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  Later that night Elizabeth sat on her bed and sighed with relief that the long evening was finally over. A bunch of the kids had gone out for pizza after the dance, but she had persuaded Winston to bring her home. She knew she couldn’t bear seeing Todd and Jessica together one minute longer. What were they doing now? she wondered. Were they kissing? Were they…? Stop torturing yourself!

  At that very moment, Todd was saying good night to Jessica at the front door.

  Nervously he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Jessica,” he finally mumbled, “thanks. Thanks a lot. It’s been a—a really great evening.”

  Not yet it hasn’t, Jessica thought. But it could still end up great.

  She placed her hands lightly on his shoulders and swayed close to him.

  “Oh, Todd,” she breathed, closing her eyes and raising her face for a kiss.

  But the kiss, when it came, was nothing like what she’d expected. Jessica’s heart went into a tailspin. A kiss on the cheek! Like he was her brother, for cripe’s sake! She’d never been so humiliated in her entire life!

  “Yeah, really great, Jess. See you at school.”

  And he was gone.

  “You creep!” Jessica said aloud as she stood there by herself. “Todd Wilkins, I swear I’ll get even with you if it’s the last thing I ever do!”

  * * *

  Elizabeth reached out to turn off her light but stopped when she heard the front door close. Jessica was home. I suppose I’ll have to listen to every dreamy detail.

  Jessica stuck her head into the room. “Can we talk for a minute, Liz?”

  “Sure, Jess. Tell me all about it. I’ll bet you had one fabulous time tonight!”

  “Fabulous?”

  “Well, of course. An evening with Todd. Good-looking, good dancer, super-nice guy. What more could you want?”

  Jessica suddenly knew how she was going to get even with Todd. That “nice guy” image was about to be destroyed.

  “Oh, Liz, it was so awful!” Jessica’s eyes filled with tears.

  “Awful? What are you talking about, Jess?”

  “I thought he liked me, Lizzie,” she said between sobs. “I thought he respected me and everything!”

  “Jessie, what happened?”

  “Oh, Liz, I can’t. I can’t tell you!” Jessica collapsed, covering her face with her hands. “I’m—I’m too ashamed.”

  Elizabeth put her arm around Jessica’s shoulder. “It’s all right, Jess. You can tell me anything, you know that.”

  “Maybe I should tell you.” Jessica sniffled. “You really should be warned about him. You might go out with him sometime, and I’d just never forgive myself if I didn’t tell you what the real Todd Wilkins is like.”

  “What did he do?”

  “That rat tried just about everything. The horrible thing was that I could hardly make him stop. I had to beg him and beg him to please stop!”

  “Oh, no.” Elizabeth moaned, squeezing Jessica’s shoulder in sympathy. “I can’t believe it.”

  “I know. I couldn’t believe it either. I even remember saying to him as I was fighting him off that I couldn’t believe it.”

  “And what did he do then?” Elizabeth asked, flushed with anger.

  “I don’t remember. But, oh, Liz, it was awful. He just wouldn’t stop. His hands! Oh, God, they were everywhere. And—”

  “Don’t tell me any more. I’ve heard enough.”

  Jessica wiped away the tears with the back of her hand. “Lizzie, you’re not mad at me for telling you, are you?” she asked. “I just didn’t want you ever to be in that kind of situation. I wanted to protect you, Lizzie.”

  “Of course I’m not mad, Jess. Not at you, anyway,” Elizabeth exploded. “How dare Todd Wilkins treat you that way? How dare he! I’ll kill him—absolutely kill him!” she raged.

  No need, Liz, Jessica said to herself. I just took care of that myself.

  Thirteen

  The knock on the door was soft but persistent.

  “Steve?”

  No answer. Ned Wakefield knocked again.

  “I have to talk to you.”

  Mr. Wakefield turned the doorknob slowly. The room was in total darkness, although it was almost nine in the morning. He pulled up the shades and walked toward the bed, where his son was hidden under the blankets.

  “Hey.”

  Steven didn’t stir.

  Ned Wakefield sat on the bed and poked the lump under the blankets. “I’m not going away, so you might as well come out.”

  The blanket fell away from his face, and Steven blinked at his father. There was a two-day beard on his face, and his eyes were bloodshot and swollen.

  “You look terrible,” said Mr. Wakefield.

  Steven sat up on the side of the bed and held his face in his hands. “Why not? I feel terrible.”

  “Listen, Steve, I used to think my troubles would go away if I hid out long enough, too. But they won’t.”

  “Thanks, Dr. Wakefield.”

  “You’re welcome. Now, get up, shave, take a shower, and come on down. Let’s talk.”

  “I thought you had an important case to work on.”

  “I have. Wakefield versus Wakefield. Up!”

  Back downstairs, Alice Wakefield looked at her husband with concern. “Is he up?”

  “He’s coming down.”

  “Thank goodness.”

  They had known that Steven was depressed the last two weekends he had been home. This weekend was worse. Steven had been hiding in his bedroom for two days with no explanation. When he had not gone back to school Sunday night, Alice and Ned Wakefield had cornered the twins and demanded to know what was happening. It was like pulling teeth. Neither Elizabeth nor Jessica wanted to squeal on their older brother. But eventually the story about Tricia Martin had come out.

  Steven looked much better when he came downstairs. He sat down at the table, and his mother put orange juice in front of him, but he pushed it aside.

  “Not hungry, Mom.”

  “Hmmm. This must be serious,” his mother said lightly. She was rewarded with a glare that might have bored holes through a brick wall. “Sorry.”

  “Steve, let me tell you something,” his father said. “Anything you’re going through, I went through.”

  “Sure.”

  “Yeah—sure. And so did your mother.”

  “Mom?” That got his attention. “Aw, what do you mean. You two—”

  “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  “We never had a problem in our lives? Is that what you think?” said Mrs. Wakefield.

  Steven picked up the glass of orange juice and sipped it. He felt uncomfortable talking about his mom and dad, especially now when there might be something going on with Marianna West.

  “But never mind us,” said his father. “What’s all this about Tricia Martin?”

  Steven sighed. “The twins told you? Oh, well. It doesn’t matter anyway.”

  “Why’d you have to keep it a big secret?” Alice Wakefield asked. “Tricia’s a lovely girl.”

  “Yeah, I know. But her family…”

  Ned and Alice Wakefield exchanged glances. Tricia Martin’s family was no bargain, and they knew it. Her father was the town drunk, and her sister Betsy had a horrible reputation. The mother had died of leukemia when the kids were little, which really had torn the family apart. It was all understandable, but that didn’t make it any easier. And now Steven was mixed up with them. The question was, how seriously?

  “Listen,” Steven was saying, “this is really no big deal. Just forget it.” He started to rise again, but his father’s hand on his arm sat him back down.

  “Steve, anything that’s kept you hiding out for two days is important enough for me. How serious are you about Tricia?”

  “Well, Dad, I think I’m in love with her. She’s really terrific.”

  “And how does she feel about you?” Alice Wakefield asked.

  Steven got up and paced around
the kitchen. “She hates me! She’ll never speak to me again. And it’s all my fault. I don’t deserve such a great girl.”

  The anguished tale then poured out of Steven Wakefield. He heaped abuse upon himself as he told them how he had pretended that her family’s problems didn’t matter. He loved her “anyway,” he had told her, and he was above that sort of thing.

  “She saw right through me,” Steven said bitterly. “She saw the truth—a truth I didn’t even realize—that I was ashamed of her family. That I didn’t consider her good enough for me but that I would accept her out of the goodness of my heart. What an idiot I was! Now it’s all over. She never wants to see me again. And I don’t blame her. I’m just miserable.”

  “Have you told Tricia what you just told us?” said his mother.

  Steven stopped pacing. Slowly he sat down at the table. He poured some coffee and sipped it. He shook his head.

  “I couldn’t do that, Mom.”

  “Why?”

  “It would be too—I’d sound like such a jerk.”

  “Is it the truth, Steven?”

  “That I’m a jerk? Yes, it’s true.”

  “No, no—that you didn’t realize what you were doing.”

  “Yes,” Steven said slowly. “That’s true.”

  “Do you still love Tricia?”

  “Oh, yes.” Not a moment’s hesitation.

  “Then go and tell her exactly what you told us.”

  “It’s the only thing you can do,” Ned Wakefield urged.

  Steven looked at the table for a moment, and when he spoke, he couldn’t face his parents. He asked quietly, “What do you think of my being involved with the Martins?”

  “You’re not involved with the Martins, Steven. You’re involved with Tricia.”

  “You don’t mind?”

  Ned and Alice Wakefield glanced at each other.

  “Steven, you can’t judge a person by his or her family,” said Mrs. Wakefield. “I won’t pretend that the Martins don’t make me uneasy. But if you love Tricia, then you’ve got to fight for her. She’s Tricia Martin—not Betsy, not her father.”

  Steven was up on his feet again, pacing. “You’re sure you approve of Tricia, Mom? Dad?”

  “Steven, it’s whether you approve of her,” Ned Wakefield said. “Follow your own judgment—as well as your heart.”

  Steven searched his father’s face anxiously and then his mother’s, looking for a clue to the pain and suffering they might be undergoing. Was this long-lasting, seemingly warm and solid marriage on the verge of destruction? Steven wished he could tell, but it was impossible. Whatever their problems, they were united to help him. Steven felt love racing through him, and he suddenly grabbed his mother in a bear hug.

  “Hey—”

  “I love you, Mom!”

  “I love you, too, Steve.”

  “You, too, Dad,” he said, grabbing his father’s hand.

  And then Steven vaulted through the kitchen door, dashed out the front door, and was gone, on his way to Tricia Martin’s house.

  * * *

  Steven drove up to the Martin’s saggy-roofed ranch house, a neglected old place that badly needed a paint job and general cleanup. As he approached the door, he could hear Tricia coaxing her father into his room.

  “Come on, Pop. Lie down and get some sleep. You’ll feel a lot better,” Tricia said.

  Steven opened the door and entered quietly. Tricia was returning to the living room.

  “Steve!” she gasped. “What are you doing here? I thought I’d made it clear—we have nothing more to say to one another.”

  “There is one more thing I have to say, Tricia,” Steven said softly. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I acted like such a jerk. You were right. I was being patronizing, but I was too stupid to realize it. Can you forgive me, Trish, for being a complete fool? I love you. I love you so much.”

  “Oh, Steve,” Trish said. “I love you, too.”

  She was so beautiful and fragile at that moment, Steven thought, her brown eyes shining, her hair floating about her oval face in a red-gold cloud.

  With tears streaming down their faces, Steven and Tricia shared a long, tender kiss.

  “I’m sorry, sweetheart, I’m so sorry,” Steven said softly, planting gentle kisses on her eyes, her nose, and her forehead.

  “Tricia! Tricia, come here,” a voice called from the other room.

  “My father needs me, Steve. I have to go to him.”

  “Can we talk later? There’s so much I want to tell you. How about a long conversation over clams and a shake at the Dairi Burger tonight?” Steven asked, holding her face in his hands.

  Tricia beamed a radiant smile. “OK, see you around eight.” She rushed into her father’s room as a very happy and relieved Steven Wakefield let himself out the front door.

  * * *

  The evening had been beautiful, Steven mused as he drove home after dropping Tricia off. His thoughts swirled pleasantly around her lovely image. And then, as though to cap off the evening perfectly, he spotted his father’s rust-brown LTD just ahead of him. It would be fun to follow his dad home and thank him for helping him with what had seemed a hopeless mess. Steven turned on some soft music and cruised quietly along, dreaming happy dreams. He wasn’t ready for the turn his father suddenly made into a side street.

  Without really thinking, Steven turned also and followed the car. Only then did he notice that there was someone else in the car with his father.

  Marianna West!

  Steven didn’t know what to do. He certainly hadn’t planned to spy on his father. But there he was, following his father and Marianna—and wondering what in heaven’s name was going on. It was too late, he realized, for them to be coming home from work.

  The LTD began to slow down.

  Steven slowed down, too. He couldn’t pass them now. He slid his car into the shadows of a hedge along the drive and parked there.

  The LTD pulled into a driveway and stopped. Marianna West got out. So did Steven’s father. They were laughing together about something as they walked toward Marianna’s white-shuttered house.

  “Oh, no.” Steven moaned. He didn’t want to believe it, but the evidence was too glaring to ignore.

  He sat in the car for a long time, waiting for his father to come out. He listened to at least a dozen songs on the radio, without hearing any of the music, before he finally gave up and drove home. Everyone was asleep when he got there.

  Steven paused outside his parents’ bedroom door on his way upstairs. The lights were off, so he knew his mother wasn’t sitting up worrying. Poor Mom, he thought, if she only knew …

  Steven crawled into bed, but he didn’t want to go to sleep. He wanted to be awake when his father arrived home—if he came home at all.

  Fourteen

  Elizabeth couldn’t remember a time when life had been such a mess. Everything was in a shambles. Her father was chasing around after another woman, and her mother was blind to it. The money-grubbing Fowlers were grabbing the Sweet Valley High Gladiators’ football field away from them just when they had a really terrific team. And who was trying to stop the Fowlers? The Patmans, who were just as bad—a formal English garden! The whole disgusting mess was now in the courts, which only threw her father and that woman lawyer, Marianna West, together even more.

  And to top it off, Todd Wilkins had turned out to be practically as bad as Rick Andover. Elizabeth couldn’t stop thinking about it, and every time she did, her stomach turned. How could Todd do such a thing! At the same time, she could never quite picture him doing it. She believed Jessica—after all, why would she lie about such a thing?—but the image simply refused to come.

  Elizabeth had never been so miserable, but she supposed it didn’t matter anymore. Jessica was through with Todd—and so was she. Furthermore, Todd was waltzing around Sweet Valley High as though nothing had happened. It was obvious he didn’t even care!

  And yet Elizabeth was astounded to notice that Todd was wa
tching her. Every class they had together, she could feel his eyes on her.

  When they passed in the corridors, when they bumped into each other in the cafeteria, Todd tried to engage her in conversation as though they were still friends.

  “Hey, Liz,” he said after history one morning, “how about getting something to eat after school?”

  “I’m busy,” she snapped, ignoring the hurt look on Todd’s face.

  In Mr. Russo’s class he slipped her a note: “Meet me in front of the columns after school.”

  Elizabeth didn’t bother to keep that appointment.

  But he wouldn’t stop pestering her. Every day Todd tried to corner her on the stairs or stop her in the hall. She brushed him off, but it only made her feel worse.

  Even when Mr. Collins came over to her desk in the Oracle office and praised her for the story she had done on the football field crisis, she didn’t feel much better.

  “That was a really professional job,” Mr. Collins said.

  “Thanks.”

  “Want to talk about it?” he asked, leaning on the edge of the desk. He had a concerned expression on his face.

  Elizabeth managed to smile. “I’m sorry, Mr. Collins. Things haven’t exactly been going my way lately.”

  “Do you think you’re up to covering the rest of the football field story for The Oracle?”

  “Of course. What’s next?”

  “It’s a court case now. You’ll have to go down to the courthouse. Your father is handling it, I know, so you’ll have to be careful to remain objective.”

  “I will, Mr. Collins, don’t worry.”

  “Try not to jump to any conclusions. And don’t prejudice the case. You can’t be a fair reporter if you do. Remember, you have to have all the facts first.”

  “OK.”

  “What’s her name—Ms. West—isn’t she in on this, too?”

  “Yes,” Elizabeth said softly. Oh, isn’t she, though!

  “All right. Be in Superior Court at nine-thirty on Tuesday, and good luck.”

  * * *

  The thought of having to watch her father and “that woman” working together in the courtroom only succeeded in making Elizabeth feel even more miserable. The telephone call the next night from Todd Wilkins did nothing to cheer her up, either.