I made a sharklike face to let him know I would bite his leg off if I had to, something you can do to a sibling and not go to jail. Panic set in, and he used his free foot to push my hands loose from his bony leg. He slammed his bedroom door in my face and turned the lock.
I banged and banged. My hands hurt but I wouldn't feel the throbbing till later, I was so mad.
"'Dear Raven,'" he pretended to read through the door. '"I love you and want you to be my witchy wife so we can have scary butler babies. Love, Weirdo Butler.'"
"Give that to me! Now! Don't you know what I'm capable of? Just ask the soccer team. I can make life a living hell for you!"
"I'll give it back on one condition."
"How much?"
"I don't want money."
"Then what?"
"That you promise..."
"What, already?" "That you promise to stop calling me 'Nerd Boy'!"
There was silence on both sides of the door.
I felt a pang in my heart. Guilt? Pathos? I guess I never realized that my little nickname could have been hurting him so much all these years. That I had already made his life a living hell.
"Then what should I call you?"
"How about my name?"
"What would that be?" I teased.
"Billy."
"Uh, well...okay. You give me the letter, and I won't call you Nerd Boy--for a year."
"Forever."
"Forever?"
"Forever!"
"Okay. For...ever."
He cracked the door open and slipped the envelope out. He peered at me with his deep-brown baby-brother eyes.
"Here. I didn't open it."
"Thanks. You shouldn't have made me chase you. I've had a long day!"
"It's only twelve o'clock!"
"Exactly!" Now I had the red envelope safely in my hands. "Thanks, Nerd Boy." I couldn't help it. It was habit.
"You promised!" he yelled, slamming the door. I knocked again. This time I felt the pain from the previous banging.
"What, Witch Girl?" he yelled. "Anyone would be a nerd compared to you! Leave me alone and go back to your cave!"
I found the door unlocked and stepped inside. It had been years since I'd been in his room. There were pictures of Michael Jordan and Wayne Gretzky on the wall and fifty billion computer games stacked on his floor and desk beside his computer. Nerd Boy was actually pretty interesting.
"Thanks for the letter," I said.
He just sat mousing at his computer, ignoring me.
"Billy!" I shouted. He quickly looked up, with shocked eyes. "I said, Thanks.' But I can't hug you. We'll save that for TV."
I threw myself on my bed, my black down comforter soft against my arms, and stared at the blank red envelope. It could say anything inside like: "Stay off our property or we'll sue you and your parents."
But at least I had the threat safely in my hands.
I gently opened the envelope, fearing the worst.
It was an invitation! "Mr. Alexander Sterling requests the company of Ms. Raven Madison at his home December 1 at 8:00 P.M. for dinner."
How did he know my name? How did he know where I lived? And was this real? No seventeen-year-old guy in this town, state, or country invited girls over like this. It was straight out of some Merchant-Ivory-Emma Thompson movie where people have stuffy British accents and are sandwiched into corsets and never say the word "love." It was so medieval, old-fashioned, out of this world. It was so romantic my flesh tingled all over.
I looked at the envelope for any other message, but that's all there was. It didn't even say "R.S.V.P." What nerve! He expected I would come, and he was right. I had waited for this all my life.
Chapter 15 Gothic Guest
I couldn't tell my mother about my mysterious invitation to the Mansion. She'd say no, I couldn't go. I'd say yes, I could. She'd ground me; I'd run away. It would all be very dramatic. I was certain nothing could stop me from going, until my dad dropped a bomb on the morning of December 1.
"I'm taking Mom to Vegas tonight!" he said, pulling me aside. "It's all very spur-of-the-moment. We're flying out this afternoon."
"Isn't that romantic?" My mom beamed, grabbing a suitcase from the hall closet. "Your father's never done anything like this for our anniversary!"
"So you'll be in charge of the house and watching Billy," my dad ordered.
"Watch Billy? He's eleven!" I yelled, following them into their bedroom.
"Here's where we can be reached if you have any problems," he said, handing me a slip of paper with a phone number. "Your employment at Janice's proved to me you can be responsible. We'll be back tomorrow after dinner."
"But I have plans!"
"So invite Becky over here tonight." He tossed a hairbrush into his travel bag. "You're always going to her house. But pick out a movie you all can enjoy."
"Becky? That's the only friend you think I have? Like all I do with my life is watch TV?"
"Paul, should I take this?" my mom interrupted, holding a red strapless dress.
"I'm sixteen, Dad. I want to go out on a Saturday night!"
"I know," my mom said, placing a pair of red stilettos in her bag. "But not tonight. Your father's just surprised me! He hasn't done that since college. Just this once, Raven, then you can have all the Saturdays you want." She kissed me on the head, not waiting for a response.
"I'll be calling in at midnight sharp," my father warned, "just to make sure you and Billy are getting along and that my tennis racket is still in the closet."
"Don't worry. I'm not going to throw a wild party," I said angrily.
"Good, I might have to use the house as collateral at the blackjack table."
He went into his closet and pulled a jacket out. I went into my room and pulled my hair out. In all the seventeen years my parents had been married, my dad had to pick tonight to surprise my mom? It was seven-thirty that night when I broke the news to Nerd Boy--rather, Billy Boy. I was wearing my Saturday-night best: a black spandex sleeveless mini-dress with a black lacy undertop that peeked through, black tights, unscuffed combat boots, black lipstick, and silver-and-onyx earrings.
"I'm going out tonight."
"But you're supposed to stay here." He ogled my outfit like a protective father. "You have a date!"
"I do not. I just have to go."
"You can't! I won't let you. I'll tell." Billy Boy would have loved to stay by himself, but he loved his sudden power over me more.