When I wasn’t thinking about Beardy McBeardface, I was thinking about my teleporting problem. By this point, it was more frustrating and annoying than weird, which in and of itself felt like something I should worry about.
And when I wasn’t thinking about my teleporting problem, I was thinking about a certain eyebrow and the boy said eyebrow was attached to.
So, yeah, no sleep. Grumpy Cole Tozer was in the house.
Though it was fun thinking about Malik.
“Stop,” I said, wrapping the towel around my waist. “He’s not even out. You can’t crush out on him. You can’t.”
I stepped out of the shower—
Poof.
—and into a shower.
I nearly fell, my foot landing higher than I expected, but I kept my balance. Just. The tiles were blue, not white. Also, the shower stall was smaller, and the glass door was frosted in a different pattern and the towel hanging over it wasn’t one I’d seen before and…
Where the hell was I now?
Like I said, way more frustrating and annoying than weird.
I bit my lip. I was wearing a towel. I was in a strange bathroom I didn’t recognize. Apparently, now even my own glass door on my own shower was a problem. I wanted to scream, but that was out of the question given I had no freaking idea where I was.
Plus side? My exit plan was obvious. I reached for the door, ready to head back home as fast as I could, when someone started humming.
In the bathroom. With me.
I froze.
A couple of words, then more humming.
I closed my eyes, recognizing the voice. Of course. What had I been thinking about when I was getting out of the shower?
Malik King. I was in his bathroom. And so was he. I was trapped in his shower. In a towel.
Well, I couldn’t do anything about it now. I took hold of the glass door, crouching to hide as much of myself behind the hanging towel as I could. I needed to be quick. Just push the door open and teleport the heck out of here.
I could do this.
I saw the shadow of two legs appear at the bottom of the glass, beneath the towel, and had to bite down on a shriek.
I pushed, and I let the tug grab me the second I felt it. Home. I thought. Home, home, home. Shower to shower. Glass door to glass door. Malik yelped as I pushed the glass door open.
Poof.
I ended up where I wanted. Generally. Yes, I was inside my house. But I was in front of the back patio. Because glass door I guess? Ha ha, thank you universe. I snuck back upstairs in my towel without my mom or dad seeing me, which was pretty much the only thing going right in the moment. I got to my bedroom and sat down hard on my bed.
No way Malik could have seen me, right? I mean, I was crouched, and a towel was in the way on the door and I teleported and there was no way he could have seen me. I fell back on my blanket, panting like I’d run a marathon.
Then it hit me: I’d never been to Malik’s house.
Until now, I’d only teleported places I’d already been.
My list of things that could go wrong with this whole teleporting thing? It just got a whole lot worse.
“If anyone’s listening,” I said, staring up at the ceiling. “I am at my limit, okay? No need to dial it up any more. I could really, really use a break right now. Something to go my way? That would be great.”
Someone knocked on my door. I jumped.
“You want a ride to school?” It was my mother.
“Really?” I glared upward. “That’s the best you can come up with?”
“What was that? Didn’t hear you,” my mother said.
“Yes, please,” I said, louder. “I just need a second to get dressed.”
* * *
As soon as I got to school, I grabbed my stuff for class and then slipped into my homeroom. Dodging the pull of the door wasn’t so bad, and I barely had to work to stay put. Whether or not that was progress, I wasn’t sure. I might have just used up all my accidental teleporting gas this morning. Maybe it was harder to teleport somewhere I’d never been. Maybe I’d end up inside a maximum security jail cell with a sociopathic murderer the next time I wasn’t paying attention.
I was panting again. I took a second by the door to calm down, trying to remind myself to deal with one thing at a time. But I couldn’t help it. Would I ever get this figured out, or was I doomed to end up haunting the bathrooms of other people who happened to have glass shower doors?
Stop it. One disaster at a time, Cole. Stick to the plan.
Mr. Jones was the only other person in the room, which suited me just fine. He was writing something down, but he looked up as I got to his desk.
“Hey, Cole,” he said. “What’s up?”
“The substitute teacher,” I said. “Is he still here?”
Mr. Jones frowned. “Substitute teacher?”
I nodded, though a slick, oily feeling started to pool in my stomach. “Tall. Beard. I’m sorry, I don’t know his name.”
But he was already shaking his head. “As far as I know, there’s no substitute here today. Why?”
“It’s just…” I took a breath. “It might sound stupid, but…he stares.”
Mr. Jones put his pen down, a line forming between his eyebrows. I had his full attention now. “When was this?”
I could have cheered. Mr. Jones was my favorite teacher for a reason. I had him for English as well as homeroom, and he listened. Like, really listened. Also, I could totally tell it would give him pleasure to boot Austin in the ass. I mean, he wouldn’t, but he wanted to, and that made all the difference.
He also mentioned his husband sometimes, which, y’know, score one for team queer.
“Last week,” I said. “Out in the hall by the music room, but also out by the field at lunch. Grayson saw him, too. I don’t know his name. I haven’t had him for any classes, but…” I shrugged. “I keep seeing him and he…stares.”
“Last week.” Mr. Jones’s frown grew. “And he made you uncomfortable?”
And how. “A little.”
“Let me find out,” he said.
“Thank you,” I said, relieved. I thought about telling him I’d seen him downtown, too, but I didn’t want to push it. I could bring that up later, once I had a name other than Beardy McBeardface to work with. Besides, it sounded like maybe he wasn’t around anymore, which was awesome.
Some other kids started coming into the class, so I went to my desk. I opened my bullet journal and colored in the little square beside the task, and then flipped back a page to where my other big problem grew by one more item.
A potentially sociopathic serial killer in a small space problem.
Or, on the other hand, cute boys in showers.
As though thinking about him made him appear, in walked Malik with Jacob and Tyler. I dipped my head to my journal again, not wanting to meet his gaze. I was terrified he’d take one look at me and know I’d been the person who’d popped his shower door open this morning. I remembered his startled yelp, and snuck a glance. He seemed okay. He was joking and making Tyler laugh. No sign of his hoodie, either.
So maybe he wasn’t freaked out about a disappearing shower prowler.
I straightened in my chair. Mr. Jones was going to find out who Beardy McBeardface was, and Malik had no idea I’d nearly seen him ready for his morning shower.
Maybe today wasn’t going to be a total disaster after all.
* * *
“Did you hear?” Grayson said. “Total disaster.”
“I didn’t hear anything. I just got here,” I said, sliding my backpack off one shoulder. “Which you just saw happen.”
He’d come up to me the moment I’d gotten through the door—which had tried to pull at me, and through which I could feel the popping sensation again—and started talking at me.
“No hot guy,” he said. “There will be no hot guy.”
“Wait. What?” I looked past him and saw Lindsey and Rhonda talking with Nat. Even Alec was here.
They were putting the seats in a circle. I looked back at him. “You lost me.”
“Kanata isn’t joining us,” Nat said. “For the party.”
“Oh,” I said. Then, after a second, “Oh.” I looked at Grayson. Hot Kanata Guy wasn’t coming to our party. I suppose that qualified as a disaster in some warped sense of the word. “Got it.” Then I frowned. “Why not?”
“They’ve got plans,” Nat said, speaking a little louder than they usually did. “And it’s not a disaster. It’s just unfortunate.”
“We’ll still have pretty much the same number of people as last year,” Lindsey said. “Central is coming.”
“And they love the idea of Meeples. Everyone did. Everyone else is coming.”
Grayson threw himself down on a chair. “Fine. It still sucks, though.”
I had to fight off a smile. To my surprise, I saw Alec was doing the same thing. It was great to see him here.
“What are they doing instead?” I asked, curious.
Nat shrugged. “I don’t know. I didn’t ask, and Trish didn’t say.” They looked uncomfortable, and it struck me there might be more to this than Nat was letting on. I gave them a little frown, but they shook their head. Okay. Later, maybe.
I wasn’t used to seeing Nat even a little bit rattled.
“I guess we can start,” they said, and the rest of us sat down. Minutes didn’t take long, and although I paid attention and was interested, it struck me that it felt like someone was missing. I glanced at Alec and was happy to see him there. I wasn’t missing him.
I wished Malik was here.
Well. I couldn’t do anything about that. And this was our second-last official meeting.
I shook it off and listened as Nat brought us all up to speed.
“Candice wanted to host it for free,” they said.
“Because she’s awesome,” I said.
“But I told her we’d absolutely pay what we could. And I sent a copy of her menu through to the other clubs so they know what to expect.” Nat shrugged. “And that’s really all I’ve got.”
The group broke into little conversations. I turned to Grayson. “Hey, remember that substitute?”
He blinked. “Huh?”
“The teacher with the beard. Out by the trees?”
“Oh, sure.”
“Did you have him for any classes?”
Grayson shook his head.
I took a breath and turned back to the group at large. Lindsey was leaning on Rhonda. Nat was talking with them, and Alec was checking something on his phone.
“Did anyone have a sub last week?” I said, loud enough to interrupt.
They all turned and looked at me. Alec shook his head. Lindsey and Rhonda said no. Nat shook their head, too.
“Did any of you see him?” I pulled out my phone. I pulled up the picture of Beardy McBeardface and held it out. Everyone came and looked.
“Yeah, that’s him,” Grayson said. “From the field. But I didn’t have any classes with him or anything.”
“What’s wrong?” Alec said, staring at me.
“Probably nothing. Mr. Jones is on it. I just wondered. I caught him kind of staring at me. A couple of times.”
“Gross,” Grayson said, looking at the picture. “Now, if Mr. Jones was doing the staring…”
“It would also be gross,” Nat said. “He’s a little old for you. And married.” They nudged Grayson’s shoulder and took a second look at my phone. They looked back at me. “Staring?”
I shook my head and repeated myself. “It’s probably nothing.” Except now I didn’t believe it.
“He did stare,” Grayson said. “I remember.”
“It happened a few times,” I said. “In the hallway.” I nodded to the music room door. “He was right…”
The music room door.
“…there.” My voice went flat.
The music room door. The doors to the field. Outside Meeples. Everywhere I’d seen Beardy McBeardface…
“Cole?” Alec touched my shoulder, interrupting my train of thought.
“It’s probably nothing,” I said again. Third time’s the charm. Except…All the places I’d seen the man were places I’d teleported. Doors I’d used.
So, probably not nothing.
Probably a disaster after all.
To-Do
X Bearded rando. Sub? Talk to principal?
Cole the Teenage Freak
X Concentrate at doors. All the doors. Every time. You got this!
Locked doors. One way?
X Blood sugar? Hungry? Definitely hungry.
CARRY YOUR PHONE.
Doors. Again. You don’t got this. EVEN THE SHOWER.
No door required for exit?
Pull getting stronger. Bad? Good?
Popping thing. Like fireworks.
Places I’ve never been!
Beardy McBeardface can tell?
Stop practicing. Just stop doing it at all.
Sixteen
I was determined to make it through the day without any accidental teleportation adventures, but the day was conspiring against me, including a typical Tozer family morning of complete snooze-button abuse which led to missing my bus and barely making it to school on time via a begged ride from my dad.
Even at a half run, every single time I went through a door—especially my own shower—I managed to stay put. It took effort. The doors wanted me to take a trip. The pull was a little bit stronger every time, and I caught myself trying to plan my day around going through as few doors as possible.
This was a futile plan in a world full of buildings. For example? Bedroom door. Bathroom door. Shower door, twice. Bathroom door again. Front door. Both sets of double doors at school. The door to homeroom.
And that was just before classes started.
Mr. Jones took me aside in the morning after homeroom to tell me there hadn’t been a substitute teacher last week and to tell him or any teacher if I saw the man again and he made me feel at all uncomfortable. He thought it was likely the man was a parent, and said none of the other teachers and no one in the office had seen anyone unusual otherwise. He repeated that he was taking me seriously so many times my skin started to itch with wanting to get out of the classroom. Thankfully, the bell rang, and I had to go.
I did consider the photos I had on my phone but decided not to show him. If this was about my teleportation problem, did I really want to get Mr. Jones involved? I wasn’t sure it was a great idea. I liked Mr. Jones, but I wasn’t sure liking him was enough to tell him I could teleport and trust he wouldn’t have me committed.
By the time my morning classes were done (four more doors total, in and out), and I hadn’t teleported anywhere or seen Beardy McBeardface, I’d decided I was maybe overreacting. We were doing review, too, and I made it through both classes without feeling like I hadn’t learned anything all year, which was another solid entry in the plusses side of things.
I even got both derivative questions right in Calculus.
It was raining, so I had lunch at our usual table (cafeteria line doors, in and out). I tried to get involved with the conversation Nat was having with Alec about a sci-fi show they both watched on Netflix, but I hadn’t seen most of it, and so I just sat back and kind of enjoyed seeing Alec back with the group.
Two more classes (four more trips through doorways) and it was time to grab my stuff from my locker (two doors on either end of the stairwell) and head home. Pushing through the front doors of the school, I grunted with the effort of staying put. A couple of kids turned and stared. It was a really loud grunt because so much pull hooked into the center of my chest.
When I made it through the doors, the snapping sensation of moving past was so sudden I nearly tripped.
Definitely getting stronger.
I took a second to stand under the awning. My bus wasn’t here. I leaned against the brick wall as other students streamed out of the building. Some were going to the student parking, usually in groups. Some were
heading to where the buses lined up, one bus already there. And some hovered like I was, finding spots out of the rain to wait.
My phone buzzed. I checked it. Sportsball.
Is this year done yet?
Only half a week left, I wrote. And then exams.
Don’t remind me.
I smiled. I glanced around, but I didn’t see him anywhere. You’ll ace them, I sent.
He sent me an emoji with its eyebrow raised. Seriously? I caught myself grinning and was looking through the emojis for something to send back when he texted again.
You sure about that?
I stopped scrolling and went back to the alphabet.
I’ll put it on my list. Sportsball gets all A’s.
What if I don’t?
Then I’ll never get to fill in the little box. It’ll be on my list forever.
Too much pressure.
I laughed, glancing up. My bus was finally pulling in. By the time I got in and sat down, he’d sent another message.
You studying at Meeples again?
I am tomorrow, I wrote, deciding so at that very moment. I hit Send, and then I hesitated just a few seconds before adding: you in? Everything Candice had said replayed in my head while the bus pulled out. I held my breath.
Sure. Same time?
I sent him a thumbs-up and tried not to grin.
I failed.
By the time I got home, I was ridiculously upbeat. The front door didn’t fight me too much, and my dad took one look at me and signed, you had good day! It wasn’t a question.
I did, I signed. You?
He told me about his clients, and then we cleaned up the general mayhem from breakfast that morning before we started working on dinner. Dad was in a good mood, too, and he decided instead of a stir fry, we’d have a salad and chicken breasts and roasted potatoes, which is normally a Sunday night thing. I wasn’t going to argue, even if I was relegated to peeling potatoes. Dad’s potatoes were worth it. By the time my mom got home, dinner was almost ready and I was setting the dining room table, which we almost never used.
Exit Plans for Teenage Freaks Page 12