Free Are You in the House Alone? by Richard Peck Page A

“I mean, look there’s Steve Pastorini and LittleMiss What’s-Her-Name over there. What are
they
doing out on a school night?”
    A couple of the guys muttered what we might be doing out on a school night. LaVerne shrieked. She went on and on, trying to draw the gang that was already all over her closer and closer.
    “Let’s go,” I said to Steve.
    “That way LaVerne wins,” Steve said. “Besides, I grew up with them, every one of them. My people. LaVerne’s dad is probably playing pinochle with my dad right now down at the VFW.”
    I wanted to tell him that he wasn’t one of them any more. But I guessed he knew that. The decibel level of LaVerne’s shrieks had lowered considerably. Out of the corner of my eye I could see a hand that wasn’t hers trailing like a vine in under her blouse.
    We left, after a decent interval, if that’s the way to put it. But there wasn’t anywhere to go, and I was in no hurry to get home. We drove up and down country roads, listening to the windshield wipers. I reached over and took Steve’s hand and he held it, loosely.
    “Did you know,” I said, “we’re being followed?”
    “What?”
    “There’s a car way behind us. It’s made the last four or five turns we have, and we’re not really going in any particular direction.”
    He glanced in the rear-view mirror. “There’s a car back there, but way back. Could have been different cars on different roads.”
    “No. It’s the same one.”
    “You can’t be sure about that, Gail. What’s the matter with you?”
    “Nothing at all. I’m just telling you somebody’s following us, and I thought you’d like to know. Point of interest.”
    He either didn’t believe me or didn’t want to, for a mile or so. But then he swung the car suddenly into a side road, so fast we nearly grazed a stone wall. It was a farmer’s lane, with a darkened house at the end and a barnlot turnaround. We circled in it, throwing up a wave of mud. He killed the lights, and we sat there in the dark with the rain pounding the hood. There was a car way off on the main road, with headlights low to the ground, fanning out. But it wasn’t moving.
    We were there a long time, sitting apart, until Steve was as nervous as I was. He flicked on the lights and gunned off down the lane. The other car in the distance leaped forward a second later. By the time we got down to the end of the lane it had roared by on the road. Its tail lights were only red pinpoints ahead of us when we turned out of the lane. Then it was gone.
    “It was really traveling,” Steve muttered. “I didn’t think any of LaVerne’s mob had a car that fast.”
    “Maybe they don’t,” I said.
    *   *   *
    “Hand it over to me right now!” I snapped my fingers right under Alison’s nose. “Don’t even unfold it.” I’d come down the hall Thursday morning just in time to see her pull a note out of my locker vent.
    “Oh, Gail,” she said, trying to look superior and concerned all at once, “why don’t you just throw it away? Why give anybody the satisfaction of reading it and getting all upset? It’s probably some, oh, I don’t know, some scramble-brained girl who’s jealous and trying to do a number on your head. Not worth fussing about.”
    “How would you feel if somebody was doing this particular number on
your
head, Alison? Or couldn’t anything like that ever possibly happen to
you
? Just give it to me.” I had to take it out of her hand. I’d have fought her for it,torn her hair out, like LaVerne Shull would. When I unfolded it, Alison turned away.
    I’M STILL WATCHING YOU. AND I’M GETTING CLOSER, YOU LITTLE . . .
    It was almost the same as the first note. He’d said it all before. He’d been living with his same psycho plans ever since. And so had I.
    I fumbled it into my book bag, wedged it between Wood’s
Masters of English Literature
and Waddell’s
Basic Principles of Plane Geometry.
I turned around with a mask of calm on my face. “Look