“Oh, really? So what is my next question, then?” Chris asked impishly.
In a high voice, B.J. said, “ ‘Then how come I’ve never seen you before?’“
Chris laughed at his teasing imitation. “You’re right! That is what I was going to ask you next! And what’s the answer?”
In his normal voice, he said, “Because my family just moved here a couple of weeks ago. We didn’t even make it to Whittington in time for the start of school. So,” he added with a shrug, “I guess I’m what you’d call the new kid on the block.”
“In that case, welcome to Whittington!” Chris looked at this curious “new” boy a bit more closely. She liked his friendliness and his sense of humor. He was the type of boy that one didn’t forget easily. And his blue eyes and wide grin weren’t easy to ignore, either.
“I thank you from the bottom of my heart.” He bowed dramatically, meanwhile making a sweeping gesture with his right arm. “But it wasn’t me I wanted to talk to you about. It was what you said in the meeting just now. About having a special twist to this Halloween Dance—my very first social event at Whittington High, I might add.”
“Is that why you joined the committee?” Chris asked jokingly. “To make sure you wouldn’t be disappointed?”
“Would you believe I joined because I’d heard rumors that Christine Pratt was also on the committee? No, huh? Well, then, would you believe I joined because I thought it might be a good way to get to know some of the kids here? I don’t want to be the new kid forever, you know!”
“That makes sense. And it’s working, too. You’ve already met me!”
“That’s right. See, it’s already proven worth the effort. But to get back to your idea, I think it was a good one.”
“Thanks. Unfortunately, we sort of got off the subject. I mean, I like the idea of having a theme for everyone’s costume, but ...”
“But what?”
Chris sighed. “Well, to make a long story short, I was hoping the committee would be able to come up with an idea that would let all of the students come to the dance, whether they had dates or not.”
B.J. looked puzzled. “Is that some kind of rule at Whittington High? You’re not allowed to go to a school dance unless you’ve got a date?”
“Oh, no! But some of the girls—and the boys, too, I imagine—are too shy to go alone or even with their friends.” Katy Johnson’s exact words were still fresh in her mind. “They say they feel silly standing around, waiting for somebody to ask them to dance.”
“Yeah, I see what you mean. I know I wouldn’t like to go to the dance alone. Especially since I hardly know anybody.”
“Believe it or not, some of the kids who’ve gone to school here for years don’t know a lot of the others, either. They’re too shy or too busy with other things. At any rate, I thought that since I was on the committee and all, I might be able to come up with something to change all that. That’s why I brought it up in the first place. But, well, we all got off the track somehow.” There was disappointment in Chris’s tone as she finished her little speech.
“It was a noble thought,” B.J. said, sounding sympathetic. “But it’s not too late. Since we didn’t actually decide on one particular theme, I don’t think anybody would be too upset if we came up with something entirely different.”
“Well, I intend to think about it all week. In fact, I think I’ll get my sister involved, too. She comes up with the best ideas.”
“Really? Then I won’t give it a second thought. If there are two Pratt girls working on the Halloween Dance, I’ve got nothing to worry about!”
By then, Chris and B.J. had reached the school’s front entrance, where the main corridor divided into two narrower hallways.
“I’ve got to stop at my locker,” said Chris. “It’s down this way.”
“Since I have to go this way, I guess we’ll have to part.” B.J. snapped his fingers. “And here I’d been thinking that this was my lucky day. Oh, well. But at least I know I’ll be seeing you again soon.”
“Right. At the next dance committee meeting.”
“Or,” he said with a mischievous gleam in his blue eyes, “maybe even sooner. Who knows? All kinds of mysterious things have been known to happen around Halloween.”
“That’s funny.” Chris laughed. “I was saying the exact same thing just this morning.”
“Aha! So maybe I really am a mind reader, and I just never realized it before! All right, Christine Pratt, I’ll say good-bye now. But at the risk of sounding like an incurable romantic, let me add that I’m already counting the minutes until our next rendezvous!”
As Chris turned down the hall, after waving good-bye to B.J. one last time, she was having the exact same thought. That, and one other: She couldn’t wait to tell Susan all about B.J. Wilkins!
Chapter Four
Susan closed the thick library book she’d just been reading with a loud, thoughtful sigh. What a wonderful, romantic story Gone With the Wind was! She’d already read it twice, yet when she’d spotted it on the shelf, she couldn’t resist taking it down and leafing through it one more time, finding her favorite sections and rereading them.
How easily she’d slipped back in time, into the world of that feisty heroine, Scarlett O’Hara! The long, narrow tables and high bookshelves of the Whittington High School library had vanished, and in their place was the Old South, filled with Yankees and Rebels and beautiful girls in luscious silk ball gowns.
I’d love to wear a dress like that, Susan thought wistfully as she returned the book to the shelf where she’d found it. Just once, for just one night ...
Maybe for Halloween! Yes, a Scarlett O’Hara-type dress, one with puffed sleeves and a ruffle around the neckline and a full, floor-length skirt ... And it would have to be one of her favorite colors: a peachy pink, a pale turquoise blue, or perhaps lemon yellow ...
It was the perfect idea for a costume. Susan decided that, as soon as she got home, she’d ask her mother to help her make a dress like that. With the Halloween Dance still three whole weeks away, there should be plenty of time.
She glanced at the clock above the main entrance of the school library and discovered that it was much later than she’d thought. Here she was supposed to be researching a science paper on the human heart, and instead she’d been lost in the world of Scarlett O’Hara and Rhett Butler. She knew she had to get going. Not only had she promised to start dinner for her family, but the school library was about to close.
As she strolled down First Street a few minutes later, she was still caught up in the romance of the book she’d been reading. If only she were as spunky as the heroine of that wonderful novel! And if only she could meet someone as dashing and romantic as Captain Rhett Butler ...
She was so wrapped up in her little dream world that she stepped off the curb and into the street without looking.
“Watch out!” someone suddenly yelled, in a voice that was nearly hysterical.
Susan turned and saw a boy on a bicycle careening toward her at top speed. Just in time she stepped backward, up onto the curb. A split second later and he might have crashed into her.
Shaken, she just stood there, unable to move. The boy immediately screeched to a halt and jumped off his bike.
“Are you all right?” he asked anxiously, hurrying over to her side.
“I-I guess I am.” Susan blinked. “What exactly happened?”
“I’m not sure. All I know is that I was making a right turn off First Street, and the next thing I knew, there you were, right in front of me. One thing I am sure of, though. I had a green light.”
“Oh, dear. It was all my fault, then. I should have looked before I started to cross. I was daydreaming, I’m afraid.”
“Gee, I guess it was partly my fault, too.” The boy was suddenly apologetic. “I was going a little fast.” Sheepishly he added, “I was in a hurry to get home. It’s kind of late, and ...”
“Well, what really matters is that neither of us wa
s hurt.”
“Are you sure about that? You look a little pale.”
“You do, too.”
Susan studied the boy more closely. He had sandy blond hair, blue eyes, and good-looking features. He looked as if he were about her age, yet she was almost certain that she had never seen him before. “Do you go to Whittington High?”
He broke into a wide smile. “Don’t worry. I’m willing to give you my name and address in case you decide you want to turn me in to the Reckless Bicycle-Rider Patrol.”
Susan laughed. Suddenly, the whole episode didn’t seem like such a catastrophe after all.
“I’m not planning to turn you in to anybody. I was just curious, since I don’t think I’ve ever seen you around here before.”
“That’s very possible. My family and I just moved here a few weeks ago. I’m B.J. Wilkins.”
“Pleased to meet you, B.J. My name is Susan Pratt. Do you go to Whittington High?”
“I sure do. I’m a senior there.”
“Me, too!”
“Well, then,” he teased, “you and I have a lot more in common than having come this close to having an accident.”
“I really am sorry about that. I should be more careful. It’s just that I was thinking about this book I was reading ...”
“Don’t apologize. Let’s just agree that we were both at fault. Fifty-fifty. Okay?”
“It’s a deal!”
Susan and B.J. stood awkwardly for a few seconds. Neither knew how to continue their conversation—and Susan, for one, certainly didn’t want it to end so soon.
“Where did your family move here from?” she finally asked.
“From a tiny town called Pottersville. Ever hear of it?”
She thought for a moment, then shook her head. “No, I don’t think so.”
“I’m not surprised.” B.J. laughed. “It’s only about thirty miles from here, but it’s so small that I don’t think they even bother to put it on those road maps they have at gas stations.”
Susan was still afraid that once she and B.J. went off on their separate ways, she would never run into him again—either on or off his bicycle. Her mind was clicking away.
What would Chris do if she were in my place? she wondered. She’s so much better at meeting boys than I am. If she had just met someone like B.J., somebody she really liked, what would she do?
The answer came to her almost instantly.
Of course, she thought. Chris would offer to show him around town, since he’s new here and all. And she’d probably suggest that they stop off at Fozzy’s for an ice cream cone!
But Susan wasn’t as brave as Chris. That kind of thing didn’t come quite as easily to her as it did to her twin sister. She stood in front of B. J., clutching her schoolbooks to her chest, agonizing over exactly how to phrase her invitation.
And so she was totally astonished when he said, “Listen, Susan, if you’re not in a hurry, how about stopping off at that ice cream parlor down the street? What’s it called? Fozzy’s? I hear they stuff as much ice cream as is humanly possible into a cone.”
Susan’s mouth dropped open. “You must be a mind reader!”
B.J. grinned. “That’s funny; people are always saying that about me! So how about it, Susan?”
“But I thought you were in a hurry!”
“Well, maybe getting home can wait a little longer ...”
A few minutes later, Susan and B.J. were strolling down First Street, armed with two of the biggest chocolate-chip ice cream cones either of them had ever seen. It was difficult for B.J, to walk his bicycle and eat at the same time, but his efforts at doing just that provided both of them with almost constant bursts of hysterical laughter. When they weren’t making jokes about the difficulties of living on a planet where there was gravity, Susan was pointing out some of Whittington’s more notable landmarks.
“Down that street is Whittington’s town park. We’ve got a brand-new monument there, commemorating the town’s founders. In fact, Whittington just celebrated its one-hundredth anniversary this past summer.”
“No kidding! Hey, what about that house up there on that hill? Looks kind of spooky, if you ask me!”
Susan glanced up toward Crabtree Hill, where the huge Victorian house that belonged to Cecilia Carpenter loomed, looking as if it could, indeed, be haunted.
“I guess it does look sort of spooky,” she agreed. “But as far as I know, it’s not.”
Even as she said those words, however, she felt uneasy. Maybe it really was haunted. Or perhaps there was something going on there—other than an old woman’s overactive imagination—that was scaring Mrs. Carpenter away. While she had tried to put this morning’s conversation with Mr. Peterson out of her mind, she couldn’t help wondering what was really going on. If only she could find out more about the “ghosts” that were troubling Mrs. Carpenter!
But Susan remembered her sister’s contention that the whole thing was “a family affair.” As much as she wanted to get involved, she couldn’t redly see any way to do that. At least not at this point. Instead, she decided to concentrate on B.J.
“That house belongs to one of Whittington’s longtime residents, a woman named Cecilia Carpenter. She’s the sister of the people who live over here—the Petersons. They own the bookstore in town. You know, that little shop that’s right next door to Fozzy’s.”
Those three fat pumpkins that Susan and Chris had spotted early that same day were still sitting on the Petersons’ porch, bright splashes of orange against the whiteness of the boxy house. But something was different now.
All three of them had had faces carved into them. And all three of them were wearing huge, mischievous grins.
“Oooh, look at the jack-o’-lantern!” Susan squealed.
“I guess Halloween is just around the corner.”
“Yes, it’s only a few weeks away now.”
She was tempted to tell B.J. about her twin sister’s whimsical theory, the Pumpkin Principle. But it sounded so silly now. Although Chris had just been joking, it would be difficult to explain. Imagine, pretending that pumpkins had some mysterious power over people, the power to make them want to play tricks and pretend to be someone they weren’t! Even though thinking about it made her chuckle, she decided not to say anything to B.J. about it.
Instead, she said, “You know, Whittington High sponsors a Halloween Dance every year. It’s a big costume party, and it’s always lots of fun.” She hesitated, then added, “You might want to go to it. After all, it would be a good way to meet some of the kids is the senior class. Since you’re new in town and all.”
B.J. looked at her and smiled. “I don’t think I’m doing too badly. I mean, in terms of meeting people here. In fact, I seem to have a knack for, shall we say, running into some of the nicer ones!”
Susan could feel herself blushing. He certainly didn’t waste any time making his feelings known! Yet she was pleased. She liked this new boy. As a matter of fact, she liked him a lot.
Who knows? she thought. Maybe B.J. and I will go to the Halloween Dance together.
Instantly, an image of herself dressed in one of those fancy Scarlett O’Hara-style dresses popped into her mind.
And, almost as quickly, she pictured B.J. standing beside her, wearing the type of outfit that Captain Rhett Butler himself might have worn.
By now, Susan was really blushing. She kept her eyes on the last of her chocolate-chip ice cream, pretending to be totally absorbed in licking all of the ice cream out of the bottom of the cone. She was relieved when BJ. suddenly changed the subject.
“Well, Susan, I live over that way, on Cherry Street.” He pointed down one of the roads that branched off First Street.
“Oh, really? I live over that way.” She pointed in the opposite direction.
“No kidding.” BJ. paused for a minute, as if he were trying to decide whether or not to say what was on his mind. “Hey, I have an idea,” he finally said.
Susan could tell that he was
trying, to make his “idea” sound casual, and she listened with interest.
“How about if I walk you home? That way, I’d get to see a part of Whittington I’ve never seen before. Of course, this is all in the interest of getting to know my brand-new hometown.” His playful grin, however, indicated that he had no desire to hide his true reasons for offering to walk her home.
Smiling to herself, Susan nodded. This BJ. Wilkins was certainly one of the most direct boys she had ever met!
“Okay. To give you the chance to see a new neighborhood, of course.”
B.J. just grinned.
As they walked toward the Pratts’ home, Susan found herself telling him all about her interest in art. She was taking two art classes at school this year, she explained, one in drawing still lifes—things like bowls of fruit and vases of flowers—and one in painting. And in her spare time, she was trying to do as many finished drawings and paintings as she could.
“You see, I want to go to art school next year, after graduation,” she said to B J. “When I apply, I have to show them my best work. So I’m trying really hard to do some nice pieces.”
“Maybe you’ll show them to me one of these days,” B.J. suggested. “That is, if you’re not shy about showing people what you’ve done.”
It was true that Susan was shy about a lot of things, but displaying her artwork did not happen to be one of them.
“I’d love to show you some of my paintings! I’ve got dozens. Maybe even hundreds!”
“Great!”
They had reached the Pratts’ house by then.
“Well, this is where I live,” said Susan, gesturing toward the gray house with the blue shingles. “So I guess this is the end of the tour.”
“Unless you’d like to come in for a while ...”
“Thanks, but I’ve really got to get home. Boy, they really pile on the homework at Whittington High, don’t they? Just for tonight, I’ve got enough to keep me busy for an entire weekend!”
B.J. hopped onto his bicycle. “Well, Susan, I’m really glad we met. I just wish our introduction had been a little bit ... calmer.”
The Pumpkin Principle Page 3
