Fear Hall: The Beginning by R.L. Stine, Franco Accornero Page B

it.
    â€œSorry I’m late,” I murmured, reaching for my apron.
    â€œI really need a waitress here at four,” Marty said. He glanced at the clock above the sink. Four-twenty.
    â€œThat clock is fast,” I said, avoiding his eyes.
    â€œI’m very disappointed in you,” he said, tossing the rolled-up magazine onto the counter.
    â€œSorry,” I muttered. What else could I say?
    â€œI know you’re a bright girl,” Marty continued, frowning at me. “Sure, you’re quiet. Not much personality …”
    You don’t have to insult me because I’m a few minutes late!
I thought angrily. But I let it pass.
    â€œBut I expected you to be more responsible,” he continued.
    How long is he going to scold me? I wondered. I already said I was sorry.
    â€œI—I have to get Mrs. Jacklin her coffee,” I stammered.
    Marty shook his head. “No, you don’t. I’ll get it. You stay here.”
    He slid off the stool. Disappeared into the front for a few seconds. I heard the clink of coffee cups. Heard him say something to Mrs. Jacklin.
    When he returned to the kitchen, his cheeks reddened again. He shut the kitchen door.
    Uh-oh, I thought. This looks like bad news.
    â€œI’m afraid I have to let you go,” he said. “I’m really sorry, Jasmine.”
    â€œOh, wait. Please—” I started. I really didn’t wantto lose this job. “I won’t be late again, Mr. Dell. I promise.”
    I sounded like a five-year-old. But I didn’t care.
    Marty shook his head. “Being late is one thing, Jasmine,” he replied quietly. “But where were you yesterday?”
    â€œExcuse me?” My mouth dropped open.
    â€œYou didn’t show up at all yesterday,” he said, sighing. He picked up the magazine and rolled it tensely between his hands. “I had to run the place myself. And we were really busy.”
    â€œYesterday?” I repeated. I suddenly felt sick. My legs felt weak. My throat tightened.
    â€œYes. Where were you?” he demanded.
    I stared at him. “Uh …” I thought hard. Where was I yesterday afternoon? Where?
    â€œI don’t remember,” I told him.
    His face twisted in disgust. “You don’t even have an excuse? That’s the best you can do?
You don’t remember?
Why don’t you tell me you were sick? Or that you had to take a test? Give me a good excuse, Jasmine.”
    I shook my head. I felt dizzy. “But … really,” I insisted. “I really don’t remember
where
I was yesterday afternoon.” I swallowed hard. “In fact, I don’t remember
anything
about yesterday,” I gasped. “Nothing at all.”
    Marty sighed. He took the apron from my hands. “Here. I’ve written you a check for what I owe you.”
    I took the check from him without looking at it. The kitchen blurred. I was concentrating … concentrating on yesterday.
    Where was I? Where?
    I had to get out of that kitchen. I had to go somewhere and think.
    â€œGood-bye, Jasmine,” Marty said, slapping the magazine nervously against his leg. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out. I really am.”
    I mumbled something to him. I didn’t even hear myself.
    Then I floated back out to the restaurant to get my parka. Mrs. Jacklin offered a greeting as I passed her table. But I didn’t reply.
    I pulled the parka off the hook and stepped outside without putting it on.
    â€œWhere was I yesterday?” I asked myself out loud.
    Why can’t I remember?
    What’s wrong with me?

chapter 26
    I n a frightened daze, I wandered across the campus. Past dark-uniformed police officers and groups of students huddled together, talking excitedly.
    I found a table at the… back of the cafeteria in the Student Union, and sat down with a cup of coffee and a sweet roll. Sat down to think. To remember.
    Start somewhere,
I instructed myself. Just try