Whisper Read Free

anger on the rest of us.
    A kitchen timer beeped, and I jumped. Mom grabbed a pot holder I’d made back in third grade and opened the oven door to pull out a pan of steaming-hot cupcakes.
    “Wow, that smells wonderful!”
    “Just three more batches after this.” She glanced at the microwave clock and yawned again. “Then time to do the icing. But you should go to bed.”
    I felt a twinge. I wanted to sleep, but the thought of her staying up till three A.M . to bake for my party made me feel horribly selfish.
    “Why don’t you let me help you with the rest?” I said. “Tomorrow after school.”
    “Oh, sweetheart, you don’t have to make your own birthday cake.”
    “But I want to.” Sometimes it was like this with Mom—each of us wanted to help the other so bad we ended up fighting over it. Still, when I compared that to the fights my friends had with their mothers, I knew how lucky I was. “It’ll be more fun together.”
    “Well…okay.” She smiled and kissed my cheek. “Night,honey. You’re going to have such a great day tomorrow.”
    “I know.”
    I didn’t say what I knew we were both thinking: if Icka doesn’t ruin it.
    At my twelfth birthday party, she had replaced the treasure-hunt treasure with a cow’s brain swiped from the Lincoln High science lab. We all stared, dumbfounded, as maggots crawled between its grayish pink hemispheres, and then Natasha Trimble threw up on Ada Marcus’s shoes.
    For my thirteenth, Icka had invited seven homeless people she’d met downtown, saying we had plenty of food and it would be wrong to waste it. Mom handled it with her usual grace, treating the homeless to a feast in our dining room while my friends and I moved our party to the pool. Until one of the men escaped Mom and tried to kiss Helena on the lips, and Mom got an angry phone call from Helena’s mom.
    Last year, she had spray-painted MEAT IS MURDER on every box of pepperoni pizza we’d ordered and poured fake blood from a magic-supply store over the pies themselves.
    I stacked our mugs in the dishwasher and turned to leave the kitchen, trying not to think about what Icka might be planning for tomorrow.
    “Joy?” Mom called me back from the doorway. “I Heard you,” she said, “and I promise. This year, I’m not going to let anything ruin your birthday.”

2
    Finally the kidnappers arrived.
    At the sound of excited Whispers in the hallway, I sighed and wrapped the comforter around me like a warm tortilla. Since I’d braided my hair before bed, the back of my head didn’t look like a bluebird family’s home; which was good, because I didn’t want to look any stupider than I had to in the inevitable candids people would be snapping with their phones. I arranged each mousy lock across my pillow, popped another Altoid, and practiced my surprised look one last time.
    With a rustle, my bedroom door slid open. A streak of light teased my closed eyes, but I focused on breathing slowand regular, like a person deep in sleep.
    Helena Sargas crept into my darkened room first. She was Whispering, in her usual Eeyore-like tones, about a wig: Oh, gosh, I hope this thing fits over her hair! My heart thumped at the realization: We were now past the point where I could stop it from happening. Bree McIver, ninja quick despite her trademark high heels, was already sneaking in close behind Helena. Last was Parker Lin, my best friend, who I knew had planned the whole thing. As their feet crossed the carpet, their minds sent a harmony of Whispers tumbling into my mind. Snatches of thought bouncing off each other like wind chimes:
    Oh, gosh, I wish we’d gotten her the gold wig instead.
    Just hope they don’t dress me up on my birthday!
    Praying Aunt Cece’s bell-bottoms aren’t too short for her legs—
    Someone flipped a switch, and light flooded the room. “HAPPY BIRTHDAY, JOY!” my friends’ voices yelled in practiced unison.
    I let out the scream I’d practiced and bolted upright, squinting as if the