Sammy Keyes and the Psycho Kitty Queen (6 page)

So there I am, holding my breath, waiting for my mom to drop her bombshell, and you know what she says? She says, “Do you remember what a rough time you had in kindergarten?”

“Kindergarten?” I squint at her. Leave it to my mom to bring up a completely unrelated, very sore subject. “What's kindergarten got to do with anything?”

“Well, I made a mistake.”

“About
kindergarten'?
You mean you shouldn't have let them hold me back?”

“No, no. It was true—you weren't ready.”

“Kindergarten was stupid,” I grumbled. “The first time and
especially
the second time. Like I didn't know my ABCs? Like I couldn't count to twenty?”

“I know, Samantha. You
were
smart. Which is why I did what I did.”

“Did what you… what did you do?”

Her eyes were fluttering like crazy. Her mouth was in hypertwitch. But she didn't answer my question. Instead she said, “To this day I don't understand why you couldn't have just sat still. Squirm, squirm, squirm. And you'd talk out of turn and tackle other kids. There
was this one boy, Tyrone, do you remember him? Big kid, and nice as can be. You'd tackle him and steal his scooter. One time you even gave him a black eye!”

“Mom! WHAT DID YOU DO?”

“Well, I… I… “ She gave me a cross look. “And there's no need to shout.” Then she composed herself and said, “You have to understand, I thought you were ready! You were so precocious. Your vocabulary was astonishing! And even though you were a little small, I thought you could handle it. I thought waiting another year would make you so
bored.
Besides, I was having trouble making ends meet and… and… it seemed like the perfect solution!”

It felt like a cold drop of water was trickling down my spine. “Are you saying… do you mean that…” I knew she was trying to tell me something big, only I wasn't quite getting it.

Then Grams rolls her eyes and says, “Just tell her, Lana.”

“All right, all right,” Mom snaps. Then she does a total diva pose, with her hand to her forehead as she sighs and looks down. “Samantha, it was the wrong thing to do and I'm sorry. But I did it, and it's time you knew.”

“Knew
what?”

She drops her hand and sighs again. “The reason you weren't ready for kindergarten was because you actually weren't ready for kindergarten.”

“What?”

“You were only four years old.”

Like two ice drifts heading for each other, my life and my mother's lie crashed together. I felt cold. Helpless. Destroyed. It was worse than being adopted.

Or stolen.

Or found in a Dumpster.

Finally I choked out, “That means I'm only
twelve?”

She gave me a helpless little look and tried to smile. “But tomorrow you'll be thirteen…”

“So you what? Doctored my birth certificate? I mean, the school makes you give them a birth certificate, right?”

She nodded. “And then when they had you repeat kindergarten, I just… well, I couldn't bring myself to tell them the truth.”

“But what about
me?
Why didn't you tell
me
?”

“I was afraid you would spill the beans. And because you were always so proud of turning another year older. I didn't have the heart to—”

I sprang to my feet. “I can't
believe
this! I can't believe that you would
do
that! All these years I thought I'd failed kindergarten! Do you know how
embarrassing
that is? But no, I didn't really fail—you just put me in too early! It was easier for you to stick me in school than it was for you to take care of me!”

“Samantha!” Grams said. “Samantha, that's just not true. Try to understand that your mother—”

“No!” I shouted. “And why didn't
you
tell me, Grams? I can't believe you've gone along with this all these years!”

“Please try to understand. Your mother wanted to—”

“I don't care what
she
wanted! This is
my
life! You should've told me!”

And before either one of them could stop me, I bolted out the door.

Nobody should have to be thirteen twice. It's not like I really believe in bad luck, but for me thirteen had not been a very good year.

Scratch that—it'd been downright rotten.

Plus, in the back of my mind, turning fourteen was like quietly turning the corner on bad things. Like escaping bad luck. Being fourteen was a lot more “almost sixteen” than being thirteen. It was a lot closer to driving and earning my own money and just being, you know, independent.

But now all of a sudden I was twelve. Twelve! How could I be twelve? I felt like such a little kid! Twelve-year-olds don't do the things I'd been doing for the past year. They're too… young. This meant I'd been sneaking up the fire escape since I was
eleven?
What kind of insane mother did I have?

I stumbled across the Highrise lawn, jaywalked Broadway, and burst through the Pup Parlor door.

“What's wrong?” Vera asked when she saw my face. She put down a dog brush and hurried over. “What happened? Are you all right?”

“No!” I said, shaking all over. “I'm… I'm…”

She put her arm around me. “You're what, dear?”

“I'm… I'm…” I felt like I was choking.

Meg was there now, too. So was Holly.

I looked from one to the other to the other. “I'm…

“Sammy, it's okay,” Holly whispered. “Just say it.”

“I'm…” They all hung on the word until I burst into tears, crying,
“twelve!”

“You're … twelve?” Vera asked, and her arm loosened around my shoulders.

I nodded.

“What?”
Meg said.

Tears were springing out everywhere.

“I don't understand,” Vera said. “Aren't you
supposed
to be twelve?”

“No!” I cried, and I actually stamped my foot. “I'm supposed to be thirteen! I'm supposed to be turning fourteen tomorrow!”

“But…” they all said, then asked, “Tomorrow?”

“Yes! They held me back in kindergarten! Why? Because my mom told everyone I was five when I was only four! Only she never told
me
that! Not until today! Happy birthday, Samantha! And oh, by the way, I've been lying to you for eight years.” I flung back tears. “Why am I surprised? Why am I even surprised? I hate her I hate her I hate her!”

Vera wrapped me in her arms and said, “There, there,” as I bawled into her shoulder.

“Oh man,” Holly said. “Your mom sure knows how to mess with your head.”

“But you don't hate her,” Vera said gently. “You're just hurt.”

I pulled away and said, “And Grams! She's known all along.”

Vera sighed. “I'm so sorry.”

I needed air. Lots of air. I dried my face and said, “I'm going for a walk. I've got to get out of here.”

“I'm going with you,” Holly said. And Meg and Vera nodded like, Absolutely! Go!

So I tore out of there, going who-knows-where, with Holly trailing along trying to make me feel better, saying stuff like, “So look at the bright side—you
didn't
flunk kindergarten,” and “You're the same person you always were—it doesn't really matter,” and “Hey! Get your grandmother to make it up to you by telling your mother that she's a couple of years
older
than she really is. That'll freak her out good!”

I almost smiled at that last one. My mom's such an age-aphobic that it would be a great thing to pull. But I was too mad to actually smile. I wanted to hit something. Kick something. Smash something to bits.

Instead, I started looking in trash cans.

“Are we looking for cats?” Holly asked.

“Yeah, I guess. I just want to stop thinking about my stupid mom and her stupid stunts.”

Holly shrugged. “Well, if dead cats will help you do that, I hope we find some.”

I laughed. Then I laughed again. Then I looked at her and said, “Am I being that pathetic?”

“No!” she said. “I don't blame you a bit.”

“But for you to be hoping we find dead cats…”

“Well, you know what I mean. And I have been thinking about it all day.”

“Yeah?”

“The look on Mr. T's and Snowball's faces… I don't know… it's just been haunting me.”

So we stopped talking about my stupid mother, cut down a service alley, and started looking in trash cans for real. And before too long we found ourselves coming up to the propped-open back door of Maynard's Market.

There was a faded yellow El Camino parked out back, so we knew that Maynard's loser son, T.J., was working the counter. And just our luck, T.J. spotted us. “Hey!” he yelled as I pushed open his trash lid. “What do you
garbage
girls think you're doing?”

“Lookin' for dead bodies,” I threw back with a glare.

“Well, that'll be
yours if
you don't scram!”

Now, for T.J. that was a really good comeback, so I actually appreciated the humor in it. “Hey,” I said with a grin, “good one, Teej.”

He pushed between me and his trash and slammed the lid down. “Get lost, ya hear me? I'm sicka youse.”

“Of youse, T.J.?
Youse?”

“Shaddup! I said scram!”

“We're scrammin', we're scrammin'.” Then I Terminatored him with, “But we'll be back.”

When we got to the sidewalk, Holly said, “Man, he's even uptight about his garbage.”

“So where do you want to go now?”

Holly shrugged. “Maybe Mr. T and Snowball were the only two cats.”

I shook my head. “If you had two dead cats, would you go through all that trouble?”

“But you said—”

“Well, I'm revising my theory I mean two cats, okay, dump them in the same bin. Cover them up, no one'll know. But more than two cats, you'd want to spread them around. Reduce the risk of someone getting suspicious.”

Holly sighed. “You're not ready to call it quits yet, are you?”

“I'm not ready to go home,” I grumbled.

“All right,” she said. “One more block.”

So we dug through the trash of a travel agency.

Nothing.

We dug through the trash of a bank.

Nothing.

We tried a bridal shop and a jewelry store and a Mexican restaurant.

Nothing.

Everywhere we went, we were striking out. And by the time we were down to a carpet store, a restaurant, and a tattoo parlor, believe me, I was totally sick of digging through garbage.

“Want to just skip it?” I asked, but Holly said, “Might as well finish the block.”

So we checked out the Kojo Buffet Dumpster, and the minute Holly opened the lid, we both jumped back. “Oh gross!” Holly cried. “It sure
smells
like something's dead in there!”

I held my breath as I poked through rotten vegetables
and fish heads, and brought the verdict in early. “Nothing!”

“Pee-yew!” Holly said, lowering the lid.

“Okay, how about I do Tiny's and you do the carpet place? I've had about enough of this.”

“Fine by me,” Holly said.

Tiny's Tattoo Parlor had the opposite sort of trash as the Kojo Buffet. It was tidy trash. All in white bags with knotted red drawstrings. It was a cinch to go through, too. I pulled out one sack, then the next, then the next. They were all light and just… tidy.

And I was about to say, Nothing here, only when I pulled up the fourth sack, well, I did sort of a mental double take. There wasn't a cat under it or anything, but all the other sacks in Tiny's trash had been light.

This one was heavy.

And okay, I didn't think it was a cat, because I'd already carried around a cat in a sack twice and pretty much knew what that felt like.

But still, I was curious. So I worked open the knot and spread apart the sides. And in a flash I knew—there was a sicko on the loose in Santa Martina.

“Hey, Holly!” I called, but then
she
called, “Bingo!”

“What?”

“I found one!” She waved me over to the carpet-store trash bin. “Come here!”

I closed the sack and hauled it over to where Holly was proudly pointing out a dead cat. “We weren't crazy after all!”

Hers was a big cat. Dark gray. Smooth coat. White
paws. Well fed. And even though there was dried blood on it and chunks of fur were missing, you could tell it had once been a real handsome cat.

“What's the tag say?”

Holly turned it and read, “Prince.” Then she noticed my trash sack. “What's that?”

“Two cats.”

“Two?”

“Yup. And it's not a pretty sight.”

She checked them out and said, “They look heavy. We'd better get a different trash bag for Prince.”

So we emptied one of the tidy sacks from the tattoo parlor, and we'd just worked it around Prince when a guy in a blood-stained apron came out of the Kojo Buffet.

Now, this guy's apron was bad enough, but when he started coming at us, shouting, “Hey, you girls there! What you doing?” and waving a
cleaver
in the air, well, Holly and I shot a look at each other, grabbed our sacks, and
ran.