CHAPTER 4 JUMPED FROM BEHIND

April Blair knew she was trapped.

She backed helplessly into the corner and awaited her fate.

“Oh, no! Stop!” she cried, raising her hands to protect herself.

But her two sisters, Courtney and Whitney, the Terror Twins, as April called them, closed in on her. Giggling madly, Courtney held April’s hands, while Whitney dived and began a ferocious tickling attack.

“Stop! Stop!” April cried through tears of laughter.

The two blond-haired, round-cheeked, six-year-old monsters knew that April was extremely ticklish, and they made the most of their knowledge.

“I can’t breathe!” April gasped, sinking to the floor. “Really! I can’t breathe!”

That only encouraged them.

April tried to roll away from them, but Whitney quickly jumped on her, pinning her against the straw mat that partially covered the living-room floor. Courtney continued her attack, concentrating on the most sensitive spot—the back of April’s neck.

April was squealing with helpless fury when Mrs. Blair burst into the room, loaded down with shopping bags. “April—what are you doing?” she asked, sighing as she set the heavy bags down.

Mom certainly has a flair for asking the obvious, April thought. “I’m being tickled,” she answered.

“We’re monsters,” Whitney explained, still straddling April’s back, her yellow sneakers digging into April’s sides.

“I know that,” Mrs. Blair said sarcastically. “But, April, why aren’t you helping? There’s still plenty to unload from the car.”

“Sorry,” April said quickly, trying unsuccessfully to unload her little sister. “They won’t let me help.”

“April, you’re ten years older than they are,” Mrs. Blair said impatiently. “Why do you let them push you around the way you do?”

“Mom—” April cried, turning it into a three-syllable word. “They’ve got me outnumbered, you know?”

“Yeah!” Courtney agreed and resumed tickling April’s neck.

“You haven’t even opened any windows,” her mother wailed. “It’s so stuffy in here, April. The house has been closed up all winter. At least you could open the windows and let some fresh air in.”

“She can’t get up,” Whitney said, pushing April’s head against the straw mat.

“You girls are old enough to help too,” Mrs. Blair said, hoisting the shopping bags.

“No, we’re not. We’re only six,” Courtney insisted.

“You have a smart mouth, young lady,” their mother said, exasperated.

“So do I!” insisted Whitney. “I’m smart too.”

Mrs. Blair laughed. “Get up and help your father unload the car. You know, we didn’t come all the way from Shadyside to roll around on a dusty floor. The sooner we get unpacked, the sooner we can get to the beach.”

Whitney gave April a final push and jumped to her feet. “Let’s go to the beach now,” she demanded.

“Yeah!” echoed her twin, tugging April’s hand, trying to pull her to her feet.

April groaned and stood up. “I’m going to need a vacation after a summer with these two!” she declared, dusting off her tennis shorts and sleeveless top, which had started out white but were now gray and streaked with dirt.

“Oh, I imagine you’ll be spending all of your time with Matt,” her mother called from the back bedroom. “We won’t see you all summer—as usual.”

“Let’s go to the beach,” Courtney demanded, tugging on April’s hand.

“Ow!” April broke away from her little sister and hurried to the back bedroom to confront her mother. “Don’t start in about Matt,” she said heatedly. She blew a strand of straight honey blond hair off her forehead.

“I didn’t say a word about Matt,” Mrs. Blair said defensively. “It’s just that—”

“Just that what?” April demanded. “Go ahead. Say it.”

“It’s just that I thought we’d have a nice family vacation,” her mother said, avoiding April’s stare as she made the bed. “And that maybe you’d meet a bunch of nice new kids here at Sandy Hollow. Instead of hanging around with the same kids you hang around with back in Shadyside.”

“You mean Matt and Todd,” April said angrily.

“Calm down. Sshh,” Mrs. Blair said, raising a finger to her lips. “I guess I was disappointed that Matt and his family decided to summer here again.”

“What’s wrong with Matt?” April demanded, unable to calm down. “We’ve been going together more than a year, and—”

“April—we’ve had this discussion before,” her mother said with a hint of weariness in her voice. “Matt is perfectly okay. He’s very nice, actually. Especially compared to a lot of the boys you’ve brought home.”

“Gee, thanks,” April said sarcastically.

“It’s just that he’s—well, you know, a little immature for you, don’t you think? I mean, he’s only interested in sports, video games, and horror movies. Don’t you think you should look around? Find someone with more intelligent interests? I mean—”

“You’re right, Mom,” April said curtly. “We’ve had this discussion before.” She turned and strode quickly from the room.

“April—where are you going?” Mrs. Blair called after her, realizing she had gone too far, said too much.

“To help Dad,” April called back from the hallway. And then peevishly added: “That’s what you wanted—isn’t it?”

• • • • •

April spent the rest of the afternoon helping her parents. There was so much to do at the summer house—unloading the car, unpacking all the bags, airing out the stuffy rooms, cleaning the house, buying food and supplies—and fighting with Courtney and Whitney.

As the sun lowered behind the dunes, Mr. Blair made the first barbecue of the season. Hot dogs and hamburgers sizzled on the grill, the smoke trailing over the tall reeds bending in the breeze.

Mr. Blair lived to barbecue. It was about the only thing at the beach he did like. He had delicate, fair skin, so he avoided the beach for the most part. He was happy to lie in a hammock and read, waiting for evening so he could barbecue.

After dinner April excused herself and hurried upstairs to change. Glancing at the clock on her small antique dressing table, she saw that she was already late. She had arranged to meet Matt in town at seven-thirty.

He’d better wait for me, she told herself, pulling off her shorts and tossing them on the floor. Then she searched the closet for a pair of denim cutoffs.

“Why do you let your sisters push you around?”

Suddenly her mother’s words from that afternoon came back to April.

“Because it’s easier than fighting with them,” April answered the question.

“Because it’s always easier to give in, not to fight with people.

“Because I’m a pushover.”

All of these answers seemed right to April. And wrong.

She brushed her straight blond hair, her emerald green eyes staring back at her from the scratched dressing-table mirror.

Am I really such a pushover? she asked herself, examining her face in the spotted mirror. She liked what she saw—for the most part. If only her nose were a little longer. She wasn’t as pretty as her sisters, but she was okay.

I’m not going to be a pushover about Matt, she decided, pulling her brush through her hair one last time before standing up.

I’m not going to let Mom put him down anymore.

Matt is a great guy. I’m glad he’s going to be at Sandy Hollow too. We’re going to have a really awesome summer together.

She waved good-bye to her parents, who were still on the deck in back, playing some kind of leapfrog game with the Twin Terrors. Then she headed around to the front of the house and, half walking, half jogging, headed along Beach Haven Drive toward town.

Beach Haven Drive.

She had to laugh. It was such a fancy name for what was nothing more than a narrow, unpaved path.

It was about a ten-minute walk from the cluster of summer cottages, past a sandy patch lined with tall reeds, then flat, grassy fields dotted with an occasional oak or willow tree, to the small town.

Following the path, April was only about five minutes from her house when someone leapt out of the shadows of the tall reeds and grabbed her roughly from behind.

Date: 2015-04-20; view: 700