Give Me a K-I-L-L Read online

  “It’s a real place,” Gretchen said. “But if you blink, you miss it.”

  “Small towns are the best,” Courtney said to Devra, her eyes flashing.

  “If you’re a small town person.…” Devra added. She changed to a funny voice and did a short dialogue. “‘Want to hang out at the 7-Eleven tonight?’ ‘Huh? The 7-Eleven? That’s too exciting. How about the DQ?’”

  Gretchen watched them laugh. How do I win them over? They’re both so snotty.

  Devra’s smile faded. Her blue eyes turned icy. She had a red-and-yellow bandanna tied tightly over her forehead. She untied it, then tied it again. “Listen, Gretch,” she said, peering out to see if Coach Walker was returning. “If you’ve come for the cheerleader position, it’s already taken—by me.”

  The two girls didn’t wait for Gretchen to reply. They both jumped up and hurried out of the office. Gretchen could feel that her face was still hot. Without realizing it, she had balled her hands into fists. She watched the two girls as they crossed the gym to the bleachers.

  But her eyes wandered to the wall at the side of the bleachers. She saw Sid and Stacy. Sid had his arms around Stacy’s waist, and they were locked in a long kiss.

  To Gretchen’s surprise, Devra stopped halfway across the gym floor. Her mouth dropped open as she watched Sid and Stacy against the wall.

  Why does Devra suddenly look so angry? Gretchen wondered. She looks as if she wants to kill them both.

  5.

  A few minutes later, Coach Walker returned to her office. She dropped behind her desk and slid her phone onto the desktop. She adjusted the Yankees cap over her hair. Gretchen saw that she had tiny diamond studs on both sides of her nose.

  “Sorry to keep you waiting. Did you meet Devra and Courtney?”

  Gretchen nodded. “Yes. We … uh … talked for a bit.” She clasped her hands tightly in her lap, surprised to find them damp and ice cold.

  “Your family just moved to Shadyside?”

  Gretchen nodded again. “My mom and me. A few weeks ago.”

  Coach Walker toyed with the silver whistle that dangled from her neck. “How are you finding it?”

  “Big,” Gretchen said.

  That made the coach smile for the first time. But the smile faded quickly. “I’m afraid your timing is bad. We had only one position to fill, and I just gave it to Devra.”

  Gretchen couldn’t hide her disappointment. She let out a long sigh.

  “Devra was the alternate last year,” Coach Walker said. “So I thought she should move onto the squad for this year.”

  “But…” Gretchen fumbled in her bag and pulled out the disc she had brought. “I have a highlight reel,” she said, raising it to the coach. “Maybe if you have time, you can watch.…”

  Coach Walker took the disk from her. “Is this video from your old school?”

  “Yes. I was cocaptain. The school was smaller, but we had six girls on the squad, just like here.”

  Coach Walker studied the disc for a moment. She smiled again. “Why don’t we watch it now?”

  She pulled a disc drive from a bottom desk drawer and plugged it into her laptop. Then she motioned for Gretchen to slide her chair around to her side of the desk so they could watch it together.

  As the video started and Gretchen watched the Savanna Mills cheerleaders run onto the floor to start their routines, she felt a pang of sadness. She watched Polly do a series of cartwheels across the floor. She liked all these girls. They had so much fun together. They were a real team.

  The girls suddenly looked so young to Gretchen. She had the weird feeling she was watching an old movie. Something that happened far away in a different time.

  Can’t let the sadness take over.…

  She raised her gaze to Coach Walker, who was watching the routines intently. “Good. Very good,” she murmured. She turned to Gretchen. “Very good L Stand to a Shoulder Sit. That’s so basic, but you made it look fresh.”

  “Thanks,” Gretchen said. “I think the Thigh Stand is next.”

  Coach Walker turned her attention back to the laptop screen. “Yes. That’s impressive,” she said, nodding her head. “Both Thigh Stands are perfect. And I like your smile, Gretchen. I like the way you make it look as if you are enjoying yourself.”

  “Well … actually, I was,” Gretchen said.

  Coach Walker stopped the video. “I’m impressed.”

  Gretchen felt her heartbeat start to race again. “Thank you. I do a Flying Somersault at the end. It’s kind of my specialty.”

  “I’m going to watch the whole thing later,” the coach said. “Have you met Stacy? She’s our captain. I want her to watch it, too.”

  “I met her. Out in the hall,” Gretchen said. Then she thought: And Stacy thought I was flirting with her boyfriend.

  “Tell you what, Gretchen,” Coach Walker said, twirling the silver whistle. “Devra isn’t going to like this, but I’m going to let you try out. I think this team has a chance of going to the state tournament. And I want it to have only the best cheerleaders we have in school. I think you’re really good, and it’s only fair to give you a chance to make the squad.”

  Gretchen’s heart skipped a beat. She wanted to jump up and hug Coach Walker. “Oh … thank you,” she managed to say.

  Walker jumped to her feet. “I have to tell Devra right away.” She saw Devra sitting beside Courtney at the far end of the bleachers. She cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted for Devra to come to the office.

  Devra entered the office with her arms crossed in front of her, a suspicious look on her face. Coach Walker motioned for her to take the chair next to Gretchen. “Change of plans,” the coach said.

  Devra’s blue eyes grew wider. She adjusted her red-and-yellow bandanna and flipped back her wavy, red hair with a toss of her head.

  Coach Walker hesitated. She took a breath. “I’ve decided to give Gretchen a chance to try out for the position on the squad,” she said. Both of her hands gripped the edge of her desktop, as if she expected a torrent of protest.

  Devra yawned.

  She squinted at Coach Walker. “What did you just say?”

  “I said we want the best talent we can get on the squad,” the coach replied. “So I’ve given Gretchen a chance to try out.”

  Devra’s eyes flashed. She glared at Gretchen, a hard, angry stare.

  But then she said in a voice just above a whisper, “No worries. No worries at all.”

  A few minutes later, Gretchen was driving home, singing along to the radio, the music cranked way up. She roared up Park Drive, made a squealing turn into a street she didn’t know, singing and laughing, and feeling the joy of being a winner.

  She sailed through several blocks, the houses and cars a colorful blur sweeping past the windshield. Stopping for a light, she cut off the music and pulled out her phone. She pushed Polly’s number to tell her the good news.

  “I know I can beat Devra Dalby,” she told her old friend. “I know I can make this squad. You should have seen the coach’s face. She was definitely impressed. And I’m impressed with her. I think it took courage to give this girl Devra the news. Devra seems to be some kind of tiger.”

  Gretchen turned back onto Park Drive. “Hard to believe, Polly, but I made two enemies in one day. Stacy and Devra. But they’ll get over it. I’m sure they will.”

  Gretchen let out a shocked scream as a gunshot—a deafening crack of sound—rang out right behind her. Her hands flew up, the phone fell to the floor, and the car squealed out of control.

  6.

  Gretchen’s foot slammed the brake. She grabbed the wheel and twisted it as the car slid toward a light pole at the curb. A low moan escaped her throat as the car bumped onto the curb, jolting her whole body, and came to a stop an inch from the pole.

  A shrill wail rose up around her. It took her a few seconds to realize she was leaning on the horn. Struggling to catch her breath, Gretchen gripped the wheel again and pressed her back against the c
ar seat.

  A close one.

  Her hand trembled as she pushed open the door. She leaned over and saw the flat tire even before she climbed out. The front tire on the driver’s side. It spread flat on the pavement.

  A blowout. Not a gunshot. A tire blowout.

  She stared at it until it blurred in front of her eyes.

  You’re just tense because the nightmares have returned, she told herself. You have got to get your imagination under control.

  * * *

  A few miles away in North Hills, the expensive neighborhood of Shadyside, Devra Dalby leaned forward on the leather desk chair in her bedroom and gazed at her father on her laptop screen. “Dad, the only way I see you these days is on FaceTime,” she said.

  He frowned. “I know. Inventory time is always crazy. And we’ve had board meetings all week to make matters worse.” He rubbed his eyes wearily.

  He’s looking older, Devra realized. Why hadn’t she noticed the gray that had crept into the sides of his hair and the dark lines under his eyes? Was it because he was never home?

  Her dad had always prided himself on being the energetic, dynamic, handsome Dalby. His two brothers were no match for him. They helped him run the department store chain, but they were just helpers, and everyone knew it.

  As CEO of the Dalby stores, he wore $2,000 suits and wore them well. He had a collection of Rolex watches and a hundred Ferragamo neckties. Everything he wore had to be the best. He said it was important since he represented the image of the stores.

  He kept himself in excellent shape. He had two personal trainers who came to the house. The gym in the basement was state-of-the-art.

  But here he was looking tired, and it wasn’t just the bad lighting on the laptop screen. Devra had always thought of him as a young George Clooney. The resemblance was definitely there. But leaning forward with her elbows on her desk, studying him now as he sat behind the wide glass desk in his office, his cheeks were puffy and his eyes were bloodshot.

  “Gretchen, what’s up?” he said, unable to hide his impatience. He never liked a conversation to last more than five minutes.

  “A little problem at school,” Devra told him. She pushed back her hair with both hands. “I told you how I was being promoted to cheerleader, remember? Coach Walker said I could have the position? Well … this new girl marched in and is messing everything up.”

  Mr. Dalby turned away from the screen for a moment and called something to someone who had entered his office. Then he turned back to the camera. “Messed everything up?”

  Devra nodded. “Yeah. Now Walker changed her mind and is letting this new girl try out.”

  Mr. Dalby rubbed his chin. “That doesn’t seem right.”

  “Of course it isn’t right,” Devra snapped. “She promised me the position on the squad. I was an alternate all last year, right? I earned it, Dad.”

  “Okay, okay. Don’t shout, Devra.”

  “Sorry. But I’m so steamed. This new girl … Gretchen Something-Or-Other … with her blonde hair and big olive eyes … AAARRRGH. You know I need this, Dad. I need the extra-curricular points to get into Princeton.”

  “I know, I know,” Mr. Dalby said softly. He let out a long whoosh of air. “Try to calm down.…”

  “Calm down?” Devra cried. “What if she’s really good? What if she’s better than me? Does that mean I spend another year as an alternate? That’s unacceptable. Seriously. That’s unacceptable, Dad.”

  “Devra, you’re shouting,” Mr. Dalby said. He drummed his fingers on the glass desktop. “Listen. Maybe I can make a call to the principal. Mr. Hernandez. You know I donate a lot of money to the school development fund every year. That has to count for something, don’t you think?”

  “It better,” Devra muttered.

  “Well … I can’t promise anything. But—”

  “Call him, Dad. We can’t let this new girl do this to me. It just isn’t fair.”

  “Okay. I’ll see what I can do.”

  “I really miss you. When are you coming home?”

  Mr. Dalby shrugged. “I’m in Chicago tomorrow. Then Toronto. Then there’s a meeting of all the buyers.” He adjusted his tie with both hands. “Did Courtney move in with you? To keep you company?”

  Devra nodded. “Yes. She’s here. I put her in the blue guestroom across from my room.”

  “Good. That’s good. What are you two up to?”

  Devra leaned toward the camera on top of the laptop. “We’re already plotting ways to kill this new girl. Gretchen.”

  Mr. Dalby laughed. “Well, don’t kill her yet. Let me make a friendly call to Mr. Hernandez first.”

  7.

  Gretchen groaned as she started her stretching exercises in the backyard. She thought she might do some jogging around the neighborhood. She had never been a runner, but she really needed to work off some nervous energy.

  Her leg muscles felt tight. She knew that thinking about the cheerleader tryout was making her tense. She had a stupid fight with her mother that morning. She couldn’t even remember what it was about. Something about too much milk making her breakfast cereal soggy?

  It was warm, the sun high in the afternoon sky, a summer day lingering into September. She exercised on the small square patio outside the kitchen door. Weeds poked up through the cracks, and many of the flagstones were cracked and broken.

  Gretchen’s new backyard was wide but not very deep. At the side of the two-car garage, a long, bare dirt patch stretched where there obviously had been a flower garden. The back of the yard was marked by a low wooden fence with several missing slats and badly in need of a paint job.

  Mrs. Page said she didn’t want to deal with the yard at all, not until spring, not until they’d made the house livable. Gretchen didn’t really care. But her yard sure looked shabby next to the neighbor’s yard, which was mowed smooth and low without a single protruding weed, and had a long row of late-blooming red pansies running the length of an evergreen hedge at the far side of the property.

  Gazing at the neighbor’s yard, Gretchen suddenly heard violin music. Running scales followed by a short melody. It wasn’t the first time she had heard it. She turned to the house next door and, squinting against the sunlight off a side window, saw a girl in the house, a violin on her shoulder.

  The girl swung her head and shoulders as she played. She appeared to be staring out at Gretchen. When she flashed a smile, Gretchen stood up, pulled down her sweatshirt, and trotted toward the girl’s kitchen door.

  The girl met Gretchen at the door. She smiled, holding the violin and bow at her side. “Hey, you’re the new neighbor,” she said. “I’ve seen you in school.”

  Gretchen introduced herself. “I’ve heard you playing before.”

  “Hope it isn’t too loud. I usually keep the window closed. But it’s such a beautiful warm day.… I’m Madison, by the way. Madison Grossman. I’m in another eleventh-grade homeroom. Mr. Bartleby. I saw that you’re across the hall. Do you drive? We could drive to school together.”

  “I drive sometimes. My mom usually needs the car,” Gretchen said.

  Madison spoke rapidly, very precisely, without seeming to take a breath. She was very thin, birdlike, with very curly black hair down to her shoulders, dark, close-together eyes over a sharp, almost pointed nose. Her skin was pale, almost colorless, as if she never went outside.

  She wore an orange crewneck T-shirt over a short black skirt over black tights.

  She stepped aside and motioned with the violin bow for Gretchen to come inside. “I’m in the school orchestra. Did you know Shadyside High had a symphony orchestra? We’re pretty good, actually. Mr. Colon—he’s the advisor—used to be with the Detroit Symphony. We give two full concerts a year. Last year we did a concert at the Vets Memorial Theater in Martinsville, and we sold the place out.”

  “That’s awesome,” Gretchen said. She followed Madison into a small den of dark green walls and brown leather armchairs and a couch.

  A lar
ge oil painting stood over the green marble fireplace. It showed a nine- or ten-year-old girl with black curly hair, holding a violin to her neck. “That’s me,” Madison said. “My mom paints a little. Well, more than a little. She has a studio down in the basement. She’s down there all the time. She isn’t a name or anything yet. But she’s actually sold some of her paintings.”

  Gretchen gazed at the painting and laughed. “You haven’t changed very much.”

  Madison laughed, too. Pink circles formed on her pale cheeks. “Ha. I guess you’re right. I have kind of a baby face.”

  “And you were playing violin when you were little?”

  Madison nodded. “My parents started me on a Suzuki kids’ violin program when I was three. I thought I’d hate it, but I was some kind of prodigy, you know. I mean, I loved it right away.”

  “You must practice a lot,” Gretchen said, her eyes still on the girl in the painting.

  “I’ve seen you practicing, too,” Madison said. “Cheerleader stuff.” She blushed again. “I wasn’t spying or anything. It’s just that our backyards connect and—”

  “I’m trying out for the cheerleader squad,” Gretchen interrupted. “Coach Walker is giving me a chance. Since I just started at school.”

  “You were a cheerleader before?”

  Gretchen nodded. “I was cocaptain at my old school. We were really good. I’m not just bragging. We got a lot of attention. They have cheerleading scholarships at some colleges I’m interested in. It’s really important for me to make the squad.”

  Gretchen realized she was chattering as much as Madison. But Madison seemed so easy to talk to. It didn’t happen to Gretchen often, but once in a while, she found someone she clicked with, someone like Polly, on her wavelength, someone she felt immediately comfortable with.

  Madison brought some bottles of iced tea from the kitchen, and they sat across from each other in the den, talking and getting to know one another. After about half an hour, Madison glanced at the old-fashioned-looking wooden clock on the corner of the mantel.

  She jumped to her feet. “Wow. I almost forgot. I have to go try on a dress I bought. It’s for my cousin’s bar mitzvah, and I promised my Mom I’d go try it on today.”