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Authors: Libby Sternberg
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new revelation. In fact, the more she screamed, the less fearful I felt. At the end of my tale, her voice became low, as if afraid of being overheard.
“Why didn’t you tell the policeman you were being followed?” she asked.
“I guess I think that Sadie could be in trouble, and before I go blowing the whistle, I want to find out what the trouble is.”
“We have to find out what’s happening with her,” Kerrie said.
“I know,” I said. “But how?”
“Nobody knows where she lives or what her phone number is. And who knows if she’ll come to school tomorrow.”
“She could be in big trouble,” I said.
“She could need our help.”
“What if she doesn’t come to school tomorrow, or the next day?”
“Rehearsals for The Mikado start next week,” Kerrie said. “She has to show up then.”
Round and round we went, mostly coming up with questions that had no answers. But by the time our marathon chat was over and the meat loaf was setting off the smoke alarm—a certain signal that it was done—we knew what we had to do. We had to find out where Sadie lived, or her phone number. And we had to find out why seedy folks like Lemming Lady and Ice Man were after her.
E ASIER SAID than done, it turned out. Sadie was not in school the next day or the day after. Kerrie and I continued our fruitless speculation over lunch and through long phone conversations and IM sessions on the computer. All to no avail. In fact, all this phone work did was make my sister mad at me, my mother worry about my school work, and Doug miss hooking up with me.
That’s right. Doug called me! Surely you must hear my heart pounding because it’s drowning out everything else on my end. He called on Wednesday night, the last respectable night for asking somebody out on a weekend.
In fact, Wednesday night is probably the night when phones across America are tolling with potential date-makers hanging onto every ring. Calling on Monday or Tuesday could appear too eager, too obsessive-compulsive.
Thursday, however, is too late. It communicates either a careless disregard for the potential date’s schedule or feelings, or worse—it sends the message that the potential date is a second choice and the first choices already responded negatively on Wednesday.
Wednesday, you see, is the perfect date-making night. Not too eager. Not too late. Especially if you call early in the evening, which is what Doug, Love of My Life, did.
He called Wednesday at exactly 6:33 p.m., Eastern Standard Time. I know because I listened to the voice mail message about ten times before forcing myself to erase it. Saving it would provide too much ammunition for Tony.
After a brief pause, Doug had said, “Uh. . . this is Doug and if Bianca is in, could she call me back at. . .”
Only problem was I didn’t get the message until 10:53 p.m. Yes, I’m ashamed to admit it. I tied up our darn phone all night—but for a good cause, school work. Right after dinner, I got on the Internet, researching a paper.
Okay, okay, I was Instant Messaging Kerrie and Nicole at the same time.
Instant messaging can slow a body down when surfing the cyberwaves, so it was nearly 10:30 by the time I got off. And then I didn’t think to check the voice mail until pulling the blankets over me. It made for a sleepless night thinking of Doug wondering why I hadn’t called him back.
D OUBLE SURPRISE The first two people I ran into on Thursday morning were Doug and Sadie. They were talking, quietly and confidentially, in the room with all the lockers on the same floor as the cafeteria. I couldn’t tell if I was pleased or angry to see them. I wanted to see them both. Just separately. Not together.
“Doug!” I said, trying to sound casually cheerful and instead coming off like a carnival barker reeling in a bumpkin. I ratcheted down the volume as I sauntered over to him and Sadie. “I was on the computer all night. Sorry I missed your call.” Then I turned to Sadie.
“Why didn’t you tell the policeman you were being followed?” she asked.
“I guess I think that Sadie could be in trouble, and before I go blowing the whistle, I want to find out what the trouble is.”
“We have to find out what’s happening with her,” Kerrie said.
“I know,” I said. “But how?”
“Nobody knows where she lives or what her phone number is. And who knows if she’ll come to school tomorrow.”
“She could be in big trouble,” I said.
“She could need our help.”
“What if she doesn’t come to school tomorrow, or the next day?”
“Rehearsals for The Mikado start next week,” Kerrie said. “She has to show up then.”
Round and round we went, mostly coming up with questions that had no answers. But by the time our marathon chat was over and the meat loaf was setting off the smoke alarm—a certain signal that it was done—we knew what we had to do. We had to find out where Sadie lived, or her phone number. And we had to find out why seedy folks like Lemming Lady and Ice Man were after her.
E ASIER SAID than done, it turned out. Sadie was not in school the next day or the day after. Kerrie and I continued our fruitless speculation over lunch and through long phone conversations and IM sessions on the computer. All to no avail. In fact, all this phone work did was make my sister mad at me, my mother worry about my school work, and Doug miss hooking up with me.
That’s right. Doug called me! Surely you must hear my heart pounding because it’s drowning out everything else on my end. He called on Wednesday night, the last respectable night for asking somebody out on a weekend.
In fact, Wednesday night is probably the night when phones across America are tolling with potential date-makers hanging onto every ring. Calling on Monday or Tuesday could appear too eager, too obsessive-compulsive.
Thursday, however, is too late. It communicates either a careless disregard for the potential date’s schedule or feelings, or worse—it sends the message that the potential date is a second choice and the first choices already responded negatively on Wednesday.
Wednesday, you see, is the perfect date-making night. Not too eager. Not too late. Especially if you call early in the evening, which is what Doug, Love of My Life, did.
He called Wednesday at exactly 6:33 p.m., Eastern Standard Time. I know because I listened to the voice mail message about ten times before forcing myself to erase it. Saving it would provide too much ammunition for Tony.
After a brief pause, Doug had said, “Uh. . . this is Doug and if Bianca is in, could she call me back at. . .”
Only problem was I didn’t get the message until 10:53 p.m. Yes, I’m ashamed to admit it. I tied up our darn phone all night—but for a good cause, school work. Right after dinner, I got on the Internet, researching a paper.
Okay, okay, I was Instant Messaging Kerrie and Nicole at the same time.
Instant messaging can slow a body down when surfing the cyberwaves, so it was nearly 10:30 by the time I got off. And then I didn’t think to check the voice mail until pulling the blankets over me. It made for a sleepless night thinking of Doug wondering why I hadn’t called him back.
D OUBLE SURPRISE The first two people I ran into on Thursday morning were Doug and Sadie. They were talking, quietly and confidentially, in the room with all the lockers on the same floor as the cafeteria. I couldn’t tell if I was pleased or angry to see them. I wanted to see them both. Just separately. Not together.
“Doug!” I said, trying to sound casually cheerful and instead coming off like a carnival barker reeling in a bumpkin. I ratcheted down the volume as I sauntered over to him and Sadie. “I was on the computer all night. Sorry I missed your call.” Then I turned to Sadie.
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