Cracking Up

Standing on the front stoop, Bobbi stared into the yellow light of the front hallway. Jennifer held the door open, her face filled with surprise.

“Bobbi—what’s the matter?”

“Oh . . . uh . . .” Bobbi stammered. “Nothing. I . . . thought I forgot my gloves.”

Jennifer’s face relaxed. She settled back in her wheelchair. She wheeled herself back a few inches, still gripping the doorknob. “Do you want to come in and look for them?”

“No,” Bobbi replied quickly. “I just remembered I didn’t bring any gloves. Sorry.”

Jennifer laughed. “You’re really in a state, aren’t you?” “Yeah. I guess.” Bobbi felt totally embarrassed. And confused.

And worried.

Jennifer was in her wheelchair, a small blanket over her lap. Why had Bobbi imagined that she’d seen her pacing back and forth across the window?

Had Bobbi imagined it all, imagined the moving shadow, imagined the dark figure walking across the living room?

What’s wrong with me? Bobbi asked herself, saying good night to Jennifer again and trudging back down the gravel driveway.

Her breath rose in puffs of white steam against the cold night air.

But Bobbi didn’t feel the cold.

In fact, she felt hot. Feverish. Her forehead throbbed, a sharp pain just behind her eyes.

Why am I seeing things?

Am I seeing things?

Am I cracking up? Really cracking up?

The headlights seemed to skip and dance as she drove through the silent darkness back to her house on Fear Street. The house was dark except for the porch light. She realized everyone must have gone to bed.

Tossing her jacket onto the banister, she hurried up to her bedroom and, without turning on the light, shook Corky awake.

“Huh?” Corky cried out, frightened, and sat up stiffly.

“It’s me,” Bobbi whispered. “Wake up.”

“You scared me to death!” Corky cried angrily. She never liked to be awakened.

Bobbi clicked on the bedside lamp. “I saw Jennifer walk!” she blurted out.

Corky yawned. “Huh?”

“I think I saw Jennifer walk. I’m not sure, but—”

“What time is it?” Corky asked crankily. “You must have been dreaming.”

“No. I wasn’t asleep,” Bobbi insisted. “I was standing outside her house. I saw shadows.”

Corky stretched, turned, and lowered her feet to the floor. She brushed a strand of blond hair from over her eyes. “You saw shadows?” Her face filled with concern. “Bobbi, I’m really worried about you.”

“No! Really! I saw her,” Bobbi said, not realizing that she was almost shouting. She stood over her sister, her hands knotted tensely in front of her, feeling hot and trembly, the pain still pulsing behind her eyes.

“Maybe we should tell Mom and Dad,” Corky said, glancing at the bedside clock. “I mean, just stop and think for a minute, Bobbi. First you told me you saw all the lockers at school open and close when you walked down the hall. Then you told me you were paralyzed at practice this afternoon. You couldn’t move. You couldn’t even speak. And that’s why you let Kimmy fall.”

“But, Corky—”

“Let me finish,” Corky said sharply, holding up a hand as if to fend Bobbi off. “Then there was that weird story about Chip, about how he froze, too, and couldn’t move. And now you come home from Jennifer’s and—”

“But it’s true!” Bobbi cried. “It’s all true. I mean, I think it’s true. I think—I—Don’t you believe me, Corky?”

Corky was holding her hands over her ears. “Stop shouting. You’re screaming right in my face.”

“Sorry. I—”

“Let’s go tell everything to Mom and Dad,” Corky urged. “I really think you have to go talk to a doctor or something. I think you need help, Bobbi. I really do.”

“You don’t believe me,” Bobbi accused heatedly, bitterly, her head throbbing. “You don’t believe me.”

Without thinking about it, she picked up Corky’s pillow and heaved it at her angrily.

“Hey—” Corky cried, grabbing the pillow and tossing it back in its place.

“Just don’t talk to me!” Bobbi snapped. “Traitor!”

“Oh, fine!” Corky screamed. “That’s just fine with me! You’re crazy, Bobbi! Crazy!”

Bobbi stormed over to the closet. “Shut up! Just shut up! Don’t talk to me! Ever again!” She began to tear off her clothes, tossing them on the closet floor, muttering to herself.

Corky punched her pillow, fluffed it, and slid back under the covers, turning her back on her sister.

She’s gone totally crazy, she told herself. She’s just so weird!

Imagine—calling me a traitor because I think she should talk to someone and get help.

Me, a traitor.

And now she’s gotten me so upset, I’ll probably be up all night.

I hate her. I really hate her, Corky thought darkly, struggling to get comfortable. She just makes me so mad.

♦ ♦ ♦

Corky might have been more sympathetic. She might have been more understanding. More caring. More believing.

But Corky had no way of knowing that this was the last night she would ever spend with her sister.

Date: 2015-04-20; view: 472