Mission (Un)Popular (30 page)

“Sit,” Em said to Sarah, holding up the blindfold.

Sarah stood up. “I'm going home,” she said, but Maggie grabbed her arm before she could get very far. “Let go,” Sarah said, trying to shake Maggie off, but then Joyce grabbed hold too.

“Wait a sec. Keep holding her,” Em said, and ran from the room. She was back a second later with an armload of her mom's scarves. “Tie her to the chair,” she instructed, throwing a few to Maggie and a bunch to Joyce.

“What? You're going to hold me prisoner? This is retarded,” Sarah said, but she let herself be pushed into a chair. When we were done, she looked like she'd been taken hostage by a gang of ladies with very expensive taste. I know because Erika's mom gets Burberry catalogues in the mail. The scarves that were holding Sarah down were probably worth two thousand dollars.

“You just have to play the spoon game, like we asked you to nicely a hundred times, and then you can go,” Em explained. She tied the blindfold over Sarah's eyes, then handed me the spoon with a smile.

When it was my turn, I'd tried to peek, so I knew you really couldn't see through the blindfold. Still, Sarah seemed to sense what was going on. “I'm not eating anything if Margot is putting it on the spoon,” she said.

“Maggie's doing it,” Em said. “Right, Maggie?”

“Un-huh,” Maggie lied.

I opened the fridge and took my time considering my options. This was my moment of long-awaited revenge. Somehow, nothing seemed disgusting enough.

There was a cut lime in a plastic container. There were about ten thousand different kinds of salad dressing. A huge jug of dark green juice. There was an open bottle of white wine. Some leftover coleslaw. A few eggs. I grabbed one and cracked it into a bowl. Then I moved on to the pantry. A bottle of red wine vinegar caught my eye, so I added a bit. And then—it wasn't that I wasn't aware of rule number one (only three things on the spoon), but if Sarah wanted to declare all-out war, which she obviously did, playing by the rules hardly mattered anymore. I added peanut butter.

“Are you going to make me sit here forever?” Sarah asked, making a pathetic effort to pull her hand free from one of the scarves.

“Almost done,” Maggie said, opening and shutting a cupboard door for added effect. “Hang on.”

I opened another cabinet, and that's where I found my final ingredient. It violated rule number two, sort of, but like I said, the rules had pretty much gone out the window. The bottle said it was all-natural, environmentally friendly, and contained “Real Lemon Essence,” so even if I wouldn't have picked it for a snack, it was practically edible.

I whisked my mixture together, smiled, then scooped up a big, runny, brown spoonful and handed it to Maggie. I could see her biting her lip to keep from laughing as she walked toward Sarah, trying not to spill.

“Open wide,” Maggie said.

Sarah shook her head. “It smells disgusting,” she answered through clenched teeth. “I'm
not
eating it.”

Em pulled up a chair. “I'm giving you one last chance before I pinch your big crooked nose shut.” Sarah just clamped her lips more tightly together.

Em motioned for me to take the spoon from Maggie. “When she opens her mouth, shove it in.” She grabbed Sarah's nose and pinched hard. Sarah managed to hold her breath for a ridiculously long time. She probably could have held it longer, too, because when she finally opened her mouth, it wasn't to breathe.

“I hate you guys so—” she started, but she didn't get to the “much” part before I'd shoved the mystery spoon into her mouth. She scrunched up her face and tried to spit, but I covered her mouth with my hand. I wanted to see her suffer—just a little.

“Swallow,” Em instructed. “Just swallow and it will be over.”

Sarah swallowed, then Em let go of her nose. She took a deep breath before complaining. “That was the most—” but again, she didn't get to the “disgusting” part before Em pinched her nose and I shoved the spoon into her mouth one more time. “Swallow,” I said. When she'd finished, she gagged, but Em immediately pinched her nose again.

“Em…” I said tentatively.

“One more bite.” Em waved my concern away.

“Maybe we shouldn't,” Maggie agreed.

“Oh, give me that.” Em grabbed the spoon with her free hand and got one more in that way.

Sarah was really starting to gag. “I think she ate a lot already,” I said. “Let's stop.”

After Em set the bowl down on the counter, I pulled off Sarah's blindfold, expecting to find her glaring at us with murderous tigerlike rage in her eyes. But instead, a flood of tears spilled down her cheeks. The blindfold, already soaked, felt wet and warm against my palm. A big trail of drool was dribbling out of her mouth, and her breath was coming in little gasps. I think she was sweating, too, because her whole face was wet.

I picked up a glass of water that Maggie had just poured.

“Here,” I said, holding it up to Sarah's lips. The word came out harsher than I had intended it to. “Drink,” I added more nicely, and she took a sip. “You won the game.”

“Yeah, you totally won,” Maggie said cheerfully, putting a hand on Sarah's shoulder. “Nobody else could have eaten so much of that.”

Sarah didn't answer, though. She closed her eyes. The sound of her breathing filled the quiet kitchen.

Suddenly she lunged forward in the chair. I jumped back, thinking she was trying to break through the scarves to attack me, and just managed to get myself out of the path of a gush of vomit that came shooting out of her mouth. It landed in a watery brown puddle on the cream-colored kitchen tiles.

“Oh my God,” Joyce shrieked, stepping back until she was pressed against the cabinets. Maggie was already clear across the kitchen.

“I'm not cleaning that up,” Em said.

Sarah started retching again. “I have to leave the room,” Joyce said weakly, “or I'll throw up too.” Maggie escaped with her.

They left just in time: Sarah threw up again, but this time, instead of hitting the floor, it got all over her clothes and the expensive scarves.

“We have to untie her,” I said, pulling at the scarves. The smell was disgusting, but living with two-year-olds, I was pretty used to disgusting things.

“That's just nasty,” Em said, stepping around the puddle of barf. “Go get some towels,” I instructed. Em nodded. She left the kitchen, seeming relieved to have an excuse to go.

“I don't feel good,” Sarah said in a small voice.

“I know.” I worked at a knot in the scarf tied around her waist.

“I really don't feel good,” she repeated.

“Just a second, okay?” I pulled the scarf off her waist, then loosened the last one, which had been holding down her right arm.

“Do you want more water?” She took a single sip, then barfed again. I took the glass from her, trying not to look at the throw up that was floating in it, mixing with the water. “Do you want to lie down?” She nodded and stood up, but she'd barely taken two steps before she sank to her knees.

“No, Sarah, not here,” I said. Her face was a scary shade of white, and I didn't want her to see how terrified I was. I tried to pull her back up while balancing on one crutch, but it was useless. “Let's go into the living room, okay?” I said in the calmest voice I could manage. Then I thought of the overstuffed, expensive-looking white couches, and revised that plan. “Or maybe Em's room? Can you get upstairs?”

She didn't answer. She was pressing her face against the cool floor tiles, breathing in and out heavily. I put a hand against her forehead. Her skin felt clammy. That was when I walked across the kitchen to the cabinet and took out the Tru-Glo Lemon Scent Furniture Polish. I frantically skimmed the small print on the label.
KEEP OUT OF REACH OF CHILDREN
,
it said in bold type.
POISONOUS IF INGESTED.
I broke out in a sweat, as the full reality of the situation hit. This wasn't edible.
Of course
it wasn't edible. It was furniture polish. And it was poisonous. I had poisoned Sarah J. “Sarah?” I asked. “Are you okay? Can you talk to me?” She just groaned softly.

Em came back in with a single towel draped over her arm. She glanced at the huge mess, then threw it on the table. “Oh my God,” she said, clearly panicking. “Margot, sometimes my mom comes home from fund-raisers early if they don't have an open bar. She can't see this. You have to clean it up now. I'm serious. Right now. And we have to get her out of here.”

Did she honestly think Sarah was in any condition to be walking home?

“Em,” I whispered, “I put furniture polish in that bowl, and you made her eat a lot. We poisoned her. This is
really
serious.”

“I know. I saw you. But you didn't put in that much, right?” she whispered back.

“I don't know. A few spoonfuls.”

Em waved her hand. “She puked it all out. She's being a drama queen.”

Sarah was still lying on the floor, moaning softly.

“I think maybe we should call an ambulance,” I said.

“No!” Em answered with complete certainty. “We shouldn't. She's going to be fine. Trust me. I've seen this a million times with mystery on a spoon.” I obviously didn't look convinced. “Margot, think about it,” Em said softly. “If we call an ambulance, they're going to find out she got poisoned. The police might even get involved. Then we'll both be screwed for something you did.” She glared at me like she was daring me to contradict her, but I could see the fear in her eyes. “And we don't even know,” she said. “What if they
actually
arrest us?” The possibility hadn't crossed my mind, but she was right. “The first time you get in trouble with the law, they go easy on you. But the second time? Considering our pasts, you and I can't risk that. Plus, trust me, it's out of her system by now.”

As if to prove her wrong, Sarah heaved again and threw up a little on the sleeve of her shirt.

I looked from Em to Sarah and back again. I knew what I had to do. I knew what the consequences would be, and how badly it would suck. “Okay,” I said to Em. “You're right.” Her entire face relaxed. “She's probably going to be fine. But we need more towels. If you go get some, I'll start cleaning up.”

“Good,” she said. “Be right back.” Then she turned and left. As soon as I heard her footsteps on the stairs I pushed myself up and hopped across the floor, taking care not to slip in any puke. I grabbed the cordless phone.

“Sarah?” I said again. When she still didn't answer, I punched in the number.

“Police, fire, or ambulance?” a woman asked.

“Ambulance.” My voice quivered. My heart started pounding loudly.

“Address, please.”

“Um. Lakeshore,” I said. “I don't know the house number. My friend is throwing up a lot. I just—”

“Is there anyone there who knows the house number?”

What choice did I have? I couldn't leave Sarah, so I covered the receiver with my hand and yelled as quietly as possible into the living room. “Maggie, Joyce! Can you go check the house number and tell me what it is?”

“What do you want?” Maggie yelled back.

“She said the house number, I think,” I heard Joyce explain to Maggie. “Why do you want the house number?” she yelled. “We don't know it.”

“No, go check it. It's on the front of the house,” I said in my loudest whisper, but by then Em must have heard us.

She came running down the stairs and into the kitchen, holding practically an entire closetful of fluffy white towels. “Who are you talking to?”

I probably should have lied, but I couldn't think straight enough to come up with something. “9-1-1,” I said.

“Give me that.” She grabbed the phone from my hand, pushed the hang-up button, and slammed it back on the charger. “Why are you such an idiot, Margot? Do you know how close you just came to getting us all in major trouble? I told you! She's going to be fine.”

I turned away from Em, lowered myself onto the floor, and lifted a strand of Sarah's hair off her face, tucking it behind her ear. Her forehead was really sweating now. She reached out for my hand, and I held on to hers tightly. “Well, shouldn't we at least call an adult?” I asked. “I could call my stepdad. He won't tell anyone. I know he won't.” I knew that wasn't true, but it was a risk I was willing to take.

“No,” Em repeated.

“Okay, fine. Well, can you at least get me a wet washcloth?” I asked. “And a clean shirt for her?”

Em sighed heavily. “I'll be right back. Don't you
dare
try anything else like that,” she said, then walked out, taking the phone with her.

My mind started racing. Maybe there was a phone in the next room I could get to. Or maybe I could convince Maggie or Joyce to find one. But just after Em left, Sarah sat up. She wiped her cheek with the back of her hand. “Are you okay?” I rubbed her back a little. “Do you want some more water?”

She shook her head. “I think I'm dying,” she said, putting her hand to her forehead. “What did I eat?”

I told her.

“Oh my God.” She covered her mouth. At first I thought she was just reacting to the grossness of what was on the spoon, but then she actually heaved and vomited again. Em came into the kitchen just in time to see it. She took a step back, making a face before tossing me a washcloth and a white T-shirt.

I folded the cloth into thirds and pressed it against Sarah's forehead like my mom used to do when I was sick. “Aren't you at least going to help me?” I said.

“No. This is your problem. You're the one who decided what went on the spoon.” Em turned to go, but before she could leave the room, the doorbell rang. Her eyes went wide. “Did you call somebody else?” she accused.

“No,” I said. “You took the phone, remember? It's probably just the pizza guy.”