THE PUMPKIN PRINCIPLE
Cynthia Blair
Chapter One
“I love autumn,” said Christine Pratt with a dramatic sigh. “It’s my favorite season. I always feel like something wonderful, something unbelievably exciting, is going to happen at any minute.”
“I know exactly what you mean.” Her twin sister, Susan, nodded in agreement. “Why, even the air smells different!” She threw back her head and took a deep breath.
Chris sniffed the air tentatively. “You’re right,” she said. “It’s as if the air were ... crispy. Like the leaves!”
The two girls laughed, partly because of Chris’s colorful description of the brisk October morning, partly because each knew exactly what the other meant.
They were on their way to school, strolling down First Street toward Whittington High, where they were both just starting their senior year. Fortunately, it was one of those rare days when they both managed to be ready to leave the house right on time, so they could enjoy a leisurely walk.
And it was the perfect morning for such a stroll. The sky was a clear powder blue, the sun was bright, and the air was, indeed, crisp. It was the kind of day that always made both girls feel energetic.
Chris, in fact, was feeling particularly frisky.
“I think there’s something magical about fall,” she said, her dark brown eyes glowing mischievously, “After all, October is when Halloween is, right?”
“Well, yes, but that’s just one day out of the whole season. What else is there that’s magical?”
“Why, Susan Pratt! I’m surprised at you! Where’s your imagination? Look around you. What do you see?”
Susan blinked, surprised by the fact that her twin was suddenly becoming so observant. Usually, she was the practical, down-to-earth one, while Chris ran around with her head in the clouds. Dutifully, she looked around.
“I see beautiful leaves—red and orange and yellow. A few clouds in the sky that look like cotton balls. And the sun looks like it’s trying as hard as it possibly can. I guess all that’s pretty magical, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but there’s even more. What else do you see? Come on, Sooz. It’s something you don’t see any other time of the year. Ever!”
“Do I get a clue?” Susan was beginning to get impatient with her sister’s teasing—and her mysteriousness.
“Okay, just one. Take a look up ahead at the Petersons’ house.”
Susan turned to look at the house belonging to the elderly couple who ran Whittington’s bookstore. It was a pleasant, white shingled building, plain but well cared for. There were flowers planted in front, a new coat of paint on the low fence that surrounded the property ... and three huge pumpkins sitting on the porch.
“Pumpkins!” Susan squealed. “Of course. I should have guessed right away.” She turned to her twin, her eyes wide. “Chris, do you think pumpkins have magical powers?”
Chris was suddenly matter-of-fact. “Well, of course, Sooz. Do you know of any other fruit that gets picked, goes into people’s houses—and then emerges a few days later with a face!”
“You’ve got a point there.” Her sister laughed. “But do you think there’s any more to it than that? After all, Cinderella’s pumpkin turned into a coach.”
“That was not your ordinary pumpkin. After all, you were dealing with a fairy godmother there. No, I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about your basic, everyday, run-of-the-mill pumpkin. Like the ones on the Petersons’ porch.”
“Gee, those pumpkins don’t even have faces yet.”
“Doesn’t matter. You see, I’ve developed a theory,” Chris continued in the same mock-serious tone.
“A theory?”
“Right. I’ve given this a lot of thought. And I’ve developed what I call the Pumpkin Principle. It’s the result of years of research. And personal observation, too, of course. Yes, I’ve examined the issue closely.”
“That sounds terribly scientific,” her sister returned. “Tell me, Dr. Pratt, precisely what is the Pumpkin Principle?”
“I’ve come to the conclusion that pumpkins have mysterious, magical powers. Whenever they appear—-usually every autumn—-they give people an overwhelming urge to ...”
“To what?” Susan was so caught up in her twin’s little fantasy that she almost dropped the pile of schoolbooks she was carrying.
“To pretend to be someone other than themselves.” Chris turned to Susan, wearing a smug expression. “See? As I said, I’ve given the Pumpkin Principle a lot of thought.”
“Wait a minute. I’m not sure I understand. What do you mean, ‘pretend to be someone other than themselves’?”
Christine shrugged. “Dressing up, wearing masks and costumes and disguises, taking on other identities ... it’s all part of the same syndrome. People just become overwhelmed with this—-this need. I tell you, it’s the pumpkins. There’s something about their very presence.”
“You must be right. After all,” Susan said with feigned innocence, “I don’t know anybody who would ever pretend to be somebody else unless it was Halloween. Do you?”
She and Chris burst out laughing, for on several occasions, the Pratt sisters, identical twins, had done just that. They had tried switching identities for two whole weeks once, Chris pretending to be Susan and vice versa, so that each could learn more about what her twin’s life was like. They had nicknamed that caper the Banana Split Affair, since they had bet each other whether it would work or not and the stakes had been the biggest banana split they could find.
Then, when Chris had beers awarded the honor of being selected the honorary “queen” of Whittington, the girls’ hometown, during its week-long celebration of its hundred-year anniversary, the twins had taken turns filling the role, since they had worked together on the research project that won Chris that honor. That time, they had had fewer doubts that they could pull it off—-and they had decided to celebrate, at the end of the festivities, with hot fudge sundaes at Fozzy’s, Whittington’s brand-new ice cream parlor. That little adventure had been dubbed the Hot Fudge Sunday Affair. And later that same summer—one that they came to call “Strawberry Summer”—even though the twins had vowed not to try to pull off any more pranks while working as camp counselors at Camp Pinewood, the fact that they were identical had helped them fool someone at a crucial moment—and save the camp from being forced to close down.
The Pratt twins looked enough alike to fool their girlfriends, their dates, even their parents. They both had dark brown eyes and shoulder-length chestnut hair, and their features were identical, including impish ski-jump noses and high cheekbones.
But their similarities ended there. Chris was outgoing and talkative. She loved her busy life, participating in school clubs, keeping up with the latest fads in clothes and records, and juggling a busy social schedule. Susan, meanwhile, was much quieter, preferring to spend as much time as she could reading and working on her true passion: art. She was quite an accomplished painter, and she hoped to go on to art school after graduation.
Even though the two girls were identical, their different personalities were clearly reflected in their appearances. Today, for example, Susan wore a tailored white blouse, a navy blue plaid wool skirt, and navy blue knee socks, while her twin sister was decked out in her best pair of jeans and a tomato-red turtleneck sweater. From Chris’s ears dangled huge, red-enameled earrings with big, black polka dots. In fact, unless they were actually trying to make the point of their being identical twins, it was difficult to tell that the two girls were even sisters.
Despite their differences, however, the girls got along famously. When they weren’t dreaming up clever little schemes—or trying to straighten out the aftermath—they enjoyed sp
ending time together, usually just talking. The two sisters felt they could tell each other everything—and almost always did.
“Look, there’s Mr. Peterson!” cried Chris.
By this point, they had reached the attractive white house. And, sure enough, Mr. Peterson was out front, raking leaves. He was a kind man in his sixties who always took time out from his responsibilities at the bookstore to chat with Chris and Susan about their favorite books. He enjoyed talking to the twins, and today was no exception.
“Good morning!” the girls called.
Mr. Peterson looked up from the pile of leaves he was concentrating on and waved.
“Hello, Chris! Hi, Susan!” He gave them both a big smile. “How are my favorite twins this morning?”
“Just fine, Mr. Peterson,” Susan replied. “It’s nice and early, so we’re taking our time walking to school.”
“How about you?” asked Chris. “I thought you were usually at the store by now, getting ready to open. Is everything all right?”
Mr. Peterson’s smile faded. “Well, not exactly. I’m afraid Mrs. Peterson will be opening the store by herself today. As soon as I get this yard cleaned up, I’m going to go over to Westfield to take a look at that new retirement home that just opened up there.”
Susan gasped. “Don’t tell me you and Mrs. Peterson are planning to retire!”
“Oh, no, it’s not for us. It’s for my sister, Cecilia Carpenter.”
“Oh, yes, Mrs. Carpenter. I didn’t know she was your sister,” said Chris. “She lives on Crabtree Hill in that big, old Victorian house, doesn’t she?”
Mr. Peterson frowned. “Not for long. No, I’m afraid my sister has gotten it into her head that the house she’s been living in for almost thirty years is haunted.”
“Haunted!” the twins cried in unison.
“That’s right. She claims there have been all kinds of peculiar things going on there at night lately, and she believes that ghosts are responsible.”
“But that’s ridiculous!” Susan was indignant. “There’s no such thing as ghosts.” She remembered only too well the summer before, when it seemed as if ghosts were making mischief at Camp Pinewood ... and it turned out that it was someone very real who was behind it all.
“Well, my wife Ellie and I haven’t been very successful at convincing Cecilia of that. Our house is just too small for a third person, so we really don’t have any other choice but to look into a retirement home. Besides,” he went on thoughtfully, “Ellie and I can’t help wondering what it means, the way Cecilia has been imagining all these things. Maybe she’d be better off in a retirement home.”
Chris and Susan exchanged glances. They could tell from Mr. Peterson’s tone that even though he was worried about his sister, he didn’t believe that for one minute.
“Enough about my troubles,” Mr. Peterson suddenly said, his voice hearty. “You two had better be on your way. I don’t want you to be late for school on my account.”
“I guess we’d better.” Susan was reluctant to go, however. Mr. Peterson was obviously very upset by his sister’s irrational belief that her beautiful Victorian house, with its turrets and towers and gingerbread trim, was haunted. And, as usual, she wished there was some way she could help. “We’ll be seeing you soon. I’ve been meaning to stop in your store to get some new books. Now that it’s getting colder, I love curling up in front of the fireplace with some good reading!”
She tried to sound cheerful. It wasn’t until she and Chris had continued on their way and Mr. Peterson was out of earshot that she let on how very concerned she was.
“Isn’t that terrible?” she asked her twin. “Imagine, poor Mrs. Carpenter having to go live in a retirement home and give up that huge, gorgeous house on Crabtree Hill. And all because she thinks it’s haunted!”
“Well, maybe it is haunted.”
“Christine Pratt! You know that’s impossible!” Susan thought for a second, then added, “Isn’t it?”
“I don’t know. There are certainly enough documented cases of haunted houses. You know, places where strange things happen, and no one can account for them, no matter how hard they try. Maybe the house on Crabtree Hill is one of those houses!”
Susan remained silent. She refused to believe that her sister was right. Saying that a house might really be haunted wasn’t just being playful, at least not in this case. Not if Cecilia Carpenter was ready to move out because of it.
“Well, whether the house is haunted or not, I’m afraid there’s not much we can do to help the Petersons and Mrs. Carpenter,” Chris went on. “I really wish we could, but it sounds like it’s purely a family affair.”
“I suppose so.” Susan was still troubled, but she knew Chris was right. There really wasn’t anything they could do. She decided to put the whole thing out of her mind—at least for now.
“Hey, I’ve got a great idea,” she said suddenly. “Let’s go for a long bike ride after school. It’s the perfect day for it. We could even head over to the Atkinses’ farm and pick up some pumpkins. Think we could manage to balance one or two in our bicycle baskets?”
“I’ll bet we could.... Oh, wait a minute. I just remembered something. The first meeting of the Halloween Dance Committee is today, right after school. I don’t know how long it’ll run.”
“That’s okay,” her sister assured her cheerfully. “We’ve still got weeks and weeks of this fantastic weather ahead of us. We’ll have other chances for bike riding.”
“How about tomorrow?”
“You’re on—just as long as I’m not swamped with homework. If we go, I’ll even spring for ice cream cones at Fozzy’s on our way home.”
“In that case, you can definitely count me in!”
“Speaking of the Halloween Dance,” said Susan, “how’s it coming? I assume good old Whittington High will be holding its usual masquerade party in the school gym. Black and orange crepe-paper streamers and balloons, all the cider and doughnuts you can eat, bobbing for apples, a prize for the scariest costume ...”
Chris wrinkled her nose. “Sounds pretty predictable, doesn’t it?”
“Not at all! I love all those things! It wouldn’t seem like Halloween without them!”
“I know.” Chris was suddenly pensive. “It’s just that I was wondering if we could come up with something different for a change. You know, make the Halloween Dance special in some way. That’s why I decided to join the dance committee in the first place, as a matter of fact. I’m going to suggest exactly that at the meeting today.”
“Do you have any ideas?” asked Susan.
“Nope. Not yet.” Chris tugged on one of the red plastic combs that pulled her hair back on either side of her face. “I don’t even have any ideas for a costume yet, much less for the dance. But I was hoping that I’d be able to think up something.”
“You will.” With a huge grin, Susan added, “After all, isn’t that what we Pratt twins are famous for? Coming up with crazy, off-the-wall ideas?”
“I’ll say!” Chris returned. “In fact, sometimes we even manage to pull them off!”
“We always manage to pull them off! At least we always have in the past.”
“Let’s just hope we can keep on batting a thousand, then,” Chris said with a chuckle, “At any rate, I’m sure I’ll be able to come up with an idea sooner or later. Maybe the meeting after school today will inspire me. I do some of my best work under pressure.”
By that point, the two girls had reached the schoolyard. Streams of students were making their way toward the stately red-brick building. As they joined the others who were heading for the main entrance, Chris suddenly snapped her fingers.
“I just remembered that I have to stop off at my locker before homeroom. I have a math quiz first period, and I want to look over my notes before then.”
Susan just smiled. She was only too aware that math was her sister’s very best subject and that she would undoubtedly manage a perfect score on the quiz even without any last
-minute studying.
“Okay. See you later, then.”
“Hey, do me a favor, Sooz. See if you can think of any new ideas for the Halloween Dance, okay? Doughnuts and orange balloons may be fun, but I’m determined to come up with something unusual this year. I really meant it when I said I wanted to make this one dance that we’ll never forget!”
Little did Chris suspect, as she hurried off to the side entrance of the school that was closest to her locker, that it would, indeed, prove to be exactly that: a Halloween Dance that neither she nor her twin would ever forget.
Chapter Two
Even though it was still early, the halls of Whittington High were already crowded with students. Some were strolling over to their homerooms, obviously reluctant to begin another day of school on such a beautiful morning. Others stood in front of their lockers, sorting through textbooks and notebooks and sports equipment in an effort to get ready for a full day of classes. And still others were using the few minutes before the final warning bell to chat with their friends.
It was, in fact, the ideal time for stopping to have a quick conversation with someone one didn’t ordinarily ran into during the course of the normal school day. Katy Johnson was such a person. As Chris wove through the throngs of students, she spotted Katy talking to two of her girlfriends. Math notes were momentarily forgotten as she made a beeline for an old friend she saw only too rarely.
“Katy! Katy!” Chris called, edging over to the group.
The redheaded girl glanced up. As soon as she realized that it was Christine Pratt who was calling her name, her face lit up. After all, the two girls had known each other since kindergarten, when they had met discovering a shared passion for building the tallest towers possible out of colored wooden blocks.
“Well, if it isn’t Chris Pratt! I haven’t seen you in ages! How are you? Where have you been hiding yourself lately?”
Chris laughed. “I’m fine, Katy. And I’ve been busy with the usual things. You know me ... always twenty-five hours’ worth of things to get done in every twenty-four-hour period. How about you?”
The Pumpkin Principle Page 1