by R. L. Stine
Go, Tigers
At dinner, her mother argued with her. “Do you really think you should give up your homework time for a meeting so late at night? Shouldn’t you be using your time better? You’re not even on the squad.”
Gretchen set down her fork. “How many times are you going to remind me, Mom?”
“I’m just saying…” Mrs. Page hesitated. “I’m just saying don’t let the cheerleading thing take over your life. They didn’t want you on the squad and—”
Gretchen raised her hand. “Stop. Just stop. You’re just going to start a screaming fight, Mom. Between the two of us. I showed you the message. Stacy said cheerleaders and alternate. That’s me. So I’m going tonight. That’s it.”
Her mother opened her mouth to reply, but thought better of it. “Whatever,” she muttered and returned to her tuna and macaroni casserole.
Gretchen pulled her mother’s car into the student parking lot a little before eight. Two other cars were parked near the teachers’ lot. Two spaces down, a squirrel sat straight up, rolling an acorn between its paws. It turned and scampered away as Gretchen opened her car door to climb out.
Her sneakers thudded loudly in the long, empty hall. Someone had left their locker door open, and papers and notebooks had spilled out onto the floor. Gretchen hummed to herself, and her voice rang hollow against the tile walls.
Stepping through the double doors, she blinked against the bright light of the gym. All of the lights had been turned on, and the gym floor glowed like a yellow sun, reflecting the lights.
“Anyone here?” Her eyes swept from the bleachers against the far wall, across the empty floor, to the glass-windowed offices at the side. “Hey? Anyone?” Her shout echoed all around her.
She pulled out her phone and glanced at the time. 8:05. She checked to see if she had received any other texts. No.
“Where is everybody?” she asked out loud.
Gretchen moved to Coach Walker’s office and leaned back against the closed door. She checked her Snapchat and her email, but kept raising her eyes to the gym entrance, expecting to see the others arrive.
At 8:15, she began to suspect that something was wrong. Pacing back and forth along the wall now, she retrieved Stacy’s text message. She read it again. Then she tried to reply:
I’m at the gym.
Where is everybody?
Did I get the night wrong?
She pushed send, but the message wouldn’t go. She pressed send again.
And gasped when all the lights went off.
“Hey—!” The deep darkness hit her like an ocean wave. She actually stumbled back against the wall. “Hey—!” She frantically tried to blink away her blindness. But it had been so bright, and now …
“Hey, somebody! Who turned off the lights?” Her voice revealed her surprise.
The narrow windows along the top of the walls were solid black. Gretchen turned toward the doors. The windows in the gym doors were black, too. Someone had turned off the hall lights.
Gretchen took a deep breath and fought back her fear. Are the school lights on a timer? Or did someone deliberately turn them off?
“Hey, anyone?” she shouted again. “I’m in here. Turn the lights back on.”
No reply.
Silence.
Then she heard a loud click. From the entrance doors?
“Hey—is someone there? Answer me!”
Silence.
And then a soft footstep. And a cough. And another soft scrape of a shoe against the floor.
“Who is it?” Her voice suddenly tiny, trembling. “Who’s there? I hear you.”
I’ve got to get out of here.
Her back against the wall, Gretchen began edging toward the doors. The blackness pulsed before her eyes. She couldn’t see anything.
But she knew she wasn’t alone.
More scraping footsteps. And then Gretchen heard the shallow breathing of someone close by.
She sucked in another breath. And the scent invaded her nose. A sweet citrus scent. It took a few seconds to recognize it. The citrus scent Devra used.
“Oh, wow,” she murmured. “Devra? Is that you?”
She didn’t wait for an answer. She grabbed the bar on the gym door and shoved it hard.
It didn’t budge.
She pushed the door. Leaned into the next door and pushed it.
No. Locked.
That was the clicking sound. Devra had locked it. Turned off the lights and locked the doors. Locked her in. And now was moving slowly toward her.
If only she could see in this thick blackness.…
“Devra, I know it’s you. Devra, you’re not scaring me. SAY something!”
Silence.
“Devra—you’ve already WON! Why are you doing this to me?”
Another muffled cough in reply. And then … running footsteps.
Gretchen squinted into the darkness. She froze. She didn’t know which way to run. Panic paralyzed her as her pursuer came at her hard, footsteps thudding loudly in the dark, empty gym.
And then Gretchen opened her mouth in a scream as a body crashed into her, bone-hard shoulder diving into her middle, taking her breath away, slamming her to the floor.
19.
Unable to breathe, pain like a fire in her stomach, Gretchen hit the floor hard. She rolled onto her side and curled up to protect herself. Choking, struggling to get her breath back. It felt as if heavy black waves were rolling over her, pressing her down.
Was Devra going to keep fighting? Was she done hurting her?
Still gasping, Gretchen looked up when she heard the gym doors open and then slam shut. She heard the footsteps of her attacker out in the hall.
Forcing herself to breathe, she sat up. She gazed into the swirling darkness, waiting for the pain to fade, waiting for her chest to stop burning, for her head to clear.
Devra, I know it was you.
You shouldn’t have worn that perfume, Devra.
She knew her attacker. But what good did that do? If she accused her, Devra would just deny it. Gretchen had no proof. In the thick darkness, she hadn’t even seen Devra.
I have to wait. I have to stay on guard and wait my turn.
I’ll find a way to stop her from terrorizing me.
I know my turn will come.
* * *
“We have to talk about fire batons,” Stacy said.
After school on Wednesday found them heading to the gym for practice. With the first Tigers football game Friday night, the practices were becoming more intense. Gretchen was pleased that Coach Walker allowed her to practice some of the routines, even though she wouldn’t be cheering with the squad Friday night.
Gretchen put a hand on Stacy’s arm to stop her. “Can I ask you a question first?”
Stacy nodded. “Sure.”
Gretchen pulled out her phone. “Did you send me this text message?” She showed her the message that brought her to the gym.
Stacy’s eyes went wide. “No way,” she said. “Someone used my name? There was no practice last night, Gretchen.”
Gretchen tucked the phone back into her bag. “That’s what I thought.”
“Well, what happened?” Stacy demanded. “You didn’t go to the gym, did you?”
“Of course not,” Gretchen lied. “I knew it was a phony.”
“What a dumb joke,” Stacy said, shaking her head.
“Yeah. Dumb,” Gretchen said. “So … tell me about fire batons. We didn’t have fire batons at my old school.”
“Well, we do a fire baton routine at halftime,” Stacy said. “Lighting them is a little tricky. And since it’s your job as the alternate to light them, I thought I should give you a lesson.”
“I light them?” This assignment caught Gretchen by surprise. “I light them and hand them to a cheerleader?”
Stacy nodded. “Yes. Didn’t Coach Walker talk to you? She probably forgot. No problem. I’ll show you.”
Coach Walker greeted them both. “I’m goi
ng to give Gretchen a fire baton tutorial,” Stacy said.
The coach called Sid over. He had been sitting on the bottom bleacher, sharing a sandwich with Ana. “Sid, set up the kerosene bucket and bring out a couple of fire batons. Stacy and Gretchen are going to practice outside.”
“No problem,” Sid said, giving the coach a two-fingered salute. He grinned at Gretchen. “Lesson Number One. Don’t burn down the school if you can help it.”
“That’s very helpful, Sid,” Coach Walker said. “But we really don’t want to hear Lesson Number Two. Just go get the equipment.”
A few minutes later, Stacy and Gretchen stood in the grassy area behind the gym. It was a warm fall day. High clouds floated over the yellow and red leaves of the trees. A fat crow peered down at them from the low roof of the building, cawing angrily as if telling them to go away.
Sid set two blue plastic buckets in front of them. One was half-filled with kerosene, the other with water. He handed two fire batons to Stacy. And he pulled a couple of heavy rags from his jeans pocket.
Stacy stepped forward and gave him a quick kiss. “See you later?”
Sid’s face reddened. He glanced at Gretchen. “Yeah. Maybe.” He started back into the gym, but turned at the door. “Hey. Almost forgot.” He pulled something from his shirt pocket and tossed it to Gretchen. A large candle lighter. “Have fun.” He disappeared into the gym.
“It’s very simple. Watch,” Stacy said. She demonstrated as she talked. “They look like normal batons, but they have these big bulbs on the end that catch fire. Here’s all you do. You dip one end of the baton into the kerosene. Then you dip the other end. Then you use the rag and wipe it off carefully to make sure no kerosene dripped onto the baton part. We don’t want flaming cheerleaders, do we?”
Gretchen laughed. “That could be an awesome finale.”
Why am I making jokes? Gretchen thought. This is more dangerous than I thought.
“Then you hold the baton sideways like this and light one end, then the other.” She clicked the lighter. It flamed and Stacy held the flame over each end of the baton. “You hand one to Devra, then light another one and hand it to me,” she instructed. “Easy?”
“Ha,” Gretchen said. “Not so easy. But I think I can do it. Let me try one.”
Stacy handed her the other baton. Gretchen twirled it in one hand, let it fly high in the sky, and caught it as it dropped. “Can you believe I took twirling lessons in third grade?”
“You are so talented,” Stacy said, her voice light. She doused her fire baton in the water bucket Sid had brought out. She leaned close to Gretchen. “Listen, I feel bad about what happened. You know. You really are talented. What they did wasn’t right.”
“Thanks for saying that,” Gretchen said. She turned and dipped one end of her baton into the kerosene bucket. She suddenly felt confused. She liked Stacy. Stacy was a nice person. But she didn’t want to get too friendly with her. After all, she was stealing Stacy’s boyfriend.
How could they possibly be friends?
“Dip it quickly,” Stacy instructed. “You don’t want to soak it.”
Gretchen flipped the baton and dipped the other end. Then she grabbed a rag from Stacy and carefully wiped the middle of the baton. When she was sure it was dry, she lighted both ends. “Should I try to twirl it?”
“Better not. It takes a lot of practice. You have to hold it pretty far away from you.”
“I want to try,” Gretchen said. “If I catch fire—”
She didn’t finish her sentence. The gym door swung open and Coach Walker stuck her head out. “What are you doing? Are you roasting marshmallows out here?” she called.
“Just teaching Gretchen the basics for Friday night,” Stacy said.
“Come in,” the coach said, waving them in. “I have a surprise for everyone.”
Gretchen doused her baton in the water bucket. Then she tossed it on the ground and followed Stacy back into the gym.
She saw Sid standing in the center floor beside a pile of boxes.
“The new uniforms have arrived,” Coach Walker announced. “Sid, hand them out. Come on, everyone. Go try them on.”
A lot of excitement, cheers, and eager talk. Sid raised the boxes and called out the names. “Devra … Courtney … Shannon … Becka … Ana. Gretchen held her breath. Would there be a new uniform for the alternate?
Yes. Her box was at the bottom of the stack. Sid handed it to her, and she trotted to the locker room to try it on. The girls had strewn the boxes all over the locker room floor. Gretchen pulled hers from the box. A short, pleated maroon skirt with a long-sleeve maroon sweater top, a large white S on the front, a growling full-color tiger on the right shoulder.
Sweet.
The skirt fit perfectly. She kept turning it, trying to find the front. It didn’t seem to matter. She pulled on the top and adjusted it over the skirt. Tugged down the sleeves.
Sweeping back her hair with both hands, Gretchen turned to Ana at the locker across from her. “What do you think?”
“Lookin’ good,” Ana said. “These new uniforms are a lot hotter than the old ones.” She bounced off to look at herself in the mirror beside the shower room door.
Arms around each other’s shoulders, Courtney and Devra were performing a cheer together between the lockers. Gretchen adjusted the sleeves again. The sweater felt a little tight. No. Not tight. A little stiff. She stretched her arms out.
Her back started to itch. She tried to scratch it but couldn’t reach. The uncomfortable feeling spread to her shoulders. Her stomach began to itch.
What’s happening?
She rubbed her arms, scratched her shoulders. Her whole body prickled.
Something was wrong. Gretchen stumbled to the mirror. The backs of her hands itched now. Her chest felt aflame.
“What on earth—” she murmured, scratching her itching neck.
She stepped up close to the mirror, squinted hard, studying herself—and opened her mouth in a horrified scream.
20.
Courtney and Devra stopped their cheer. The locker room grew silent.
A hand gripped Gretchen’s shoulder. She spun around to see Stacy holding onto her, her eyes wide with surprise. “Gretchen? What’s wrong?”
“Look! Look!” Gretchen cried. “Look at them. Cockroaches. Don’t you see them? My uniform. It’s crawling with cockroaches.”
Stacy stepped back, her dark eyes bulged in horror. “I see them. Oh, yuck. Hundreds.”
“They—they’re crawling on my skin!” Gretchen cried. “Crawling all over me. Like little pinpricks. Oh, help.” She started slapping at herself, slapping her sides, her chest. “Help. Get me out of this!”
The other girls clustered around her, eyes wide in shock. Stacy stared at her, helpless, open-mouthed. “The other uniforms are perfectly fine.”
Two orange-brown cockroaches slithered up Gretchen’s neck. A few had climbed into her hair. She scraped both hands over her head, twisting, squirming. She rubbed her back against the wall. Cockroaches fell at her feet and scampered across the concrete floor.
Becka and Ana screamed and backed away. Shannon covered her mouth with both hands.
“Ohhhhhh.” A sick groan escaped Gretchen’s throat. Then, suddenly, her expression changed. Her face reddened and she clenched her jaw, narrowing her eyes, as if she was pondering a new idea.
Then, with an angry cry, she hurtled forward and grabbed Devra by the shoulders and spun her around. “YOU did this!” she screamed. “YOU did it! I know you did it!”
Devra pulled out of Gretchen’s grip and stepped away from her, eyes wide with surprise. “Let go of me. Are you crazy? What are you talking about?”
“Look! Look what Devra did!” Gretchen cried, turning to confront everyone. She tugged the front of her sweater. Eight or ten cockroaches tumbled to the floor.
Gretchen pulled a cockroach off her neck and tossed it at Devra. It slid off Devra’s sleeve and dropped to her feet.
; “How could you do this to me?” Gretchen screeched in a high voice she had never heard before. “You won. You won, okay? I lost. So why are you torturing me?”
Coach Walker burst into the locker room. She stepped into the circle of cheerleaders and took Gretchen by the shoulders. “Take a breath, Gretchen. Take a deep breath. Let’s take this uniform off you. Then you can take a nice long shower.”
“Why does she always blame me?” Devra cried. “Why does she blame me for everything?”
“Because you did it?” Gretchen said in a trembling voice. She moved toward Devra as if to fight her.
“You’re totally psycho,” Devra said. “Seriously. You’re crazy. Why would I do that? Where would I get all those cockroaches?”
Gretchen brushed cockroaches off her legs and frantically tried to stomp on them. “Everyone knows you’ve declared war on me,” Gretchen said through gritted teeth. “Everyone.”
Devra crossed her arms over her chest. Her blue eyes were cold as ice as she returned Gretchen’s stare. “I don’t care about you,” she said. “I never even think about you. So why should I go to the trouble of filling your uniform with bugs?”
“Because you know I’m better than you!” Gretchen shrieked. “You know I’m a better cheerleader. You’re a fraud, a fake, and you know it.”
Devra rolled her eyes and frowned. She turned to Coach Walker. “She’s crazy. Look at her. She’s practically frothing at the mouth.”
“Gretchen, we have to get you out of that uniform,” Coach Walker said softly. “Let’s get you into the shower. We’re going to have to call an exterminator for the locker room now.”
But Gretchen didn’t move. “You don’t believe me? You all think I’m crazy?”
No one said a word. Devra kept her cold stare on Gretchen.
“I know how to prove it,” Gretchen said. “I know how to show you that Devra did this.” She shook her head hard. Three or four cockroaches came tumbling out.
Coach Walker tugged her arm. “Come on, Gretchen. Let’s—”
“No!” Gretchen cried. “Where did these uniforms come from, Coach Walker? Where did you order them from?”
Coach Walker shrugged. “I don’t remember. I think…” Her voice trailed off.
