Of All the Stupid Things (17 page)

“Throw water on them,” someone yells over the noise.

I dig into my bag and pull out the bottle of Sprite I bought earlier. Shaking it quickly, I open it up and spray the girls.

They both shriek. For a second it looks like they’re going to attack me for spraying them, but as soon as they separate, David grabs Whitney Blaire and one of the weirdos holds on to Riley.

I gasp as they straighten up. In Riley’s hand is a chunk of hair, but her face is also lined with four scratches, one of which is bleeding. Whitney Blaire, for the first time in the ten years I’ve known her, is a mess. The hair that looked perfect a few minutes ago now resembles a rat’s nest. Her face is red and blotchy. Her shirt is ripped so much that the entire left cup of her Victoria’s Secret bra is exposed. I want to hug her and take her to the school nurse, but it’s taking all of David’s strength to hold her back from attacking Riley again.

“You owe me a new shirt, you skank,” Whitney Blaire calls out.

Riley blows the hair out of her eyes. “Bite me, Blaire.”

Whitney Blaire lunges forward, but David keeps his grip on her.

“This isn’t over, slut,” she shouts.

“Whitney Blaire!” I gasp, but no one notices. Everyone is suddenly scattering. The weirdo leads Riley away and David takes Whitney Blaire quickly in the other direction.

“Banshee,” David hisses. I glance over my shoulder and sure enough Mrs. Bensche is on her way. I quickly put the Sprite back in my bag and scurry to catch up with them.

We dart through the hallways and finally go into the classroom we use for the Honor Society.

“Are you okay?” I ask Whitney Blaire as soon as it’s clear we’re not going to get caught. “Are you hurt? Should we take you to the nurse or the first-aid station?”

“No,” she grumbles, but accepts the wet wipe I hand her. “That was wrong, spraying us with soda.”

“What was that all about?” David asks. He has finally released his grip but has kept an arm around Whitney Blaire’s shoulders. “I suddenly get this text saying ‘WB Riley catfight.’”

“She started it,” Whitney Blaire mumbles. I meet David’s eye and slightly shake my head no. “I mean, she’s been after Brent from the start. She pretends to be Tara’s friend—”

“Tara!” I gasp. I suddenly remember why we were talking to Brent to begin with.

“What about Tara?” David asks.

“She’s missing. Tara and her mom. They’re gone, vanished. Anything could have happened to them. We have to go to the police.” I’m at the door when I realize David and Whitney Blaire are still sitting down.

David leans back on the chair, his arm still around Whitney Blaire. “Are you sure they’re not at home?”

“Of course I am.” But of course I’m not. They could have come home. They could have been home all along, had the car in the shop, and just didn’t feel like answering the phone. “I’m going over again.”

“I’ll take care of Whitney.” David grins.

“No, I’m going too.” Whitney Blaire walks over and takes her bag from me.

David gets up slowly and puts his hands in his pockets. “Call me and let me know she’s okay.”

I wave to him and hurry to the car. I start driving away as fast as I dare without being reckless. When the road opens up a bit, I press the gas to just under 40 mph and hope there aren’t any cops around.

I focus hard on the road. I don’t want to think about all the bad things that could have happened to Tara: mugged, kidnapped, murdered. When she wasn’t at school on Monday, I should have gone straight to the police. What if she’s done something tragic? What if her love for Brent was more than she could take? What if she—?

No. I can’t think about that. I can’t think about what will happen if we get to their house and find Tara dead.

Pinkie, I tell myself. Remember the road. Remember you’re driving. I take a deep breath.

I dart quick glances at Whitney Blaire, who is primping in front of a real mirror now. She shifts her clothes and suddenly the ripped shirt looks like a vintage off-the-shoulder top. She ruffles up her hair, showing no evidence of a bald spot. Now it looks intentionally messy, yet sexy. I don’t know how she manages it.

I pull up to Tara’s house. The car is still missing.

I knock twice and then ring the bell. The sound echoes through the house, sounding eerily loud. Usually the dog starts barking, but maybe he’s asleep. Whitney Blaire looks through the window before ringing again. I peer from behind her. Nothing moves inside the house. Whitney Blaire tries the handle. It’s locked, of course.

“Let’s go around the back.” She leads the way as I peek through the windows. We go through the gate and then I watch my steps to make sure I don’t step in any dog turds. Whitney Blaire checks the back door. It’s locked too.

“There’s got to be a key somewhere.” She starts looking around, under the flowerpots and some stones. I lift up the doormat. There’s a semi-rusted key there. I try it in the lock, and after wiggling it a bit the door opens.

I grab Whitney Blaire’s hand. I don’t want to go in alone.

“Tara?” I call out from the doorway. I quickly remember to close the door so the dog doesn’t get out, but then I realize that the dog wasn’t sleeping; there isn’t a dog or anyone in the house. There’s a bowl in the sink, its contents cemented to the sides. The blender is also in the sink, filled up with dirty water. The film on top is starting to mold. It smells like rotten bananas and milk.

“No one’s here.” Whitney Blaire points out what I already know. “They’ve been gone for days.”

“But where?” I ask. “Tara would have mentioned if she and her mom were going away, especially since they never go anywhere. Maybe someone died and they rushed off for the funeral? But they obviously thought they would be back soon, or they would have at least rinsed out the blender. She loves that blender. She wouldn’t let mold grow on it.”

“Breathe, Pink,” Whitney Blaire orders.

I take several deep breaths and release them slowly.

A mischievous grin spreads across Whitney Blaire’s face. “C’mon, let’s look around.”

“Whitney Blaire, we really shouldn’t. We’re breaking and entering.” I wring my hands as I frantically look around.

Whitney Blaire raises her eyebrows. “What if I find them upstairs?”

I gulp. I hadn’t wanted to think that! But someone has to make sure. Whitney Blaire is already halfway up the stairs. I let her go up by herself. I stay in the kitchen where it’s safe, though I’m not sure about that. Maybe they’ve been kidnapped and are being held for ransom. I know it does sometimes happen in real life. But that doesn’t make sense. Kidnappers go for rich people, don’t they? I don’t know what Mrs. Hopkins earns, but I know it’s not much. I don’t see any blood, so they weren’t abducted. I remind myself that the dog is missing too. Nobody bothers taking a dog hostage, do they?

I look around for something that might give us some clues and notice the answering machine blinking. I hesitate. Somehow, listening to the messages seems more intrusive than entering the house. I don’t want to, but I’m freaking out. It’s for Tara’s sake, I tell myself.

I press
PLAY
. “Hi Tara, it’s me, Pin—” I skip my own message and go on to the next one.

“C’mon, Tara baby, don’t be like this. What we’ve got is something special. I need you, you’re my everything. Call me.”

I want to delete Brent’s message, but I know that’s not right. I just hope Tara isn’t desperate enough to try and get him back. Maybe that’s it. Maybe Tara wants to go back with him and Mrs. Hopkins has taken her away to help clear her mind. I imagine for a second Tara handcuffed to a hotel bed while Mrs. Hopkins keeps the phone out of reach. Then I tell myself to get real. That would be my torture, not Tara’s. Tara doesn’t care enough about phones to be bothered if she can’t call someone.

Another message from me and then the next two let Mrs. Hopkins know she has been preapproved to lower her monthly payments by 33 percent. There’s one from a neighbor asking to borrow a candy-making cookbook; I think it’s the wrong number. Some woman named Joan left her new address. A few more messages from me (had I really left that many?), and then finally one that says something important.

“Linda, it’s Marilyn Dawli. Human Resources informed me that they received a call from you saying that you are taking a few days off. While I understand these are unplanned circumstances, please note that this is not acceptable behavior. Being that it is not a medical emergency and you did not give prior notification, this falls under unexcused absences. Although we are not in any position to dismiss you, please bear in mind that we will discuss this behavior upon your return. If you feel the need to contact me, my number is…” I skip to the next one, but there is nothing else important, just more messages from me. (Was I really that obsessive that I had to leave seven messages? At the time I thought it showed concern, but when I listen to them on the machine they seem so desperate.)

I feel bad listening to Mrs. Hopkins’s private messages, but at least it calms me down to know that they weren’t kidnapped and didn’t disappear into thin air. Mrs. Hopkins had at least called to say that she wasn’t going to work, so that seems to be all right. I delete four of my messages (three is a good number, right?), but then I leave Tara a new message telling her to call me as soon as she gets in. I mean, I really am worried and I don’t want Tara to think that I didn’t think about her while she was gone.

I call Whitney Blaire down. I hear her close a cupboard door and I know she was snooping in the medicine cabinet. (I don’t know why she bothered. There’re only herbal balms, Chinese tinctures, and homeopathic remedies in there.)

“Nothing up here,” she says when she makes her way down the stairs.

“I think they got called out of town suddenly. I left a message for Tara to call when they get in.”

We take a final look around before I lead the way out. I lock the door and put the key back under the mat.

I start driving toward town when a familiar car passes me going the other direction.

“That’s them, that’s them.” I point.

Whitney Blaire looks behind her. “Quick, turn around.”

I look for somewhere to pull into but there’s not even an intersection. “I can’t yet.”

Whitney Blaire suddenly reaches over and yanks the steering wheel up. I scream as the car spins. I slam on the brakes and the car jerks to a stop and then stalls. It takes me a few moments to realize we’re okay, the car is okay, but we’re right in the middle of the road. Still in shock, I inch our way to the shoulder. I sound like an asthmatic as my breath comes out in bursts.

“Whitney. Louise. Blaire. Don’t you
ever
do that to me again.”

She gives me an innocent look, but her eyes are shining with excitement. “What? At least we’re in the right direction now.”

“Never. Again.” I stare at her long and hard so she knows I’m serious.

She crosses her heart like we did in elementary to promise. “Sorry. Never again.”

I take a few more seconds to subdue the massive amount of adrenaline racing through my body before starting off back to Tara’s.

They’re still in the car when we park on the street in front of the house. They turn to look at us and slowly start getting out of the car. With some of the adrenaline still pumping, I burst toward them.

The dog leaps out of the car and right away I notice he’s the only one that’s happy. Both Tara and Mrs. Hopkins look like they haven’t slept in days. Their clothes are dirty and smell like they have been wearing them for a long time. I wrap Tara in a hug. She hugs me back. Through her coat, I can feel her back muscles and her spine. I pull away. It isn’t my imagination. Tara has lost weight, and from the looks of it, so has Mrs. Hopkins. I don’t stop myself from hugging her too.

Part of me thinks Whitney Blaire and I should leave. Something awful has happened to them and they probably want to be on their own after being away from home for so many days. But I’m not sure whether they’ll be okay alone.

“Thank you, Pinkie, that is very nice of you.” Mrs. Hopkins returns the hug and kisses my forehead.

Whitney Blaire puts an arm around Tara in a half hug, which Tara returns in the same way. “So, where’ve you been?”

“Are you okay?” I ask, looking from Tara to her mom. “We’ve been so worried.”

“Let’s go inside. I could do with a strong cup of tea.”

“Here, I’ll help you with the bags, Mrs. Hopkins.” I take the plastic bags from her hands. Glancing in them, I see an empty toothbrush packet, a small bag of dog food, and a Burger King wrapper. I must be seeing things, because unless Burger King has gone healthy, Tara and her mom would never eat there. I don’t want to be rude and take a closer look into the bags, so I convince myself I’m just seeing things. I give one bag to Whitney Blaire to carry and right away she takes a peek inside. Tara and Mrs. Hopkins don’t even notice. With my empty hand, I squeeze Tara’s hand. She turns to me and tries to smile. It doesn’t work. She still hasn’t said a word.