What If ... Your Past Came Back to Haunt You

by Liz Ruckdeschel

  “Shouldn’t you get ready for your videocast, Dave?” Annie said. She turned on the large lamp he used for lighting when broadcasting.

  “Do you think he should?” Haley whispered to Annie. “He seems even more anxious than usual.”

  “He’ll be okay,” Annie said. “Trust me, it’s worse if he doesn’t videocast. He needs to get this stuff out of his system.”

  “Yes. Yes. I’m ready. Ready for transmission,” Dave said through clenched teeth. He turned on the video camera and aimed it at a stool in front of a backdrop made from an old sheet. Then he sat on the stool and cleared his throat.

  “Welcome to this edition of ‘Inside Hillsdale,’ coming to you from a not-so-secret location deep in the bowels of New Jersey’s Bergen County.”

  Annie dropped her face in her hands. “Oh, brother.”

  “Tonight I have an important message for everyone out there in the land of the living,” Dave said. “Somewhere in cyberland is the man who is my father. I don’t know where he is or what he’s doing now. But he’s out there somewhere, maybe waiting for a signal from me that it’s time to return. Dad, if you get this message, come back and rescue me! Before it’s too late. And you, my dedicated and loyal viewers, I need your help. Please help me find my father. If any of you knows a Mr. Metzger, please contact me immediately through my Web site. And now, I’ll share with you a song I heard while drifting through space in my dreams last night. A-ohhhhh. A-ohhhh. Oh-eeee. Ee-aahhh . . .”

  Poor Dave, Haley thought. He was getting perilously close to his flat-out crazy place. Something had to be done. Haley just didn’t know what.

  Dave is getting weirder by the second. How does Annie handle it? She seems kind of oblivious, but there are signs she’s aware of the trouble Dave’s in and just isn’t willing to face it. If you think Haley is the sympathetic sort who can’t watch a sad display like this and not do something to help a lost cause, turn to (SEARCHING FOR MR. METZGER).

  Perhaps you think Haley feels sorry for Dave, but that he’s beyond any help she can offer. Haley’s strong artistic side is bound to be stimulated by being in her art teacher’s house—even though the house has been sterilized by Mrs. Metzger. If you think all those canvases and jazz records in the garage are inspiring Haley to create art with a capital A, help her satisfy her jones by turning to (ART CLASS).

  On the other hand, if all this weirdness is too much for Haley and you think she needs to decompress, turn to TIME ALONE and let her spend some TIME ALONE. Finally, if you’re curious to hear what the principal of Hillsdale High is ranting and raving about these days—always a clue to the latest school scandals—go to (PRINCIPAL CRUM’S LITANY).

  There’s all kinds of chaos in Hillsdale these days. But how much nuttiness can Haley take? That’s up to you.

  TAKE THE LEAD

  * * *

  Rejection is just a phone call away.

  Just call him, Haley thought. What have you got to lose?

  Her hand hovered over her cell phone. What did she have to lose? Only everything. Okay, not everything. Just her dignity, her pride and her ability to be in Devon’s presence without feeling too unbearably weird. Her ambiguous sort-of friendship with Devon was, frankly, fraught with sexual tension, and calling him up and asking him out was a surefire way to make it even more awkward. Unless he said yes, which would present a different but better set of problems. She’d deal with those as they came.

  Blah blah blah, she thought. You always overthink things. Just get it over with!

  She grabbed the phone and dialed Devon’s number before she had a chance to stop herself. He picked up on the third ring.

  “Devon! Hi!” Her voice sounded too bright but she couldn’t make it stop. “It’s Haley.”

  “Haley—hey.” Did she catch a hesitation in his voice? She couldn’t tell whether he was glad to hear from her or not. He sounded . . . preoccupied. “So what’s up?”

  “Um, I was just wondering if you felt like catching a movie tonight,” Haley said, clearing her throat. “Have you seen Pardonnez-moi? It’s playing at the Rialto.”

  Devon didn’t say anything for a few torturous seconds. Was he still there? Had he heard her?

  “Devon?”

  “Sorry. Hang on a sec.” Haley heard a rustle, as if he was putting his hand over the phone, and his muffled voice speaking to someone in the room. He returned and stuttered, “S-sorry, Haley. Uh, I’d really like to go, but I can’t.”

  Haley froze. She waited for more explanation, but nothing came.

  Hello? Say something!

  But he’d already said something. He’d said no. Now what should she do?

  Abort! Abort! Get off the phone, quick!

  “Okay, well, maybe some other time,” she mumbled. “Bye!” She hung up and dropped the phone as if it had burned her fingers. How could she have been so stupid?

  “I’d like to go, but I can’t”? What did that mean?

  What could Devon be so busy with that night? Haley knew Shaun and Irene were spending the evening at Shaun’s house alone. Knowing Shaun, they were probably eating pudding off each other’s stomachs or something equally bizarre.

  So Devon should have been free, in theory. If he had something innocent to do, like watch his little sister, why didn’t he just say so instead of acting all strangely about it?

  She wondered who’d been in the room with him. That little blond neighbor of his, Darcy Podowski, perhaps?

  Images flashed through Haley’s mind: Devon and Darcy speeding away from school in his convertible, her bleached hair flying, the two of them laughing at one of their private jokes. What exactly was going on between them, anyway? Could Devon really be interested in a ditzy little freshman?

  Why not? Haley thought. Even though freshmen looked like infants to her now, they were only two years younger. Lots of older boys went after the frosh meat. She’d never thought of Devon as that type, but then, how well did she really know him?

  She groaned and rolled over on her bed. Stupid stupid stupid! If only she could take back the last five minutes and stop herself from making that phone call!

  And we have art class together tomorrow, she thought. Devon was in her class, of course. Even if she wanted to avoid him, she couldn’t. They’d have to sit together in that cramped studio, listening to Mr. Von’s ramblings. Things would be superstrained between them now, all because she just had to ask out Devon. Great. Just awesome.

  Way to go, Haley, she said to herself. Way to go and wreck everything.

  Poor Haley. She was brave to take a chance, but sometimes risks don’t pay off, and this looks like one of those unfortunate moments. Still, she doesn’t know for sure that Devon blew her off for Blondie. Maybe he really does have to babysit and he was just embarrassed or forgot to mention it.

  So what should she do now? If you think she should try to pretend everything is normal between her and Devon, go to (ART CLASS) and act like nothing ever happened. That might work. Then again . . . if you think Haley is so embarrassed by Devon’s turning her down that she can’t face another human soul, spend some (TIME ALONE) to get over the awkward feelings.

  If you think what Haley needs now is a little excitement, a distraction, if you will, and you’d like to find out about Hillsdale High’s latest scandal, turn to (PRINCIPAL CRUM’S LITANY).

  No pain, no gain, as they say. Who knows, maybe things will work out for Haley after all—if she makes the right moves now.

  FAMILY JEWELS

  * * *

  You can learn a lot from a family tree, and even more from heirloom jewelry.

  Haley was sitting at her dresser brushing her hair when she got that feeling: the one where you know someone is watching you. She turned and caught her mother standing in the doorway, smiling in a gentle, rueful way that was not particularly characteristic of Joan Miller, environmental attorney-at-law—aka She Who Strikes Fear in the Hearts of Polluters.

  “What?” Haley asked. “You’re freaking me out.”


  “Well, it’s just that you’re going to be seventeen in a few months,” her mother began. “Sometimes I just can’t believe it, that’s all. Seventeen.”

  “Uh, yeah,” Haley said. “That’s what usually happens. After sixteen comes seventeen. Then eighteen, nineteen . . .”

  “Don’t be cranky.” Joan came into the room and sat down on the bed. “I was just admiring my beautiful daughter. Is that so terrible?”

  “No,” Haley said. “It’s not terrible. Just a little weird. Make that a lot weird. This isn’t where you start talking about birds and bees and where babies come from, is it? Because we’ve had that conversation, like, eight times already.”

  Joan shook her head and smiled. “Now that you’re getting older, I was thinking that you might want to borrow something of mine. Something special. Anything you want.”

  “Anything?” This offer caught Haley off guard. Joan sometimes tried to get Haley to dress more like her, so Haley was a little suspicious. Was this Joan’s roundabout way of turning Haley into a Mom clone? All organic attire and hemp woven shoes?

  “Sure,” Joan said. “Clothes, shoes, jewelry, whatever you like. What’s the good of owning some of the nice things I have if I hardly ever wear them? And then I thought you might enjoy them.”

  So it wasn’t a trap after all. Joan was just being Nice Mom for a day. “Thanks,” Haley said. She knew immediately what she wanted to borrow—a piece of jewelry. She didn’t own much that was valuable herself; it might be fun to have something important to wear on a date or to a party. If she ever got one of those invitations again.

  “Okay, jewelry,” she told Joan, waiting for her mother to retract her generous offer.

  “Be my guest. You know where to find it. Just let me know what you pick out—I’ll be curious to see.” And with that, Joan went downstairs to her study. Haley was amazed, walking the hall to her parents’ bedroom. She found her mother’s jewelry box on top of the antique highboy, just where it was supposed to be. Haley took it down and sat on her parents’ bed. She opened the box and touched the aging green velvet lining. She used to love rummaging through her mother’s jewelry when she was little, but she hadn’t gone peering into this private collection in years.

  She reached for a lock of long, straight auburn hair, tied with a ribbon. Spooky: a bit of Joan’s old ponytail from her college days. Haley remembered her mother talking about how she’d let her hair grow all the way down to her butt back then. Then in college she’d cut it all off to donate to a wig drive for cancer patients. She’d never grown her hair past her shoulders again. Too girlish, she said.

  Joan Miller was not a froufrou, frivolous woman, and she owned only five important pieces of jewelry. All five were wonderful, though. It wouldn’t be easy to choose just one.

  First Haley examined the large vintage cocktail ring with the rose-gold flower, a college graduation gift to Joan from her aunt Marion. It was beautiful, elegant, a little showy, a little old-fashioned, but in a good way. Then there was the platinum watch Gam Polly, Perry’s mother, had given Joan as a wedding gift, with diamonds on the hands and on each hour marker. Next Haley tried on a stack of funky, bold Bakelite bracelets Joan had picked up in a vintage store in San Francisco. Then there were the classic pearl earrings—pearl studs with a larger pearl drop hanging from each—Joan’s mother had given her for her high school graduation. Finally, Haley examined a gold and coral antique cameo brooch that Joan had inherited from her grandmother.

  Haley wished she could borrow them all, but her mother had said just one, so Haley had a decision to make.

  Help Haley decide which jewelry item to borrow. What kind of statement do you think she wants to make?

  If you want her to pick the cocktail ring, go to (BOOB TUBING). If you think Haley will choose the platinum watch, go to (LADY-IN-WAITING). To have her grab the Bakelite bracelets, send her to (ART CLASS). To choose the pearl earrings, turn to (SEARCHING FOR MR. METZGER). Or to pick the antique cameo brooch, go to (HOOP DREAMS).

  Some people believe that objects have a karma of their own, which transfers from one owner to the next. For Haley’s sake, let’s hope the jewelry you picked brings good vibes her way.

  CASTAWAY

  * * *

  At a romantic dinner for two, fifteen is a crowd.

  “I’ll get that.” Haley darted in front of Reese, who was hobbling on his crutches, to open the door of Hap’s Diner.

  “Thanks.” Reese looked embarrassed. “You know I’d open it for you if I could. Maybe after a few days, with a little more practice on the crutches—”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Haley said. They walked into Hap’s for their quiet dinner together, just the two of them. Reese had just broken his left foot, but Haley was hoping the injury would have an upside: it might give him more time to spend with her. So far, things were working out exactly as she’d planned. If this kept up, she wouldn’t mind opening doors for him all semester.

  Hap’s was busy that night. As Haley and Reese made their way to the hostess station, a hush fell over the room and heads turned to stare at Reese’s cast. Haley recognized kids from school, neighbors, and people she didn’t know but had seen around town in the year and a half since she’d moved to Hillsdale.

  “What’s their problem?” Haley said to Reese. “Haven’t these people ever seen a foot in a cast before?”

  Reese just shrugged and smiled. The hostess station was unattended, as usual; Hap saved money by letting the waitresses double as hostesses, and they were all busy that night. Reese spotted Hap manning the counter and gave him a wave. Hap wiped his hands on a dish towel and hurried over to greet them.

  “Reese Highland!” Hap said. “Oh my goodness. What happened to you? Hillsdale’s greatest soccer star! What will the team do without you?”

  Reese looked down at his foot modestly. “It was so muddy out there, I got tripped up in the game and broke the thing. Nothing serious—”

  “Nothing serious! Look at that cast! Come, I’ll seat you myself.” He stopped a passing waitress, saying, “I’m giving this couple table fourteen—the best booth in the house,” he added to Reese. “You treat them good, hear?”

  “Sure thing, Hap,” the waitress said. “I’ll be right over with your menus.”

  Tugging on his stained apron, Hap led them to a booth in the farthest corner of the restaurant. Haley could feel the eyes of the other diners on them. “Is this okay for you? Will you be comfortable here?”

  “It’s great, Hap,” Reese said. “Thanks.”

  “My pleasure. Wait, I’ll be right back.”

  The waitress delivered the menus, and Hap brought a small votive candle to the table and lit it.

  “There. For you,” Hap said. “I hope you enjoy your dinner.”

  “Thanks so much,” Haley said, amazed at all the fuss.

  “Yes, thank you, Hap. You really didn’t have to go to the trouble,” Reese said. “It’s just a broken foot.”

  “Not just any broken foot,” Hap said. “The broken foot! The most important foot in Hillsdale. Anyway, it’s no trouble! Not for a five-time winner of the Hap’s Challenge.”

  He disappeared into the kitchen. “I’ll be back in a minute to take your orders,” said the waitress, whose name tag read Tara.

  “Well,” Haley said, now that they were finally alone in their cozy booth. “This is nice.”

  “Very nice,” Reese said, opening his menu. “Dinner’s on me—get anything you like.”

  As Haley considered Greek salad and spinach pie, a shadow fell over the table. She looked up to see three Hillsdale students, two boys and a girl, probably sophomores, if she had to guess, staring down at them.

  “Reese, dude, what the heck happened to you?” one of the boys asked.

  “Did you get hurt real bad in the game?” the girl asked.

  “Yeah,” Reese said. “I was drilling toward the goal when one of the Old Tappan defenders fouled me. I tripped over his legs and broke my foot. Fell f
lat on my face, too. Covered in mud. The worst part is the ref didn’t even call the foul.”

  “That sucks, man,” one of the boys said.

  “I wish I’d seen it,” the girl said. “I wanted to go to the game but I couldn’t because I had my elo-elo-elocution lesson.”

  The second boy stared at Reese’s foot under the table. “Hey, dude—nobody’s signed your cast yet. I want to be the first.”

  “Me too,” the girl said. “Can I sign your cast, Reese?” She batted her big brown eyes.

  “Sure, go ahead.” Reese propped his foot on the booth seat while the girl pulled a purple gel pen from her pocket and started drawing hearts on Reese’s cast. The boys signed Stay tough and Hawks rule! Tara the waitress returned to take their order, and borrowed the girl’s pen to sign.

  Even the waitstaff? Haley thought, aghast. Okay, you’ve signed the cast, now leave us in peace.

  But before Haley and Reese had even finished ordering, another group of kids hovered near the table, waiting to talk to Reese. “Reese, man, what happened?”

  “Old Tappan? We should go kick their asses!”

  “No, no,” Reese said. “That won’t be necessary. This was all in the line of duty.”

  Oh, brother, Haley thought as he launched again into the story of how he broke his foot. She knew Reese was a local sports star, but she hadn’t realized just how popular he really was.

  By the time their food was ready, Tara had to fight through a crowd of admirers to deliver their plates, and Reese’s cast was covered in ink. Haley stared at her salad and spinach pie, her appetite gone. So much for their romantic dinner alone—she’d barely gotten to say a word to him since they sat down. Meanwhile he had told and retold the story of his broken foot. Haley thought if she heard one more person say “What happened to your foot?” she’d scream—and possibly break Reese’s other appendage for good measure.