Finally

by Wendy Mass

  Then I hear it. Creak … creak … groan. My hand freezes in midair, a Tootsie Roll halfway to my mouth. That noise sounded like it came from the house, not the TV. I hit the mute button on the remote. For almost a full minute I don’t move a muscle. When I don’t hear anything scarier than the gentle hum of the dishwasher, I relax back into the chair again, shaking my head. Leave it to me to freak myself out over nothing. Just as I’m about to un-mute the show, I hear creak … creak … and then, slam! Suddenly I’m a foot in the air. I have literally jumped out of my seat, nearly toppling my soda in the process. All my senses are on red alert. That was NOT my imagination! Heart pounding, I tiptoe into the hall, and peek around the corner at the front door. I can tell from here that it’s still locked from the inside. That’s a good sign.

  Or is it? What if the intruder were smart enough to lock it behind him before he crept up the stairs to hide in my closet or under my bed?

  Or what if it weren’t the front door that slammed, but one of the bedroom or bathroom or closet doors? That would mean someone would have had to be in the house before my family left. But how would he have gotten around unnoticed? Unless … unless he’s a disembodied spirit!

  I run back to the family room and grab the cordless phone from where I’d left it on the coffee table. With shaky hands, I punch in Mom’s cell phone number, then push myself as far into the corner of the room as my body will go.

  After a few rings she picks up. Before I can say anything, I hear a muffled “No throwing Hot Lips in the car, Sawyer. That’s very dangerous.”

  “Mom!” I whisper as loudly as I dare.

  “Rory? Why are you whispering? Hold on, let me put on my hands-free.” More muffled voices ensue as I wait for Mom to find her earpiece. Breathe, I command myself, just breathe. Finally, after what feels like forever, she says, “Still there?”

  “I’m here, I’m here!” I whisper frantically. “This might be the last time we ever speak!”

  “And why’s that?” she asks, not sounding particularly concerned for someone who didn’t want me to stay home alone in the first place.

  I cup my hand around the mouthpiece. “I heard some strange noises.”

  “What kind of noises?”

  My eyes dart left and right. “Like creaks and a slam.”

  “Well, the creaks are probably just the house settling.”

  “Settling? Settling for what?”

  “Just what an old house does. Groans and creaks sometimes.”

  “But our house isn’t that old!” I argue. “And what about the slam?”

  “Did you check the front door?”

  “Yes!”

  “Do you hear anything right now?” she asks.

  “No,” I admit.

  She pauses to tell Sawyer not to kick the back of her seat. I grip the phone tighter and wonder where my mother’s priorities lie. Save her only daughter from a homicidal maniac ghost, or teach Sawyer a lesson on proper car manners?

  “Okay,” she instructs, “go check the bathroom in the hall upstairs. Sometimes when the window’s open, a strong wind sucks the bathroom door closed.”

  My eyes widen. “You want me to go up there alone?”

  “You’ll be fine. Take the phone with you.”

  “So I can hit him with it?”

  She laughs, which wasn’t the response I’d been after. “Just go check. I promise you’ll be okay.”

  Clearly I’m more expendable than I would have hoped. “All right, I’ll go. But if I don’t come back, tell Sawyer he can have Throckmorton.”

  “I’m sure he’d like that.”

  I try to make my feet move, but they seem to be stuck to the carpet. “And tell Dad I’m sorry I stole a dollar from his wallet when I was eight to buy ice cream from the Good Humor man.”

  “You got it. Any other wrongdoings you want to confess to?”

  My shoulders sag. My first twelve years have been pretty law-abiding. “No,” I reply. “I guess that’s it. Wait! Once when I was seven, we were driving home from Grandpa’s and I pretended to be asleep when we got home so you’d carry me to bed.”

  “I knew you weren’t sleeping.”

  “You did? How?”

  A car honks loudly and Mom mutters something at the driver before saying, “You pulled off your glasses and put them on your night table before I laid you down. Now go upstairs already. We’re only a few blocks away from the party.”

  “Okay, okay.” I creep over to the stairs as silently as possible, cringing as my foot lands on a loose floorboard. “Still there?” I whisper into the phone.

  “Still here,” she assures me. I begin my climb, making sure to put very little weight on my feet to avoid more creaking. I can hear “Itsy Bitsy Spider” playing on the car’s CD player. For some reason I find this comforting. What kind of ghost would want to possess my body while a nursery rhyme is being played? Then I stop short. If this were a horror movie, that’s EXACTLY the kind of music they would play while the kid gets possessed!

  “Mom,” I hiss as I reach the top of the stairs, “can you turn the music off?” She doesn’t answer. I realize from the muffled noises that she must have put the phone down to gather her stuff for the party. So much for protecting me. I guess I’m on my own. Pressing my back against the wall, I slide toward the bathroom. When I reach it, I take a deep breath and swing my head around until I’m facing the door. It’s closed! I hear Mom’s voice calling my name so I bring the phone back to my ear. “I’m here.”

  “So? Was it the bathroom door?”

  “I don’t know,” I say, inching away. “It’s closed.”

  “Well, open it!”

  I’m about to argue about the preciousness of life, and how there’s so much I haven’t experienced, but then I decide to just suck it up and act my age. Before I can change my mind, I reach for the knob and swing the door open. And what do you know, a stiff breeze from an open window greets me. A huge wave of relief washes over me and I lean against the counter.

  “All clear,” I report.

  “Good. You’ll be all right?”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “See you in a few hours.”

  “Thanks.” We hang up, and I quickly make my way back to the family room where The Simpsons awaits. I take a big swig of the soda and am about to settle back in the chair when … squeak, creak, groan. It can’t be the bathroom door again, since it’s closed. I huddle in the chair, hug my knees, and hit the redial button. After about ten endless rings, Mom picks up. “I’m at the party, Rory, what is it?”

  Now that she’s on the phone, I sort of regret calling. I have to think fast. “We never, um, you know, just talk anymore.”

  No response.

  I forge ahead, ignoring the sound of musical chairs in the background. “So, um, tell me about your, uh, life and stuff.” I squirm as I await her reply.

  “Rory?”

  “Yes?” I ask meekly.

  “Do you need me to come home?”

  “No!” That came out sounding much more convincing than I’d expected. But if she came home now, I’d never live it down. She probably wouldn’t let me babysit, either, if I can’t even stay home alone in my own house in the middle of the day.

  “Are you sure?” she asks.

  “I’m sure. Really, I was just kidding. Have fun at the party.” I hang up before I can dig myself in deeper, and pull my cell out of the pocket of my sweats. When I turn it on, the screen flashes 14 MISSED CALLS. If I hadn’t turned it off, I’d have been up all night convincing people I don’t sell pizza! I type a text to Annabelle, trying to remember all the texting shortcuts she went over with me.

  HOW COME U DIDN’T TELL ME STAYING HOME ALONE IS SCARY? I KEEP HEARING THINGS.

  DID YOU JUST TELL ME TO MAN UP? WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?

  YEAH, I DON’T KNOW ABOUT THAT.

  IF ANYTHING HAPPENS TO ME U CAN HAVE MY CELL PHONE.

  ON BEHALF OF MY PHONE, WHO IS VERY SENSITIVE, I’D LIKE YOU TO SAY SORRY.


  My thumbs are starting to cramp up, but I don’t want to face the silence again.

  SING INTO MY HAIRBRUSH? IS THAT WHAT YOU DO WHEN YOU’RE HOME ALONE?

  I THINK I’LL JUST TURN THE TV UP.

  She’s probably right. I slip my phone back in my pocket and turn up the TV so loud that all the doors in the house could slam at the same time and I wouldn’t hear them. After a few minutes, though, my brain feels like it’s bouncing against my skull so I turn it off. I couldn’t concentrate on Bart’s antics anyway. Grabbing the bag of Tootsie Rolls, I hurry upstairs and lock myself in my bedroom. A quick check under the bed and in the closet assures me that my room, at least, is predator and ghost free. I wish I’d gone to the library last week because I don’t have any new books to read, which would help take my mind off my plight. The math homework I’ve been putting off all weekend is staring up at me from my desk, so I give into it. But within five minutes of trying to figure out what the sizes of the other two angles would be if an isosceles triangle has one angle of ninety-six degrees, I realize that I will never encounter a time in my future when I will need to know this, whereas learning what type of food my future bunny will eat will be vital to both my future and the bunny’s.

  In only a few minutes online, I learn that Kyle will need daily outdoor exercise and lots of rubber toys unless I want him to chew up my sneakers and computer wires. He’ll need fresh veggies and alfalfa to eat, along with rabbit pellets from the pet store. And what I’ll need? A lot more money than I currently have, thanks to that phone insurance policy. The sooner I can start babysitting, the better.

  I’m about to print out a list of Games to Play with Your Bunny, when an IM box pops up in the middle of the screen.

  Alexa: Hi Rory! How are you?

  I freeze. Alexa Montgomery is IM-ing me? ME? Alexa hasn’t spoken to me since kindergarten, and even then, that was only because she thought I stole the Hershey’s Kiss she’d brought in for Show and Tell. (I didn’t.)

  But maybe the Internet has reached across the great abyss that separates cool people like Alexa from decidedly uncool people like me. Well, here goes nothing.

  Rory: Good, how are you?

  As soon as I hit SEND I wish I had come up with something a little cooler than Good, how are you? I sound like someone’s grandmother. She’s probably wishing she never started this.

  Alexa: I’m good too! What are you doing?

  Wow! This girl must really be bored. Maybe she’s home alone, too, and freaking out like me. Just because she’s pretty and popular and is on the gymnastics team and has a boyfriend, doesn’t mean she’s not a normal person, right? So I decide to be honest.

  Rory: I’m home alone for the first time. It’s kind of spooky!

  Her response comes quick.

  Alexa: OMG, you’re worse than a girl!

  “Huh?” I say out loud. I reread her message a few times before it hits me. Alexa thinks she’s talking to the other Rory. The BOY Rory. I want to crawl under my desk and die.

  Alexa: I’m just kidding! I really like you, you know.

  What should I do? I can’t just log off, can I? But I have to admit, this bizarre turn of events is keeping my mind off of homicidal beings from beyond the grave. Might as well keep going.

  Rory: I thought you had a boyfriend.

  Alexa: Not since all he gave me for my birthday last month was a stupid card.

  Okay, so maybe Alexa isn’t the nicest girl. I sure would have been happy to get a birthday card from a boy. ANY boy. Well, anyone other than my brother, whose homemade card is currently leaking glitter all over my desk. I can’t think of anything to say back, so I just wait.

  Alexa: Soooo … do you have a girlfriend?

  Is Alexa Montgomery flirting with me? I have very little (no) experience with flirting, so I’m not entirely sure.

  Rory: Um, no. No girlfriend.

  Alexa: Cool. Hey, did you know that at Natalie Karp’s party in a few weeks, her parents aren’t gonna be around after they give us lunch?

  Rory: No.

  Alexa: Are you going?

  Rory: Yes.

  Too late, I realize I probably shouldn’t have said that. Boy Rory might not have been invited just because Girl Rory was.

  Rory: I mean, I think I am. Unless, you know, Natalie meant to invite the other Rory instead of me.

  I hold my breath to see what she’ll say to this.

  Alexa: What other Rory?

  Figures.

  Rory: You know, the girl in your grade.

  Alexa: Oh! I think I know who you mean. Sort of mousy and bookish? Kind of blends into the background?

  My shoulders sag.

  Rory: Yeah, that’s her.

  Alexa: I think I saw her at Applebee’s yesterday. Her brother was running around naked!

  Rory: I’m sure he had a good reason.

  Alexa: LOL. You’re funny. But why would she be going to the party?

  Rory: I don’t know, maybe she’s friends with Natalie.

  Alexa: Sure, whatever you say. So … are you going to audition to be an extra for the movie next week? You know I was thinking … you sort of look like Jake Harrison.

  Now even I can tell she’s flirting. Boy Rory looks as much like Jake Harrison as I do! Time to end this conversation.

  Rory: GTG, big test to study for.

  Alexa: Cute AND smart!

  Rory: Um, right, thanks. Bye.

  I log off before she can ask me on a date, and text Annabelle: ALEXA MONTGOMERY JUST THOUGHT I WAS THAT BOY RORY IN THE 7TH GRADE. SHE SAID SHE LIKES ME! I MEAN, HIM!

  YOU FORGOT TO PUT MY LAST INITIAL AFTER MY NAME WHEN YOU SIGNED ME UP.

  SHE SAID AUDITIONS ARE NEXT WEEK.

  YOU DO.

  I glance over at the clock next to my bed. Less than an hour has passed since everyone left. Is that even possible? Now what do I do? The loud music idea sounds good, but the only stereo in the house is in the family room, and I’m not going back down there. I wish I had an iPod. But when I asked for one last year, Mom said, “When you’re sixteen.” I’m going to have to start a whole new list! By that time, iPods will be a thing of the past, and we’ll probably have dime-sized implants in our ears that play music when we command it with our brains. For now, my portable CD player will have to do. I fish it out of my bottom drawer, glad to see the headset is wrapped around it and the batteries actually work.

  Just sitting in my room wearing the headset feels dorky, though. I’d go for a walk outside, but I promised I wouldn’t leave the house. Mom always takes a hot bath when she’s stressed. I don’t think I’ve taken one since I was seven. Bathing in the middle of the day when I’m not even dirty seems weird. But I have a whole hour to get through and an unopened bottle of bubble bath. My aunt Rachael sent it to me for my birthday, along with all these other lotions and creams that I never thought I’d use. Well, as Mom says, no time like the present. If I get electrocuted with this Discman on, I’m going to feel pretty stupid.

  Careful to look both ways before stepping into the hall, I run the short distance to the bathroom and quickly lock the door behind me. Then I have to unlock it, dash down the hall to the closet for a towel, check both ways again, and dash back. Then I have to do it all over again because I forgot I had stashed the gift basket in the closet, too.

  After only a few minutes luxuriating in the hot bubbles with music filling my ears, I’ve decided that baths are very under-rated. All my tension has drained away. My fears now seem so silly and childish. I can totally stay home alone. In fact, I am the Queen of Staying Home Alone. The bath cools off and I keep adding more hot water. I’m not sure how much time has passed, but after another CD ends and there’s a brief silence in my headphones, I’m suddenly aware of activity going on outside the door. It takes my totally relaxed, hot-bath brain a few seconds to process a pounding noise. My eyes snap open. Instinct takes over. In one swift and graceful move, I fly out of the tub, send my glasses skittering across the floor, and grab my towel. Hea
rt racing, I call out, “Who is it?” But it’s too late.

  A foot is already crashing through the door.

  Chapter Six

  They give me a choice. For one week, either no cell phone or no Internet. So now if someone IMs me, they get a message saying, Rory cannot come to the screen. She is grounded for various reasons, including, but not restricted to, scaring her parents half to death. At least Annabelle did as promised and fixed my screen name so I don’t have to worry about Alexa or her friends receiving Mom’s message. As humiliating as this is, I figure it could have been a lot worse. Apparently when Dad called to check on me and I didn’t answer the house phone or my cell (both of which I’d forgotten in my room, against strict orders), he left the factory, Mom and Sawyer raced home from the party, and then when I didn’t answer the pounding on the bathroom door, well, they suspected the worst. Now there’s a big hole in the bathroom door and nobody is speaking to me except for Sawyer, who thought it was all very exciting.

  And that can of Tab? It seems that it was stuck in the pantry when my parents moved into the house THIRTEEN YEARS AGO. They’d left it there all these years because they thought it was funny. The doctor said not to worry since I only drank one sip, but to keep an eye on me for any projectile vomiting. I’m pretty sure that wouldn’t go unnoticed.

  Later when Mom comes in to say good night and to see if my stomach hurts (it doesn’t), I tell her again how sorry I am.

  “I know you are. We just didn’t know what to think. It’s not so easy for us to adjust to Newly Independent Rory overnight. When we didn’t hear from you, I never would have guessed you’d be taking a bath with your headphones on. That scenario wasn’t included in the preteen handbook I ordered.” She smiles, and I smile back, which feels nice. I feel terrible about worrying them so much.

  “Do you want to check my homework?” I ask, holding the folder out to her.

  She shakes her head. “Newly Independent Rory, remember? Those days are gone as of yesterday.”