Authors: Francine Pascal
the sign hanging over the bar: MINORS WILL NOT BE SERVED UNDER PENALTY OF LAW. With a growing sense of unease, Jessica sipped her beer while Rick tipped back his glass of whiskey as though it were water.
He laughed huskily. "Not exactly prom time, huh?" His hand found her knee under the table and gave it a squeeze.
Jessica winced but forced a smile anyway. "It's . . . it's fun," she agreed, lying through her gritted teeth.
"So are you." Rick's hand moved up an inch or two on her leg. "I knew the minute I laid eyes on you that you wouldn't let me down, little Jessica."
Jessica shifted her position, trying to maneuver herself out of his reach, but Rick only squeezed tighter. She giggled nervously in an attempt to cover up her unease.
"And I should have known you were the kind of guy who couldn't keep his hands to himself," she scolded lightly.
Rick's eyes narrowed. "All tease and no tickle, huh? Didn't your mommy tell you not to put anything in the window that you don't sell in the store?" His fingers groped higher, and she noticed he was beginning to slur his words. "Well, I've seen the merchandise, baby, and I'm sold."
This time there was no pretense in the way
Jessica pulled away from Rick. Suddenly he didn't seem so fascinating anymore. Just dangerous. His eyes looked flat and black, like a snake's. His breath, as he leaned over to kiss her, reeked of alcohol.
"Rick, don't--" Jessica turned her head so that his lips found only her cheek, leaving a wet imprint, like the rings of moisture left on the table by their glasses.
"Whatsa matter?" he drawled. "You wanna go somewhere quieter? Listen, I know a place down the--"
"No!" Jessica cried in true alarm. "Rick, take me home. I--I told my parents I'd be back in an hour. I really can't stay."
He shrugged. "So call and tell 'em you'll be late. 'Less you're afraid of turning into a pumpkin." Rick laughed loudly at his own joke.
"Rick, please." She wasn't in the habit of begging, but she was getting desperate. A few more drinks and Rick would be in no condition to drive her home. Then she'd really be stuck.
"Forget it, baby." He gulped the last of his beer and finished off her untouched shot of whiskey. "I came here for a good time, and I'm not leaving."
"What about me?" she wailed, suddenly close to tears. "What am I supposed to do?"
Rick hooked a tattooed arm around her neck, dragging her into another one of his moist kisses.
"Do I have to spell it out for you? Relax, baby. You might even have a good time yourself."
Jessica slithered adroitly from his drunken clinch and stood up. "Sorry, Rick," she said, in command of herself once again, "but I'd have a better time with an octopus. Thanks for nothing. I think I'll just call a cab."
"Wait a minute," Rick hissed, grabbing her hand and jerking her back into the booth. "You're not going anywhere!"
Jessica let out a yelp as blunt fingers encircled her wrist. She struggled to free herself. A man sitting at a bar stool nearby swiveled around to see what was going on.
"He giving you trouble, miss?" the man asked.
"Yes," Jessica announced in a loud voice. "I have to go home, and he won't let me go!"
The man grinned. He was probably about her father's age, only rougher looking--in a funny kind of nice way. Like a cross between a teddy bear and Jaws.
"I'd be glad to give you a lift home if your boyfriend won't," he said.
"Thanks," Jessica said, "but he's not my boyfriend."
She had succeeded in wrenching away and was halfway to the door when Rick lunged after her, his black eyes spitting fire.
"Out of the way, lard bucket!" he growled at the man, who had stepped in front of him.
At that moment Jessica felt as if all the air in that smoky room had been sucked out. She could hardly breathe. As she watched in horror, Rick hunched forward, swinging his fist in a wide, drunken arc. The man easily blocked the punch. His own ham-sized fist exploded against Rick's jaw with an audible crack. Rick reeled backward, crashing into a table and knocking over several chairs. A trickle of blood oozed from one corner of his mouth.
Jessica stood frozen, unaware that any time had passed, until the howl of a siren brought her back to her senses with a sickening snap. The next thing she knew, there were two policemen barreling into the bar. One of them headed straight for Rick, who lay sprawled on the floor amid the cigarette butts, mumbling curses at everyone in sight.
"This time I'm pressing charges," the bartender was yelling. "His name's Andover, and this isn't the first time he's tried to bust up my place!"
The other policeman took Jessica aside. "Do your parents know you're here, young lady?" he demanded sternly.
"Oh, no, please, please don't tell them," she begged, tears pouring down her cheeks. She
didn't have to turn on the waterworks--this time they were for real. "They would just kill me if they found out!"
"I doubt that," he answered, but his tone softened slightly. "Maybe it's best for your parents to find out. They might stop you from doing something even worse the next time. Now, why don't you give me your name?"
Panic swept through Jessica. Arrested! Taken home by the police from Kelly's! She'd be absolutely ruined--besides being grounded for five hundred years!
"Uh. . . Wakefield ..." she managed to choke.
"Wakefield, huh?" The cop peered closely at her. "Sure, I know you. You're a friend of my niece, Emily Mayer. I've heard her mention Elizabeth Wakefield."
"Emily? Oh, sure!" Jessica ignored his mistake. "Emily's a terrific drummer, and the Droids are the hottest band in Sweet Valley," she babbled in relief.
The cop jotted something down in his notebook "OK, young lady," he said. "Let's get you home where you belong."
In The squad car Jessica began sobbing again with renewed desperation. She pulled out all the stops--every plea she could think of, from the trauma of being scarred for life to the fact that her father was a lawyer, and his reputation
could be ruined. The cop said nothing until he'd pulled to a stop in front of her house.
Then he turned to her. "Listen," he said, giving her a long, hard look. "I'm going to let you off this time. No thanks to Niagara Falls, either. I just happen to believe in second chances."
"Oh, thank you, Officer!" Jessica leaped from the car like someone who had just been reprieved from death row. "I swear it'll never happen again!"
"It'd better not," he called after her as she bounded up the driveway. "Stay away from Rick Andover. I don't want to see you in the middle of any more brawls at Kelly's. And keep in mind, Elizabeth, I don't believe in third chances."
"Wait, I'm not--" She started to tell him she wasn't Elizabeth. Now that she was out of danger, she was suddenly stricken by a guilty conscience for letting him think she was her twin. But the squad car had already disappeared into the night.
Blinded by her overwhelming relief, Jessica hadn't seen the girl who walked past with a little black poodle on a leash. She probably wouldn't have noticed it was Caroline Pearce, her sorority sister and three-doors-down neighbor, even if she'd bumped into her.
Jessica was so happy to have been let off the hook, she practically flew up the front steps to her house.
Caroline was heading home, too, straight for the white Princess phone in her bedroom, which , served as the central switchboard for Sweet Valley High gossip. . . .
Seven
Elizabeth looked out her bedroom window to see what kind of day it was. No big surprise. The morning was bright and sunny, as it almost always was in Sweet Valley. Why can't you get a cloudy day when you really need one? she mused. OK, Liz, she told herself sternly. Get your act together. If Todd preferred Jessica, that's the way it was.
Elizabeth scanned the room. It was her haven, her sanctuary. She had decorated it herself. She had chosen the off-white carpeting, had painted the walls a soft cream, and had picked out the bed frame and matching dresser. She had also put up the two mirrors in the room, a small one over the dresser and a full-length one on the back of the door. One whole wall was a closet with louvered doors.
Instead of a desk, Elizabeth had decided on a large rectangular table. It held her typewriter, reference books, paper, and a ceramic holder for pens and pencils. And right above the table was a theater poster of Jason Robards in A Touch of the Poet. She didn't think she would ever be as good a writer as Eugene O'Neill, but it was a terrific-looking poster--and she was, after all, a writer.
Elizabeth looked longingly at the one curious piece of furniture in the room, a chaise longue she had found in a thrift shop and re-covered in a soft, pale velvet. Maybe she could just curl up there for the day, or maybe for the rest of her life. Then her eyes zeroed in on the digital clock-radio on her nightstand. Oh, no, she thought. I'm not only miserable down to my toes, but I'm going to get an F in science if I miss Mr. Russo's test!
She grabbed her knapsack and dashed out of the room, nearly knocking over Jessica, who was heading for the stairs.
"Liz!" Jessica yelped.
"Sorry, Jess. I just checked the time. We're going to be late! Are you ready for Russo's test?"
"Tests! Tests! Tests!" Jessica grumbled as the two went down the stairs. "Doesn't that man realize there are more important things to do at
school besides take tests? Of course I'm not ready!"
Elizabeth headed for the front door. "I don't have time for breakfast. See you in school!"
"Wait, Liz, there's something I have to talk to you about. It's absolutely urgent!"
"No time, Jess. I promised Enid I'd meet her before first period. Later!" And she was gone before Jessica could tell her about the night before.
"Well, if meeting that wimpy Enid Rollins is more important than talking to her own sister . . ." Jessica muttered. Maybe nobody at school would find out about last night, she thought. "Yeah, fat chance. Maybe school will be canceled on account of a snowstorm."
Elizabeth spotted Enid sitting by herself. As she made her way across the broad green lawn, Elizabeth wondered what the latest "absolutely vital" matter was that Enid wanted to see her about. As she passed a group of boys, she noticed that they were staring at her. Before she could check to be sure she had all her clothes on, Bruce Patman stepped out of the group. He was smirking.
"Didn't know you had it in you, Wakefield. Really awesome."
"What?" Elizabeth stopped short and faced Bruce.
"You know, Wakefield, you know. And now I know."
"The only thing I know, Patman, is that you seem to be missing a few marbles," Elizabeth snapped. She turned her back on the group and walked over to Enid.
"Liz, I thought you'd never get here," Enid said, jumping to her feet.
"I just got waylaid by Mr. Wonderful," Elizabeth said, nodding in Bruce Patman's direction.
"You mean the gorgeous Bruce Patman?"
"Don't forget rich, Enid."
"Oh, yes. Gorgeous, rich, and let's not leave out--ta da!--star of the tennis team." Both girls started giggling. Most girls at Sweet Valley High would kill for a date with the son of the town's richest and oldest family, but not Elizabeth or Enid.
Suddenly getting serious, Enid asked, "What was Bruce saying to you?"
Elizabeth thought for a moment. "I'm not sure. He was totally weird. He said something about not knowing I had it in me, whatever it is.
"Oh." Enid looked down at her shoes. "Oh? Do you know what he was talking about?"
"I'm not sure, but I think so. Liz, I want you
to know that you're my best friend. And I'll always be your best friend, no matter what."
"No matter what? Enid, what are you talking about?"
"I know something about making mistakes, Liz, and I meant it when I said we're friends. I don't want you to worry about losing my friendship. Ever."
Elizabeth stared openmouthed at her friend. What was the matter with everybody today?
"Enid, get to the point! Have I suddenly grown another head?"
"Liz, I know there are some things you think you can never tell anybody, but--oh, there's Ronnie waving at me. I have to talk to him before first bell." Enid seemed almost relieved to delay her conversation with her friend. "I'll talk to you later. Bye!"
Elizabeth stared in complete puzzlement as Enid hurried across the lawn toward Ronnie Edwards, who stood there frowning.
"Is something wrong, Ronnie?" Enid would die if Ronnie were mad at her. She felt her heart begin to race.
"Why were you talking to her?" he asked, still frowning.
"To Liz? She's my best friend!"
"Maybe you should be more careful about
choosing friends. Everybody's talking about that stunt she pulled last night."
"Everybody? Ronnie, that's not true. Besides, we haven't heard Liz's side yet."
"Enid, it's all over campus. Caroline Pearce saw the squad car bring Liz home. She went to Kelly's with Rick Andover and started a riot. You really want to be friends with someone like that?" Ronnie said accusingly.
"We're not sure about all that, Ronnie. It's just a lot of rumors. I can't believe she'd go out with Rick. She's my friend, and I'm going to stick by her, no matter what."
The sound of the bell cut off whatever Ronnie was going to say. But Enid knew he was angry.
What an absolutely unbelievable day, Elizabeth thought as she reached her front door. It was like being in the Twilight Zone. Everywhere she went, she got strange looks. Kids stopped talking as soon as she approached--in the lunchroom, in the library, in the halls. And what in the world was Enid trying to tell her?
Even Mr. Collins had insisted on being mysterious about some kind of problem with the school football field. She remembered her father mentioning the same thing the other morning at breakfast, but he wouldn't elaborate, either. It was spooky, and the day wasn't over yet.
As soon as she opened the door, Elizabeth heard angry voices coming from the kitchen.
"Steve, you were supposed to go back to school last night," Alice Wakefield said.