"Martin, Ann M - Baby-sitters Club Mystery 022 - Stacey and the Haunted Masquerade" - читать интересную книгу автора (Martin Ann M)

I wondered if the assembly had anything to do with the dance. "Maybe he's canceling it," I said as my friends and we walked to the auditorium. I didn't have to even explain what I meant by "it." The dance was on everybody's mind.
But, as it turned out, the assembly wasn't about the dance at .all. It was a special presentation by a community theatre group, about how to say no when your friends try to
talk you into doing things you don't want to do. We've already heard a lot about that, and I actually had to do it (say no), once when Sheik and her friends were trying to talk me into drinking at this concert we went to. So I thought I'd be bored. But the skits they performed turned out to be pretty funny, and soon everyone in the auditorium was laughing.
Since this was a special assembly, we could sit wherever we wanted. The BSC members had claimed a row in the back of the left side of the auditorium, and no teachers were nearby. Ordinarily, we might have talked and giggled, but the theatre group grabbed our attention. I was sitting between Claudia and Jessi, near the aisle, so I had a good view of the audience and of the stage.
I especially liked one actress. She had a kind of glow, as if she really loved what she was doing. She was pretty,, with big, expressive eyes and a head full of red-gold curls. Plus, she was funny. She was great at the slapstick stuff, such as falls and double takes. I watched her closely, daydreaming a little about what it would be like to act professionally.
When the lights went out, I first thought it was part of the performance.
Then people started to scream, and I realized that all the lights were out in the auditorium. Instantly, I remembered what we'd found out the night before, and I felt fear rise inside me. This was like some kind of sick joke, a flashback to that night twenty-eight years earlier when the lights went out in the gym Ч and a person died.
I felt somebody grab my hand. It was Claudia. We peered at each other through the darkness, and I could tell that she was thinking the same thing I was. I reached out for Jessi's hand, too, and we all held tight.
"Please, please, please! LetТs not panic!" That was Mr. Kingbridge's voice. But his plea came too late. Plenty of students were already past the point of being calmed.
Q: How many middle school students does it take to create a stampede?
A: Not many.
I think it started in the front rows, with a group of sixth-graders who were afraid they wouldn't be able to leave the auditorium. Then it grew and grew, until a huge mass of kids was trying to work their way up the aisles. I heard shrieking and yelling and crying, and then a crash and a long scream, from the front of the auditorium. Claudia's hand tightened around mine. We were still sitting there, waiting to see what was going to happen next.
"What was that?" Jessi whispered. She tightened her grip, too.
"I don't know, but it didn't sound good," I whispered back.
Mr. Kingbridge was still trying to calm everybody. But the panic just seemed to spread. I was too afraid to move, so, I stayed in my seat. I couldn't see a thing in the dark, and I knew it would be crazy to try to find my way out of the auditorium.
Then, just as suddenly as the lights had gone off, they came back on. Everybody seemed to freeze in place. I saw kids practically piled on top of one another in the aisles, many with flushed, frightened-looking faces. The teachers looked terrified as they tried to herd everyone back to their seats. Mr. Kingbridge jumped off the stage and bent down to look at something, then stood up and called for help. I stood to try to see what was happening, but too many people were in my way.
"What a mess!" I heard Kristy say. . "Was it the Mischief Knights, do you think?" Mal asked.
"No way," said Logan. "They'd have to be nuts to do something as dangerous as this. They're mischievous, but they're not crazy."
I saw a teacher run up the aisle from where Mr. Kingbridge was standing, and out the door. Minutes later, I heard an ambulance siren. Once again, I felt the fear rise. What if it
had happened again? What if somebody had had a heart attack?
Mr. Kingbridge climbed back onto the stage. "Okay, people, letТs just stay calm. I don't think we have any major injuries here, although it looks as if one of our actresses has been hurt. The emergency medical people will take care of her, and they'll check out anyone else who believes they're injured. In the meantime, I'd like the rest of you to leave the auditorium Ч in an orderly fashion Ч and proceed to your eighth-period classes."
The assembly was over. I found out later that the actress I had liked, the one with red hair, had fallen off the stage (that was the scream I'd heard) and broken her arm. I also found out later that nobody had a good explanation for why the lights had gone out. The Mischief Knights did not claim responsibility, and nobody else did, either. Was it an accident, or a prank? Nobody knew. But I, and the other BSC members, suspected that the episode was somehow connected to the mystery, and we decided to step up our efforts. If we didn't solve the mystery soon, somebody might really get hurt... or even killed. It was time to follow up every possible clue we had.
ThatТs how I ended up interviewing Mr. Wetzler.
Now, I'm not usually a very good liar. Still,
in this case, I thought the situation called for a tiny fib. After all, what's the best way to find out more about who somebody is and what they know? Interview them. But in order to do an interview, you have to be a reporter, which I'm not. ThatТs where the fib comes in. When I called Mr. Wetzler, I told him that I was with the SMS Express, and that I wanted to ask him some questions about the school budget "and its impact on eighth-graders like me." Since the school budget happens to be his favorite subject, he fell for it hook, line, and sinker. An hour later, I met him at the Rosebud Cafe and we sat down to talk.
I had thought ahead and brought a tape recorder, which turned out to be a great idea. As Mr. Wetzler and I sipped tea and chatted, the tape recorder did the work. I didn't have to remember anything. All I had to do later was listen to the tapes and transcribe what we said. I found out some very interesting things, but somehow I didn't think Mr. Wetzler was telling me everything he knew. You can judge for yourself; here's the interview. Mr. Wetzler is JW (for Jerry Wetzler, of course), and you know who SM is.
SM: Thank you for meeting with me today, Mr. Wetzler.
JW: No problem. Hey, is that thing on?
SM: Yes, it is. I record all my interviews. Do you mind?
JW: I guess not.
SM: LetТs begin, then. First of all, I understand that you disapprove of the current school budget.
JW: I do, indeed. There's waste everywhere, and my taxes are paying for it.
SM: Waste? For example Ч ?
JW: Those ridiculous dances, for, one. They're totally unnecessary, not to mention dangerous.
SM: Dangerous? Are you by any chance referring to the last Halloween masquerade twenty-eight years ago?
JW: ThatТs right.
SM: Can you tell me more about what happened there?
JW: Uh, I don't really Ч
SM: Details might be helpful, if you are trying to convince the school to cancel future dances.
JW: Well, a teacher died. A Mr. Brown. In a stampede.
SM: What caused the stampede?
JW: I think it had something to do with that
eighth-grade girl, the one who was jilted at
the dance. She created havoc, and then she
disappeared and never came back to school.
SM: What? Um, I mean Ч very interesting.
Can you tell me more about this girl?
JW: No, no. I don't remember anything else. I really don't.
SM: But she never came back?
JW: She never came back.