Simply Mad (Girls of Wonder Lane Book 1)

by Christina Coryell

  “Nice ad lib,” he whispers, glancing behind him. I’m ever cognizant of the fact that there are cameras on me, and as I shift slightly in my seat to see if they’re filming, my rump slides a little too close to the edge of the chair.

  Oomph—the sound of my deflating ego as my backside hits the floor and I rest there, propped up on my elbows as I stare at the giant green man in front of me with the bolts protruding from his neck.

  “You should not try to flee,” he says mechanically in a monotone. Like a scene from my own mental horror movie, he bends down to retrieve me.

  “I refuse to allow you to lay a hand on me, you grotesque beast.” Obviously not catching my drift, he slides his arm underneath my knees and hoists me into the air as though I’m a child. “Unhand me at once, vulgar brute.”

  “Me no leave until have blood. Dracula’s orders.” Lowering me into the chair, he slaps the rubber band around my arm and begins poking around for a vein. I’m having nightmarish flashbacks, but he strangely seems pleased with himself.

  Please, God, don’t let me flinch in front of all these people. Or faint. Or drop dead.

  “Any advice on preparing to donate blood, Madeline?” someone calls from the back. A newspaper person, I imagine, since Harley is standing so close to me.

  “Not much preparation needed,” I answer. “It’s relatively painless.”

  Luca jabs the needle into my arm without giving me a warning, and I fight the urge to jump back. A burning sensation rips up my arm, like a raging forest fire headed straight for my face.

  It’s okay, Maddie, just remain calm. It will all be over in a minute, and life will go on as usual. Surely I can put up with a little pain for a good cause. Besides, with all these people watching, I have to make this look as though it’s the best experience I’ve ever had. I certainly don’t want to dissuade all these blurry, faceless people from giving blood today.

  “How long does it take to donate blood?” someone else calls as Luca digs around under my flesh looking for a vein. I unclench my teeth only long enough to respond.

  “That sounds like a good question for my friend Luca,” I reply, trying to erase the fuzziness from my brain as he pokes around under my skin. It occurs to me seconds too late that distracting him with answering a question while he’s trying to find my vein might not be the smartest thing I’ve ever done.

  Ouch! Oh, Luca, why do you despise me so? Can’t you do one simple blood draw without turning my arm into ground beef?

  And Cooper, where are you? This was supposed to be you in here, not me. It’s like you can’t seem to avoid making my life miserable!

  Turning, I force a smile at the multiple cameras, hoping they don’t manage to catch me grimacing or squinting. That wouldn’t be a pretty image to represent this event, which I’ve been promoting as happy and fun. Instead of kids playing games and people enjoying a free lunch, there’s a photo of a grown woman crying.

  Luca finally manages to get the needle maneuvered correctly and blood starts to fill the bag. I manage to take a deep breath, knowing that I can relax for a moment without worrying about him stabbing at me any longer. Some of the newspaper people express an interest in taking a picture of us together. Luca seems eager to fulfill the request—apparently he likes the attention. He kneels down next to me as I smile toward the cameras.

  “No,” a man with one of the larger cameras complains, “I want to get one of Frankenstein leaning over her, with her looking frightened. It is Halloween, after all.”

  A couple of the other camera wielders express their agreement. Luca leans down over me and stares somberly into my eyes while I bring my hand over my mouth in mock fright. Well, mock fright at this point. If they had captured me a moment before it would have been hellish and all-to-real.

  Seriously, how did I get roped into this ignorance? I can only imagine the captions under that picture in the paper tomorrow: Blood Drive Turns Into a Fright Fest. Woman Faints After Frankenstein Takes Her Blood.

  “I think we have what we need,” Harley states to her cameraman. The red light on his camera blinks off and he pulls it down to his shoulder. Several of the other onlookers prepare to head to the door.

  “Thanks for coming, everyone,” I offer. A few smiles and nods are passed in my direction, while Harley leads her processional back out into the sunshine. Just like that, the frenzy is over as quickly as it began, and I’m a little relieved. Now I can sit here and try to be calm instead of faking happiness at the prospect of becoming a blood drive voodoo doll.

  Other volunteers begin spilling into the room, and I notice Audrey among them, rolling up the sleeve of her stained sweatshirt. She waves eagerly as she catches my eye. Of all the people who could have wanted me to be their friend, what are the odds that I would wind up with Cooper’s daughter as my eternal shadow? Sure, I feel sorry for her—it’s hard not to sometimes. She must not have very many friends at all, the way she chases after me like I’m going to get away from her. I sometimes wonder if she behaves that way toward her fiancé as well.

  “You doing okay?” Luca asks, apparently finished with his ridiculous role-playing. He pats me on the shoulder and heads off to mutilate someone else. Unleashing Luca on the community was not exactly a service, was it? I try not to watch the blood dripping into the bag while I order my stomach to remain calm.

  What I should do is force myself to relax and try to enjoy the day. Instead of being cooped up in the office with Audrey, I get to spend all my time outside in the sun, meeting people and watching kids play. I can sample some of the cuisine and have some cappuccino. Best of all, I can avoid Cooper, his stupid doorbell, and his nutty requests.

  Will you take these shoes over to have them shined?

  Will you go to the supermarket and get me some fresh shrimp?

  Will you go to the coffee shop and have them grind some of those dark roast Colombian beans for me?

  Last week, the man even asked me to take his teeth to the dentist. I know that sounds like a joke, but I am definitely not kidding. He said his teeth needed to be adjusted. I didn’t even know the man wore false teeth until that moment, when suddenly he thrust out the little plastic case and said those dreadful words. Never in a million years would I have imagined myself holding a grown man’s chompers in my hands, yet the situation arose and I sadly could not refuse. I never took my eye off that case on the way to the dentist’s office, almost afraid the teeth were going to jump out and start nibbling at me. I even wrapped the case in several paper towels before I took it into the dentist’s office, and before I left I must have washed my hands about a hundred times. That still didn’t stop me from dry heaving every time I thought about the chore.

  It would seem to me that a man who cared that much about his appearance would be a little hesitant to hand someone his teeth. Honestly, is he really that busy, that he can’t make one simple trip to the dentist on his own?

  Luca returns and checks the tube going from the needle, picking up the bag and looking at it.

  “Guess you’re finished,” he states, pulling out some cotton and a bandage. “Too bad we didn’t get to use the entire script. I thought it was great.”

  “Thank you,” I mutter.

  “I bet those camera people would have really eaten it up, too.”

  “Probably.”

  “Maybe I should use it on some of the people who come in here throughout the day,” he suggests, pressing his big fingers down over the bandage to hold it firmly in place.

  “Just don’t scare people too much. We wouldn’t want to send everyone running for the hills.”

  “Don’t worry, I won’t,” he says in his spookiest voice, using his eyes to drill a hole in my skull. “Have a nice day.”

  I’m about to stand up when the Bride of Frankenstein walks to the foot of my chair, holding out a tray. “You look a little woozy,” she states solemnly. “Perhaps you would like a cookie.”

  I suppose one cookie won’t hurt. I can’t believe how long it’s been
since I had a cookie, actually. A couple months, I’m guessing. Mistakenly believing she was just reciting her lines about being woozy, I stand and immediately have to settle myself back in the chair.

  “Maddie?” a male voice above me swims to my left.

  “Isha nom…” I try, blinking slowly. “Ert?”

  Apparently I have more than earned a cookie today. Waking up on the floor of a bloodmobile with Frankenstein and his wife hovering over me is not likely to make it onto the highlight reel of my life. To make matters worse, as I was flat on the floor being nursed back to my senses by that duo, the man of the hour decided to show up and laughed heartily at my discomfort through those shiny white fake teeth. Afterwards, he commented about how well things seemed to be going, grabbed something to eat, and disappeared. He didn’t even bother to donate any blood.

  To be clear, I never expected him to do so on his own, that’s why I prepared the ambush. Of course the story of my life would dictate that I actually ambushed myself. I should have known better, really. Has anything ever gone the way I planned?

  Nevertheless, I was able to hone up on my public speaking abilities and appeared on the Channel 6 news. Not bad for one day’s work.

  Audrey followed me out of the bloodmobile like a groundhog chasing a shadow, but after a couple hours I was finally able to ditch her. Her dad called a little while ago and asked her to run an errand. She wanted me to go with her, of course, but Cooper told her I was too busy. The first good thing Cooper has ever done for me, giving me a little extra time to enjoy myself today. He certainly didn’t do it intentionally, though.

  There were also the tree frogs, which I like tremendously, but those were just some kind of weird bribe. And I guess in truth he was responsible for introducing me to that delightful hunk Max…

  Okay, I reluctantly admit that knowing Cooper has had a couple slight perks.

  We’ve had a steady stream of people all day, which indicates to me that the event has been a success. We’ll have a meeting after the event to find out the results, but having a large crowd is certainly a positive sign. As for me, I’ve been a jack of all trades. I assisted the magician for a while and helped grill some hamburgers early in the afternoon. There were a couple slight incidents to deal with, but none of them turned into full-blown problems. All in all, I would say I’ve had a fun afternoon.

  Right now, I’m volunteering next to the donor sign-in area, watching people walk by. A few have come in full costume, which has been interesting. One guy was dressed as a giant baby, and two girls came dressed as Little Bo Peep and her sheep. Some of the little kids wore funny headbands with ears or antennae on them.

  “Look, Mommy,” a little girl sporting brown pigtails says, pointing up at me. “It’s the lady from TV.”

  “Yes, it is,” her mom agrees with a smile, heading into the donor area. The little girl chances another peek over her shoulder, and I wave.

  “Maddie!” I hear someone yell. “Maddie, there you are. I’ve been looking all over for you!”

  Ugh, Mom? What is she doing here?

  “Sweetheart, I had no idea you were involved in all this until I saw you on Channel Six today!” she exclaims breathlessly, hair swept back with a tortoiseshell comb and wearing more makeup than usual.

  “You broke the silence just to come down and tell me that?” I ask frankly.

  She plasters a smile on her face and looks at the people standing nearby. “That’s my Maddie, always joking around. Of course I came here to donate. Why else would I have come?”

  Why indeed? Isn’t that the million dollar question?

  “Why didn’t you tell me you were in charge of this blood drive they’ve been advertising in the paper?” she asks, clearly not interested in donating as the line passes her by.

  “I might have, Mom, if you would have bothered to speak to me one time in the last month and a half.”

  “Now, honey, you know that I’ve been very busy lately, with Marilyn and Jordan coming over fairly often.”

  It’s nearly impossible to keep the scowl off my face. “They’re in school, Mom.”

  “And I’ve been helping Brittany take care of things after the move and all.”

  “She’s a grown woman. Surely she can take care of herself.”

  “Then there’s your father. He’s always wanting me to do things for him, you know.”

  “Dad?” I ask, letting out a short laugh. “The man who hides in the closet to call me because he doesn’t want you to catch him? Give me a break.”

  “Please don’t do that, sweetie,” she pleads, grabbing me by the arm, right above where the bandage rests on the cotton ball. “I only came here to do the right thing.”

  “The right thing for whom?” I wonder, looking earnestly into her face. “The right thing for you?”

  For a split second, she looks a bit stunned as she allows her hand to drop off my arm. “The right thing for the community, of course. You said it on TV—for the health and wellbeing of my fellow citizens.”

  “Well, while you’re here, you might as well warn the medical technicians over there about my eating disorder. I’m sure they’ll want to know.”

  “Oh, poo,” she states, waving her hand in the air, “that was all just a big misunderstanding. Surely you can see how it must have looked to us, things happening the way they did.”

  The premise of her silently asking me to forget something she won’t even admit doing causes me to fume a bit inside.

  “Well, if you’re here to donate, you might as well go ahead,” I finally say.

  “I was so surprised to see you on TV,” she says, unmoving as the wind whips her hair sideways behind the comb.

  “That makes two of us.”

  “You spoke so well, and you looked so pretty,” she comments, giving me a weak smile.

  This is worse than being followed around by Audrey. Does she honestly think I’m buying this act?

  “Thank you,” I reply, brushing past her. “Listen, I’ve got to make sure everything is going smoothly. Just go over to that area and sign in, and then they’ll tell you what to do.”

  “I want the same person who helped you earlier!” she exclaims hurriedly, attempting to stop me from walking away. “He looked like he was doing such a good job, I want to make sure I get him, too.”

  Whirling around, I face her silently for a second, pondering her request. “Just take whoever’s available, and it’ll be fine.”

  “No, it won’t. I want that Frankenstein fellow, the one that you had.”

  Yikes, Mom, you have no idea what you’re asking.

  “You know, someone else in there could probably do a better job,” I press, trying to dissuade her. “Are you absolutely sure you want Frankenstein?”

  “Of course I’m sure,” she states, standing defiantly in front of me like a child bent on having her way regardless of the cost.

  Alright, but just remember that I’m following your wishes.

  “In that case, when you get inside, just ask for Luca.”

  “You’re sure they’ll listen to me?” she wonders, grabbing my arm again.

  Without bothering to answer, I walk up the steps and poke my head inside. “Hey, Luca,” I call, and he looks up. “This is my mom. I want you to take good care of her, okay?”

  I only feel like a bad person for about half a second as he looks at my mom and gives her a wink. “You betcha.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Abeautiful, crisp Sunday morning, and the Gardwins aren’t at church today. That means no pulled hair, no stuck-out tongues, and no getting kicked beneath the pew. Oh, and no worrying about that Billy Gardwin putting his gum on me. He acted like he was going to do it last week, but his dad finally caught his eye and gave him a pretty stern warning look.

  Without having to worry about those Gardwins, I’m free to concentrate on Reverend Shell’s sermon, but I’m also tracing the pattern of the carpet with my eyes. Sometimes I feel a little strange when I watch him preach, becaus
e he looks out at the crowd when he says something and I feel as though he’s directing his comments specifically to me. He probably isn’t because he doesn’t know me very well, but it still makes me uncomfortable. As a defensive measure, each week I find a specific item on which to concentrate. Sometimes it’s the wood grain of the pew in front of me, or the way the paint is speckled on the walls. Today it happens to be the pattern of the carpet.

  “Maybe God allows us to have enemies not because He wants us to hate, but because He’s teaching us to love.” Meh, that doesn’t really make sense, Reverend Shell. Nice try. “There may be someone in your life right now who has deliberately tried to hurt you, and you have a hard time forgiving them. Perhaps it’s someone who has done something unkind to you, and you have difficulty letting go of your anger. You may have wanted God to do something about your hurt and anger, even if you didn’t say the words aloud.”

  Okay, maybe with an ordinary enemy he might have a point, but not the ones I have. Look at Cooper, for instance. He gives the job I deserve to a total goon and then creates a phony position for me, all because he wants me to help him exact some silly revenge on his brother for being better at tennis. Or my mom, who won’t speak to me for a month and a half and then suddenly shows up just because she saw me on television. What was she doing there, anyway? Did she hope that the cameras might still be there and she might make the evening news simply for being related to me?

  “But God doesn’t respond to your prayer by doing harm to your enemies or sending you weapons to use against them. He responds to your prayer by giving you situations in which to love them.”

  Um, bleh? Love Cooper? I don’t think so.

  “If you ask God to help you rid yourself of an enemy, do you really expect Him to send an angel along to smite them?”

  Maybe not smite them exactly, but a good scare might be helpful.

  “Wouldn’t it be more characteristic of God to help you rid yourself of an enemy by making it possible for them to become your friend?”