by R. L. Stine
The Tigers marching band took the field with their Star Wars halftime show. Gretchen had heard them practicing and wished she could watch the show. She loved the music from Star Wars. Two white-helmeted stormtroopers led the band into its formations.
Gretchen turned away to huddle with the other cheerleaders. Their tradition was to form a circle and hold hands before their halftime routine. Beside Gretchen, Ana was trembling. “So cold,” she murmured, brushing raindrops off her forehead.
“We’ll warm up once we start our routines,” Gretchen told her.
“Showtime, everyone,” Coach Walker called, as the band marched off the field, following the stormtroopers back to the bleachers.
The cheerleaders ran in front of the stands, cheering and shouting. Gretchen took her place in the center of the line. She could feel excitement making her blood pulse. A surge of energy shot through her body.
This is what I love.
She was halfway through the first cheer when she spotted Shannon at the far end of the line. Whoa. Wait a minute.
Becka stood at Gretchen’s left, doing her arm motions as she shouted the cheer. Shannon was supposed to be at Gretchen’s right. Had she forgotten her role in Gretchen’s Double Somersault?
They began the new rap cheer that they had practiced earlier in the week. The crowd quieted for this one. Maybe because it was new.
Gretchen nearly lost her place when she saw who stood at her right. Devra? Why was Devra in Shannon’s spot?
The rap cheer ended and applause echoed down the rows of benches. Despite the cold drizzle, the crowd was warming up.
Gretchen turned to Devra. “I have to do my somersault now,” she said. She meant for Devra to move away so Shannon could take the spot.
But Devra nodded. “Okay.”
Gretchen started to protest. “Shannon—”
“Hurt her ankle,” Devra interrupted. “I said I could catch you. No problem.”
No problem?
Gretchen shuddered. She saw Shannon jumping up and down at the end of the line. Her ankle didn’t appear to be hurt.
“Ready, Gretchen?” Coach Walker shouted from the sidelines.
“Ready, Gretchen?” Devra repeated, a cold smile on her face.
Gretchen felt a wave of panic rise up her body. Her muscles tightened. She knew what Devra planned. Devra planned to drop her on her head.
What had Devra said to Shannon? Had she threatened her? Bribed her? A gift certificate at Dalby’s Department Store? How had she persuaded Shannon to step aside so that Devra could injure Gretchen?
She’ll make it look like a terrible accident. No one will believe she dropped me deliberately.
I can’t do this. I have to say no.
But she saw Coach Walker staring at her. The crowd had lost interest. People had turned away from the field, talking and laughing, slapping their hands together to keep warm.
Gretchen flashed a questioning look at Becka. Becka shrugged in reply.
I guess I have to do this. I promised Coach Walker.
But will Devra catch me?
Gretchen shut her eyes and took a deep breath. She nodded to the other cheerleaders. She decided she had no choice. They began the cheer.
Tigers ROAR
Bisons WEEP!
Tigers SOAR
TIGERS LEAP!
At the shouted word leap, Becka and Devra gave Gretchen a high boost. Arms straight up, she jumped off their hands and went flying into the air. No thinking now. No time to think. Her muscles did the thinking. Her muscles knew the routine.
And now she appeared to float for a few seconds. High above them. And then she was leaning forward. Head down. One somersault. Two. Two breathless somersaults. With no thinking. No time. No time. Flashes of color. A pounding heartbeat. No time to breathe or think.
Defying gravity, her body flipped once. Twice.
And then she came down, screaming all the way.
33.
Devra caught Gretchen, wrapping her arms around her waist. Gretchen landed hard, her knees bending as her shoes hit the ground. It took a few seconds to gain her balance. Then she ran to the sidelines, following the other girls. Her heart was pumping in her ears, too loud to hear the shouts and applause of the crowd.
Coach Walker slapped Gretchen on the back as she ran past. “Perfect!” she cried. “A perfect ten!”
A wave of nausea rolled over Gretchen. She held her breath, forcing it down. The stadium lights flashed in her eyes. Her blood pulsed in her ears, refused to fade.
I did it.
“Why did you scream like that?” Devra demanded, one hand on Gretchen’s shoulder. “What was that about?”
You know what it was about. You attacked me in the gym that night in the dark—and you deliberately tried to terrify me tonight.
That’s what Gretchen wanted to say.
Instead, she shrugged. “Just wanted to make it more exciting,” she said.
Devra’s eyes burned into hers. Devra had a strange smile on her face. A smile of triumph, Gretchen guessed.
She scared me without hurting me. That smile says this won’t be the end of it. She has something planned for me. She’s waiting for the retreat.
* * *
“So you can’t come over?” Gretchen pressed the phone to her ear. “I know it’s late, Sid. But I can’t get to sleep. The adrenaline rush from the game. You know.”
She glimpsed the old-fashioned-looking wooden clock on the bookshelf. Twelve-fifteen. She curled her bare feet under her, sitting sideways on the big leather armchair in the den.
Sid’s voice sounded tired, hoarse. “Is your mom home?”
Gretchen snickered. “Why do you care?” She didn’t give him time to answer. “Actually, Mom is out on a date. Some guy she met at the Pick-N-Pay. Seriously. I think she picked him up.”
“Is your mom hot?” Sid asked.
Gretchen’s mouth dropped open. “Never thought about it. I guess she’s okay. She’s got a good body, for forty-five. I mean, she’s thin, you know. And she’s got great hair. But her expression is always so droopy. Her face is like, Keep Away from Me or You’ll Be Sorry.”
“Maybe you know her too well,” Sid said.
That didn’t make a lot of sense to Gretchen. “Yeah. Maybe. Maybe they’re hooking up and she won’t even be home tonight. Ha. That’s a laugh.”
“My dad is yelling at me to get off the phone,” Sid said. “Can you hear him? He keeps shouting at me, ‘Don’t you know what time it is?’”
“Well, okay. Bye.” Gretchen started to end the call. Then she remembered. “But you’re coming over to help me tomorrow, right?”
A brief silence. Then: “Oh. Right. Clean your garage. Did I really say yes to that? Yeah. Okay.”
“Well, don’t sound so enthusiastic,” Gretchen said. “You said you’d come over and help.”
“Did I promise, or did I just say?” Sid replied.
“Shut up.”
He laughed. “I’ll be there. Do I get to meet your mom? I hear she’s hot.”
“Shut up again, Sid. You’re getting annoying.”
* * *
Sid showed up at Gretchen’s house a little after one thirty on Saturday afternoon, dressed in faded jeans torn at both knees and an oversized gray sweatshirt, ready for garage cleanup duty.
Mrs. Page behaved very well. She didn’t embarrass Gretchen as she usually did in front of her friends. Gretchen chalked it up to her mom’s being tired after her date.
Mrs. Page did make a comment about how dumb you have to be to buy jeans that are already ripped. And she did tell Sid, “I’m glad you’re helping with the cleanup because Gretchen is a total slob. Maybe she won’t be so lazy with you around.”
That was pretty good behavior for her, Gretchen thought.
“Mr. Simkin left us a mess in there,” Mrs. Page said. “He was supposed to clean the garage out before we moved in, but he didn’t. Feel free to throw everything out.” She pointed out the kitchen window.
“See? I rented a dumpster for all the junk. Just toss everything that’s not worth keeping in there.”
“Think there’s anything valuable in there?” Sid asked.
She rolled her eyes. “Mr. Simkin showed us his collection of bottle caps. I think that was the most valuable thing he had.”
She squinted at Sid over her coffee cup, as if seeing him for the first time. “What are your favorite subjects in school?”
Sid shrugged. “The usual.”
“Are you going to college?”
“Probably,” Sid replied.
She tapped a fingernail against the coffee cup. “Like one-word answers?”
“Yes,” he said.
Mrs. Page didn’t laugh. She made a shooing motion with her free hand. “There’s stacks of old rusted tools in there. Try not to injure yourselves. No open wounds. I don’t have insurance yet.”
“That’s cheery, Mom,” Gretchen said. She led the way out the back door to the garage.
Sid banged a rhythm on the side of the big metal dumpster in the driveway. “Your mom is funny,” he said.
“Ha-ha.”
They stopped in the open doorway of the garage and peered inside. It was a two-car garage, concrete walls, a small dust-covered window on one side letting a square of pale afternoon sunlight wash in.
Gretchen’s eyes swept over a long, coiled garden hose, rakes and brooms, a hand lawn mower, a big unopened bag of fertilizer, and boxes of gardening equipment against the wall to her left. A bike with both tires missing hung on the back wall next to some kind of rubber raft and a torn kite with no string.
Gretchen pointed to a tall stack of cartons against the other wall. “Let’s start with those boxes. You pull them down, and I’ll go through them.”
“We’ll both go through them,” Sid said, squeezing her shoulder. “That’s the fun part.”
Gretchen pinched her nose. “What’s that sour smell?”
Sid sniffed a few times. “Maybe a dead mouse behind the cartons. Or a dead raccoon or something.”
“Oh, yuck.”
Sid snickered. “This is Fear Street, remember? Could be a rotting corpse!”
“You’re not funny,” Gretchen said, trying not to inhale. “What’s the big fuss about Fear Street, anyway?”
Sid hoisted a large cardboard carton down from the top of the stack. “Hasn’t anyone told you about this street? About the Fear family? All the twisted, freaky things that happen here?”
Gretchen shook her head. “You mean for real?”
“For real. I can tell you some of it later.” He grinned. “But I don’t want to scare you away.”
“Oooh, I’m shaking!” Gretchen said sarcastically.
Working together, they pulled open the first carton. It was filled with rusted ice skates, several pairs. Sid picked up the box, carried it to the driveway, and heaved it into the dumpster with a loud crash.
The kitchen window slid open. Mrs. Page stuck her head out. “Keep it down, okay?”
“Sorry.” Sid turned and trotted back to the garage.
The second carton contained ragged bath towels, many of them with large brown stains. They were neatly folded and smelled of mildew. That carton went into the dumpster. The next carton held a tall stack of Popular Mechanics magazines. The magazine on top was dated June, 1986.
“Too bad he didn’t save comic books,” Sid said. “Those could be valuable.”
Gretchen wiped a smudge of dirt off her forehead with the back of one hand. Despite the coolness of the late October afternoon, it was becoming hot in the garage.
They worked steadily, pulling down cartons from several stacks lined against the wall. It became obvious that Mr. Simkin hadn’t left anything of value behind. So far, everything they looked at had ended up in the dumpster.
Gretchen checked her phone. “We’ve been working an hour and a half,” she said. “Want to take a break?”
Sid wiped his hands on the front of his sweatshirt. “Let’s just deal with this bookshelf over here.” He stepped up to a wide wooden bookshelf. All the shelves were missing except for the bottom one. A stringless fishing rod lay on the shelf and several coffee cans that might have been used for bait.
Sid bent to examine the cans, then stopped. “Weird,” he muttered.
“What’s weird?” Gretchen stepped up behind him.
“I think I recognize this. Isn’t this your backpack?”
Gretchen studied it. “Yes. Yes, it is. How’d it get out here?”
Sid bent down and lifted it from the garage floor. “It’s empty,” he reported. “Oh no. Wait. What is this?”
Gretchen stared at it in his hand. A brown glass jar. The size of a mayonnaise jar. “What is it?”
Sid let the backpack fall to the floor. He turned the jar between his hands. A printed label came into view. “Oh, wow,” he murmured. His eyes went wide. “Oh, wow.”
“What?” Gretchen demanded, grabbing his arm. “Let me see it. What is it?”
He turned the jar so she could read the label:
SULPHURIC ACID.
“This is what they found on Madison’s violin,” he said. “This is what killed Madison.” His hand trembled as he brought the brown jar closer. Then he raised his eyes to Gretchen. “It’s half-empty. Gretchen … what did you do?”
34.
Gretchen uttered a cry. “Huh? You don’t think I killed Madison—do you?”
Sid didn’t answer. His eyes remained on the acid jar trembling in his hand.
“I-I-I…” Gretchen stammered. Sid’s sudden betrayal made her go speechless.
“Hidden in the garage … In your backpack.…” Sid murmured, his voice just above a whisper. He kept blinking, as if he was trying to force the bottle out of his sight.
“Well, I didn’t put it there!” Gretchen screamed, finding her voice. “Don’t be a jerk, Sid. You know Madison was my friend. The only friend I’ve made here in Shadyside. Why would I kill her? Why?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. I … don’t understand.”
Gretchen pointed a trembling finger at the jar. “Put it down. Put it down, Sid. The police will be looking for fingerprints. Now they’ll find your prints all over it.”
Sid dropped the jar back into the backpack. He set the backpack down carefully. “I’m sorry, but—”
“I can’t believe you thought that acid was mine,” Gretchen said, feeling the anger tighten her chest. She crossed her arms in front of her. “Someone put it there.”
“But when did you notice your backpack was gone?”
“I … I don’t know.” Why was he questioning her? Shouldn’t he be helping her? Supporting her?
“But if I killed Madison and had half a bottle of acid left over, I wouldn’t put it there,” she said. “I wouldn’t put it in my backpack and hide it in the front of the garage where anyone could find it. Do you think I’m stupid?”
Sid shook his head but didn’t answer. He couldn’t hide his confusion. His eyebrows were knitted tightly and his eyes kept darting from side to side, as if his thoughts were overloading him.
“Trust me,” Gretchen continued. “If the acid was mine, I would have dumped it in a trash can as far away from my house as you can get.” She gave Sid’s shoulder a shove. “Think about it. Someone put that here. Someone who wanted it to be found in my garage.”
Sid swallowed. “First someone took your backpack? Then they hid it in your garage with the acid in it?”
“You don’t think Devra is capable of that?” Gretchen demanded.
“Yeah … I guess.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Gretchen. I didn’t mean to accuse you. I was just so shocked. I lost it for a moment.”
Gretchen stared at the backpack, gritting her teeth. “Devra put it there. I know she did. She knew no one would believe that I killed Madison. She put it there as a warning, Sid. Don’t you see? This is a warning of what she can do.”
“But you have no proof—” Sid started.
�
�I told you,” Gretchen interrupted him. “The night before she was killed, Madison said she had something important to tell me. Something she was desperate to tell me. Then, before she had a chance, she was murdered.”
“I know. I remember. And you think Madison was desperate to tell you something about Devra.”
“I’m sure she was, Sid. And I’m sure Devra murdered her to keep her from telling what she found out.”
Sid shook his head. “But there’s no way to prove it. No way—”
“Yes, there is,” Gretchen said. She grabbed his hand and tugged him out of the garage. “We’re going to prove it. At least, almost prove it. Let’s go.” She pulled him to the car, which her mother had parked halfway up the drive.
Sid still had his face twisted in confusion. “Where are we going?”
“To Devra’s house. And let’s hope she isn’t home.”
35.
Gretchen took Park Drive through town to North Hills, the wealthy section of Shadyside where Devra lived. Sid sat tensely beside her as she lurched through Saturday afternoon traffic.
“She lives on Heather Court,” Sid announced. “It’s a right turn off Park. You could have taken that shortcut.” He pointed out his window.
“I’m new here, remember?” Gretchen snapped. “I don’t know the shortcuts. How do you know where Devra lives?”
“I’ve been to her house,” Sid said. “Some kind of school thing. It’s a total mansion. I mean, you could fit your house in their ballroom.”
“Huh? They have a ballroom?”
He nodded. “They have a pool table in it. And foosball and an awesome air hockey table. It’s like an enormous game room.”
She stopped at a light, turned, and squinted at him suspiciously. “You know an awful lot about her house.”
“I know even more,” Sid said. “It’s Saturday afternoon, right? Devra has horseback riding lessons every Saturday.”
The traffic started to move again. “You and Devra are a lot closer than I thought,” Gretchen said, only half-seriously. “How do you know about her lessons?”
“My cousin Ernie works at the stable.”
