The Lost Girl

by R. L. Stine

  She gave Mindy a final pet. “Gotta run. See you in school, Michael.”

  She turned and took off, trotting full speed across the wide parking lot. The canvas bag swung heavily at her side.

  I stood there beside Mindy, watching the girl run. She didn’t look back. She vanished behind the last row of parked cars. “Weird,” I muttered. “She is definitely weird, Mindy.”

  I suddenly remembered my groceries. I made sure Mindy was still tied securely. Then I started back into the store. As the door slid open, a thought burst into my mind:

  Hey, how did she know my name?

  10.

  I saw the girl again the next afternoon at the end of lunch period. My friend Gabe Diller and I finished lunch early. Gabe had a new game on his phone he was desperate to show me. Everyone has a friend who just wants to play games on any screen day and night. In my case, it’s Gabe.

  He says it’s great for his hand-eye coordination. But Gabe doesn’t play any sports or anything, so I don’t know why he needs hand-eye coordination.

  We wandered to the lounge by the front of the library where teachers wouldn’t see us. Students are allowed to have phones, but we’re not allowed to use them during the day because you know how irresponsible teenagers can be. Ha.

  The hall was silent here. Most everyone was still at lunch. Gabe started up the game on his big Android phone. It has a nice-sized screen for playing games, if you’re into games. I laughed when I saw it was a snowmobile-racing game.

  My dad’s store is called Frost’s Snowmobile Ranch. He rents and sells snowmobiles and RVs, and most of his talk at the dinner table every night is about snow and snowmobiles, and sometimes I picture myself living in one of those snow globes. You know. You shake them and the snow floats down. There’s no way to escape it!

  Gabe tilted his phone, demonstrating how to make the snowmobile go faster. He plunged off a cliff and the snowmobile blasted apart in a fiery crash at the bottom.

  Gabe blinked at the screen. “I didn’t mean to do that.”

  “Did you go out with Rachel Martin on Friday?” I asked him.

  He squinted at the screen, resetting the game. “Well, we didn’t actually go out.”

  I poked him in the side. “What did you do? Stay home and play World of Warcraft?”

  He grinned. “How did you guess?” His thumbs furiously worked the controls. The snowmobile roared to life. “I think Rachel was kind of bored.”

  “So you probably won’t see her again?”

  “Probably not.”

  “I thought you liked her.”

  “I do,” he replied, eyes on the screen. “She’s awesome. But … I have a war to fight.” He burst out laughing. So did I. We both knew he was being ridiculous.

  He shoved the phone into my hand. “Want to try it?”

  Before I could answer, I saw the girl. She came walking toward us slowly, her eyes scanning each classroom door. She had a floppy knit cap over her dark hair and wore a gray sweater pulled down over a short straight plaid skirt with black leggings.

  “Mindy!” I called to her.

  She turned and recognized me.

  I saw Gabe’s eyes go wide. He studied her as she jogged over to us.

  “Hey, Gabe, this is Mindy Barker,” I said.

  She made a face. “That’s not my real name, Michael. That’s my dog name.”

  “What’s your cat name?” Gabe asked. “Puss n Boots?” He laughed at his own joke. He can be pretty funny, except when he tries to be funny.

  She turned her eyes on him. “Wow. You’re a mind reader! How did you guess it?”

  Gabe shrugged. “Just lucky. What’s your real name?”

  She ignored the question and turned to me. “I’m totally lost. Just wandering the halls. This school is too big for me. I can’t find anything.”

  “Well, you found us,” I said.

  “Thank goodness.” She straightened her floppy cap over her hair. “But I can’t find the art room. I’m supposed to be in the art room next period. Is it on this floor?”

  “No. It’s on the second floor,” I said. “Down the hall from the lunch room.” I handed Gabe his phone. “I’ll take you there,” I told her.

  “Oh, thank you. You’re a hero. I’m totally turned around.”

  “Catch you later,” Gabe said.

  I started toward the stairs. “We have to talk about Saturday,” I called back to him. “There’s a big snowstorm coming. My dad says if he doesn’t rent all his snowmobiles, we can take some out to the hills.”

  “Sweet,” Gabe said. “I’ll tell Diego. Kathryn, too.”

  The girl stayed close beside me as we climbed to the second floor. The bell was about to ring. The halls were noisy and crowded now. She sort of pressed herself against me as we walked. “This is so nice of you. I just keep getting lost here.”

  She smelled like flowers. Roses, maybe. I don’t know flowers too well.

  She flashed me an awesome smile and pressed herself against me again. She was definitely flirting with me. I mean, she wasn’t too subtle. And me? Well … you know. Like my hands were getting sweaty. I felt almost hypnotized.

  “So … tell me your real name,” I said.

  “Mary. Mary Real.”

  “Your real name is Real?”

  She laughed. “Lizzy Walker,” she said. “Seriously.”

  I guided her around the corner. My friend Diego waved as he hurried past. His head whipped around. I caught the surprised look on his face to see me walking with this new girl.

  “Here’s the art room,” I said. “You can remember it. It’s the room at the end of the hall with the really big windows.”

  Lizzy squeezed my arm. “Thanks again.” She swung her backpack off her shoulders and carried it into the room.

  I still felt the touch of her hand on my arm. The flowery perfume aroma lingered around me. I turned and started toward my French class downstairs in the language lab. But I’d only taken a few steps when I heard a voice behind me:

  “Hey, Michael—who’s your new girlfriend?”

  Startled, I spun around. “Oh. Pepper. Hi.”

  11.

  Pepper is a redhead, and redheads are supposed to be fiery and emotional and jealous. That’s the stereotype. And Pepper tries to live up to that stereotype at all times. I mean, Pepper was the perfect name for her.

  She has long, wavy copper-colored hair that falls to her shoulders, warm gray-green eyes, a turned-up nose (which she hates) dotted with freckles. “Face it, I’m cute,” she said to me once, after we’d gotten to know one another. “And who really wants to be cute?”

  “You’re more than cute,” I said. That’s what she wanted me to say. “You look a lot like … uh … Amy Adams.”

  We were huddled close in my car and she pulled away from me with a jerk. “Huh? Amy Adams? But she’s so old!”

  “You know what I meant,” I muttered.

  I liked Pepper a lot. She was funny and fun to be with. But I did find myself apologizing a lot of the time I was with her.

  And now, why did I feel like apologizing for walking the new girl Lizzy Walker to the art room?

  I hurried over to her. She eyed me suspiciously. Like I’d just murdered her cat or something. “That’s the new girl,” I said. “She … was lost. Asked me to show her where the art room is.”

  “Is she crippled?” Pepper asked, twitching her nose at me. “That’s why she held onto you to walk there?”

  “No way. She didn’t hold onto me,” I said. “She squeezed my arm once. Is that what you’re talking about? Listen, I wasn’t coming on to her. She was lost and I was just trying to be friendly.”

  Pepper pushed her lips out in a pout. “Michael, I need you to be friendly to me.” Then she wrapped her arms around my neck, pulled my face down, and pressed her lips hard against mine.

  There were still a bunch of kids in the hall. Someone whistled. I tried to pull away. But Pepper tightened her armlock around my neck and kissed me some m
ore.

  And as I kissed her … As I kissed her … I couldn’t help it. I found myself thinking about Lizzy.

  * * *

  “Hey, Scout.” My friend Diego bumped up behind me after school. I was leaning into my locker, searching for a book, and the hard bump sent me crashing into the locker wall. Diego is big and wide and an all-state wrestler, and he doesn’t know his own strength. Seriously. He hurts people when he’s just being playful.

  Gabe once called him The Enforcer, and Diego turned red and looked like he wanted to punch Gabe. He said before he was born, his grandfather was a gangster back in Mexico and got himself shot to pieces in front of his whole family. So Diego doesn’t like gangster stuff.

  Diego says he’s nonviolent, and he’ll punch out your lights if you don’t think so. Ha. The guy has a good sense of humor. He’s a good friend, too. And his girlfriend, Kathryn Layne, is part of our group, too. She’s Pepper’s best friend. She and Pepper are both going to Penn next fall.

  Diego pried me from my locker and brushed off the front of my sweater with one big paw. “They’re still saying snow for Saturday,” he said.

  “Thanks for the weather report,” I said. “Do you also do sports headlines?”

  He pinched my cheeks. Ouch. “Michael, you’re so funny. I meant, if there’s big snow, do you think your dad will let us…” He raised both hands like they were on handlebars and made a loud roaring sound.

  I nodded. “Dad just got in some new Arctic Cats with four-stroke engines.”

  Diego let out a long breath. “Wow. How many horses?”

  “He says one-twenty-five,” I said.

  Diego grinned and made that roaring sound again. Some girls at a locker across the hall giggled. I’m not sure why. One-hundred-twenty-five HP on one of these beauties is nothing to giggle about.

  “We can tear up some serious snow,” Diego said.

  I shut the locker door and latched the combination lock. “The only problem is, the Cats might be rented by the time we get there.”

  Diego poked me in the shoulder. “Your pops won’t save them for us?”

  “You know my dad. He’s not going to turn away paying customers just so we can have a party.”

  Diego shook his head. “Bad priorities. So who’s coming on Saturday? Kathryn, right?”

  “Sure,” I said. “Just us. You, Kathryn, me, Pepper, and Gabe.”

  “A snow party. A few brews at my house before we go just to get warmed up. Then…” He roared again.

  “Sounds like a plan,” I said. We bumped knuckles. His fist is as big as a cantaloupe! He turned and lumbered away.

  I picked up my backpack—and there stood Lizzy.

  That troubled look on her pale face again. “I’m totally embarrassed, Michael.” She grabbed my arm. “But I’m lost again. I’ve been lost all day. Seriously.”

  “I should draw you a map,” I said. How could I not stare into those amazing eyes? “You know. It would have all the classrooms on it, and a red X marked You Are Here.”

  She shook her head. “I need a GPS for this school. On my phone. I’d just type in my next destination. Only they don’t let you take your phone out during the day. Also…” I caught an instant of emotion on her face. “Also … I don’t have a phone.”

  “Parents won’t let you?”

  She frowned. “Can’t afford it.”

  That brought me back to the grocery store, and once again I pictured her sneaking the food into her bag. Did I really see that?

  “I’ll be the GPS,” I said. I did my robot voice: “Enter a new destination, please.”

  She gave me a shove. “I’m just trying to find the gym. I thought I knew where it was, but I got turned around.”

  “That’s an easy one,” I said. I pointed. “Go down those steps. The gym is on the right. You’ll recognize it. It says Gym above the door.”

  She laughed and shoved me again. “Thanks a lot. You know, I’m just lost, I’m not stupid.”

  Her hand slid down to mine. She laced her fingers with mine.

  “Ouch!” I cried out as I felt a sharp pain on the tip of my pointer finger.

  Startled, I stepped back from her. I saw a silvery pushpin in Lizzy’s hand. I raised my finger and watched a tiny droplet of bright red blood appear on the tip.

  “Hey—” I cried. “What—?”

  Lizzy shoved the pin into her own finger. She pulled it out as a trickle of blood appeared on her skin. Then she raised her hand and pressed our two bleeding fingers together.

  She brought her face close to mine. “Now we’re bloods,” she whispered.

  She spun away and ran down the stairs.

  Listening to her footsteps, I gazed at the smear of blood on my finger.

  What was THAT about?

  12.

  The Shadyside High yearbook is called The Yearbook. It’s not a very clever title, but at least no one ever says, “Is this the yearbook?” Everyone knows what it is.

  Pepper and I are the editors this year. We do a print edition at the end of the school year, and we write the blog online whenever we have school news and/or team news or gossip to write about.

  The yearbook has a small office downstairs in the corner of the hall past the gym. I think it used to be a broom closet or maybe a phone booth because it’s a really tight squeeze. Pepper and I sit on opposite ends of one desk with our laptops almost back-to-back. And there’s a small table other people can use. And a file cabinet with one drawer that works.

  Friday after school, I was already leaning over my laptop when Pepper came into the office. She had her coppery hair pulled back in a ponytail, which made her look about twelve. She wore the velvety dark brown vest she loves over an emerald-green T-shirt, and jeans with rips at both knees.

  “Hey, Michael.” She dropped her bag on the floor and slid around the desk to my side. She leaned forward to kiss me, but I moved my head, and her kiss landed on my neck.

  “How’s it going?” I said. “Did you survive the little surprise quiz Herman gave us?”

  “Mr. Herman never counts them. So I don’t sweat them.” Her eyes were on my laptop screen. “Facebook?”

  I nodded. “Yeah. She doesn’t have a Facebook page,” I said.

  Pepper squinted at me. “Who? Who are you talking about?”

  I blinked. “Oh. That new girl. Lizzy Walker. No Facebook page.”

  “Who cares?” Pepper snapped. She crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Why do you care?”

  “Well … we’re going to need yearbook info on her. Right?”

  “We’ll get it when we do her profile,” Pepper said. “We don’t need Facebook. What’s your problem, Michael? Why are you fainting over that girl?”

  “Huh? Me? Fainting? I wasn’t fainting, Pepper. What kind of word is that, fainting? Men don’t faint. Only women faint.”

  “Michael, it’s like you’re in a trance over her or something. What’s so special about her?”

  “Nothing,” I answered quickly. “I didn’t say she was special.”

  “Then why are you blushing?”

  “I’m not blushing. It’s hot in here.”

  Pepper leaned over me and gripped my shoulders with both hands. “Tell me the truth. There’s nothing going on between you and that girl?”

  I pushed her hands away. “How could there be? She’s only been in school a couple of days. I don’t know her at all.”

  I was desperate to change the subject. “What are we doing today?”

  She still had her fists clenched, ready for a fight. I told you, she takes being a redhead very seriously. I could always tell when she was steamed about something because the freckles on her face turned darker.

  “I thought we were looking through those old yearbooks,” she said.

  We had discovered a closet across from the library stuffed from floor to ceiling with old Shadyside yearbooks. And since this year was the hundredth anniversary of the yearbook, Pepper and I thought it would be really cool to put som
e old photos on the blog. And maybe publish some pages of old yearbooks with all the kids looking so weird and grown-up and wearing such dumb-looking clothes.

  “Let’s go check them out,” I said. I clicked off Facebook, jumped up, slid my arm around Pepper’s shoulders, and we made our way to the yearbook closet.

  * * *

  “I sneezed twelve times,” I said. “Pepper and I counted them. I thought my head was going to explode. You know. BAM! Like a balloon.”

  “And all the hot air would come flying out,” Dad said. He laughed.

  “Not funny, Mitchell,” Mom scolded him.

  “I get it. You think I’m an airhead,” I said, dropping my fork onto the table. “Funny.”

  “Michael is obviously very allergic to dust,” Mom continued. “Maybe he needs to see an allergy doctor.” Mom is always ready to see a doctor. When I was little, she took me to a doctor because my baby teeth were a few weeks late falling out.

  Dad swallowed a chunk of salmon. “Take him to a doctor because he sneezed twice? Maybe we should call 911.” Dad can be very funny, especially at Mom’s expense. He loves giving her a hard time. She pretty much ignores his sarcasm. She’s very sweet-natured.

  We were finishing our dinner. Baked salmon and linguini, my favorite because of all the melty cheese. And I was telling them about going into the yearbook closet, hoping to look at the old books. But I started sneezing so violently, I kicked up a dust storm, and Pepper had to pull me out of the closet and wait till I was sneezed out.

  Dad rolled his eyes. “Next time, bring a Kleenex,” he said. He forked up more linguini.

  “So what did you do about the old yearbooks?” Mom asked me, passing the bowl of string beans. “Are you just going to forget the idea?”

  I waved the bowl away. She knows I don’t like string beans, but she never gives up.

  “Pepper and I dragged a bunch of them out and took them to the yearbook office. She’s going to dust them off. You know. Clean them up. And we’ll try again. Most of the dust was in the closet, so—”

  The front doorbell rang.

  They both turned toward the living room. I jumped up. “That’s Pepper,” I said. “We made a plan to study together tonight for the winter midterms.”