by R. L. Stine
Gretchen pressed her hands into the cushion and listened to the tap-tap-tap. It sounded like someone knocking on the window, trying to get in.
Don’t freak yourself out, she scolded herself. She’d felt tense, totally on edge since her confrontation with Devra an hour earlier. She kept playing the conversation over again in her mind.
Each time it made her angrier—and more anxious about how desperate Devra was to win the cheerleader spot this year.
“Spoiled brat,” Gretchen murmured out loud. Obviously, Devra was used to getting whatever she wanted.
Gretchen sighed. Didn’t Devra realize how lucky she was? Her father owned department stores. He and Devra lived in North Hills. Madison had explained to her that was the fanciest section of Shadyside, with enormous mansions, gated to keep the rest of the world out.
Gretchen’s father had moved to Milwaukee with his new girlfriend. He didn’t care if he heard from Gretchen or not. He never tried to call her or even email. Not a word from him on her last birthday.
She shifted tensely on the couch, listening to the insistent tap-tap-tap at the window. The house was silent. So silent she heard the click of the fridge rumbling on in the kitchen.
With a sigh, she raised her phone. Maybe Madison was back from her violin lesson. She wanted to tell her about Devra’s attempt to bribe her. She listened to the ring until Madison’s voicemail came on. Then she clicked it off.
Gretchen realized her hands were shaking.
Why am I so upset?
I’m too old to be scared of being home alone.
She knew it wasn’t that. She had looked forward to a new start here in Shadyside. A house on Fear Street sounded intriguing, even exciting. Why would someone give a street that name?
It wasn’t being home alone in a new house on a windy night that disturbed her. It was Devra Dalby. Once again, she pictured Devra’s head toss, sending her red hair back over her shoulders … her icy blue eyes.…
Devra’s harsh whisper: “How about a thousand-dollar store credit?”
Gretchen squeezed the phone in her hand. Maybe I’ll call Polly. Talking to Polly always helps me get my head together.
Just as Gretchen started to push Polly’s number, the doorbell rang.
A loud clang clang.
Gretchen jumped, startled. She hadn’t heard the doorbell before. No one had visited yet.
She set down the phone and earphones and strode to the front entryway. She frowned at the framed color print her mother had hung on the entry wall—six dogs wearing human clothes, sitting around a card table playing poker.
“Just a joke,” Mrs. Page had explained. “Until our real art arrives from Savanna Mills.”
Gretchen thought it embarrassing that her mother had even bought something so atrocious.
The bell clanged again. “Who is it?” Gretchen called, her throat clogged from not talking to anyone for an hour.
No answer.
“Who’s there?”
Gretchen pulled the door. It stuck. The wood had swollen, making it too tight against the frame. Another fix-it project on her mother’s list. She gave it a hard tug with both hands, and it swung open.
Gretchen stared into the triangle of yellow light from the porchlight.
No one there.
“Hello?” she called. “Hey—are you there?”
The wind made the trees shake. Dead leaves rained to the ground. The lawn was already covered in a blanket of fallen leaves. Gusts of wind made a whispering sound all around.
Gretchen squinted to the street. No cars. No one there. A quick glance at the front of Madison’s house next-door. No one.
With a shiver, she shoved the door closed. She stood in the entryway, staring at the hideous dog print on the wall. The wind couldn’t have rung the doorbell.
A hard tap on the front window made Gretchen spin around. It seemed louder than the gentle tapping of the tree branch.
Another hard knock. Another. Was someone pounding on the window?
Gretchen lurched back into the living room. She tripped over the edge of the carpet that hadn’t been tacked down yet. Caught her balance. Eyes on the window. Only darkness beyond the pale curtain of light from the front porch.
She pushed her nose against the cold glass and peered out.
No one there.
Is this a joke? Or am I going crazy?
The hard, repeated knock on the kitchen door made her cry out. The sound rang down the back hallway. Definitely a fist pounding on the glass section of the back door.
“Who is it?” Gretchen shouted. Sudden fear tightened her throat as she ran through the hall, shoes thudding loudly on the bare floorboards. “Who’s there?”
Into the kitchen. A single ceiling light on dim. Neat and clean. No one had eaten at home tonight.
A drumlike pounding on the door. Gretchen saw only darkness in the glass square that formed the top half of the door.
She grabbed the knob. Breathless. Heartbeats racing now. Grabbed the knob with both hands and yanked the door open.
A whoosh of cold air greeted her. “Who’s there? Who is doing this?”
A lawn rake on its side against the back stoop. The wooden lawn chairs and table glowing dully under the light of a half-moon.
No one there. And no footsteps. No one running to the side of the house.
A ghost.
Gretchen allowed herself a stupid thought. Yes, a ghost. That must be why they call this Fear Street.
She still held the knob to the kitchen door in her hand when she heard the clang of the front doorbell.
Someone is playing a mean joke.
Someone is trying to scare me. And it’s working.
She slammed the kitchen door and carefully locked it. She checked the kitchen window. Locked.
The doorbell rang again.
Gretchen stopped halfway down the back hall. I’m not going into the living room. I’m not going to answer it.
Her whole body shuddered. Did someone plan to break in? Or were they just trying to terrorize her? Such a mean, babyish stunt. But she had no way of knowing if it was just a joke, a trick, a harmless prank.
Or if …
Someone pressed the front doorbell and kept it clanging.
Gretchen sucked in a deep shuddering breath and held it. Fighting back her panic, she forced her trembling legs forward. To the door. The bell deafening now.
She grabbed the knob in both hands and pulled with all her strength. The door shot open, sending her tumbling back, off-balance. She stared wide-eyed at the face in the doorway—and screamed. “Mom? It was you?”
Mrs. Page shifted the hooded cloak she wore. “Sorry. I forgot my keys.” She stepped into the house. “What took you so long, Gretchen?”
“I…” Gretchen gaped at her, her whole body still tense and trembling. “Mom, you tapped at the window? You went around back?”
“Of course not,” Mrs. Page said, letting the cloak fall off her shoulders, wrapping it in her arms, and carrying it to the coat closet. “Marci from work dropped me off and I rang the front bell.”
“But, Mom—” Gretchen started.
Someone banged on the window. And pounded on the back door.
“Close the door,” Mrs. Page said. “You’re letting the cold air in.”
Gretchen stepped back to the door and started to push it shut. But she stopped when something caught her eyes. She squinted into the yellow porchlight.
Something on the evergreen shrub at the side of the front stoop. She stepped out of the house. The wind ruffled her T-shirt and tossed back her hair.
She tugged the object off the bush. And raised it into the light.
A bandanna. A red-and-yellow bandanna. It had become caught in the pine needles.
Gretchen stared at the bandanna, wrapping it around her hand. Where had she seen it before?
On Devra Dalby?
12.
On Saturday, tryout day, Gretchen awoke at five thirty in the morning and couldn’t
get back to sleep. Her mind was spinning. She kept going through routines she already knew by heart, routines she had done a thousand times.
I don’t want to overthink. My moves should all flow easily from muscle memory.
But images of Devra kept interrupting, breaking her early morning concentration. Devra’s face turning pink, then red as Gretchen refused to cooperate. Her features going so tight on her face. Her words spit through gritted teeth.
Gretchen couldn’t remember ever seeing that kind of anger on another person.
Maybe Coach Walker showed Devra my highlight reel. Maybe Devra saw that she isn’t as good as me. Maybe she realizes she can’t compete.
Gretchen waited till seven thirty to call Polly. “I’ve never been so crazy tense in my life,” she told her old friend. “I tried to eat a bowl of cornflakes for breakfast, and I couldn’t choke them down.”
She took a deep breath. “I’m tense, Polly, but I’m also totally psyched. Devra didn’t ruin my confidence. I know I’m an outstanding cheerleader, and I know I can contribute to this squad. It’s not like I want to prove anything to Devra. I only want to win this for myself. You understand, don’t you?”
* * *
Gretchen did some stretching exercises in the backyard. It was a cool, gray morning with tiny raindrops in the air. Low overhead, a black storm cloud rolled closer, darkening the sky to near nighttime.
She turned and gazed at Madison’s house next door, somehow expecting to see Madison practicing her violin in the window. But the house was dark.
Gretchen wanted to practice a few running cartwheels. But the rain started to come down harder, blown into her face by gusting winds. She trotted back into the house.
In her room, she pulled on a tank top and yoga pants. Swept her blonde hair straight and tied it tight with a plastic barrette. She checked herself out one last time in the mirror. “You can do this,” she told her reflection.
She found the keys to her mother’s Camry on the table in the front entryway, and was nearly to the front door when her mother appeared. “What’s up, Gretchen?”
Gretchen frowned at her. “You know perfectly well what’s up. I’m going to my cheerleader tryout. Are you going to wish me good luck?”
“Of course,” her mother replied, apparently startled by Gretchen’s sharpness. “Can I give you a hug?” She opened her arms.
Gretchen had no choice. She stepped forward, and they had a brief, awkward hug. Her mom wasn’t the touchy-feely kind of person, and that was okay with Gretchen. At least, she had grown used to few hugs or kisses or almost no physical signs of affection from her mother.
“My mom isn’t cold. She’s just not very approachable,” she’d told Polly once a year or so ago.
“Is that why your parents got divorced?” Polly had asked.
Gretchen shuddered. “Eww. I don’t want to think about that.”
The hug ended quickly, and Gretchen started to the door.
“I just want to say one thing,” Mrs. Page said, blocking her path. “I know you have high hopes, dear. But if you don’t get the position, you have to remember it isn’t the end of the world.”
Gretchen’s mouth dropped open. “Excuse me?”
“I mean you’re new in this school, and it might be nice to settle in. You know, get used to things and make new friends and get comfortable in your classes. If you don’t make the team—”
“Mom, I don’t believe you!” Gretchen snapped. “Why do you do this to me? Why are you always trying to discourage me and pull me down?”
Mrs. Page took a step back. She pressed a hand against her throat and gaped at Gretchen, as if hurt and surprised. “Pull you down? I would never do that, dear. I just don’t want you to be crushed if you fail today.”
“Fail? Fail?” Gretchen could feel herself losing it. She suddenly pictured a huge, red bomb about to explode.
“I never want to discourage you,” her mother said. “But I don’t think it’s wise to get your hopes up. That’s all.”
Gretchen could feel the good energy flowing out of her. Her mother always knew exactly how to bring her down. With a cry of disgust, she bumped past her mother, burst out the door, and slammed it hard behind her.
I can nail this tryout, she told herself. I know I can nail it.
13.
Devra was already in the gym when Gretchen arrived. She was doing stretching exercises near the far wall. She wore a maroon-and-white Shadyside jersey over white Spandex shorts. Her red hair fell loosely around her face as she stretched.
Courtney, in her cheerleader uniform, stood with Devra, leaning against the wall. The two girls chatted easily. Neither one of them turned to greet Gretchen.
Stacy and the other cheerleaders were all in uniform—Ana, perky-looking with green cat eyes and short, straight black hair, bangs across her forehead; Becka, crinkly brown hair falling around a slender serious face, at least a head taller than Ana; and Shannon, tall and athletic, with cocoa-brown skin, round, dark eyes, her black hair pulled to one side in a tight ponytail.
They clustered around the doorway to Coach Walker’s office. Through the glass office wall, Gretchen could see Walker talking on the phone.
One person sat in the bleachers at the back of the gym. As Gretchen crossed the floor, she recognized Sid. He waved to her, a can of Coke in his other hand.
Stacy turned to greet her. “Hey, Gretchen. This is exciting. Are you psyched?”
Gretchen swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. “Well … that’s one way to put it. Actually, I’m terrified.”
“I get nervous, too,” Stacy said. “I think it helps me perform better. You know. Gets the adrenaline going.”
Coach Walker hung up the phone and stepped into the office doorway. She glanced around. “Are we all here?”
“Yes, we are,” Stacy replied. “Ready to rock and roll.”
Normally, Gretchen would hate Stacy’s kind of rah-rah enthusiasm. But Stacy was the only cheerleader acting warm and welcoming to her. So she decided she had to like Stacy’s bright personality.
I wish I could be more like her.
“Gretchen, did you bring any music or anything?” Coach Walker asked.
“No. I’m just going to do a basic routine and show some jumps and moves.”
“Stacy and Ana will help you if you want to include any Thigh Stands or High Jumps,” Coach Walker said. She motioned with her head toward Ana, who smiled at Gretchen.
“I think we’ll let Devra go first,” Walker said. She turned and shouted: “Devra? Courtney? Would you like to join us? Are you ready to begin?”
Devra did a few more leg stretches, then followed Courtney toward the others. Her eyes were on Gretchen as she approached. She nodded but didn’t say hello.
Devra took a towel from the shelf in the coach’s office and mopped her forehead. “I think I’m warmed up.” She picked up a bag that leaned against the wall, pulled out a water bottle, and took a long drink.
“Follow me, everyone,” Coach Walker said, motioning with one hand. She led the way across the gym to the bleachers. Sid raised his Coke can in greeting as the cheerleaders took seats on the bottom benches. Gretchen was too nervous to sit down. She stood at the side of the bleachers, gripping the railing tightly.
“Devra, you’re up,” Coach Walker said. “Show us something, okay?”
Devra nodded, wiping water off her chin. She set down her water bottle. Then she brushed back her red hair and stepped to the middle of the floor. As she stepped into place, the sky outside brightened, the storm clouds parted, and yellow sunlight washed through the high windows of the gym.
“Great special effects, Devra,” Coach Walker called. “You brought your own spotlight.”
The cheerleaders leaned forward on the bleacher benches and grew silent, preparing to watch. Gretchen crossed her arms in front of her. She took a deep breath and held it. If only her heartbeats would stop fluttering like a hummingbird’s wings.
She turned in time to s
ee Sid flash her a thumbs-up.
“Go, Devra!” Courtney shouted.
Stacy scooted close to Gretchen. “Courtney and Devra have been friends forever,” she whispered. “But don’t worry. Courtney isn’t going to vote. The other cheerleaders don’t vote. Only Coach Walker and I will decide who wins.”
Gretchen started to reply, but Devra had begun her tryout.
“I’m going to do a few new cheers that I wrote,” she announced. “I’ve been practicing different jumps, and I’ll show them to you. It’s hard to stand here and do this alone. I think you all know that I’m a team player, and I do my best work when you others are with me. I think I need your support—”
“Can we skip the acceptance speech?” Coach Walker interrupted, raising one hand to signal for Devra to stop.
A few girls laughed. Ana whispered something to Shannon beside her.
“This isn’t a joke, Coach Walker,” Devra said, scowling. “You know I’m trying out under protest. Everyone knows I worked hard all last year and I deserve this spot on the squad.”
Walker shook her head. “Devra, please. We all know how you feel. You’re not exactly shy about telling people. But we want what’s best for the squad. We have a good chance of going to the state tournament this year. You know that. So we have to put the best team we can out there. You want that, too, don’t you?”
Devra rolled her eyes and didn’t answer.
An awkward silence fell over the gym. Devra gazed at Gretchen for a long moment, as if challenging her. Then she stepped into position and delivered one of the new cheers she had written.
“Do you dig it?
That Tiger beat!
Have you got it?
Stomp your feet!
Go, Tigers!”
Gretchen watched, still standing tensely with her arms crossed tightly over her chest, and felt some of her anxiety fade. Devra isn’t very good, she realized. Her Toe Touch Jumps were okay. But those are the simplest jumps in the world. Her Spread Eagle Jump at the end looked awkward, off-balance.
