tantrum. Turning back to the digest, I noted another article that talked about the symptoms of the disease: from high fever, chills and muscle aches to vomiting, bleeding and jaundice.
“If you want to go on a date, I’ll take you.” Franky's pale face went bright red with a blush that seemed to start at his forehead and seep down to disappear into the collar of his shirt.
“Franky, you’re like a—” I swallowed down the word brother. “I like you. But we’re just friends.”
Now I knew what the word crestfallen meant. His face actually sagged.
My phone pinged and I glanced at the face. A text from Petra: I might as well be living in Siberia with no boyfriend and no best friend.
After a supremely disgusted glare in her direction, I turned back to the digest.
Through the next series of articles, I learned there had been three yellow fever epidemics in the city. The tunnel had been constructed at the time of the 1876 outbreak. But it was just a rumor that the tunnel was used to transport any of the more than one thousand victims for mass burial.
Another ping and I’d received a second message from Petra: I’m going to go to the spelunk tonight, but only to throw myself off the top of the building and go splat.
Her words stunned me for a moment and I continued to examine the text. When her words fully registered, my eyes flew to her. Petra’s face blanched.
“Oh, Kizzy.” She tripped slightly as she rushed over to me, pulled me from the chair and wrapped me in a hug. “What a turd I am. I didn’t even think. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay,” I mumbled into her shoulder. “I know you didn’t mean anything about…”
“I love you, Kizzy.”
I didn’t want to love her back. The ones you loved were the ones who could hurt you.
“If you love me so much,” I said with a choked chuckle as I pulled out of her arms. “Get over there and help me with this research.”
“I found something for you here,” Franky announced with glee. Petra and I moved to the table and read over his shoulder.
The article was from 1892, a number of years after the last big epidemic, and bore the headline: New Yellow Fever Strikes?
Apparently, people had disappeared. Authorities feared the victims became delusional with fever and wandered off. Not only that, a number of other people had died mysteriously.
“Sorry. This article isn’t about the tunnel after all.” Franky's face fell as if he’d let me down.
“This is hopeless,” Petra said. “We need to get back to school. There’s nothing here about that stinky tunnel.”
“Ok, let’s go.” My eyes quickly scanned the rest of the article. Local doctor Robert Hopewood was quoted. “This isn’t yellow fever. Those people died of blood loss from some kind of animal attack.”
Weird. But I couldn’t see how that would have anything to do with the tunnel.
* * * * *
“Wear something girlie.” Petra’s voice was faintly tinny through the cell phone as I held it to my ear. “How about that knee length poppy print dress.”
“I’m so not taking that advice.” I rummaged through the closet and pushed past the poppy dress. Its hanger clicked as it jammed the neighbor. “Rom might think that I think that this is serious boy girl stuff.” I plucked a pair of jeans hanging on the rack. “What about my Diesels? He might as well know I’m not very girlie.”
“No,” Petra insisted.
Putting it on speaker, I set down the phone on my bedside table and tugged on the jeans.
“Not those horrible ones with the holes in the knees.”
“What’s wrong with them?” I asked defensively.
“They make your butt look fat,” she answered.
“What?” Twisting and turning I examined my posterior in the full-length mirror on my closet door. “No way.”
“Well, if you really want to wear something that looks heinous on you, go right ahead,” Petra said.
I could almost picture her secret smile. I knew she was psyching me out...but it worked
“If you want to go on a date, I’ll take you.” Franky's pale face went bright red with a blush that seemed to start at his forehead and seep down to disappear into the collar of his shirt.
“Franky, you’re like a—” I swallowed down the word brother. “I like you. But we’re just friends.”
Now I knew what the word crestfallen meant. His face actually sagged.
My phone pinged and I glanced at the face. A text from Petra: I might as well be living in Siberia with no boyfriend and no best friend.
After a supremely disgusted glare in her direction, I turned back to the digest.
Through the next series of articles, I learned there had been three yellow fever epidemics in the city. The tunnel had been constructed at the time of the 1876 outbreak. But it was just a rumor that the tunnel was used to transport any of the more than one thousand victims for mass burial.
Another ping and I’d received a second message from Petra: I’m going to go to the spelunk tonight, but only to throw myself off the top of the building and go splat.
Her words stunned me for a moment and I continued to examine the text. When her words fully registered, my eyes flew to her. Petra’s face blanched.
“Oh, Kizzy.” She tripped slightly as she rushed over to me, pulled me from the chair and wrapped me in a hug. “What a turd I am. I didn’t even think. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay,” I mumbled into her shoulder. “I know you didn’t mean anything about…”
“I love you, Kizzy.”
I didn’t want to love her back. The ones you loved were the ones who could hurt you.
“If you love me so much,” I said with a choked chuckle as I pulled out of her arms. “Get over there and help me with this research.”
“I found something for you here,” Franky announced with glee. Petra and I moved to the table and read over his shoulder.
The article was from 1892, a number of years after the last big epidemic, and bore the headline: New Yellow Fever Strikes?
Apparently, people had disappeared. Authorities feared the victims became delusional with fever and wandered off. Not only that, a number of other people had died mysteriously.
“Sorry. This article isn’t about the tunnel after all.” Franky's face fell as if he’d let me down.
“This is hopeless,” Petra said. “We need to get back to school. There’s nothing here about that stinky tunnel.”
“Ok, let’s go.” My eyes quickly scanned the rest of the article. Local doctor Robert Hopewood was quoted. “This isn’t yellow fever. Those people died of blood loss from some kind of animal attack.”
Weird. But I couldn’t see how that would have anything to do with the tunnel.
* * * * *
“Wear something girlie.” Petra’s voice was faintly tinny through the cell phone as I held it to my ear. “How about that knee length poppy print dress.”
“I’m so not taking that advice.” I rummaged through the closet and pushed past the poppy dress. Its hanger clicked as it jammed the neighbor. “Rom might think that I think that this is serious boy girl stuff.” I plucked a pair of jeans hanging on the rack. “What about my Diesels? He might as well know I’m not very girlie.”
“No,” Petra insisted.
Putting it on speaker, I set down the phone on my bedside table and tugged on the jeans.
“Not those horrible ones with the holes in the knees.”
“What’s wrong with them?” I asked defensively.
“They make your butt look fat,” she answered.
“What?” Twisting and turning I examined my posterior in the full-length mirror on my closet door. “No way.”
“Well, if you really want to wear something that looks heinous on you, go right ahead,” Petra said.
I could almost picture her secret smile. I knew she was psyching me out...but it worked
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