شبی با عروسک زنده 2 فصل 09

Night of the Living Dummy 2 - Chapter 9

First I dropped my tray in the lunchroom. The trays were all wet, and mine just slipped out of my hand.

The plates clattered on the floor, and my lunch spilled all over my new white sneakers. Everyone in the lunchroom clapped and cheered.

Was I embarrassed? Take three guesses.

Later that afternoon, report cards were handed out.

Sara came home grinning and singing. Nothing makes her more happy than being perfect. And her report card was perfect. All A’s.

She insisted on showing it to me three times. She showed it to Jed three times, too. And we both had to tell her how wonderful she was each time.

I’m being unfair to Sara.

She was happy and excited. And she had a right to be. Her report card was perfect—and her flower painting won the blue ribbon in the State Art Contest.

So I shouldn’t blame her for dancing around the house and singing at the top of her lungs.

She wasn’t trying to rub it in. She wasn’t trying to make me feel like a lowly slug because my report card had two C’s. One in math and one in science.

It wasn’t Sara’s fault that I had received my worst report card ever.

So I tried to hold back my jealous feelings and not strangle her the tenth time she told me about the art prize. But it wasn’t easy.

The worst part of my report card wasn’t the two C’s. It was the little note Miss Carson wrote at the bottom.

It said: Amy isn’t working to the best of her ability. If she worked harder, she could do much better than this.

I don’t think teachers should be allowed to write notes on report cards. I think getting grades is bad enough.

I tried to make up some kind of story to explain the two C’s to my parents. I planned to tell them that everyone in the class got C’s in math and science. “Miss Carson didn’t have time to grade our papers. So she gave us all C’s—just to be fair.” It was a good story. But not a great story.

No way Mom and Dad would buy that one.

I paced back and forth in my room, trying to think of a better story. After a while, I noticed Slappy staring at me.

He sat in the chair beside Dennis, grinning and staring.

Slappy’s eyes weren’t following me as I paced—were they?

I felt a chill run down my back.

It really seemed as if the eyes were watching me, moving as I moved.

I darted to the chair and turned Slappy so that his back was to me. I didn’t have time to think about a stupid dummy. My parents would be home from work any minute. And I needed a good story to explain my awful report card.

Did I come up with one? No.

Were my parents upset? Yes.

Mom said she would help me get better organized. Dad said he would help me understand my math problems. The last time Dad helped me with my math, I nearly flunked!

Even Jed—the total goof-off—got a better report card than me. They don’t give grades in the lower school. The teacher just writes a report about you.

And Jed’s report said that he was a great kid and a really good student. That teacher must be sick!

I stared at Jed across the dinner table. He opened his mouth wide to show me a mouth full of chewed-up peas.

Sick!

“You reek,” he said to me. For no reason at all.

Sometimes I wonder why families were invented.

Saturday morning, I called Margo. “I can’t come over,” I told her with a sigh. “My parents won’t let me.” “My report card wasn’t too good, either,” Margo replied. “Miss Carson wrote a note at the bottom. She said I talk too much in class.” “Miss Carson talks too much,” I said bitterly.

As I chatted with Margo, I stared at myself in the dresser mirror. I look too much like Sara, I thought. Why do I have to look like her twin? Maybe I’ll cut my hair really short. Or get a tattoo.

I wasn’t thinking too clearly.

I was too angry that my parents weren’t allowing me to go over to Margo’s house.

“This is bad news,” Margo said. “I wanted to talk to you about performing with Slappy at my dad’s place.” “I know,” I replied sadly. “But they’re not letting me go anywhere until my science project is finished.” “You still haven’t turned that in?” Margo demanded.

“I kind of forgot about it,” I confessed. “I did the project part—for the second time. I just have to write the report.” “Well, I told you, Daddy has a birthday party for a dozen three-year-olds next Saturday,” Margo said. “And he wants you and Slappy to entertain them.” “As soon as I finish the science report, I’m going to start rehearsing,” I promised. “Tell your dad not to worry, Margo. Tell him I’ll be great.” We chatted for a few more minutes. Then my mom shouted for me to get off the phone. I talked for a little while longer—until Mom shouted a second time. Then I said good-bye to Margo and hung up.

I slaved over my computer all morning and most of the afternoon. And I finished the science report.

It wasn’t easy. Jed kept coming into my room, begging me to play a Nintendo game with him. “Just one!” And I had to keep tossing him out.

When I finally finished writing the paper, I printed it out and read it one more time. I thought it was pretty good.

What it needs is a really great-looking cover, I decided.

I wanted to get a bunch of colored markers and do a really bright cover. But my markers were all dried up.

I tossed them into the trash and made my way to Sara’s room. I knew that she had an entire drawer filled with colored markers.

Sara was at the mall with a bunch of her friends. Miss Perfect could go out and spend Saturday doing whatever she wanted. Because she was perfect.

I knew she wouldn’t mind if I borrowed a few markers.

Jed stopped me outside her door. “One game of Battle Chess!” he pleaded. “Just one game!” “No way,” I told him. I placed my hand on top of his head. His red, curly hair felt so soft. I pushed him out of my way. “You always murder me at Battle Chess. And I’m not finished with my work yet.” “Why are you going in Sara’s room?” he demanded.

“None of your business,” I told him.

“You reek,” he said. “You double reek, Amy.”

I ignored him and made my way into Sara’s room to borrow the markers.

I spent nearly an hour making the cover. I filled it with molecules and atoms, all in different colors. Miss Carson will be impressed, I decided.

Sara returned home just as I finished. She was carrying a big shopping bag filled with clothes she’d bought at Banana Republic.

She started to her room with the bag. “Mom—come see what I bought,” she called.

Mom appeared, carrying a stack of freshly laundered towels.

“Can I see, too?” I called. I followed them to Sara’s room.

But Sara stopped at her door.

The bag fell from her hand.

And she let out a scream.

Mom and I crowded behind her. We peered into the bedroom.

What a mess!

Someone had overturned about a dozen jars of paint. Reds, yellows, blues. The paint had spread over Sara’s white carpet, like a big, colorful mud puddle.

I gasped and blinked several times. It was unreal!

“I don’t believe it!” Sara kept shrieking. “I don’t believe it!”

“The carpet is ruined!” Mom exclaimed, taking one step into the room.

The emptied paint jars were on their sides, strewn around the room.

“Jed!” Mom shouted angrily. “Jed—get in here! Now!”

We turned to see Jed right behind us in the hall. “You don’t have to shout,” he said softly.

Mom narrowed her eyes angrily at my brother. “Jed—how could you?” she demanded through clenched teeth.

“Excuse me?” He gazed up at her innocently.

“Jed—don’t lie!” Sara screamed. “Did you do this? Did you go in my room again?” “No way!” Jed protested, shaking his head. “I didn’t go in your room today, Sara. Not once. But I saw Amy go in. And she wouldn’t tell me why.”