My Sister's Grave (Tracy Crosswhite, #1)(11)

Tracy turned off the bathroom light and stepped into her bedroom wearing her red fleece pajamas. A towel turban entwined her hair. She sang along to Kenny Rogers and Sheena Easton’s version of “We’ve Got Tonight,” which played on her boom box as she leaned across the bench seat and considered the night sky out her bay window. A magnificent full moon cast the weeping willow in a pale blue light. Its long braids hung motionless, as if the tree had fallen into a deep sleep. Fall was slipping quietly into winter and the weatherman had predicted the nighttime temperature would dip below freezing. To Tracy’s disappointment, however, the sky sparkled with stars. Cedar Grove Grammar School shut down for the first winter snow and Tracy had a test on fractions in the morning. She was less than fully prepared.

She hit the “Stop” button on the boom box, cutting off Sheena but continuing to sing. Then she clicked off her desk lamp. Moonbeams spilled across her down comforter and throw rug, disappearing again when she switched on the lamp clipped to the headboard. She picked up A Tale of Two Cities; they’d been slogging their way through the story the entire semester. She didn’t much feel like reading, but if her grades slipped, her father wouldn’t take her to the regional shooting tournament at the end of November.

She continued singing the lyrics to “We’ve Got Tonight” as she pulled back the comforter.

“Boo!”

Tracy screamed and stumbled backward, nearly falling over.

“Oh my God! Oh my God!” Sarah had popped out from beneath the covers like she’d been spring-loaded, and now lay on her back laughing so hard she could barely catch her breath to speak the words.

“You are such a brat!” Tracy yelled. “What is wrong with you?”

Sarah sat up, trying to talk in between her high-pitched giggles and gasps for air. “You should have seen your face!” She imitated Tracy’s shocked look, then fell back onto the comforter holding her stomach, continuing to laugh.

“How long have you been under there?”

Sarah got to her knees and balled her fist as if singing into a microphone and mimicked Sarah singing the lyrics.

“Shut up.” Tracy undid her turban, flipped her hair forward and rubbed vigorously with the towel.

“Are you in love with Jack Frates?” Sarah asked.

“That is none of your business. God, you are such a child.”

“No duh. I’m eight. Did you really kiss him?”

Tracy stopped drying her hair and lifted her head. “Who told you that? Did Sunnie tell you that? Wait.” She glanced at her bookshelf. “You read my diary!”

Sarah picked up the pillow and began making kissing noises. “Oh, Jack. Let’s make it last. Let’s find a way!”

“That is private, Sarah! Where is it?” Tracy leaped onto the bed, straddling Sarah, pinning her arms and legs. “Not cool. Totally not cool. Where is it?” Sarah started laughing again. “I mean it, Sarah! Give it back!”

The door opened. “What is going on?” Their mother entered in her pink robe and slippers, holding a brush. Her blonde hair, freed from its customary bun, fell to the middle of her back. “Tracy, get off of your sister.”

Tracy slid off. “She hid under my covers and scared me. And she took my . . . she hid under the covers!”

Abby Crosswhite walked to the bed. “Sarah, what have I told you about scaring people?”

Sarah sat up. “Mom, it was so funny. You should have seen her face.” She made a face that looked like an overexcited chimpanzee. Their mother covered her mouth, trying hard not to laugh.

“Mom!” Tracy said. “It’s not funny.”

“All right. Sarah, I want you to stop scaring your sister and her friends. What have I told you about the boy who cried wolf?”

“One of these times you’re going to hide and no one will ever find you,” Tracy said.

“Mom!”

“And I won’t even look for you.”

“Mom!”

“Enough,” their mother said. “Sarah, go to your own room.” Sarah slid off Tracy’s bed and started for the door to the adjoining bathroom. “And give your sister back her diary.”

Tracy and Sarah both froze. Their mother was like that, psychic or something.

“It’s impolite to be reading about her kissing Jack Frates.”

“Mom!” Tracy said.

“If you’re embarrassed to have it read, then you probably shouldn’t be doing whatever you’re writing about in the first place. You’re too young to be kissing boys.” She turned to Sarah, who stood just inside the bathroom between their rooms making smooching noises. “Enough, Sarah, give it back.”

Sarah walked back to the bed, savoring each step as Tracy glared at her. Sarah pulled the flowered book from beneath the covers and Tracy snatched it from her hand, taking a swipe at her. Sarah ducked and ran from the room.

“You’re not supposed to be reading my diary, Mom. It’s a total invasion of my privacy.”

“Turn around. You’ll get tangles.” Abby Crosswhite ran the brush through Tracy’s hair, and she relaxed at the feel of bristles tickling her scalp. “I didn’t read your diary. That was a mother’s intuition. Nice admission of guilt, however. The next time Jack Frates comes over, tell him your father would like a word.”