Diary One

by Ann M. Martin

  “Hey!” I cried.

  Next to me, someone had grabbed Maggie. And in the next moment we were flying through the air.

  I nearly landed on Maggie but managed to avoid her. I didn’t know whether to cry or laugh. I chose laughter. Giggling, I dog-paddled to the side of the pool and hoisted myself out. Maggie followed me to the edge but remained in the chilly water, only her head sticking out.

  I held out my hand to her. “Come on,” I said. Maggie shook her head. “No? What’s wrong?”

  Before Maggie could answer, I felt myself being grabbed again. I did NOT want to be tossed into that pool for a second time, so I clutched at someone who was standing next to me. I only meant to regain my balance … not push Mandy Richards in the pool.

  But that’s what happened.

  When Mandy hoisted herself out of the pool, she just glared at me. I had thought earlier that she looked sort of evil. Now I saw that she looked thoroughly evil.

  I shuddered.

  Then I turned back to Maggie. “Come on,” I said again. (This time my voice was shaking.)

  “I can’t,” she hissed. “I’m only wearing a T-shirt. And it’s really thin. You can see right through it. You can see everything. And I mean everything. I’m not wearing a bra.” (Maggie should always wear a bra.)

  “Maggie, you can’t stay in there forever.” Although frankly I thought she looked safer in there, out of Mandy’s reach.

  “Yes, I can,” said Maggie, but she only lasted for about three minutes. Then she climbed out of the pool, stood up—and found herself face-to-face with Justin Randall.

  I watched the expressions that crossed Justin’s face. The one I expected (and that Maggie expected), the leer that would have humiliated her, never showed up. What I saw first was simple surprise as Maggie suddenly stood up before him, then more surprise when he saw her T-shirt, and then … admiration.

  His eyes widened. “Whoa,” he said.

  I was standing next to Maggie in my big old jean jacket (not that there would have been much to see even without it), and I watched Justin. I suppose I should have stepped aside (just like I should have hung up the phone when Carol’s doctor called), but I couldn’t. Which is why I saw Mandy standing next to us in her wet dress, which was now as tantalizingly clingy as Maggie’s T-shirt. But Justin never noticed her. He couldn’t drag his eyes away from Maggie. (Well, from her ample chest.) They were glued to her.

  I smiled to myself. And I almost shot a triumphant smirk at Mandy. But then I realized that she was looking at me. I don’t think she had even noticed Maggie. Her look chilled me. Why couldn’t I have grabbed at someone else … at anyone else but Mandy? She will never forget what I did to her.

  I turned away.

  Someone jostled Justin then, and the moment ended. I took Maggie by the arm. “We better go,” I said. “It’s going to take forever to walk back with Sunny in her … condition.”

  Maggie and I, dripping and chilly, found Sunny lolling on the porch. “Okay, time to go!” I said cheerfully.

  “Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly,” Sunny replied, moaning.

  “Well, you have to. Jill’s mother is going to be home at midnight. We don’t want her to catch us. And we certainly don’t want her to see you like this.”

  “But I feel so horrible.”

  “Sunny, what do you want to do, then?” asked Maggie, frustrated. “Call Mrs. Henderson and ask her to come pick us up?”

  While Sunny and Maggie argued (Sunny weakly, and Maggie urgently), I looked around. Something seemed wrong. It took me about half a second to figure out what. The party was ending—abruptly. The upperclassmen were all hustling out of the yard. The punch table had been abandoned. And the only things in the pool were the things that had been thrown in after the people were thrown in. Lawn furniture, a bicycle, and a number of unidentifiable objects that were sinking to the bottom. The yard was empty except for most of us eighth-graders and a whole lot of trash. Cups and papers were everywhere, trampled into the yard and gardens.

  “Hey, you guys,” I said cautiously. And quietly. The music had ended too. “Um, I think the party’s over.”

  “You’re not kidding,” muttered Maggie. “Look.”

  I didn’t have to look. I could hear. Sirens and slamming doors as two squad cars pulled into the driveway and several officers stepped out. “The police!” I shrieked.

  Maggie clapped her hand over my mouth. “We have to get out of here. Now! Let’s go, Sunny.”

  Maggie took off into the woods behind the house. Our choice was to follow her or to be caught. Sunny and I followed. We sprinted across the lawn. The moment we reached the woods, Sunny slowed down, though. “I truly cannot go as fast as you guys are going,” she said. She was speaking awfully loudly, though. She now looked sort of hearty and cheerful, even if she was a little weak.

  “Sunny, be quiet!” I hissed.

  Sunny grinned. “Let me see, now. Where did that road go?” she asked. She had not lowered her voice one bit. “All right, everybody. This way! Let’s go!”

  Monday night 10/6

  It is so weird to think that I had this incredible adventure over the weekend, and Carol has no idea. No idea. Not a clue. All she knows is that I went to a sleepover at Jill’s.

  I don’t like that. I mean, I don’t want to be in trouble with Carol. On the other hand, it kind of bothers me that I got away with something so major. It doesn’t seem right. I feel uncomfortable.

  I’m not explaining myself very well.

  Maggie and Sunny and I crashed through the underbrush, heading in what Sunny swore was the direction of the road the house was on. We needed to find that road. But believe me, we did not want to wind up too close to the house. I was sure the police were there looking for people.

  After stumbling around for fifteen minutes or so (Sunny complaining at the top of her lungs every inch of the way), I thought I could see a streetlight ahead. We headed for the light and emerged on a narrow street. We were still out in the middle of nowhere, but luckily we were near an intersection—one tiny dark road crossing another. A street sign was lit by the lamp. I read the two names aloud.

  “I don’t recognize either of them,” said Maggie nervously.

  “I do,” said Sunny. “Let me see! Which direction should we take?! Okay, that road is Verdes—”

  “That’ll run into Mango, won’t it?” I asked.

  “Oh, please. Do not mention food!” shouted Sunny.

  “Sorry,” I said. “But I still don’t know whether to turn left or right.”

  “I do,” said a voice that did not belong to Sunny or Maggie (or me). I whirled around.

  Amalia was emerging from the woods.

  “But it doesn’t matter,” Amalia continued, “because I am dead meat.”

  “You are?” I asked.

  “Absolutely. I left my house three hours ago, saying that I had a baby-sitting job and I’d be home by 11:30. It’s after midnight now.”

  “It is?” shrieked Maggie. “I had no idea. I guess my watch stopped when I was thrown in the pool.”

  “Well, then we must be dead meat too!” cried Sunny.

  “Hey! Headlights!” exclaimed Amalia. “Get out of the road! It might be the police. Get back in the woods.”

  But Sunny stumbled, and we all fell over her. We were still recovering from our pileup when the car slowed down and pulled over and a familiar-looking guy leaned out and said, “Are you all right?” When we didn’t answer right away, he said, “Hello? Excuse me? Can I help you?”

  I was trying to remember where I’d seen this guy before. I was still struggling when Amalia said timidly, “Oh … hi. You’re, um, you’re in my study hall. I mean, in ours.” Amalia pointed to me. “I think.”

  Then I remembered. He was the nice guy. The one everyone seemed to like.

  The guy leaned further out of the car. “Oh, yeah,” he said. “That’s right. Anyway, I saw you at the party. Can I give you all a ride? This isn’t—”

&n
bsp; He was interrupted by a shriek from Sunny, and Amalia turned to her in alarm. “You’re not going to barf again, are you?” she asked.

  “No!” cried Sunny. “But I just realized that my wallet’s gone.”

  “Are you sure?” I asked.

  “Yes. It’s probably back at the party.”

  “Oh, great,” I said. “And now the police are at the party. If they find your wallet, they’ll know we were there too. Or at least that you were. It’s full of identification.”

  “Hello?” said the boy again.

  “We are in so much trouble,” Maggie said slowly.

  “Excuse me? Hello?” said the guy.

  “How far did we come from the party?” Sunny asked him.

  “About … let me see … about a quarter of a mile.”

  “A quarter of a mile? You’re kidding. I feel like we walked two miles. At least,” said Amalia.

  “Can you drive us back there?” Sunny asked the guy.

  “To the party? No way. The yard is crawling with cops. They’re everywhere. They’re taking a bunch of kids down to the station.”

  Sunny sank down by the side of the road. I think she meant to sit on a rock, but she missed it and sat on the muddy ground instead.

  “Well, this is it,” said Sunny. “My life is over.”

  Later Monday night 10/6

  I have turned into an insomniac. I’ve been trying to fall asleep for the last hour and a half, and nothing is happening. Finally I decided to get up and continue the story in my journal. At the moment, I wish it were a made-up story. Unfortunately, it’s true.

  “Hey,” said the guy. “I very much doubt that your life is over. Come on. Get in the car. I’ll drive you wherever you need to go. Okay? I mean, it’s a start.” He pointed to his beat-up old car. “Come on. Climb in. I might not get you guys wherever you need to go on time, but it’ll be better than stumbling around in the woods in the middle of the night, won’t it?” He reached across the seat and opened the passenger door.

  Maggie, Sunny, Amalia, and I all did the same thing at once. In unison we started for the car. Then we hesitated. We nearly had another pileup. I mean, who was this guy we were about to trust with our lives? A familiar face from study hall. That was all.

  The guy must have read my mind. “Oh. Sorry. You don’t even know my name, do you? Well, it’s Christopher McCrae. Guess what everyone calls me, though?”

  “Um, Chris?” I guessed.

  He shook his head. “Nope. Ducky. From that Molly Ringwald movie, Pretty in Pink. I saw it when I was a kid, and everyone in my family thought I was a young Ducky, so they started calling me that, and the name just stuck. Anyway, I’m sixteen years old, I’m in tenth grade at Vista, and I enjoy speed-reading, gourmet cooking, and fly-fishing.”

  I giggled. Ducky seemed okay. He certainly seemed more okay than wandering around in the woods or getting arrested. Maggie, Sunny, and Amalia must have thought so too, because the next thing I knew, the four of us had piled into his car.

  “Evening, ladies,” said Ducky. He put a baseball cap on his head. “I am Pierre and I will be your chauffeur for the evening. Where to?”

  “Well, three of us are going—” I started to say and then realized that we hadn’t introduced ourselves to Ducky yet. “Oh, wait! Um, Ducky, I’m Dawn Schafer—”

  “And I’m Amalia Vargas,” Amalia interrupted me. “We’re the ones who are in your study hall.”

  “And that’s Maggie Blume,” I said, pointing. “And that’s Sunny Winslow, the one who is currently wallet-free.”

  “And ill,” Sunny croaked.

  I turned to Sunny in alarm. She was sitting in the backseat between Maggie and me.

  “Now are you going to barf again?” Amalia asked her.

  “Um, maybe. The car is making me—”

  Ducky stopped the car with a little screech of the brakes. “Why don’t you sit up front? Next to the window. I mean, since I just had the car cleaned and all.”

  Sunny, Amalia, and I slid out of the car and traded places so that Sunny could sit next to Ducky. He helpfully rolled her window all the way down for her.

  When we were settled, Ducky took off again.

  “So where are we going?” he asked.

  “Well, Sunny and Maggie and I are all going to the same place,” I said. I told him how to get to Jill’s house.

  “And I’m going to Royal Lane,” added Amalia. “Off of Longwood.”

  “When do you have to be home?” I asked Ducky.

  “No particular time. It doesn’t matter. My brother’s out late tonight.”

  “Your brother? What about your parents?” Maggie asked him, and I nudged her. What if his parents were dead or something?

  “Oh, my parents trust me,” said Ducky. (He sailed over a bump in the road and I saw Sunny edge closer to the window.) “Anyway, there isn’t much they can do from Accra.”

  “Accra?” repeated Maggie.

  “Yeah, in Africa. Ghana. They’re there for a year. They’re professors. So it’s just my brother and me.”

  “How old’s your brother?” asked Amalia.

  “Twenty. He’s a junior at Palo Tech. But he’s living at home this year. That way my parents didn’t have to make any arrangements for me while they’re gone. It’s kind of a weird situation, I guess, but it’s working okay.”

  “Cool,” said Maggie.

  “How long have you had your car?” asked Amalia.

  “I got her the day I turned sixteen,” said Ducky. “She’s a 1972 Buick, so she’s older than I am. I paid $450 for her. She was worth every penny.”

  “She’s … beautiful,” I said, as I nearly lost my hand down an enormous hole in the seat. “Very retro.”

  I was so fascinated by Ducky and his car that I had almost forgotten about the trouble we were in. Then Ducky said, “Okay, Amalia, here’s Royal Lane. Where’s your house?”

  Amalia closed her eyes briefly. “The third one on the left.” She opened her eyes and leaned forward to peer ahead. “It’s dark,” she said. “I don’t know what that means, whether it’s good or bad.”

  Ducky slowed down, then stopped in front of the house. “Do you want me to wait?” he asked Amalia.

  “No. You better go,” she said, whispering now. “I’ll see you all in school on Monday.” She scrambled out of the car.

  Ducky turned the car around and we started off again, this time in a quieter mood.

  “So how come you’re all going to the same address?” Ducky asked, glancing in the rearview mirror.

  Maggie told him about Jill and the sleepover.

  “You think her mother and sister are home by now?” he said.

  “Who has a working watch?” asked Sunny sullenly.

  “I do,” said Ducky. “It’s 12:40.”

  “I’m positive they’re home,” replied Sunny.

  After a pause Ducky said, “If you want, I could come get you guys tomorrow morning. I could take you back to the house where the party was, and we could look for your wallet, Sunny.”

  “But won’t someone see us?” she asked.

  “Um, no. No one’s home. I mean, they’re gone for the weekend.”

  I had the unpleasant feeling that Ducky was leaving something out, but Sunny brightened. “Would you really do that?” she asked.

  “Sure,” replied Ducky, brightening himself. “I’d be happy to. I’ll come get you at eleven tomorrow, okay?”

  “Cool!” she cried.

  “Well, here we are,” Ducky said a few moments later as he stopped in front of the Hendersons’.

  I peered out the window. Like Maggie’s house, Jill’s was dark. Not a single light on.

  “Maybe they’re not back,” I suggested.

  “No, they’re back,” said Maggie. “If they were still out, the porch light would be on, at least.”

  We slithered out of Ducky’s car and waved at him as he pulled away and drove down the street. Then we headed for the front door.

  Early
Tuesday morning 10/7

  An almost sleepless night. If things don’t get straightened out soon I’ll have bags under my eyes big enough to carry stuff in. It’s 4:45 AM. I’ve been awake since 4:10. I can write for almost two hours before anyone gets up around here.

  “Well, now what should we do?”

  Sunny and Maggie and I were standing halfway up the Hendersons’ lawn, gazing at the dark house.

  “Which window is Jill’s?” asked Sunny loudly.

  “That one,” I said, pointing to the second story. “And the one next to it. Hey, I think a little light is on in her room!”

  “Should we call to her?” asked Maggie. “Which one is her mother’s window?” Maggie looked awfully nervous.

  “Her mother’s room is in the back,” I said. “But don’t call to Jill. Here.” I picked up a small stone and tossed it at one of Jill’s windows. It banged against the screen.

  Nothing.

  “Throw another,” said Sunny, not quite so loudly. She looked sort of miserable again. She was lying on the front stoop, cradling her head in her arms.

  Four stones later, Jill suddenly yanked up her window shade. She waved crossly at us, then disappeared.

  “Oh, boy. She’s still mad,” said Maggie.

  “Still mad,” repeated Sunny. “No, I think she’s mad again. She has way more things to be mad about now.” Sunny sat up. “Oh. Oh, do I ever feel sick again.”

  Two minutes later, Jill quietly unlocked the front door and opened it—just in time to hear Sunny retching in the bushes.

  “What—? Ew … What is—? Oh, ew!” Jill closed the door in our faces. If it hadn’t been so late at night, I think she would have slammed it.

  I stood there staring at the door. Finally I called, “Jill?”

  The door opened a crack. “What is going on?” whispered Jill. “Where have you been? Is Sunny finished throwing up? Why is she throwing up—out here? Couldn’t she at least have waited until she got inside? That is so disgusting.”

  I looked at Maggie. I didn’t know which question to answer first. So instead I asked Jill a question. “Where is your mom?”