“Yeah,” Lacey added. “Her latest picture is way old, like from May.”
“She probably couldn’t email from Europe,” Jessi said. “Do they even have email over there?”
“Duh, Jessi, of course they have email in Europe. It’s not Mars,” Lacey said.
“I bet something happened in Europe,” Madison said worriedly. “Maybe she was kidnapped.”
All the girls laughed.
“She was probably having a great time with French or Italian boys and was too busy to email or text back home,” said Becca, who had actually kissed a boy and was the expert on anything to do with the opposite sex.
“If she was meeting boys, she would have definitely emailed me,” Madison said, a pit growing in her stomach. “Something horrible might have happened. Her dad is a scientist and he’s really weird. Maybe she was kidnapped by criminals who want a formula he discovered, just like Max Stone’s Project Murder, where the daughter of the rich industrialist was kidnapped so the spies could trade her for the plans for the super computer.”
“Honestly, who is this Max Stone?” Jessi asked. “Can’t you read normal books?” Madison blushed. She adored the Max Stone novels.
“You always think the worst has happened,” Becca said. “It’s ’cause you hang out with your dad too much.”
“Remember in second grade,” Lacey chimed in, “when Madison announced to the whole class that Jessi had been murdered, because she had found a bloody Kleenex in the girls’ room and Jessi wasn’t in class?”
“And I was at the nurse’s office because I had a bloody nose,” Jessi said.
“That’s not fair,” Madison said, embarrassed. “You could have been murdered. Okay, maybe I was wrong about that, but this is serious. Ann could be tied up in a basement in London!”
“Or she just might have decided to skip the first day of school to get over jet lag,” Becca said.
“Are you Madison Kincaid?” someone said.
Madison looked up and saw three eighth-grade girls standing over her. The biggest girl was the one who had spoken. She was two inches taller than Madison and twenty muscular pounds heavier, and she was giving Madison a look of pure disdain.
“Yes,” answered Madison, trying to sound confident even though she was nervous.
“I hear you’re supposed to be a hotshot forward.”
“That’s the position I play.”
“Not any more. I’m Marci Green and I own that position, so you better get used to riding the bench, if you even make the team.”
Marci’s friends sneered at Madison. Becca, Jessi, and Lacey were silent, not knowing how to respond. Then Marci turned her back and walked away with her gang in tow. Madison could hear them laughing as they disappeared from view.
Chapter 4
A Nightmare at Soccer Tryouts
By the time eighth-period science rolled around, Madison had started to get the hang of junior high. She’d figured out where her classes were, where the seventh graders hung out, and where the eighth graders ruled. But she still hadn’t seen Ann, and she was convinced that something bad had happened to her.
When you grow up in a house where a call from prison in the middle of the night is not an odd occurrence, and murder weapons are discussed over cornflakes, you tend to think the worst. And Madison was thinking the worst when she slid into a random seat in her eighth-period science class. She was so preoccupied with imagining ghastly scenarios that she only half heard the teacher drone on about how great science class was going to be—something she ordinarily would have been excited about.
“Hey,” a voice whispered, “you okay?”
She looked up. The boy sitting next to her was tall and gangly with clear green eyes, a smattering of freckles across his nose, and ginger-colored hair that spiked in places and was pressed flat in others.
“I guess,” she whispered back, not wanting to attract attention.
“What word is always spelled incorrectly?” he said. Madison was thrown off. She began cycling through words in her head, puzzled.
“Um, I don’t know,” she said quietly.
“Incorrectly!” he whispered. Madison was stunned for a moment and then, against her will, let out a giggle and rolled her eyes.
The teacher stopped talking and stared at Madison.
“I hope I’m not interfering with your tête-à-tête, Miss . . . ?”
“Uh, Madison. Madison Kincaid,” she answered, feeling her face turn tomato red.
“And your gentleman friend is?”
“Jake Stephenson, sir,” the boy answered.
“Well, Miss Kincaid and Mr. Stephenson, do I have your permission to continue?”
“Sorry,” Madison mumbled. Ann was temporarily forgotten. This really wasn’t the way she wanted to end her first day in junior high.
As soon as science was over, Madison got up to hurry to the girls’ locker room to change for soccer tryouts. As she walked out of the science class, someone tapped her on the shoulder.
“This is for you,” the red-headed boy said as he handed her a folded piece of paper. Madison quickly opened the sheet. It was a goofy cartoon of the science teacher yelling at them. Madison grinned and looked up, but the cute red-haired boy was gone.
That was really weird, Madison thought. And it was confusing. Why had . . . she couldn’t remember his name because she’d been too embarrassed by the teacher when the boy had said it. Did he want to be friends? Madison had never had a good friend who was a boy. Oh well, this was no time to think about something like that—she had to concentrate on soccer.
As soon as Madison got into the locker room, she pulled on her shirt, shorts, shin guards, socks, and cleats. Walking out to the soccer field, she couldn’t help but notice that Ann was not among the girls trying out for the team.
“So you weren’t nervous about junior high, you were worried about soccer tryouts.”
Madison turned and found the same boy standing next to her, dressed in soccer gear.
“Oh, hi . . .”
“Jake. Sorry I didn’t get a chance to introduce myself formally.”
Madison liked Jake’s southern accent, and he certainly had better manners than the boys at Lewis and Clark Elementary.
She found herself blushing. “I’m Madison.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Thanks for the drawing.”
“No problem.”
“And I wasn’t worried about school or soccer tryouts.”
“Not concerned about soccer tryouts, huh? You must be pretty good,” Jake said, smiling.
“I’m not amazing,” Madison answered, embarrassed and blushing for the third time that day. “But I can kick a ball. I just don’t want to be stuck on the bench this year.”
“You’ll do fine.”
“What I’m really worried about is Ann. She’s my best friend and I haven’t seen her all day. We’ve been teammates since we were five years old, and she would never miss soccer tryouts.”
“I’m sure she’ll show up,” Jake said, looking concerned. Madison thought he was about to say more when he suddenly got distracted by something that was happening on the field. “It looks like tryouts are starting. I’ve got to go. Good luck.”
Madison joined a group gathered around the girls’ coach. Coach Davis was tall and gaunt with shoulder-length ash blond hair and a pale complexion. She was wearing sweatpants and a tee shirt, and she bounced a soccer ball in the palm of her hand as she spoke.
“Hello, ladies. Welcome to tryouts for the best junior high soccer team in the city. I see a lot of familiar faces. Good to see you back, Marci,” Coach said, smiling at the eighth grader who had taunted Madison at lunch. “You ready to help our team win the city tournament again? Hey there, Ashley, Jennifer—good to see members of our winning team back for more.