The Wrong Girl Read online

  “They make a lot of flavors now,” Harlow said, raising his head from his newspaper. “No one likes them.”

  Something happened in the baseball game. The sounds of the crowd cheering rang from the radio. Harlow shook his head unhappily. “The O’s just blew another one.” He slammed his newspaper shut. “You guys ever been to Camden Yards? It’s a nifty little park.” He sighed. “Deserves better than this.”

  “My dad is a baseball fan,” Ivy told him, replacing the Oreos on the shelf. “But he roots for the Pirates.”

  “National League.” Harlow said the words as if they were curse words. “They make the pitchers bat.” He turned to Ivy. “Where’d your dad grow up?”

  “Franklin Park,” she said. “I was born there, but we moved to Shadyside when I was four.”

  As they talked, I moved toward the back of the store. I passed the long display racks of chips and salsa, and I thought, Why don’t we just tear open a few bags of chips, pull out some beers, and have a nice friendly talk with the guy we’re going to rob in a few days?

  Of course, the whole thing wasn’t that weird since Jack planned to let Harlow in on it and rehearse the whole thing with him.

  “We need to get Manny here,” Jack whispered to me, his eyes on the headlights rolling up in the front parking lot. “He needs to get an idea of the layout since he’ll be the video guy.”

  “I’ll try him again,” I said, pulling out my phone.

  A young couple entered the store, greeted Harlow, and made their way to the coffee machine.

  I spotted a narrow door in the back wall and walked over to investigate it. I found myself in a small back room. A single fluorescent ceiling bulb cast gray light down over shelves of what looked to be cleaning supplies. An old soda dispenser lay on its side on the floor. Four large metal trash cans lined one wall.

  Nothing interesting back here, I thought. I was so busy studying the cluttered shelves in the gray light that I didn’t see the tall, skinny guy in the middle of the room until he called out. “Hey.”

  Startled, I gasped.

  He leaned on the handle of a wide push-broom. He wore a sleeveless black T-shirt and very baggy jeans. He had dark, scraggly hair, a mass of it falling over one eye. His silver nose ring gleamed under the fluorescent light.

  It took me a few seconds to catch my breath. He stared at me, both hands wrapped around the broom handle, and didn’t say a word. He had funny eyes. They didn’t stay still. They kind of danced around.

  “I . . . I’m sorry,” I stammered. “I didn’t see you.”

  He didn’t reply. Just brushed the wave of hair off his eye.

  “I thought this was the bathroom,” I lied.

  Why didn’t he say anything? He was seriously creeping me out.

  “Do you work for Mr. Harlow?” I asked. I backed up toward the door.

  He nodded. “My name is Lucas,” he said finally.

  “Oh. Hi. Hi, Lucas.”

  He stared at me, leaning on the broom, the strange eyes doing somersaults in his head. He appeared to be about my age, but I’d never seen him at school.

  “Well . . . sorry,” I said. “Hope I didn’t startle you.” I backed up a few more steps.

  And the door slammed shut behind me.

  I gasped and spun around.

  I’m shut up in this room with this creep.

  He leaned the broom handle against a shelf and took a step toward me. His crazy eyes were locked on me. I felt . . . invaded. Like he was trying to see more than he should.

  “The door—” I started.

  He moved closer.

  I could feel cold panic rising up inside me, freezing me in place. “The door—”

  He moved quickly. A few inches from me now. And then he stepped past me and made his way with long strides to the door.

  He shoved the door open. “It does that sometimes,” he said. His smile revealed crooked teeth. “Don’t know why. Maybe it’s haunted. Ha.”

  “Scared me,” I said. I forced a laugh. “I think I jumped a mile.”

  He nodded but didn’t reply.

  I was starting to feel more normal. I stepped past him, back into the store. “Bye, Lucas. Sorry to interrupt you.”

  I could feel his eyes on me as I walked away. He called after me, “No problem, Poppy.”

  I hurried to catch up to my friends. Ivy and Jack were waving good-bye to Harlow. I still felt tense. Something about that guy gave off very bad vibes.

  Yes, I’d overreacted when the door slammed. But I still didn’t feel safe.

  I was out in the parking lot, about to climb into Jack’s borrowed SUV, when the question finally dawned on me: Whoa, wait. Lucas . . . He called me Poppy. How did he know my name?

  22

  Poppy Continues

  When I’m on the treadmill, I like to start at a slow, uphill walk, then go faster every five minutes or so, until I’m doing a good run—nothing impressive, but a nice steady trot. I do the treadmill and then the stationary bike for twenty minutes or so. I get my muscles warmed up and my heart pumping, and that’s all the cardio I need.

  A lot of kids were skeptical when they added on a full exercise gym to our high school. And I know a lot of parents were angry because they didn’t want to pay for it. But I think everyone was surprised by how many kids want to use it. After most school days, the place is rocking.

  Today, there was no Drama Club meeting after school because Mr. G is still rehearsing everyone in Don’t Go There!, his play. Since the play couldn’t go on as scheduled because of an “unfortunate” car accident, the plan is to present it to the whole school in a week or so.

  I didn’t want to go home and start my homework or fight with Heather, so I headed to the gym. And I was still in my walking mode on the treadmill when a large, familiar figure climbed onto the machine next to mine.

  “Hey, Manny.” My voice came out a little breathless, even though I was only walking.

  I don’t think he saw me. He tapped the controls and began to jog, pumping his hands at his sides.

  “Hey, Manny,” I called a little louder, and finally he turned to me. He grinned. He was in a Shadyside Tigers training jersey and sweatpants. His big stomach bobbed a little as he trotted in place.

  “Gotta get back in shape,” he said. “Wrestling team meeting on Saturday.”

  I snickered. “When were you ever in shape?”

  He laughed, but then he said, “That’s cold, Poppy. You know I’m big-boned.” He tapped his belly. “This is all rock. Solid muscle.”

  “If you say so.” I grinned at him.

  Manny’s smile faded. He slowed his treadmill to a fast walk. “Hey, I saw Keith. Have you seen him?”

  “No. We don’t have any classes together. Why?”

  “He’s kind of messed up.” Manny studied me, anticipating some kind of reaction. I don’t really know what he was expecting. Keith was history. Was I supposed to break down and start producing tears because Manny thought he wasn’t in good shape?

  “What kind of messed up?” I asked.

  Manny scratched his thick, black hair. It was damp, matted to his forehead. He already had a sweat stain on the front of his jersey. “Messed up,” he repeated.

  “You’re so eloquent. Maybe you should try writing poetry, too.”

  “You still writing poems?”

  “Not lately. I’ve been too busy. But I think about it.”

  His dark eyes flashed. “Too busy with Jack?”

  “Maybe.” I reached over and shoved him, knocking him off-balance. “What about Keith?”

  “He looks thin and pale. Like he’s lost weight.”

  “Maybe he’s on the No-Poppy Diet.” I laughed at my own joke. Manny chuckled, too.

  “I tried to talk to him,” Manny said, “but he just mumbled something I couldn’t hear and hurried away.” He shook his head. “I don’t know what his problem is, but he just didn’t look right.”

  I made a sympathetic sound. I like Keith. Not as
a boyfriend. But I like him. I didn’t want him to be sick or something.

  I realized Manny was staring hard at me. “Keith never did drugs, did he?”

  I let out a cry. “Huh? Keith? Straight-arrow Keith? Do drugs? The idea would kill him, Manny. Remember when Ivy’s parents were away, and we opened that bottle of red wine?”

  “Two bottles,” Manny corrected me.

  “Who was the only one who didn’t get trashed? Remember? Keith refused to drink any wine!”

  Manny mopped sweat off his forehead with his arm. “Okay. Okay. Maybe he just has the flu or something.” Silence for a while. Then Manny said, “I saw him with that strange guy who dropped out of school last year. Lucas Something-or-Other.”

  I blinked. “Lucas? I think I met that guy at Harlow’s.”

  Manny nodded. “Yeah, he started working there after he dropped out.”

  “Why on earth would Keith be hanging with that weirdo?”

  Manny shrugged. “Beats me. But I saw them at the elementary school playground. Keith was picking up his little brother, and Lucas was with him.”

  “No way,” I said, shaking my head. “No way. You know what you need? You need to have your eyes examined. Keith would never hang out with someone like that. Someone who dropped out of school? Who sweeps up in a convenience store? Someone with a nose ring? That’s not quite Keith’s style.”

  Manny shrugged. “I saw what I saw.”

  “I’ll ask my sister where she buys her eyeglasses,” I said. That seemed to end the conversation about Keith.

  I picked my speed up a few notches. I forced myself to think about other things. I didn’t want to think about Keith. I didn’t really care who he was hanging out with.

  A few minutes went by, then I asked, “Don’t you want to hear how the robbery plans are going?”

  He glanced around, I guess to see if anyone could overhear us. “How are the robbery plans going?”

  “It’s going to be awesome. We went to Harlow’s store.” I squinted at him. “Where were you, by the way? I kept calling.”

  He tossed his hands up. “Home. My phone went dead and I didn’t know it. No one could reach me. I thought maybe I wasn’t popular anymore.”

  “You’re not,” I joked.

  His big shoes pounded the treadmill. “So you went to the store? And?”

  “Harlow is going to cooperate totally. He didn’t get the idea at first. He thought we were really going to rob him. But Jack explained it really well, how it was just an internet hoax, and he told him how many thousands of views we’ll probably get.”

  “And what did Harlow say?”

  “He said he could use the publicity. He’s kind of isolated up there on River Road. Doesn’t get that much traffic. Then he told some long, boring story about how they held Senior Prank Week when he went to Shadyside and how much fun it was until something or other happened and the administration banned it. Anyway, he was fine with it.” I pumped my fist in the air. “We’re good to go.”

  Manny grinned. “Cool.”

  “Did Jack talk to you about visiting the store? Checking out the best place for you to record the robbery?”

  Manny nodded. The front of his shirt was drenched in sweat now. His big legs churned as he thudded the treadmill. “I already went there. I think the best thing is for me to go in with you guys on the night of the robbery. You know. Follow from behind. Then I can stay in the front of the store and focus back and forth on Harlow and then you all.”

  “Sounds good,” I said. “Jack thinks we should do the thing on a weekday night. You know. So the store isn’t too crowded.”

  Manny’s eyes flashed. “But I might have homework.”

  I laughed. “Funny guy.” I could feel the muscles in my thighs now. I was getting a good workout. “It’s going to go viral,” I said. “It’s going to be huge.”

  “I know that’s why you and Ivy agreed to do it,” he said. “You both want to be stars.” He slowed his machine and tapped me on the shoulder. “I have only one problem,” he said softly. “My brother.”

  “Benny?”

  He nodded. “Yeah. Benny is a cop, remember.”

  “How could I forget?”

  “Well . . . don’t you think someone should tell him what we’re going to do? I mean, if it’s just a joke, shouldn’t we let the police know . . . just in case?”

  “Just in case what?”

  “In case someone calls it in to them. Another customer at Harlow’s. Or someone sees us from the parking lot and calls 911. Shouldn’t I at least tell Benny what’s going down?”

  I worried about it for a few moments. What would Jack say?

  “I don’t think you should tell Benny. It’s just a joke. It will be over in two minutes. Why get the police involved?”

  Walking to my car in the student parking lot, my legs ached, but it was a good kind of ache. It was a cloudy afternoon but warm, threatening a spring rain. In Shadyside Park behind the high school, tall spring flowers were bending and swaying in the swirls of wind.

  The lot was nearly deserted. It was after four and most kids had already left. I stopped when I saw a flash of black near the end of the lot. Was someone there?

  The wind blew my hair back. The trees in the schoolyard appeared to shiver, shaking their newly sprouted leaves. I saw something move along the side of a blue SUV.

  Yes. A person. Someone was definitely there. It was hard to see in the deepening gray light. Someone moving quickly. I saw a blur of motion to the wide tree near the building at the side of the lot.

  “Hello?” I called. I’m not sure why. I guess because whoever it was was trying not to be seen.

  No answer to my call.

  But I knew someone was hiding behind the tree.

  Hiding behind the tree and watching me?

  “Is someone there?” My voice was muffled by a strong gust of wind.

  No reply.

  I know you’re there.

  A shiver ran down my back. I felt a cold drop of rain on my forehead. I ran to my car, pulled open the door, and slid inside. I started the engine, then quickly locked the doors.

  My eyes were on the tree by the school. I couldn’t see anyone. No sign of anything. But I knew someone was hiding there. I’m not crazy and I have 20/20 vision.

  My mind spun with questions. Was it Keith? Was he so upset I broke up with him that he’s stalking me?

  Crazy thoughts. That’s not like Keith at all.

  I tore out of the spot, leaving whoever it was in my rearview mirror.

  There was an accident on River Road and traffic crawled along. I passed Harlow’s Pic ’n’ Pay on the way up to my home. There were three or four cars in the parking lot.

  I thought about our planned prank. How could we make sure there were no customers when we burst in to rob the place? Had I given Manny the right advice when I told him not to tell his brother about it?

  I had to talk to Jack. So many questions.

  I didn’t get home till after five, and I knew Mom would be angry. I’d promised to help with dinner, and—oh no! I’d promised to pick up the chicken breasts at the market on my way home—and I completely forgot.

  Oh, wow.

  “Hey, Mom—are you home?” I darted through the back hall to the kitchen. “Mom—I forgot the chicken.”

  Heather stepped into the hall. She had a stack of potato chips in her hand. Her hair was unbrushed, and she had a smear of food on one cheek. “Mom isn’t home yet. She had some kind of emergency with her bees at the lab.”

  “They’re hornets.” I wiped the stain off Heather’s cheek with one finger. “What’s going on? Is it snack time?”

  “No.” She shoved a few chips into her mouth and chewed for a while. “I’m not staying for dinner.”

  “You’re going out?”

  She nodded. “Rose and I are going to see Romeo and Juliet at the Town Center. Then she says she’s going to rehearse me. You know. Train me in Juliet’s part.”

  I couldn
’t help myself. I laughed.

  Heather’s features instantly tightened in anger. “What’s so funny?”

  I should have shut up. Her quick anger was a clue to rein myself in. But, for some reason, I couldn’t do it.

  “Do you really think Rose likes you?” I blurted out. “Don’t you think she’s using you? Just trying to make me angry?”

  I regretted the words as soon as I’d said them.

  Heather’s face darkened to a deep red, and her chin trembled. She balled her hands into fists. Her body shuddered, like a volcano preparing to go off.

  Had I really said that? I’d only meant to think it. I hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

  She made a sputtering sound, and I thought she was about to explode on me. But no. She spun around hard, her fists whirling at her sides, and stormed toward the front door.

  “Heather, wait—” I called, lurching after her. “Heather—please. I . . . I’m sorry. I—”

  The door slammed in my face.

  23

  Poppy Continues the Story

  The night of the robbery, a Thursday night, we met at Jeremy’s house since his parents were at a meeting across town. Jeremy pulled some cans of beer from the fridge in his basement game room. He said his parents would never notice.

  He and Manny snapped open cans and clinked them together as if toasting. Ivy and I decided no. I think we were both too jumpy.

  “I want to stay alert,” I said. “You know how I get after one beer.”

  “No, we don’t,” Manny said with that grin that is his natural expression. “Show us.”

  “Shut up,” Ivy said. “We have to stay sharp, don’t we? It’s not like we rob a store every night.”

  Jeremy’s parents have an air-hockey table, a foosball table, and a couple of vintage pinball machines. And they have an actual bar—red vinyl—with rows of sparkly, dark bottles lined up in front of a fancy mirror, and tall stools we used to climb onto when we were younger and pretend to order drinks.

  We used to hang out down here all the time when we were kids. We thought it was the coolest place on earth. Now, we were all leaning against the air-hockey table, but none of us was tempted to play.

  Manny and Jeremy clinked cans again. Manny had a foam mustache already. He really is a slob.