“But the food,” complains Charlotte. “There’s a reception.”
“Never mind,” I hiss. “It’s now or never. If we don’t want to get caught, they can’t notice we’re missing.”
“But there was some great chocolate cake, and I –”
“You can skip the chocolate cake for once in your life!” I growl.
Pulling Charlotte’s arm all the way back to my locker, I grab my backpack and yank her out a side door, hugging the back wall of the school. We take a path through some woods and walk briskly for ten minutes, and then clamber up a grassy hill until we come to the highway entrance to Hope.
“Quick, let’s hide in there,” I say pointing to a clump of tall evergreens.
We wait until a string of cars has driven by, then dive into the hideout. I take out the package from my backpack. Two paintbrushes fall out. Unwrapping the old Harrison Hot Springs towel, I pull out two small cans of paint – brown and white – and then take out the knife I’ve smuggled from home to open the lids.
“Okay, are you ready?” I ask. “We’ll wait until there’s no traffic, and then we’ll run out.”
Charlotte glances around nervously. “I don’t know about this.”
“Come on. People do graffiti all the time. It’s harmless.”
“But what if we get caught?”
“We won’t. It’s us we’re talking about, remember? The two suck-ups? They’ll never suspect us.”
“Well, alright.”
“Okay, one, two, three, GO!” I order.
Giggling, I dash out, Charlotte close behind, each of us balancing a can of paint that slops as we dart.
“I hope this doesn’t splash on my good, black pants.” Charlotte’s voice sounds worried.
“Just keep the can as still as possible!” I shout.
It’s so dark we can barely see the sign. I feel for the P, then dip my brush in the brown paint and paint over a portion of it.
“Quick!” Charlotte squeals.
Dipping the brush in again, I give it another coat. “Okay, your turn,” I say.
Charlotte sticks her brush in, and paints a long line near the bottom.
“Now do it again!” I order.
“Oh shoot,” Charlotte exclaims. “There’s a truck coming.”
“Quick, then!” I scream.
She recoats the brush and gives a final stroke.
“Now run!”
“But what about the paint and brushes?”
“Never mind! Just go!”
We dive into the clump of trees, laughing so hard we can barely breathe. The truck passes, and darkness surrounds us again.
“I can’t believe we did that!” shrieks Charlotte.
“Me neither.”
Tears run down our cheeks, and we roll around laughing for a full minute. Then I notice something.
“Shoot,” I say. “I got paint on my hands.” I kneel down and try rubbing it onto some wet grass. “It won’t come off.”
“Oh, no. What are we going to do?”
“I don’t know. We’ll think of something, but let’s go back and get the cans and brushes. We don’t want to leave any evidence.”
“Okay,” says Charlotte.
As we wait for a long line of cars to pass, something rustles close to us.
Charlotte gasps. “What was that?”
“I don’t know,” I say, my voice shaking. “I think there’s someone there.”
“Maybe it’s a bear!” Charlotte squeaks.
“Or a cougar!”
A dark form moves toward us.
“Let’s get out of here!” I shout.
We leap down the hill to the path in the woods, screaming like banshees. Heavy steps follow us, snapping twigs and branches. My foot lands in a hole, and my arms flail about until I catch my balance again. When we near the bottom of the hill, I look back over my shoulder. My heart almost stops.
“It’s Kate McDonough!”
Charlotte throws her head back to see. “Holy smokes! You’re right. But I thought she was at the reception. I mean, it’s all for her, right?”
“I know. And she was on the stage when we left. How could she have followed us?”
“I don’t know.” Charlotte’s puffing really hard. “But I sure hope she didn’t see our faces.”
Looking ahead, I see the lights of the town through the trees. The footsteps have stopped, so I throw my head back over my shoulder to see if we’re in the clear. Convinced we’re safe, I slow to a fast walk and prepare to have a serious talk with my BFF.
“You know, Charlotte, has it ever occurred to you that all those weird things started happening when Kate McDonough showed up in this town?”
Charlotte turns to look at me. “Like what?”
“You know, the dead birds, the vandalizing of the Medical Dental Building, the spray-paint on the tombstone.”
“But I thought we agreed it was probably Travis.”
We come out of the woods, our feet landing on the hard pavement of the street.
“Maybe, but I have my suspicions. Something strange is going on in Hope.”
“Like what?”
“Like what? Tell me honestly, have you ever seen a whole town go bonkers over something like this Celtic music stuff?”
“No…” Charlotte says, her breath slowing down.
“And not just everyone, but the IGs and other teenagers who don’t care about anything. Even jocks. Since when do they like old music like that?”
“Yeah, but that’s because it’s fun,” she says.
Houses slide past us as we walk.
“No.” My voice rises. “It’s more than that. It’s like the whole town is … bewitched.”
Charlotte’s quiet for a moment, and then says, “Aw, come on. I don’t believe in any of that stuff.”
“Neither did I, until now. I mean, how do you explain her showing up like that back in the woods?”
“I don’t know. Maybe she has a twin?”
“And how come we could see her so clearly? You saw how dark it was.”
“Maybe she had a flashlight,” Charlotte says.
“And she was shining it on herself?” I shake my head. “I tell you. There’s something really wrong with her – something inhuman. I mean, look at her eyes. Nobody has blue eyes like that. They’re like a wild animal’s. And why is she so interested in me?’
“I don’t know. Maybe she heard you were a child prodigy in violin. And she is friends with your mom,” Charlotte offers.
“Yeah, but it’s not like she’s ever been to our house before or anything.”
By this time, we’re close to home. I check to make sure there’s no sign of Mom or Dylan, then slip around the back. The door of the toolshed creaks as we slide inside. I grab a roll of paper towel that lies on Dad’s old workbench, and we quickly douse it in turpentine, cleaning our hands. It stings my skin, but I keep rubbing until I think the paint is gone.
“That should do it,” I say.
“Yeah,” Charlotte agrees, rubbing the back of her hand a final time.
“Now let’s go to the bathroom and wash the turpentine off.”
“Okay.”
We creep up the back stairs and into the house. As we scrub off the paint thinner, I hear the front door open. Dylan’s running steps announce that he and Mom are home. I slam the bathroom door and lock it just in time as he scurries up.
“Hey!” he shouts, “I’ve gotta go. Hurry up.”
“Go downstairs!” I shout back.
“No! It’s urgent! Mom?” calls Dylan.
“Go away!” I yell, still rubbing my hands.
“Aw, come on! What are you guys doing in there anyway?”
“Nothing,” I say. Charlotte breaks into nervous giggling, and I join her.
“I’m telling,” Dylan threatens.
We wait until we hear his footsteps go down the stairs, then fling the door open. Running into my room, we shove my wicker chair against the door. A few minutes later, Mom comes up and knocks.
“Is there a problem, girls?” she asks.
“No.” I stifle a giggle. “We’re okay.”
“But they were in the bathroom together,” insists Dylan.
“Oh, Dylan, just let them be,” says Mom. “You don’t have to tattle about everything, you know.”
I hear them move away.
“Phew, that was close,” I whisper.
“Yeah, I’ll say.” Then Charlotte frowns. “Hey, Kira?”
“What?”
“I don’t know how to tell you this, but you’ve got brown paint on your dress pants.”
“What?” I look down at the right thigh of my black pants where a blob threatens to blow my cover. “Oh, my gosh. I’ve got to hide these.”
I quickly change to a pair of blue jeans and an old hoodie, and stuff the stained pants at the bottom of my laundry basket.
“Here. Let me check you,” I say.
Charlotte circles around, but her clothes are clean except for a patch of mud on her backside.
“What are you going to do?” she asks.
“I don’t know, but I’ll to have to think of something pretty quick, or we’re in big trouble.”