Girl on the Other Side Page 6

  The firm’s fifty-two employees have been suspended without pay and are all expected to co-operate with the ongoing investigation.

  After spending the night in jail, Mr. Freeman will be arraigned in court this morning and, according to sources, is expected to be released on $25,000 bail. Outside the courthouse yesterday, he spoke to the press briefly.

  That’s as far as I got before my vision blurred. Once I started crying, I couldn’t stop. After a minute, I heard a gasp from behind me and suddenly Nanny was there, tearing the paper out of my hands and pulling me into the house.

  “Tabby, what are you doing?”

  Sobbing, I clung to her little body and tried to think of an answer. Why was I crying? I hated him, didn’t I? He deserved whatever he got. Hell, I practically turned him in myself!

  But something about seeing my own father handcuffed and wearing an orange prison jumpsuit was surprisingly traumatic. Nanny must have realized that because, before my tears were even dry, she gathered up the newspaper and threw it into the recycling bin. But it was too late to erase what I’d seen — the image had been tattooed onto my brain.

  I ran upstairs to my bedroom and, with Sam at my side, watched from my window for Catherine and David to get home from the courthouse. Unfortunately, the first ones to come were the media. I watched in shock as they pulled up in those ugly grey vans with the satellite dishes mounted on top and surrounded our house with their cameras and microphones.

  Next came the police. Just hours after David’s arraignment, a squad car pulled up into our driveway and two officers stepped out. Dodging the reporters, they charged right up to our front porch and pounded on the door knocker.

  “Open up!”

  Leaving my window, I ran downstairs to see what they wanted. As I swung open the door, I could see an army of cameras pointed at me. My stomach dropped.

  “H-how can I help you?” I asked, trying my best to keep my voice from shaking. But the officers didn’t say a word. They just flashed a search warrant in my face and pushed their way past me; their heavy, black boots scuffing up our marble floors. I was amazed at how rude they were. I couldn’t remember anybody ever treating me that way before.

  It took the officers less than an hour to seize all the computers in our house — including my own laptop. That really freaked me out! Holy crap! Were they going to find out that it was me who leaked the information? Would I get arrested, too? My knees felt weak. What would happen if Catherine and David discovered that it was me who told on them?

  As soon as the police left, I went back up to my room to watch for my parents. When David’s Bentley finally pulled up, reporters and photographers swarmed the car and set off a storm of flashbulbs in their eyes. With their hands covering their faces, my parents elbowed their way through the frenzy and ran inside the house. Sam and I tumbled down the stairs just in time to see them deadbolting the front door.

  “David, help me lock all the windows and doors,” Catherine yelped. “And Beth, I want you to close all the curtains and shutters! I don’t want any of those photographers out there getting our picture.”

  When I heard that, I almost laughed out loud. Thankfully, I was smart enough to hold it in. Before all this happened, Catherine would have killed to have her picture taken by the press. Two years ago when my parents took me to the Toronto Film Festival, I remember how she would wear dark sunglasses and walk really fast past all the celebrity hotspots, hoping the paparazzi would think she was someone worth photographing. Man, things were really changing!

  As David and Nanny carried out their orders, our house slowly morphed into a virtual prison for four. When the lockdown was complete, Catherine gathered us together and spelled out our sentence. Until the media frenzy calmed down, none of us could leave the house, open a window, or even pull back a curtain. We could make outgoing calls, but we had to stop answering the phone in case reporters were trying to get to us. Nanny was put in charge of screening all calls.

  “But what about school?” I asked.

  “You can miss a few days,” Catherine replied.

  And that was that. We were trapped like animals in a cage. All of us. For the first time I could remember, my parents had nowhere to go and nothing but time on their hands.

  We hunkered down in our hideout. David spent all day in his monogrammed bathrobe and slippers. He gave up shaving and, from the looks of his eyes, I think he stopped sleeping, too. With every day that passed, his beard got bushier and the circles under his eyes got darker until he started to look like some kind of psycho-freak caveman. He spent most of his time pacing from room to room in whispery phone conversations with his lawyer. His brown leather slippers swished loudly as he marched back and forth across the marble floors, speeding up whenever he got agitated. When he wasn’t on the phone, he was sitting on the couch in front of the TV with his eyes glazed over like he wasn’t really watching the screen.

  Catherine wasn’t looking much better. For the first time that I could remember, she stopped wearing makeup and high heels and I could see the stress showing through her skin in little lines on her forehead and under her eyes — proof that not even Botox could fight off the pressures of a federal indictment. But that wasn’t the only change in her. Even though I was pretty sure she had never lifted a mop in her life, suddenly cleaning became her passion. And the really weird thing was that the house wasn’t even dirty — like, at all. But there she was on her hands and knees scrubbing the already-clean floors. It was like aliens had come overnight and swapped her with a completely different woman.

  “Come on, Beth!” she called to Nanny as she was waxing the hardwood in the main floor office. “Make yourself useful and give me a hand here!”

  She had to be having some kind of a psychotic breakdown. Or maybe this was just her way of coping with being trapped at home — which I knew was the last place she ever wanted to be.

  Holy crap, were my parents losing their minds?

  The last thing I wanted to do was hang around and find out. But really, what choice did I have? I thought about calling someone and begging them to sneak me out. But who could I call? Definitely not Dylan or Brandi! Once, in a fit of desperation, I picked up the phone and started to dial Derek’s cell, but hung up before it started to ring. There was no way I wanted him to come here and see how messed up my family was.

  As the hours passed into days, the fridge and the cupboards slowly emptied out. But since nobody could go out to the grocery store to restock, we just made do. With the windows closed up, the house was eerily dark. We floated around in it like ghosts. Nanny went about her job silently, working in the shadows and trying to stay as invisible as possible in order to avoid any more of Catherine’s cleaning fits.

  As for me, I kept waiting for some kind of emotional meltdown from David and Catherine. An explanation … an apology … an accusation about the email I sent out. Something. But it never came. As usual, they were just too wrapped up in themselves to notice me. A couple of times I came close to asking them how they could have done such a terrible thing — stolen from everyone in town and then lied about it. But for some reason I couldn’t get the words out. Maybe I was in shock. Or maybe I was developing a severe case of rickets from the lack of sunlight in my life.

  This darkness was really hard to handle and the air reeked with the chemically “fresh” scent of cleaning fluids. By the third day I was craving sunlight as badly as a starving man craves food. It was unnatural to be living shut away from the world. For the first time in my life, I began to feel an awful sense of claustrophobia. Finally, I couldn’t stand it anymore. One afternoon while my parents were both downstairs, I snuck up to my room, pulled my curtain open a couple of inches and peeked out my window. I just needed to feel the sun on my face for a couple of minutes.

  From up there, I had a great view of what was going on below. The media were still camped out on the street, but their numbers were definitely shrinking.

  Closing my eyes, I let the light soak into my s
kin and thought about Grandma and Grandpa. They’d been on my mind a lot during those dark days. It was so hard to imagine how they spent five years hiding in that cellar during the war. And here I was going crazy after four days! More then ever, I wished Grandma were still alive. She’d be able to help us all through this mess — she’d been through so much worse in her life.

  Then yesterday, after five days of imprisonment, the principal of my school called and told Nanny that unless I had a doctor’s note I had to go back to class. I actually didn’t mind. I thought it would be a relief to get out of the darkness.

  So this morning after breakfast is over, I push through the last of the reporters and walk back to school. At first, kids just stare like I’m a freak or something. Teachers stare, too, but at least they’re polite and try to hide it a bit better. But little by little, I begin to sense everyone’s anger. I can feel their eyes on me as I walk down the hall to my first class. And I can hear the hush and hiss of their whispers as I pass their lockers. I try not to let it bother me, but that gets harder as the day goes on.

  In my morning gym class, I’m the last one picked for teams. At lunch, I sit alone in the cafeteria, deflecting dirty looks from everyone who passes by. Finally, when I can’t take it anymore, I get up and move to Derek’s table. I’m kind of hoping that he’ll be a gentleman and stand up in my defence. He does stand up — and without a word, walks as quickly as he can to another table. I’m mortified beyond belief.

  On my way back to my locker, I spy Brandi and Dylan ahead of me in the hall. When they see me coming, they start to giggle and turn the other way, whispering to each other and pretending like they don’t even know me. I walk past them with my head held high. So much for my BFFs! It’s weird, but even though they totally cut my family down, I really can’t blame them for it. After all, I sharpened the knife and handed it to them myself.

  After that, things really turn ugly. “Thief!” someone hisses at my back as I walk into my math class. I speed up and pretend not to hear. But inside I’m dying. I’ve been the centre of attention my whole life … but not this kind of attention. I’d expected my parents to be under attack when that email went out. But I never considered that I would be, too. With the click of a mouse, our entire family has turned into public enemy number one.

  As I trudge home from school, I make myself a promise: No matter how bad it gets, I won’t ever let them see me cry.

  Back at home, the emotional meltdown I’d been waiting for finally happens. But in the end, it’s not my parents who break down. After dinner, there’s a small knock at my bedroom door and when I answer it, Nanny Beth falls into my arms, weeping and shaking.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask, suddenly scared. “Are you hurt?”

  “No … but I’m worried, Tabby,” she whimpers. “I’m worried about my job.”

  My breath catches in my throat.

  “Why? They didn’t say anything about firing you, did they?”

  “No, but I know it’s only a matter of time …” she says. “They won’t be able to afford to keep me with everything that’s going on. And then what will I do? My daughter — I have to send money for her! She’s counting on me! Tabby, what will I do if I lose my job? Where will I live?”

  Oh crap! I hadn’t thought of that! She looks so scared — and it’s all my fault. The guilt I feel is so powerful that I can’t even bring myself to look at her. Instead, I hug her and tell her not to worry.

  “You’ll always have a home here. I won’t let them fire you.”

  But that’s a lie. If David and Catherine go to jail, I know I can’t protect her. Hell, I won’t even be able to protect myself. I put on a brave face for Nanny, but deep down inside I’m petrified. The carefully stitched pieces of my life are rapidly unravelling. More than anything, I wish I could take that email back.

  At night, a new nightmare haunts my dreams. I’m not falling anymore. This time, I’m standing alone on an empty sidewalk, frozen with panic as the tall building from my old nightmare comes crashing down on top of me.

  Lora

  Eleven.

  That’s how many times this week I’ve made it down the main hall unscathed. It’s definitely a record. Thank God, they aren’t paying attention to me anymore. It’s like I’ve become invisible or something. Now the piranhas and the pit bulls are devouring one of their own instead.

  Everyone in school is talking about what Tabby Freeman’s parents did. They’re saying that her father stole over five million dollars from the people in our town. And that he’s going to be disbarred. Maybe even sent to prison.

  And it’s not just at school. The whole town is heated up over the scandal. Even Daddy, who normally never listens to gossip, mentioned it when he picked me up after the coffee shop poetry reading last Sunday night.

  “Don’t you go to school with that Freeman girl?” he asked, gripping the steering wheel awkwardly in his huge hands as he manoeuvered the car though the parking lot. Despite myself, I had to smile. Daddy’s such a big guy, it’s al–ways comical to see him confined in the small space of a car. He looks wedged in — like you’d have to pry him loose with a crowbar to get him out.

  “Yeah, I know her. She’s in my grade,” I replied.

  Daddy shook his head and let out a long, low, monotone whistle.

  “Man, that family’s got a lot of problems.”

  I just nodded and stared out the window. I mean, really … what could I say? I don’t know if any of it’s true or not. All I know is that I’m happy to be left alone. Some teenagers dream of being popular in high school. But total obscurity is all I ever wanted … to blend into the background. To be wallpaper.

  I push open the door to my English class and quietly sneak inside. Miss Wall hasn’t arrived yet, so I sit down, open up a book and start to read while I wait for class to start. A minute later, Tabby Freeman comes in. I watch in shock as she slides into the seat beside me, graceful as a cat.

  What’s she doing? Normally, she likes to hang out in the back with all the other piranhas and pass notes and send text messages away from Miss Wall’s nearsighted eyes. Why is she sitting next to me? I don’t want her next to me! I like being invisible and I want to stay that way! With all the rumours going around about her family, having Tabby Freeman sit beside me isn’t going to help me maintain my wallpaper status.

  I twirl a red ringlet around my finger and watch her out of the corner of my eye. She looks smaller and thinner than usual. Kind of deflated — like someone has let all the air out of her ego.

  Little by little, the other kids start to fill up the seats. So far so good — the piranhas are keeping to themselves. But then trouble appears in the form of a gap-toothed jock wearing a hockey jersey — Todd McGurk. On his way to the back of the class, Todd pauses in front of Tabby’s desk and snaps his thick fingers in her face.

  “Hey, my dad wants his money back,” he says.

  Laughter bounces around the classroom. My stomach twists into a tight knot. I peek over the top of my book and notice Tabby turn away from Todd, as if she’s been hit. He leans across her desk and snaps again, just inches from her nose

  “Did you hear me? I said your father’s a dirty crook.”

  “Shut up, Todd!” she hisses, trying to shove him away. But he doesn’t move. I’m horrified. Todd and Tabby used to be friends.

  “He paid for that big house of yours by stealing money from our families.”

  When she doesn’t reply, Todd reaches down and sweeps her big leather purse off the floor. He pulls it open and starts rifling through it.

  “Where’s my money? I want it back!”

  A moment later, he finds her wallet and holds it up for everyone to see.

  “Hey look!” he shouts, dropping the empty purse to the floor. “Let’s see if the bitch has a credit card!”

  Jumping to her feet, Tabby releases a torrent of expletives so shockingly crude that I immediately feel myself transform into a mortified tomato. For that brief moment, I actually f
orget that she’s the one being bullied. With her long fingernails bared like an animal’s claw, her hands swipe through the air as she tries to retrieve her wallet. But Todd’s taller and he holds it over her head, just out of her reach. Cheers erupt around the room. The knot in my stomach tightens. What’s going on? This guy is mugging Tabby and they’re egging him on?

  “Give it back!” she shrieks. “Or so help me I’ll …”

  “You’ll what?” spits Todd. “Tell your father?”

  Tabby’s face flushes pink and her eyes turn a bright, fluorescent shade of green. I can tell she’s holding back tears. I want to say something to help her. But I’m too scared to utter a sound.

  Suddenly, I hear the classroom door slam. I spin around to see Miss Wall standing by the entryway, hands on her hips and eyes ablaze. I’ve never seen her look angry before. She marches over, plucks Todd up by the collar of his shirt and directs him to the nearest empty desk.

  “Take a seat, Mr. McGurk!” she says, pushing him down onto the chair. “It’s time to settle down and get started.”

  On her way back, she stops by Tabby’s desk to return the wallet and places a gentle hand on her shoulder. Sympathy oozes from her kind face.

  “Are you all right, Miss Freeman?”

  Tabby flinches away from Miss Wall’s hand and doesn’t reply. For the rest of the class, she sits there in stony silence. When the bell rings at the end of class, Tabby leaps from her chair and hurries out the door. Though I’ve never liked her, I feel sorry for her as I watch her go. Her shoulders are hunched over and her head is down. She looks like — what’s that animal with the round shell called? Oh yeah, an armadillo. She looks like an armadillo trying to scuttle away to safety.

  I gather up my books and follow her out. For the first time in my life, I’m not the one getting picked on. So why do I feel so bad about it?

  May 15