Not knowing what else to do, I shrugged. I couldn’t let him see the humiliation I was feeling. The only good thing was that my skin was already red.
Having zipped Morgan’s tee in a plastic bag, Mom placed her hands on her hips. “You got in trouble at the pool, Heather? Why haven’t I heard about this? Wait a minute. So you’re the lifeguard Drew?”
Yes, my mother, not always quick on the uptake, chose that precise moment to figure out that this Drew was the same Drew. I guess he and Morgan have different last names.
Mom then had the decency to turn red as she and he realized the implications, i.e. that I talked about him.
That’s when Audrey entered the classroom. Who knew how long she’d been standing there. “Hey.”
Drew nodded in acknowledgment.
Audrey’s overly lined eyes narrowed on the ruined micro-tee. She wet her lips, and I knew I wasn’t going to like what she was going to say. “Yeah, Mom this is the infamous Drew Blanton. Lucky me, it’s not like I don’t hear enough of how cute you are at the snack bar. It’s the main topic of conversation between Heather and Claire at the dinner table, too.”
Drew blushed.
This was worse than killing. I couldn’t move. I was planted to the tile floor and couldn’t look away even though, technically, I was the train wreck.
I didn’t know who was worse, Audrey or Amy, who for once, didn’t find my humiliation funny. But what was up with Audrey? She still hadn’t played her trump card—you know, the fact that I was wearing her shirt and had ruined it.
Amy floated out of her corner with a frown. “She’s meaner than a snake. Don’t Audrey know family comes first?”
Apparently not.
When my sister noticed what must have been a look of horror on my face, she turned her fake smile into an equally fake expression of shock. “What? Did I say something I shouldn’t?”
Morgan’s worry furrows deepened. She pointed at me. “You like my brother.”
Was it dogs or kids who forget things quickly? I was rooting for a form of partial amnesia to descend upon everyone in the room. If only Amy could manipulate time for me, I’d like to go back and cover Audrey’s mouth in duct tape.
“Come to think of it,” Audrey said, “Cute isn’t the word you or the girls at the pool use. It’s hot, right? You say he’s hot.”
“Audrey!” I croaked. Futile as it was, her name was the only coherent word I could push past my lips. My skin itched so badly I was willing to forget about the sunburn. I fought the urge to go into full scratch attack in front of him.
“That’s enough.” Mom’s tone let everyone know continuing on the road to snotty sister of the year wasn’t wise.
“Well, thanks Mrs. Tildy,” Drew said, finding his ability to speak fairly quickly considering he must have been almost as embarrassed as I was. “I gotta get squirt to Tae Kwon Do. See you around, Audrey . . . Heather.”
I couldn’t find joy in the fact that he remembered my name. He couldn’t even look me in the eye.
Amy flitted over to me and patted my shoulder, cooling the skin she touched. “It’ll be okay, Heather. I think he likes you,” she lied.
I appreciated her being nice and all, but how pathetic was that? I was now worthy of pity from a ghost.
As Drew walked away from me, I tried to forget my humiliation and enjoy the way he moved. His broad, muscular shoulders, the way he held his head, his firm. . . Let’s just say, he was as good-looking going as coming. Not that he’d ever be coming near me in the future.
I imagined I was wiping Audrey away as I scrubbed down the stained plastic tabletop for a third time. She ripped several squares of paper towels from the roll near the sink and wadded them up to wipe off the wet table tops I’d covered in the bleach solution, not realizing she was helping me.
What should have happened today was that Morgan should have told Drew that I was really nice, because I’d helped her cut all the other colors out of her tie dye string, and that he should go out with a nice girl like me. If Amy and Audrey hadn’t been destroying my life, it would have happened. Okay, it might have happened.
First things first, though. I couldn’t focus on Drew when the ruined shirt was hanging over my head like my haint.
“Can we stop by Old Navy?” I asked, casually tossing my sponge to the counter next to the sink. I sprinkled powdered cleanser over the stainless steal sides and sink bottom.
“After what happened here today, you expect to be rewarded?” Mom said.
I winced, anticipating how much angrier Mom would be in a matter of seconds. “No. I expect you want me to live. I’m not sure how much longer Audrey can refrain from killing me.”
“For what?” Mom asked.
“For wearing her shirt and getting dye all over it,” I said as I scrubbed down the dye-splatters. “I can use my allowance.”
Mom shut her eyes. I guess the sight of me was too much, or maybe breathing in the scent of acrylic paint, unfinished wood, dried flowers, and craft supplies calmed her. “Heather, please tell me you at least asked Audrey if you could wear the shirt. Please tell me you didn’t take it without asking.”
To lie or not to lie, that was the question. “Does it really make a difference? It’s pretty much ruined forever.”
“Of course she didn’t ask,” Audrey whined. “And I, being the nice person that I am, didn’t bring it up until now because I didn’t want to upset you.”
Crappola. She’d outmaneuvered me with mom. I’d scored no points with Audrey, either. You’d think she’d at least be grateful that I was taking responsibility and buying her a new shirt.
Mom let out a heavy sigh. “Fine. And while we’re out, I’m buying a doorknob with a lock for your closet, Audrey. I’m tired of you girls taking Audrey’s clothes.”
No, she was tired of hearing Audrey bitch about it. I knew I was.
Amy snickered, which meant she would probably do something to make the lock not work, and, of course, I would get blamed, or . . . , my heart leapt to my throat, she’d do something horrible at Old Navy.
I needed to apologize to Mom for everything else that had happened today.
“I’m sorry, Mommy,” I said, using the name from the good old days of Elmo and tickles. “I didn’t mean to make such a mess.”
Mom, who’d been packing her leftover ziplock bags, looked up from her rolling craft cart. “Apologies alone aren’t going to cut it, Heather. I want to see a change in behavior.”
Audrey’s scowl broke into a wide grin. “Fat chance of that.”
I ignored her comment. “What exactly would you like me to do for the rest of this week to prove I can change?”
“I’m not sure,” Mom said. “But I’ll think of something.”
Audrey tapped her index finger against her mouth for a minute, continuing to smile. “Allow me to make a suggestion.”
A shiver went down my spine.
“From what I understand, you have three novels to read this summer,” Audrey said. “I believe your presence is required at the library.”
Evil genius that she was, she didn’t seem to understand that her suggestion could brand her, by association, as the sister of geek weirdo.
“No library yet,” I said, hoping Mom would agree. “I’ve got the whole rest of the summer to read.”
“Li-berry. What’s that?” Amy asked, getting in front of me and blocking my view of my mother’s face, which I needed to see to figure out what argument might work in my favor.
Amy moved, and Mom gazed straight into my soul, where she should have seen how going to the library the first week of summer vacation would seal my fate as a freak forever. “If I take your sister’s suggestion, I should be able to trust you to behave at the library of all places, shouldn’t I?”
“What’s a li-berry?” Amy asked again, only louder.
“A place to read books,” I said under my breath.
Sure, as a kid, I used to beg to go to the library, and Mom shouldn’t have a single qualm
about me behaving. But Mom wasn’t sending me there alone. God only knew what sort of havoc my wispy ball and chain could wreak in a place where people shushed you if you got too loud.
“I have a better idea,” I said as we exited the crafting classroom. “Why don’t you just take me to Borders to buy the books? We can stop on the way home.”
Mom turned off the lights and locked the door. She started toward the registers, her black craft cart rolling smoothly along the waxed linoleum, her tennis shoes squeaking. I didn’t think she was going to answer, but suddenly she stopped in the paint and stencil aisle. “I’ll tell you why. Because your father and I pay taxes that fund the library system in this county.”
Shoot, I’d stirred what Dad calls the liberal beast.
“I wanna go to this li-berry,” Amy said, smoothing her pinafore. “I like to read.”
“But what if the one book I want to read is checked out?” I whined at my mother. I usually didn’t whine because Audrey did, all the time, and it irritated me, but drastic times called for drastic measures. I was sacrificing myself in a way Mom would never understand. I was protecting her and the library both. And hey, whining worked for Audrey. She got an Ikea shelving system for her room. Maybe it would work for me, too.
“If the book you want is checked out, then you’ll have to pick another one or get an interlibrary loan,” ever-practical Mom pointed out. “And Audrey, you can drive your sister to the library.”
“Sorry, I gotta work tomorrow.”
What mattered most to Mom were grades.
“You know the school is going to test us on the books we read,” I said, “I’ll need to review what I read before the test if I want a decent grade. And knowing my luck, they’ll be checked out when I need to review them.”
Her tried and true, mother-knows-best smile spread across her tan-free face. “Then, Heather, I’d suggest you take good notes on the novels you choose. Don’t think I don’t know how you’d procrastinate if I bought those books.”
“I wouldn’t. I swear.” I flashed her the most contrite expression I owned. I knew it was good; I’d practiced it in the mirror.
Mom examined me like she suspected I was coming down with a fever. I half-expected her to do the forehead check. “What aren’t you telling me? I get the sense there’s more to your reluctance than meets the eye.”
I groaned. “Fine. I’ll go to the library. Are you satisfied?”
“Very,” said Audrey.
“And when you get off work tomorrow, Audrey, you’d better head over there yourself,” Mom said. “Last time I checked, you had a reading list, too.”
Score one for Mom!
Amy hovered close. “That’s a sight better than getting switched.”
Only time would tell.
I could make it through an hour or so at the Five Points Branch without anyone seeing me. Maybe, just maybe, taking Amy there wasn’t such a bad idea after all. Amy had probably never seen so many books in her life. It would be fun for her. That is what she kept saying she wanted—fun. What if, while under the guise of checking out a couple of books on my summer reading list, I actually did some research on hauntings?
If she wouldn’t tell me how to get rid of her, maybe a book would. It wasn’t like some ten-year-old from the early twentieth century would even suspect what I was doing. The sooner she left, the easier time I’d have getting Audrey to like me and Drew to realize I was more than a buffoon.
I almost patted myself on the back, but with the sunburn and all, a pat could ratchet the low, dull pain to higher levels. I smiled, and the burnt skin around my mouth ached.
“Why are you so happy?” Amy asked.
I shrugged. I wasn’t tipping her off to my plan. How could it be anything but a win-win for me?
Chapter Six
Skeptical that this trip to the library would actually go my way, (yeah, I wised up) I waded through the waves of heat rising up from the pavement bordering Five Points Road. The two-lane asphalt ribbon cut through the wooded hills and widened to four up ahead near the library and the large tract of bulldozed red earth that had been tall trees last week. I mean, come on, it’s not like I had a choice. I had to go. Even though I was slightly smarter than the average fourteen-year-old yearning to attend her first boy-girl party, none of my well-laid plans had come to fruition . . . yet. I had only the tiniest scrap of hope left, but I clung to it.
“I don’t understand why anyone would want a bunch of clothes that look like somebody done wore ‘em,” Amy said, bringing up her favorite topic since the trip to Old Navy. “My mama wouldn’t have spent good money on ratty old clothes if’n she could afford new.”
“I know,” I reminded her, adjusting my backpack slung over the shoulder that was less burnt. “You’ve only told me this about fifteen jillion times. These clothes are what’s fashionable in the twenty-first century.”
Amy looked down at her ghostly pinafore and scuffed boots. “There’s some things I ain’t never gonna understand.”
Me, too. Like why this ghost was haunting me and why I had to have a summer reading list at all.
Why don’t adults just admit that even though they had real summer vacations with no bridging workbooks or reading lists that required journaling when they were our age, that they believe in making our generation even more miserable than theirs was?
Oh, they don’t entirely take away our summer vacation. No, it’s a greater form of torture to just suck all the lazy joy out of it.
“I hope this li-berry’s more fun than that shop you took me to.”
“It will be. I promise.” I hoped. Our adventure had to be fun for Amy if I wanted her to tell me the secret to getting her to leave. I couldn’t continue acting like a freak for the rest of the summer, incurring Audrey’s wrath and Drew’s smirks.
The satin tag, which I just now realized I’d forgotten to cut out of my shirt, created a painful scratching sensation, just below my neck, on my still sunburnt back. “Libraries are full of books, and people can take them home as long as they bring them back. You like books, don’t you?”
“’Course I like books. I ain’t ignorant.”
Not waiting for the light, Amy crossed into the on-coming traffic. A cement mixer ran right through her as she walked and talked her way to the sidewalk on the opposite side of the road, making her sound like she was shouting into a fan. “Mama’d read me and the twins Bible stories. And if the boys were good, and we got the supper dishes done early, I’d sometimes read them Uncle Remus. You ever heard of Br’er Rabbit?”
“Yeah,” I said, not wanting to get into the reason we didn’t read those stories much anymore. How would a kid who died when pinafores and ankle boots were all the rage understand political correctness?
The crosswalk sign flashed its stick man, so I hurried across the warm asphalt and caught up with Amy. “Now when we get inside the library, I’ll have to look up the call numbers for my books on the computer.”
“Computer—what’s that?” she asked, as usual curious about everything.
“A computer is that thing in my room that’s sort of like a TV, but it stores information.” She’d learned what a TV was thanks to my addiction to reality shows. I put Arthur on for her when I thought about it. She liked it better than reruns of Top Model and Project Runway.
Don’t think just because I said I needed to look up call numbers that I don’t know fiction’s cataloged alphabetically. I was being sneaky. My true intention was to look up the nonfiction books on hauntings (my back up plan in case this trip didn’t meet her fun standard) — once Amy was safely occupied. That shirt tag felt about five inches wide. How I wanted to scratch the skin underneath, but I couldn’t. Scratching might alert Amy to my nervousness.
“I’ll check out some Arthur chapter books for you, if you behave,” I promised.
“Sure ‘nough?” Amy asked, then beamed at me and added a jaunt to her ghostly step.
Fortunately, I managed to distract her from the Five Points
Branch water fountain hazard.
“Hey, look at how the doors open without pushing or pulling,” I said as the second set of automatic double doors slid open and the AC blew at us. I also pointed to the self-service check-out bar code detectors, which she floated over to examine as this retired couple scanned their hardbacks.
Determined to get in and out as fast as possible, I nabbed an empty upholstered chair in the center of the library that allowed me a good view of Amy’s roamings while I figured out which books on my ninth grade reading list were contenders for my attention. I didn’t see any other teenagers here, just old people and little kids. Word about me being at the library during the first week of summer break would not be making the rounds. Yay, me!
Amy flitted about the building for a while but soon gave up on finding anyone with the imaginary friend gene, or maybe the pull of the children’s books was too strong. She picked a spot at one of the short round tables where a picture book with a broken spine lay open. Without pulling the chair from the table, she sat down, so that she basically went through the table. She flipped the pages of the book, which must have been Walter the Farting Dog because she kept saying “fart” and giggling. I glanced around to see if anyone, other than me, noticed her.
For a moment, I thought I was home free, but then a little girl with dark braids, who was following her jumper-wearing mom up and down the rows, stopped and stared right at Amy, like she had the imaginary friend gene. Her mother continued down the waist-high shelves picking books with silver medals on the covers.
Stop, I thought at Amy. Either I hadn’t mentally reached my haint or she was ignoring the warning. She kept flipping pages of the book.
The backs of my burnt thighs warmed against the soft chenille fabric covering my chair. I hadn’t even had the chance to review my list of book choices, and I was looking at trouble with a capital “T.”
The little girl caught up with her mom and tugged on her mother’s freckled arm. “Look,” she said, pointing right at Amy.
Haint Misbehavin' Page 7
