The Dead Boyfriend

by R. L. Stine

  I read the short text message on the screen—and gasped, “Oh no.”

  10.

  The message from Blade was short: “Can’t make it tonight. Got hung up.”

  I read it over and over, as if I could get the words to tell me more. Why didn’t he explain what the problem was? Why didn’t he at least say he was sorry?

  He must have some emergency, I told myself. He must be as disappointed as I am.

  I punched his number into the phone and raised it to my ear. My hand was trembling. I knew I was overreacting, but I was very disappointed. My daydreams had gotten me all psyched to see him.

  The call went right to voicemail. I listened to his voice: “This is Blade. You know what to do.” I didn’t leave a message. I knew I’d talk to him later. I knew he’d explain everything. And maybe we could get together later tonight.

  Dinner with my parents seemed to last forever. I hadn’t told them much about Blade. I usually blurt out everything about my life to them. I’m not the kind of person who can hold anything in. But for some reason, I’d decided to keep Blade to myself.

  My parents are totally great people. They’re not always in my face and pretty much treat me as an adult. They put up with my enthusiasms and my wild mood swings and my general insanity. And they’re not always trying to pry into my life.

  I think they’d love to know what’s in my diary. But trust me, that’s totally off-limits to them. As I said, I keep it locked and I wear the key on a chain around my neck.

  My dad is big and healthy-looking. I guess you’d call him robust. He brags that he still has all his hair at forty-three. Mom teases him that that’s his biggest accomplishment.

  She likes to deflate him whenever he gets too full of himself. She says it’s her hobby.

  He works out at a gym three days a week, and he’s a cyclist. He gets up at six most mornings and rides his racing bike for ten miles along River Road to the top.

  He’s an administrator at Shadyside General Hospital. He says he just shuffles papers all day and deals with hospital staff problems. That’s why he likes to get a lot of exercise and fresh air before work.

  Mom could be really hot-looking if she paid attention to her looks. But she isn’t really interested in what she wears or her hairstyle or anything. She wears a lot of baggy T-shirts and these dreadful Mom jeans.

  She mostly has her blonde hair tied back in a tight ponytail, and she refuses to wear any makeup. She says she likes the fresh look. But just a little blusher and some color on her lips would make her look five years younger.

  She teaches Business Ethics at the junior college in Martinsville. And she gives lectures at companies on the subject. I don’t really understand what she talks about, but she reads three newspapers a day online and every book on business that comes out.

  So there we were at dinner. When it’s just the three of us, we eat in the little breakfast nook beside the kitchen. It’s a snug little area, lots of sunshine through the windows, and a picnic table and benches where we eat most of our meals. The dining room is saved for company, so we use it mostly on holidays.

  Dad had brought home take-out fried chicken and mashed potatoes with gravy. Usually my favorite, but I didn’t have much appetite tonight. You know why, Diary.

  I stared at the leg and thigh on my plate. Mom was talking about some kind of lawsuit against a company I’d never heard of and why it should be thrown out of court. Dad tsk-tsked and spooned more mashed potatoes onto his plate.

  “Do you have a date with that boy tonight?” Mom’s question stirred me from my thoughts.

  “Uh … not tonight,” I said. “I think I’m just going over to Miranda’s and watch some videos or something.”

  Mom leaned across the table toward me. “What’s his name again?”

  “Blade,” I said. “Blade Hampton.”

  “Funny name,” Mom muttered. “No one has normal names these days. Do you know anyone named Jack or Joe or Bill?”

  I laughed. “No. No, I don’t.”

  “You’ve gone out with this guy a few times,” Dad chimed in. “Why don’t you invite him over sometime?”

  I was pretty much keeping Blade to myself. Not exactly keeping him a secret, but not eager to share him with my parents. “Yeah. Okay,” I said. Always better to agree and not start a controversy.

  Dad changed the subject to how he pulled a muscle racing his bike this morning and how his leg had stiffened up. One of my parents’ best qualities is that they have very short attention spans. They can never stay on a subject for more than a minute or two.

  I gnawed on the chicken leg for a while and forced myself to eat some of the potatoes and coleslaw. Mainly so Mom and Dad wouldn’t start asking more questions. I couldn’t stop thinking about Blade. Wondering what was up with him.

  After dinner, I changed into a long-sleeved top. The weather had turned cool and the sky was heavy with rainclouds. I called goodnight to my parents and hurried out to the car.

  A few raindrops dotted the windshield as I drove to Miranda’s house. She lives on Heather Court in North Hills, the ritzy neighborhood of Shadyside. Her house is big, with a zillion rooms, but very comfortable. Her parents collect very large old movie posters, so there are these great stars like Charlie Chaplin and Humphrey Bogart staring out at you from every wall.

  Miranda is into old movies, too. If Julie and I are hanging out at Miranda’s house, we usually end up watching some old black-and-white flick from the forties or fifties on Netflix. I love seeing the weird old clothes—everyone wearing hats all the time, even indoors—and the funny cars.

  The rain was just a drizzle but I started the wipers. They squeaked as they scraped over the windshield. I turned onto Mission, which curved around to Miranda’s street. I slowed down. There were a lot of cars on Mission. Drivers use it as a shortcut to River Road.

  I pulled through a stop sign—and then let out a soft cry. “Whoa.”

  Was that Blade’s car up ahead? I squinted through the rain-spotted glass.

  Yes. It had to be.

  Actually, it was his dad’s car, but he drove it a lot. A ’95 red Mustang. Not too many of those on the road in Shadyside. Leaning over the wheel, I read the license plate. Yes. Yes. Blade’s car.

  I lowered my foot on the brake. I didn’t want him to see me. I didn’t want to get too close.

  But … who was that in the car beside him?

  Bright white headlights beamed from an oncoming truck swept over Blade’s car and lit it up as if setting it on fire.

  And I saw her. A girl. Beside Blade. A girl with short white-blonde hair. I just saw the back of her head. I didn’t see her face.

  His car pulled away from a stoplight and roared forward.

  My hands squeezed the wheel. They were suddenly clammy and cold.

  I lowered my foot to the gas. I knew what I had to do.

  I had to follow them.

  11.

  My headlights washed over the back of the red Mustang. I slowed down, let more space separate our cars. I had a sudden urge to tromp on the gas and plow right into him. Send that blonde girl flying through the windshield.

  A crazy thought, and I quickly suppressed it. What kind of person would imagine such a violent, evil thing?

  The girl beside Blade had to be a cousin. Or a family member who needed a ride. Or a friend from his old school he hadn’t seen in months. Or … Or …

  Weird how your brain can dance around when you’re upset or anxious.

  The rain stopped. I shut down the scraping windshield wipers. The red Mustang made the turn onto River Road. A few seconds later, I turned, too.

  The road curves along the bank of the Conononka River, a long, winding road that climbs into the hills over Shadyside. It was too dark to see the river. But I slid my passenger window down so I could hear the gentle lapping of the water against the muddy shore.

  I thought the sound might calm me. But, of course, it didn’t.

  Again, my headlights pl
ayed over the back of the Mustang. I slowed and edged to the right and let another car move between us. I didn’t want Blade to see me. I didn’t want him to think that I was suspicious, that I didn’t trust him.

  He was obviously dealing with an emergency. That’s why he didn’t have time to explain to me what was going on.

  But … if it was an emergency, why was he turning into the parking lot at Fire? Fire is a dance club on River Road. It’s a club for adults, but a lot of Shadyside students go there because the doorman isn’t very careful about checking your ID. If you don’t look twelve, you’re in.

  A neon sign at the street has red-and-yellow flames dancing into the air. A sign beside it reads: SHADYSIDE’S PREMIER DANCE CLUB. LADIES FREE.

  The club was a long, low, red building with red and blue lights along the flat roof. A red carpet led to the awning over the entrance. The doorman stood behind a narrow wooden podium at the front of the awning. Even with the car windows closed, I could hear the drumming beat of the throbbing dance music from inside the club.

  As I watched the red Mustang roll over the brightly lit gravel parking lot, a wave of nausea rolled over me. I was supposed to be with Blade tonight. He told me he got “hung up.” So why was he here at a dance club with that blonde girl?

  My ideas about a family emergency were quickly exploding, vanishing into air. And I fought down my dinner, which was rising to my throat. Fought down a choking feeling as I saw him pull into a parking place at the side of the club and cut his headlights.

  My car rolled slowly over the gravel as I hung back, leaning over the wheel and squinting into the glare of the red, blue, and yellow lights overhead. I stopped and backed into a space between two SUVs near the club entrance.

  When I looked back, Blade and the girl were out of his car. Blade wore his red hoodie over slim-leg jeans. She was tall and thin, taller than him, and the lights played over her pale face and the short white-blonde hair.

  She leaned into Blade, and he slid an arm around her shoulders. They staggered sideways together, laughing.

  A sob escaped my throat. I forced myself to breathe.

  I told him I loved him. That night in his car up on River Ridge, the stars above us, the sparkling river down below, when we held each other, held each other as if we were the only two people on earth. We kissed … we kissed and … and …

  I grabbed the door handle, ready to jump out of the car. I had an impulse to jump out, run across the gravel lot, grab him, grab him and spin him around, and—

  —No.

  I squeezed the steering wheel, squeezed it until my hands ached—and watched them kiss. She turned to him and he wrapped his hands around her neck and pulled her face close. And they kissed again. The red-and-blue lights played over them, making it look like a carnival scene or some kind of glaring dream.

  If only.

  If only it wasn’t real, Diary. But it was happening, and I was there.

  I shoved open the car door. It slammed into the SUV next to me. I didn’t care. I slid out and stumbled forward, away from the car. I couldn’t balance. The world tilted and swayed under me.

  My whole body shuddered as I forced myself forward.

  Did I cut the engine? Switch off the headlights? I don’t remember, Diary.

  Blade and the girl stopped at the doorman’s podium. He was a wide hulk of a guy, shaved head, wearing a purple sleeveless T-shirt that showed off his tight biceps and tattoos, and baggy gray sweatpants. Blade pulled something from his wallet—probably a fake ID—and the doorman waved them into the club.

  “Stop!” I opened my mouth in a cry, but no sound came out. I took a deep breath. My shock quickly turned to anger.

  Blade is a liar! A liar and a rat!

  I couldn’t erase the picture of them kissing from my mind.

  Suddenly, I knew I had to confront him. I had to let him know that I was here and I saw him.

  A cry of rage burst from my throat. Like an angry animal. And I roared forward, my sneakers kicking up gravel, ran full speed toward the club entrance, the red-and-blue lights flashing in my eyes, running blind, blind with my anger and hurt pushing me forward.

  I had to get in there. I had to make him face me.

  I was a few feet from the doorman’s podium when a dark figure ran out from the side of the club. At first, I thought it was a moving shadow. It took a few seconds to realize it was someone dressed all in black.

  Deena Fear.

  I nearly ran right into her. She caught me with both hands before we collided. I was panting, wheezing loudly, enraged.

  “Deena—what are you doing here?” I choked out, the words rasping against my dry throat.

  “He betrayed us!” she cried. “Caitlyn—he betrayed us!”

  12.

  I gaped at her. The red-and-blue lights reflected in her glasses made her eyes look on fire.

  “He betrayed us!” she screamed again, gripping my arms tightly.

  “Go away!” I cried. Blade was inside the club with the blonde girl. I didn’t have time for Deena Fear. I had to keep my anger burning. Or else I’d never be able to confront him.

  “Get off me!” I swung my body hard and tugged free of her grip. Then I lowered my shoulder and shoved her out of my way, shoved her so hard she toppled backward over the gravel. Her glasses flew off her face and landed on the ground.

  I spun away, lowered my head, and ran past the doorman. I heard him shout: “Hey—stop!” And then he uttered a string of curses as I pulled the door open and rushed inside.

  Into the flashing lights and throbbing beats, deafening, almost painful. I could see the silhouettes of dancers in the middle of the floor. Couples huddled around the sides. A crowd at the brightly lit bar against the far wall.

  I took a deep shuddering breath. Then another. My eyes gazed from one wall to the other, squinting to see faces, to see Blade. The pounding beats matched my heartbeats. I stood there, gasping in the thick, humid air, inhaling the tangy aroma of alcohol and sweat.

  I was so angry, so hurt, so devastated, the whole scene became a crazy blur to me. The lights pulsed with the beats of the music, pulsed with my heartbeats, until … until I was not myself. I was out of myself. Out of my head.

  Where is he? Where?

  And then my eyes stopped at the white lights of the bar. And I saw him. I saw Blade at the bar. The blonde girl was beside him. He was leaning over a tall barstool, talking to a female bartender.

  I didn’t hesitate. I lowered my shoulder and bolted across the dance floor like a running back. Couples dodged out of my way. I heard angry shouts:

  “Look out!”

  “Hey—what’s your problem?”

  My problem was Blade.

  I let out a furious screech as I stepped up behind him. I grabbed his shoulders and spun him around.

  His eyes opened wide in surprise. “Caitlyn?”

  The words spilled from my throat. “What are you doing here?”

  He regained his composure quickly. “Getting two beers,” he said. He gave a casual shrug.

  “Who is she?” the blonde girl asked.

  “She’s nobody, Vanessa,” Blade said. “A friend. From school.”

  I felt as if I’d been cut in half, sliced right down the middle.

  I stood there trembling with my mouth open.

  I know I overreacted. I know I went ballistic. Totally lost it. But that’s the way I am. That’s me, and there’s nothing I can do about it.

  I am 90 percent emotion. And when Blade said those words to the girl, something inside me snapped.

  “But … but…” I sputtered. “But we love each other!” The words tumbled out of my mouth before I could stop them.

  Blade’s face went entirely blank. His eyes appeared to freeze over. “In your dreams, maybe.”

  And there I stood, my world collapsing in a sea of flashing lights and dancing couples and pounding music.

  Suddenly, Vanessa, the blonde-haired girl, moved toward me. She put a hand gentl
y on my shoulder. “Are you okay? You’re trembling. Can I get you a drink or something?”

  Her dark blue eyes peered into mine. She was genuinely worried about me.

  I stared back at her, unable to answer. Finally, I spun away and took off. I ran back through the dance floor, pushing my way through the dancers, startled cries all around me.

  I pulled open the door and burst back into the cool darkness. The voices and music were a roar behind me. My eyes still pulsed from the crazy lights.

  The doorman turned from his podium as I ran past him. “Hey, you—stop! Come here!” he bellowed angrily.

  Again, I ignored him, my shoes slipping and sliding on the gravel as I turned toward my car. No sign of Deena Fear. I had a fleeting thought that she’d be there by the door waiting for me, waiting to grab me and insist that Blade had betrayed her, too.

  Which one of us is crazy?

  I knew the answer. I was the crazy one for caring too much. Everything I did in that club was crazy. So crazy that even the girl with Blade, a total stranger, was worried about me.

  But I didn’t care. Blade was so important to me. I trusted him. I believed in him. I loved him. And now … I didn’t care. I didn’t care. I didn’t care.

  He acted as if I was nothing. “She’s nobody.” That’s what he told that girl Vanessa. “She’s nobody.”

  And he was right. Now I was nobody. I thought I had something great, something wonderful to get through life. But now I was nobody.

  I climbed into the car. Slammed the door. Started it up and roared out of the parking lot, sending up a tidal wave of gravel behind me.

  Where was I going? I didn’t know. I swung the car out of the parking lot without looking. To my left, a small van screeched to a halt. Close call. I didn’t care.

  I slammed my foot down on the gas pedal. The car lurched forward. The pull of speed felt good to me. I spun around the curves of River Road, sliding from one lane to the other.

  I made the car squeal and scrape. The river flowed beside me. All I had to do was swing the wheel to the left, and I’d be over the side and into the water. The cold, fresh water. Was it a good night for a swim?