The Sleepover (8 page)

“Are
you
saying you don't know where my sister is?” Max counters.

Veronica pipes up from behind me. “Not a clue. Well, that's not true. We do have clues. There are the chicks in the bathtub, for starters, and the—”

“The chicks!” What is
wrong
with me that I forgot about them
AGAIN?
“Max, you were in the bathroom this morning when I tried to get in. What were you doing down here? Where did those chicks come from?”

Max continues to look confused. “How should I know
where they came from? I was just using the bathroom,” he says. “Figured I'd stink up yours instead of mine.”

“Gross.” Seriously. So gross.

“Come to think of it, I did think they were a little weird.” Max shrugs and lifts his eyes to examine the ceiling.

Paige studies him carefully. “Are you telling me you . . . did your business . . . in front of sixteen baby chicks, and you only thought it was
a little weird
?”

“What can I say? I'm a dude.” Max shrugs again.

“He has a point there.” I may be an only child, but I've met enough boys to say now with perfect certainty, “Boys are total mysteries.”

“I'll tell you what's a mystery. A missing person, that's what. Max, are you positive you know nothing?” Paige asks, gripping his arm.

“Oww,” Max says, rubbing his elbow once Paige lets go of it. “I don't know where my weirdo sister is. And I'm telling Mom you don't either!” He pushes his butt off the stairs and turns to climb them when all three of us grab on to his legs.

I hold on as tightly as I can to his pajama pants. “Not so fast, Maxamillion!”

“Who's gonna stop me?” Max taunts, but his eyes get extra big when Paige leans in and shakes a fist in his face. He stops struggling and sinks onto the stair. “All right, all right,
ladies. No need to resort to violence. I'm sure we can work out a mutually beneficial arrangement.”

“A what
what
?” Paige asks.

“I'm just saying. You scratch my back; I'll scratch yours. I won't tell my mom, but it'll cost you.”

Paige looks at me and then at Max, clearly smothering a laugh. “Oh yeah, pint-size? What'd you have in mind?”

Max rubs his hands together in glee. “Lemme see now. Meghan, I really like your sweatshirt. We could start there.”

“No way, no how.” I hug the hoodie around me and fiddle with the zipper. “Besides, it's not mine to bargain with.”

“That's the point,” Max says, looking momentarily disappointed, but then his eyes light up. “You're a math whiz, though, right? That's all yours to bargain with. You do my homework for a week—no, a month—and I won't breathe a word.”

“A month? Are you insane?”

“Fine, three weeks.”

I purse my lips, considering. I'm not a cheater, and I can't stand people who are, but, then again, if my parents discover I've lost my best friend (which will happen the minute Max rats us out to his mom), I can kiss my entire social life good-bye for the rest of middle school even if—no,
when
, definitely when—Anna Marie turns up safe and sound. Probably the rest of high school, too. I'll die an old maid, locked away in
my room, without even paper lanterns to watch for on my birthday, like that princess in
Tangled
. I cannot accept that.

I have no choice here. At least, not one that makes logical sense when you weigh the pros and cons.

“Two weeks, final offer,” I say, and Max grins. He holds out his hand for a shake. Ugh. I swallow a sigh and take his sweaty palm in mine, pumping it once.

“That's settled then,” Paige says, brushing her pants off.

“Not so fast. That's just what I want from Meghan. You're next.”

Paige's eyebrows (both of them, because she has two, like everyone on this planet with the exception of me) shoot up. Max looks extra-serious as he says, “From you, sweet maiden, I'll take one perfect kiss.”

Paige snorts. “Yeah, right.” She brushes more invisible lint off her yoga pants.

This time it's Max's turn to raise his eyebrows. (Even bratty Max gets to have two eyebrows. I'm officially weirder than Max, and I didn't even think that was possible.) “Oh, I'm serious. Deadly.”

“Why, you little—”

“I'll kiss him,” says Veronica, and both Paige and I whirl around to face her.

“What? It's only a peck. I don't care,” she says.

Max wrinkles his forehead. “First of all, this is my request
of Paige. Second of all, we're gonna be brother and sister in a few weeks, so no way.”

Veronica shrugs. “Oh yeah. I forgot about that part. Sorry, Paige. I tried.”

Paige studies Max, tilting her head to once side. I hold perfectly still, wondering how my friend is going to respond. I know for a fact, which Paige confirmed last night when we played I Never (side note: Why do I remember that and not much that came after?), that she's only just had her first kiss. Would she really want her second to be with Anna Marie's bratty kid brother? I'm betting no, nope, and he's got a better chance of seeing a unicorn in the wild.

“Here are my conditions,” Paige finally says, totally surprising me. “You keep your lips closed at all times, and it lasts no more than three seconds. Four, if you're very lucky.”

“Done,” agrees Max, fluttering his eyes closed and puckering his lips.

“Not now, dweeb.
After
we find Anna Marie. How else can I be sure you'll keep up your end of the bargain?”

“Well, how can I be sure you will?” Max shoots back.

“I guess you'll just have to trust me,” says Paige, cocking her head again and fluttering her own eyelashes.

Max sighs and then slowly nods.

“Whatcha want from me?” Veronica asks, stepping closer and bouncing on her heels.

Max looks down at his shoes and is quiet for a long time. He's never quiet. His big toe nudges the edge of the step where the carpet is peeling the teeny, tiniest of bits. “Just . . . just be nice to my dad, okay? Since you get to live with him and all.”

I suck in a breath. I did
not
expect that one. Veronica just gives her usual shrug. “Easy-peasy. Your dad is the best.”

Max nods, still examining the rug. Then he stands, turns, and walks up the steps. I almost feel sort of sorry for him, but when he gets to the top, his evil grin is back as he turns and blows a kiss to Paige. “I'll be waiting, my sweet.”

Paige pretend gags until the door clicks closed.

“Okay, so I think we bought his silence. We have four and a half hours until our parents show up. Although we could have way less time if Mrs. G. decides to come down and check on us. We need to find Anna Marie superfast,” Paige says.

Duh.

“Word,” Veronica agrees.

I fiddle with the strings on the hood of my sweatshirt, pulling them first one way, then the other. I'm trying extra-hard not to think about the fact that we really don't have any solid clues.

After a second, Paige reaches out and touches the bottom hem of my hoodie. “Hold on, you guys. Max isn't the only other person we could ask. Someone else saw us last night.”

“Who?” Veronica asks.

Paige points to my sweatshirt. “Follow me!” she orders.

“I
can't believe we're gonna do this,” I say, but no one answers me. Probably because I said it the entire time it took us to change out of our pajamas and tug on our shoes, and also the whole time Veronica tried to convince me to let her draw on an eyebrow using the face paint she brought in case we'd wanted her to teach us how to mime last night. Because “miming is a lost art and the world needs more of us,” she claimed.

I may or may not have repeated it a few more times as we made our way from the Guerreros' basement door and around to the front entrance of Anna Marie's next-door neighbor Jake Ribano.
Jake Ribano.
I'm
still
repeating it as we stand on his porch, because I can't help myself. I really
can't
believe we're gonna do this.

Veronica pushes her way past me. “Why isn't anyone pressing the button?”

Paige and I exchange a look. Veronica lives two towns over. She has
no idea
whose doorbell she's about to ring.

“You just . . . You don't understand,” I finally say. “It's. Jake. Ribano. He's, like, all dark and mysterious, and he's this loner who skateboards and plays an electric guitar and dresses in all black and wears this skull hoodie everywhere. He's dangerous. I heard a rumor he called in a bomb threat to our school last spring because he'd forgotten to study for a test.”

Paige says, “I heard he has a fifth grader make his lunch and drop it off on his porch every morning.”

I nod. “I heard that one too. And last year the pool turned fluorescent orange at the start of a swim meet, and someone said they saw Jake leaving school right before that.”

I sigh. He really is danger personified. And I . . . am pretty much the opposite. So what if he's gorgeous, with this kind of blue-black hair that falls across his face and bright blue eyes that have actual soul to them?

Veronica shrugs. “Fuzzy from
Get Fuzzy
likes to say, ‘Don't judge a book by its cover.' Anyway, whoever he is, you're wearing his sweatshirt, so obviously he saw us at some point last night. Let's find out when!”

I hate that she makes total sense. She reaches up and presses the doorbell. I shiver (I try to tell myself that's it's just from the cool air), and even nothing-phases-me Paige picks at her cuticles while looking everywhere but at the front door.

A gong echoes inside the house. It's a pretty normal house for such a mysterious guy. There's a narrow window to the side of the entrance, and through it I can see a long carpet runner leading to the back of the house, plus a staircase going upstairs. There's an entry table holding a bowl to toss keys into, and a lamp with a sunflower pattern on the shade.

No one comes.

Veronica taps out two long and one short ding on the bell and steps back. Inside, it's still nothing but dark and silence. “Whelp. They're not home,” she says, hopping off the porch.

Paige and I share a look that's equal parts disappointment and relief. I really was not prepared for Jake Ribano. We follow Veronica along the shrubs dividing the two yards and slink back through Anna Marie's basement door.

“What now?”

“I bet the chicks need some food,” Veronica says. “Do you think they'd like Doritos?”

“Um . . . probably not,” Paige answers, slipping her phone from her pocket. “I'll google it and see what they do eat. We probably
should
take care of them while we think of what to do next.”

My stomach growls. I personally wouldn't say no to some Doritos. Are there any left? I hunt through the total disaster of a basement until I discover our food stash from last night. There are only crumbs in the Doritos bag, but the bowl of
popped popcorn that had Paige's phone only has a tiny bit of Silly String in it now. I also find a bag of Chips Ahoy!—breakfast of champions. I bring both with me for sharing as I follow Veronica into the bathroom. The chicks are all huddled by the drain in the empty tub.

“Oh gross. They've pooped all over.”

“It's a natural human biological function,” Veronica says.

“True. Even if they're chicks, not humans,” I reply.

“Actually, guys, these aren't chicks. They're ducklings,” Paige says, coming into the bathroom with her cell phone in hand. “Look at their feet.” We peer at them.

We're concentrating on the inside of the bathtub when a noise sounds right behind us.

Squeak!

We all stand up and spin around, trying to see where it's coming from.

Squeak!

With my heart in my throat, I peek behind the toilet and exhale. “Oh! Look!”

I cup my hand, and a tiny ducking waddles into it. Its little webbed feet tickle my palm. He's soooooo sweet. I want to keep him forever. Finally something about this morning that isn't horrible.

“Guys, he's so cute! Look, he's got black feathers instead of yellow! I bet he's been stuck there all morning. I definitely
didn't see him when I counted earlier—that makes seventeen. How did you get out of the tub, little guy?”

Paige stares at him with her mouth open. “Ducklings . . .” she says. “One black one . . . Megs, who do you have for science?”

“Mr. Fontana—same as you. And thanks a lot for remembering that I sit three rows behind you!”

“Right, right. Sorry. Who does Anna Marie have?”

“I'm pretty sure she has Miss Shanley. What does this have to do with anything?” I trail my finger along the duckling's downy feathers. They feel like the fuzz on the outside of a peach. Or maybe like the crushed velvet on the dress my mom makes me wear to church whenever the handbell choir performs. The duckling blinks up at me, and my heart completely melts. Total cuteness attack!

I'm barely paying attention to Paige at this point, even when she says, “Because I think I know exactly where these ducklings came from! Miss Shanley's class hatched ducks from eggs last month. I bet these are them! Fiona Brock is in that class, and she told me there was a petition going around to free the ducks from captivity. What if Anna Marie signed the petition? Or did more than signed it? What if she—
we
—actually went through with it . . . last night?”

Well,
now
I'm paying attention. My jaw drops. “You think we
stole
these ducks from school?” It is officially official. I am Dead
Girl Walking. I can't even hold this little duckling anymore—he's too incriminating. I bend and release him into the tub to join his brothers and sisters. He utters a tiny and ridiculously adorable pip-squeaky
quack
in thanks, and my heart squeezes.