Copyright
Copyright © 2011 by MacKenzie Cadenhead
Cover and internal illustrations © 2011 by T.S. Spookytooth
Cover and internal design © 2011 by Sourcebooks, Inc.
Cover design by Liz Demeter/Demeter Design
Cover images © MightyIsland/iStockphoto.com; jammydesign/iStockphoto.com
Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks, Inc.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks, Inc.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
Published by Sourcebooks Jabberwocky, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc.
P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567-4410
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication data is on file with the publisher.
Source of Production: Webcom, Toronto, Ontario, Canada
Date of Production: August 2011
Run Number: 15766
Contents
Front Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Back Cover
To Dan and Smudge
Prologue
Sally Simplesmith was determined not to vomit. Though she had never been a fan of recess, looking at the schoolyard as it was now—turned into a makeshift courtroom for the trial of her best friend—she longed for the days of being picked last in kickball. Standing beside the milk-crate witness box, she scanned the scene before her. Officer Stu banged his gavel repeatedly as he shouted, in vain, for order. The evil Dog Catcher turned red and screamed for an immediate judgment. Her father, unable to look her in the eye after his shocking betrayal, nervously pinched his thumbs. The audience of bloodthirsty neighbors and maniac mutts howled cruelties at her and the accused from behind the jungle gym gallery. Sally wanted to be surprised by how quickly their adoration had turned to anger, but she wasn’t. Part of her had expected this all along.
She looked, then, at her best friend, Bones, so small and helpless, boxed in by half a dozen milk crates. He tilted his head and gazed up at her with empty black eyes. She reached out her hand to him. He leaned in and gave it a single lick.
The wind wailed in the trees, nearly matching the cries of the angry mob in pitch and volume. The sound reminded Sally of that night in the graveyard when she’d first found Bones. She recalled her fear, her desperation, and finally her joy at the miraculous gift that the spirit of her mother had given her—a new best friend who would change her life forever.
Out of the corner of her eye, Sally saw the first enraged civilian break the chalk-drawn line that separated the spectators from those involved in the court’s proceedings. It wouldn’t be long before others followed, and she knew exactly for whom they would come.
Inhaling deeply, Sally filled her lungs with resolve. Though she would never exactly remember her next few steps, more than one witness could have sworn they heard the petite raven-haired girl whisper to the trees: “Give. Me. Death.”
Chapter 1
2 Months, 28 Days, 9 Hours, and
12 Minutes Earlier…
The morning before Sally Simplesmith came face-to-face with death, she made the acquaintance of pure evil. Leaning awkwardly against the gate of the Vanderperfect Estate, Sally chewed on her fingernails, trying desperately not to get too excited about the impending arrival of the only friend she had ever had.
Sally was not a popular girl. To suggest that she had few friends would be untrue. To say that she had none would be more technically correct. For one thing, Sally looked nothing like the other girls at Merryland Middle School. With her blunt-bobbed hair, black as a starless night, and her chalky white skin, Sally clashed with the rosy blonds and olive-toned brunettes that surrounded her. While they preferred coordinated sweater sets and perfectly tailored dresses, Sally found satisfaction in worn-in blue jeans and a rotation of concert T-shirts featuring her favorite band, Tone Death.
“Dead Ringers?” Chati Chattercathy once asked about the text of a particularly distressing T-shirt. It featured an image of identical twin girls hitting each other with their cell phones. “I think your shirt might be a bit too aggressive for acceptable school attire, don’t you?” the almond-eyed beauty kindly offered. “Also, I don’t get it.”
Encouraged by her classmate’s interest, Sally explained: “Oh no, it’s okay. It’s a Tone Death song that’s less about violence than it is about how our obsession with technology has turned us against ourselves.”
“Huh?” Chati made a face as though she had just smelled her brother’s dirty gym socks.
Sally searched for a bit of Tone Death trivia that might impress. “Also, their lead guitarist uses a special kind of makeup to look like a corpse!”
Chati took two slow steps back before turning and walking quickly away. She never asked about one of Sally’s T-shirts again.
“May I help you?” a nasal voice blared through the Vanderperfects’ intercom.
Sally slipped from her post against the gate. Tucking her hair behind her ears, she cleared her throat. “Oh, um. I’m waiting for Viola, please. I’m Sally. Sally Simple—”
“Miss Vanderperfect will be out presently.” The intercom clicked off, and Sally resumed biting her nails.
Viola Vanderperfect had been Sally’s best friend when they were babies. They were born on the same day, and the girls’ mothers met in the maternity ward when a nearsighted nurse accidentally switched the bassinets. Choosing laughter over lawsuit, the Vanderperfects and Simplesmiths became fast friends. For the two years that followed, their daughters were almost never apart.
When the Vanderperfects moved from the sleepy town of Merryland to seek their fortune in the hustle and bustle of Watta City, the families promised to visit often. But when Sally’s mother became ill, that promise grew difficult to keep. By the time Mrs. Simplesmith died, eight years had passed without a single visit. Aside from the occasional birthday card and coupon books for their wildly successful chain of nursery-rhyme-themed restaurants, the Vanderperfects fell out of touch.
None of this was more than a distant memory to Sally until two weeks ago, when her father received a letter with a Watta City return address.
“Oh, hey, kiddo. I almost forgot to tell you,” Mr. Simplesmith said as he rushed off to the research lab where he all but slept. “The Vanderperfects are moving back here at the end of the month. Remember your friend Viola? Looks like she’ll be joining your class. See you around, Sal!”
Had Mr. Simplesmith not been so consumed with balancing his coffee cup on a stack of pa
pers while acrobatically closing the door with his right elbow, he might have noticed his daughter frozen in place, the spoonful of cereal dripping milk as it approached her gaping mouth.
Within moments of regaining movement, Sally had written and mailed a letter to Viola reintroducing herself and offering to accompany her long-lost friend to her first day of school. A week later a reply arrived from Mrs. Vanderperfect with directions to their new home and an invitation to come early to join Viola on her morning dog walk.
Now that the reunion was finally here, Sally’s boldness gave way to alarm. Would Viola indeed be the death-rock-loving kindred spirit of whom Sally had dreamed? A strong gust of expensive perfume snapped her back to the present, where a perfectly manicured woman with arms raised in a wide V came running down the estate’s long drive.
“Sally, Sally, Sally!” Vivienne Vanderperfect burst through the gate and blew two air kisses at the wide-eyed child. “So, this is what you grew up to be.” Mrs. Vanderperfect’s smile faded slightly. “How…unique.”
Sally bit her lip.
“I’m sorry, I just assumed you’d be more like your mother. The way that woman could command a room just by entering it.” Vivienne gazed into the bright blue sky. “She was the toast of Merryland without making the slightest effort. She was such…an inspiration.” Glancing back at Sally, she added, “Ah, but you do have her eyes.”
Sally blushed. “Thank you, Mrs.—”
“Oh, now, darling, call me Vivienne. Viola’s just grabbing Princess Poopsy Von Vanderpoodle’s leash, and then I’ll let you two be off!” Vivienne looked Sally over before ultimately nodding her head in approval. “Yes, I can tell my Vi will have a powerful effect on you, Sally. And you can be there for her. Just like I was for your mother.”
Vivienne’s eyes teared, and Sally pinched her own skin to stop from breaking down. Despite her obvious reservations about Sally’s appearance, Mrs. Vanderperfect’s determination to reach out to her dead friend’s daughter suited Sally just fine. It was Viola she was here for, anyway; the friend she had waited for all her life.
One last time, Sally called up the picture of Viola she had been perfecting all week. In it, Viola wore a dog-collar necklace that complemented Sally’s T-shirt of Tone Death’s latest album: You Can’t Put Me in the Doghouse—I Already Live There. In Sally’s imagination, Viola already had three piercings in her left ear, including one up at the top, in the exact spot Sally’s father refused to consider until his daughter turned eighteen. In her mind, Viola was everything Sally was not quite, but that she could surely become, with a little help from an old friend.
Of course, what Viola Vanderperfect turned out to be was something Sally was not at all. The real Viola gracefully glided to her mother’s side. Her strawberry-blond hair bounced and swayed as though a hidden fan was blowing only on her. Her white sweater and pink skirt adorably complemented the white poodle in a pink sweater that heeled elegantly at her side. A bright smile of impossibly white teeth blossomed on Viola’s face, and Sally could have sworn she saw an actual twinkle in the most perfect Vanderperfect’s eye.
“Sally, it’s been such a long time. Would you care to join Princess Poopsy and me on our walk?” Viola fluttered her eyelashes. Though she looked nothing like what Sally had pictured, she seemed friendly enough.
“Uh, yeah. OK. Sure.”
Viola kissed her mother good-bye, and Sally followed the beautiful girl and her well-groomed dog onto the sidewalk. While they pranced, she lumbered. While they nimbly skirted trash cans and baby carriages, Sally tripped over a toddler, making him cry. Finally turning onto a quiet side street, Sally sighed with relief that they were alone.
The mismatched girls continued to walk in silence. On Sally’s part, she simply did not know what to say to this girly girl. A poorly chosen opening had damaged potential friendships before, so Sally kept her mouth shut, hoping Viola would be brave enough to break the ice.
Sally was focused on Princess Poopsy’s unparalleled prance when Viola finally made a peep. “Peep, peep!” she said to Poopsy, who obediently squatted on the grass.
“Wow! That was amazing! How’d you do that?” Sally asked, her vocal paralysis forgotten.
“Impressive training and impeccable pedigree,” Viola singsonged. Her airy voice lilted like a lullaby. It was so soothing that, at first, Sally didn’t notice the dark scowl that had eclipsed her companion’s face.
“Unlike Princess Poopsy, both training and pedigree are virtues that you, Sally Simplesmith, will never possess. After today’s obligatory get-together, you will be worth no more of my time, and I needn’t take up any more of yours. We will part ways a few blocks from school, after which we’ll only ever have to pass each other silently in the halls. Are we clear?” Viola’s raised eyebrows seemed to indicate that she awaited a reply.
“But we used to—” was all Sally managed before Viola interrupted with such an honest laugh that, had any passersby heard it, they’d have thought these girls were enjoying themselves immensely.
“Wait—wait,” Viola blurted between fits of hysteria. “You actually thought someone like me would be friends with someone like you? But why? You’re nothing special. You’re not even fit to be friends with my dog!”
Sally’s skin began to prickle, and her cheeks stung as though they had been slapped. Composing herself, Viola leaned in close. “Sally, sweetie, let me make this perfectly clear. If you tell anyone that we were childish enough to be friends when we were babies, your days as a lovable loser will be over.”
Smiling brightly, the stunningly pretty and breathtakingly mean Viola Vanderperfect linked arms with the girl she had just crushed and guided her back to the estate’s front gate.
“Wait here for me, won’t you, Sally?” Viola asked, loud enough for her mother to hear. “I just need to grab my bag, and then we can go!”
Sally saw Vivienne Vanderperfect smile as she watched the girls from her kitchen window. She opened her mouth to say something—anything—that would expose Viola as the terrible fraud she was.
“Uhn…” was the only sound that came out.
Chapter 2
Viola kept her promise and ditched Sally a few blocks from school. “Stay out of my way or it’ll be your funeral,” the nasty new girl threatened. By the time Sally had convinced herself that dropping out of the sixth grade was not an option, she was late for class.
“…Ronald, Susannah, Tommy, and Zeke!” Sally entered the classroom just as Viola completed roll call to thunderous applause. Viola ignored the tardy girl, who slipped quietly into the back.
At recess, Chati Chattercathy led a gaggle of girls in recounting for Viola their favorite parts of their first impression of her. “For me,” Chati giggled, “it was when you asked if it was Chati with one i or two that I knew we’d be best friends!”
Sally lost control of the ball she was bouncing, and it hit Chati in the head. “Oh my gosh, Chati, I’m so—” Sally never got to finish her apology, for the victim chucked the ball back without ever acknowledging from where it had come. Chati continued her fawning as though she hadn’t been interrupted at all.
Though Sally didn’t quite click with her classmates, she had never been entirely ignored by them either. Suddenly she was invisible, thanks to a certain strawberry-blond bully who seemed to feed off undivided attention. By the time afternoon assembly rolled around, Sally was so alarmed that she kept looking at her hands, checking to see if she had disappeared completely.
The students of Merryland Middle School shuffled into their assembly seats and began the ritual of attempting to stay awake for the next forty-five minutes. But Sally finally had something to be excited about. The vice principal always read aloud the names of students with upcoming birthdays, and everyone was expected to clap. Sally loved hearing the applause after her name. She pretended that somewhere in the bleachers at least one kid was happy she had been born. This wa
s her birthday month. Sincere or not, the applause would be just the pick-me-up she needed.
“And on the twenty-fifth, Tommy Gunn will turn eleven,” Vice Principal Sergeant droned. While the rest of the students doodled or napped, Sally’s excitement kindled, knowing that her name was next. “This year, the twenty-ninth is a very special birthday. In fact, it’s two, as a pair of sixth graders shares this date of birth. Please put your hands together for our newest student, Viola Vanderperfect, and…”
The screams and cheers for Viola drowned out Sally’s name. Even the jaded eighth graders went wild. Viola had captured the imagination of every kid at Merryland Middle School, and her rapid rise had come at Sally’s expense. Though she had always been an outcast, this was the first time Sally felt cast out. As she listened to the applause that was not hers, she realized her life was over.
Chapter 3
Sally shoved open the gate to Hope Hill Cemetery. As she trudged up the path, it began to drizzle. She contemplated shielding herself with her backpack, but it was too heavy to lift over her head. She was spent. All she wanted was to be done with it.
The spitting mist turned to heavy drops of water. By the time Sally reached her destination, she was drenched.
Sally collapsed on her mother’s grave and recalled the day she had revealed her most secret wish. Patty Simplesmith lay in a hospital bed, hooked up to more machines than Sally cared to remember. Her pale skin had yellowed slightly, and her lips were cracked despite the thirteen tubes of Chapstick that Sally had given her; one for each day spent in this hospital room. “I want to come with you, Mom,” Sally had said softly. She did not look her mother in the eye.
“You can’t, baby. Not yet,” Patty whispered. The beeps and clicks of the machines blared over her weakened voice.
“Then when? I don’t belong here without you.”
“Yes, you do.” Her mother smiled.
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