Sleepover Stakeout (9780545443111) (5 page)

And a voice whispered back, “Go … away.”

When
you're standing at the front door of the creepiest house you've ever seen and a mysterious voice tells you to go away, you should probably go away. But, though my brain was working, my legs were useless and suddenly felt as if they were made of jelly. I was frozen. And therefore couldn't run.

Fear squeezed my heart like a stress ball. I looked over my shoulder for help from Fiona, but she had already run across the street and was standing safely in Maya's front yard. She held her hands up in the air. A gesture that clearly meant
What are you doing? Get over here!

I forced myself to take a deep, calming breath. I tried to reason with my panicked muscles.
An old witch
does not live in this house. Those stories are made up. If she wanted to abduct me and cook me in her hearth, she already had plenty of time to do it since I've been standing here like a dummy.

The wood beneath my feet creaked. The woman was still standing there on the other side of the door. I coughed feebly.

The voice came again, “What do you want?”

Startled, my eyes opened wider. Something was different about the voice, though. Instead of trying to scare
me
, the woman sounded fearful herself. I struggled to remember the name I'd seen on the battered mailbox. I nervously licked my lips and said, “Um, Mrs. Wolfson?”

Suddenly a bunch of sounds came from within. She must've unlocked three or four dead bolts. Then the door swung inward.

For a supposed witch who abducted and ate children, she didn't look very intimidating. Her long hair was held up in a bun, and wisps of gray framed her thin face. She wore a long housedress and held a cane. That must have been what had caused the clunking sound.

She eyed me warily. “Yes?”

I glanced frantically over my shoulder at Fiona, who was now hiding behind a hedge, probably watching the action and shaking. All that was visible of her were her high-heeled booties — totally inappropriate detective gear, by the way. I turned back to Mrs. Wolfson and racked my brain for something to say. I decided to go with something close to the truth. “I'm sorry to bother you. Um, my friend lives across the street and she heard some strange noises and I just wanted to check to make sure you were all right.”

Mrs. Wolfson's hard eyes softened. “Oh. I'm fine, dear. Thank you for checking.”

“Okay.” My legs decided they could work again, so I began to back away. “Have a nice day.”

She held out a pale, bony hand. “Wait …”

I swallowed and my throat felt tight. “What is it?”
Please don't let this be the part where she turns evil and abducts me.

“I'm sorry I was rude to you before. I thought it was those dang Danville boys again.”

“Who?” I asked.

She waved her hand dismissively. “Just some darn teenagers that come up and knock on my door only because their friends dared them to bother the Old Witch.”

I gasped. Mrs. Wolfson let out a loud laugh, and it sounded nothing like a witch's cackle. “You think I don't know about my nickname?” She shrugged. “I don't mind it too much. People leave me alone and don't try to sell me stuff.”

“Oh … okay,” I said, mainly because I didn't know what else to say.

Her face turned sad, and she began speaking as if she'd been waiting to tell her story. “I know I should have moved after my husband died so long ago. This big old house is too much for me to take care of. I let the lawn go dead and weedy. The paint chipped. And then I was so embarrassed by the house, I stopped socializing with neighbors. I watched out my window as old friends moved away and new people moved in. And I just … stayed inside. So I can understand how you kids came up with the nickname and all the rumors. But I don't mean anyone any harm. I just wanted to stay in the house my husband and I bought together. It makes me feel closer to him.”

My heart broke into a thousand pieces. “Of course,” I said, feeling choked up.

Her voice cracked. “Will you tell the other children I'm not mean? I turn on the outside light on Halloween, but all the children skip my house.”

I swallowed hard. “I will personally make sure that doesn't happen this year,” I said. And I would keep my promise. Somehow.

I ran across the street to Fiona, who breathlessly asked me for every single detail. I explained that Mrs. Wolfson was not a witch. Just a nice, misunderstood old lady.

I took one last glance at the old run-down house. I had to figure out a way to change the neighborhood's perception of Mrs. Wolfson.

But first, we had to solve Maya's mystery.

And, at the moment, unfortunately, I had to head to the eye doctor.

 

“Cover
your right eye with this and read the top three lines to me.”

I took the black plastic thingamabob from the eye doctor. It looked like a ladle, but I used it to cover my eye like he said and then squinted at the chart on the wall.

“E,” I said. You'd have to be completely blind not to see the top letter. “F and P for the second line. And then T, O, Z.”

“Great.” The doctor nodded. He wore glasses and I briefly wondered if he tested himself like this or if he had another doctor do it.

He asked me to keep going. By the time I got to the fifth line, I was squinting.

“O, B, C, L, T …” I could make out most of the letters, except the one at the far right. Was that an E or an F? I squinted harder but that didn't help, so I just guessed. “E?”

I looked at the doctor to try to see his reaction, but his face was unreadable. My stomach turned over with anxiety. I reminded myself that getting something wrong here wasn't like failing a test. It wasn't my fault my eyes weren't perfect.

“Okay, now the next line,” he said.

This one was much harder. It was so blurry. I blinked a few times, but that didn't help. I read the letters, basically guessing at half of them. “T, E, P, O, L, F, D, Z.”

“Hmm, okay. Can you read any letters on the bottom row?”

I squinted, blinked, opened my eye wider, everything I could think of. Then I sighed. “No, not a one.”

We repeated the process with my left eye covered. Then I sat my chin on this weird metal contraption and said “better,” “worse,” or “the same” to a million different combinations of glass the doctor flipped in front of my eyes. After that, he scribbled my prescription on a pad of paper and told Mom and me to head to the showroom to look at frames.

Frames!
That meant it was real…. I
was
getting glasses. I walked from the dimly lit office into the bright front store area with my shoulders hunched. I'd had a glimmer of hope that this was all some mistake. That the doctor would say, “Your vision is perfect! That teacher didn't know what he was talking about!”

But that didn't happen.

“They have such a great selection here,” Mom said, gazing at all the frames. “You'll find a beautiful pair. So many of these would look pretty on you.”

There were, like, a hundred frames on display and I think I tried on every one. Red, black, tortoiseshell, wire, plastic, huge, small, narrow, wide, circular, rectangular. Forced enthusiasm continued to pour from Mom as I picked up each pair. I appreciated that she was trying to make me feel better, but as she oohed and ahhed over all of them, it just didn't help. They all looked the same to me — unnatural. As if it wasn't my face anymore.

I turned to Mom and said hopefully, “How about contact lenses?”

She gave me a half smile, but I knew the answer before she even started talking. “Maybe in high school. Your father and I would like you to wait a couple years.”

Part of me wanted to throw myself on the floor like a two-year-old and have a tantrum, but that wouldn't solve my problem. I wouldn't be cured. I'd keep squinting. My grades might drop because of all these mistakes I kept making. I had to face it.

I picked up the tortoiseshell pair. “These ones, I guess.”

Mom nodded her approval. “Lovely.”

Luckily (or UNluckily), they had my prescription in stock, so I was able to get the lenses fitted into the frames while we waited at the store. The saleslady fit the new glasses onto my nose, and that was that. I sighed.

“Why don't you go wait in the mall while I finish paying?” Mom suggested. She gave me a nudge with her elbow and added, “Maybe the boys will look cuter now that you can see them.”

I turned around so she wouldn't see me roll my eyes. I knew she was only trying to put me in a good mood, but come on!

I slunk out into the mall and looked at my reflection in the storefront's glass window. I turned to the side, then faced front again. I guess the glasses didn't look
that
bad. Maybe I was just slow to accept change. They'd grow on me. I'd get used to them. All that good stuff.

I turned around to face the mall traffic. Lots of people walking by had glasses. Yesterday, I wouldn't have even noticed. Maybe it wasn't as big a deal as I was making it out to be.

A howl of pain followed by mocking laughter made me look to the right. And there, headed my way, were Slade Durkin and his two older brothers. They were punching and climbing on one another like animals as they walked.

My stomach seized. I didn't want to deal with King of the Bullies right now.

I glanced inside the store. Mom was still at the register, chattering away with the saleslady. I thought about heading back inside, but another yelp of pain made me look again at the Durkins.

One of his older brothers had Slade's arm twisted behind his back. The other brother laughed and drilled the most violent noogie I'd ever seen into Slade's scalp. People walking by glanced at them but did nothing.

As Slade struggled to get out of his brothers' grip, embarrassment bloomed on his face. And for a moment he wasn't this mean, evil boy who taunted kids in school and had caused me so many problems. He was one of us. Just a kid himself, being tortured by bigger, meaner kids. Even if they were only his brothers.

I pushed myself off the wall and stepped toward them. I had no plan, no clue what I was going to say. I just wanted them to leave Slade alone.

As I got closer, Slade noticed me, and our eyes connected. At first, his cheeks turned red, his shame even deeper now that someone from school had seen
him
getting bullied. He looked from me to his brothers and back again. Then the panic slid from his face.

Confidence rose up inside of me. I was making him feel better already! I was going to be a hero!

“Hey, Norah!” Slade called out. His brothers loosened their grip to look at me. “You were already ugly enough. You didn't need to go and get glasses!”

I flinched and stopped mid-stride. It felt like someone had punched me in the gut. How did bullies always know how to pick the words that would hurt the most?

Slade's brothers threw their heads back in laughter. They released Slade, who then straightened and laughed along with them. As they walked by, he said, “Seriously, Norah. If you were a dinosaur, you'd be a Nerdosaurus rex.”

His brothers laughed even harder, snorting and punching each other in the arms. One of them said to Slade proudly, “You're a Danville boy, all right.”

What did
that
mean? They all lived in this town, so weren't they automatically Danville boys? But I didn't even care. Tears stung my eyes, and I willed them not to fall down my cheeks.

I didn't know what I was more upset about, that Slade had said I looked ugly … or that I'd temporarily mistaken him for a human being.

The
next morning, I felt so depressed I even thought about faking an illness. Though Darcy had done this plenty of times (and attempted to school me in all acts of parental trickery), I had never lied about being sick to my parents. And, despite how much I wanted to hide in my bedroom all day, I wasn't going to start now.

We had a Spanish test, and Mr. Graham's makeup tests are always harder than the real thing. (Probably to discourage the whole faking-sick-on-test-days thing.) I didn't need that stress. On top of that, I was so busy lately with Partners in Crime along with my regular school stuff. Seventh grade seemed like it had double the amount of homework that sixth had. So I sucked it up and went to school.

Strangely, though getting glasses was a big deal to me, most people didn't seem to notice. I got no crazy looks in the hallway, and no one made any mean, Slade-like remarks. Even though I felt as if my whole face had changed, to everyone else I was still regular Norah Burridge.

Between the Spanish test and a pop quiz in English, it was a busy morning, and I barely had time to talk to
anyone
, not even Darcy. She only had a chance to tell me “Cool specs” as we rushed between classes.

I finally got a moment to rest at lunch. When I walked over to our usual spot, I saw Fiona was sitting at the popular table. We'd get her back tomorrow as part of our Share Plan.

I dropped my lunch bag on the table and eyeballed Darcy. She was eating a pudding cup and had two more lined up.

“Three puddings?” I said. “That's your lunch?”

“I can't chew,” she answered through a mouthful of liquid chocolate. “It's too sore.”

Oh.
Bad friend alert. In all my worrying about my own problems, I'd forgotten that Darcy got braces yesterday. And I hadn't even noticed them in any classes or in the halls this morning! I tried for a cheery tone. “Well, Zane says the soreness only lasts a day or two.”

Then I remembered how all the things my mom had said to try to make me feel better about glasses hadn't worked at all and realized the only thing I could do was be Darcy's friend. I sat beside her and made little circles on her back with my hand. “I'm sorry about the braces,” I said gently.

“Sorry?” She wiped the chocolate off her mouth with a napkin. “Don't be sorry. They're awesome!”

Shocked, I stuttered, “Uh — what?”

“The pain stinks, but like you said, that's only for a day or so. Check them out!” She smiled huge, and I really saw the braces for the first time.

They were purple.

My eyes widened. “Purple braces? I didn't know those existed.”

“Me neither,” Darcy said excitedly. “I thought I'd be stuck with those same metal ones like everyone else. But my mom told me I could get colored ones. This changes everything. These things rock!”

Darcy wore either black or purple every day, and the braces totally matched her tough-chick style. They actually
did
look kind of cool on her!

I wished I felt the same about the new addition to
my
face.

“What's wrong?” she asked, realizing I wasn't as happy as she was.

I filled her in on the Durkin brothers' appearance at the mall and what Slade had said about me looking ugly.

Darcy rolled her eyes. “Slade's such a jerk. He just wanted to impress his older brothers, and you impress a Durkin by being mean. You happened to be in the wrong spot at the wrong time. You are
not
ugly and your glasses look great. I swear.”

She held out her fist like a solemn oath. I half-heartedly bumped it. “Thanks,” I muttered, but I knew she was just trying to make me feel better. She's my best friend. That's her job.

Darcy knows me well, so she changed the subject. “Tell me all the details about yesterday's investigation,” she prodded.

As we wolfed down our lunches, I filled her in on everything, from the lack of leads to the fact that the Old Witch was totally harmless, even sweet.

Darcy settled back into her seat and furrowed her brow. “Really.”

I raised my hands. “So we're out of options. I have no idea what to do next.”

The bell rang, and we got to our feet.

“Partners in Crime meeting at my house after school,” Darcy said, picking up her tray. She leaned toward me and whispered, “I have a theory.”

 

That
afternoon, I waited for Darcy at my locker. I held my books in my arms and leaned up against the cool metal, watching kids get ready to leave for the day.

Down the hall, Zane and Maya were walking side by side. They'd have to pass me to get to the exit. I didn't want to stare, so I pretended to gaze straight in front of me, but really my eyes looked left, trying to sneak peeks at them. As they got closer, I realized they were talking in low voices. I strained to hear. Were they talking about whatever Zane's secret was? Dang it, why couldn't I be Spider-Man right now? (Not for shooting webs out of my wrists — that's gross — but for his superhearing.)

Maya seemed to be trying to convince Zane of something. She was pleading with her hands while he had a sheepish, unsure expression on his face. And then he noticed me.

Yep, Zane caught me staring. He stopped walking and his eyes widened. Maya whispered something to him, and he shook his head quickly and started walking faster in my direction.

I straightened up, and every nag my mother ever said ran through my head.
Don't slouch! Pull your shoulders back.
I flattened myself against the locker, and the dial poked me in the back. I winced and lowered my face.
Keep your head up,
Mom's voice said. My thumb nervously went to my mouth.
Don't bite your nails!

I almost yelled “Fine!” out loud, but thankfully I wasn't completely insane in that moment. Only mildly crazy.

I thought Zane was going to continue to power walk by, but as he got to where I was standing, he slowed. He looked up — right at me — and his face was a little flushed. He gave a shy smile and said, “I like your new glasses, Norah. They look really good.”

“Thank you,” I managed to say. He smiled again, bigger this time, and continued on his way. Maya gave me a little wave as she passed.

I let out the huge breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding in. I would've taken his words as a compliment, but Zane was probably just being nice. He was easily the kindest boy in Danville Middle School.

Still, my heart was beating like I was on mile twenty-six of a marathon.

My teeny, tiny, atom-size crush on Zane (okay, fine, Milky Way galaxy–size crush) kept me from noticing Fiona until she stood right in front of me.

Fiona gaped. “Oh. My. Fashion. Goddess.”

I whipped around to see who was standing behind me. No one. Just the locker. Then I slowly turned back. “Are you making fun of me?” I was more confused than hurt. I'd thought we were past that.

She took another step and examined me closely. I felt like a bug under a microscope.

“I can't believe it,” she said. “Why didn't I think of this? It's genius. It's what I was searching for all along!”

I asked, “Are you, like, sleepwalking or something? Because you're making no sense.”

“The glasses, you doofus! They're perfect!”

I tilted my head like my dog, Hubble, does when I babble to him and he has no clue what I'm saying. (Yes, I talk to my dog. It's useful sometimes since he doesn't talk back.)

Fiona, finally realizing my cluelessness, waved her hands excitedly. “You know how I kept saying that your look was missing something but I couldn't put my finger on what it was?”

“It was … glasses?”

“Yes! You look so … sophisticated.”

Now it was my turn to be shocked. I repeated, “Sophisticated?”

“Absolutely. You look older and more confident. Maybe because you're not all squinty and unsure-looking. And this pair you picked out …” She paused. “Wait, there's no way you picked these. Who helped you?” She put her hands on her hips like she was insulted I'd asked someone else's fashion advice instead of hers.

“No one. I picked them myself.” I didn't want to tell her that I'd practically chosen them at random because I was ready to have a tantrum in the store. Let her think I'd actually made a wise fashion choice on my own for once.

Fiona shook her head in amazement. “Wonderful pick for your face's shape and your hair color.” She reached up and loosened my ponytail a little. “And they're versatile with many looks. You're just adorable, Norah Burridge!”

“Wow,” I said, feeling truly stunned by all these compliments. “Thanks.”

Everyone who'd mentioned my new glasses had told me they looked great (except Slade) — but I hadn't believed them. I'd thought they were all just being nice. Fiona, however, doesn't do “nice” when it comes to fashion. She only knows honesty. So, if she thought the glasses were perfect for me … I believed her. I could already feel myself standing taller, feeling more confident.

“Hey,” Darcy said, giving me a little hip check as she got to us. “Ready to go?”

“My glasses look great,” I told her, my voice giving away my surprise.

“Duh,” Darcy said. “I told you that this morning. And at lunch.” Then she looked at Fiona, back at me, and said, “But you didn't believe it until
Teen Vogue
over here said it.”

Whoops. A little nugget of guilt sat in the pit of my stomach. “Sorry?” I said with a sheepish smile. “She does know a lot about style, though.”

“And I also know about time,” Fiona butted in. “If we're going to have a Partners in Crime meeting, we should get going.”

“You're coming?” Darcy said. Her jaw tightened. Something most people wouldn't notice, but it didn't slip past me.

“Yeah,” Fiona said. “Norah invited me along. I'm glad cheering got canceled today. I'm looking forward to chilling with you guys.”

“Me … too,” Darcy said with a small smile.

But the smile didn't reach her eyes.