Overnight

by Adele Griffin

  “Look, guns!” said Leticia, pointing to the holsters as the officers went upstairs to talk to Mr. and Mrs. Donnelley privately, in the den.

  “My dad owns a gun,” Serena admitted softly.

  “Mine, too,” lied Martha, trying to imagine her bookworm father with a gun dangling from his soft hand.

  “Rugrats, listen up,” said Topher. “Cops say you have to stay put and all together. So we’re gonna camp out here in the dining room. You leave only with special permission, and only for, like, the bathroom. Got it? ’Cause we don’t know if there’s, y’know, someone…” His eyes darted to the window, to the parked police car alive with light and scratchy sound.

  “Gray is ruining my party!” Caitlin burst out. “I’m sick of looking for her and thinking about her!”

  “Me, too,” added Kristy.

  “Wow. If your friend got, like, hit by a bus and is lying in some, like, hospital room, unconscious and bleeding,” Topher answered, “then I personally will go sit beside her bed and wait for her to wake up. So that I can be the first one to tell her how you guys said she, like, ruined your party. Some friends you are. Brats, more like. Now who wants pizza? Plain or pepperoni?” He pointed to Leticia. “Plain or pepperoni? Let’s go!”

  “I’m lactose intolerant,” said Leticia. She had not looked at Martha once since she had come inside. Not once. Leticia was being a pain. A real fun-wrecker, and all over such a tiny thing as cheating.

  “The pizza’s cold,” said Serena.

  “I’m not hungry,” added Zoë.

  Martha said, “Lemonade and pepperoni.”

  Topher snapped his fingers and pointed at her in a way that made Martha blush. “Take an example from this kid. One lemonade, one slice of pepperoni, coming up. If it’s too cold, give it to me and I’ll stick in it the microwave.”

  Girls glanced uncertainly at Martha and then began to sit down, spreading their laps with pink napkins as Topher opened the pizza boxes on the sideboard. He used a spatula to carry and slide the first piece onto Martha’s plate. He poured her lemonade. Martha said thank you and took a huge bite to show the rest of them how easy it was.

  One by one, the other girls asked for orange, grape, or lemonade. For plain or pepperoni. Leticia peeled cheese off her slice without a word. Nobody said that the pizza was too cold, although it was.

  Topher moved around them like a hasty waiter, the type Martha’s parents would complain about. He removed Gray’s place setting, slapping the paper cup and plate on the sideboard.

  When Mrs. Donnelley returned to the dining room, Martha could tell she had been crying. Her eyes had that salted look. With a wobbling arm, she picked up the grape soda bottle, found an empty pink cup, and aimed.

  “The police say that Gray has probably wandered off on her own adventure and will be back soon,” said Mrs. Donnelley, rocking the bottle up and down so that the liquid tipped out in small spurts. “The one officer said it happens all the time! It’s only been maybe two hours at the most. Silly girl! I don’t know what I’ll do when I see her again. Hug her very tight, I guess! Very tight! Who wanted this cup of grape soda? Oops, maybe I poured it for myself!”

  She laughed and took a sip. Mrs. Donnelley thought she had them fooled, but she didn’t fool Martha, even as she forced the birthday party to continue.

  “Cake time!” she sang.

  She carried out Caitlin’s candlelit pink cake and started the girls singing “Happy Birthday” and she didn’t let Caitlin blow out the candles because Caitlin was just getting over a cold and nobody wanted germs, right, girls? Then she returned the cake to the pantry for Topher to cut and serve, and she set the tray of presents from the sideboard in front of Caitlin.

  “Open mine! Open mine!” the other girls begged.

  Martha did not want Caitlin to open hers. She squeezed out of her seat and trailed Mrs. Donnelley back into the pantry.

  “Stan Rosenfeld works in the city, I just got hold of him and he’s on his way,” Martha overheard Mrs. Donnelley say in a low voice to Topher. “He thinks Lenora took Robby to an early movie and dinner, so nobody’s at the Rosenfelds’ house right now. He’s going to get a neighbor over in the event Gray shows up there. Oh, dear lord, if something happened to that child, nobody will ever forgive…”

  Mrs. Donnelley bumped against Martha as she swung around the corner, a pink plate of pink cake in each hand. She blinked. “Martha, what are you doing in here? Go sit down,” she chided. “It’s almost time for presents.”

  Martha scowled. Her mother had bought Caitlin’s birthday present, and it was sort of stupid. A green velvet beret and matching mittens. But her mother preferred practical gifts to toys, and she had said it was either the beret-and-mittens set or a giant leather-bound Complete Works of Shakespeare.

  “Mom! That’s, like, a present that a teacher would give!” Martha had protested.

  “Oh, Martha. If your sister Jane were as critical as you, I’d be at my wit’s end.” Her mother had flopped her pocketbook on the counter. “Let’s take the hat set, then. It’s absolutely adorable and it’s on sale. End of story.”

  At the time, Martha had been relieved that her mother had not tried to push the Shakespeare book. But the hat-and-mittens set was not a good present, either.

  Right this very moment, it seemed especially bad. Totally unc. And with Leticia acting all nasty tonight, Martha knew there was a chance she might get teased for it. Martha preferred to be the tease-r, not the other way around.

  She waited until Mrs. Donnelley went upstairs to join Mr. Donnelley and the police. Caitlin had just opened Kristy Kiss-up’s gift, three CDs and a bottle of SPF 30 glitter sunscreen.

  The other girls ooohed, how expensive, how nice!

  Topher’s cell phone rang and he stepped into the kitchen to take the call in private.

  Martha slipped out of her seat and followed him.

  I have to go to the bathroom, she mouthed.

  Topher put his hand on the mouthpiece. “Use the one down here.”

  She nodded, then left swiftly through the pantry and raced upstairs. She sneaked past the den, pausing a moment to listen in on what was being said behind the closed door. In voices soft and overlapping, the police and Mr. and Mrs. Donnelley were talking about assembling a search party, about who else to notify, about what to do and what not to do.

  “…keep the little girls together until their parents come for them,” said one of the officers.

  “Yes, yes. Topher has it under control,” squeaked Mrs. Donnelley.

  They were being sent home? Tonight? Ha ha ha. Some party. Oh, this would be a good one to hold over Caitlin. How her birthday party was the worst one of the year. Martha smiled to herself and took a lively hop hop hop down the hall.

  The Donnelley house was boring for exploring. It did not have secrets. The lights burned too high for shadows and the wastepaper baskets were empty. Inside every closet that Martha opened, the hangers faced the same way and the clothes hung straight and unwrinkled.

  In the master bedroom, Martha discovered that Mrs. Donnelley’s closet was sorted by color. Pale to dark, then prints, with hatboxes on top and a partitioned shelf to house each pair of shoes. Martha rearranged a few pairs with their wrong mates.

  Mr. Donnelley’s closet had plenty more ugly tracksuits. Maybe he thought tracksuits made him look young and athletic, and disguised the fact that he was too old for Mrs. Donnelley? Nice try, thought Martha. He looked especially old in their wedding picture, compared with Mrs. Donnelley, whose hair was like black silk while he had about three strands left. Gross. Why had Mrs. Donnelley picked him?

  She placed the wedding picture facedown on the nightstand.

  It was inside the cedar chest at the foot of the Donnelleys’ bed, underneath the neatly folded squares of sweaters, that Martha found her treasure. A cellophane package of mothballs, delicate as spun sugar candies.

  Aha!

  She knew mothballs were seriously poisonous. One of Martha’s fi
rst memories was of her mother uncurling her fingers to pry out a mothball like a pearl from its shell. Then cuffing both Martha’s hands under the running faucet.

  “Never, ever! Where is your sense, Martha?”

  Martha ripped out a Kleenex from Mrs. Donnelley’s bedside table, then she opened the package. The sweet, acrid smell burst into the air. Making pincers of her fingers, she pronged and dropped a single mothball into the Kleenex, then folded it neatly. Stole down the hall into Caitlin’s room, where she tucked the packet in the zip pocket of her carryall bag.

  She smiled as she zipped her bag. It was fun to sneak around, mess with things, claim tiny souvenirs. She liked to think of the dopey Donnelleys puzzling over the turned-over wedding picture, the mismatched shoes, and the ripped cellophane package.

  Where is your sense, Martha?

  Her parents both liked sense, and so did her big sister, Jane. All they did was read, read, read. They never did anything. It was always up to Martha to do the fun things, to shake things up and flip them upside down, even if it meant getting into trouble. Martha was usually willing to risk trouble over sense. That’s why she was the head of the Lucky Seven.

  In Caitlin’s bathroom, Martha scrubbed the smell of stinky mothballs from her hands. Then she sat on the bath mat and waited until she was sure that her present was unwrapped and done with.

  Leticia

  “MARTHA’S NOT HERE BECAUSE she got you a lick present.”

  Leticia was guessing, but she bet it was true. Mrs. Van Riet was a mom who purchased practical gifts. Mrs. Van Riet was practical to a fault, and completely preoccupied with health. Whenever Leticia stayed over at Martha’s, there was always a salad plus a vegetable and boring juice Popsicles for dessert. Mrs. Van Riet was also the only mother Leticia knew who had taped little xes on the rug to show how far away you were supposed to sit from the television. Mr. Van Riet was no better, either, always layering Martha against the cold and telling her about how scientific studies proved that sunlight and dyed food were potentially deadly.

  “Quick, open it!” Leticia said. She thumped her fist on the table.

  “Open it!”

  “Open it!”

  “Open it!”

  Caitlin clawed at the wrapping paper.

  “What is it? What did she give you?” Leticia craned forward.

  With the tips of her fingers, Caitlin held up a green velvet beret and a pair of matching mittens attached by a string.

  “Mittens!” Exaggeratedly, Leticia slapped a hand over her mouth.

  Serena laughed. “Who wears mittens, right?” she asked softly, looking over at Leticia and shaking back her hair.

  “God, that is so cheap,” whispered Kristy, sliding her eyes at Caitlin. “That must have cost the least amount of any of our presents.”

  “No kidding.” Zoë’s voice was quiet, too. Leticia knew that it was because nobody wanted to risk the chance of Martha overhearing.

  The dare rushed through her and made her talk loud. “Hey, you guys, let’s call Martha Meow,” she suggested. “You know, like, because of the three little kittens who lost their mittens?”

  The others looked at Leticia and giggled and then looked around at one another. Rarely did they gang up on Martha. Usually they spent their time trying not to land on the wrong end of one of Martha’s jokes.

  “All of us have to call her that, or it won’t work,” coaxed Leticia. “C’mon. It’ll be funny.”

  Kristy picked up the mittens. “Meow, meow, meow,” she said. “I can do a good meow, I don’t even move my lips and I sound just like a cat, listen.”

  Through tensed, slightly parted lips, she made tiny mewing noises, and the others agreed she sounded exactly, completely like a cat.

  “You should do that when Martha’s around,” said Leticia. “You’re so good at it. Nobody can even tell it’s you. I dare you.”

  Kristy looked nervous.

  “I double-dare you,” said Caitlin.

  That did it. Kristy agreed with a nod.

  Martha came back into the dining room.

  “Hey, where’ve you been, Meow?” quipped Leticia. Stifled laughter sounded around the table.

  Martha gave Leticia a look. Leticia returned it, dead-on, although her heart tripped fast and frightened. She had never played a trick on Martha before.

  Until now. Waves of angry thought chopped at her. How could Ms. Calvillo be so blind? Martha never, ever put effort into science class. An A plus was such obvious cheating! Leticia set her chin and tried not to let her face betray her. She wondered why she cared so much. Maybe it was because she had studied so hard and only got a B plus. Or maybe she was just sick of Martha, sick of her traitor’s jokes, sick of laughing along.

  “Kiddos!” barked Topher, clapping his hands as he reentered through the kitchen. “Clear your plates. Grown-ups are taking over the main floor, and we’re going downstairs to watch movies. But first, everyone into the kitchen to help Caitlin’s mom call your parents.”

  “Why are we calling parents?” asked Caitlin. “Is my party ending? Gray is coming back soon, I know it. My party shouldn’t end just because Gray left for a little while!”

  “My party shouldn’t end!” Ty mimicked in a squeaky voice.

  “You’re dead!” Caitlin grabbed him from behind and they both crashed to the floor, scratching and yanking at each other. Leticia watched. She was glad she had an older sister instead of a little brother.

  “Kitchen, kitchen,” Topher ordered. Then he began pulling at Caitlin and Ty. “Can’t we call peace between you two for one lousy second?” he growled as he heaved them apart.

  Leticia jumped up from her seat and herded through the door into the kitchen with the others. She took care to keep away from Martha.

  The kitchen was crowded with the unfamiliar faces of the Donnelleys’ neighbors. From outside came voices, people joining forces to organize in small search parties. Scouting, shouting, talking on phones, counting off into car caravans, sounding off opinions that rattled in Leticia’s ears—“What could have happened to her?” “Oh, please! Nothing, nothing bad ever happens in this neighborhood.” “She could have gone…where would she have gone?” “And we’re sure they’ve checked the whole house?” “The basement? Everywhere? Everywhere?”

  Most parents were not available. Mrs. Donnelley kept leaving messages.

  Leticia’s mom and dad were in Key West at a conference until Sunday. Leticia listened to Mrs. Donnelley explain the situation to her family’s housekeeper, Mrs. Grange. “Leticia is perfectly welcome to stay until tomorrow, and then I’ll take her home,” said Mrs. Donnelley in her best phony hostess voice. “But we want to notify everyone of the…situation.”

  Leticia knew she was staying because Mrs. Grange did not know how to drive.

  Kristy’s mom was out to dinner with her boyfriend.

  Martha’s parents were out of state, at a bed-and-breakfast. Leticia heard Martha tell Mrs. Donnelley that she did not know the name of it. Leticia had a hunch this was a lie, but Mrs. Donnelley was too upset and distracted to question her.

  Zoë’s mom was playing violin with the city orchestra tonight. Her dad was in the audience with his cell phone turned off.

  Serena’s parents were home. They said they would be right over.

  Topher counted heads like duck-duck-goose. Then he led the girls and Ty from the kitchen back downstairs to the family room.

  “It’s still my birthday party, and I still pick Titanic,” squawked Caitlin, spreading her arms across the television screen as if to protect it from another choice of movie. “Topher, it’s in the rack. Will you put it on?”

  Ty made two thumbs down and started to boo. Topher swatted him. “Yo, it’s still your sister’s night tonight, Ty, so cool your jets.”

  Topher stood in front of them, spinning the Titanic disk on his finger. He had a way of doing things in a careless, college-ish way. All at once, Leticia was overwhelmed with a sharp, aching wish to see her sister. A de
sire to run as fast as she could out of the Donnelleys’ house, across three states, straight to Celeste’s campus and dormitory and into the security of her arms. Too much about tonight was out of place. Celeste would know how to make things right again.

  “Here’s the rules,” Topher said. “Pay attention ’cause it’s just three words. Everybody Stay Put.” Topher’s eyes moved to Ty. “And the men are gonna watch this movie and like it. It’s that or bed.”

  “Aww…” Ty rolled onto the floor and propped his chin in his elbows.

  Titanic was so boring, especially since Leticia had seen it a thousand times. She suppressed a sigh as she curled up in the armchair and opened her goody bag. Other girls dropped onto the couch or carpet. Bumpo’s eyes followed Leticia’s fingers as she poked a chocolate into her mouth. She took out another chocolate and stealthily dropped it to the rug. Bumpo gulped it down happily.

  “Titanic is crap,” Martha muttered, lifting her head from where she was stretched under the coffee table.

  Leticia leaned forward. “Wow, I can’t believe you said that!” she exclaimed. “Criticizing Caitlin’s favorite movie on her birthday. Sheez!”

  “Yeah, Mar,” Serena agreed, flipping her hair. “What’s your problem?”

  Martha scowled. “Sor-ry. But at least I’m not trying to make my friend’s dog sick by feeding him chocolate. You might as well give him poison, Leticia. Don’t you know anything about dogs? Chocolate is potentially deadly to canines.” She sounded just like her father, Leticia thought.

  But Caitlin turned and shot Leticia a look of exasperation. “Yeah, Martha’s right. Don’t feed Bumpo chocolate,” she said, while Ty jumped up and began to pry open Bumpo’s jaws.

  “He already ate it,” Ty announced.

  “Nice going, Leticia,” said Martha.

  “I didn’t mean to,” Leticia mumbled, careful to avoid Martha’s eyes and the tiny gleam of triumph she knew would be shining in them.

  Topher’s cell phone rang. He picked it up and edged to the back of the room, sliding into the beanbag chair. Leticia listened.