whole boring three-hour stretch of rhyming lines and tongue twisting choruses. I was in a pretty bleak mood after the rehearsal, so Kerrie decided to cheer me up.
Of course, it involved a plan.
“My Dad will pick me up when I call him,” she said as we left the school building. “Why don’t we go out to Charles Village? There’s a really neat vintage clothing store there. We could probably find all sorts of things for costumes.” Kerrie was really into the costume thing. My guess is she had thought about visiting this store all week. In fact, she might have been planning this trip since last Easter.
“I don’t have any money.”
“I’ll lend you some if you see something you like. I’ve got my mother’s charge card.”
Kerrie always had her mother’s charge card. I think it was really Kerrie’s card but she was embarrassed about flaunting her family income.
I agreed to go. After all, Doug hadn’t called me yet and he hadn’t shown up at rehearsal. That all conformed with Delusional Scenario #54, the one where he’s called in to work extra hours because some co-worker has run off to Tahiti with the boss’ daughter. Who could leave their employer in such a pinch, right? Doug was a great guy.
Kerrie had mapped out this plan carefully enough to know that the bus we needed to catch was a street over, behind the school. We started walking that way, talking aimlessly about homework, clothes, the weather, the rehearsal—anything except Doug. As we got closer to the bus stop, Kerrie stopped and pulled back behind a scrawny city tree.
“Hey, look,” she said staring down the block. I followed her gaze. There was Sadie, oblivious to our presence, getting into a car. Getting into the driver’s side of a car. Starting the engine, pulling out into the street.
I yanked at Kerrie, pulling her down behind some parked cars so Sadie wouldn’t see us as she drove off. As the vehicle sped away, I got up and squinted at the back, memorizing the license plate number. It wasn’t a Maryland tag. It was a California plate.
“That is weird,” Kerrie said in awe-struck tones under her breath. “She’s driving already.”
For a few moments, we didn’t say anything to each other. Too many thoughts were cascading through our brains simultaneously. Was Sadie older than we thought? Or was the driving age lower in California? But then Kerrie articulated the one thought that both of us were zeroing in on.
“Sadie is not who we think she is.”
Chapter Ten
T HE TRIP to the vintage clothing store evaporated like mist on a fall morning. We stood on the sidewalk gawking, or maybe it was more like meditating—the goal of which was to pull from the cosmos the telltale clues to who the real Sadie Sinclair was. We didn’t like feeling duped. We had helped her, reached out to her. And she wasn’t telling us something. She was leaving out some vital piece of information. We had to find out what it was.
Well, at least I did. Things had gone so wrong in my life, specifically the Doug date debacle, that I felt a strong urge to find a scapegoat. Sadie would do.
“Come on,” I yelled at Kerrie, grabbing her arm and marching back toward the school building.
“Bianca, what are you doing?”
“We’re going sleuthing,” I said, taking long strides. I wanted to get there before Williston closed up.
“What? How? What are we looking for and how are we going to find it?” Kerrie sounded hysterical. Happy, but hysterical. Knowing how much she liked plans, I made one up myself.
“First we’re going to get into the school office. Then we’re going to look up the file on a Miss Sadie Sinclair, recently of California, and alleged high school sophomore.”
That did the trick and Kerrie followed enthusiastically. When we got back to the school, the doors to the auditorium wing were still open. In the lobby, we could hear Williston and the accompanist rehearsing with Hilary and the other leads. As the piano clanked out its
Of course, it involved a plan.
“My Dad will pick me up when I call him,” she said as we left the school building. “Why don’t we go out to Charles Village? There’s a really neat vintage clothing store there. We could probably find all sorts of things for costumes.” Kerrie was really into the costume thing. My guess is she had thought about visiting this store all week. In fact, she might have been planning this trip since last Easter.
“I don’t have any money.”
“I’ll lend you some if you see something you like. I’ve got my mother’s charge card.”
Kerrie always had her mother’s charge card. I think it was really Kerrie’s card but she was embarrassed about flaunting her family income.
I agreed to go. After all, Doug hadn’t called me yet and he hadn’t shown up at rehearsal. That all conformed with Delusional Scenario #54, the one where he’s called in to work extra hours because some co-worker has run off to Tahiti with the boss’ daughter. Who could leave their employer in such a pinch, right? Doug was a great guy.
Kerrie had mapped out this plan carefully enough to know that the bus we needed to catch was a street over, behind the school. We started walking that way, talking aimlessly about homework, clothes, the weather, the rehearsal—anything except Doug. As we got closer to the bus stop, Kerrie stopped and pulled back behind a scrawny city tree.
“Hey, look,” she said staring down the block. I followed her gaze. There was Sadie, oblivious to our presence, getting into a car. Getting into the driver’s side of a car. Starting the engine, pulling out into the street.
I yanked at Kerrie, pulling her down behind some parked cars so Sadie wouldn’t see us as she drove off. As the vehicle sped away, I got up and squinted at the back, memorizing the license plate number. It wasn’t a Maryland tag. It was a California plate.
“That is weird,” Kerrie said in awe-struck tones under her breath. “She’s driving already.”
For a few moments, we didn’t say anything to each other. Too many thoughts were cascading through our brains simultaneously. Was Sadie older than we thought? Or was the driving age lower in California? But then Kerrie articulated the one thought that both of us were zeroing in on.
“Sadie is not who we think she is.”
Chapter Ten
T HE TRIP to the vintage clothing store evaporated like mist on a fall morning. We stood on the sidewalk gawking, or maybe it was more like meditating—the goal of which was to pull from the cosmos the telltale clues to who the real Sadie Sinclair was. We didn’t like feeling duped. We had helped her, reached out to her. And she wasn’t telling us something. She was leaving out some vital piece of information. We had to find out what it was.
Well, at least I did. Things had gone so wrong in my life, specifically the Doug date debacle, that I felt a strong urge to find a scapegoat. Sadie would do.
“Come on,” I yelled at Kerrie, grabbing her arm and marching back toward the school building.
“Bianca, what are you doing?”
“We’re going sleuthing,” I said, taking long strides. I wanted to get there before Williston closed up.
“What? How? What are we looking for and how are we going to find it?” Kerrie sounded hysterical. Happy, but hysterical. Knowing how much she liked plans, I made one up myself.
“First we’re going to get into the school office. Then we’re going to look up the file on a Miss Sadie Sinclair, recently of California, and alleged high school sophomore.”
That did the trick and Kerrie followed enthusiastically. When we got back to the school, the doors to the auditorium wing were still open. In the lobby, we could hear Williston and the accompanist rehearsing with Hilary and the other leads. As the piano clanked out its
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