Page 16 of The Executioners Three
“No one yet,” Mom admitted, a nervousness to her voice that made both Steve and Freddie look up. She forced a laugh. “Oh, we’re just a little late getting enough volunteers is all. But they’ll come. They always come. It’s not like locals don’t know it’s happening.”
That was true. Everyone knew about the fête—and usually, everyone volunteered to be in the pageant. In fact, there was a competition every year forMost Outrageous French Accent,and the winner last year had been Greg.
Boy, had he earned it too.WELCUMMMM TO ZEE VILLAJJJ EE-STORRRR-EEECK!
“I can make sure we get volunteers,” Steve suggested. “It’s a small town. People talk. There’s probably just a mix-up with the dates—”
“No, no,” Mom cut in. She stabbed the gown on her own lap with a needle. “I can handle it.”
IfIt’s a small town; people talkwas the motto of Berm, thenI can handle itwas Patricia Gellar’s. She’d been a rare transplant from outside Berm,back in 1979, a few years before Freddie had been born. And although Mom had tried to blend in with the locals, she’d also been a little too hung up onhistorical accuracyat the Village. It had rubbed Bermians wrong. Couldn’t she justblend in like the old head of the Historical Society had done? Did she really have to make everything so French?
The answer had been yes, it did need to be more French. And no, Patty couldn’t just blend in. While Mom had agreed she wouldn’t go all in by renaming the parkLa Ville Sur La Berme Village Historique,she had insisted they atleasttweak a few things.
City-on-the-Berme Village Historique had become the compromise.
It had taken the first half of Freddie’s life for Mom to finally prove that having an accurate park was, in fact, better for tourism—but it was no wonder she was nervous. Bermians loved to boycott things when they were mad. (No one in the entire town had bought a box of Bisquick since the Incident with the Trademark.)
Steve, whom Freddie knew secretly smoothed things over for Mom, just shrugged at Mom as if to say,Suit yourself!Which totally meant he’d be whispering in ears tomorrow.
“It’ll be fine,” Mom insisted. “People always want to commemorateles bûcherons.”
“More like,” Freddie countered, “they want any excuse to drink spiked cider and whine about biased judges in the jack-o’-lantern contest.”
“It’s notwhining.” Steve tipped up his chin. “Judge Raskin absolutely played favorites with his son in ’95… Oh, look!” He snapped up theTV Guide. “Reruns ofThe X-Filesare on channel seven. Wanna watch?”
“Duh,” Freddie replied, and seconds later, the familiar voices of Agents Dana Scully and Fox Mulder filled the living room. (Mulder wasalmostas hot as Lance Bass.) An hour later, after many poked thumbs and a crudely repaired bodice, the phone rang.
“It’s Divya,” Steve said after glancing at the caller ID. He passed the cordless receiver Freddie’s way. She scrabbled to her feet and marched from the room.
“What’s up, Div?”
“You have five minutes to get dressed in something black before Kyle gets there to pick you up.”
Freddie stopped dead in her tracks. “Say what now?”
“You heard me. Kyle Friedman, who makes you allwoo-woo,is going to be at your house in five minutes. We’re going to Fortin Prep for… Well, I don’t actually know that part. Retribution, I assume.”
“How do you know any of this? Did Kyle call you?” Freddie shoved into her bedroom and dove for the closet. Black, black—what did she have in black that also made her look like the Most Appealing Girl Who’d Ever Lived?
“Laina called me.”
Freddie choked. “Um, excuse me? How does she have your number?”
“I gave it to her.” Divya’s voice went breathy. “In AP Econ, she asked me for it.”
Freddie gasped. “You minx! You didn’t even tell me.”
“I was distracted by Dr. Born.”
“There was time before that! Or after!”
“Oh, shut up and get dressed, will you? You’re down to four minutes now.”
Before Freddie could squawk any further indignation, the line went dead—and she was left with only four minutes to make herself beautiful.
She failed. Miserably. She just didn’t own enough black, which left her wearing dress pants with sneakers. And although she had a decent black turtleneck, the black sweatshirt she pulled on for warmth was… Well, she had been much smaller when she’d gotten it from the Lumberjack Pageant six years ago, and the lumberjack axe had started to flake off.
Freddie traded her glasses for contacts, and finally, last but never least, she slipped into Kyle’s letterman jacket. No doubt he would want it back, but she would savor it while she had it.
