Free Thwonk by Joan Bauer Page A

of Death Incarnate!”
    “He did, didn’t he?”
    Her eyes searched my face for uncurbed neurosis. She grabbed my arm. “My mother is waiting for me outside. I’m going to the dentist and will get Novocain and won’t be able to speak, so I’ll say it all now.
What is happening?
”
    I grinned. “You’re a wonderful friend, Trish.”
    “I want to know everything else!”
    “I’ll call you,” I promised, and tried to look normal. “I’m fine now, Trish. That other stuff was—”
    Her mother was honking the car horn like a hungry seal in the Fire Lane. “You are to call me, A.J., as soon as you hang up with him—the very second, do you understand? Don’t go to the bathroom, don’t stop for reflection, don’t talk to yourself anywhere! It doesn’t matter what time it is!”

C HAPTER E IGHT
    I drove my Volvo home from school as only a truly desirable person can. I smiled at stranded motorists. I grinned at bad drivers. I drove past Comstock’s Card Castle, past the Valentine cupids on display that had always seemed tired and inane until now.
    I loved Valentine’s Day!
    I pulled into my happy two-car garage on top of which was my merry studio, and danced up the back steps to the kitchen, where Stieglitz, Boy Wonder Dog, greeted me in epic loyalty.
    “Has anyone
called
, boy?” I danced to the phone and patted it. “Anyone gorgeous and witty and urbane?” Stieglitz had no idea, but took full advantage of my mood; he rolled on his back to have his stomach rubbed. I stroked his long, soft fur. “Wait till you meet him, boy! He is crazy about me!”
    Stieglitz growled, sensing competition. I ran upstairs and pulled out the fabulous red dress I’d bought at retail for last year’s King of Hearts Dance, the one I’d never worn because Robbie Oldsberg had dumped me two days before the dance and gone with Lisa Shooty, breaking my heart into a zillion pieces.
    I put the dress on; the red silk hugged my body in all the right places—even my waist looked small. I pranced before my antique floor-mirror, a person in control of her destiny.
    Take
that
, Robbie Oldsberg, you massive toad!
    I turned from side to side, swishing my dress, shaking out my hair. I tore through my closet for the red heels with the little sequins (fifty percent off at Berringer’s) that matched the dress perfectly. I squeezed into the shoes that were snug, did a little twirl, and raised my arms in victory.
    Peter would call any minute, totally succumbed, and I would know devotion for the rest of my rich, full life.
    The phone rang.
    My heart stopped.
    I let it ring three times because I didn’t want toseem anxious. I whispered an earthy hello. It was Trish, mumbling through Novocain displacement.
    “Nothing yet,” I said.
    Trish garbled that she wouldn’t sleep until I called, and hung up.
    My stomach growled with anticipation—approaching ecstasy makes you hungry. I took off the dress and wrapped myself in my extra-large tartan robe and found microwavable sustenance in the kitchen—one of the perks of being the child of the Emotional Gourmet. I nuked a slab of herb bread and a container of Mom’s drop-dead Chicken Paprikash. I washed this down with a bottle of Orangina and two cherry fritters. The phone rang again. I counted two rings this time, not wanting to push my luck, and breathed my sexiest hello.
    “
Mrs. McCreary
,” said the pushy voice. “And how are you this evening?”
    “I’m not Mrs.—”
    “Stan Hurlehan,
Mrs. McCreary
, of the Triple A Siding Company, with a special offer that could change your life!”
    Keeping the phone line free was the only thing that could change my life. I said I was waiting for an emergency call. Good-bye.
    It was eight-eighteen; Peter still hadn’t called. Maybe he was injured. I did the direct, today’s assertive female thing: called his house, heard his voice, and hung up. Calling had to be
his
idea. I glared at the phone.
    “
Ring!
” I shouted.
    It didn’t.
    Peter