by Carrie Jones
“Star of the school?” Devyn asks. He takes a swig of Gatorade.
“All the girls.” Nick gestures to the girls giggling behind them. “They like miracles. It’s sexy. Remember how much play Jay Dahlberg got when he came back from being abducted?” He does not add by pixies because he does not have to.
“Really?” Devyn does this cheesy and really fake eyebrow wiggle thing so he looks like some sleezy porn dog.
Issie makes a gasping squeal noise and drops her water bottle. The cap wasn’t on and it splurts everywhere, all over the table and our plates. “Oops! Oops! Sorry.”
She tries to wipe up the wetness with her sleeve. Nick gives her napkins while I jump up and grab some more. Water’s dripping off the table onto the floor.
“I am such a klutz,” Is says, frantically dabbing at things. “I am so sorry . . .”
Devyn grabs her hand in his. “Issie, sweetheart, it’s okay.”
She freezes. Their eyes meet. Their hands are still touching. She whispers the word, “Sweetheart?”
It’s like all the air and all the noise has gushed out of the cafeteria. Nick and I and everyone else are just silent witnesses to the movie that is Devyn and Issie.
Nick starts smiling super big and I know that I am probably smiling the same way. Issie’s mouth, however, has dropped into a stunned O. Devyn lets go of her hand and reaches over and closes her mouth by gently touching the bottom of her chin.
“Kiss her!” Callie yells. “Kiss her!”
A couple people start chanting it.
“Kiss her! Kiss her! Kiss her! Kiss her!”
Issie’s face turns bright red. She squeals for real and stands up. She flies out of the cafeteria so fast that for a second I think she must be the one with the pixie blood.
Devyn’s face, unlike Issie’s, drains completely of color. People start murmuring and sighing, obviously disappointed. Nick grabs the disgusting clump of soggy napkins off the table and says, “You’ve got to do it, man. She’s totally in love with you.”
Devyn shakes his head. His eyes are hard. “I can’t.”
It takes me a second to respond. “You better not like Cassidy, Devyn, because I swear I will kill you.”
“Cassidy?” His voice is numb.
“Dude. Everyone’s talking about it,” Nick says.
“I don’t like Cassidy,” he says.
“Then stop flirting with her.” I stand up.
“Flirt?” Devyn looks at Nick, probably for help.
“Yeah. Flirt. You’re always with her. She’s giving you rides to school. You’re always talking about her and messaging her,” I protest.
“I don’t have the vaguest idea how to flirt. I’m a nerd. We have no social skills.”
I can’t believe him. “Well, you are flirting up a freaking storm, Devyn.”
“Zara, take it down a notch,” Nick says. “You sound jealous.”
“Do not tell me to take it down a notch,” I say, and we glare at each other. “You can be so patronizing sometimes.”
He looks away first.
“I’m just trying to figure Cassidy out.” Devyn wipes at his hair, ignoring us.
“Why? Why is she so fascinating? She’s always itching,” I ask. “And you have Issie. She is right here and she loves you. You know she loves you. I’m going to check on Issie,” I announce. I point at Devyn. “You better stop being an idiot and kiss her soon, or at least tell her you love her or I swear, Devyn, I will be the one who breaks your back and shoots you with an arrow next time.”
“Cassidy needs me—,” he starts to say.
I stomp out of there but not before I hear Nick cracking up and Devyn saying in this high confused voice, “I thought she was a pacifist?”
“Not when it comes to her friends. So do you like this Cassidy girl or not?” Nick says, and that’s all I hear because I’m too busy slamming out the cafeteria door.
I find Issie in the bathroom that’s in the hall off of the cafeteria. There are these big sniffing noises coming from behind the bathroom stall that has the words 2KOOL4SKOOL scratched on it and then traced in what looks like black Sharpie pen. That has to be the most ridiculous graffiti ever.
I pull in a big breath and knock on the stall door.
“Is?”
She sniffs.
“Issie?”
After a second her voice comes out small and tired. “I’m not here.”
“Oh.” I back up so I can stare at the bathroom door. No feet. “Then I should probably freak out because the toilet is talking back to me, huh? A little too many pain meds for Zara today.”
“No . . .” Her voice sulks out from the cracks between the door and the metal frame. Her feet pound down on the floor. Her shiny red shoes flop on the edges, the soles face each other.
“Were you standing on the toilet?” I ask.
She opens the door slowly exposing a very sad, very blotchy Issie-has-been-crying face.
I grab her with my arm and sort of hug her sideways. “Oh sweetie.”
“He wouldn’t kiss me,” she sobs.
“Issie!” I keep my hand on her shoulder but step away so I can peer into her teary face. “Do you want your first kiss to be in the high school cafeteria with a hundred horny masticating peers watching and cheering you on?”
“Masticating?”
“It means chewing.”
She rubs at her nose with the back of her fingers. “I just want—I actually want to have a first kiss, you know?”
I nod fiercely, remembering how it felt back in our pre-kiss days. Nick wasn’t even my first kiss, though. Poor Is. “I know.”
“And I guess I don’t care if there is an audience because it would mean he actually likes me and he thinks I’m kissable.” She peers up at me. Her nose is running. Her eyes are red. “Am I not kissable? I’m not kissable, am I? Is Cassidy more kissable than me?”
“Issie, you are totally kissable. If I were a guy or gay or bi or something I would absolutely kiss you.”
She sniffs in. “Really?”
“I swear.” I get a brown paper towel and fold it a couple times so it’s a square and then hold it under some cold water. I use it to dab at Issie’s blotchy face.
For a second she’s calm and then she goes, “Then why doesn’t he like me?”
“Issie!” I resist the urge to shake her. “You don’t know he doesn’t.”
“He doesn’t.” She stumbles away toward the mirrors. “Oh, man . . . look at me. I’m a mess. Look at my lips!” She pokes at them. “They are too thin! They hardly even count as lips. Cassidy has much better lips, and he doesn’t like me, Zara. Do you remember when you called me right before the accident?”
I remember. She’d sounded like she was crying. I never even asked her about that. Wow, what is wrong with me? How can I be such an awful friend?
“I was crying,” she continues, sniffing, “because I just told Devyn that I liked him, liked him and you know what he said?” She doesn’t give me a chance to answer. “He said that he ‘didn’t currently know what to do with that information.’ I’d finally told him that I liked him and he just totally blew me off like I was nothing.”
I try to take it in. I can’t understand it. “Did he tell you why?”
“No. Because you called and I—I—we just haven’t talked about it again.”
“That makes no sense. He is probably being macho or valiant or ultra-nerdy or something.” I grab another paper towel and wipe at her cheeks, trying to get all the wet tears off. “He called you ‘sweetheart,’ Issie. No guy calls a girl sweetheart unless he likes her.”
After much convincing I finally get Is to head back to the table. The entire walk into the cafeteria she refuses to look up and just sort of slides into her seat.
“Hey.” Her voice is barely recognizable, it is so low and whisper soft.
“Hey,” Dev says back in an equally quiet voice.
“So . . .” Nick searches for something to say. “Do you think all high
school cafeterias serve bagels?”
“Why, yes,” I banter in a forced good mood that’s totally fake. “I think they must because not only are they carbs and therefore qualify as food, they come out of plastic freezer bags and when not defrosted can pass as lethal weapons.”
“I’ll have to remember that next time,” Nick says. “Instead of tying a pixie up to a tree when I don’t have time to bring him back to the house, I can just knock him unconscious for hours with the power of a frozen everything bagel.”
“Yes, you should,” I counter. “Instead of continuing our lessons with crossbows and swords and knives you should switch to bagels and L. L. Bean boots.”
We both give each other desperate eyes. Issie and Devyn just appear miserable. The blond pixie guy randomly pops into my head, and I remember how he held me when Yoko exploded. I push the thought away with a curse.
After just a couple of minutes of horrible forced conversation, Nick and Dev go into “we are males, we protect our females” mode, and I mean, it’s outdated and macho, but there is something a tiny bit cute about how they hunker down, elbows on the table, backs curled over, hands turning to fists, turning to pointed fingers as they anger out their concerns and worries.
Devyn says, “I checked the house this morning. There was nothing. No dust anywhere.”
“There’s been no sign of any new pixies either,” Nick says.
“Maybe they’ve stopped coming,” I say.
“Or maybe they’re getting smarter.” Nick cracks a knuckle.
I pick a raisin out of my bagel. “Well, it could actually be a good thing.”
“You can’t keep lying to yourself that you’re safe,” Nick says. “It’s not good for you, baby. You almost died last week.”
“No, I didn’t. I just got hurt—not fatally hurt,” I counter. “And what about you? You’re always out there hunting alone. That’s not safe either.”
Issie kicks me under the table. I get up.
“It’s okay, Zara,” Issie says, trying to soothe me. She puts her hands on top of the ugly cafeteria table. Her fingers splay out, white and delicate. I stare at them for a second, pale against the mauve tabletop, hanging out there by the paper plates holding half-eaten bagels, the plastic knives, the water bottle, empty cream cheese containers. I stare and I stare and I stare and I get this weird feeling, almost spider-legs-like when pixies are near, but something else too, something more, something different. My legs wobble.
“I feel—I feel—ah—” I can’t get the words out.
Someone grabs me by the waist and pulls me back into a sitting position. Big hands. Steady hands. Nick hands. “Zara? What? What is it, baby?”
“Some . . . uh . . . some . . . thing . . . ,” I manage. “Spidery. I have a spidery feeling.”
I lift my head up, stare out of the big window that shows a field, the edge of forest. It’s the same window through which I once saw my pixie father stand and point at me, back before I knew he was my father. The world sways. There’s nothing there now.
I’m sitting sideways on the chair and Nick’s squatting on the floor in front of me. His hands are on my knees and he looks into my eyes. It’s his worried face, soft and caring. Then he shifts into commander mode. “Devyn,” he barks. “You smell anything?”
Devyn breathes in deeply. “No. There’s too many smells in here. I can’t isolate them.”
A low growl comes out of Nick’s throat. “Me either.”
He stands up and surveys the cafeteria. His body shudders. His hand catches mine. “I don’t see him.”
“Nick?”
His body shudders again. People are noticing, staring.
“Oh crap,” Devyn says, totally out of character. “He’s turning.”
I stand up, haul Nick toward the bathroom, fast-walking through the cafeteria. “Do. Not. Turn,” I insist. “You cannot turn here. Nobody is in danger. Do. Not. Turn.”
Issie flies out of her chair and Devyn starts after us but I’m so fast he can’t keep up.
Once we get out of the cafeteria Nick stops, leans against the wall, and shudders. His voice is a plea that matches his eyes. “Zara . . .”
I put my hands on either side of his face. “You aren’t going to turn. It’s okay. Everyone is safe. No pixies. Look at me. Nod, sweetie. Listen: I. Am. Safe.”
Issie and Devyn catch up to us. Nick is still shuddering like he’s freezing cold, trying to control himself. I keep my hands on his face and say, “I think he’s got it under control.”
Some freshman carrying a huge pink Lillian Vernon shoulder bag walks by and stares. “He okay? You want me to get the nurse?”
Issie reassures the sweet freshman that all is okay and sort of steers her away while Devyn and I try to get Nick calm.
“That just doesn’t happen,” Devyn says. “There’s got to be a reason.”
“He changes when people are in danger,” I state the obvious. “Someone was in danger. That’s the reason.”
“Right, but what’s the danger?” Devyn asks.
Nick swallows hard and moves his lips. It looks hard. It looks like he’s dying of thirst, but he says, “That blond pixie. He was here. He was in the cafeteria. I know it.”
“But you didn’t see him,” Issie insists.
Nick’s hands reach up to touch mine. He looks at me, not Issie, and says, “I don’t have to see him. I just know.”
Pixie Tip
Pixies are like cats. They are not named Muffin or Mr. Cocoa Puffs, but they like to scare their prey before they kill. They think it’s fun.
We decide that we need to leave school and regroup, plan what to do next. Things aren’t right. We know that. There haven’t been any new pixies scouting out the area after a steady stream for weeks. Plus, if the blond pixie was in the cafeteria, that’s upped the stakes a bit.
I stare at the inside of my locker for a second and announce, “Patrolling isn’t good enough anymore. We’ve got to figure out what’s going on with the Valkyrie thing, and maybe hunt down the pixie king before he hunts us down.”
“None of it makes sense.” Devyn pulls out his coat from his locker.
“Hey. Where you guys going?” Cassidy asks. She appears out of thin air, I swear. Cassidy half smiles and then she eyes me. Her pupils get a little bigger. Her skirt hem touches my jeans because she’s so close. “Zara? Are you okay?”
I nod vigorously, the way I always do when I lie. “Yeah. Why?”
My fingers yank up the zipper of my coat. I realize they are shaking. The bell rings, but still Cassidy stands there. “Because it almost looks like you’re turning blue.”
“What?” My question echoes in the hall. Nick, Is, and Dev all stare at me. Their faces are paler than normal. Nick’s mouth is a hard, straight line. He yanks me away from Cassidy and starts pulling me down the hall in a hardcore power walk.
“What? What?” I keep saying it, but nobody’s answering.
Devyn goes, “Yeah, Nick’s taking her to the nurse. No fears, Cassidy. No fears. Yep. Call you later.”
Nick’s hauling me down the hall and I say, “Hold on. What’s going on?”
He chews on his lip. Then he reaches out and pulls up my coat sleeve and my shirt sleeve underneath it, exposing my naked arm.
“Don’t let her faint!” Issie yells.
“I’m not going to faint.” My voice is flat as I stare at my skin. It’s like all my veins are suddenly visible just beneath the surface layer of skin. And all those veins carry a blood that’s light, light blue, tinting all of my skin shades of sky.
“It’s beautiful,” Issie, who has caught up to us, whispers.
“It’s weird.” I yank my shirt down. “Is it happening to my face, too?”
Nick nods. His eyes are shaded. I can’t read them.
“Oh wow, I look—I look—” I can’t get the words out. My body slumps to the ground, my back pressing against the too-hot monster radiators that line the wall beneath the windows.
“You loo
k fine,” Issie soothes. She squats down next to me and rubs my shoulder that’s not touching the radiator. “You’re still pretty. Really.”
“Pretty isn’t what I’m worried about: I don’t look human.” I shake my head as her hand moves in tiny circles, like a mother’s hand. “I look like a pixie.”
We all stay there for a minute.
“Is it getting worse?” I ask.
Issie shakes her head, but Devyn is all about honesty over feelings and he says, “It was. The progression seems to have stopped. And it’s only your skin, not your eyes and teeth.”
“Progression?” I hide my head in my hands. Somebody gentles against me, lifts me up, but I won’t look.
“Come on,” says Nick’s gruff voice. “Let’s get to the office, get a pass, and get out of here.”
Our school secretary, Mrs. Nix, is one of my grandmother’s friends. She is roundish with thinning hair and this massive, happy smile. She is the old-fashioned kind of school secretary who bakes cookies and brings them in on a big printed plate and leaves them on the counter for kids to take. She has thick ankles and wears embossed sweatshirts with pictures of white puffy kittens. She wears sensible flats and puts rubber things over them for when she walks across the parking lot to her Chevy sedan.
She is also a shifter, specifically a bear. There is nothing bear-like about her now, though. She squeals and steps backward when she sees my face. Nick’s arm moves protectively around my shoulder and she steps forward. One step. Another. She makes it around the big counter and reaches out her hand. Her fingertips gently touch my arm.
“Oh, Zara, honey,” she whispers. “What’s happened to you?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know.”
I sort of slump forward and Nick lets go of me so Mrs. Nix can gather me into a big hug. She smells like roses.
“You come sit down over here.” She hustles me into a plastic yellow chair. “Nick, get the cookies.”
Nick half smiles as he gets the cookie plate. He passes them around.
I chew. “It’s really good. Um, am I still blue?”
“Not quite so bad,” Mrs. Nix says. “Nick, be a love and go get my pocketbook.”