by Rena Rocford
Beneath it all, he smelled like his son–of moss and forests.
And he was choking my best friend.
A knot in my stomach unraveled, and I bent my knees to gather my strength. In one step, I threw my elbow into his armpit and he cried out. He released Beth with one arm, and I brought my doubled-handed fist down into the soft spot of his shoulder. He crumpled under my blow.
Beth fell backwards, gasping.
Feet pounded the pavement, running toward us, but I didn’t care. Let them see me fight. What did it matter if I got expelled? I’d be moving in a month.
I took two steps, rounding between Steve’s dad and Beth. If he wanted to attack her, he’d have to get through me.
“You!” He pointed at me, and his eyes widened. Crazy eyes. The eyes of a man who had lost everything. “You did this. What have you done with my son?”
“I haven’t touched Steve.” I spoke calmly, but my mind raced.
“Liar!” He launched himself at me, and I blocked his attack. He grabbed my backpack, pulling me to the ground. A foot caught me in the back of my knee, and I fell forward. He threw all his weight into the blow and my head whipped to the pavement. I turned my face to spare my nose, but my cheek slammed into the rocks next to the sidewalk. From the ground, my hand found his arm, and I twisted, hard. He screamed, and I levered myself off the ground. His bones ground and popped in my grasp. If I pressed harder, I could break them.
He swung with his free hand, and I ducked. I swept out my leg, catching both of his, and spun him in the air. As he fell, I caught his free arm behind his back, keeping him from hitting the cement. He writhed in my hands, but he couldn’t break my grip. I squeezed my hands around his wrists.
Teachers erupted from the crowd, surrounding us. Someone took his hands from mine, and someone else pulled me off him.
“Miss Takata!” Principal Hawthorne yelled.
Mrs. Gunderson shook her head, standing between the Principal and me. “Mr. June attacked her.”
The other teachers pulled Mr. June off the ground, holding his hands behind his back. He struggled, wildly tearing away from the other adults. He searched the area, and his eyes locked onto me once more. “You!”
I stepped forward, fists clenched. Mrs. Gunderson grabbed my shoulder, pulling me back.
He struggled against the others, but when he couldn’t break free, he spit at me. It nailed my jeans.
Actual spit.
I pulled against the hands holding me back. “What the hell is wrong with you? I haven’t done anything!”
As I tried to step forward, more people moved to hold me back. My whole body shuddered with the need to wring his neck.
“There will be nothing left of you!” Mr. June screamed. “When I’m finished, they will only talk about how your hide made good tack!”
I surged forward, but Beth’s hand crushed my shoulder. Adults filled all the spaces between us, blocking my view of Steve’s dad.
“Come with me, ladies.” Principal Hawthorne beckoned with a wave of her hand.
I picked my backpack out of the dust. Beth shook, but with rage or fear, I couldn’t tell. I followed along, demurely, Beth beside me, until I reached up to wipe at an itch on my face. My hand came away bloodied.
“Shit.”
“Miss Takata, please!” Mrs. Hawthorne widened her eyes at me.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Hawthorne, but I’m bleeding.”
Her eyebrows pinched together in concern, my previous transgression forgotten. “Is it bad?”
Beth took a peek at my face. “Just a scratch.”
“Still, I’ll call the nurse when we reach my office. I want to keep an eye on you two until the police arrive.”
By some unspoken agreement, Beth and I lagged behind.
“Can he do anything to you?” I whispered.
“He sort of runs my trust fund.” Her voice shook when she answered.
Well, wasn’t that just swell? He had control over her life, and he was a raving lunatic. Make that a raving monohorn lunatic. Today was off to a great start.
When we reached the front office, Mrs. Hawthorne pulled the first aid kit off the wall on her way to her office.
Beth took the kit from her. It looked like an artifact, something from the 70s, but Mrs. Hawthorne pulled out some sterile wipes and passed them across the table. Without saying anything, Beth took them and turned me toward her.
“Please put some gloves on, Miss Whitlocke.”
Beth rolled her eyes but put on the latex gloves that came with the kit. Her face set in a business mask, she daubed at the mess, and a few blood-soaked wipes fell into the trash. Beth reached up to daub again, and paused. The muscle in her jaw jumped. She looked into my eyes as if willing me to read her mind.
“That ought to do it, do you have some medical tape in there?” she asked. She held my gaze, but her stony face gave no hint of what was the matter.
My stomach did that awful flip-flop thing.
What’s wrong with my face?
Before I could panic, Beth taped a big wad of bandages to my left cheek. “You’ll probably want to keep that covered until you can have a good look at it.” Beth pitched one eyebrow up. “You know, like in a bathroom or somewhere with good lighting, and privacy.”
Oh, crap.
Mrs. Hawthorne scowled. “You should have that looked at by a professional.”
Beth gave a sharp shake of her head when Mrs. Hawthorne wasn’t looking.
“What’s going on? What happened to Steve?” I asked.
“He is missing.” She handed me a tissue. “If either of you ladies have any information, we’d greatly appreciate it if you would tell the police.”
I shifted from foot to foot, the tape on my face burning.
Those trolls were still out there somewhere. They hadn’t managed to catch Beth and me, but what if they got Steve?
But how to tell the police? Uhm, excuse me, but I think some trolls kidnapped my classmate.
It sounded nuts just thinking it.
“Well,” Mrs. Hawthorne said at last, “in light of the current situation, I can understand if you ladies wish to be excused from classes today. Shall I call your mother, Miss Takata?”
“Can’t I just walk home? I live right across the street.”
Mrs. Hawthorne favored me with a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry, but given the severity of this morning’s events, I cannot release you to anyone but your guardian.”
Translation: Here at Ellison High, we like to cover our asses when our students are attacked by raving, rich pains in our butts.
She picked up her phone and talked briefly with someone else. I guess the calling of parents didn’t actually fall under the cranky Principal job title. “Miss Whitlocke,” she said, “I presume things have not changed with your father?”
“That’s right,” Beth replied, a picture of perfect stoicism.
“If you ladies could, please wait at the front desk for things to settle out.” Mrs. Hawthorne held the door open and flashed a wan smile at us.
“I’ll wait with you,” Beth said.
“What, someone doesn’t have to show up for you?”
A half smile cracked her stony expression. “I’m an emancipated minor in certain regards. Rides home fall under the legal definition. I get to check myself out if I’m ill, etc. I can always call on–ahem–family friends, if I’m too sick to get home, but that has yet to happen. I’m pretty sturdy.”
I paused. “The whole bridge domicile issue?”
“You’re funny, Drake.”
The secretary picked up the phone. “Mrs. Takata?–Oh, I’m sorry, I just assumed.”
I could just see Mom’s blood pressure rising. She hated when people called her that.
“Yes, well, if you could come and pick her up… No ma’am, given the severity of the situation, we have to release her to a guardian.”
My mother’s voice blared through, none of it understandable from this distance.
The
secretary hung up the phone and smiled at me. “Poor dear, do you need an ice pack or something?” she asked.
“Oh, I’m fine except for the pain and the bleeding.”
She blinked.
Beth elbowed me in the gut, and for the record, getting elbowed by a half troll was not pleasant.
“Well, if there’s anything I can do to make you more comfortable, just let me know. Your mother will be here soon.” She smiled, and I wondered if somewhere, they bred happy people to work front desks like a puppy mill.
y mother burst through the orange office door, and scanned the room for her only brood. Her gaze scoured me from top to bottom, but when she looked back up to my face, she focused on the bandage. “What happened?”
I bristled. I came to the rescue. I should be some sort of hero, and everyone is just shy of throwing me in jail. “I don’t want to talk about it,” I said, grabbing my backpack off the floor. I pushed past her and headed for the door.
She peeled her gaze from me and turned to Beth. “Do you need a ride home, Beth?” my mother asked.
“No thanks, Ms. Brown.” Her voice was bright and cheery, but there was a tremor in it.
I turned back, and Beth put her thumb to her ear and pinky to her mouth. I nodded, and continued my headlong escape of the office.
We didn’t speak as we walked to the ancient Ford Ranger. Green paint had chipped off the hood, but it still ran. I climbed in the passenger side and slammed the door behind me.
“What happened?” Mom asked, once she was settled behind the wheel.
“It’s not a big deal.” She turned the key, and the engine fired up. She ruthlessly backed the pickup out of the parking spot and sped across the pavement to the light. As she drove, she narrowed her eyes at the road. “They said a man attacked you.”
“Yeah, Steve’s dad went nuts at Beth. I pulled him off. Do we have to talk about it?” I played with the door lock, pulling up the little plastic nub and stuffing it back into the door.
She blew through the red light, and the tires squealed as she took a left turn onto the road next to our apartment complex. “Yes, we have to talk about it when you get into fights at school.”
“It wasn’t a fight, okay? It was little more than self defense.”
“You listen to me, young lady. I will not have that sort of behavior from you.”
I snorted. “And what behavior is that? The kind that gets me in trouble at school, or the kind that inconveniences you from taking the dream job you really want? Scared I’ll screw up your promotion?”
She slammed the brakes as she turned into the apartment complex. “This has nothing to do with me. I’m only trying to look out for your best interests.”
“And you think moving every five months has been in my best interest? How the hell am I ever going to get into college like this? How am I supposed to get a job? All you ever do is run. Was Dad some sort of criminal? Did he scare you so much that you can’t live in one place longer than it takes the neighbors to learn your name and start asking questions?”
A muscle in her jaw jumped as she ground her teeth together. She parked the truck in front of the staircase to the apartment. I looked anywhere but at her, focusing on the faded MGB still parked in the same spot from yesterday. If Aunt Aggy’s car was here, where was Aunt Aggy, and why hadn’t she shown up last night?
My mom took a breath. Her hands were shaking, and she gripped the steering wheel. “Everything I have ever done has been for your protection,” she said.
“So, you’re trying to keep people from calling me bastard or something? Well, I don’t care. I don’t care what happened before you had me. I just want a normal life!”
She took a deep breath. “I have been the best mom I could be. I’m sorry it hasn’t been easy, but you’ll understand, someday. Maybe when you have children of your own.”
I pursed my lips, but only because rolling my eyes would pull the tape on my cheek. “No, I don’t understand, and I’ll never understand why a life with you–running!–could possibly be better than having a real father.” The words spilled out of my mouth. I held my breath, waiting for her to say something.
She took a long, slow breath. “I’m sorry you feel that way.”
I’d mentioned Dad and there were no fireworks. I might live through this.
She pursed her lips. “Now, I have to get back to work.” Her face set, jaw clenched and no hint of her real feelings. “You’re grounded until we can talk about this. Do you understand?”
“That’s completely unfair! I haven’t done anything.”
“I’m trying to talk to you but you’re making this impossible. I know what it’s like to be your age. I remember how hard the first–well, I just know, okay?”
“No, it’s not okay. You know nothing about me. You don’t know what it’s like growing up on the run, having a new school every four months.”
She sighed. “Is that what this is about?”
I said nothing. My mother was relieved my issues might be something so mundane. I nodded to confirm her reality. She focused on the dashboard, where the clock blinked, then cussed. “I’ve gotta go, but this isn’t over, young lady.”
“Fine.” I pushed the door open and slung my backpack over my shoulder. I slammed the door for good effect, but Mom had already hit the gas. I wanted to scream at her. I wanted to break things, but a deep burning swept through me, and I remembered the gout of fire in the mall. For the fiftieth time, I wondered if someone had a security video of that.
I stormed up the stairs, stomping, but who would notice? Who would notice if I just disappeared? My mom and my aunt? Oh, and Beth. So, yeah, three people in the whole freakin’ world. I’d called thousands of people my friend, and no one cared. I’d already blown out of every life I’d come into contact with, and in a month, I’d lose Beth too.
And what the hell was wrong with Steve’s dad?
I locked the door behind me and kicked off my shoes on the strip of linoleum. Dumping my bag with the shoes, I headed for the bathroom. Since I didn’t know what was actually wrong with my face, I fished out the first aid kit to have the supplies I’d need to rewrap whatever was wrong. At least the bandage had been over my worst zits.
The tape stuck to my skin, pulling out hair. I ripped it free and had to blink to hold back the tears. When I was sure I’d saved the world from a flood of worthless saline, I checked the mirror for the damage. My cheek had burst open over two of the three zits on my left cheek. Peeking out of the ruined flesh were two unmistakable scales.
“Oh crap! No, no, no, no!”
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
I punched the dial. “What?”
“How’s it going over there?”
“Beth, I thought you were my mom.”
“Are you having that much fun?” Despite the sarcasm, her voice cracked.
“I’m sorry, I’ve just, you know.” I pulled the phone to my other ear and whispered. “I have scales. What the hell?”
Beth chuckled. “What did you expect, hatchling?”
“This isn’t funny,” I hissed.
“Well, what did you think would happen? You spit fire, now you have scales. You’re half dragon, or at least part dragon. Enough for physical manifestation at least.”
I looked back in the mirror and touched the vibrant blue scale. Down the center of the scale, red pulsed to a darker purple. Was that my blood below the surface? “That’s great, but what the hell do I do now?”
“Come on, Allyson, you wear enough makeup to hide Lady Gaga under there. Just use more than usual.”
“Beth,” I said, trying not to sound like I was explaining to a small child, “the texture isn’t the same as my skin. It doesn’t matter how much makeup I use, it will just look like a flesh colored scale on my face.”
“Relax, we can go buy some Halloween makeup from Duke City Party Supply,” she said.
I nodded as if she could see me. “The one that’s in the mall where trolls chased us las
t night?”
“It’s only in the parking lot across the street; I doubt they’re canvassing the place like cops.”
“No, just like kidnappers.” Beth didn’t respond, so I went on. “Why do they call Albuquerque Duke City anyway?”
“The first Spaniard granted land here was a duke: the Duke of Albuquerque. It’s Spanish. They even spell it differently. We took a fieldtrip to the museum in fourth grade.”
“You remember stuff like that?”
“It’s not like I have friends, and the teachers are nicer to you if you get good grades. You’re changing the subject. Are we going to buy you some Halloween makeup, or what?”
“I can’t walk around with scales on my face.”
“Just put a Band-Aid on it and say you got in a fight–which you did–then make some joke about the other guy.” Beth at least sounded kind of normal.
“Fine. Meet you there in thirty minutes.”
“Wouldn’t dream of missing it.”
I pawed through the first aid kit and pulled out a Band-Aid the size of my palm, then stuck it over the scales. Why couldn’t I just slowly deteriorate into normal teenage angst and trauma? Wasn’t that enough for one person? Why did I have to be the overachiever at Freak High?
The Band-Aid packaging crumpled in my hand, and I tried to calm my breathing. I pulled the inhaler out of my pocket and considered taking a puff, but would it work on a building fire attack?
Forget it. If I spit fire, then maybe I needed to. What if my asthma has just been me holding back my fire all this time? Could I run track if I just spit fire before I jogged?
At the entryway, I paused to stuff my feet into my shoes. I mentally flipped off my mom as I flew out the door. Grounded? Yeah, how was she gonna check?
When I got to the store, the lights were off but the door was open. Rows of floor to ceiling party gags filled the store. No one stood at the register, but a camera watched from the black dome stuck to the ceiling. I waved before heading into the stacks of party merchandise.
They had every theme I’d ever dreamed of and a number I hadn’t. Weddings and baby showers took up the first three rows, and after that it was two rows of princesses, a row of pirates and finally, Halloween costumes.