Todd Strasser - Wish You Were Dead

Dave beamed. “Yeah, you know, I thought it would be funny? And I wanted it to be funny? But I was also being serious. Does that make sense?” “I guess so.”

He grew quiet, and I wondered if he was practicing every sentence in his head before he said it. Then he said, “Okay, Madison, the truth is, being a dweeb really sucks. And now you’re going to say, ‘But Dave, you’re not a dweeb.’ ” I laughed again. “And then what do you say?”

“I insist I’m a dweeb and then we get into a big argument over whether I’m a dweeb or not.” “Who wins?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it ends with a standoff. Or a dweeboff. Only I don’t know what a dweeboff is and I only said it because I thought it might sound funny, and if it sounded funny, maybe you’d think I was cool, only we’ve already established that I can’t be cool.” He took off his glasses and cleaned them with the tail of his shirt.

“Did anyone ever tell you that you look a little bit like Michael J. Fox—the actor from Back to the Future , remember?” The unexpected burst of laughter from Dave’s lips was loud enough that people around the library looked up from what they were doing. Dave ducked down behind the National Geographic . “Wow, Madison,” he whispered, “your credibility just went straight down the toilet.” “I don’t think so. I bet if I’ve noticed, other people have, too.” “Oh, yeah,” he said. “At least a dozen people a day. And that’s not counting all the people who tell me I look like Zac Efron and Kevin Jonas. I’m telling you, Madison, with all the attention I get, sometimes it’s hard just being me.” “Are you always this funny?” I asked.

“Well, actually, no.”

We both chuckled, then grew quiet. I waited to see if he had anything more to say, but he didn’t. “Well, guess I better get to work.” I got up, then turned to look at him.

Dave was squinting up at me. Only now he didn’t look quite as much like Michael J. Fox. “Thanks, Madison,” he said.

After school, Laurie drove them home. As they turned the corner, Sharon saw the dark green sedan parked in her driveway. “Pull over!” Laurie pulled her car to the curb and gave Sharon a quizzical look. Panic swept over Sharon. She felt as if her temperature had just risen five degrees. She bit her lip until it hurt. “Tell me that isn’t an unmarked police car.” Lest there be any doubt, the Costellos’ front door opened and a thin man with a blond moustache walked down the path to the car and got in.

“Oh, God,” Sharon groaned. Her insides turned upside down. She was certain she’d been busted. That little creep Maura had narced on her. She was totally screwed.

The dark green sedan backed out of the driveway and started in their direction.

“Duck!” Sharon gasped, and hunched down beneath the dashboard. She looked up at Laurie, who hadn’t budged. “Come on!” Laurie didn’t move. “What are you doing? He’ll see us!” “He’s gone,” Laurie said calmly.

Sharon poked her head up over the dashboard just enough to see. The street was empty. She slid back up to the passenger seat. “What’s wrong with you?” Laurie gave her a droll look. “Would you chill, please?” “You don’t think that was a detective?” Sharon asked. “You don’t think they asked Maura in the hospital where she got the ketamine? You don’t think my parents are going to kill me the second I walk into my house?” “You don’t know,” Laurie replied.

Sharon flipped open her cell phone and called Maura’s house. She wouldn’t be able to say anything over the phone because Maura had warned her that her mother listened in on her conversations, and Maura had to be the only teenager in the world without a cell phone. A woman answered.

Sharon made an effort to sound friendly. “Hi, is Maura there? This is her friend Sharon from school.” A moment later Maura got on. “Hello?”

“Hi, I have that book Mr. Osmond asked us to read,” Sharon said. “I’m not far from your house and this would be a good time for me to drop it off.” The line went quiet and Sharon held her breath. If Maura had anything more than the brains of a toadstool she’d understand that Sharon wanted to see her.

“Okay,” Maura whispered.

Sharon made Laurie drive her to Maura’s place. Maura came out wearing a stained white sweatshirt with a tear in the collar. What a loser , Sharon thought as she opened the car window. In a low voice she said, “You told the police where you got the Special K?” Maura looked surprised. “No, I didn’t.”

“They didn’t ask you at the hospital?”

“They did, but I said I’d had it for a long time and couldn’t remember where I got it.” That was a smart answer, but it sounded too smart for Maura.

“You’re lying,” Sharon said.

“No, I’m not.”

“Then why was there a detective at my house just now?”

Maura frowned. “How would I know?”

Sharon stared at her uncertainly. “If I find out you’re lying, I will kick the crap out of you.” She turned to Laurie. “Let’s go.” Laurie started to drive. “Think she was telling the truth?” Sharon asked.

“Yes.”

“Then why was that detective at my house?”

“Why don’t you go find out?”

On the way home, Sharon’s insides began twisting again. She was surprised at how terrified she was of getting in trouble with the police and amazed to discover that she was equally afraid of what her parents would do. Suddenly her big plan of going to San Francisco felt like nothing more than a crazy fantasy. How could she have believed that she’d go all that way alone? Where would she live? What would she do? How would she support herself?

They pulled into her driveway. Sharon began to tremble from fright. She turned to Laurie. “Would you come in with me?” Laurie nodded.

“Promise me you won’t leave unless everything’s okay?” Sharon asked.

Laurie put her hand on Sharon’s. “I promise.”

Friday 8:43 A.M.

THEY PUT NEW tires on the Audi. In the morning when I got in, I noticed something on the passenger-side floor and felt my breath catch. It was another folded plain white napkin. With shaky hands I unfolded it:

PEOPLE ARE STILL IN DANGER. WE NEED TO MEET AND TALK. YOU HAVE TO LET ME KNOW THAT I CAN TRUST YOU.

The Audi had been locked and the windows closed. It would have been impossible to slide the note in. Since no one had touched the car since it had come back from the garage, that meant someone had put the note in it between the time the tires were slashed and the car was returned to our house.

I glanced at the dashboard clock. If I wanted to get a coffee before I picked up Courtney, I’d have to get going. It wasn’t long before I was parked in Courtney’s driveway, sipping my café macchiato and waiting for her to come out. But my thoughts were mostly on the note. How could I let the writer know I was trustworthy if I didn’t know who he or she was? But something else bothered me. Everyone wants to think that they’re trustworthy, so naturally, if someone asks you to prove it, you want to. But what if this was a trap? Maybe I didn’t want to be trustworthy for this person. I found myself wondering what Tyler would say. Tyler saw things differently. I wished he was there in the car with me. I wanted to know what he’d think.

I glanced at the clock and realized five minutes had passed. Where was Courtney? Her house looked dark and quiet, but it always looked that way. I called her on my cell phone but only got her message.

Had she overslept? Of all the wild and irresponsible things Courtney was apt to do, this wasn’t one of them. Not that she was compulsive about being on time; she just didn’t seem to need much sleep.