Ann Martin - Stacey And The Haunted Masquerade

to the fast songs, and then hold each other dose for the slow ones. It would be wonderful — wouldn't it?

I wasn't so sure. I couldn't ignore the fact that something was wrong. I had a bad feeling about this dance. It was almost as if someone had put a curse on it. And I couldn't shake the idea that unless I solved the mystery in time, the dance was going to be a disaster. Even the decorating committee was under the curse. Not only had our stuff been vandalized, but now Grace and Cokie weren't speaking to each other. Grace had found out that Cokie didn't believe in Ted and they'd had a huge fight. As a result, our meetings were a little more tense.

"Stacey! Heads up!" I looked up just in time to see Grace, who was standing on a stepladder, toss me a roll of purple crepe paper. I caught it with my free hand and held onto my end while she fastened the other end to a rafter. Meanwhile, Todd was securing the other end of the red roll to the wall over the main entrance. Rick and Cokie were setting up tables under one of the scoreboards, for punch and cookies. Mr. Rothman walked around, supervising and offering suggestions.

I looked at him out of the corner of my eye, trying not to be caught staring. Was he the Mike Rothman from the yearbook? If so, why hadn't he told us he'd attended SMS way back

when? Was he trying to hide something? "Mr. Rothman, Mr. Rothman!" Todd called.

"Can you help me over here?" "Sure, Todd. What can I do?" I watched as

Mr. Rothman walked to where Todd was

standing. "Take this end of the roll," Todd directed,

handing Mr. Rothman a new roll of red paper,

"and attach it up there." He pointed to a spot

on the other side of the gym. Grace had left

the ladder set up beneath it. "I'll hold this

end."

"Um, okay," said Mr. Rothman^ He started to walk toward the ladder, and then he

stopped. "Tell you what, Todd," he said.

"How about if you attach it?"

"Sure, no problem," said Todd. "You stand right here, then." Todd walked away from Mr. Rothman, unrolling the paper as he went. I looked back at Mr. Rothman just in time to see him wipe his brow. But it wasn't hot in the gym, not at all. In fact, it was downright chilly. Why was Mr. Rothman sweating?

I kept an eye on Mr. Rothman as he watched Todd climb the ladder, and suddenly, everything clicked into place. I saw the look on Mr. Rothman's face, and I knew why he hadn't wanted to climb that ladder. It was because he was afraid — make that terrified — of heights.

Just like the Mike Rothman whose file I'd seen in the basement.

That’s when I knew for sure that this Mike Rothman was the very same Mike Rothman who had been in the yearbook. And then and there, I decided it was time to find out more about what Mike Rothman knew.

I walked over to him. My mind was racing, but I couldn't figure out a clever way to bring up the subject. "Hi, Mr. Rothman."

"Hello, Stacey," he answered, smiling at me. "What’s on your mind?"

"Liz Connor," I said, without thinking. "Liz Connor is on my mind."

Mr. Rothman turned pale. For a second, I thought he was going to pass out. He let go of the crepe paper he was holding. "Liz Connor?" he said. "How do you know about Liz?"

That’s when I knew I had guessed right. He didn't try to deny anything, or make up ties about who he was. I was on my way to learning the truth. I took a deep breath, and explained what I knew so far. It didn't take long, since I didn't know much. I told him how I'd figured out his past, and then how I'd learned that a girl had been involved in that tragic dance long ago, and how my friends and I had figured out who the girl must be. (I sort of fudged the part about our explorations in the basement.) Then I told him about finding his

initials in the heart at Charlotte's house, and I saw him dose his eyes as if he were in pain.

'"That's it," I concluded. "That’s all I know. Now I need you to fill in the blanks."

He sighed. "I suppose it’s time," he said. "This story has been haunting me for twenty-eight years. Let’s go sit down, and I'll tell you all about it." He led me to a spot in the bleachers, away from everyone else. We sat together, and then he was quiet for a long time. I was about to ask him some questions, but finally he began to speak.

"I was on the football team," he said, in a faraway voice.

I pictured him in a helmet and uniform. That had been him in the yearbook.

"I was one of tile most popular kids in school," Mr. Rothman continued. "I was good-looking, I was fun to be with, and I was an excellent athlete." He looked at me. "I don't mean to sound stuck up, but it’s true. That’s just the way it was." He smiled a bittersweet smile. "The girls were crazy about me, but I didn't take advantage of that, the way some guys on the team did. My mother brought me up to be a gentleman, and that’s what I was. I dated, sure, but there was nobody special. And I treated all the girls with respect."

"What about Liz?" I asked. When was he going to answer my question?

"Liz," he said with a sigh. "Liz Connor was a shy girl. Quiet. Not giggly like the other girls. She wasn't popular. In fact, when she was noticed at all, it was only because somebody was making fun of her."

"But you noticed her," I prompted him.

"I was nice to her," he said. "I was nice to everybody. But since nobody else was nice to Liz, I guess it meant a lot to her. She developed a big crush on me — at least, according to the other kids. She didn't know they knew. She thought her crush was a secret. But it wasn't. It was a big joke to everybody."

"Oops," I said.

"It gets worse. See, when my friends on the football team heard that there was going to be a costume dance on the night before Halloween that year, they came up with a plan. They thought it would be hilarious if I asked Liz to the dance. They cornered me, and dared me to do it." He paused. "And then, just to up the ante, they bet me ten dollars that I wouldn't last the whole evening with her."

"But you refused, right?" I asked.

He shook his head sadly. "I wish I had. But being popular was so important to me. I knew it was wrong, but I did it anyway. I figured I'd ask her out, and tell her later about the bet. Maybe I'd even split the money with her.

I didn't realize how serious she was about me. I thought she'd think the whole thing was silly, just like I did."

"And?" I asked.

"I asked her to the dance, at school, in front of a bunch of my friends. She didn't have a clue that I wasn't being sincere. She was thrilled to be invited."

"Poor Liz," I said. I could just imagine how she felt. How could she know that was a joke?

"By the time the dance rolled around, I was feeling so guilty I could hardly stand it," Mr. Rothman continued. "I went to Liz's house to pick her up, and she came downstairs in this ridiculous, elaborate, babyish fairy princess costume. She looked pretty, but she looked about nine years old. I felt even worse when I saw her, because I knew the other kids were going to laugh at her costume. I realized then that there was no way I could tell her about the bet. I was just going to have to stick it out and hope for the best,"

I winced. "Didn't she know her costume was silly?"

He shook his head. "I'm sure she didn't. You should have seen her when we walked into the gym. Everybody was snickering and whispering, but she didn't notice a thing. She just took my arm and smiled up at me, and I

knew she was proud to be my date. I felt like the lowest of the low. I knew exactly what was going on, but Liz was oblivious. One girl, sort of a friend of hers, walked by and hissed into my ear 'How dare you?' It was awful."

"Did you stick it out?" I asked. "Did you win the ten dollars?" I knew my tone was nasty, but I felt angry at that Mike Rothman of so long ago.