“I don’t know.” She didn’t dare tell Mom what she’d told Mrs. Fraser.
Mom turned more pages. “There must be some stories in here. Oh, look — Edwin Clayton and his family moved to Iowa from England in 1873. He walked two hundred miles and back to look at their farm, before they bought it and moved there. That’s kind of interesting.”
“But what does that have to do with our way of life?” Alyssa asked. “Didn’t anybody help with the Underground Railroad? Mrs. Fraser won’t let me talk about peace.” Again, she thought of how Mrs. Fraser had looked at her in class that day when she’d asked about the Vietnam War.
Mom didn’t say anything for a while. “Maybe Dad should phone Mrs. Fraser,” she finally said.
“No!” Alyssa grabbed the book and went back to the dining room.
She opened her notebook. Edwin Clayton, she wrote. Walked 200 miles to see the farm. Moved from England in 1853. Her hand shook a little bit. But if she wrote it enough times, maybe it would start to seem true.
She checked the pictures Mom had found. Was there one of Edwin Clayton? The writing was faded and hard to read, and her eyes were tired.
Sounds of explosions came from the computer downstairs. Ethan shouldn’t be playing war games! Alyssa went to the basement to talk to him.
“Can you look some stuff up for me on the Internet?” she asked.
“Why?” Ethan’s hand and the mouse kept moving.
Alyssa stomped her foot. “For my report. All you ever do is play games, and I need to use the computer.”
Ethan sighed, and then yelled as a red blast obliterated the screen. “Now look what you did! You just made me die.”
“I’m telling …”
“Okay, okay. What do you need?”
“Relatives.” Alyssa showed him the Clayton page in the book. “I need things on the Goodens.”
Her brother’s fingers were fast on the keyboard. “There’s thousands,” he said. “Way too many to look at. What state?”
“Iowa. In Chatham.”
Ethan stared at her. “Are you moving there or something? That’s all you ever talk about.”
“Please?”
“Nothing on Goodens. And there’s millions of Claytons. I’ll check for you later, okay?”
“Ethan.…”
His fingers were speeding over the keyboard again. Alyssa saw Ethan’s name typed into the search area. “Hey, cool!” he said. “Look how many other people have my name!”
“Check me.” Alyssa leaned closer. She held her breath as her own name appeared in the box.
“Huh?” Ethan clicked the first link on the page.
ALYSSA DIXON it said at the top of a web page. The background was an icky barf colour. “She thinks she is so smart. Everybody knows we all hate her.” Her class picture was there, smiling — but somebody had made her teeth look rotten. There was a big mole on her nose, with a hair growing out of it. Her hair … In her class picture, it was shiny and neat. Here, it was messy. There were white dots in it. “Lice,” it said, with an arrow pointing to one of the blobs. “Keep away from Alyssa. Bad breath,” it said someplace else, with another arrow. “B.O. Alyssa has smelly B.O., stay away.” The website had links. “See Alyssa crying. See Alyssa naked. See Alyssa tied up with poop on her face.”
“Huh?” Ethan said.
Alyssa couldn’t say anything. Her throat had seized up so tightly it was hard to breathe. Cold sweat covered every bit of her skin.
“Lyssa.…” Ethan’s hand touched her shoulder and gave her an awkward pat. “I’ll tell Dad, okay?”
A sob wrenched from her. Alyssa stumbled up the basement stairs, and then hesitated. If she went to her room, Mom would probably notice. Did she want Mom? The garage would be safer.
Why couldn’t she find her backpack? And the picture, with the magnifying glass?
*
Chapter Thirteen
Alyssa cried in the garage until her nose was so stuffy she felt like she might choke. Even then it wouldn’t stop. Shaking, she leaned against Mom’s locked car. Strange noises kept coming out of her. One of the links had said “See Alyssa naked.” What had they put there? Had everybody seen it? She doubled over and curled into a tight ball on the cold cement floor. Her teeth chattered. Why couldn’t she just … die? She slammed her head against a hard object, which slid sideways — the snow shovel, she realized.
And still she couldn’t stop crying. After a while a weird feeling came over her — old, tired … dead. Maybe she should drink something poisonous. Windshield washer fluid? But she couldn’t stop shaking. Her teeth pounded like hammers; every jolt moved the hurting muscles in her face. It was easiest not to breathe, but her body always took over and gulped in a huge gasp.
“Lyssa?” Somebody tugged at her.
“Leave me alone!” she wailed.
“Lyssa!” The person didn’t leave — and in fact was pulling her up.
She lurched, trying to get free. The person staggered off balance. The thought of falling onto cement kept her from trying again.
“Crap.” The person was panting — it was Ethan, and he was saying more things — things Mom and Dad wouldn’t want to hear. Now he was hugging her. Alyssa felt her head jiggling against her brother’s shoulder. Slowly, the violent shaking stopped.
Ethan backed off. “Hey,” he said. “I emailed the server.”
She nodded. The awful images kept swarming in her mind. It would be too easy to start crying again.
“Do you want me to get Mom?” he asked awkwardly.
She shook her head. “I just want to …” Die? Do something awful to Brooklynne? Disappear forever into 1931? Here, she’d have to face Brooklynne. And sit in class every day with Mrs. Fraser being unfair.
The garage windows were cobwebby, but even so, sunlight slanted across the tools hanging from their hooks on the wall and onto Ethan’s tousled hair. He fidgeted with the lawnmower handle. “I reported it to the server,” he said again. “They’ll probably take down the site. Who do you think did it?”
“Brooklynne Bayne. Probably everybody’s seen it!” No wonder Rachel hardly talked to her at school. Alyssa sagged against the ladder.
“I’ll get Mom,” Ethan said.
“No. She’s too …” Useless? Too sad already? Mom might freak out. But — what if she didn’t do anything? She might not, and that would be worse. Alyssa gulped in a deep breath. “Tell Dad, okay? When he gets home.” Strength crept back into her as she spoke. Dad would know what to do — and he would do something. He’d seen Brooklynne’s message at the library. He was already mad.
“So what’re you going to do?” Ethan rapped his knuckles against a tire. “Want me to look up those Clayton people for you?”
This wasn’t like Ethan. Usually he’d have gone straight back to play his game, or message the people he talked to online. “No!” The computer was the last place she wanted to be. “Not right now,” she added. “Could you get me a chocolate bar or something?”
“What’re you going to do? Just wait here? In the garage?” Ethan’s direct grey eyes wouldn’t stop looking at her.
“No.”
“Get your bike,” Ethan said. “We’ll go to Bristow’s.”
That wasn’t like Ethan, either. “I look awful!”
“Nah. Your eyes are red, but so what? Who do you expect to see at Bristow’s?”
“Brooklynne.” The incident with the eggs came back full force. Alyssa flipped a wiper blade on Mom’s car.
Ethan muttered something. Then he stood straighter. “I know someplace she won’t be.” He scuffed his foot. As usual, his toes stuck through the holes in his shoes. Parts of the soles had come off completely.
“Where?”
Ethan scuffed harder until his sole folded completely backwards. “Look at this,” he said. “I didn’t make the cut for the track team because of these stupid shoes. There’s a meet right now. I bet I could’ve placed in the hurdles.”
“Oh.” She’d forgotten
Ethan had things bad, too. But nobody had done a website about him.…
“So,” Ethan said. “Want to go to the thrift shop? The parents sure aren’t noticing what we’ve got to wear, so I guess it’s up to us.”
Alyssa thought about her tight clothes. About the stains that hadn’t washed out. Maybe she really did look dirty. Did her clothes smell? Did she? The website had said … And the way her scalp got itchy sometimes — did she have lice? More tears slid down her cheeks.
“Do you want to? I’ve still got my allowance. Have you spent yours?”
Alyssa shook her head.
“We can take the bus. Mom won’t notice we’re gone. Dad teaches tonight.…”
Alyssa wiped her face. “It seems wrong, just to go.”
Ethan stared at her. “Isn’t that what you did?”
“I didn’t disappear on purpose! And I was in Iowa.”
Ethan shook his head. “Whatever.”
The wait at the bus stop went by in a blur. Alyssa kept her face averted so people in cars wouldn’t see who she was. Kids from school might be in those cars — and maybe they’d seen the website. The images and words kept streaking through her mind. She almost didn’t notice the bus stopping. Later, when it was time to get off, Ethan had to nudge her.
Brooklynne wasn’t at the thrift shop, and Alyssa didn’t recognize anyone else there. The old clothes had a musty smell. Ethan didn’t seem to notice as he tried on shoes. Alyssa wiggled her cramped toes. Her shoes were so tight. She rummaged through the girls’ tennis shoes but only found one pair that fit. They were pink, and cost almost as much as she had in her pocket. “Go ahead,” Ethan said. “I’ll buy those for you.”
They wandered down the aisles. “Get yourself some stuff,” Ethan said. “It’s all pretty cheap, and you definitely need more things to wear.”
So even her brother had noticed that her clothes didn’t fit. If Ethan noticed, what did everybody at school think? Alyssa found three tops, a pair of jeans, and some shorts. Then she remembered — Deborah must be missing her dress. Could she sew? Probably, but did she have time? The Claytons lived a long way from town. Could they afford more material? Alyssa wandered over to the racks of dresses.
“What do you want a dress for?” Ethan asked.
“Because.”
“I haven’t got that much cash.” He slapped his new shoes against the palm of his hand.
None of the girls’ dresses looked right for Deborah. Alyssa fingered the cloth. Should she get something that would look strange in 1931? She went on to check the women’s dresses, with Ethan trailing far behind. The women’s dresses weren’t right either. But finally she found one with little blue flowers and buttons down the front. It was an old-lady dress, and it was cheap. Before she could change her mind, she took it off the rack.
When they got home, the pile of newspapers that had been sitting just inside the front door was gone. So was Mom. Alyssa found the note on the messy kitchen counter:
Gone to drop off some recycling — I need to get out for a bit. I might have coffee with Heather. If you’re hungry, you can heat up something from the fridge, or check the freezer.
Love, Mom.
Alyssa stared at her brother. Mom must be getting better!
But Ethan sighed. “Heat up what from the fridge? And the freezer’s got frozen buns and fish, and a monster ham that’s been there for ages. And lima beans. I’m not having another peanut butter sandwich for supper.”
“Let’s order a pizza.” It just seemed to blurt itself out. It had been ages since she’d had pizza.
“And pay for it with what?” Ethan said.
“The emergency cash?” Alyssa dropped her bag of new clothes and looked in the canister next to the rice, at the small pile of bills and coins.
Ethan reached past her to scoop it out. “There’s enough. They won’t mind.”
“What kind should we get?” she asked. “Hawaiian?”
Ethan pretended to pout. “I want pepperoni, with lots of mushrooms.”
The look on Ethan’s face made Alyssa laugh. “Okay. We’ll get half and half.” She gave the bag of clothes a gentle kick. A shirt spilled out, and Marigold came over to investigate. She scooped him up and held his purring body against her cheek.
While Ethan was ordering the pizza, she dug out the rest of her clothes. The pink shoes looked new and even smelled new. She was so lucky — nobody would ever guess they’d come from a thrift shop. Marigold batted at the clean white laces. Alyssa held the shoes at one angle and then another. She stiffened.
“These were Brooklynne’s!” she wailed. There it was, written inside each shoe: BROOKLYNNE BAYNE. She couldn’t wear them to school!
“Lemme see.” Ethan reached for the shoes. “All you need is a good marker. Nobody could tell.”
“They could.” Alyssa ran to her room and slammed the door. She hardly recognized the face that stared back at her from the mirror. Her hair was messy. Just like on the website.… She yanked her hairbrush through it so hard her scalp hurt.
As usual, dirty clothes were scattered everywhere. A lot of them didn’t fit. Alyssa picked up armfuls and stuffed them in the wastebasket. Then she glanced at the picture of herself and Marigold tucked into the corner of the mirror. She looked so happy.… Instant tears spilled down her cheeks. “Why?” she yelled. “I hate everything!”
Ethan banged on her door and walked in without waiting for her to answer. “Look,” he said. He held the shoes in front of her. Now her name was written inside, with black marker. “Okay?”
“I can’t wear anything that was Brooklynne’s.” Alyssa felt her mouth contorting.
Her brother tossed the shoes on the floor and walked out. His footsteps had a sharp, angry sound.
The house was horribly silent.
“Ethan!” she yelled.
He didn’t answer. The TV came on.
“Ethan?” She went to the living room. Her brother was slouched on the couch, and didn’t look up when she came in.
“Eeth.…” She sat beside him. “Hey … thanks. For everything.” The commercial for cars was so loud she didn’t know if he heard.
Ethan scuffed his heel against the rug. “Whatever.” He flicked the remote and the volume went down. Then he shoved the coffee table, hard, with his foot. Newspapers, books, and dirty dishes all jiggled. “Know what?” he said. “Sometimes I hate everything too. Everything really sucks, you know?”
The doorbell rang.
“Except pizza,” Ethan amended.
Alyssa got the money from the canister. The mouth-watering aroma wafted from the box as she paid the delivery woman.
“Have a good evening,” the woman said.
“Thanks,” Alyssa said. “You too.”
“Pizza!” Ethan yanked up the lid of the box. “Oh, pizza, I love you!”
Marigold agreed. He meowed and looked solemnly at the pizza, then rubbed against Ethan’s legs.
“And you’re not having any,” Ethan said. “It’s all for me and Lyssa.”
“He can have a taste.”
Ethan stood there inhaling. “Pizza fumes!” he said. “The best smell in the world.” He glanced her way. “Let’s eat on the couch.”
Alyssa plopped down beside her brother, who was helping himself to two large pieces. The mozzarella cheese stretched in long, dangly strings. “Save some for me!” Instead of waiting, she lurched forward and claimed a piece. There was lots of pineapple buried under the cheese; it sat there like little yellow islands in the middle of a cheese-and-tomato sea. The first bites were awesome. Alyssa sagged back, immersed in the rich flavours and an almost-forgotten feeling of comfort. Then she had to shoo Marigold away because he was licking her greasy fingers, then clawing at her pizza.
Later, she’d look for her backpack and the picture of Deborah and her family. For now, all she wanted to think about was pizza. It was like a celebration — of what, she didn’t know, except that it was something she and her brother had done completely on
their own.
The hate website seemed a little further away now. Why would Brooklynne go to all that trouble?
Alyssa went to the kitchen and brought back the gallon jug of milk.
“Thanks,” Ethan said. He reached, and drank straight from the jug.
“Hey!” Alyssa grabbed the milk. A sudden rebellion swept through her. She held the jug and drank. Milk dribbled down her chin, onto her front. It was cold. But none of that mattered. Her shirt was old, tight, and stained. Later, she’d put on one of the new ones that Ethan had helped buy.
Would Deborah like the dress? She wondered. She’d have to find the picture — soon.
Chapter Fourteen
Dad was furious about the website. Alyssa never knew what he actually saw, because soon afterwards the site was gone. Somebody traced it to one of the computers at the library.
Dad looked at Mom. “So, now what do we do?”
Mom was reading in the comfy chair. She sighed. “I don’t know. Call the library, I guess.” After a long, clinging hug when Mom first found out, Alyssa had the feeling Mom didn’t want to think about the website. And that was fine. Alyssa didn’t want to think about it either.
At the dining-room table, pretending to work on her genealogy project, she watched Dad fling down the newspaper. “We can’t just let it go,” he said. “I’m phoning the school.”
“No!” Alyssa protested. How could she sit there in a conference with Dad and Mrs. Fraser, and maybe Ethan and the principal too, and talk about the website? Or in class, with Brooklynne right there, if Mr. Bergman talked on the intercom about bullying? What if there was an assembly? What if everybody had to take notes home? It would be awful!
“What about phoning the mayor?” Ethan yelled from the kitchen, where he was fixing a snack. “It’s his daughter that did it. Phone the TV station and ask the new anchor lady if she knows what her kid does online. What about the police? The newspaper might be interested.”
Alyssa shivered deep in her stomach. At Quaker meeting, people sometimes talked about “speaking truth to power.” Peace marches were one way of speaking truth to power. Ethan was talking about something really scary. Her hands were sweaty on her pencil. “No!” she said again. “I don’t want the whole world to know! It’ll make everything worse.”
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