Storm: a poetry-verse spy story

Hi, it's me.

Sherry Solomon.

You probably don't know me.

If you do, then

you will not believe what I did last night.

I'm pretty sure

that it was illegal.

Emilia said that

she'd call the sheriff if things

got out of hand, but

we didn't even need him for the rescue.       

We were fine.

I think.

My parents don't realize that I snuck onto private property

and ran away

with a

"kid napped" runaway.

So.

That's against the law,

right?

I'm walking to school.

Usually Amrita Bell

walks with me, but today,

the pink-haired junior pop star

the popular girl,

is ignoring me.

ME!

She's the first girl from this small town

to ever

get famous, at all.

She's been on America's Got Talent

twice.

She was my friend, even though

people around the world

knew her name.

But now...

She's walking with Katrina Ellis, a girl who's dyed

her hair dark purple

and wears tinted sunglasses

instead of prescription glasses.

Her lips are red as rubies.

Her skin as pale as the moon.

her eyes as brown as

deep dark maple syrup,

the flavor that only my Grampsy Steve likes.

Why not me,

though?

Isn't she

my friend?

Homeroom:

Chocolate is nowhere

to be found.

"That's weird," my teacher, Mrs. Rain,

says.

"We have a test today, and

you were supposed to

tell me if

you would be tardy for some reason or had to miss school.

Where could she be?"

A sickening feeling

twists in my guts.

Could this have anything to do with...

last night?

Maybe...

Math:

Three classes-- THREE CLASSES--

and Chocolate hadn't shown.

The teachers are getting nervous, or

some of them are.

Mr. Harris:

"She's likely just sick.

Call her parents if it's a concern."

Mrs. Rain:

"I don't feel so good about this...

Ellen always calls me when Chocolate

is sick.

She makes sure

that nothing can be coined against her

as 'skipping school'.

I hope it's nothing serious..."

Ms. Gemma:

"If it was a serious matter, then

the Abbots would have called us. If, say,

the poor girl broke both legs biking to school, 

they would tell us after they called the hospital."

Mr. Zeffier:

"I'm worried. I should be worried. I'm

very worried. This

is not good at all. We

should call them."

Mrs. Gosling: 

(nervous huffing.) 

Me:

I don't want my fears to be confirmed. 

Chocolate got 

Samantha-Jae away from

her stepbrothers and stepfather, who I only know are

her stepbrother and stepfather because 

she explained the event to me. 

But it was 

Chocolate who did all the hard work. Her and 

Emilia.

They did the planning, the plotting, the

follow through; they found the tire tracks, they 

got Samantha-Jae out. 

Me?

I followed John Kazzer, because 

I thought it would be cool.

And then everything got weird. 

If something happened to Chocolate...

It might be related-- 

no, is almost entirely likely to be related

that it had to do with last night. 

I was so scared when

she fell off the third story window ledge.

She was only okay

because 

the grass was bouncier and springier than 

a well-made bed. 

That does it.

At lunch, I'm calling her. Calling her and

her parents

and 

everyone. 

Everyone I need to call.

Lunch period:

I run outside to eat

a peanut butter sandwich, since

there's a kid in our school allergic to nuts. 

After quickly devouring the 

thing, I 

call Chocolate's number. 

No response. 

I try again.

Nothing.

I try again. 

Hi, this is Chocolate Abbot, also known as Choco. 

If you hear this, I either am busy right now

or don't want to talk to you.

Please leave a message and I'll call you 

later.

I look at my phone. 

The pink case is warm in my hand. 

A tear comes to my eye.

I blink it aside. 

Crying is for another time. I call

the Abbots. 

Ellen Abbot's voice comes from the 

recorded message on her cell phone, 

telling me to 

call back later

or leave a message. 

I try the bakery line. 

"Hello, this is Joseph at Ellen's Sweet Treats. How 

may I help you?"

"Uh, this is Sherry. Sherry Solomon. I',m here

to ask if Chocolate is sick or something, since

we had a test today and she wasn't there."

"She left for 

school just fine," Joseph says.

"Well, she didn't even make it into the

school today. Are you sure

she didn't get lost or something?" 

But I know.

there is

no way

to get lost in

our town. 

You can run from one side

to the other in a minute, if

you're reeeeeeeeealllllyyyyy fast on your

feet.

That's a bit of hyperbole, but most of that

is true. An Olympic runner could run this place in a 

minute. 

I think 

I know 

what happened,

and it

isn't good...

After school:

Chocolate never

got home. I call Samantha-Jae, to se if she knows anything,

but my message goes to voicemail. 

That's when I hear a 

DING!

from my phone. I have a 

text from Chocolate!

But my heart falls out of my chest when I read it:

SOS SOS SOS 

KALL 3MILIA 

HEJP HELP HELLLP!!!!!

The obvious typos don't look purposeful. It looks like

maybe she was texting them blindly?

In a dark room or something?

But phones

glow. 

I dial Emilia's number:

667-338-9651

"Hi? Who's this?" she asks skeptically. 

"It's me. Sherry. You know how

I gave Choco my text number

after the 

err...

rescue?"

"Yeah."

"She just sent me an

SOS text. 

Full of typos."

"Are they a secret code?"

"She put a three in your name, a 

K in call, and lemme see... an extra L in help. Oh, and

at one point, she used a J instead of an L."

"Send me her exact words."

I do this. 

"Could it be..."

At the same time, we say:

"Samantha-Jae's stepfather? Did he 

have anything to do with this?"

Me and Emilia are

going 

out the same way we went last time. We'll look

for new tracks, 

maybe more oil, perhaps some kind of

SOS message. 

"How do I know you aren't working with them,

and are just going to take me, too?"

Emilia asks. 

"Because you're the adult one with the car, the 

tattoos, the sticks in the car for beating up car thieves, 

the pepper spray, the emergency Swiss Army knife in 

your shoe, the--"

"Right. You should be more worried

about me."

These words

don't exactly fill me

with joy and relief. 

It's raining. I'm clutching

A kitchen knife 

I snuck form Mom's no-touching knife block, even though 

she says

I'm never allowed to touch them. They're as sharp as dragons teeth. 

I feel every bump the car hits.

I feel every nervous thought entering my head.

I can feel bile rising in my throat, like a wave of acidic sickness

I can feel a drop of water landing on my knee form a teeny crack 

between the window and the roof. 

I feel sick as can be. 

Emilia feels the same, it seems. 

She clutches the wheel the car and swerves off-road 

every now and then. She

does it now. 

I wish that we weren't driving in the middle of a thunderstorm, but

I also wish that everything that happened yesterday didn't 

happen. 

"Almost there..."

Emilia swerves off the road and into the mud-gully that is the dirt 

path. The car drops almost straight down, and 

the weals churn up

mud and water. 

Sloshing, we

keep going forward, fighting

the rainstorm. 

And the wind.

Did I mention the wind? It's blowing like

it wants to throw everyone off the side of the world. 

I shudder. 

This is cold and

wet and

impossible, and...

Yeah, there isn't much else you can use to describe our insane ride. 

That was what we did for about an hour....

We get out of the car, wondering 

why we didn't wear black again. 

It's time to fly. 

We look around for an entry or open window, but everything is sealed against the storm.

Eventually, we try the front door.

When we hear the loud doorbell,

I flinch.

"This was the worst idea

since chili sauce." I say.

The door opens. A boy about fifteen stands inside, looking

at the two fingers in front of him:

A young woman and a girl, both sopping wet and muddy, looking

like they just swam through a battlefield, dripping water

on his perfect porch stoop.

"Who are you?"

he asks.

"I'm Romilda... Romilda Vane!" I say.

Emilia gives me a look.

It means why did you say that you were the girl

who snuck Ron a love potion

in the sixth book of Harry Potter?

I give her a look that means who would you call yourself?

"I'm Griselda Washington, and

I'm your housecleaner," Emilia says.

"Forget the house, you need to be cleaned! You're

dripping mud on everything!"

I smirk

and step into the house.

"Hey, wait! Wipe your feet!"

I frown at him and wipe them

on the plush withe carpet instead.

"Do apologize for my sister's behavior! She is kind of

weird, and doesn't like boys!"

"Yeah!" I

say loudly.

"Because of an.. um..."

"Hunting accident in the Philippines!" Emilia shouts.

"Wait... your last names are different

and you said you were sisters... a hunting accident

in the Philippines?"

"Yeah! Uh, bye!" I run

up the stairs, taking off my shoes.

I throw them, the

X-covered soles showing as they

bounce off the stairwell.

Gasping, I explore the house. The carpet

is soft below my feet, and the white walls

are as spotless as an angel's heart.

I relax a little, even though

I'm trespassing in someone's mansion.

That's when I hear footsteps. I jump

into the nearest room,

which is a teeny bathroom.

The owner of the feet

walks by slowly.

"Someone there?" calls out a voice.

I

hold my breath.

Everything

s

t

o

p

s

and I'm

l i s t e n i n g

to my heartbeat.

I take a breath as they walk away.

But I hide in the

tiny bathroom for

hours.

The rain drums on the window.

A pure-black cat comes in, hisses at me, and falls asleep.

I sigh.

And someone shoves the door open.

I scream,

punch them,

and run on the cat, before

seeing that it's only Emilia.

"Neither of them

are here."

"What?"

I pull the cat

off my jeans.

"Chocolate and Samantha-Jae. They're not here."

"Samantha-Jae?" I ask.

"If you take one, you

take the other, too. Besides, they'd want

their stepsister back.

It seems that

her mother died shortly after

becoming a multimillionaire.

Samantha-Jae will inherit her mother's fortune

as soon as she turns eighteen.

They want her around until

they can be sure that the money's theirs. Chocolate?

She's just a bonus perk, or maybe

an assurance that

everything's under their control."

"But they aren't here."

My eyes grown narrow as I plot.

"Maybe they are someplace reeeeealllllly weird. Like

a secret room under

the bathtub. Or maybe--"

"Sherry. They aren't here."

But you said--"

"That was what they did last time. This time,

there isn't even a crime! They're innocent."

"But if they didn't do it..." I say

slowly.

"Than

who did?"

An alarm goes off somewhere

in the house.

It rings through the corridors like

bell chimes on New Year's Eve.

We look at each other,

fear overworking our

systems.

And then we hear the sound of

footsteps charging through

the hallway.

Doors are thrown open.

Then, a tall, brown-haired boy

opens the door to the bathroom.

"TREEEEESSSSPAAAAASSSSERS!"

he exclaims.

I look at Emilia, hoping that

she can explain this. But the boy

we lied to is nowhere in sight.

And there are five boys, two

more like young men,

standing

outside

the

door

to

the

bathroom.

"Oh, sugarplums," I say.

***TO BE CONTINUED!***

Stay tuned for the next one...