“Dad, this is my friend, Arden.”
Mr. Whitelock looked up from his meal. “Oh, hello, Arden. Nice to meet you finally.” He looked over to his wife.
“Not ready,” Mrs. Whitelock said.
“Not ready for what?” I asked again.
No one answered me for a moment. “It’s best your parents tell you,” Mr. Whitelock said.
“It’s best my parents tell me what?”
“They won’t,” Fletcher said as he inhaled a slice of pot roast.
Mrs. Whitelock poured herself another glass of water. She had downed three glasses already. “They will. Soon they won’t have a choice.”
My head was about to explode. Why was everyone—my parents, Fletcher, Mr. and Mrs. Whitelock—keeping secrets from me? Why was Bailey making up lies? Was there really something wrong with me? I lost my appetite and pushed my plate away. “Can someone please tell me what’s going on?”
“I’ll speak to your parents,” Mr. Whitelock said.
I couldn’t picture my parents having any kind of interaction with them. Besides, Dad had gone away for business as he did every October, and Mom was, well, Mom. She wouldn’t give them the time of day.
After the remainder of the silent, strange dinner, Fletcher and I went into the backyard. I knew he wouldn’t tell me anything, but I needed to tell someone about what Bailey had said. Fletcher didn’t seem surprised.
“Why would she make something up like that? She says that’s why we stopped being friends, because her mom didn’t want her around me anymore.”
“You should record yourself. When you sleep.”
“What? Why do I need to do that? Bailey’s lying. Right? She has to be.”
Fletcher lay back on the lawn chair. “You said it yourself. Why would Bailey even think to make up something like that? What would she get out of lying about it?”
“It gives her a reason not to be my friend.”
“If she didn’t want to be your friend, she just wouldn’t be your friend. She wouldn’t have to think up a crazy story like that. Do you have a video camera?”
“My dad has one somewhere.”
“I mean it. You should record yourself. You need to know what you do in your sleep.”
I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.
That night I followed Fletcher’s advice. I dug Dad’s old camcorder from the hallway closet. I charged it and set it on my dresser before I went to sleep. The following morning, I woke up extra early to check the footage. I watched for a moment and soon had to fast forward because nothing was happening. I slept peacefully the entire night. I wasn’t crawling around, scratching the floor, barking, or growling. I knew Bailey had been lying, and I couldn’t wait to call her out on it. What was her motive? Why was she trying to make me think I was crazy?
Chapter Twelve
Fletcher thought I should continue to record myself because I obviously didn’t exhibit the strange behaviors every night. The second night I recorded again and curled up on my futon to watch it before school. At first it was the same as the night before, so I pushed the fast forward button, watching myself sleeping fast in motion until something changed. Pressing the play button, I watched the video at normal speed.
I had thrown my covers back in one wild and hard motion and jumped down to the floor, crawling around on my hands and knees. Stopping abruptly, I cocked my head to one side and clawed at the floor—the very spot with the scratches that I had always blamed on Sheba. My face was scrunched and my teeth were bared, like I was angry at something. I barked and I howled like some kind of animal, just as Bailey said. The weird part was that no one else in the house seemed to hear me. How come neither my mom or sisters had woken up and stopped me? This went on for a little over an hour, and then I crawled over to my bedroom door, opened it and crawled out.
Almost thirty minutes later, I came back, still on all fours, and climbed into bed. Where had I gone? I decided to keep this from Fletcher, at least from the time being. It was hard to admit that Bailey had been right. I couldn’t blame her for breaking off our friendship. I should have been grateful that she had continued to be my friend after seeing me act like that once. Something was seriously wrong with me. Maybe I needed to swallow my pride and go back to Dr. Scarlett. Maybe I was insane.
Fletcher sealed his fate as the Biggest Freak Ever on Thursday morning. When I met him on the sidewalk before school, he stared intensely at the school building, bouncing on his toes. He ignored me as I approached.
“Fletch, what’s wrong?”
He said nothing at first, then he eventually looked at me. “It’s eating away at me. I have to tell her. Mom doesn’t want me to, but she’s wrong.”
“Tell who what?”
He sighed and looked back at the building. “Ms. Melcher. She’s a nice lady, and even if she wasn’t—it wouldn’t be right.”
A group of rowdy boys walked by. One grabbed Fletcher around the shoulders and gave him a noogie. “Whitelock, we’re wrestling today in PE, and I’m gonna kick your ass,” the guy said as if it would be some huge feat. He was twice Fletcher’s size.
Fletcher simply shrugged him away, not losing focus on the school building, and the guys moved on.
“Fletcher, what—”
“I’m going to talk to her now. You shouldn’t come.”
That was all he had to say for me to follow him inside the building. I had the uneasy feeling that Fletcher was about to do something incredibly stupid.
We pushed through groups of students chatting away, exchanging the current gossip. The door to Ms. Melcher’s classroom was open. Fletcher knocked on the doorframe. Ms. Melcher sat at her desk, while one of the history teachers stood in front of it sipping from a coffee cup.
“Fletcher, Arden, come in,” Ms. Melcher said once she saw us.
I suddenly wished I weren’t there because I would be associated with whatever Fletcher was about to do.
The other teacher looked slightly annoyed at having us interrupt their conversation, but Ms. Melcher smiled and waved us in. “What can I do for you?”
“Nothing,” Fletcher answered as he stepped into the room. I hovered in the doorway. “You’re going to die though.”
The other teacher gasped, and Ms. Melcher stood up. What the hell, Fletcher?
“Fletcher, what are you doing?” Ms. Melcher asked. She looked as confused as I felt.
The other teacher slammed her coffee cup on the desk. “Isn’t it obvious? He’s threatening you.”
But she was wrong. So wrong. I had no idea what Fletcher was doing, but he would never threaten anyone. There had to be some explanation for his craziness.
The teacher made a move toward Ms. Melcher’s phone. “I’m calling Principal Sharpe.” Then she glared at Fletcher. “We don’t play around with these sorts of things.”
I was afraid, but Fletcher wasn’t because he kept going. “Call who you want, but I’m just trying to warn you. You’re going to die. I can’t tell you how I know, but I just do. You might be able to stop it if you’re careful.”
Ms. Melcher sat back at her desk, looking as if she were on the verge of tears, and students gathered by the door because Fletcher was screaming. The other teacher had made the call and stood against the wall looking terrified, as if Fletcher had a bomb strapped to him.
Moments later, security pushed their way through the crowd. They grabbed Fletcher and dragged him toward the office, where Principal Sharpe was surely waiting. I heard someone say they had called the police.
Chaos erupted, and I felt sorry for Ms. Melcher as teachers came in to comfort her. It had to be awful and scary to have someone tell you over and over that you were going to die. What was wrong with Fletcher?
By the end of second period, the word spread that Fletcher had been suspended indefinitely, and the school board was discussing the possibility of expulsion. It was one thing to be weird, but what Fletcher had done was flat-out crazy.
Thursday night, Mom went to her book club m
eeting alone. Even though it was for couples, Mom always went when Dad was out of town.
A little after ten that night, Mom texted that she was going to be late and that we shouldn’t wait up. That was strange. What could she be doing that late on a Thursday night?
After fighting with my sisters to get them to bed, I dozed off without the video camera recording. Maybe in a few nights I’d try it again, but for the time being, I’d seen enough. This wasn’t as easy as watching a movie. It was scary to watch myself go completely out of my mind and not be able to control it.
Friday morning, I woke up, got dressed, and grabbed a few pieces of beef jerky. Mom would flip if she’d known I was eating jerky for breakfast, but she was usually still in bed by the time I left for school, so she’d never know.
When I got home that afternoon, I was surprised to find Paige and Quinn curled up on the couch on their phones, texting and watching music videos. They both should have still been in school. Empty cereal bowls and potato chip bags littered the coffee table. “What are you guys doing here? Are you sick?” I asked even though they looked perfectly fine. There had to be some reason they weren’t at school.
Paige rolled her eyes. “Because you didn’t wake us up for school, doofus. By the time we got up, we figured it was too late, so we just stayed home.”
“What? I never wake you guys up. Mom does.”
Quinn grabbed the remote and flipped through the channels. “Yeah, well, Mom’s not here. She never came home.”
“Are you serious?” But neither of the girls answered me. They were engrossed in something on the TV.
I dashed up to my parents’ bedroom. The driveway had been empty, but I could never go by that because Mom always parked her car in the garage. Sure enough, I found their bedroom empty and no signs that Mom had been there since she’d left the night before. Where was she? Had something happened to her?
My heart raced as I pulled my phone from my pocket and dialed her number. Mom picked up on the fifth ring.
“Arden? Hi, honey. Is everything okay?”
“No, everything’s not okay. Where the hell are—I mean, where are you?”
“I told you last night. I had something to do.” She was speaking quickly and breathing heavily like she was nervous and rushing to get off the phone.
“No, you told us not to wait up. You said nothing about never coming home. How was I supposed to know I needed to get Paige and Quinn up for school? Where are you?” Seriously, where had she been that she needed to stay there all night? What would Dad think?
“I can’t get into that right now, but I’ll be gone for the whole weekend.”
I went into my bedroom, closing the door behind me so the girls wouldn’t hear. “The whole weekend? For what? Mom, are you having an affair?” I’d seen enough Lifetime movies to know the signs.
“An affair—Arden, of course not! I’m just taking care of something that I can’t talk about right now.”
I wanted to believe her. “I don’t mean to jump to conclusions, but you just disappeared on us. This is weird.”
“I know, honey,” she said, not sounding concerned at all. “But you’re responsible. You can handle this. You still have the emergency stash?”
“Yeah.” A while ago my parents had given me an envelope with two hundred bucks, which I kept in my nightstand. I was only supposed it to use in case of an emergency when they were out. Mom and Dad trusted me not to spend it unless I needed to, so I hadn’t touched it.
“Good,” Mom said speaking in an even lower tone than before. “Use it for food this weekend. I’ll be back Sunday night. I promise. Tell the girls to be good. Call your grandmother if you need anything.” She hung up after making it perfectly clear that I shouldn’t call her again.
“Okay,” I said as I slid my phone into my pocket. This wasn’t going to be a fun weekend. It was hard enough to get my sisters to listen to me for a couple of hours on Thursday nights, but now I had to try to control them for an entire weekend. Wonderful.
I decided not to tell them about Mom being away until later. I wanted to sneak down into the basement to work on my new dress, and if they thought Mom would be coming home at any minute, they’d be on their best behavior. At around six, I figured I’d better do something about dinner.
I checked the fridge and the cupboard. Everything seemed to be running low. Friday mornings were when Mom did the grocery shopping.
My sisters, still glued to the couch, giggled over something on Paige’s tablet. “Get dressed and put your shoes on. We’re going to Gerdy’s.”
“What?” They both looked at me as if I were speaking gibberish.
“We’re going to Gerdy’s. Mom’s not coming home until Sunday, and there’s barely any food in this house.”
After not being able to answer a gazillion questions about where Mom was, I began to lose my patience. “Come on.” I pointed to the junk they’d left on the coffee table. “Clean this mess up and get ready. I want to go and come back before it gets dark.” Gerdy’s store was awfully close to the woods, and most people still stayed away from the area after nightfall.
“So go by yourself,” Quinn said. “We stayed by ourselves while you were at school. We’ll be okay.”
This was going to be a long weekend. “You’re coming because I need you to help me carry things, and if you don’t come, you’ll be eating nothing but my favorite snacks all weekend.”
My sisters gagged. They hated olives and beef jerky. I didn’t mind because I never had to worry about them going into my stash. Quinn rose from the couch, but Paige pulled her back down. “Wait. Can we get soda? Grape soda?” Soda was not allowed in our house because Mom said it was poison. She’d let us drink it on vacation or sometimes when we went out to eat, but that was it.
“Fine,” I replied. If I hid the empty bottle at the bottom of the recycling bin, Mom would never know. “Let’s go. Clean up and change unless you’re going in your pajamas.”
The girls cleaned up and mumbled their way upstairs, but they did what they were told. Almost thirty minutes later, we were in Gerdy’s.
I spent the first couple of minutes laying ground rules after Paige and Quinn had started to fill the cart with nail polish, a variety of lip glosses, and trashy gossip magazines.
“Listen,” I said firmly, “you can each get a container of ice cream, a bag of chips, and one other snack you like, but that’s it.”
“And grape soda,” Quinn added quickly.
“And grape soda.”
We headed for the freezer section when a familiar cackle made me feel queasy. I paused in the middle of an aisle as Lacey and Trista headed our way. A basket dangled from Lacey’s arm, filled with sparkling waters and bags of Dove chocolates. “This should be enough, huh?” she asked Trista. Trista nodded because what else would she do but agree with her queen? I hoped they would pass by and completely ignore us, but of course that was too much to ask.
Lacey’s lips curved into a sly smile when she saw us. “Oh, look, Trista. It’s Dust and her little dust bunnies.”
Lacey looked from my sisters to me and then probably realized they were nothing like me. Paige and Quinn looked more like her sisters than mine. They both wore designer jeans, Ugg boots, and trendy cardigan sweaters—cute and perfect. Nothing to make fun of here, Lacey. Move along.
Lacey smirked. “Wow, Ms. Melcher was right. DNA is a mother, isn’t it?”
I rolled my eyes and pushed the cart ahead, but Lacey stepped in front of it. “So you and Bailey have been hanging out again, haven’t you?”
It was more of an accusation than a question, like Bailey was her property I was trying to steal. “It’s none of your business who I hang out with. Move.”
Trista scoffed and rolled her eyes.
Lacey sneered at me, pushing the cart away from her so that its handle bumped against my stomach. “You better watch your mouth, Dust.”
Quinn disappeared behind me, while Paige was prepared to one-up Lacey’s mean girl
act. She put one hand on her hip and glared at Lacey. “Her name is Arden, and if you can’t remember that, don’t talk to her.”
Whoa. Paige would be going to Everson High next year, and she was fully aware of Lacey’s popularity. The fact that she was risking her impending popularity by pissing off the queen bee meant a lot to me.
Lacey focused on my sister, and I was ready to run her over with my shopping cart. Paige and I weren’t the closest, but my big-sister instinct was kicking in.
Lacey looked over our shoulders to where Gerdy rang up a customer and gabbed away at the register. “You want to run with the big dogs, little girl? Meet me outside.”
I remembered Lacey getting into a fight last year with a girl named Claire Donahue. Only it hadn’t been a fair fight. Trista and Marley had jumped in, making it three against one—a total punk move. Lacey was a pack animal. She needed someone to have her back. I thought I could take her if I really needed to.
“Really, Lacey?” I asked. “You’re threatening an eighth grader?”
Lacey’s smirk fell a little, and she was probably realizing how stupid she looked. “Let’s go, Trista. Get out of my way!” she barked at Paige, but Paige didn’t budge. She gave Lacey the infamous Look of Death that she’d inherited from Mom. Lacey stared at her for a few seconds before giving up. She and Trista finally inched around Paige, almost knocking boxes of Ritz crackers off the shelf. My little sister had totally owned Lacey Chapman.
Once they were gone, we continued our shopping.
“You should totally kick that bitch’s ass,” Paige said on the way home.
“Paige! And what is fighting her going to solve?” I was surprised by her comment even though I shouldn’t have been. I could only imagine how Paige acted at school.
Quinn stayed quiet, cradling the bottle of grape soda as if it were the last one on earth.
A Girl Called Dust Page 10
