Not a Unicorn
Page 15
Faster. Faster. Faster.
It’s Friday morning, the day of the dance, and I’m in the locker room dressing down for PE with Mystic.
I woke up with a fierce headache and my heart was aching even worse. But that’s not all. Something inside me wasn’t right. Isn’t right. Or maybe not just inside me, but everywhere. I don’t know if it’s about Carmen, or the thing that happened on the stairs with Emma, but whatever it is, it feels wrong.
As if she can feel what’s going on inside me, Mystic asks, “How’s your head?”
“It’s okay,” I say, shrugging.
“Any new Highwaymen stuff going on?”
“No.” I knock on my skull. “All clear in there,” I say, even though that’s not true. It’s like something is pushing on me from the inside. I’m trying to pretend it’s not there, but it is.
Taking a breath, I calm myself down. Just be cool, okay, I say to whatever’s going on. Be cool until Sunday.
“You okay?” Mystic asks me.
“Sure,” I say, and close my locker door.
As we head up the stairs to the gym, late as usual, Mystic pinches my elbow. “Oh, and guess what? I convinced Nicholas to come to the dance with me.”
My mouth falls open. “No!”
“Yep.”
“Wait, is Ethan going, too?”
“Who cares?” she says. “JK. I hope so.”
“Way to be bold, Myst,” I tell her, and I mean it.
In the gym, the whole class is already assembled on the bleachers. We slip in and sit in the front row. Everything looks amazing, even in regular light, all decorated for tonight.
Coach T. eyes the gym like it’s a pal that’s betrayed him. “Because of all this,” he says, gesturing toward my very own mermaid and merman cutouts, “the gym is unsuitable for our purposes today. So we’re heading to the track, people.”
There are groans, and someone calls out, “Coach!” from the stands. It’s Emma, holding up her hand, trying to get his attention.
“Oh, yes, I almost forgot,” Coach T. says, wearily. “It’s come to my attention that an item has disappeared from the locker room. Again.”
“It’s my necklace.” Emma says, her voice crisp. “And it didn’t disappear. It was stolen.”
As the chatter rises, Coach T. holds up his hands. “Quiet!” he yells. “Okay, as you just heard, it’s Ms. Winslow’s necklace that’s missing now. Ms. Chambers had a similar experience with a bracelet a while back. Which showed up. Correct?” Brooklyn gives him a shallow nod. “So. Maybe this necklace will show up, too. People, if this keeps happening, don’t make me have to send in Mrs. Whatley to stand guard while you change.”
I turn to Mystic, who looks like she’s struggling not to seem concerned.
“Now let’s hit the track,” Coach T. says, blowing his whistle.
As people peel off the bleachers, Emma shouts, “That’s it, Coach?”
He gives her an unenthusiastic thumbs-up and says, “Time to run.”
Emma rolls her eyes as she and Brooklyn head down the bleachers. When they get to us, Emma looks at me for a beat too long before moving past.
I stand up, but Mystic pulls me back. “What did that mean?”
“I don’t know.”
“Crap, does she think I stole her necklace?” she whispers.
“I don’t know,” I say again, trying to figure it out. Was Emma’s look accusing or regular? It’s been so long since she might have overheard us in the locker room, and she’s never said a single word about it. But if so, could she be thinking that a bracelet thief could also be a necklace thief?
“What are you thinking?” Mystic asks, the wheels in her mind clearly turning alongside mine.
“Nothing,” I lie, rubbing my temple, trying to calm my aching head.
“You’re thinking what I’m thinking.” Mystic gestures toward the stairs where Emma’s gone. “Go find out.”
“You want me to ask her?”
“I mean, she’s your friend again, right?” Mystic says, bristly. “Might as well make use of it.”
“You don’t have to say it like that. I’m just helping out with the dance committee.”
“If that’s what you call it.”
I sigh. “Come on, Myst.”
Her eyes are sincere even if her tone is blustery. “Please.”
“Okay, yeah,” I say, acquiescing. “Of course I’ll go.”
I hurry across the gym, past Coach T. and down the stairs with the rest of the class, probably surprising him by actually running for once. By the time I catch up with Brooklyn and Emma, we’re coming out of the double doors into the gloomy day.
“Hey,” I say, pulling up beside them.
“Hey, J. You ready for tonight?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never been to a dance before.”
Brooklyn giggles, and I look over at her. “What’s so funny?”
“I’ve never been to a dance either.”
“You haven’t?” It’s hard to believe Brooklyn, of all people, is new to this just like me.
“Brook’s parents are weird about stuff like that,” Emma says.
“They wouldn’t let me go to a dance until I’m a teenager, and since I just turned thirteen—” Emma and Brooklyn high-five. “It’s dance time!”
“Who are you going with?” I ask.
“Oh, nobody,” Brooklyn says. “Are you kidding? I still have the same parents. I can’t go on a date yet. I’m just going.”
“Can you believe that?” Emma says, shaking her head.
As we step onto the track, I clear my throat and ask as casually as possible, “Hey, so when did you lose your necklace, Emma?”
“I didn’t lose it. It was stolen. Yesterday.”
“How do you know it was stolen?”
“Come on, J.” Her eyes meet mine. Knowingly? “And I was going to wear it to the dance tonight.”
“Maybe Coach is right. It might show up.”
“You mean like Brooklyn’s bracelet?” Emma asks pointedly. “It’s just weird how stuff gets taken from that locker room. Huh. Do you have any idea who might want to steal jewelry?”
I start to answer, but quickly stop myself as a thought burrows in that wasn’t there a second before. Could it be possible that Mystic did steal Emma’s necklace? I mean, she promised me she wouldn’t steal again, but I know she’s not thrilled about me being friends with Emma. Could she be jealous enough to have done this?
“J?”
“No, of course not. I have no idea who would take your necklace.”
“Okay,” Emma says. “Whatever you say.”
I continue walking with them, because I don’t want to seem like I’m reporting back to Mystic. When I look over to see her, walking by herself on the other side of the track, though, I feel bad. But for the first time today, my headache is almost gone. I can finally breathe.
It sounds mean, but for a few minutes, I pretend that Mystic’s not there. Because truthfully, it’s fun talking with Emma and Brooklyn. I like joking and laughing about the dance. And the way people look at us when we pass makes me feel like I belong here.
In the cafeteria, while in line to get a sandwich to take to Monsieur Oliver’s room, I see Mystic sitting at our regular table with Nicholas. I need to go talk to her about the necklace.
By the time I got back to the locker room with Emma and Brooklyn, she’d already gone. The thing is . . . I really don’t want to confront her about this. So I’m kind of happy to head to French for our second essay practice. My essay is mostly rewritten, but Monsieur Oliver and Brooklyn offered some suggestions for changes that I’m going to practice with them today. Brooklyn was there yesterday and was actually helpful, teaching me how to stand and look confident onstage.
“Hi.”
Noah gets in line behind me.
“Hey,” I say back.
“I hear you’re on the dance committee.”
“Yeah. You have me to thank for all those mermaids haun
ting the halls.”
“Cool,” he says, and looks down.
“Are you going?” I blurt out, and he looks up.
“Ethan wants to go so, yeah, I think we’re going.”
“Well, I’ll see you there, then, I guess. I’m working the refreshment table.”
“I love refreshments,” he says, and grins.
Um, what is happening? I add this to my list of confusing things. A boy who should be afraid of me just made a dorky joke with me.
As I’m heading out of the cafeteria, I give Mystic and Nicholas a quick wave, but of course she leaps up.
“Where have you been?” Mystic asks.
“I’ve got to go to Monsieur Oliver’s class.”
“But what happened?” she whispers, pulling me over to sit beside her. Nicholas is across from us drawing a gorgon, with dragon heads dangling from long scaly necks instead of snakes for hair.
Without looking up, he says, “Don’t mind me. I’m not listening.”
Mystic seems to believe him, or she doesn’t care. She looks at me urgently. “What did she say?”
“Nothing.”
“Really?”
“She asked me if I knew anything about it, and I said I didn’t. Case closed.”
Mystic takes a breath. “Okay. I just don’t want any trouble.” She glances at Emma in the lunch line.
I hesitate, because I don’t want to say this but I have to ask. Leaning toward her, I whisper, “Is there a reason why there would be trouble?”
Mystic’s eyes flick immediately down, and something about the way she looks back up at me tells me everything I need to know.
Oh, Mystic.
“What do you mean?” she asks.
I could get into it. I could make her give Emma back the necklace before the dance. Or . . . maybe this can wait until Sunday, too.
“Nothing,” I say, shaking my head, feeling like I’m not sure who she is anymore. “Never mind.” Mystic looks at me quizzically though so I pretend to brighten. “Oh, I almost forgot to tell you. Ethan’s coming to the dance!”
Mystic’s eyes dart to the nerd table. “How do you know?”
“Noah just told me. So, yay!” I say, holding up my fists in celebration.
“Yay,” Nicholas mimics from across the table.
“I knew you were listening,” I say.
He sighs at Mystic. “So I guess there’s no way I’m getting out of this.”
“Just call us a regular dance committee.” Mystic grins. “We’re all going to this thing!”
“I can’t wait,” Nicholas deadpans, then goes back to his gorgon.
I run through my essay in front of Monsieur Oliver and Brooklyn about five times. Monsieur Oliver sits behind his desk while Brooklyn is planted in a chair in the front row.
“You feeling ready?” Monsieur Oliver asks me when we’re done.
“I think so,” I say. Honestly, I know that this essay isn’t as good as my original one. It’s missing something. But Monsieur Oliver and Brooklyn insist it’s ready.
“You’re doing really great,” Brooklyn says, and I feel like she means it.
I may not be as good as her in front of people, but I do feel more confident than before. Maybe I can do this. I’ve been wondering something, though. “Do you think people will think I’m making it up?” I ask them.
Brooklyn looks surprised for a second, then starts laughing.
I’m smiling, too, but my question is serious. “I mean, my essay is about being a girl who used to have a horn. Who’s going to believe I actually had a horn on my head? It’s kind of unusual.”
Monsieur Oliver grins. “C’est rare, sans doute.”
“They might have heard about you,” Brooklyn adds. “Not in a bad way. It’s just there aren’t, I mean, there weren’t many people like you.”
I feel a pang in my forehead and it makes me think of Carmen. Brooklyn has no idea the scope of who I really am.
“Don’t look so worried,” says Monsieur Oliver. “It will be okay. All you have to do is speak your truth.”
If he only knew how complicated my truth is right now—Emma being my friend again, Mystic stealing her necklace, and Carmen being gone for so long.
“We’ll be there to support you,” Monsieur Oliver says. “I’m driving us in the wrestling van.”
“The wrestling van?” Brooklyn says, scrunching her nose. “Doesn’t that stink?”
“We’ll find out together,” he says, winking. “So don’t have too much fun ce soir, girls. We’ve got a big afternoon ahead of us. We’ll pull out tomorrow at noon sharp.”
The rest of the day speeds by like someone’s chasing it. French class, science class. I try to avoid the image of Mystic’s face when I asked her about the necklace, and instead focus on the night ahead. My first dance ever. And the French competition tomorrow. Another first.
My headache’s back though. And that unsettled feeling I woke up with has shadowed me through the day. Maybe it’s because I’m aware of it now, but I swear it’s getting worse. Could it just be nerves?
I’m at my locker at the end of the day when it all starts again. Without any warning, everything goes bonkers ballistic, and my forehead feels like fire. The unspooling black reappears like night has fallen in one instant, and swoops me up like I’m prey. Clutching the metal door, I lean into my locker, and . . .
I’m flying.
Tearing away on horseback.
Arms wrapped around a waist.
A blue shirt and a charcoal hat.
Beaumont’s shirt. Beaumont’s hat.
Hooves beating like a drum.
Esmeralda galloping beside.
Faster. Faster. Faster.
Tears blowing across my temples.
“Should I be scared?” I ask her.
“You should always be scared,” she says.
I blink sharply as the light from the hallway reenters my eyes. Nicholas is standing beside me, looking concerned. “Are you okay?” he asks.
I shake my head, bringing myself back, and mumble, “Yeah.”
“You sure? You made a weird sound.”
“No. I was just talking to myself. Nothing to see here.”
Nicholas looks at me oddly, and why shouldn’t he? That was probably the weirdest thing yet, different than before. It was quick—flashes, coming so fast and so real. I wipe the side of my face and feel real tears there. I can’t not notice that my hands are shaking.
“I’ve, um, got to catch the bus. See you tonight,” I say, and take off without looking back.
The Dance
“Oh my gosh,” Mom exclaims, clapping her hands together in uncharacteristic delight. I just walked out of my bedroom in Emma’s blue dress.
“You look beautiful, Jewel,” Grandma says.
“Hold on,” Mom says and runs to her bedroom.
If I were a normal girl, I’d be out of my mind excited right now. But after what happened at my locker, I’m seriously on edge. I mean, none of this is normal.
“Hey, it’s your big night,” Grandma says. “You should be smiling.”
I plaster a fake smile on my face and say, “This better?”
Grandma’s not dumb. She knows something’s up. But before she digs deeper, Mom rushes back in holding a little handbag. “Here, here. You need something to put your things in.”
I take the bag, a little silver thing with a metal strap. “Like what things?”
“Mints, gum, money.”
“Do I have any of those things?” I ask her.
Mom grins. “I guess not.” Then she looks at my feet. “What’s happening down there?”
I pull up the dress, revealing my green sneakers with the pink laces.
She and Grandma actually gasp. “You can’t wear those!”
“Why not? Nobody’s going to see them. And I need to be comfortable. I’m working the refreshment table.”
“We should have thought about that,” Grandma says, as they both stare at my shoes.
“There’s no way I’m wearing heels,” I tell them.
“As long as they don’t show,” Mom concedes, and grabs her phone. “Let’s take a picture.”
Of course, it’s not just one picture; it’s like twenty—of Mom and me, of Grandma and me, and then of me by myself. “Can we be done?” I finally ask.
Mom comes over and hugs me. When she pulls away, she wipes her face.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
Grandma puts her arm around her. “It’ll be okay, Angie. They grow up on you. Nothing you can do about it.”
“Okay,” says Mom, sniffing. “It’s your first dance. Have fun. You only have one eighth-grade dance.”
“I will. I promise.”
Mom wraps her sweater around herself tightly as she walks outside with me. We stand on the stairs waiting for Emma and her mom to come out.
“Things are changing so fast for you,” she says, shaking her head. “I hope you know you can talk to me about anything.”
Okay, I’ll bite. “Do you ever feel like you’re seeing something but it’s far away from where you actually are?” I ask cautiously.
“Kind of like a daydream, you mean?”
“Kind of. But bigger.”
“I don’t know,” she says. “Maybe?” We look at each other, a question in her eyes. “What is it, honey?”
I know she means I should come to her about boys, and friends, and competitions. Not about wacko haywire visions and missing guardian unicorns. Still, maybe I should tell her. Because what’s happening to me can’t possibly be okay.
But I want to go to the dance. I want to be in the essay competition. If I tell Mom now, she’ll call Dr. Stein, and then what? Will he make me go to the hospital? Will they cart me off to the loony bin? Once grown-ups know about this, things are bound to change. And not in a good way.