YOUR SECRET ADMIRER, Page 4

  “How To Cope with the Other Girl in His life.”

  Her stomach knotted. She didn’t want to read that one.

  She put the magazine away. Looked at the clock. At the door. Her hands were wet. She wiped them on her corduroy pants.

  Time would pass more quickly, she decided, if she walked around. So she went out the glass door. She glanced up the stairway, hoping to see Mike on his way down. The stairs were deserted.

  Wondering if there was a book she might want, she looked across the room at the card catalog. Several people stood at the wooden cabinets, searching the drawers.

  Her eyes wandered to the right, to the entrance, to the book return desk, to the place where you sign up for a library card. On the other side of a rail was the book check-out area, and the exit.

  The exit door swung open as a blonde girl thrust her shoulder against it. Janice glimpsed the girl’s jeans and plaid shirt.

  Brita!

  Relieved but now more nervous than before, Janice rushed up the stairs. A sign at the top read non-fiction. She stepped through the open doorway, and looked to each side. She was at the center of the room, with row after row of high metal shelves in both directions. She heard a few quiet voices to the left, so she decided to try the right. She walked quickly, glancing down each narrow lane between the shelves.

  It was like looking for a friend in the supermarket, she thought. Instead of smelling fresh like a grocery store, though, it had a heavy odor of old books. And it was a lot more silent than a store, and not as well lighted.

  Especially at the far end. There, a whole row of fluorescent lights had burned out—or been turned off.

  As she got closer to the dark area, she felt a shiver of fear. Mike couldn’t be here. Not in the dark.

  But somebody else might be.

  Somebody standing in the dark, barely breathing, just waiting for a lone girl to wander close enough…

  In spite of her fear, she kept moving. She stepped past the end of the final row of shelves, ready to jump away and run.

  She could make out nothing.

  Then, at the far dark end, someone moved.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Janice ducked back. She pressed herself against the flat, wooden end of the shelving section, panting as if she had sprinted a hundred yard dash. Her heart pounded so hard that her chest hurt.

  Could it be Mike down there? Maybe Brita had flown into a rage and somehow hurt him.

  Janice thought about calling out to him. But to raise her voice in the silence… Even the thought of it sent a chill through her. It would be like yelling in a deserted church. Or a graveyard. No, thanks.

  Besides, what if it wasn’t Mike?

  She thought about sneaking down the next aisle. If the shelves were loaded with enough books, they would act as a wall. She could tiptoe all the way to the end, and come out only a foot or two away from Mike.

  If it was Mike.

  And if it’s a stranger, she would be within easy reach.

  She could scream, of course. But by the time help arrived… She didn’t want to think about that.

  From behind, she heard another movement. If it was Mike, he might be in pain. Every second could count.

  She shut her eyes, and tried to think.

  Maybe if she ran to get help? Without knowing who was back there, or why? She could end up looking like an idiot.

  Opening her eyes, she saw a small dark panel on the wall across from her. The aisle was too poorly lighted to see what it was, but she thought she knew. Eagerly, she stepped across the aisle. She touched the panel.

  Her heart seemed to be slamming against her ribs. It sounded, in her ears, like the marching band’s bass drum.

  If I think about it, I’ll chicken out!

  So she didn’t think. She simply flicked the light switch upward and spun around.

  The column of fluorescent tubes buzzed and filled the row with light.

  Mike’s hair was mussed. His face was smeared with red, but not the red of blood. The girl Janice had seen leaving the library had not been Brita.

  Because Brita’s arms encircled Mike, and her mouth pressed his.

  Gasping as if she had been stabbed in the stomach, Janice lurched away. She ran down the aisle to the doorway and down the stairs. In the main room, she had enough control to walk. She went past the circulation desk, and out the door.

  The chilly night air made her shiver.

  She turned right, and started toward home, walking fast, wiping tears from her eyes to keep from being blinded by them.

  In a corner of her mind, she knew she was alone and had a long way to walk in the night. It might be dangerous but she didn’t care.

  She knew she was crying loudly, sobbing and choking, and would look strange to anyone seeing her. She didn’t care.

  She didn’t care about anything.

  She just wanted to get home as quickly as possible, say nothing to Mom or Dad, and get into bed. She wanted to bury her face in the thick, dark warmth of her pillow and never take it out again.

  “Janice!” Mike’s voice. Blinking tears out of her eyes, she saw his blurred shape walking quickly toward her.

  She started to run.

  “Janice! Wait!”

  With a glance around, she saw that he was running, too. She knew that she had no chance against him, but she would not give up. She ran hard, pumping her arms, kicking out her legs as fast as she could. She was already breathless from crying. She kept crying, even as she ran. Her lungs heaved for air.

  Then Mike was beside her. “Janice, stop. Please!”

  “Go away!” she gasped.

  “Please.”

  “No!”

  He clutched her arm and dragged her to a halt. “Look,” he said, “I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry?”

  “I didn’t mean it to happen that way. Honest.”

  “But it did.”

  “Janice!” He gripped both her arms.

  She struggled to free herself, but his hands were like iron. “Leave me alone!” she cried. “Go on back to Brita!”

  “Listen!”

  “Go on back to her. I don’t need you! I don’t even like you. You’re a creep, just like Susan always says.”

  His hands dropped from her arms. “I thought…” His voice stopped. He shook his head slowly, and she knew she had hurt him.

  In the light from the street lamp, she saw the smudges of Brita’s lipstick on his face.

  “You thought wrong,” she said. “I hope I never see you again.”

  Mike turned from her and walked away.

  CHAPTER NINE

  “How’s my sweet thing?” Glen asked, hurrying to Janice’s side. He carried the sousaphone on his shoulder as if it were weightless.

  She hurried across the grass toward the football field, watching her feet instead of Glen.

  “Where were you yesterday?” he asked.

  “I was home sick.”

  “Sure. Sick.” He chuckled as if he knew the truth.

  The truth. That she had awakened yesterday morning feeling empty and lost. That she wanted only to fall asleep again, so she could forget about Mike and escape the pain. She told her mother how awful she felt, but not why. Her mother agreed to let her stay home.

  “Guess what’s at the Palace?” Glen asked. “The Cheerleaders. Yeah! That’s one of the best!”

  “I’m sure you’ll like it,” she told him.

  “You too, sweet stuff. You’re coming with me.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Tomorrow night.”

  “You go alone, and tell me about it.”

  “I know about it. I already seen it twice.”

  “We’ll take it in tomorrow night. You’ll love it.”

  “I—”

  The blast of Mr. Chambers’ whistle stopped her words. He was standing under the goal post. “Let’s line up in marching formation,” he called. “Quick now, no time to dally. Only five more practices to go before the game.”<
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  Janice hurried across the track and onto the football field. Glen ran beside her, the sousaphone bell swinging wildly above his head. “See ya on the bus!” he gasped.

  As she marched down the field playing the “Charger Fight Song,” she pushed thoughts of Glen out of her mind. She would have to think about him later, figure a way to discourage him. Later, on the bus.

  Glen sat down beside her. The doors wheezed and closed. The bus pulled away from the curb.

  “The bus is practically empty,” Janice said. “Can’t you sit somewhere else?”

  “No. You’re my girl, see? A guy’s got to sit by his girl on the bus.”

  “I’m not your girl.”

  “Sure you are. You just don’t know it yet.” He grinned and put a hand on her knee.

  She knocked it away. “Don’t touch me!”

  “Gonna tell your boyfriend on me?” He laughed. “Go ahead. Like I say, I’ll…”

  “I wish you would go away.”

  “Maybe I will. But first you’ve gotta go with me to the movies.”

  That confused her. She frowned at her folded hands. “Do you mean if I go out with you Friday night, you’ll stop bothering me?”

  “Maybe. Course, once you’ve been out with me, you’ll change your tune. You’ll be begging me for another date.”

  Janice doubted that. “If I did go with you, I’d have to cancel a date with my boyfriend.”

  “It’ll be worth it.”

  “He might not see it that way.”

  “I’d be happy to take care of him for you.”

  “Thanks anyway.”

  If only she did have a date with Mike for Friday night. If only.

  The thought of him made all her sorrow and hurt flood back.

  That would sure teach him, if she went on a date with Glen.

  “You’re in worse trouble than I thought,” Mike had said. “You don’t want a guy like that hung up on you. He’s really a…” A what? Before Mike could finish that sentence, Brita had shown up.

  “What’s at the Encore?” she asked.

  “A couple of horror things. One’s called The Keepers, I think. The other’s Beast House.”

  Janice forced herself to smile. From the odd, contorted feel of her face, though, she knew the smile couldn’t look convincing. “I’ve been wanting to see Beast House.”

  “All right! They start around seven, seven-fifteen. I’ll pick you up at six-thirty.”

  “Do you drive?”

  “Hell, yes. Got my own car, too. A Mustang. What’s your address?”

  “If I go out with you, do you promise not to bother me anymore?”

  He laughed as if the idea was ridiculous. “Sure. I’ll go along with that. But like I say, you’ll be begging…”

  “Okay then.”

  Janice opened her school binder. She pulled out a sheet of paper. She unzipped her plastic pencil pouch and took out a ballpoint. “Here’s my address,” she said.

  On the paper, she carefully wrote her dentist’s address, “1585 Wilmont Ave.”

  She gave the paper to Glen. He carefully folded it, and slipped it into his shirt pocket. “We’ll have a real good time,” he said.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Dear Janice,

  I can’t say I’m sorry about your break-up with Mike. As I wrote in the last letter, he is not for you. His actions with that cheap girl proved me correct.

  I am sorry, though, that he has made you so terribly sad. I noticed your absence from school the day after your fight with him. I can imagine how you must have felt, for I too have known great heartache.

  The sorrow will go away, as time passes. You will realize, that no matter how much you may have loved him, he is not the only fish in the sea. There will be other young men in your life—such as me.

  This brings me to the reason for this letter. I yearn, so much, to be close to you. And yet, as I have pointed out before, my identity must be kept secret.

  Will you write to me? Tell me about yourself, about your hopes and dreams, about what hurts you and what makes you happy. Tell me how you feel about me. I realize that you don’t know me (or do you?) except from these letters. Surely, however, you must have some feelings about the person who wrote them. In your letter, tell me about those feelings.

  Delivery of the letter will, of course, present a problem. I can hardly give you my address without betraying my true identity. I think, though, that I have found the answer.

  There is a garbage can in the park—there are many, in fact. I mean the one next to the last bench before the footbridge. Place your letter—if you find it in your heart to answer me—into a paper sack, and drop it into that garbage can. So that I will know it is your sack, write “to S.A.” (secret admirer) on the outside. Put it into the garbage in the evening. I will be nearby to see you put it in, and will pick up your letter as soon as you have gone.

  I look forward, with all my heart, to hearing from you.

  Love,

  Your Secret Admirer

  “Are you going to do it?” Susan asked. She folded the letter and handed it back to Janice. In the light from the lamp behind the park bench, her face looked grim.

  “Sure. Why shouldn’t I?”

  “You’d just be encouraging this lunatic.”

  “Who says he’s a lunatic?”

  “I do. Mike does.”

  The mention of Mike’s name made Janice ache. She thought of the night he held her and almost kissed her after they bumped heads. Then the image of him kissing Brita intruded, ruining it. And what she had said to him afterwards! How could she have spoken such lies, such awful, mean lies?

  She leaned forward on the park bench, and hugged her belly. Though she had eaten supper only an hour ago, the thoughts of Mike made her stomach feel hollow and cold. “I don’t care what Mike thinks,” she said.

  Susan shrugged. “You knew he was going with Brita. Why did you want to bother with him?”

  “It just happened.”

  “Well, you might as well forget about it. He’s just not interested in you. I mean, he told me it’s nothing personal. It’s just that he’s crazy about Brita.”

  “I know.”

  “Anyway, he and I both think this letter writer is nuts. You’d be crazy writing to him. Next thing you know, he’ll be wanting to meet you.”

  Janice shrugged. “So? Why shouldn’t we meet?”

  “You know, there has to be a reason he’s doing this. Has that ever entered your mind?” Susan leaned back on the bench, and wrinkled her nose to keep her glasses from slipping. They slipped anyway.

  “He’s probably just shy,” Janice said.

  “If you’re lucky. On the other hand, he might be a genuine weirdo. Maybe he’s ugly as a worm, or has leprosy, or twelve fingers. Maybe he’s eighty years old.”

  “Susan!”

  “Well, it’s possible. Anything is possible, am I right? That’s just the point. So you’d really be taking a chance, writing to him. Unless it’s just to tell him to get lost.”

  Janice reached into her handbag. She pulled out a paper sack. Written on the side, with a red marking pen, was the inscription, “To S.A.”

  “You didn’t!”

  Janice nodded.

  Susan grinned. “You’re really out of your tree! What did you say? Let me see.”

  Before Janice could stop her, she snatched the sack away.

  “Don’t!” Janice cried out. She reached for it, but Susan leaped away. “Come on, give it back. It’s personal.”

  “That’s okay.” Susan backed away, grinning. “I’m your best friend, right? You’ve got no secrets from me, have you? Besides, you owe me one for seeing Mike behind my back.”

  “Susan!”

  “Please? Okay?”

  “Well…”

  “I promise I’ll never breathe a word of it. Whatever you wrote, it’s just between you, me, and the anonymous nut. Okay?”

  “Well…” Janice sighed. “Okay.”

  “Gr
eat!” Susan quickly opened the sack and pulled out a sheet of powder blue stationery.

  “You can sit down,” Janice told her. “I won’t try to take it.”

  “Promise?”

  “I promise.”

  “Okay then.” Susan sat beside her on the bench. She unfolded the letter, and held it open so it caught the light from the lamp behind them. “ ‘Dear Secret Admirer,’” she read. “Good start, though it’s not very original.”

  “Do you want to read it or discuss it?” Janice demanded.

  “Okay, okay. ‘Dear Secret Admirer, I have been very interested in the letters from you, not to mention curious. You are my first secret admirer. I am glad that you finally let me know how to deliver a letter to you, because I have been wanting to. Now, maybe we can be like pen pals.’”

  Susan groaned, then laughed. “Oh, no, Janice. Pen pals? Good gripes!”

  “If you don’t want to read it…”

  “Sorry, sorry. ‘… pen pals. I am very curious about who you are, and why you have been writing letters to me instead of just introducing yourself. Is it because you are too bashful to meet me? I am often quite shy and bashful, myself. I try not to be, but when a person is very important to me, I get awful self-conscious about talking to him. I think I am afraid of looking dumb or boring.’ Glad you admit it,” Susan said.

  “ ‘The thing to remember is this: the person you are so self-conscious about is probably just as nervous as you are! If you and I ever meet, I bet I would be more afraid of looking stupid than you. Shyness is an awful thing. I try to overcome it, because it really gets in the way. You should try to do the same.’ Sounds like you’re begging to meet him,” Susan told her.

  “Maybe I am. If he likes me so much, why not?”

  Susan only shook her head, and continued to read. “ ‘I do wish you would let me know who you are. I am flattered by your letters, but also they make me nervous. I am sure that you are a nice young guy, and just shy. If you like me as much as you say, I’m sure you don’t mean me any harm. However, it is sometimes a little bit creepy to know that a person is following you everywhere, and you don’t know who it is. So if you really like me, you won’t keep me in suspense. Let me know who you are. Let me meet you. Maybe we can be friends. Sincerely, Janice.’”