Prank Wars Read online

“I didn’t say.” I kept my tone nice and formal. “Now tell me who sent you?”

  He grinned, most likely to distract me. “Tell me your name and I’ll tell you who sent me.” He put his hands in the pockets of his worn jeans and leaned back to wait.

  I bit my lip. “Madeleine. Now talk.”

  He hesitated for a mere second. “Eric.”

  “Yeah, right,” I muttered. He bit his lip to keep from laughing and opted to nod instead. He wasn’t going to break, so I turned to the oily one instead. “Hey Dune guy? Got a name?”

  The guy with the Dune shirt looked a little ill at ease and glanced over at the blond, who just shrugged at him. He turned back to us and gave us a sick smile, which meant he was trying to be charming. “What will you give me if I tell you?”

  The flirt thing wasn’t working for me. It never did. “Cut the chase. Do you work for Lord Byron or not?”

  “Lord Byron?” The two tested the name out like they were trying to wrap their brains around it. They were either amazing actors…or…or...

  “Mad Do—uh, Madeleine,” Lizzie corrected, trying to get my attention. “I think they might not be…uh…spies,” she finished in a whisper. They were clearly listening, and they looked amused in a hardened way. The one without a name even seemed a little dangerous. “I’ve never really seen them before,” she whispered.

  “Which is exactly why Byron sent them,” I explained. “They’re probably from one of his classes.” At her doubting look, I decided to prove it. “Okay, Eric and Dune guy, what did you steal from our apartment, huh? Come clean. It’s easiest this way.”

  Both of them burst out laughing. “Your apartment?” They pointed to our place. “You live there?” I nodded, waiting for the confession. Eric cleared his throat, trying to look solemn. “We didn’t do anything. We wouldn’t dream of it.”

  “You sure about that?”

  Eric lifted his hands in surrender. His leather watch band slid down his wrist and he took a step closer to me. “Would you like to search me?”

  “Certainly not.” I stepped back and almost toppled down the stairs. Eric threw his arms around me and dragged me back up, saving me from certain death. My head landed into his muscular shoulder. Yep. Hollister.

  He set me back on my feet, pushing me against the railing. “Careful there, tough stuff.”

  I was sure my face was bright red. No guy had had his arms around me since Cameron. I avoided looking at Lizzie. “Thanks.” It killed me to say it. Eric nodded, holding my gaze. There was something in those hazel eyes, well, besides the flecks of gold that a girl could get lost in—um, whatever it was, it completely played with my head. “Look, you…Eric…whatever…you’re up to,” I managed to get out, “we’re not going to let you get away with it.”

  “Like what?” the oily guy asked with a snicker. “A bomb?”

  It was the kind of sick joke I’d expect from one of Lord Byron’s men. I straightened. “I don’t know, maybe like a fish left in the vents to rot?” Their eyebrows went up, and Eric grinned “Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out.” My threat lacked its usual oomph, probably because Eric still had my hands.

  “I’m looking forward to it.” He squeezed them and let me go with a wink. Somehow the move worked for him. It made me want to run in a bad way. I rooted myself against the railing, trying not to imagine what Lizzie was thinking. My hands still held his warmth. Eric must’ve sensed I was nervous because he smiled reassuringly. “We’re legit. I work in the chemistry lab at the school. You should come up sometime and I’ll test your frequency waves or something.”

  My what? What was that? Some sort of chemistry pick up line or the ultimate revenge for asking Byron out on a fake date? It was hilarious in a way, since despite the threat, I wanted to go. “You ask all the girls to come to your lab?”

  “Nope, just the ones who accuse me of being a spy.” He laughed and so did Lizzie.

  I shot her a look of betrayal. There was something strange going on. I felt it in my gut. I just had to make sure. “So, Eric, how do you know Lord…uh, Byron?”

  “Doesn’t everybody?” Ah ha, he just implicated himself—except no, his voice was teasing. The oily guy without a name elbowed Eric in the side. Eric gave him a swift jab back in the ribs that stopped him from…doing what? They were up to something. It was time to get out of here.

  “Just tell Byron ’nice try’ for me, okay?” My hand landed on our doorknob.

  Eric headed down the stairs with a laugh. “And you can tell your friend I don’t do anybody’s dirty work.” The metal stairs squeaked behind him and he glanced back at me to meet my eyes. “I’ve got enough of my own.”

  Ooh, clever, he almost got my respect with that…almost. That was until I flung open the doors to see what remained of my living room. The couch cushions were gone. Gone! One moment I was in my apartment, the next moment my eyes were scanning the darkness outside for those double-crossing sneaks. Where did Eric go? I could only hear crickets. How did those guys disappear so fast? “I know you’re out there!” My voice echoed in the darkness. “Come out! You’re not afraid of a bunch of girls, are you?”

  I listened for a snicker, a snapping leaf, anything to give away their location, but they were too sly for that. I peered out into the black night, and saw two silhouettes. They came out from the darkness and flew at me. I stumbled back as they came into color. Tory ran into me. Kali giggled behind her. She wrapped her arms around the both of us in a big bear hug. Tory and I had to fight to get away so we didn’t fall.

  “So the guys, they were, like, running,” Kali shouted loudly into my ear. I squinted at the sound. Tory was still catching her breath behind her, and I could see her eyes roll at Kali’s every word. “And we were, like, we can’t catch them—’cause they’re guys and all and they’re fast, ya know! And then Tory was, like, going really fast and she almost caught one. And he had our cushions! Can you believe it?”

  “I know,” I growled.

  Tory straightened. Her ’who’ bun flopped over her head. She glanced over at the apartment next door to ours. There was some sort of notice stuck in the door jamb that I had missed because of Eric’s visit. “Hey, what’s this?” I asked. Before Lizzie could stop me, I ripped the paper away from our neighbor’s door. “Is it an eviction notice?”

  “In Provo?” Lizzie settled into the camping chair on the balcony, hiding in Sandra’s potted garden of flowers. “I don’t think so.”

  “Maybe it was meant to evict the ghosts,” Tory said, “because nobody lives there!” She tried to take the note from me, but I was taller. I kept it easily from her.

  Kali gave a little squeal of delight. “Hey guys, don’t! Don’t talk about ghosts! You’re freaking me out. Stop!”

  I unfolded the notice. I thought I had seen a girl go into the apartment next door once. When did she leave? Lizzie shook her head slowly. “There used to be a time when we knew our neighbors.” She swatted at the mosquitoes that gathered by our porch light. “Remember that? When we did things like normal people?”

  I held the paper up to our porch light. “We know where you live,” I read then laughed. “Apparently not. Amateurs! The guys put this on the wrong door. They’re getting sloppy!” Before I could read the rest, I glanced over at Lizzie’s pained expression. “Byron sends his worst men and he loses the war. You’re only as strong as your weakest man, remember that.” Kali smiled airily at me. I tried to ignore that as I read quickly through the threatening note: “We want what belongs to us. Don’t cross us or we’re coming after you.”

  What had we stolen from Byron lately that would spawn such a note? Shower heads? Light bulbs? A remote control? It could be anything really. Well, the guys could kiss it all goodbye until they returned our couch cushions, and even then it was iffy. It was getting late and I was too tired for negotiations. Lizzie shoved our door open. Kali followed her inside. I crumpled the threatening letter in my hand, trying to distract myself from Eric’s cologne. I smelled like him now.
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  Sandra met me head on at the door. Her gorgeous eyes narrowed dangerously at me. She tapped the heels of her bronze toe-peaks against the cheap linoleum in the entryway. “We’re missing something essential from our living room.”

  I edged past her through the door, which was difficult, since she had only given me an inch between her and the door frame. Tory wriggled through on her other side. “I’ll get the cushions back,” I promised.

  “When?” Sandra snarled. “I had visitors and they couldn’t even sit down.”

  “Wait a second, rewind.” I met Lizzie’s eyes. They danced with sudden realization. “Did you just say you had visitors?”

  Sandra looked guarded. She was one of those girls who thought we were out to get her men, but I wasn’t one of those girls. At least I thought I wasn’t. “Yes,” she said slowly. “At least one of us isn’t a social recluse.”

  Ouch, except it really didn’t hurt. “Was one of your visitors blond with hazel eyes?” And incredibly attractive?

  “Oh no. What did you do to them?”

  I flinched and Lizzie giggled. “Psycho,” she mouthed at me. I turned away from her to take a steadying breath. So our little spies were innocent for once? But that made no sense. Eric had flirted with me, hadn’t he? Maybe I just thought he had.

  Sandra interrupted my inner dialogue, “Tell me who took the cushions!”

  “Ask your crazy ex-boyfriend,” I muttered. It was a low blow, but I was tired.

  Sandra’s hands went to the hips of her high-waist skinny jeans; just another sign that designers had no conscience. “What does he have to do with this?”

  “Everyone knows he’s missing a few crayons in the crayon box.”

  Sandra’s bracelets crashed together when she threw her hands up. “I’m going to get those cushions myself.”

  “If we knew where they were, they’d be back already.” At her belligerent look, I tried to defend myself. “Hey, you don’t see us complaining about this.”

  “That’s because you don’t care!” She accentuated every syllable with an angry, crisp voice. “I’m not getting through to any of you, am I?” She sighed loudly and clicked her red nails together. “We need to call another roommate meeting.” We all froze. The dreaded roommate meeting. No matter what time of night it was, it was an excuse for Sandra to sit us down and tell us we were crazy.

  Tory tapped me on the arm and bobbed her head. “Permission to take my leave, Captain.” Without waiting for my reply, she turned tail and deserted us. It was a trick I wished I could get away with.

  Chapter Five

  Day 104

  1401 hours

  “How long would our lives consist of pretending we were normal people in a normal world? We were two great commanders. Byron was cold, hard, calculating, waiting for me to break. And I knew there was no way that was going to happen.”

  —Madeleine’s War Journal Entry (Sunday, May 27th).

  “Hey, look at you! You’re so big coming to nursery. Hey, no baby, don’t cry.”

  I walked into the nursery room, seeing Byron awkwardly comforting the bishop’s sobbing two-year-old daughter. His dark hair was cut James Bond style—well, current James Bond style—the tousled hair that looks like the guy just crawled out of bed style. Byron had tossed the jacket to his pinstriped suit to the side, and his sleeves were rolled up. “Hey, Carrie, c’mon, you’re a big girl now. It’s not so bad!”

  “Oh, smooth.” I headed for the nursery cabinet. “What is that, some sort of break-up line?”

  He glanced up at me with blue eyes; they were deceptively innocent and they traveled to my mid-calf boots. I didn’t care if he had more fashion sense than me. They were perfect for chasing children. I stomped away. “How delightful. It’s my other nursery girl,” Byron said under his breath. He caught a tear from Carrie’s cheek, but they kept coming. She needed a Kleenex in a bad way. She satisfied herself with the front of Byron’s cream colored shirt.

  I grimaced, not wishing that on my worst enemy, which ironically, he was. I pulled the kid’s favorite nursery doll from the toy cabinet and handed it to her while clicking on the mini CD player to the now hauntingly familiar Snowman song. Like magic, she quit sobbing. Pulling out tissues like a doctor doing surgery, I gave them to Byron. Unlike some men, he knew what to do with them. He wiped at her nose. “You’d better get yourself too,” I said. “The two of you are twins now.” He ineffectually wiped away at his shirt front.

  Sundays were always interesting. We had been at this for weeks. New callings made strange bedfellows, though I swear the bishop did this to us on purpose. No, he didn’t have the kid just to spite us, but he knew about our feud. Everyone in the ward did. Either he thought this joint calling would solve the world’s ills, or this was just for his amusement. Whichever way, he won. Carrie gave me a watery smile and I changed my expression from angry to pleasant. Only in a singles’ ward would there only be one kid in nursery. It was worse than solitary confinement and it put both Byron and me out of commission, but neither of us ran away from anything. Carrie toddled over to the wall and began slamming her doll against it.

  Byron gingerly deposited the soiled tissues into the wastebasket then pulled out his Chapstick. We glanced up at each other. I had unwittingly pulled mine out at the same time and like swords drawn, we applied the Chapstick to our lips, watching the other with narrowed eyes. “And how is my little Miss Demeanor?” Byron slurred.

  I gave him a catty smile in return. “I like your shirt. That’s an interesting color. Did you vomit then decide to wear it?”

  “Yeah, I think it was your cooking.”

  “That’s funny.” I twisted my lips. “I don’t remember cooking for you—let alone any man.”

  “Of course not. No man would come within ten feet of you—unless he was a hit man, of course.”

  Carrie stopped slamming her ragdoll against the wall to stare at us, her jaw slacked. Byron’s eyes were on mine, not on the poor citizen caught in the crossfire. His lips curled. He got me good. I wondered how long he had been practicing that one. “Alright, cuz,” he said. “We should get along…for the sake of the children.”

  Sure, he wanted to stop now that he had gotten the best of me. I filled Carrie’s tiny cup with water. “Okay,” I said. “I gave the lesson last week. It’s your turn.”

  He relaxed against one of the tiny pink plastic chairs. “She’s two,” he argued.

  “And she needs to learn about sunshine and rainbows. I’m just dying to know your take on it, professor.” After a moment, he sighed and stretched to his feet. Carrie ran back and forth between us. “Oh, and if you can, try to keep her attention,” I reminded him.

  “That’s where you come in,” at my rebellious look, he added, “unless you want me to use you as an object lesson, of course?”

  After an inner struggle, I found Carrie’s doll on the floor and with some difficulty, I readjusted my pencil skirt and sat down, pretending to play with the doll. She quickly came to claim it and I had her. I set her on the plastic chair and she wriggled down to the ground. I put her back and she collapsed to the floor next to me, her belly heaving up and down in her white fluffy dress. “This is the best we’re gonna get,” I said.

  “Good enough.” He got to his knees in front of us. “Okay, open your scriptures to…uh…” he smiled playfully, “Isaiah.”

  We both just stared up at him. “The lesson’s on CTR,” I said. “Choose the Right. I don’t suppose you know anything about that?”

  With difficulty, he kept down his amusement. “More than Carrie’s other teacher does.” Before I could answer, he plowed to his next point. “Okay, you’re supposed to choose the right, not the wrong, class, and sometimes it’s hard, and sometimes it’s not. Think about it. How often do you want to murder someone—except when playing church basketball, of course?”

  I stared up at him. Oh, murder was always a temptation. I began to wonder who this lesson was meant for anyway. Carrie still lay there, staring
up at the ceiling.

  “But you bring a girl into it and all of a sudden…okay, get this, David was a nice guy. Look in Second Kings. He played the drums, so that made him pretty cool, right?” Carrie really didn’t notice the false doctrine and neither did Byron for that matter. I had a strange feeling that he was trying to get a reaction from me. I tried not to give him one. “But then this female comes along and they’re nothing but trouble. You’ve got Bathsheba and Jezebel and Potiphar’s wife. These women are like knives. You never know when they will turn on you.”

  I gave him a stern look. “Beware of false teachers.”

  “Beware of wolves in sheep clothing,” he said without missing a beat.

  I took a deep breath, thinking hard. “Beware of false pride.”

  “Beware of covetousness.”

  What? I tried to regain control of the situation. His eyes danced, knowing that I would pull the worst meaning from that. Did he actually think I was jealous of him, or worse, that I wanted to date him? Never! He was a womanizer. I shifted, feeling antsier than Carrie.

  Byron turned to her. “The main thing is to not make any mistakes, okay? You never know when someone will use them against you and call you up pretending to be someone else to ask you out.” I groaned. Byron’s favorite thing to do lately was parroting that terrible phone call that initiated this war so long ago. “It’s like this, Carrie,” he said. She tugged on her shoe. “This woman I know is purposely trying to drive me—” he paused, watching her kick the shoe away.

  “—crazy,” I finished impatiently.

  Byron glanced at me. “You keep doing that.”

  “What?”

  “You keep finishing my—” he looked down at his fingernails.

  “—sentences,” I said. “And I wouldn’t if you didn’t talk so slow.”

  “This girl I know is so prideful,” he told the two-year-old. “She could fill the great and spacious building with it.” Carrie bobbed her head, her red curls bouncing, not really knowing what she was agreeing to. “And she asked me out first. She was the one who got my hopes up.”