The Unquiet (8 page)

“Well, I have homework and stuff …”

“Oh, please,” Lacy drawls. “We all have homework. Don’t be a drag.”

Stalling, I ask, “Who are
you
going with?”

“I’m not going with anyone. I’m engaged.” Lacy flaps a tiny diamond ring under my nose. I can’t tell if it’s real.

Nor do I care. “How can you be engaged when you’re only in high school?”

“She met him online,” Tasha butts in, oblivious to Lacy’s
scowl. “He’s a marine, in Japan. He showed up here last summer, and man, all they did was sneak here, sneak there, and dummy Meg, of course, had to cover for them, and—”

“Will you
please
stop talking?” Lacy growls. “It’s none of her business. Nothing personal,” she adds to me, not all that sincerely. “But I hardly know you. And I
don’t
want my folks finding out about him yet.”

I bite back the first cutting reply that comes to mind and instead answer nicely, “Don’t worry, Lacy. Your secret’s safe with me.”

She looks at me as if trying to decide whether or not I’m being sarcastic—and then someone yells, “Hurry up!” from the huddle of girls waiting at the locker room door. Meg wasn’t kidding when she said nobody goes through that corridor—“the tunnel”— alone. Even though it’s silly, I hurry to join them so I won’t be one of the brave, or stupid, ones left behind.

Before bed, I mention to Mom how I got roped into the decoration committee. “Oh, honey! I’m so happy!”

I’m shocked she doesn’t launch into backflips. “Why are
you
happy?”

“Because it’s hard starting a new school, and I was afraid you—” She stops guiltily.

“Afraid I’d scare everyone off again?”

“Don’t be silly. I just know how difficult it can be to make new friends.”

I highly doubt it
. “I’m going to bed.”

“Are you sleeping all right?” she calls as I drift toward the stairs. “No nightmares?”

Nightmares about Mrs. Gibbons, she means. I know she wonders if I’m
really
okay with sleeping in the attic, though she won’t ask me right now, she’s too afraid to discuss it, and she might never mention Mrs. Gibbons’s name again. As if simply talking about the old lady might flip me out.

What Mom still doesn’t get after all these years is that I can flip right out without any help from anyone. After all, nothing “brought on” my bipolar disorder in the first place. No drastic change in my life. No traumatic event. Psychosis can happen out of the blue,
to anyone
, and no one knows why. Not even the best doctors on the planet.

And
that’s
why Mom is always so afraid. If we don’t know what made me sick in the first place, how can anyone guarantee I
won’t
flip out again?

Mom hasn’t mentioned Annaliese, either. I’m more interested in her than in her dead swinging grandmother. Was my mom friends with Annaliese? Was she sad when it happened?

I’ll keep my questions to myself till Mom gets past all this stuff.

Friday, October 24

As it turns out, aside from me, Lacy, and Meg, only pudgy Cecilia Carpenter and two other girls show up for the Homecoming decoration committee. The last two lose interest and disappear in sixty seconds. I notice Lacy eyeballing Cecilia’s belly rolls. I remember that look; it’s the same one
I’d
get from people when I’d start talking to my books.

“Since when are you interested in Homecoming?” she asks Cecilia.

“My mom thinks I should get involved in more activities this year,” Cecilia says.

I smile my encouragement. “Mine, too.” Cecilia smiles back, glad for a comrade, so I add, “I heard you singing in chorus today. You’re really good.” In fact, I was too busy listening to her to pay attention to myself.

Cecilia’s shy smile broadens. “Thanks.”

“If you’re looking for something to do, Cecil,” Lacy slyly inserts, “why don’t you try out for the squad? We’ve got a couple of openings. Rinn already said no.”

Cecilia flushes. “It’s Cecilia. And thanks, but no thanks.”

“Of course,” Lacy continues, “that means you’d have to learn how to do the splits. And I don’t mean, ya know,
banana
splits.”

“Lacy!” Meg yelps.

“Or the seat of your pants!” Lacy finishes, laughing heartily.

Openmouthed, I watch Cecilia rise. “Never mind,” she mumbles. “I’ll find something else to do, I guess.”

By the time I recover my wits, it’s too late; Cecilia’s already lumbered out.

“That,” I say angrily, “was
totally
rude.”

Lacy, unrepentant, lifts her hands. “Well, I
totally
do not want to hang around with that orca. Chances are she won’t even go to this stupid dance.”

“Why are you such a bitch?” I demand.

“Why are
you
calling me names?”

Meg and I face her with silent admonition.

Lacy bursts into tears. “Oh God. You’re right. I
am
a bitch.”

I watch with suspicion as Meg rushes to comfort her.
Hmm,
is this one of those “passive-aggressive” ploys for attention that Frank used to accuse me of ?

Lacy snuffles into Meg’s shoulder. “I wasn’t gonna tell you guys. I just can’t believe this is happening. But I did one of those tests?”

“Tests?” Meg repeats.

“A pregnancy test, stupid. And it, it was p-positive.”

She sobs hysterically. Meg, after a stunned moment, “aw-ws”
and “c’mons” her like a mother hen. A twisted realization hits me: a creepy house, a dead body in the attic, a ghost, a sexy neighbor, and now a pregnant friend? I’m not trapped in some dinky southern Ohio town—I’m trapped in one of Nana’s daytime soaps:
Will Rinn Jacobs escape her fate as a hapless member of the Homecoming decorating committee? Will she beat her way to freedom with a pair of purloined pompoms? Tune in tomorrow!

At the clank of the janitor’s cart, Meg yanks Lacy’s arm— “C’mon, we can talk in there”—and pulls her to the side door of the cafeteria that leads to the tunnel. I follow doubtfully, thankful there are three of us.

Meg bangs the door shut. “Now tell us everything!”

Lacy screams and points. “A rat!”

Yes, it’s a rat, curled up on the worn floor. Two more dead rodents lie motionless nearby.

“Jesus,” Meg squeaks.

Shuddering in unison, we step around the furry bodies and edge farther down the tunnel. Lacy sinks to the floor and Meg crouches beside her. I simply stand there in the dim light, scoping out the nearest exit …
yes, the cafeteria, but the locker room might be closer …

It’s one thing to race through this tunnel in a group between classes. What are we doing here after hours with no one else around?

Lacy glances up at me, realizes I’m not about to politely disappear, and turns to Meg. “I missed two periods.”

“
Two?
Why didn’t you say something?”

“Because I was hoping it wasn’t true! Oh God, what am I gonna
do
?”

Meg touches Lacy’s ring. “You’re engaged, right? Maybe
you guys can get married now, if your parents say it’s okay. Unless … well, you know. Unless you want an abortion.”

“I’d never murder Chad’s baby. I love him! He tattooed his
ass
for me.”

“Then tell him that. Tell your mom and dad, too.”

Lacy breaks into fresh sobs. “Nooo, they’ll
kill
me.”

“No, they won’t. But you have to call Chad,” Meg insists.

“I can’t! He’s in Japan!”

“Then e-mail him.” Meg hugs her. “Do it tonight and let us know what he says. Right?”

This last question, I guess, is directed at me. I force enthusiasm. “Yes, let us know. It’ll be all right,” I add belatedly. “If he loves you, he’ll marry you.”
Even though you’re not even out of eleventh grade, duh.

Lacy’s green eyes glitter. “What do you mean ‘if’ he loves me? Don’t you think he does?” Face contorted, she shuts her eyes and clasps her temples. “You don’t even know him,” she rasps as I back away. “You don’t know
me
.”

“I only meant …” My words dissolve as a bone-numbing chill descends.
What the hell IS that?

As I turn questioningly to Meg, Lacy’s eyes fly open. She leaps up and plows me straight into the wall, pinning my shoulders with her iron claws. “You bitch, don’t you
dare
say he doesn’t love me. Who do you think you are?”

One thing I’ll always be grateful to Frank for, he did teach me some self-defense. I throw my arms up between Lacy’s, slamming hers to the side to break her grip. I push her away and whirl for the door—
okay, I’m officially handing over the Wacko Torch to Lacy Kessler!—
and that’s when I hear it.

At the end of the tunnel, the pool room door stands open.
The distant rattling of the chain-link fence almost stops my heart.

“Who’s in there?” Meg whispers, motionless except for her hand rubbing her throat.

The fence shakes again, louder, more insistent. Lacy screams, which makes
me
scream, too—and then the cafeteria door bangs open.

“What’cha all think you’re doing in here, you girls?” It’s Bennie Unger, the janitor, in overalls and orange knit cap.

The rattling stops.

Squinting, Bennie moves closer. I point bravely to the pool room door. “There’s somebody in there, I think.”

Bennie moseys around us, assaulting us with BO. He tromps down the corridor, peers into the pool room, shuts the door, and tromps right back. “Ain’t nobody there
now.
” I shiver at the way he stresses that word, like he knows what we heard wasn’t our imaginations at all.

I think I’m the only one left who can speak. “We
heard
someone.” Hopefully a human someone.

Bennie contemplates our huddle. “You all the decoratin’ committee?”

Lacy and I nod. Meg, paralyzed, clamps both hands over her mouth and nose. I pray she doesn’t upchuck.

“Guess you girls all best get to decorating, then.” Nonchalant, Bennie shuffles off, all jangling keys and scraping soles.

Coming alive, we dash out into the welcoming light of the cafeteria. Lacy, back to her old self, leans against the wall and explodes into giggles. “Holy shit! Saved by the retard.”

Meg doesn’t laugh. Neither do I.

I
want to know what happened to Lacy in there.

I also want to know why Bennie Unger emphasized the word “now.”

It’s funny how something can creep you out when you’re there, in the moment, and everyone else is as creeped out as you.

Then, fifteen minutes later when you’re safely back home and the lights are all on, and your mom’s stir-frying chicken and onions, and a news anchor’s yammering about another Hollywood scandal … well, everything’s fine. Almost
painfully
normal.

I sniff. “Smells good.”

“How’d it go?”

“Um, we didn’t get much done.” I rub my shoulder, the one that hit the wall the hardest. No point in mentioning what Lacy did to me; I don’t need Mom flying over to the Kesslers’ demanding to know why their nasty daughter assaulted me. I’ll deal with Lacy tomorrow. “Hey, what’s with that janitor guy at school?”

“Oh, Bennie.” Mom shakes the wok. “He was a kid when I left. A smart one, too, till he fell off a roof, working for his brother. Millie says he’s been the janitor for years.” She tosses broccoli into the wok and adds a dash of salt. “Why do you ask?”

“No reason.”

After dinner, I’m working on homework when my new extension phone rings. Hoping it’s Nate, I almost drop the receiver when Lacy says, “It’s me. Tasha gave me your number.” Before I can think of a reply that doesn’t involve profanity, she asks in a small voice, “Do you hate me now?”

“Is that an apology?”

“I guess so. Rinn, I swear I don’t know what happened today!”

A likely story. Next she’ll be pleading temporary insanity.

“It’s like I went nuts, you know? I never did that before. I’m not a mean person.”

“Oh, really?” I say coolly. “Is that why you treat Cecilia like crap?”

“I mean I don’t beat people
up
.” My silence must aggravate her. “What do you want from me? Do you want me to say I’m sorry to her, too?”