The Haunted House Project

by Tricia Clasen

  I shake my head. “It looks good on her, though.”

  Isaiah nods.

  I feel a tap on my shoulder, and somehow, I know it can’t be good. I ignore it at first, until the tapping becomes more persistent and I hear Becki’s voice. “Andie.”

  I turn slowly. She’s alone. Or, if the others are here, they’re mixed in with the crowd and I can’t see them.

  Becki pushes her bangs back. “Can I talk to you?”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  I’d hoped to avoid seeing my friends at all tonight, and this is almost too much. My heart is punching my ribs, and I’m only able to whisper, “I guess.”

  “In the hall?”

  I don’t want to go. I know without a doubt this is about to ruin my night of fun. Isaiah has inched closer to me, and I face him to ask, “Do you mind?”

  He shrugs in response. Shoot, if he’d said yes, it would have given me an excuse not to talk to her, but of course it has to be my decision, and talking to Becki is the right thing to do. It wouldn’t be fair not to hear her out since we’ve been friends for so long.

  As we weave our way through the other kids, Becki grimaces and avoids touching anyone. Even a small brush makes her jump.

  Once we’re in the hall, she exhales. “Whew. What a zoo.”

  “Sometimes zoos are fun,” I say.

  “So, what’s up with you?” She crosses her arms, and I take a step back.

  “With me?”

  “You’ve been acting so weird lately, and now you’re hanging out with them? What are you trying to prove?”

  “I’m not trying to prove anything. I’m just trying to have fun.”

  I don’t know where she’s going with this. “Just come on, and we’ll figure out whatever’s going on.”

  “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “I’m having fun here. Why should I come with you?”

  “Whatever. Come or don’t come. I don’t care, but your real friends sent me to get you.”

  Ohhh, so all isn’t fabulous in Becki’s world. My friends do miss me, at least two out of three.

  “Where are they?” I ask. I crane my neck, trying to see if Gisela or Leah might be hanging out nearby.

  “Around. Listen, we just need to fix this and get back to normal.”

  Her eyes shift left and right. I wonder if she’s afraid someone will spot her back here by the geeky gamers or whether she’s just nervous about talking to me. A part of me really hopes it’s the latter. I want her to sweat a little. I want it to be important enough to her that she’s scared she’ll do the wrong thing.

  But I don’t get to find out which one it is, because right then, of all people, Dylan slaps me on the back. “Trouble in paradise?”

  “Go away,” Becki commands. Dylan does not obey. He laughs.

  “Andie doesn’t mind me, do you, Andie?”

  “We’re having a private conversation,” Becki says, crossing her arms.

  “Yeah, I’m sure it’s important. ‘Oh, what shade of nail polish should I wear next?’”

  “Andie, come on, we’ll talk about this later. Let’s just go find Gisela and Leah and get away from … here.”

  It’s like she can turn her emotions on and off, but my anger is stuck on on. “Um, I came with Isaiah and Amanda.”

  She raises an eyebrow and grins crookedly. “Seriously?”

  I nod.

  “You’re not coming?”

  I’m too scared I’ll cry if I speak so I shake my head.

  Becki turns and throws a hand in the air, talking to herself as she walks away. “I can’t even believe you. Have fun with your freak friends.”

  Dylan gives my shoulder a subtle squeeze, then slaps my back as he walks away. I hear a kid scream, and I shake my head. I wouldn’t have expected it, but Dylan is growing on me.

  I take a deep breath. I guess that went about as well and as badly as it could have.

  Behind me, the video game room is roaring with chaos. It looks like the players have taken a break from the tournament. Kids start to file out of the room, and I have to squeeze past them and even push a little to get through. I’ve never liked big crowds. Not since I was like six. We were at a parade, I think, and my mom was holding my hand, but I got sandwiched between a couple of people. The guy in front of me had a great big Santa Claus belly, and my face pressed against it while the person behind me kept moving forward. I couldn’t breathe, and I tried to scream, but the sound was muffled and nobody could hear me. I flailed my arms, hoping someone would notice. It felt like I was stuck there for an hour, but I know it was probably more like thirty seconds before my mom took hold of my hand and yanked hard, pulling me out from the crowd. She didn’t say anything as she held me close and carried me through all the people. I cried into her shoulder, and it was uncomfortable because I was too big to be carried, and she kept having to shift her weight. My face bumped up against her collarbone, and her hands dug into my back to keep me in place.

  She finally set me down when we were about two blocks away from the parade’s path. She immediately collapsed onto the grass and breathed hard into her hands. By then, I’d stopped crying, but I sat down on the grass next to her.

  She looked over at me and sighed. “I miss strollers.”

  “Me too,” I nodded.

  “You have to stay closer to me in those kinds of crowds, Andie. For a second, I couldn’t see you, and it scared me half to death.”

  “I got stuck. I tried to keep up.”

  She took a deep breath, and reached out to touch my cheek.

  Now I’m probably too big to get stuck in a potbelly sandwich, but I still feel my heart start to pick up its pace. Sweat beads at the back of my neck. It’s easy to spot Amanda, and not just because of her size. It’s that a circle has formed around her. Lots of kids want to talk to her. I can’t tell if she likes the attention or not. She’s smiling and answering questions, but she shifts her weight from side to side. I figure I’ll have a better chance of finding Isaiah with her, so I make my way toward the group, twisting this way and that, hoping to see Isaiah’s hair poking out from a group of kids. When it finally does, my heart sinks.

  While Amanda has gathered a crowd of admirers, Isaiah is no longer with her, and the group that surrounds him, practically hiding him from view, is not there to congratulate him. They push him around like a pinball bouncing off the sides of the machine.

  I should have known better than to leave him alone. I try to catch Amanda’s attention for backup. I jump up and wave, but I don’t think she sees me. I don’t blame her; I doubt I’d be looking out for us either if I were her. But I have to do something to help Isaiah. There’s only one of me and about five of them, so I’m rightfully freaked out even before they even notice me getting close. How am I going to get them to stop?

  It would be different if my friends were here. Becki, Gisela, and Leah could stop people mid-sentence just by walking into the room. But they aren’t here, and really, it’s not like Becki would stick up for Isaiah anyway. She’d probably be more likely to join in the shoving. That’s not fair, I think. She’s been mean about Isaiah, but we’re not bullies. Are we?

  “Hey,” I call out, but no one is listening. I yell out, “Stop!” but someone just swats me away. I’m not used to feeling so small and powerless. I’m not as brave without my friends. I wonder if I should just get in the middle myself. Would they bang me around, too? Probably.

  Then, suddenly, Isaiah’s hand reaches out between two of the bullies, and I don’t know whether he heard me and knew I was there or was just desperate. I don’t care. I grab his arm with both my hands and yank as hard as I can. The kids surrounding him aren’t expecting it, so when he breaks through between them, one stumbles off to the side and the other just stands there with his arms dangling at his sides.

  “Not smart there, girlie,” a girl dressed all in black says. “Your friends aren’t here to back you up.”

  “What did you say about friends
not being here?” Amanda towers above me. She’s also at least a head taller than the girl in black standing in front of us.

  “Right, like you two are friends.” Goth girl folds her arms and huffs.

  Amanda smiles. “It seems Andie has learned the value of diversification.”

  The other girl drops her hands and her eyebrows crinkle. “What?”

  “Come on, kids, let’s go get some punch.”

  Isaiah and I follow Amanda like ducklings. I might even waddle a little trying to keep up. She has super long legs and she’s on a mission, so she doesn’t turn around to talk to us at all.

  Isaiah leans over to me. “Are you okay?”

  I stare at him with my mouth hanging open. “Are you kidding?”

  His face drops; he genuinely looks hurt. “No.”

  “You were just surrounded by a bunch of jerks, and you wonder how I’m doing? I’m fine. My talk with Becki was a walk in the park.”

  Amanda stops mid-stride. “You talked to her?”

  “Yeah. I wish I could say she came to apologize.”

  Isaiah leans up against a locker, breathing hard. “I’m sorry. I think it’s my fault.”

  I raise my hands in question. “What are you talking about?”

  “I knew she didn’t like me. It’s not like I thought being friends with you would mean everyone would start being nice to me, but I didn’t think they’d start being mean to you.”

  “It’s not your fault, Isaiah. It’s really been coming for a while. Anyway, I think my other friends are mad at her, and that’s why she came to talk to me, not because she really wanted to make things better.”

  “You know”—Amanda runs a hand through her hair—“sometimes, it sucks not having friends, and then sometimes I think I’m the lucky one. If the people who are supposed to have your back treat you like that, then what’s the point?”

  Isaiah laughs. “Wow, I know exactly what you mean. I used to get really mad that I couldn’t be popular, and then I started hanging out with Andie, and I’ve decided that I’d rather have good friends than popular ones.”

  It’s kind of an insult. But I don’t tell him that because I don’t want to ruin the moment for either him or Amanda. Still, I wonder if we’ve always been seen this way by other people.

  And is there hope now? Were we only friends when there were no problems? Was our friendship on such a tightrope that all it took was one fight to make us all fall off? Did wanting to be popular do that to Becki? I don’t think it has to. I don’t think of my friends that way, and I never did. I didn’t think about popular or unpopular. I just thought about friends. Now, I don’t know what to think.

  “Why don’t we head out for ice cream?” I suggest.

  My mom taught me an awful lot, but Dad may have given me the most important knowledge on the face of the earth: ice cream fixes everything. On the really bad days, he’d heap a bowl with several scoops, some fudge and some whipped cream, and before you knew it you couldn’t help but crack a smile. It never failed. I figure it can’t hurt for us to try that, too.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  After rec night, I decide it’s time to step things up. If one night can make such a difference with my school life, what can I do in one night at home? I stay up late brainstorming, and before I crash, I take some notes so I won’t forget. Then I flop down on my bed until my phone vibrates in my hand a few hours later. It takes me a while to register why as I sit up and fumble to turn off the alarm. It’s three thirty; another too-early morning for me. I’m groggy as I wipe the crusties from the corners of my eyes. I lie back down. Maybe this is a bad idea.

  I let my eyes close for just a moment, and I’m tempted to fall back to sleep. But in the dark, a movie plays out on the backs of my eyelids. I see my dad at the casino. I see my sister working at the diner.

  She looks older. That’s what makes me sit back up with my eyes wide open. No, I tell myself. Something has to change. Paige has to go to college. And she won’t go unless my dad stays on track.

  Isaiah and I didn’t get very far with our splicing research, so I’ve decided to go back to smells after all, at least with Paige. I never did figure out a way to make bacon and hide all the traces, but Isaiah had the brilliant idea of using bacon dog treats instead—they’re a lot easier and smell enough like the real thing. I pull one from my backpack and step into my sister’s room. Her soft snoring tells me she’s sleeping. She’s got the covers pulled over her head with one foot sticking out at the bottom. Typical Paige. I like that. A lot of mornings when I wake her, it’s pretty clear she’s been all over the bed, not sound asleep like she is now. I walk on tiptoe, hoping she hasn’t left anything on the floor. I know her room well enough that I should be able to get through in the dark, but a random shoe or a hairbrush could blow the whole thing.

  I have one small incident when I misjudge the distance and run into the corner of her dresser. The sharp edge presses into my arm, and I have to clench my jaw shut to keep from making a sound. She doesn’t even turn, so I exhale. I quietly make my way over to her bed and slide the fake bacon under her mattress. If she wonders about the smell, she might check under her pillow, but I don’t think she’d bother to look further.

  Next, I stumble into my dad’s room. I’ve come up with something new for him. He’s also sleeping soundly. I’m grateful for his loud snoring, which covers the shuffling of my footsteps on the hardwood floor. The bathroom door creaks when I start to open it, and I hear him grumble and then turn over. I freeze outside the doorway. If he wakes up now, I’m caught, because the bathroom light is on, and it would be impossible for him not to see me standing here. I forgot about that. Mom always wanted the light. Dad teased her about being afraid of the dark. I wonder if he still leaves it on for her.

  I wait for what seems like several minutes, not moving a muscle. My legs start to hurt. Finally, I turn and slip in sideways through the door. Not wanting to open it any farther, this is the only way I fit.

  I carefully open the vanity drawers under the sink. As I expected, my mom’s side is basically empty. All of the bottles of nail polish and the bazillion makeup brushes were tossed in the great purge several months ago. I dip my fingers into my pocket and feel for two items. First, I take a tube of lipstick in pale pink, the only color my mom ever wore, and I place it in an empty drawer. Then I open the drawer under it, where dad keeps his shaving stuff. Next to his navy blue razor and the bottle of shaving cream, I set a pink Venus razor. I’ve even used it a few times to make it look worn. I tuck it in at an angle, hoping it looks natural in there, as if it had just been hidden and rolled loose after all this time.

  Then, I hoist myself up onto the counter. My feet dangle off the end and I lean in close to the mirror. I open my mouth wide and breathe on it. The “ha” that escapes echoes a little in the sparsely filled bathroom. I have to take another breath and do it again to cover a large enough area on the mirror. Once I create a patch of about four inches by four inches of fog, I use the tip of my finger to write in long loopy letters. I don’t write “whoosh” this time. I thought long and hard about what to write in this message. I didn’t want it to be too big, so “I love you” was out. And since I’ve decided that I need to be more direct with my dad, I’ve settled on four letters:

  L-I-V-E

  I mean it as a command, and I hope he sees it that way. It’s the simplest way to tell him what I think she’d want him to know. She’s not here, but he is. I watch as the fog fades and my word disappears. I nod to myself. When my dad showers, the steam will cover over the mirror again, and with some luck my message will show up, just subtly enough that he won’t be able to tell who or what did it.

  I got this idea from the ghost literature I’ve been reading. Ghosts can’t move much, but this is the kind of matter they might be able to influence if the energy is aligned right. You know, if you believe in that sort of thing.

  I sneak back out of the room. Next, I go downstairs to the living room. We don’t have
an overhead light in the room, but there’s a floor lamp that’s connected to an outlet, so when you flip the main switch it comes on. It’s one of the things my mom hated about this house—she always thought the living room was too dark. But it works in my favor now. I twist the bulb a bit, just enough so that it should flicker when anyone flips the switch. Hearing no noise upstairs, I test my theory. It’s eerie. Perfect.

  I duck into the garage and spray just a hint of my mom’s perfume in my dad’s car, on the passenger side. It’s a risk, but I know I have to do something extra to make sure he puts all the pieces together.

  It’s still early. No one should be up for a while, but I have one more thing to do.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Paige will go off to college in less than two years, and that thought sometimes stops me in my tracks. Literally. I’ll be in the kitchen making coffee and I’ll just start crying. How can my baby graduate college? How can she be a grown-up? Who will I be when she’s gone? And don’t even get me started about how I’ll handle it when Andie goes.

  This is something they don’t tell you when you have kids. Your identity becomes so wrapped up in them that you forget who you are, which is fine if your kids actually did what they were supposed to do and reflected well on you. I’m only half kidding here. If my identity is being a mom, then what happens if my kids fail? Does that mean I fail, too?

  I know I’m supposed to let my kids be who they are and find their own paths in life, but I admit that I’ve looked for their strengths and tried to push them to hone those skills in positive ways. So, now, I’m completely flummoxed when Paige says she doesn’t know what she wants to major in. She’s thinking business. Business? What do you mean business? I’ve been training you to be a lawyer your whole life. How did you miss that?

  Now, I’m more than half kidding. I don’t really care what my kids do for their careers. Or if they have a career. I’d be a horrible hypocrite if did. After all, I don’t have one.

  College, however, that’s a must, even if they major in basket weaving. I’m pretty sure if one of them didn’t go to college, it’s one of the few things that would make me feel like a true failure.