13

The digital alarm clock read 5:22 a.m. when I skulked into Jordan’s room. Cyrus was stuck to my heels like gum on my shoe, but rather than try to get rid of him and risk waking my parents, I gave him a severe look, which he may or may not have seen, and let him follow me.

“Jordan,” I whispered, approaching the snoring pile of jumbled covers.

He didn’t stir.

“Jordan,” I tried again, this time a bit louder and with a greater sense of urgency. He shifted positions and mumbled something that sounded like pass the relish, but he didn’t open his eyes.

Frustrated, I leaned in closer and whispered as loudly as I could without breaking into a full-blown scream, “Jordan! Wake up! I need to talk to you!”

This clearly startled him. He sat bolt upright, limbs flying in all directions. Our heads whacked. I heard him swear and Cyrus yelp as I fell backward, tripping over the poor beagle and breaking my fall in Jordan’s pile of dirty laundry. A searing pain spread from my skull downward throughout my body.

“Are you nuts, Claire?” Jordan shouted, once he’d shaken enough sleep to realize what was happening. “What the heck are you doing in my room?”

“I-I …” was all I could get out before he cut me off.

“Get outta here!” he thundered. “Right now or I’ll …”

“But Jor —”

“Get lost, Claire, or I swear …”

I scrambled out of the stinky pile of grimy socks and sweaty T-shirts and who knew what else, passed Cyrus, who must have been dazed and confused, to Jordan’s bedside and hugged his cheesy-smelling feet. “Please, Jordan,” I sobbed. “Please! I need your help. I can’t do this without you! Pleeeeaaase!”

He kicked his feet loose from my tight embrace. With what little light there was from the nearly full moon creeping into the room from between the slats in the blinds, I could make out his dark silhouette. He was rubbing his forehead. He grunted a few times and muttered several nasty words under his breath. Finally he addressed me and maybe it was my imagination, but I thought his tone had softened somewhat.

“What exactly is your problem? You’ve been acting weirder than usual lately.”

I inhaled deeply. I had to choose my words carefully or he’d not only kick me out, he’d tell Mom and Dad for sure. I had already tried to tell him about the curse, but that hadn’t gotten me very far so I decided to be a bit cryptic this time. I began cautiously, sniffling in between sentences for dramatic effect.

“I need your help, Jordan. I have to do something really important today and I need you to help me skip school. If you call in sick for me, no one will question it — you sound exactly like Dad on the phone. Paula-Jean will back me up, too, so no one — not the school secretary, not Mrs. Martin, not Mom or Dad — no one will know I’m not where I’m supposed to be.”

Jordan yawned and stretched. I heard his bed creak with movement. He didn’t say anything for the longest time — it took Jordan a long time to think about challenging things.

“Skip school, eh?” he said finally. It was almost like the idea intrigued him. “What are you gonna do?”

He hadn’t said no yet. It was a good sign.

“Let’s just say, the less you know the better …”

Jordan sighed and I couldn’t tell if it was out of pain or frustration. “Claire, you’re not some secret agent or international spy. No one is going to torture me for answers …”

He did have a point. I’d have to divulge a little more information.

“Okay. I’m just going into the city, is all. I’m going to see a publisher about a book. It’s a life-or death-situation. That’s all I’m gonna say and it’s the truth.”

Once again Jordan fell silent. He rubbed his forehead again and swung his legs round the side of his bed mumbling under his breath. My heart sank. There was no way he was going to help me. Not a chance. It was the stupidest idea I’d ever had. What was I thinking? El Doofus Rat Murphy — help me? Ludicrous. More likely he’d tell Mom and Dad and delight in my punishment. Paula-Jean was right; I ought to have my head examined. I reached over and gave Cyrus a gentle pat on the head and a rough scratch behind the ear and then hauled myself to my feet prepared to leave his room empty-handed or worse.

“Never mind —” I began to say, but at the same time Jordan spoke. I stopped dead in my tracks. I swung round to face him. I wasn’t quite sure if I’d heard correctly so I added quickly. “What? What did you just say?”

“I said, okay,” Jordan muttered.

I shook my head and then stuck a finger in my ear to make sure it wasn’t plugged again. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Jordan was going to help me. He was actually going to help me. My universe was suddenly upside down.

“Grab my cell,” he said, “I’d better call now while Mom and Dad are still asleep. I’ll leave a message.”

I nodded vigorously, keeping my mouth shut — I didn’t want to risk saying anything that might tip the already rickety ship. I groped around Jordan’s desk for his cellphone and locating it, I passed it to him. Still only half believing this was actually happening, I whispered the school’s phone number and listened in sheer amazement as he left the message. It was perfect — he sounded very convincing. I wanted to hug him or something, but figured that might tick him off, so I sort of bowed and muttered a sincere thank you as I turned to leave.

“Hey, Claire.”

I froze. My heart leaped into my throat. I knew it was too good to be true. He’d changed his mind. Maybe he was going to yell, “Just kidding!” Or maybe something more sinister — like he was planning to extort money from me. I slowly turned to face my brother, preparing for the worst.

“Here,” he grunted, tossing me his cell. I missed and it whacked my shin. He was assaulting me with his phone now! An all-time low. I scrambled to pick it up and throw it back at him, but luckily before I could get my rubbery hand to co-operate he added, “Better take my cell if you’re going into the city alone.”

I was so stunned that a good sneeze could have knocked me over. Just when I thought I had Jordan totally figured out, he goes and does something this nice. Like he actually really cares about me or something. An awkward silence hung like a curtain between us. I suddenly felt incredibly guilty for magically thrashing him the other night. What could I say to him? How could I apologize and thank him at the same time? I was trying to think of how to phrase it, but luckily he spoke first.

“Now get out of here,” he said.

Still in shock, I left his room, holding his cell and shaking my head. Over my shoulder I heard him mutter, “I’m getting a lock put on my door.”