by R. L. Stine
Was she putting me on?
I took a breath. “Sorry. That question wasn’t part of the interview.” I turned the phone toward her. “So what are your first impressions of Linden High North?”
She smiled. “That it’s big.”
“Bigger than your old school?”
She nodded. “It seems like a whole city to me. And I feel like I’m walking down streets I’ve never seen before, and I don’t have a map, and I don’t know where I’m going.”
“So you’ve found it kind of overwhelming?” I asked.
She nodded again. “Kind of. But everyone has been really helpful to me.”
I shifted my weight on the bench. “That was my next question, Morgan. What do you think of the students here?”
She tilted her head to one side, as if thinking about her answer. “Well, you know, I came to town just a few weeks ago, but everyone seems very friendly, and I think there’s a very relaxed vibe here. Like we’re all in it together. That kind of thing.”
What a phony.
A relaxed vibe? At Linden? Kids here eat each other for lunch!
Of course, I resented Morgan for being so beautiful. But I was really trying to like her. I was serious about wanting to be her friend.
But she wasn’t even trying to make me believe what she was saying. She had this grin on her face, and she kept looking to the window, avoiding my gaze.
“Has anyone been especially helpful to you?” I asked.
“A lot of people. They’ve been terrific when I’m lost and wandering the halls. Or in class when I’m not up with the assignments because I just got here.”
She sighed and ran a hand back through her long hair. “Changing schools is a bummer, especially senior year. It’s tough. I miss my old friends. Sometimes I feel . . . lonely. But everyone here has been great.”
“Why did you have to change schools senior year?” I asked, desperate to get her to say something interesting.
“Oh, different things,” she said, still playing with her hair. “A lot of reasons.”
“What was your old school, Morgan? Where were you living?”
“Up north.”
“No. Come on. What was the name of your old high school?”
She flashed that grin again. “You wouldn’t recognize it.”
She was playing me. And there was no way I could win if she wasn’t going to cooperate and give me good answers.
Shadows shifted outside the window. It was getting late. The afternoon sun was dropping behind the trees.
Out in the hall, I heard the shuffle of feet and a cough. I looked to the door, but I couldn’t see anyone out there.
I took a deep breath and tried again. “Morgan, now that you are here at Linden, what are you looking forward to?”
“Graduation.” She laughed.
“Well . . .” I tried to keep my frustration from my voice. “Is there anything you’re particularly interested in? I mean, something you like to study? Something you are passionate about, as our teachers like to say?”
“Oh, just this and that,” she replied. “You know. The usual.”
That was all I could take. I jumped to my feet, making the bench scrape loudly against the floor. “Hey, thanks,” I said. “Thanks for talking to me. I think I have everything I need.”
She lowered her eyes and shook her head. “I told you I wouldn’t be good at it.”
“It was okay,” I lied. I clicked off my phone and slid it into my bag.
She stood up and pulled her sweater down over her short skirt. “Do you want to take a photo?”
“Sure,” I said. I pointed to the wall, which was covered with framed artwork by students. “Stand over there.”
She put a radiant smile on her face and opened her eyes wide, and I snapped a few shots. I didn’t bother to look at them. I knew I’d probably never use them. The interview was too “nothing” to write up.
“Thanks again,” I called as Morgan hurried to the door, dragging her jacket in one hand.
I heard someone greet her in the hall. A familiar voice. I peeked out and saw Liam with an arm around her shoulders, leading her to the stairs.
Liam had waited for her. Morgan and Liam.
And Julie had seen Morgan with Zane. And Morgan had also been hanging with Winks. Everyone but Delia knew that.
Gee. Are three guys enough for her?
Of course, it was my jealousy that made me think that.
I made my way downstairs and was heading to the front doors when I heard someone humming in the principal’s office. I stepped inside and saw Julie sorting a big stack of papers at the front desk.
“Amber, hey!” She looked up, surprised to see me at school so late.
I dropped my backpack onto the floor. “I just did my blog interview with Morgan.”
“How’d it go? You don’t look happy.”
“It didn’t go,” I said. “It sank. She was unbelievable, Julie. She wouldn’t give me a straight answer on a single question. It was like a game she was playing. Agree to the interview and then reveal nothing about yourself.”
“I warned you—” Julie started.
“She wouldn’t even tell me what school she used to go to!” I cried.
“Funny you should mention that.” Julie picked up a large brown envelope. “These are Morgan’s records from her old school. They just came in. I haven’t even opened them.”
I grabbed for them, but Julie swiped them out of my reach. “Come on. Open them. Let’s take a look,” I said.
Julie scrunched up her face, the way she does when she’s thinking hard. “We can’t look at them,” she said. “It’s against the rules. You know, privacy rules.” She glanced toward her mother’s office. The light was out. Mrs. Hart wasn’t there.
“Julie, open the envelope,” I insisted. “There’s no one here. No one will know if we take a quick peek. Aren’t you curious?”
She hesitated, then tore off the top of the envelope. I saw a red file. And a white envelope.
Julie pulled out the envelope. It was addressed to her mother. She opened it carefully and pulled out a folded sheet of stationery.
“What does it say?” I demanded. “Come on. Read it.”
She unfolded the paper and raised it to her face. “It’s a letter,” she said. “From the principal at Shadyside High School.”
“Shadyside? Where is that?”
Julie didn’t answer. Her eyes were scanning the letter. I watched as her mouth dropped open and she murmured, “Oh. Oh wow.”
She dropped the letter onto the counter and raised her eyes to me. “Amber, I . . . really don’t believe this.” She raised the letter again. “The principal at this school . . . He says that Morgan Marks died five years ago.”
Part Two
12
Liam Continues the Story
Morgan isn’t the first totally hot girl to want to get close to me. Maybe I’m bragging. But if you’ve got it, flaunt it. At least, that’s what I’ve heard people say.
Girls fall all over me, and it’s not because of my awesome good looks or my bod. It’s simple. Girls like me because I’m really into girls.
Winks may be a big cuddly teddy bear, and Zane is a serious dude who is driven and ambitious. He says he wants to do comedy, but he almost never smiles. He always looks like someone just murdered his puppy.
I, on the other hand, am romance personified. So when I told Morgan I was building a drone in my garage, I knew she’d want to see it. How could she resist?
Her big green eyes went wide, and she gazed at me as if I was some kind of brilliant scientist. “You’re really building a drone? By yourself? Can I see it?”
I played the modest game. “It’s nothing, really. No biggie.”
Hard for me to be modest, but sometimes I can pull it off.
We made a plan to meet after school. I didn’t know that Amber was going to kidnap Morgan and interview her in the art room. So I waited out in the hall.
The schoo
l emptied out pretty fast. I sprawled on the floor with my back against the wall and texted Winks. I still hadn’t rounded up enough guys for our Ultimate Frisbee game on Saturday. I wondered if he had any ideas.
I could hear Morgan and Amber mumble on inside the art room. Amber was pounding her with questions. I wished I could hear the answers. But they were at the far end of the room away from the door, and I just heard mumbling.
When she finally came out, Morgan was surprised to see me. And the big smile on her face told me she was pleased. “You didn’t have to wait,” she said.
“For sure I did,” I said. “How was the interview?”
She shrugged as she pulled on her jacket. “Amber just wanted my impressions. I don’t really have any yet. I mean, you’re one of the few people I’ve met. And I don’t know you very well, do I?”
She said it kind of in a sexy way, like she was teasing me or something.
“We can fix that,” I said. Awkward. That sounded like some dude in a stupid rom-com movie. “Hey, you still want to see my drone?”
She laughed. “Best offer I’ve had all day.”
So we ended up in my garage, and, of course, I’ve just started to put the thing together. I had some of the support rods connected. And I showed her the rest of the kit and the two engines.
She grabbed my arm and kind of squeezed me against her. I guess she was impressed. Her soft hair brushed my face and sent shivers down my whole body.
“What are you going to do with it?” she asked.
“Fly it to Mars,” I said. “It should make a Mars landing in about a million light-years.”
She laughed. “No. Really.”
“Buzz the neighborhood with it and annoy everyone,” I said.
“Sounds like a plan.” She picked up a Frisbee and spun it in her hand. “Are you seriously into science?”
“No. I’m seriously into wasting time,” I said.
She tossed the Frisbee at my chest. I think she wanted to catch me by surprise, but I caught it easily. “Lightning reflexes,” I said.
Her eyes flashed. “I’m impressed.”
I pulled out my phone. “A quick selfie?”
She pressed herself against me again, bringing her face close to mine, and I snapped a few photos.
Then she was hungry, and so was I. I led the way into the house.
“Mom was supposed to make pizza tonight,” I said.
Morgan examined the round glob of dough covered with wax paper on the counter. “You make homemade pizza?”
I nodded. “We have it a lot. My parents love gadgets and things. They bought this special pan that makes it really crispy.”
“Cool,” Morgan said.
“But they’re not here,” I explained. “They had to go visit my great-aunt in Pearson Falls.”
“Well . . . can we make the pizza without them?” Morgan asked. She lifted the dough from the wax paper and began to knead it in her hands. “I’m a really good cook.”
I squinted at her. “Seriously?”
“No. I’m lying. Sorry.”
We both laughed.
I clicked the oven on. You need a very high oven temperature for pizza. Then I found the mozzarella cheese in the fridge. Mom had already grated it. It was ready to spread on the dough. And I pulled out a thin salami. We always have this very spicy Sopressata salami on our pizzas.
Morgan slid a big knife from the wooden holder on the counter. “I like to slice,” she said. “You do the cheese, and I’ll slice the salami.”
“Hey, we’re a team!” I said. “Maybe we should go on Food Network.”
I started to spread the cheese with my fingers. I’m not quite sure how it happened. But I let out a cry when I felt a sharp stab of pain at my wrist.
I spun around. Morgan had the knife in the air. I saw bright red blood trickle out from a cut on my wrist.
“Oh no!” she cried. “Oh no. I’m sorry, Liam. It slipped. The knife slipped.”
“It’s okay,” I said. Actually, it hurt a lot. And the blood was oozing over my hand.
“I’m so sorry. I’m such a klutz.” She set the knife down and grabbed my hand. She brought my wrist up close to her face. Then she raised those amazing eyes to me.
“I . . . I have a thing about blood,” she said. She lowered her gaze to the bright red pool on my hand. “That’s disturbing, right? But . . . I can’t help it. It’s so . . . basic.”
“I . . . well . . .” I didn’t know what to say. I started to reach for the paper towels, but she held on to my wrist.
And then I kind of gasped when she licked my wrist. Just a quick lick, and when she raised her head, she had my blood on her lips.
Then she leaned forward—and kissed me.
She pressed her lips hard against mine, and I could taste the blood. I could taste it as I kissed her, and we held the kiss for the longest time, her warm lips and the metal taste of my blood. My brain was spinning.
And I thought, I won. Winks and Zane, I won the bet.
When Morgan left, I pulled out my phone. I wanted to check out the selfies we took in the garage. My proof. My proof that I was the winner.
I raised the phone and hit the Photos app. And gazed at the first photo, then the next, then the next. “Whoa. What’s up with this?” I murmured aloud.
I had this big grin on my face in each photo. There I was, grinning into the camera. But where was Morgan? The space next to me was empty. Morgan was missing. She wasn’t in any of the photos.
13
Julie Narrates
“I don’t know what’s going on with Winks,” Delia said, shaking her head. Her black ringlets bounced around her shoulders. She had her shades on, so I couldn’t see her eyes.
“Did you two have another fight?” Amber asked. She spun the saltshaker between her hands. Amber was so tense, she always had to be doing something with her hands.
We were sitting in a red vinyl booth against the wall at Benson’s. It was dinnertime, and we were lucky to get a seat.
Benson’s is always crowded because the cheeseburgers are awesome—and because it’s been the main hangout for Linden High kids ever since anyone can remember.
It was noisy and hot in the restaurant. People in twos and threes stood by the front door, waiting for a table or booth to open up.
“We didn’t have a fight,” Delia said. “I think everything is okay between Winks and me.” She sighed. “That’s the good news.”
“And what’s the bad news?” I asked.
She pulled off her shades and dropped them onto the table. “Someone beat Winks up, and he lost his job at the car wash.”
“Huh?” I gasped.
“Who beat Winks up?” Amber and I said in unison.
Delia shrugged. “He won’t talk about it.”
Amber squinted at her. “He won’t tell you who it was?”
“Or what it was about?” I added.
“No. Not a word. He told me to stop asking about it. And he’s been in a rotten mood ever since.”
“I don’t blame him,” I said. “Was he badly hurt?”
“I don’t think so,” Delia replied. “But I can barely get a word out of him.”
Amber snickered. “Which is worse? Winks fighting with you all the time? Or Winks giving you the silent treatment?”
I think Amber was trying to be light, but Delia wasn’t in the mood. “He is usually such a fun guy. . . .” Her voice trailed off.
The waitress brought our food on a big tray. There was some confusion over who ordered the rare cheeseburger and who ordered the turkey burger. But we got it straightened around, and I didn’t wait to dig in. I was hungry.
Amber wiped cheeseburger grease off her chin. “Did you know that Winks and Zane are helping Liam build a drone?”
“A real one or a Lego one?” I asked. They laughed.
“It’s a horror story,” Amber said. “Can you imagine all the trouble those guys can cause with a drone?”
“They’ll probably cr
ash it into a jet plane or something,” Delia said.
I narrowed my eyes at her. “Whoa. That’s pretty dark.”
“Sorry. Just my mood.” She nibbled at her turkey burger. I never saw anyone take such small bites.
“I’m sure they’ll annoy people with it,” I said. “You know. Buzz their lawns or take photos from outside the neighbors’ bedroom windows.”
“For sure,” Amber agreed.
“How can those guys build a drone?” I asked. “They wouldn’t know a Crescent wrench from linemen’s pliers.”
My friends stopped eating to stare at me. “How do you know those things?” Amber said.
“My dad is a mechanic, remember?” I said.
“I think Liam has a kit,” Delia said. “That’s what Winks told me. You know. Like a model kit. Only it’s a real thing.”
We ate in silence for a while. I finished the last fry and wished I had more. Delia still had a full plate of them. I reached across the table and took a handful of hers.
“Guess who waited a long time after school for Morgan Marks?” Amber said.
“Every guy in school?” I joked.
She shook her head. “I did that blog interview with Morgan,” Amber continued. “Or at least, I tried. We were there nearly an hour, and when she left, I saw Liam waiting for her. They walked off holding hands.”
“Morgan and Liam?” Delia seemed surprised.
Amber and I knew about the bet the three guys had made about which one could get with Morgan. But Delia didn’t know. She’d be hurt that Winks had joined in.
All along, I’d been debating whether to bring up what Amber and I had learned about Morgan Marks. I knew it was private information that we shouldn’t share. But I just couldn’t help myself. It was too . . . weird.
I leaned across the table and lowered my voice. “I know I shouldn’t talk about this . . . ,” I said.
“Oh, good. You’ve got more gossip!” Amber exclaimed. Delia eyed me warily.
“You already know some of this,” I told Amber. “You were in the office with me, remember?”
Amber nodded. “Oh, yeah. You mean about Morgan?”