Steffi put his hands up, at long last letting go of Fiorenze. “I didn’t say I don’t like it. I’m just not used to it. There’s no downtime. At my old school there were assemblies and pep days where you could goof off. There’s nothing like that here.”
“We’re goofing off now, aren’t we?” Sandra said.
“Um,” Steffi said, “this is lunch.”
“So NA Sports is stricter,” Rochelle said, in case Sandra was starting a fight. “What else is different?”
“I’ve never seen the principal. I don’t even know what she looks like.”
“No one knows what the principal looks like,” Sandra said. “Just how she is: velvet glove, iron fist. And if you find out what that means, you’re in epic trouble.”
“It’s weird,” Steffi said. “Aren’t principals supposed to be visible? Go to games? Cheer us on?”
“The principal’s not the public face of the school; that’s the job of the alumni Ours.”
“Alumni Ours?” Steffi asked.
“You know,” Rochelle said. “Ex- students who are famous now. Like Our Makhaya and Our Darnelle. They do the fund-raising. Giving back to the school and inspiring us all.”
“Weird,” Steffi said. Fiorenze was still reading.
“How about your classes?” Rochelle asked. “I’ve only seen you in Accounting and Bio. What are your electives?”
“Soccer B. I was kind of disappointed. I thought I’d make A-stream soccer.”
“The highest stream a first year can get into is B-stream,” I told him.
“Really? I feel a lot better now. I’m also in Snooker C—”
“Fencing,” I said. “He’s in my fencing stream.” Unfortunately, so was Fiorenze.
Steffi nodded. “Van Dyck’s a great coach.”
“You don’t do any winter sports,” Sandra noted with approval. “Winter sports are injured.”
“Yeah, what is luge anyhow?” I asked. “And how come they have one of the biggest gyms on campus? Nobody cares about luge.”
Steffi laughed. “What do you even call someone who does luge? A luger? Did you know—”
“So,” Sandra said, with the emphasis that meant she was going to ask a question you’re not supposed to, “are you and Fiorenze linked now, or what?”
I dropped my fork, then hastily retrieved it, hoping no one had noticed.
“Sandra!” Rochelle exclaimed.
“Linked?” Steffi asked, though I could tell he knew what it meant. He looked at Fiorenze, head buried in book, and then at me and smiled. I turned away. I liked Steffi, he seemed to like me, but then there was Fiorenze and her fairy.
“Are you and Fiorenze a couple now?” Sandra repeated.
Steffi blushed. Fiorenze turned a page and put another forkful of food into her mouth. I wished Sandra would shut up.
“We just met,” Steffi said at last. “This morning.”
“You were holding hands,” Sandra said as if she were accusing him of ball tampering.
“Well, I guess we’re friends.” He looked at Fio again, smiled. “She’s okay,” he said, emphasizing the word so it meant something more than “okay.”
“Yeah, yeah, all the boys like Fiorenze. Are you boyfriend-girlfriend friends or just friend friends?”
“We just met.” He sounded confused. Was he struggling with feeling something just because a fairy made him feel it? I hoped so. Yesterday he’d liked me. If Sandra had seen, she’d’ve been asking Steffi these questions.
“Charlie,” said Danders Anders, the star of the A-stream water polo team, looming over my shoulder. When he was playing, his team did not lose a match. Not a single one. No one in the school’s history ever had such a record.
His fairy is a grip fairy. He has never lost his grip on a ball or anything else, for that matter. He’s taller than Rochelle—another reason he’s such an ace water polo player is that he barely needs to tread water—and has a neck that’s wider than his head. Worse than the rugby majors even.
There was only one thing he could want: a parking spot. I’ve known Danders Anders since I was in fourth grade and he was in seventh. (I dubbed him that because at the time he was all dandruffy. He isn’t anymore, but the name stuck.)
The only thing he has ever wanted from me is parking spots. He pays me, and (usually) warns me when he’s going to need my services. But he doesn’t take kindly to my saying no. Not that he’s violent or anything; it’s more that he doesn’t understand the word “no.”
Danders Anders is the most direct person alive. He doesn’t know how to do small talk, he doesn’t listen to gossip. He’s the biggest bully in school, yet he doesn’t even know he is one. His Public Relations teachers have only allowed him to pass and become a senior because he is such a spectacular water polo player. Once he is an Our, his publicist will do all the talking for him, and when he retires he will not become a commentator.
Rochelle is the only one I know who likes him. Not that anyone dislikes him. He is what he is. Rochelle thinks he has a kind heart. I don’t think he has an unkind heart, but he can be a trial.
“Hi, Andrew,” I replied. (No one calls him Danders Anders to his face.) The last six weeks he’d not been driving on account of a broken arm, but since he’d gotten the all- clear, I’d been waiting for him.
“Tickets,” he said, waving blue tickets in my face.
“She’s not for rent anymore,” Sandra said, cutting him off.
“What?” Blank, dazed expression.
“Charlie doesn’t get in cars anymore.”
“What?”
“Let me,” I told Sandra, turning to face him. “It’s like this, Andrew. I don’t like my fairy. I don’t like cars. I don’t like parking. So now I walk.”
“Everywhere?”
“Everywhere.”
He held the tickets in my face. Monkey Knife Fight, I read. I thought they’d broken up.
“Parking hard,” he said.
“Unless you can find me a doos fairy to replace the wholly injured one I have now, there’s nothing you’ve got, Andrew, that I want.”
“How long no cars?”
“Till the parking fairy goes away.”
“Huh.”
“See, Andrew,” Sandra said, “paying attention to gossip is useful.”
Danders looked down at the blue tickets in his hand. “Tickets.”
“Walking, Andrew. That’s all I do. Everywhere.”
Danders grunted and walked back to his table.
“I can’t believe that worked,” Sandra said.
“We don’t know if it has yet,” I said.
“That was rude,” Steffi said. “You two hardly let him talk at all.”
“Explain, Ro,” Sandra said.
Rochelle had just put a large piece of steak into her mouth. We waited as she finished chewing and swallowing. “I know it seemed mean, Stefan. But Danders doesn’t think like we do. Did you notice the strange way he talks?”
Steffi nodded. “I just figured English was his second language.”
Sandra laughed.
“English is his second language,” Rochelle explained, “but not the way you think. He was born here, and his parents. Probably their parents too. But he has his own language because he doesn’t think like everyone else.”
“And here was me thinking he was just stupid,” Sandra said.
Rochelle ignored her. “Also Danders thinks communication is a tube. One person puts meaning in the tube and another person takes meaning out of the tube and it’s always the same thing. Nothing’s changed.”
“Okay,” Steffi said,“now I’m really confused.”
“We did it in PR. Wasn’t that last week?” Rochelle looked at me. “You know. Language not being tubes or hubs, but webs?”
“Can’t language be a hub too? Isn’t it just the tube that’s wrong?” Sandra asked.
“Still confused,” Steffi said. “Also bewildered. What does any of this have to do with that big guy?”
“Danders thinks every statement has one meaning,”
Fiorenze said in a tone that made it clear that she thought we were all stupid. We turned to stare at her. “He doesn’t understand indirection or wordplay. To communicate with him you must be direct, which seems rude to us, but isn’t to him.”
It was the most I’d heard her say outside of class. And if I counted the word “wasp,” it meant she’d talked to me twice in one day. That was a record.
“Huh,” Steffi said. For a microsecond he sounded like Danders Anders. “But what does that have to do with tubes or hubs or webs?”
CHAPTER 7
More Demerits
Days walking: 61
Demerits: 5
Conversations with Steffi: 7
Doos clothing acquired: 0
Danders Anders cornered me as I made my way to fencing. He didn’t mean to corner me, but when you’re as tall and wide as he is and I’m as little as I am, merely standing beside me constitutes menacement. He had Bluey Salazar and Freedom Hazal with him. They were sporting twin don’t-look- at- me- it’s- not- my- fault expressions.
“Hi, Bluey,” I said. “Hi, Freedom.”
They muttered their hellos and Bluey decided to be fascinated by the sticky linoleum flooring (they make it that way—it’s meant to make it harder for us to run on) while Freedom’s eyes were drawn to the lockers behind me. No one likes to be turned into Danders’s minion.
“Tell,” Danders commanded Bluey.
“This is Andrew’s idea,” Bluey began.
“Your motives are not mysterious,” I replied, glancing at my watch. Being late for class is a demerit.
“You can get rid of your fairy if you don’t wash for six weeks,” Bluey blurted. “It worked for my sister’s cousin’s drama coach. And also for Our Tananarive. But it’s got to be six weeks and you can’t even wash your hands.”
Freedom sucked his teeth in mockage. “No, you want to get rid of your fairy, then you have to fast. Starve her out. It’s a hundred percent guaranteed and only takes five days.”
“No,” Danders said, counting to five on his fingers. “Too quick.”
“What about using one of those sticky hoop things?” Bluey asked.
“A Fairy Catcher? They don’t work!” I knew. I’d tried. They looked a bit like a butterfly catcher, though the net was sticky and had bigger holes. Mine had caught nothing but dust and insects.
Sholto Pak Sung, one of the legendary seniors, stopped in front of us. “Are you talking about how to get rid of a fairy? Velocity, doosers, got to be velocity. It’s the only way. Zoooom! A friend of mine did 120 kilometers on his bike one time. After that his fairy was long gone. Though he also broke every bone in his body.”
The speakers squeaked and popped and then let out a burping static sound, which meant an announcement was imminent. We all looked up, despite not being able to see it.
Due to an electrical fault, the speaker intoned, B-stream fencing has been transferred from Fraser Hall to Merckx.
“Fairy dung,” I exclaimed, looking at my watch again. Merckx was on the far side of campus, on the other side of the A-stream football (all codes) ovals. I had eight minutes to get there. Without taking the shuttle, I wasn’t sure it was possible.
“Another way to get rid of them,” Freedom said, “is to—”
“Why are they telling me all this?” I asked Danders.
“Want Monkey Knife Fight.”
“Danders thinks if you try a different fairy- removal method, then you can go with him to the concert and he’ll get a parking spot. Because your fairy won’t be gone yet but you can still go in a car.”
“Gah!” I said, darting around Danders Anders and into the changing room and wishing I could just give him my parking fairy.
I hauled out my fencing gear, changed faster than lightning, slung my bag over my shoulder, and crossed the hallway at as close to a run as I could while always keeping one foot in contact with the ground (running in the halls is a demerit). When I got to the nearest exit I pushed through the door, hoicked my bag higher up my shoulder, sprinted down the steps, and along the narrow paths between courts, paddocks, and ovals.
Despite the purportedly world-class drainage system, mud and puddles were everywhere. The rain that hadn’t been loud enough to wake me up last night had made a mess of everything. I jumped and skirted the puddles as best as I could off balance with a bag full of foils and sabers. Soiled sporting attire (before playing) is a demerit. I could wipe down my shoes and swap over my socks for clean ones, but could I do that and arrive on time? Looking at my watch again would just slow me down. I lifted my knees higher, digging for more speed.
In the distance, I could see the shuttle arriving at Merckx, disgorging its load of on- time B-stream fencers.
Frang, blast, and dung.
I ran even harder, skirting the rugby paddock, populated with big-necks doing tackling drills. Ouch. Then around the soccer field. By the time I arrived, warm-up had begun. I did what I could about my shoes and socks, then sprinted around the corner straight into Coach Van Dyck. We hit hard and went flying backward, neither of us falling. She grunted. I grunted. We both took another step back, semi-winded.
“Fairy dung,” I breathed.
“Swearing is an infraction,” Coach said. “So is running indoors. As is arriving late. That’s three infractions, Charlie. Three. It could have been four—I’ve kindly not included your almost killing me as an infraction.” Coach looked down at the tablet glowing in her hand. “Says here you showed up for tennis incorrectly attired. Four demerits in one day, Charlie.” She shook her head. “You now have eight, which earns you a game suspension. You are aware of that, Charlie?”
“Yes, Coach,” I said, biting my cheek so I wouldn’t groan out loud. A game suspension. My first. I really hoped it wouldn’t be cricket.
Steffi walked past us, his fencing gear slung over his shoulder, doos and loose-limbed, as if he were gliding rather than walking. I sighed. He winked at me and then nodded at Coach, who nodded back.
“But isn’t he—,” I began. He was later than me. Why wasn’t he getting a demerit?
Coach wasn’t listening. “A one- game suspension,” she said, leafing through her pages. “No cricket meet for you Saturday.”
I nodded. I’d never had a game suspension before. Why did it have to be cricket? I love cricket. Why not tennis?
“I am disappointed.” She lowered her eyes and proceeded to bore holes in mine. I wholly believed in her setting- students- on- fire fairy. “I expect the absolute best from you today, Charlie. Beyond your best. Do you understand?”
I gulped, then nodded, trying not to squirm.
“I expect no further infractions of any kind.”
“Yes, Coach.”
“Your very best effort, Charlie.”
I nodded and walked over to the warm-up area. The first person I saw was Fiorenze Stupid- Name stretching out her quads. Our eyes met briefly. The word for how she looked at me: “disdainful.” Rubbing it in that she had Steffi and I didn’t.
Doxhead fairy.
I wasn’t sure which one I meant: hers or mine.
CHAPTER 8
Best Dad Ever
Days walking: 61
Demerits: 8
Conversations with Steffi: 7
Doos clothing acquired: 0
Game suspensions: 1
Dad was waiting outside the main gates, sitting on a fire hydrant, sketching. He didn’t notice me until I was standing right in front of him making a coughing noise.
“Hi, Charlie.” He stood up, closed his sketchbook, slid his pencil down the spiral, and put the book in his back pocket.
“Hi, Dad,” I said, a little nervous. There were precedents for Dad meeting me after school, but none of them boded well.
“I came to pick you up.”
“But, Dad, you know I’m not—”
“Sorry. It’s not being picked up, is it, if I’m walking with you? I’ve come to walk y
ou home. I thought we could go the long way, by the river, grab a sundae. You haven’t gone over your fat allowance today, have you?”
“No, I’m clean.”
“Superb.”
Although Dad didn’t believe in fairies, he and Mom had been understanding about my not riding in cars. Concerned, but understanding. I wondered if that was about to change.
I said good-bye to Rochelle and Sandra. They were going to check out Our Zora-Anne’s new shop in the city. Rochelle had tried to convince me to go, saying that her aura was sparkling and that she was sure her fairy would work for all three of us, despite that being almost entirely unprecedented. She was convinced too that Our Z-A’s shop was going to be the best in the city. But by the time I’d walked there and then all the way home, I’d be too tired to any homework. Besides, I wasn’t in the shopping mood.
“See you tomorrow,” Steffi called, waving as he walked by. He and Stupid-Name had their arms linked like little kids.
“There’s nothing I’d rather do than walk along the river, Dad.” This was not true. There were many things I’d have rather done. Including go into the bathroom, lock the door, and lie fully clothed in the tub and stare at the cobwebs on the ceiling.
Why wasn’t it me with Steffi? Still, taking a walk with my dad and eating a sundae wasn’t anywhere near as loathsome as watching Steffi and Fiorenze goo- gaing all over each other.
We walked for ages in silence. The path beside us was crowded with cyclists, skaters, and bladers, the rumble of their wheels almost drowning out the sound of boats on the river. There weren’t many other walkers; most of the people using the footpath jogged or ran.
A blimp floated along the river with Our Z-A’s name in the city colors of gold and green; trailing out behind was a green and gold banner that read: Fairy Love Can Be Yours. I watched the uneven reflections distort the letters till they looked like a green and gold jigsaw puzzle floating on water. Almost pulchritudinous. The blimp rose to go over the bridge and veered past the bright lights on the other side. The city, where Rochelle and Sandra were probably already trying on gorgeous clothes. A pack of skaters zoomed by, yelling out some wholly un- doos tauntage, just because I still had my uniform on. Probably Arts students.
How to Ditch Your Fairy Page 4