Emily thought, surprised by how frightened she felt. I’ve got to set off the alarm.

  The fire started to spread over the wooden doors of the stalls.

  Emily ran to the door leading to the hall and shoved.

  “Hey—what’s going on?”

  The door seemed to be stuck.

  “Hey!”

  She shoved again, jamming her shoulder hard against the door.

  But it didn’t budge.

  It couldn’t be stuck.

  Was someone standing on the other side, holding it closed?

  Don’t get paranoid, Emily, she thought.

  She coughed again. The smoke was burning her throat.

  Don’t get paranoid? While Emily was in the stall, someone had come in and set the wastebasket on fire!

  Jessie?

  She tried the door again. It didn’t move.

  Trying desperately to hold her breath, she lowered her head and ran p
ast the flames to the little window in the back of the bathroom. Her eyes closed, she grabbed the window frame and tugged.

  No.

  Come on. Come on. Move.

  No.

  She tugged harder. The window wouldn’t raise.

  Choking on the acrid smoke, she opened her eyes and saw the problem. The window frame had recently been painted. The window was painted shut.

  “No! Help! Somebody—help!”

  The smoke had turned black. It seemed to billow up in all directions.

  She ran through the flames to the door at the front and heaved herself against it with all her might.

  The door wouldn’t move.

  “I’m going to die in here,” she said aloud.

  Chapter

  13

  Prove It!

  Her throat burned. Her eyes burned. She couldn’t catch her breath.

  She ran to the nearest sink and turned on both faucets, splashing her face with water.

  It didn’t help.

  It wouldn’t help at all, she realized.

  But what if she filled the wastebasket with water and then used it to douse the flames?

  Yes. That might work. But where was the wastebasket? The smoke had formed a swirling, black curtain. She couldn’t even see the wastebasket.

  I—I can’t breathe, she thought.

  I’m going to suffocate.

  Uttering a loud sob, she pounded on the door with her fists.

  “Help me! Please—help me!”

  No reply.

  The bell must have rung. Everyone must have gone upstairs to class. The downstairs hallway would be deserted by now.

  “Help me! Please—help me!”

  She tried to pound on the door, but she could feel herself weakening. Her arms felt so heavy, she could barely lift them.

  She choked, gasping for breath.

  If only I could catch up with my breathing. . . .

  She couldn’t see.

  The flames were so hot now. So high . . . so close. . . .

  And then she heard someone struggling with the door. “It’s my imagination.” Did she say that aloud, or did she just think it?

  Her mind was becoming a cloud, as dark and swirling as the smoke. She felt light, as light as a flame.