Taffy Sinclair 005 - Blackmailed by Taffy Sinclair (3 page)

T
affy
was standing beside the swings when I got outside. She is always the first one out at recess because she sits so close to the door. The distance to the swings from the school door seemed like miles, and I felt like a condemned person walking to my execution as I headed toward her.

"What do you want?" I growled as soon as I was close enough for her to hear me.

Taffy smiled. "Just some favors in exchange for keeping quiet about what I know."

"You don't know anything!" I was having a hard time keeping my voice down so that no one else would hear. I
was so mad at her that I wanted to die. "I told you what really happened."

"If you're so innocent, then why don't you tell Wiggins?" Taffy paused and gazed off into the distance as if she were seeing a picture in her mind. "She said that if the guilty person didn't come forward, she would have to call the police. Just think what it would be like if the police came to our classroom and began questioning every
body and searching our desks. W
hen they questioned me, I would have to decide whether to tell them or not."

Taffy was obviously enjoying watching me squirm, and I was determined not to let her get the best of me. "I SAID—what do you want?"

"Wiggins gave us a whole page of math problems for homework. I really don't like to do homework, so, since you have to do yours anyway, you can do mine for me. It would be really friendly of you, and I would NEVER tell on a friend."

"I can WHAT?" This time I didn't even try to keep my voice down.

"You heard me," she said, giving me a sinister look.

"And if I don't?"

"Guess. Of course, if you didn't we wouldn't be friends."

I didn't have to guess, but as angry as I was, I couldn't help feeling a little bit relieved. Math was one of my best subjects. If all I had to do to keep Taffy from going to
Wiggins or the police was give her a copy of the math homework, things might not be so bad after all.

"Okay," I said. "I'll meet you a block from school in the morning and give you a copy then."

Taffy frowned at me and shook her head. "No," she said. "I need them today. I'll have to take them home tonight and copy them in my own handwriting. You'll just have to stay in afte
r lunch and work the problems."

"What do you mean, handwriting? We're doing long division with decimals. That's all numbers."

Taffy smiled. "So? I'll bet I make a two different than you do. And a five."

I had to admit that she was probably right. Taffy Sinclair has fancy handwriting with lots of squiggly little curliques and things. Probably her two's and five's were a lot different than mine.

I hesitated, hating to give in to her, but I knew deep inside that I had to. "Okay," I said. "I'll give it to you after school today." Then I stomped off, leaving Taffy standing there all by herself.

When my friends heard what Taffy had told me to do, they were almost as angry as I was.

"See, I told you," said Beth. "She is a
blackmailer."

"That fink," said Melanie. "She's going to make you miss the best part of lunch period."

"She's got her nerve," Christie said.

"You aren't really going to let her blackmail you, are you?" asked Katie.

"What else can I do? Besides, if I stall Taffy by doing her homework for her this time, maybe the real thief will confess and then she won't be able to blackmail me anymore."

None of my friends believed that the real thief would come forward and confess any more than I did, and I still had to do Taffy Sinclair's homework, but I didn't intend to give up my lunch period if I could help it. A plan was forming in my mind. When Wiggins announced free reading time as soon as we got in from recess, I put my plan into action.

During free reading time we can either choose a book from the shelves
at the back of the room or read
one we have already started. Kids were moving around, picking books off the shelf or digging around in their desks for books they wanted to finish. When I was sure Wiggins wasn't looking, I spread my math book flat on my desk so that she couldn't see what kind of book it was. Then I found the homework page and covered the problems with my arm. With any luck at all I could get at least half of them done during free reading period. Then I wouldn't have to give up all my recess time doing favors for Taffy Sinclair.

I was on problem three when disaster struck, and I was concentrating so hard that I didn't know Wiggins had stopped beside my desk. My head was bent over my paper when she spoke to me so that her voice sounded as if it were thundering down from heaven.

"Jana Morgan! Are you doing math problems during free reading time?"

I couldn't very well deny it, but when I tried to answer her, I couldn't speak, either. I nodded instead.

"And what is it that you are supposed to be doing during free reading time? Speak up."

"Reading, Miss Wiggins," I mumbled. Everyone in the whole sixth grade was looking at me, including Randy Kirwan. I was so embarrassed I thought I'd die.

"That's right, Jana. Now put your math book away and begin reading like the rest of the class."

I did what she told me to do, putting away my math book and getting out a library book to read. I scooted down in my seat and opened the book, hoping that Wiggins would go back to the front of the room and everybody else would go back to their reading.

Just then I could feel somebody's eyes burning into me. I looked up. It was Taffy Sinclair. She had turned around in her seat again and was looking straight at me with a nasty smile on her face. I wanted to scream at her to do her own homework even if it meant telling Wiggins that I had found her wallet. But then I thought about going to jail and about Mom crying when she came to visit me and about my father thinking his only child was a thief, and I sank lower into my seat and tried to read my book.

At lunch, Christie came up with a great idea. "We're all your best friends," she said, "and I think that as soon as we're through eating we should divide up the problems equally. That way we can get them finished and still have part of the lunch period to go outside."

"I do, too."

"Me, too."

"So do I."

"And then we can make copies for each of us and we'll all have our homework done,
too," I said triumphantly.

"What are best friends for?" said Christie.

"Yeah. The Fabulous Five can handle Taffy Sinclair," chimed in Beth.

My best friends truly were best friends.

As soon as we were through with our lunches, I went to my locker and got my math book. Then I met my friends at our private spot out by the fence, and we started on the homework.

There were twenty problems, which meant that each of us had four to do. That wasn't so bad, especially since I had already worked two of mine during free reading. But it was a cold day and windy, and even though I had on my gloves, my fingers got stiff before I was halfway through the problems. Christie finished hers first, naturally, but I was second. Long division with decimals is easy for me. I copied Christie's answers on a separate paper for Taffy Sinclair along with my own answers. Katie finished next. She blew on her hands to warm them up
and started helping Melanie, w
ho is terr
ible at math. Pretty soon she w
as finished and so was Beth. We did that whole page of problems, copied them off for Taffy Sinclair and each other, and still had ten minutes on the playground before the bell rang.

I met Taffy at her locker after school and gave her the homework. "Here," I s
aid. "I hope you're satisfied."

"Of course," she said. "And I'll be satisfied again tomorrow after school
and the next day, FRIEND . . ."

"What do you mean, tomorrow?" I demanded. "All you said was that I
had to do your homework today."

"Get serious," she said. "My silence is worth more than one measly page of homework! I'll let you know when you've done enough." Then she took the problems, gave a little laugh, and walked off, leaving me standing there shaking with rage
.

W
hen I got home from school that afternoon, I was surprised to find Mom already there. She was pacing the floor with her arms crossed tightly in front of her, and there was that furious look on her face again.

"What's the matter, Mom?" I asked a little fearfully. "What are you doing home so early?"

Mom stopped and looked at me as if she were so preoccupied with her problems that she hadn't heard me come in. "It's your father again. I called him to tell him that I was sending money. When I told him the amount, he said it wasn't enough, and he may have to come here anyway. Can you believe that? I don't have any more money in my savings account to give him. And besides, what will I tell Pink if your father ends up on our doorstep?"

I could see Mom's point about Pink, but deep down I couldn't help wishing that my father would come anyway. I've never really gotten to know him, and it's hard to explain, but I have this feeling that part of me is missing. For instance, I know lots of ways that Mom and I are alike. We both have dark brown hair, and we laugh the same way. We both hate brussel sprouts and cry at sad movies. But what do my father and I have in common? Is he grouchy when he first wakes up in the morning like I am? Do his ears burn when he gets embarrassed? I don't even know what he looks like now. The last picture of him that I have was taken on my third birthday—just before he and Mom split up.

If only he would come. Even if it were just for a few days. It didn't seem like too much to ask.

Mom was still talking about Pink when I tuned in again. I had missed part of what she said while I was daydreaming about my father. She had said how understanding Pink was but that she didn't want to burden him with her problems, or something like that.

"Maybe you could borrow some money from Pink," I offered. "You wouldn't hav
e to tell him what it was for."

Mom shot me an angry look. "Oh, no. I could never do a thing like that. Actually, I already called the bank and made a small loan. That's why I'm home early. I stopped by to sign the paper and pick up a check. But believe me! This is the last cent Bill Morgan is going to get from ME. He's not going to blackmail me into supporting him by threatening to show up here and ruin our lives."

I jumped when she said "blackmail." Was that what my father was doing? Blackmailing Mom the way Taffy Sinclair was blackmailing me? Pretending to be friends to get what he wanted? I had a hard time believing that he would do a thing like that. Mom had gone off to the kitchen to start dinner, still grumbling to herself about the money, so I didn't follow her and ask her any questions. I was dying to, though.

I couldn't help wondering what
would
happen if my father showed up here. Would he move in and sleep on the sofa? Would he walk me to school in the morning and have dinner with us at night? I got shivery all over at the thought of that.

I went to my room and hung up my jacket. But Mom had used the word "blackmail." I couldn't believe that my father was really as wicked as Taffy Sinclair. What if he really did still care for her, and he was just looking for a way to get to see her? He knows she's a kind-hearted person who could never turn away anyone who needed help—including him. That's it, I thought. Maybe he's just faking needing money so she'll invite him here and they can get back together. It might work out better than Mom thinks, too. I know she wouldn't believe it, but she and my father might even like each other now.

But every time I started to daydream about being a real family again, I remembered the tro
uble I was in. Taffy Sinclair w
as the only thing standing between me and jail.

Taffy watched every move I made at school the next day, and I watched her back. Every time our eyes met, we sent each other poison-dart looks.
There was one person I couldn't look a
t, though. In fact, I think I w
ould have died if
our eyes had met. That person w
as Randy Kirwan. I couldn't believe that only two days ago I had thought that my life was just about perfect because Randy had kissed me. So much had happened in those two short days! Now I knew I had to keep Randy from finding out about Wiggins's wallet and thinking I
took it if it w
as the la
st thing I ever did. I was so worried about giving my
self away that I couldn't even look at him. The crazy thing was that the more I avoided looking at him, the more he looked at me.

He turned around three times during math period. I know he was doing it so t
hat he could give me his 1,000-
watt smile. I could feel my heart doing flip-flops even though I didn't look at him or see that smile. I wanted to let him know that I wasn't mad and still liked him, but I couldn't think of any way to do it without looking him straight in the eye.

At recess I talked my friends into hanging around with Alexis Duvall and her friends, Lisa Snow, Kim Baxter, and Sara Sawyer, so that I could avoid Randy again. Of course, I didn't tell them that I was avoiding Randy. I just said it would be fun to talk to the other girls. It wasn't. All they wanted to do was try to guess who the sixth-grade thief was and look around the playground for new suspects.

"I'll bet it was Mona Vaughn," said Sara. "She doesn't wear very nice clothes, and look at those ratty sneakers."

"You're right," said Lisa. "She probably needs the money. If she comes to
school wearing new sneakers, w
e'll know it was her."

Alexis was looking in a different direction. "Has anybody thought about Stacy Thomas?"

"Stacy?" asked Kim. "She doesn't need money. Her father owns a grocery store."

"Yeah, but she is really mad at Wiggins for flunking her on that social studies test last week. She might have taken her wallet just to get even."

They w
ent on like that during the e
ntire recess, finding reasons w
hy pra
ctically every girl they saw on
the playground could be the thief. I was glad I was standing with them. I didn't need anyone else getting any ideas about me.

After we got back to our room from recess and began free reading period, Randy started looking at me again. I wanted to look back at him so badly that I didn't know what to do. I tried looking at my desk, at the blackboard, at Clarence Marshall's ears, which stick out really far from the sides of his head, and even at Wiggins, but out of the corner of my eye I could see Randy. After a few minutes he got out of his seat to go to the pencil sharpener. When he came to my desk, he brushed against it. I thought I'd die. He had never brushed against my desk before. I knew he really wanted me to look at him. He probably wanted to talk to me about going out for pizza again, but I just couldn't.

As I sat there, I got madder and madder.
Why did someone have to steal W
iggins's wallet in the first place? If they hadn't, and I hadn't found it and got caught by Taffy Sinclair while trying to put it back, then I could look at Randy without feeling guilty, and he could smile his 1,000-watt smile at me, and I could smile back. It wasn't fair.

After he returned to his desk from the pencil sharpener, he didn't look at me one more time all morning. I was nervous when he was looking at me so much, but when he stopped, I got awfully depressed.

"What's the matter, Jana?" Beth asked at lunch. She even called me by my first name, which usually meant she was worried.

"Nothing," I said. I honestly didn't want to talk about it. Not even to my best friend.

I nibbled on my lunch and listened to the conversations going on around me, trying to look around for Randy without anyone noticing. He was nowhere in t
he cafeteria that I could see w
ithout twisting all the way around to look in bac
k. Then I spotted him sitting w
ith Mark and Scott, his two best friends. They were three tables over from ours. He was talking to them and laughing as if he didn't have a care in the world. It was plain to see that he had already forgotten all about me.

I trudged out to the corner of the playground with my friends a little while later and st
arted working on the math homew
ork for Taffy Sinclair. I hated that Ta
ffy Sinclair. Everything that w
as happening was all her fault. I could hardly concentrate on the problems for thinking about her.

Just then, I felt a poke in my ribs. I looked up and Melanie was pointing toward the bicycle rack.

"Look! There's Randy, and he's talking to Taffy Sinclair."

I heard my pencil clunk as it fell onto my open math book. S
lowly, I turned and looked tow
ar
d the bicycle rack. It was Randy
and Taffy, all right. They were standing there talking to each other and acting as if t
hey were really interested in w
hat the conversation was about.

"What do you think they're talking about?" I whispered.

Katie tried to reassure me. "Probably not vou. Maybe they're dis
cussing the weather or what they
had for lunch."

"Fat chance," I muttered. She's probably telling Randy that I'm the sixth-grade thief, and that she's some kind of heroine for catching me, but that she's too kind-hearted to turn me in."

Nobody said anything to that. I knew they all were thinking the same thing. Everybody knows that Taffy has a crush on Randy and that she'd love to take him away from me.

"Maybe they'll catch the real thief soon," offered Christie.

I was glad that she was trying to make me feel better, but it was no use. There was a lump growing in my thr
oat that wa
s the size of a tennis ball already.

"Maybe," I mumbled and went back to wo
rking my problems. I hardly knew
what I was doing, and I finished them in about half my regular time.

When everybody
else was finis
hed, I started copying the answ
ers off for Taffy. I couldn't stop thinking about Randy and Taffy being together. My eyes were swimming with tears, but I kept on writing anyway, even though everything got
so blurry that I had to guess what numbers to put down. I w
anted to get it over with as soon as I could, and I honestly didn't realize that I copied every single answer wrong.