by Rena Rocford
Beth grinned. “Rare, but real.”
Then it hit me. “You knew?”
“Are you kidding? Strength, smarts, lightning reflexes, you’re hard to miss. I just didn’t realize you were dragon. This could change everything.”
“What everything? You haven’t told me anything. What the hell is going on? Who were those guys? How did you know they were trolls?” I stopped when I realized I was yelling.
Rimmed in white, Beth’s green eyes glowed through the night. I’d never yelled at her. Sure, we’d only been friends for three months, but she was by far the best friend I’d ever had. And I’d collected more “best” friends than birthdays.
Beth resumed pacing.
“How did you know they were trolls?” I asked again.
Her head twisted to the side like she was in pain. “I’m half.”
“Half what?”
“Half troll.”
Her quiet words haunted her face. She stopped pacing and stood as far from me as the shrubs would allow. We said nothing for a small slice of forever. She fidgeted as I waited for whatever came next.
“Well, aren’t you going to run or scream or something?” Beth asked.
The idea of being half dragon had completely washed out the enormity of my best friend confessing she was half troll. It just didn’t seem possible. Beth wasn’t anything like the trolls from fairy tales. She was smart and pretty. And I’d seen her house, it was absolutely spotless. Beth was nothing like what trolls were supposed to be.
But then again, those other trolls had smelled like aftershave and gunmetal, so clearly they bathed more regularly than Grimm would have me believe.
I shook my head as a half-smile crept onto my face. “Seriously, you just attacked a troll to save me from who knows what fate, and you’re worried I’ll take off like some perfect little princess? I thought you knew me better than that, Beth Whitlocke.”
The smile broke over Beth’s face. Relief flooded from her, and her whole body relaxed. “I just can’t believe you’re draconic.”
“Draconian, more like.”
Her bark of laughter filled our hiding place. “That’s funny, Drake.”
Wind stole through the tree, and we both shivered. “Will they be back?”
“I think we lost them.” Beth scanned the branches as if she could see through the dark, but when I looked, I saw nothing but police cruisers and fire trucks at the mall. “Maybe we should go into hiding or something.”
I ran the conversation through my head again. They’d said she was young to be on the payroll. That meant they didn’t recognize her. Or me. “They didn’t know who you were. It was just really unlucky on our part. Right?”
“I sure hope so.”
Six Days Before
fter a bout of terrible dreams involving Beth eating a live chicken before telling me not to worry about it, I woke up. My mouth tasted like the marching band had practiced on my tongue last night.
But what did I expect after spitting fire, minty fresh breath?
When I moved, everything creaked. Every muscle and joint hurt, especially my abs. Best ab work out ever? Well, there had to be an upside. The stench of my own breath would kill a skunk, so I wanted some perks.
Well, perks besides the whole blasting flames in the face of troll kidnappers.
And could I do it again?
I stuffed that thought in a jar and went to the bathroom. The lights were on in the apartment, so I knew my mom was already up. To alleviate the pain of having only one bathroom and both of us getting ready at the same time, my mother did her hair at a mirror in her room. The shower was mine, but before I made it to the water, I brushed my teeth and gargled as much mouthwash as I could handle.
The shower had miraculous healing properties, but rendered the bathroom mirror worthless. Though I didn’t need it to put on my makeup—no need for that horror show before breakfast.
My pitch black hair was darker than midnight and, to my great disgrace, my face had more craters than the moon. Regular makeup was too frail for my needs. A face like mine needed more pancake than a waffle house. I ordered foundation from a theatrical company online. It came in a giant tub and disappeared faster than fresh baked cookies. But pancake needed perfectly dry air to keep from caking, so I popped open the door to let the steam out.
“Leave us alone,” my mother said at the front door.
Her voice drew all of my attention, and I peeked around the edge of the door. The bathroom was a short hallway away from the front room–and front door–of our apartment. She stood directly in front of the door, hands on her hips, and ready to repel any invaders.
“It’s her birthday,” someone said on the other side of the door. I recognized the voice: My Aunt Aggy. “She’ll know something is up if you don’t let me talk to her.”
Mom straightened. “She’ll just think you forgot. You’re not known for being around when we need you.”
“You think she’s that dumb? She is related to me, you know. By blood.”
“No, you can’t take her away. I’ve seen what happens to people in your family.”
Ice formed around those words. They were fighting words. I had never met my father, and his sister made a special point to give me something on each birthday. Almost always, it was music and a statue of a dragon. I’d always had the feeling that she had a real thing for dragons.
Turns out, nope, she was trying to tell me something. Which side of the family did I get the dragonish tendency to spit fireballs and identify metals by scent?
“And you think you’re doing a better job running from everything?”
Mom stood on the balls of her feet, leaning into the front door. Tension poured off her, and her whole body was poised to start a fight. “Go. Now. I will not tolerate this sort of behavior from you.”
“Let me in or I’ll break down the door.”
My mother leaned back and gave a haughty head shake. “Oh, now who’s the superior race? Resorting to violence at every turn?”
An image of fire bursting from Aggy’s lips filled my mind. If I got my dragon blood from her, then she could toast my mother.
I pushed the door all the way open and interrupted. “Mom, have you seen my–Aunt Aggy? What are you doing here?” I schooled my face into a look of surprise.
“Your mother was just letting me in. Weren’t you, Cathy?”
Instead of acknowledging the question, Mom grumbled something that sounded vaguely like “This isn’t over, Aggy.”
My mother may have been four inches taller than Aggy, but my aunt cowered before no one.
She hopped over the threshold with flare. “Well, how does it feel to be fifteen?”
I twisted my waist-length black hair to squeeze more water out, dripping onto the linoleum. “Wet. How about you?”
Her gaze softened to some faraway memory. “When I was fifteen, I learned to–”
“What are you doing half naked?” Mom interrupted. “Go get dressed. Just because it’s your birthday doesn’t mean you can be late to school.”
My eyes locked onto Aggy, and she gave me the you’d-better-do-what-your-mother-asks look. I nodded and practically ran back to my room. Maybe if I was quiet, they’d start fighting again.
No luck. Even after my liberal application of makeup, by the time I got back to the front room in jeans, T-shirt, and boots, they were sitting at the kitchen table. Waiting there, they were the epitome of yin and yang. My mother’s climbing-the-corporate-ladder scarf was artfully pinned to her blouse, and her cup of coffee matched her pants. Her pale skin was powdered to within an inch of her life, and her bright red lipstick drew the perfect attention to the fact that she had red hair and blazing green eyes. She looked like a Gaelic goddess.
Aggy straddled the chair, resting her hands on the back. Tied into a ponytail and braided, her black hair resembled jumper cables, and there was no makeup on her already tanned face. She wore a jacket that buttoned up the side, thick pants, and boots three sizes too bi
g for her short stature–even shorter than me now! She could have been the star in a hard-hitting kung fu film. Wait, was kung fu Chinese or Japanese? Holes in my knowledge like that made me feel like a complete fraud when it came to my Japanese heritage.
Aggy took the last sip of coffee, and dumped the cup back into its non-matching saucer. “Can I take you to school, then?”
“I usually walk.”
“Oh, well, in that case, here.” She dropped a notebook into my hands.
She wrote music for fun, and sometimes, she gave me her songs. I flipped open the notebook to see. And there it was, a song scribbled out across the page. The notes plucked echoes through my mind, hinting at what it would sound like on my guitar, and my fingers itched to have the string beneath them.
“No, you may not stay home and practice,” Mom said just as I started to hum.
“But it’s my birthday! How often do I get to turn fifteen?”
My mother drew a line through the air, cutting off all argument. “Absolutely not. You have an education to obtain.”
I didn’t mutter about how moving in another six weeks would kill any attempts I had at sticking to an education. And since I’d had more schools than birthdays, one could argue that my education with the guitar was my most steady subject. I held up the music, but Aunt Aggy caught my eye and shook her head.
I sighed. “Fine. I’ll just put it away.” I dashed back into my room and dropped the stack of music next to the four surviving dragon statues my aunt had gotten me on previous birthdays. Their blue, purple, green, and white scales winked back at me, and I hoped she’d gotten me another.
I grabbed my backpack–untouched from yesterday–and headed for the door. I kissed the brass dragon hanging beside the doorway. Mom called it the Guardian. Its swirling tail gave it an expectant look, like the dragon wasn’t satisfied without a proper acknowledgement. The Guardian was the only thing my mother put a nail in the wall for. She’d risk losing the deposit for it.
Maybe I got my dragon from Mom.
More importantly, did they both know, or was one of them hiding a really big secret? Maybe that’s why Mom didn’t want Aggy around.
Outside, I stood on the concrete landing and shrugged into my jacket. My aunt shut the door behind us. “It’s a bit chilly, isn’t it?”
“It’s March in Albuquerque.”
“March is warmer in California,” she said.
“I wouldn’t know; Mom doesn’t like California. Too expensive.”
“Too bad. I could keep a better eye on you there.”
“I bet,” I said.
Aggy arched an eyebrow, and I opened my mouth to ask her about my father. My throat caught. Two giant Harleys roared by on the street, and I chickened out as the buff, bearded men rode by in their leather vests.
There were things no one talked about, and absent family members topped the list. Until last night, I’d thought we didn’t talk about my father because he was in the CIA, or something even more secretive, like Disney. Today, I wasn’t sure. And how stupid would I sound if I asked someone if my father was actually a dragon? And how awkward would that be if he wasn’t the dragon and it was my mom? More importantly, how did I get to that topic gracefully? Uh, hey, Aunt Aggy, accidentally fry any trolls lately?
From the apartment complex, we ducked through big bus stop to the street. Four lanes of heavy traffic stood between the high school and me. We could jay walk, but the traffic was fast and thick, and my asthma kept me from being much of a sprinter. I always opted for the crosswalks.
At the corner, Aunt Aggy grabbed my arm. “Hold on a sec, squirt.” She searched my face again.
Heat rose in my cheeks.
I tried to look away, but she caught my chin in her hands. Her eyes met mine, and I opened my mouth to ask her about last night. Then she nodded, and I snapped my mouth shut.
“I’ve got a present for you–well, it’s sort of a present. I mean, it’s more like a birthright.”
“Is it something from Dad?”
She winced like I’d stabbed her but tried to recover, putting on a brave face. I felt a lot better not asking about the whole fire-breathing thing.
She dumped a package into my hands, a lump heavy as a brick and wrapped in leather. “Not exactly.”
“Should I open it here? You are coming to dinner aren’t you?”
“Of course, kidlet. I wouldn’t miss it.” She looked over her shoulder at the bus stop. I followed her gaze to some big guys sitting on a bench waiting for the downtown bus.
Were they trolls?
I took a breath to ask her about the mall, but she pointed at the light. “Better hurry up.” Already the light had turned to the flashing red hand of doom, and I took off across the intersection. I made it to the boulevard before the light changed, stranding me on the island of cement. She’d tricked me into coming out in the street, and now I was stuck. And she hadn’t followed me out here.
When I looked back to find her, she’d already disappeared. There weren’t that many people on the corner, but she could hide in a brightly lit room with nothing inside but her. I sighed in defeat. What good would it do to finish chasing her down if she was already gone?
Still, she’d given me a lumpy package, and I turned it over in my hands as I finished crossing the street on the next light. Leather straps held the rumpled funnies section of a Sunday paper around the present. I untied the first one, but kept my back to the school, just in case someone saw and teased me about getting a gift from my aunt.
Beth walked up next to me. “What’s that?”
“A birthday present.”
“You gonna open it?”
I tore open the paper and freed the cheap knick-knack, a clear plastic lump encasing a fake sword. It looked like something I would have bought from Six Flags when I was ten. It was smaller than a lunch box.
“What is that supposed to be?” Beth asked.
“My birthday present.” I turned the sword-in-the-plastic-stone over in my hand. This had to be a joke. Aunt Aggy gave me awesome dragons, not tawdry, midway keepsakes.
“Is that from your mother?”
“My aunt.”
“And she likes funny swords that look like soft serve?” Beth asked.
I held the hunk of chunk up to the light. Sure enough, the sword blade curved back and forth in a ridiculous spiral, like someone had chopped the horn off a narwhal and stuck it on a Lord of the Rings prop. “It’s not her usual style.”
“Well are you just gonna stare at it? We’ll be late.”
I dumped the crummy sculpture into my backpack and followed Beth. At least today could only get better.
The bell rang for lunch, and I prolonged packing my books into my backpack. I didn’t want to leave math class. Lunch was just a nice way of saying social gladiatorial event.
Jed Peterson bumped into me, and my books spilled out onto the industrial classroom carpet. My homework fell out of my math book.
I glared at him.
“Sorry,” he said, but when he caught up to his friends at the front of the classroom, he snickered.
“Try not to let her rub off on you. I hear pancake face is contagious,” his friend whispered.
Either it was a mock whisper or I suddenly had super acute hearing. Great, I could add eavesdropping to my super powers.
And I used fixative. My makeup wasn’t going anywhere.
I mumbled something impolite and pushed through the door. Was I really half dragon? Was that what was going on? Was Beth trying to set me up for something? Could this be an elaborate hoax? A joke would explain why I’d never heard of anything like half-trolls.
Some joke.
But how did any potential pranksters make the fire? Either I hallucinated, or I spit actual fire onto an actual guy who didn’t mind having his hair burned off.
Had my aunt really been hiding something this big for my entire life? And what about my mom? Did she know? How could she miss sleeping with a dragon? Or would you? Maybe he
looked as human as I do?
Wait. Would this mean Aunt Aggy was a dragon too? She looked totally human, but I guessed it wasn’t impossible.
I couldn’t think without food in my stomach.
I made my way to the lunchroom with the rest of the stragglers. The constant flow of people in and out kept the doors open, and I slipped inside between a girl balancing her nachos on top of a giant Snapple and a jock. I scanned the room, but already the line stretched to the back wall.
Vending machine lunch for me.
Slipping through the crowd, I made my way to the two machines stacked against the side wall: one for snacks, the other for soda. I got in line for candy and studied the selection. As the week wore on, the choices dwindled away. Today was Thursday; the selection was pathetic. No chips, no pop tarts, no donuts. But my birthday luck finally kicked in: one package of Skittles left. I could manage English if I could have a taste of the rainbow first.
Sticking my dollar into the machine, I waited. It spit out my dollar. I fed it into the slot again. The machine protested and sent the dollar out. I rubbed the bill on the metal edge of the machine and tried not to listen to the fidgeting behind me. The world is completely unfair–I could spit fire, but the freaking vending machine wouldn’t take my dollar.
“Here, I have an extra.” Steve June held a dollar out to me. His wavy black hair smelled like hickory and moss, reminding me of the forests in the northeast. My heart almost hit my ribcage.
I nodded, too afraid I’d squeak if I said something.
He handed me the dollar bill, and I handed him mine. I practically touched him! I fed the money into the slot and dialed the number for Skittles.
“What’s taking so long?” Jed’s whiny tone rose above the dull roar of the cafeteria.
“She eats so many Skittles, she has rainbows for brains.” Ed Harris laughed, and some of the other guys in line laughed with him.
My face burned. I didn’t know what it was about Ed, but he hated me. My mom said it was a sign he liked me. Sometimes my mom was thick in the head.
Steve hit Ed with a lazy back handed slap. “Shut up.”