by Diane Hoh
“It would only be for a week, Megan,” the voice pleaded. “And it’s not so bad in my world … You wouldn’t need to worry about stubbing a toe or catching cold. Nothing from your world could touch you.”
Right then, that sounded kind of appealing to Megan. “But … if you would look like me, does that mean I would look … like you?”
“You wouldn’t have any physical form at all. I’m only like this so you can see me. I would be able to hear you, and you could talk to me at any time. But no one else would see or hear you.”
Megan shook her head again. She would become invisible? “It’s just too strange, Juliet. You need someone braver than me.”
“You are brave, Megan, or you wouldn’t have heard me in the first place. Oh, Megan, I thought you understood, I can’t use anyone else. Only you. Because you live here. Because of our shared birthday. And because you listened to me.”
The sadness and yearning in Juliet’s voice touched Megan to the core. She thought again how horrible it would be to have your life cut short at such a young age. Wasn’t that, after all, what everyone at school had been thinking about? That it could have been their car, their accident, and that they might not have been so lucky. They might not have survived.
As Juliet hadn’t.
“Don’t you believe that anything is possible?” Juliet asked. “I thought you did.”
Megan remembered Hilary’s phone call then. “Even if I were willing, which I’m not,” she said, “this would be the wrong time to trade places with me. Someone deliberately hurt some of my friends. My best friend Hilary’s mother thinks Hil might be next, but it could be me. I could be next. If we did this … trading thing, you’d be putting yourself in my place. That’s not a good place to be right now.”
“I don’t have any choice!” Juliet’s voice took on a note of desperation. “You have to be my exact age — fifteen. So even one minute past your sixteenth birthday is too late for me. We only have until the clock strikes midnight on Saturday. Unless I get your consent before then, my one perfect chance will disappear. I don’t get another chance. If you won’t help, I’ll disappear forever, and I’ll never know peace. So the danger you talk about doesn’t matter to me. I’m willing to take that risk.”
“But what about me?” Megan asked. “If I decided to trade with you and something bad happened to my body while you were in it, what would become of me?”
“Actually, Megan, you’ll be safer. I can sense evil in people. I’d never let anyone like that get close enough to hurt me. So you wouldn’t have to worry.”
Megan sat up very straight. “You mean … you mean you would know who hurt Jenny?”
“I think so. I can’t promise. But I think so.”
If Juliet could identify the cruel, sick person who had sabotaged Jenny’s car and created the twisted picture, Lakeside could return to its normal, peaceful way of life.
Megan sat, lost in thought, while Juliet said nothing more. She was Juliet’s only chance at getting back one short week of the lifetime she’d missed? There was no one else? What had happened to Juliet was horrible, tragic, and so unfair. No one should die so young. It wasn’t right, it just wasn’t right at all.
“Maybe I’ll think about it,” she said finally. That scared her so much, she added hastily, “But that’s a maybe, understand?”
The plume began dancing with excitement. “Oh, of course, Megan. Maybe gives me hope. When my father said maybe, he almost always meant yes. But please,” the soft voice begged, “use your open mind and your kind heart, okay? I’ll come back when you’ve had time to think. Good night, Megan. And thank you, thank you for listening.”
Megan sat at the window, looking out over the lake, for a long while. But every time she started to think about Juliet’s proposal, she had to put it out of her mind. It was too scary to think about at night. Maybe tomorrow …
When she finally got up and crawled into bed, she slept poorly. Her grandmother’s voice echoed in her dreams. “Anything is possible, Megan, you remember that.”
She tossed and turned all night, her nightclothes and hair soaked with sweat.
The next morning, on the way to school, Megan tried talking to Justin about Juliet.
“Justin,” she began cautiously, as she climbed into his car, “what do you think happens to a person, well, after they die? Do you think their spirit stays around?”
Justin looked over at Megan. “Those are pretty strange questions. Thinking about Jenny’s accident?”
“Well, it’s just … something weird is going on at my house.”
“At your house!” he exclaimed as he pulled away from the curb. “Listen, your house is probably the only place in town where weird things aren’t happening. Someone screwing up Jenny’s steering, now that’s weird!”
“Justin, I —”
“So tell me something,” he interrupted, “do you think Donny’s behind this stuff? Richardson?”
Maybe it was just as well Justin was distracted today, Megan thought. If she told him about Juliet, he might start to think she was really flaky. He’d told her once that she wasn’t like other girls because she listened. Really listened, he’d said. That was fine. She’d been flattered. But being “different” because she was a good listener was one thing. Seeing purple plumes in her mirror was something else. Justin might think she was just plain weird. She wouldn’t tell him. Not yet. Maybe never.
“I don’t know,” she answered thoughtfully. “I don’t think so. I told him no when he asked me out, and nothing bad has happened to me.”
Justin swivelled his head to look at her in surprise. “Donny asked you out? You didn’t say anything about that when Hilary was talking about him yesterday.”
Megan fidgeted on the seat. “Hil would have made a big deal out of it. And it wasn’t a big deal. He asked me out and I said, ‘No, thanks.’”
Justin’s sandy eyebrows met in a frown. “How did he take it?”
“Okay, I guess.”
“Look, just steer clear of him, okay? His alphabet might be missing some of its letters.”
“Justin,” she said, remembering the strange drawing, “have you ever heard of any famous horse named Jenny? A champion racer, maybe?”
After thinking for a minute, Justin said, “No. Why?”
She told him about the drawing, and when they parked in front of school, she showed it to him. “I figured out Barbie and Cappie,” she said, “but why is the horse where Jenny should be?”
“That’s not a horse,” he said. “Look at the ears. It’s a mule. And it’s wearing a necklace. Nice touch. Know what a female mule is called?”
“A jenny?”
“Right. Where did you get this, Megan?”
She explained. But before they could discuss it, the first-period warning bell rang.
“Meet me at the Scribe office after school,” Justin said as they hurried to class. The Scribe was Philippa’s newspaper. Justin was its editor. “Don’t forget. We’ll talk about your artist friend then.”
The feeling of being watched slipped over her again, as chilling as a wet sweater. She tried ignoring it, in vain. Yet each time she glanced around, no one seemed to be paying the slightest bit of attention to her.
At lunch without Justin, who’d had an errand to run, Hilary said with disgust, “Guess who’s back?” She unwrapped a strange-looking sandwich, brown and unidentifiable. Hilary was into health food. “That viper, Vicki Deems! The snake only got one week’s suspension for cheating on that Spanish test. I was hoping they’d suspend her for life!”
“Just ignore her. She’s not in any of your classes, is she?”
“She’s in my life, Megan. She makes my skin crawl. I know Ken Waters was going to take me to your party. He hadn’t asked me yet, but I could tell. One look at Tricki Vicki in that red halter top she’s glued into and Hilary Bench is history.”
Megan sipped slowly from her milk container. She didn’t want Vicki Deems at her party. Maybe I’m just j
ealous, she thought as she peeled a banana. Vicki is sexy, sophisticated, everything I’m not. Thank goodness Justin isn’t interested in that type.
Or was he? Hadn’t he called Karen Tucker “sexy”? Compared to Vicki Deems, Karen was Snow White.
But it wasn’t jealousy that made Megan nervous around Vicki. It was the way those cold, dark eyes looked at a boy that made Megan shiver: black spider eyes spotting a nice, juicy fly. No wonder Vicki had no girlfriends. She had only boyfriends, and plenty of them.
After school, Megan went to the art room to check her cubbyhole, just in case.
She found another drawing.
Her stomach lurched. This one was on dark blue paper. The drawing itself was nothing more than a simple curved line, in bright pink crayon, like a giant bump on the paper. It went up and curved back down. That was all. It looked like a mound or … a hill.
A hill. Hilary!
Megan raced to the auditorium, where Hilary and two boys from the lighting crew were tying up loose ends after last week’s junior class play.
Breathless, her heart pounding furiously in her chest, Megan was running down the wide center aisle in the auditorium when her best friend since sixth grade leaned out over the catwalk high above the stage to retrieve a loose rope.
And fell.
Chapter 7
MEGAN AND HILARY SCREAMED simultaneously as Hilary began to plummet. Arms in a crisp white shirt and legs in blue denim shorts flailed wildly in the air as she plunged toward the hard wooden stage below.
Megan watched in horror as her best friend began to descend toward certain death.
And then, in the blink of an eye, one of Hilary’s grasping hands came into contact with a rope dangling on her left.
The hand grabbed.
Clutched.
And held.
There was a moment of breathless silence as the three onlookers stood paralyzed with shock below their dangling friend.
Megan, with a little moan of relief, sank to her knees on the worn red carpeting. Hilary’s life had nearly ended.
Like Juliet’s had, so long ago.
“Help!” Hilary called weakly, her voice hoarse with panic. “Get me down! Hurry! I can’t hold on!”
The two boys ran for a ladder.
On shaky legs, Megan got up and hurried down the aisle, her gait as disjointed as a toddler’s. She kept her eyes on Hilary as she climbed the wooden steps up to the stage. “Hang on, Hilary, don’t let go,” she urged. “They’re bringing a ladder. Hang on!”
When Hilary, her face an unhealthy gray, her body shaking violently, had been rescued and was lying on the stage trying to catch her breath, Megan, kneeling beside her and holding Hilary’s hand, asked, “What happened? Did you slip?”
Hilary shook her head. “Didn’t. Didn’t slip. Pushed.”
“Pushed?” Megan sank back on her heels. The drawing. A definite warning.
Hilary couldn’t stop shaking. Her arms and legs rapped against the wooden floor like the wings of a frightened bird. But anger quickly began to replace the panic. “Of course I was pushed. I certainly didn’t jump. Ken Waters isn’t that great.” She looked up at her fellow crew members. “You guys see who it was?”
One had been busy sweeping up backstage, the other had been returning equipment to the prop room. And Megan had been too far back in the auditorium to see or hear anything.
“I don’t like this at all,” Megan said slowly, helping Hilary sit up. “If you hadn’t grabbed that rope …”
“You probably fell, Bench,” one of the boys said.
Hilary shuddered. Her blue eyes, still glazed with shock, glanced up toward the catwalk. “I did not fall,” she said firmly as the boys helped her to her feet. “I am not a falling sort of person. Anyway, I know every inch of that catwalk as well as I know my own bedroom. Someone pushed me.”
“Well, we didn’t see anything,” one of the boys repeated. “Boy, were you ever lucky! Talk about quick reflexes. You ever do any gymnastics, Bench?” There was awe and admiration in his voice.
“No. And I don’t see how you can joke about this.” Hilary bit her lower lip. “It’s a long way down from up there.” She closed her eyes briefly, another violent shudder shaking her body. “I’m reporting this to Mr. Shattuck.”
“He’ll just blow it off, Hil,” the other boy said. “Nobody saw anything.”
“I don’t care. I felt it.” Hilary bent carefully to pick up her books and purse from the floor. “You coming with me, Megan?”
Megan had planned to go home and seek out Juliet. But she couldn’t leave a shaky Hilary.
Should she take the drawing to Mr. Shattuck? How could she? It was only a curved line on a piece of paper. It had been meant only for Megan. Whoever drew it knew she would understand. And she had. But Mr. Shattuck wouldn’t.
“Of course I’m coming, Hilary. Here, let me carry your stuff.” She reached for Hilary’s things. “You’re not going to pass out, are you?”
“No, I’m not going to pass out,” Hilary said in a slightly steadier voice. “If I were a passing-out kind of person, I’d have done it when I was hanging from that rope like a piece of meat in a butcher shop. And I can carry my own things.”
Megan felt relief wash over her. Hilary not only was not hurt, she was getting back to normal very quickly. She was a very lucky girl.
So was Megan. What would she ever do without Hilary?
As they made their way up the aisle, Hilary managed a weak smile. “I’m sorry I don’t have a broken wing so you could feel sorry for me and fix me up, Megan. You’re so good at that.”
“Hil! I’m glad you’re not hurt.” Impulsively Megan turned to give Hilary a hug.
“Oh, Megan, I know you’re glad. I was just teasing.” Hilary paused, and then added, “Megan, you believe I was pushed, don’t you? I mean, I wouldn’t make up something like that.”
Megan felt guilty about not sharing the drawing with Hilary. But Hil was already so shaken. Proof positive that she really had been a target would only upset her more.
“Of course I believe you.”
“Well, don’t you think it’s scary? First there’s Jenny’s accident, which turns out not to be an accident at all, and now someone sends me off into space from the catwalk. Something really nasty is going on here.”
Hilary continued to fume about the incident, but Megan wasn’t listening. She was lost in her thoughts. Why would someone push Hilary? Push her, knowing that such a fall would kill her? And it had to be the same person who was drawing those pictures.
That meant someone at the school, someone who had access to the art room. Donny, rejected by so many girls? Vicki Deems, Viper Extraordinaire, who always had that cold, hungry look in her eyes? Was she viciously trying to destroy the competition, and keep all the boys for herself?
Megan and Hilary were both still very shaken when they arrived at the principal’s office and told their story. But the boys had been right. Because no one had seen Hilary’s attacker, Mr. Shattuck, a cautious man, chose to regard the incident as an “unfortunate accident.” He then called Hilary’s mother to come and take her home, being very careful not to alarm her.
While they waited in the hall for Mrs. Bench, Hilary said angrily, “He didn’t believe me. So he won’t have it investigated, and whoever pushed me will get away with it, just like he’s getting away with the car tampering.”
“He won’t get away with it. The sheriff is still investigating, according to my mom.”
Hilary shrugged.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Megan asked with concern. “Your face is the color of my old gym socks. And your eyes look glazed, like you’re not really in there.”
“I’m fine. I’m just mad now. Quit worrying. Let my mom do that. It’s her job.”
When Hilary had been deposited safely in her mother’s very competent hands, Megan went to look for Justin. He had said he’d be in the Scribe office.
Walking down the hall, the sight of Hila
ry falling, falling, returned to Megan’s mind, and she closed her eyes, feeling like she’d been riding on an out-of-control Ferris wheel. If Hilary hadn’t caught that rope … Megan leaned against the wall until the nausea passed.
Why was all this happening? In the past two days four girls had narrowly escaped death. And every one of them was a good friend of Megan’s.
Was she in danger, too? Was that why she felt shadowed? Because someone was watching her? Watching … and waiting …
Shaking her head to erase the image of Hilary’s dreadful fall, Megan continued on down the hall.
The door to the Scribe office was open when she arrived. As she stepped inside, the tiny hairs on the back of her neck rose. Justin was seated at his desk as usual, a pencil nesting over one ear. But seated on his desk, not at all as usual, was Vicki Deems, a bright red halter top and a black leather miniskirt fitted snugly around her beautiful body. She was leaning forward, a curtain of silky black hair draping one tanned cheek. She seemed to be whispering in Justin’s ear.
And what was worse, he seemed to be listening.
Megan froze in the doorway. What if she’d waited too long to ask Justin to be her date for the party? What if he asked Vicki? After all, Justin was a healthy, normal, red-blooded American male. And that was some halter top.
“Oh, hello, Megan,” Vicki said in a husky voice that set Megan’s teeth on edge.
Megan allowed herself the satisfaction of seeing Justin glance up guiltily, his gorgeous face flushing scarlet, before she turned and ran. Even when she heard him calling out her name, she kept going.
She ran all the way home in a vain effort to escape two awful images. One was of Hilary plunging toward the stage, a picture that sent Megan’s stomach into sickening nausea. The other image was of Justin with his head next to Vicki’s. That one filled her with fury.
When she was safe in her own room, in her own house, she grimly put all thoughts of friends in danger, vicious vipers, and treacherous males out of her head. She had more important things to think about.
