My Name Is Evil (7 page)

“You shoved me,” she insisted. “I felt you push me. You could have killed me, Maggie. Does the dance tryout mean that much to you? You could have killed me!”

“No,” I repeated, shaking my head. “No, no, no.”

We were such good friends. Why was she accusing me?

I didn't push her. I know I didn't.

After school I hurried over to the Mullens' house to see if Jilly was okay.

Judy answered the door. “Oh. It's you!” She seemed surprised to see me.

“Is Jilly here?” I asked, following her into the den. “Is she okay?”

The TV was on—some talk show with all the guests screaming at each other. Judy clicked it off.

“Jilly is still at the doctor,” Judy said, plopping down on the green leather couch. “She's getting her ankle taped.”

“She—she didn't break it—did she?” I asked.

Judy shook her head. “Just a sprain. She'll probably be able to try out tonight.”

I let out a long, relieved sigh and dropped into the armchair across from Judy. “I'm so glad she's okay,” I said. And then my voice shook: “She—she accused me of pushing her down the stairs. But that's crazy!”

Judy brushed back her short hair. Her eyes were locked on me, studying me intently.

“I didn't push her,” I said. “I didn't bump into her, or anything.”

I held my breath, waiting for Judy to reply.

Finally she said, “Even if you did bump her, it had to be an accident.” She tucked her slender legs beneath her on the couch. “I know you'd never deliberately try to hurt her.”

“Of course not,” I said. “I'm so glad you believe me. If only—”

I stopped when I heard the front door slam. Jackie came running into the room. Her mouth dropped open when she saw me. “You're here!”

I turned in the chair. “Yes, I—”

“Did you find it?” Jackie demanded breathlessly. “I've been looking for you all day. Did you find my necklace?”

“No,” I said. “I searched everywhere. I turned the whole house upside down.”

“But—but—” Jackie sputtered. Her long hair was wild and unbrushed. One side stood straight up. Her expression was frantic.

“Then where is it?” she cried. She rubbed a hand over her throat as if she hoped to find it there.

“I even searched behind the garage,” I told her. “Where we buried the canary. No sign of it.”

“I'm desperate without it,” she said. “I'm totally desperate.”

“I'm really so sorry,” I said, lowering my eyes. “I'll keep looking. I promise.”

She shut her eyes and sighed. “It's just so weird.”

Then she startled me. She ran across the den, wrapped her arms around me, and hugged me. “I wasn't accusing you, Maggie,” she whispered. Her cheek was burning hot against mine. “You know that—right? You're my friend. My best friend.”

Without waiting for an answer, she spun away and hurried from the room.

Judy must have seen how stunned I felt. “Jackie has been a little emotional,” she said. “Ever since her necklace disappeared.”

I settled back in the armchair. But I didn't have time to relax.

I heard the rapid thud of soft footsteps over the carpet.

And then I let out a frightened cry as Judy's huge cat Plumper leaped onto my lap.

“Get him off!” I shrieked. “Get him off me!”

Judy jumped up. “Plumper—come here!” she called.

But to my surprise, the big orange cat burrowed his face into my chest and purred.

“Judy—” I gasped. “He—he—”

Plumper settled into my lap, purring softly.

“I don't get this,” I murmured, still trembling. “One night he tries to claw me to pieces—”

Judy smiled. “He's trying to make up,” she said. Her smile grew wider. “Isn't that adorable?”

Purring louder, the cat rubbed its head against my T-shirt.

“Go ahead. Pet him,” Judy instructed. “See? He wants you to be nice to him.”

I swallowed hard. The cat was so unpredictable. What if I tried to pet him and he started slashing at me again?

“Pet him,” Judy urged. “He's waiting for you to pet his fur.”

“I—I don't really want to,” I said, staring down at the fat, orange creature.

“He wants you to,” Judy replied. “He wants you to make up.”

“Well …” I took a deep breath. I raised my hand slowly, carefully. And …

My hand started to tingle again. Both of my arms were tingling. It felt like a million pinpricks. Once again my hands started to burn.

Why is this happening again? I wondered.

The cat purred.

I lowered my hand and smoothed it gently over Plumper's furry back.

Would he attack? Would he go nuts again?

No. He purred louder.

I rubbed his back. He burrowed his head against me.

“Now you two are friends again,” Judy said, beaming happily.

I glanced at the grandfather clock against the wall. “I'd better go,” I said. “That dance audition tonight.” I gave the cat one more rub. “I hope Jilly and I can be friends again,” I said with a sigh.

But Jilly cut me dead at the audition that night.

She glimpsed me standing there in the auditorium aisle. She turned her head and kept walking.

And when I followed after her, begging her to let me talk to her, she pretended I wasn't there.

I felt so bad. I had to fight back the tears.

It was so unfair.

One of my best friends hated me now. And it wasn't my fault in any way.

I could see that she had a slight limp as she climbed onto the bare stage and began to limber up. Her right toe shoe bulged, and I could see that her foot was bandaged beneath her tights.

Ms. Masters, the dance adviser, waved to me to come up to the stage. Then she moved to a CD player on the floor against the curtain and put on some warm-up music.

I sat down on the edge of the stage to tie my ballet slippers. I felt so awkward. I kept glancing at Jilly. She deliberately turned away every time I looked in her direction.

There were only four girls trying out for the one opening in the dance company. Not a big crowd. Just Ms. Masters and four girls onstage. So it would be pretty hard for Jilly and me to ignore each other completely.

My hands fumbled with the laces. I'm too upset to audition, I thought. I'll just leave.

I glanced at Jilly again. She was twirling on her bad foot, testing it.

“Hey, Jilly—looking good!” I called.

She stuck her nose in the air and ignored me.

This is ridiculous! I decided. She has no right to treat me like this.

I'm going to audition. I'm not going to let Jilly drive me away. And I'm going to dance the best I've ever danced!

I finished lacing my toe shoes and hurried onstage to warm up.

Well … I didn't exactly dance the best I've ever danced. But I didn't embarrass myself, either.

I was glad when Ms. Masters asked me to try out first. It meant I wouldn't have to stand around and get more and more nervous watching the others.

Jilly and the other two girls—Marci and Deena—had to watch me. And as I danced a short section from
Swan Lake
, I knew they were standing there at the side of the stage, arms crossed in front of them, watching my every move.

But I concentrated on the steps and the music and shut them from my mind.

Afterwards Ms. Masters clapped her hands and smiled. “That was very nice, Maggie,” she said. “I'm impressed.”

Struggling to catch my breath, I thanked her and padded off, feeling light as a feather, trying to make my exit graceful.

Yes, I knew I had slipped once or twice. And I got behind the music a few times. I guess I was concentrating too hard on the steps, on not messing up.

But over all, I felt pretty good about it. The truth is, it's not easy to get a compliment from Ms. Masters.

Now I leaned against the stage wall and watched as Jilly stepped out, toe shoes tapping the floor so lightly, like little bird feet.

Normally we would have wished each other luck. Normally she would have congratulated me on doing such a good job.

But that was before today. Before …

Ms. Masters started the music, and Jilly raised her arms, pasted a smile on her face, and started to dance.

She's a wonderful, graceful dancer. Moving so lightly, so effortlessly, her blond hair tied back, her arms so slow and lovely, she really looks like an angel onstage.

My heart was still pounding from my dance. I wiped perspiration from above my upper lip and watched Jilly.

Such perfect jumps. Such quick feet.

I felt jealous. I couldn't help it. I really, really wanted to be in this dance company. Jilly was into all kinds of activities and clubs and sports at school. But this was the only thing I wanted.

My hands started to tingle and burn. I clasped them tightly together. Why did this keep happening?

Marci, one of the other dancers, leaned close to me. “Wow,” she whispered, her eyes on Jilly. “Wow.”

I nodded, clasping and unclasping my burning hands.

“We might as well go home,” Deena whispered.

Jilly looks so comfortable onstage, I thought. So natural … So happy.

But then I saw her expression suddenly change. Her smile faded. She looked surprised. Confused.

All three of us gasped as Jilly started to twirl.

She was near the end of the dance. She had her hands high above her head. As she started to lower them, she raised up on her right foot—and started to spin.

“That's not part of the dance,” Marci whispered.

“Is she showing off?” Deena asked.

My arms prickled. I tightened them around myself as I watched Jilly in amazement.

Round and round she twirled. Kicking her left leg out with each spin.

Faster … faster …

“Unbelievable,” Deena said, shaking her head. “What a show-off.”

“Wow,” Marci repeated.

Jilly twirled even faster now, her arms flying wildly. Her right leg remained stiff and straight as she spun. Her left leg kicked out. Faster … harder … her blond ponytail whipped around behind her.

I let out a cry when I caught her expression. Her eyes were wide with fright. Her mouth open in a silent scream, as she spun … harder … faster …

My whole body shuddered in dread. Jilly wasn't showing off.

“She—she can't stop!” I shrieked. “She's out of control!”

My hands burned as if on fire. They throbbed with heat. I clenched my fists tightly, as if trying to keep my hands from exploding! Wave after wave of pain shot up and down my arms.

I gaped in horror as Jilly twirled.

Kick, spin. Kick, spin.

Ms. Masters cut off the music.

But Jilly didn't stop.

Kick, spin. Kick, spin. She hurled herself around and around, her hands flailing.

Silence now. A heavy silence as we all watched in horror.

“Help me—!” Jilly's shrill cry rang out. “Ohhhh, help—!”

And still she spun. Hurling herself harder … Hair flying wild now … Hands frantically thrashing the air.

“Help me! Pleeeeease!”

And then, still screaming, still moaning in pain, still heaving herself around, Jilly sailed across the stage. Sailed into the wall.

Her body made a sick thud as she hit it.

And then, twirling, still twirling … she crumpled to the floor.

“What happened?”

“Why did she do that?”

“Why couldn't she stop?”

“Did she break something? She hit the wall so hard!”

Our frightened voices rang out in the auditorium. We hurried over to Jilly.

Sprawled awkwardly on the stage floor, her eyes shut, her mouth hanging open, legs bent at odd angles, she looked like a broken doll.

“Stand back, everyone,” Ms. Masters ordered shrilly. “Stay back. Let me examine her.”

“Why was she screaming like that? Why couldn't she stop?” Marci cried. Tears glistened in her eyes.