Otherwise Known as Sheila the Great (6 page)

   
"Try now," Mouse said.

   
"Now? What for?"

   
"Just to see if you can or you can't."

   
"I can't. I'm sure I can't."

   
"Okay . . . there's another thing I can't do," Mouse said. "I can't do a backward flip into the pool."

   
"Neither can I," I told her.

   
"Because you can't swim. . . right?"

   
"Well, I don't swim much and I don't dive at all."

   
"You mean you
can't
."

   
"That's right," I said. "I can't dive at all."

   
Mouse smiled. "I brought you something."

   
"You did?"

   
"Yes." She reached into her pocket and held up a green yo-yo. She handed it to me. "It's a genuine Duncan Imperial. The very best there is."

   
"Thanks." I turned it over and read what it said. "I haven't had a yo-yo in ages."

   
"Since you were about two, right?"

   
"That's right."

   
"Tell you what," Mouse said, "since you don't remember much about working it, how would it be if I taught you to do tricks?"

   
"Well . . . I really don't need lessons because I'll probably remember how to do all my old tricks as soon as I practice a little. But if you want to show me your way I wouldn't mind."

   
"Good," Mouse said. "We'll start tomorrow. I've got to go home now. My mother doesn't like me walking around in the dark." Mouse turned and started down the front walk.

   
I was already planning how I'd be able to tell the kids in the city that my own private yo-yo teacher was none other than the Junior Champion of Tarrytown herself!

   
The next day I asked Marty if he could teach me to dive like Betsy Ellis, but without getting my face wet.

   
He said, "Impossible!"

   
And the more I thought about it the more I knew he was right. So I said we'd have to forget about diving. Marty asked me how I planned to get into the pool when I learned to swim and I told him, "Down the ladder. Same as getting out."

   
I spent three more days just practicing how to kick. Then Marty decided it was time to learn what to do with my arms. He held me in the water and told me to move them back and forth. I was so scared I held onto Marty with one arm and only moved the other. He said that was okay. That he had plenty of time. Two months, if necessary. Because my mother told him not to rush me. She didn't want me to get more afraid than I already was. And she said she would pay for lessons all summer if she had to. Because she had a feeling that fifteen lessons weren't going to be enough. But I'd better know how to swim by then or she'd want her money back. And Marty had promised her I would. He really needs the money for college, he told me, like I shouldn't let him down.

   
So I said, "Okay
    
and I tried letting go of him. He kept his hand under me so I wouldn't get scaredand stop trying. But whenever I used my arms I forgot about my legs. And when I remembered and started to kick I forgot about using my arms.

   
I think Marty almost gave up on me today.

   
After my lesson I joined Mouse and some of the other kids. The thing I hate most is when one kid dunks another. The only way to avoid that is to stay out of the water, which is what I do. Mouse says everyone knows that I am a beginner and no one would dunk me, but I am not so sure!

   
Libby has a crush on a lifeguard named Freddie. He has very hairy legs. Libby says he is just the most terrific boy she has ever met. But Libby says that about
every
boy she meets. She hangs around his lifeguard chair all afternoon and when he is off duty she runs to get him a soda. My mother says he is much too old for her and she should find some friends her own age. Then Libby cries, "But, Mother, he's only seventeen and I am practically fourteen and that's just perfect!" My mother doesn't think so. And she says if Libby keeps pestering him he could lose his job.

   
The Sunday after Mom said that Freddie brought a friend to the pool. She sat next to his lifeguard chair all afternoon. She is much older than Libby. I would say she is at least sixteen. And she doesn't look like a skeleton in her bikini either.

   
Now Libby stays away from Freddie. She says she never really liked him anyway. And who wants a boyfriend with all that hair on his legs?

   
"Ha ha," I said.

   
Libby gave me a kick.

   
WE go to day camp every weekday, from 9:00 until 3:00. Then we go to the pool from 3:30 to 5:30. We are always so busy going somewhere that I can't believe we have been in Tarrytown for two whole weeks.

 
  
One night, before Daddy got home, I arranged my shoes in the front hail with the toes pointing toward the den. Then I hid behind the drapes and waited. But between the den and the front hail was the living room and dining room. I heard Daddy come into the house and call, "Hello. . . I'm home." I hoped when he saw my shoes he would come and find me right away, because there weren't any lights on in the den and the sky was getting darker every second. It was beginning to thunder. I don't like thunderstorms. Daddy has told me a million times that the lightning isn't going to get me and I want to believe him, but I can't.

   
I never should have hidden so far away. I should have gone into the closet in the front hail. Then I'd have been near the kitchen, where Libby and Mom were. I wondered what was taking Daddy so long. And what were those funny noises? I wished somebody would turn on the lights.

   
I wasn't having fun at all! Maybe Daddy had forgotten about me. Maybe he wasn't even looking. I decided then and there that I would have to tell him I don't want to play this game anymore. Not in this house! I hoped he wouldn't think it was because I'm chicken. That's what Libby would say. She'd make her cackling noise and laugh at me.

   
When I couldn't stand it behind the drapes for another second I crawled out and made my way back into the living room on all fours. Finally Mom shouted, "Sheila, come out right now or dinner will be ruined!" I was really happy when she said that. I ran into the kitchen and told Daddy if it is going to take him that long to find me every night we'll never get to eat. So he agreed that we will stop our game for the summer. Now Libby will never know the truth, so she won't have to call me chicken.

   
Every night after dinner Daddy unchains Jennifer and lets her run around loose. He says she needs the exercise. She tears around the yard yelping. I watch from my bedroom window. Daddy and Libby and Jennifer have a lot of fun playing games. Libby throws a ball and Jennifer catches it in her mouth. And Daddy has taught her to roll over and play dead. Both Mom and Daddy say I am silly to hide upstairs and miss all the fun. Well, maybe I am, but I just can't help it. I wonder why I had to be born like me instead of like Libby, who isn't afraid of anything. Sometimes it doesn't seem fair.

   
At least I am getting used to sleeping in a room by myself. I'm not so scared at night now. I just make sure that my ear is always covered with the blanket. I don't know why, but I can't stand having my ear sticking out when I sleep.

   
Anyway, this house is not nearly as spooky as Mouse's. Hers ismuch bigger and much older. They don't even use all the rooms upstairs. I asked Mouse if it scares her to live in a place like that. And she said she never thought about it. She has always lived in the same house and before that her mother's family lived in it, and some day she might get married and live there too. She said a long time ago Washington Irving slept in her house.

   
"Who's he?" I asked. "Is he related to George?" I laughed at my own joke.

   
"You mean you don't know about Washington Irving?"

   
"No. I never even heard of him," I told her.

   
"You mean you are going into fifth grade and you
still
never heard about Washington Irving?"

   
"I told you. . . no! Who is he, anyway?"

   
"Well, I just can't believe it," Mouse said. "What's wrong with those schools in New York City?"

   
"If you know so much about him, why don't you tell me who he is at least?"

   
"Oh, I will, I will . . . I just can't believe that you don't already know, that's all," Mouse said.

   
"Go on," I told her. "I'm listening."

   
"Well. . . he was a very famous writer."

   
"What did he write?" I asked.

   
"Oh, he wrote 'Rip Van Winkle' and 'The Legend of Sleepy Hollow.'"

   
"I heard of Rip Van Winkle," I said. "He slept for a long time. But I never heard about Sleepy Hollow."

   
"You never heard about Sleepy Hollow and Ichabod Crane?"

   
"That's right," I said. "You people in Tarrytown have a lot of useless information. If this Ichabod Crane was so important, I'd have heard about him in New York."

   
"Well . . . all I can tell you is that the Headless Horseman rode right through here," Mouse said, spreading her arms. "Right through Tarrytown. So naturally it's important to us. How many towns do you think have a Headless Horseman riding through them?"

   
"What do you mean,
headless
?" I asked.

   
"Oh, he was this man on a horse and he had no head and Ichabod Crane saw him and got very scared."

   
"But it's just a story, right? I mean, there's no such thing as a Headless Horseman!"

   
"Well . . ." Mouse said. "It's kind of a story, but I believe it. In fact, I've heard him around here lately. Haven't you?"

   
"Heard what?"

   
"The Headless Horseman! If you listen at night you can hear this eerie noise. And that's him-haunting Tarrytown."

   
"I don't care if you do or you don't. People who live in Tarrytown all year long know it's the truth!"

   
"What does he do?" I asked. "Does he kill people?"

   
"Oh no! Nothing like that. He just rides around haunting. You know, like a ghost."

   
"There's no such thing as ghosts," I said.

   
"Maybe there is and maybe there isn't."

   
I had a lot of trouble sleeping after Mouse told me that. I asked my father did he know about Ichabod Crane and the Headless Horseman and he said, "Sure, it's a very famous story."

   
"Do you believe it?" I asked.

   
"It's just a story, Sheila."

 
  
"But there might be a Headless Horseman!"