My Name Is Evil (9 page)

I hurried home. The house was dark except for the front hall light.

I found a note from Mom stuck to the fridge. It said that she was called for emergency room duty. She'd be at the hospital all night. The note ended: “Hope you danced up a storm! Love, Mom.”

Well … there was a storm, all right! I thought bitterly.

Then I realized: If Mom is on emergency room duty, she'll probably see Jilly come in. And she'll get the whole horrible story from Jilly.

Will Jilly blame me in front of my own mother?

With a weary groan I tossed the bag with my ballet slippers onto the kitchen counter. I suddenly realized I was still in my tights and leotard. I pulled open the fridge, grabbed a diet soda, and hurried up to my room to get changed.

I pulled on a long, woolly nightshirt and a pair of heavy, warm white socks. I was standing in front of my dresser mirror, absently running a brush through my hair, thinking …

What is going on?

So many strange, horrible things had happened in the past few days. Since my birthday … since the fortune-teller read my hand.

Glen's lawn mower out of control. Poor Chirpy. Judy's cat attacking me. Then losing all his fur. And Jilly … falling down the stairs at school … twirling out of control onstage … and accusing me … accusing me!

Such an ugly jumble of pictures in my mind.

Was it possible that I was causing these things to happen? Was it possible the fortune-teller had seen the truth about me?

No … no … no …

There's no such thing as evil powers.

I was still gazing into the mirror when the phone rang.

It must be Jackie or Judy to tell me how Jilly is doing, I decided.

My heart started to pound. I had a sudden, heavy feeling of dread in my stomach.

What if she isn't okay?

What if her injuries were worse than everyone thought?

I grabbed the phone, pressed it to my ear, and uttered a tense, “Hello?”

“Hello, Sugar?”

Not the voice I expected to hear. Through heavy static, I recognized the voice of my dad.

“Sugar? It's me.”

I absolutely hate the fact that he always calls me Sugar or some other cutesy name. He never calls me by my name. Sometimes I think it's because he doesn't remember it!

“Hi, Dad.”

“Am I calling too late?”

“No. It's only eleven,” I said, glancing at my bed table clock. “Where are you?”

“I'm in the car,” he replied, shouting over the static. “On the freeway. Not a very good connection.” He said something else, but a loud buzz covered it up.

“How's your mother?” he asked when the buzzing stopped.

“Okay,” I said. “She's at work.”

“Sorry I missed your birthday, Punkin,” he said.

It's only the tenth birthday in a row that you've missed! I thought.

But I said, “That's okay.”

“Did you—” More static drowned out his question.

“What did you say, Daddy?” I shouted, pressing the phone tighter against my ear. “This horrible connection—”

“Did you get my present?” he repeated.

“No,” I said. “Not yet.”

I knew he hadn't sent a present. No way. He didn't even remember to call!

“Keep watching for it,” he said, followed by more static. “What's new at school, Sugar? Tell me some news.”

I hunched down on the edge of my bed. “Well … I had a tryout tonight, and it looks as if I'll be in the new town dance company.”

A long pause. “Dance company? Really?” he asked. “I didn't know you were into dance.”

Only my whole life!

“Yeah. I'm really into it,” I said.

“I'm sorry. This is such a bad connection, Punkin. I'd better say good night.”

“I—I'm glad you called,” I shouted over the static.

And then—I had to ask.

I don't know why. I knew it was totally crazy. I knew Dad would only think I was weird.

But I had to. I had to ask while I had him on the phone.

I stood up. “Can I ask you a question, and you promise not to laugh at me?” I shouted.

“What?” he replied. “Oh, yeah. Okay. Go ahead.”

“Dad … is there something strange about me? Do I have some kind of weird powers?”

A burst of static on the other end. I pressed the phone tighter to my ear.

What did he say? What was his answer?

“I can't talk about it.”

Is that what he said?

That couldn't be it—could it?

No. I didn't hear him right.

“Dad? Dad?” I cried. “Are you still there? What did you say?”

Silence.

“Dad? Dad?”

Silence.

The connection was lost.

I stared at the phone. I knew I hadn't heard correctly. I knew I got it wrong.

“I can't talk about it.”

No. No way.

What kind of an answer was that?

Before school the next morning I ran into Glen at his locker. “How's it going?” I asked.

“Okay.” He slammed the locker door shut.

I shifted my backpack on my shoulder. “Where are you headed? What's your first class?”

He glanced nervously from side to side, as if searching for someone else to talk to. “Music Appreciation,” he said. “Hey, I gotta go.” He hoisted his backpack up by the straps with one hand and hurried away.

He was so unfriendly.

He seemed afraid of me, I realized.

Across the hall I saw Deena and Marci staring at me. They looked away when I waved to them. But I made my way over to them.

“Hey—hi!”

I was still thinking about how unfriendly Glen had been. But I tried to sound cheerful. “I like your vest,” I told Marci. “Cool color.”

Marci didn't reply. She glanced at Deena.

“Did you hear anything about Jilly?” Deena asked.

“Not yet,” I said. I gazed down the hall. “I'll ask one of her sisters when they get here.”

They both nodded coldly. Then they turned and started to walk away.

“That was so horrible last night,” I called after them.

Marci spun around to face me. Her pale cheeks reddened. Her eyes burned into mine. “Why did Jilly say that stuff about you last night, Maggie?”

I swallowed. “Excuse me?”

“Why did Jilly blame you for what happened? Why did she say you were evil?”

“I don't know!” I cried shrilly. “I don't know why she said that! I really don't! You've got to believe me!”

They both just stared at me. As if I were some kind of lab specimen or strange creature from another planet.

They didn't say another word. They turned and hurried away.

I stood there in the middle of the hall, breathing hard, my heart racing. I felt so bad. I could feel hot tears on my cheeks.

Did Marci and Deena believe what Jilly said?

Did Glen think I did something to Jilly so that I'd make the dance company?

How could they think such a crazy, horrible thing?

When I spotted Jackie striding down the hall, I was so happy to see a friendly face. I wanted to grab her and hug her.

Wiping the tears away with both hands, I ran toward her. “Jackie—hi! How is Jilly?” I called.

She shrugged. “I guess she's okay,” she said. “I mean, it could have been a lot worse.”

“What did the doctors say?” I asked breathlessly.

Jackie sighed. “Well … she has a badly sprained ankle. And two bruised ribs.”

“Oh, wow. Is she … is she home?” I asked.

Jackie shook her head, her long, black hair tumbling out from beneath her purple down coat. “Not yet. The doctors want to keep an eye on her a little while longer. They said maybe this afternoon.”

She unzipped the coat and crossed the hall to her locker. “It's just so weird,” she said. “How could she spin out of control like that? It's crazy!”

“I—I want to see her,” I stammered.

Jackie had opened the locker. She was kneeling to pull some books from the bottom. But she turned and gazed up at me. “Not a good idea,” she said, frowning.

I opened my mouth to say something, but the words caught in my throat.

“She blames you,” Jackie said, standing up. “She thinks you cast a spell on her or something. To make her spin out of control.”

“But that's totally insane!” I screamed.

A group of kids turned to stare at me.

“Of course it is,” Jackie said. She sighed again. “But Jilly keeps talking about that fortune-teller at the carnival. She keeps saying the fortune-teller wasn't joking. The fortune-teller told the truth. Jilly says what happened to her last night proves it.”

“But—but—” I sputtered.

“The doctors tried to explain to Jilly,” Jackie continued. “They tried to tell her she probably got carried away last night by the excitement of the dance tryout. She wanted to show everyone what a great dancer she is, and she just lost control.”

“Yes. That explains it,” I said in a whisper. My throat suddenly felt so tight and dry.

“But Jilly isn't buying it,” Jackie said. “Jilly says she could feel a force—a really strong force—making her spin. She says she tried desperately to stop. But she couldn't. She couldn't stop no matter what she did! Something was forcing her to spin!”

I grabbed Jackie's shoulder. “You don't believe that—do you?”

Jackie shook her head. “I don't know what to believe,” she muttered. She raised her eyes sadly to me. “I guess I should tell you. There's more.”

“Huh? More?” I realized I was holding my breath.

“Judy isn't in school,” she said softly. “She and Mom had to take Plumper to the animal hospital this morning.”

“Oh, no,” I whispered.

“The cat lost his fur. On his back. Where Judy says you petted him. And now he's getting big red and purple sores all over his back.”

“No …” I repeated. I grabbed Jackie's arm. “You don't believe that's my fault, too—do you? I mean, Judy doesn't blame me for that. She can't. She can't!”

Jackie started to reply. But the bell rang. It was right above our heads, and the jarring electronic buzz made me jump a mile.

Jackie closed her locker and clicked the lock. “Gotta run,” she said. “I'm sorry about all this, Maggie. But—”

“Can I come over after school?” I asked desperately. “You and I could study together. Or just talk. Or—”

“Not a good idea right now,” she replied. “Maybe I should come to your house instead.”

So after school Jackie and I walked to my house together.

We talked about our classes. And our teachers. And a movie Jackie had seen. And about guys in our class.

We talked about everything except Judy and Jilly. I think we both wanted to pretend that none of the bad, frightening stuff from the last week had happened.

In the kitchen I grabbed a bag of pretzels, a couple of apples, and some cans of Sprite. And Jackie and I made our way up to my room.

“I need to see your government notes,” I told her. “I know we're supposed to write down everything Mr. McCally says. But I can't listen to him. He puts me right to sleep.”

“I think I have the notes with me,” Jackie said. “But—first things first.” Her eyes lit up as she crossed the room to my dresser and began going through my cosmetics collection. “You're so lucky, Maggie,” she said. “Mom won't let us have any of this stuff.”

I tore open the pretzel bag and pulled out a handful. “The new stuff is in the top drawer,” I told her.

“Yesss!” Jackie cried happily.

She pulled open the top dresser drawer. Began to paw inside. And then I saw her expression change.

Her smile faded. Her eyes bulged.

She gripped the sides of the drawer with both hands.

And opened her mouth in a horrified scream.

“Jackie—! What is it? What is it?” I shrieked.

Jackie let out another high scream.

Her face distorted—in horror, in shock—she reached into the drawer.