Night of the Zombie Chickens (15 page)

I
t's funny, but I've been noticing that hardly anyone calls me
Crapkate
anymore. In fact, my old friends run up to me in the hallway; they all want to talk about Alyssa. I shrug. It feels like I'm in the wrong movie. I should be all happy, but I'm not. I can't just forget about all the weeks where they ignored me. We talk and it's nice, but it's definitely not back to normal. I still sit with Margaret and Doris at lunch.

Luckily, no one sits close by, because our conversation is all about Alyssa and the wig.

“I was thinking about...what we talked about on Saturday,” Margaret tells me. “I think I have an idea how to return the item in question.”

I feel a cold jolt in my stomach. I'd been focusing on my movie, trying to forget about that item.

Doris leans forward. “Good, let's hear it.”

“First, I watched
The Maltese Falcon
yesterday. Just to see what you were talking about, Kate. You're right, great movie. And I did some research on film noir on the Internet. To try to get some ideas.”

I can only listen, amazed. If this were a school project, Margaret would get an A-plus. I'm guessing that's an average grade for her.

“So anyway,” she goes on, “I asked myself, what would Bogie do? What would the Beautiful Dame do? And it hit me. What does every film noir tough guy have? An airtight alibi!” She beams at us, then modestly adds, “Well, that's what I read on the Internet, anyway.”

“You're incredible, Margaret,” I tell her.

She blushes pink. It occurs to me that Margaret probably doesn't get a lot of compliments.

Doris nods thoughtfully. “You're right. Alyssa needs an alibi.”

“I thought we could do it during choir class,” Margaret goes on. “I'll stick my head into the music room on the way to class and make a comment to someone about how the wig is still missing. Alyssa can get sick and leave class early. Then Kate can put the wig back, and we'll make sure someone discovers it.”

Right away, I notice one huge flaw in the plan.

“We would have to tell Alyssa so she would know to leave early,” I point out.

Margaret sips her drink, not looking at me. “Don't you think maybe you should tell her? Doesn't she kind of deserve to know?”

Now they're both gazing at me.

“No,” I say right away. “No. I can't tell her. She doesn't know I took it, and she doesn't need to know I'm putting it back. As long as I get her off the hook, that's what matters.”

My voice must sound a little mad, or desperate maybe, because Margaret quickly says, “Okay, okay.” She plays with the straw in her drink. I can tell she's not happy with my answer, but there's no way I'm telling Alyssa, period.

Doris clears her throat. “There's another problem with that idea. Everyone would think Alyssa put the wig back after she left class early. They would still think she did it.”

I sigh with relief. Off the hook.

Margaret frowns. “Yeah, you're right. But when else can we do it? First, people need to see that the wig is missing. Then, after Alyssa's alibi is in place, they need to see the wig has been returned. That way, they'll know Alyssa couldn't have done it.”

“I don't know,” I say gloomily. “But
Annie
auditions are Monday. I need to get this wig back quick.”

Doris stares at me.

“What?” I wipe my mouth, thinking I must have left a blob of jelly.

Doris does her cackle-honk laugh. “That's it.”

“Of course!” Margaret cries.

I'm definitely out of my IQ league here. “Of course what?”

Doris pushes her glasses up her nose like she does when I don't get a math problem. “Return it during auditions.”

I snort. “Auditions?” I can't think of a worse time to try to pull it off.

“No, listen, it'll work,” Doris says. “After Alyssa auditions, she'll leave, right? She's not going to want to hang around. Once she's gone, you and Margaret make sure people see the wig is still missing. You wait a little while, Kate, and then you slip in and return the wig. After that, you just have to make sure someone sees it's back. Alyssa will already be gone. Everyone will realize that she couldn't have done it.”

Margaret's curls bounce as she nods. “I think it can work.”

I'm already shaking my head. “People will get suspicious if I'm just hanging around during auditions. I mean, why would I be there?”

Doris and Margaret exchange a look.

“No way,” I say. “NOT happening.”

“It's the only way,” Doris says.

“It'll be fun,” Margaret insists.

“It will be a disaster,” I groan.

If I'm going to be at the auditions to restore the Cute Red Wig, then I need a good reason to be there. My stomach flutters nervously at the thought. This is surely my punishment for taking the wig. In order to return it and make things right, I will have to audition for a role in
A
nnie
.

We spend the rest of the week talking over the plan, making sure we've thought of everything. I know exactly what I need to do on Monday. Then, on Saturday, everything changes.

I
'm in my pajamas, watching Saturday morning cartoons and eating a bowl of cereal. I'm totally relaxed, knowing I have the whole day free in front of me to do whatever I want. Then my mom walks in and hands me an envelope. I recognize the handwriting right away. I rip it open and there's a hand-drawn card—a sad face with tears leaking out of the eyes. It won't win any art prizes, but I get the point. I'm so shocked I have to turn off the TV. This is the last thing I expected. I'm even more surprised when, a couple of hours later, my cell phone rings. I'm tempted to ignore it, but I have to know why she's calling.

“Hi.”

Silence. The caller takes a deep breath and I hear a catch. “I'm such a jerk.”

I stare at my fingernails and try to keep my voice light. “Yeah, kind of.”

“I'm sorry, Kate. I know you're mad at me. I don't blame you, but I just wanted to let you know. I'm really sorry.”

“You're sorry now that everyone at school hates you,” I point out. “Now that you're not Lydia's best friend anymore.”

“I never wanted to be her best friend.” Alyssa hesitates. “At first, we had a lot to talk about. You know, with her parents getting divorced and everything. But we weren't getting along very well at the end. Like, nothing I said was funny anymore, but I was still supposed to laugh at all her stupid jokes. She was hanging with Tina Turlick most of the time.”

Sure, Alyssa wants to be friends now, I tell myself. She comes running back because Lydia's dumped her. Everyone hates her. Her social life is in shreds. So who does she call? Crapkate Walden. I'm her last resort, her fallback, her Plan Z.

“So why are you telling all this to me? I'm just a loser, remember? The weirdo with chicken crap on her shoes.”

There's a silence. For a second, I think maybe she hung up. “I don't blame you for hating me,” Alyssa finally says. “But you're not a loser. You're a ten times better friend than Lydia.”

For a moment, I feel better because I know it's true. Then a horrible feeling comes over me as I realize it's
not
true.

“I knew I was being stupid, but I just couldn't help myself,” Alyssa says, real quiet. “It's like I was on drugs or something. All the girls crowding around, and suddenly everything I said was superfunny, and everyone wished they were me....”

“Not everyone,” I say loudly.

I hear a tiny sniff and I know she's crying.

“I've got to go,” I say quickly. I hang up, not waiting for her to answer.

My head is whirling. In the little movie that's been running in my brain, this is the part where I get superexcited. I've watched the rerun in my head so many times it's starting to show up in my dreams at night. It's the one where Alyssa admits she's all wrong and I beam happily as she begs my forgiveness.

Now it's happening and I don't feel superexcited. When I check the mirror, I'm not beaming. Mostly, I feel confused. Part of me wants my BFF back. I want life to go back to normal. But things aren't the same. I'm not sure I'm the same. I have other friends now and there's no way I'm going to turn around and ignore Margaret and Doris. I know how bad it feels.

I saw girls who were best buddies in grade school turn into strangers once they hit junior high. Usually, one of the girls changed a lot over the summer while the other didn't change at all. Suddenly, they had nothing in common. Is that what's happened to Alyssa and me? Are we just two different people now? Or was the last month just a temporary insanity? Has Alyssa really come to her senses, or will she dump me again once things blow over? I couldn't go through all this again. I'm afraid my heart might explode.

Still, Alyssa was my friend for six years. Should I let a few bad weeks ruin all those years of friendship? What if Lydia had gotten chummy with me instead? I might have acted the same way. I might have drunk the Lydia Kool-Aid and let it go to my head.

My relaxed feeling is gone. Instead, I'm chewing one fingernail after another, trying to figure out what to do. Finally, I send a text.
We should talk. Come over tomo
rrow?

Right away, she calls. “You mean it?”

“Sure,” I say gruffly. “We can talk about what a lousy friend you've been and how you're going to make it up to me.”

“I
was
a sucky friend. But you know, Hitch,” Alyssa says, real solemn, “I didn't take the Cute Red Wig. It wasn't me.”

“I know,” I say.

I hear her voice catch. “You mean it? You really believe me?”

The Cute Red Wig is hidden in a box inside a bag at the back of my closet under a stack of old shoes. Still, I feel like it's sending out some kind of weird signal that Alyssa will be able to hear, like a foghorn blast or a time bomb ticking.

“Of course I believe you,” I say.

Alyssa starts telling me how great I am and what a super friend I am. Every time she says something I feel a little worse. Something starts rising up inside me, like a balloon filling with helium. Only it's not helium. It's a strange gas called guilt and it's building in my throat and choking me. I'm the one who should be apologizing to her. “I gotta go,” I finally blurt. “I'll see you tomorrow.”

I pace back and forth in my room. More than ever, I wish I could rewind the past couple of weeks and cut out some crucial scenes. My plan didn't seem so terrible at the time. We were all just actors playing a part. But life is turning out to be way more complicated than any movie. In film noir, the bad guy always takes the fall. All along, I thought Alyssa was the bad guy. Life has added one last twist, though. Now it turns out the bad guy might be me.

I stare at myself in the mirror. The narrow rectangle of glass looks like a tiny jail and I'm trapped inside it. If life really were a movie, then I'd be in handcuffs by now, headed to prison for stealing, forgery, lying, and general all-around bad-guy behavior. I deserve to have the cops kick in my door and lock me up in the slammer. I imagine myself holding on to the bars of my cell as the camera dollies backward to reveal a long, echoing prison hallway, with me at the very end, lost in shadow....

Okay, maybe I've watched a few too many film noir movies.

Still, the person in the mirror seems like a stranger. I always thought the idea of turning into somebody else was just a cute Hollywood plot gimmick, like in
Freaky Friday
. It feels like that's what's happened to me, though, minus the body exchange. How did I turn into this mean, vengeful thief?

I wander over to my window and stare outside. Maybe I should have just called Alyssa and talked to her instead of getting so upset. Maybe I should have accepted that people do change. I certainly have.

I pull out my phone and text Margaret:
Heard from A. We
'
re talking tomo
rrow.

Immediately, she texts back.
Wow! Good luck. Going to tell
her?

I think about this for a long time. Finally, I write:
idk.
It's probably not the answer she wants to hear, but it's the best I've got.