Odds & Ends

by Amy Ignatow

  “Cookie, Oh Em Gee, you made it!” Claire yelled over the other partygoers, making her way through the crowd to Cookie. “Come come come huggy huggy huggies! And look, here’s . . . you!”

  “Her name is Martina,” Cookie said as Claire brushed past the quiet girl to give Cookie a hug.

  “Hi, Martina,” Claire said, clearly unsure of whether or not to hug Martina as well. Martina waved at her. “So, girl,” Claire said, turning quickly back to Cookie, “I am so glad you’re here! I feel like you’ve dropped off the face of the earth since . . . you know. Since stuff happened.”

  “Oh, my parents are just freaked and want to keep me close to home,” Cookie said. “It’ll pass.”

  “Well, they let you come here,” Addison pointed out, sidling up to Cookie and giving her a half hug while completely ignoring Martina.

  “I think they were hoping that all your brains would rub off on me,” Cookie said, laughing. “Look at all these smart people under one roof!” She could see Izaak trying to balance a decorative poker on his chin by the fireplace of the Marcus family living room. “So much smartness.”

  “Yeah, his parents are pretty proud,” Addison said dryly as the poker fell, knocking several framed photos of Izaak and his older sisters off the mantle.

  “He’s so talented,” Claire breathed.

  “At what?” Martina asked.

  “At . . . being Izaak,” Claire said, irritated.

  “Ah,” Martina said. “He does seem good at that.”

  Addison laughed. “You’re funny,” she told Martina. “Come with me, we’re getting something to drink.” She grabbed Martina by the arm and steered her toward the kitchen.

  Claire watched them go. “I know you’re, like, going through stuff because you had a near-death experience and whatnot, but that girl is off, girl.”

  “Martina?” Cookie asked as she watched Jordan Dameroff try to crack whole walnuts with his bare hands. “She’s fine. She’s just quiet.”

  “Sure,” Claire said. “Look, if you like her, then she must be cool. But it’s weird that you’re hanging out with her instead of us, your real, actual friends.”

  “I’m not hanging out with her instead of you,” Cookie said, annoyed. She was beginning to realize that the noise of the party was amplified by the din of the thoughts of the partygoers, and she had to tamp down a sudden, desperate need to be around the only person at the party who knew what she was going through. But that person had just left to get drinks with Addison. “Get a grip,” she told Claire.

  “A grip?” Claire said, her voice rising. “A grip?!?”

  “Yes, girl, a grip,” Cookie said. Claire was looking a little crazy. “I can hang out with who I want to hang out with. And me having another friend doesn’t make us not friends. Unless you’ve gone completely mental.”

  “I AM NOT MENTAL!” Claire screamed, and with a quick movement she punched a hole in the wall, directly under a framed portrait of Izaak’s older sister and her prom date. Everyone else at the party stopped talking to look at them.

  “Oh my god,” Cookie said, her eyes widening as she stared at Claire’s fist, or at the wall around her fist.

  “I didn’t mean to do that,” Claire said, and started to cry. Izaak’s mother rushed over to see what had happened and let out a small shriek.

  “I’M SO SORRY!” Claire wailed as Dr. Marcus gently extricated her fist from the wall. “IT WAS AN ACCIDENT!”

  Her small hand was covered in plaster dust and her knuckles were raw and bloody. She continued to sob as Dr. Marcus brought her into the kitchen, saying, “I know, I know. Let’s get you cleaned up, okay?”

  “So, is this something that usually happens at parties?” Martina asked, handing Cookie a red plastic cup of purple soda. “I don’t know if I like parties.”

  Cookie looked at the hole in the wall. “She did that because she was mad at me. Let’s get out of here.”

  “I thought we wanted to look for evidence that the high test scorers had taken Dr. Deery’s formula.”

  Cookie looked at the hole again, and then at the group of Auxano parents that were clustered around Claire. They were talking in low voices and had worried looks on their faces. “I think we found it.”

  “What did you find?” Izaak asked, sidling up to them. He looked at the hole in the wall. “Holy sh—”

  “Claire likes you,” Martina told him.

  “What?” Izaak looked confused. “Claire likes me?”

  WHAT ARE YOU DOING?

  “Sure,” Martina said. “You should go ask her how she’s doing.”

  “She . . . she punched a hole in my wall.”

  “I know,” Cookie said, thinking fast, “how cool is that?”

  “I guess it’s pretty badass,” Izaak said, slowly nodding his head. “And she likes me?”

  “Yes,” Martina said.

  STOP TELLING HIM THAT!

  “That’s . . . cool,” Izaak said. “Wait, who are you?”

  “You should probably go see how she’s doing,” Cookie said.

  “Right,” Izaak said, and headed to the kitchen where his mom was putting an ice pack on Claire’s injured hand.

  Cookie turned to Martina. “Why did you tell him that?” she hissed.

  “Because it’s true,” Martina said.

  “So?”

  “So it made him go away.”

  “Well, yes, but . . .” Cookie pressed her fingers to her temples. “Look, you don’t just tell someone that someone else likes them. That’s not your information to give. She’s going to be so embarrassed and then she’s going to kill us, which, judging by the way she just punched through a wall, she could probably actually do.”

  “Oh. But he likes her.”

  “How do you even know that?”

  Martina shrugged.

  “We need to get out of here,” Cookie said, turning to head out the door.

  “Hey!” Addison rushed up to them. “Where are you going? And what did you say to Claire?”

  “Hi, Addison,” Martina said, gently inserting herself between Addison and Cookie.

  “Hi. What did you say to Claire?” Addison asked over Martina’s shoulder.

  The other thoughts in Cookie’s head were getting difficult to tune out. One of the parents was wondering about the fastest way to get to a hospital, and another was wondering about the best way to get to Auxano. Emma was wondering if she should go and talk to Claire, and Eric and Mike were wondering if they could punch bigger holes in the walls than Claire had. And Addison was still trying to get around Martina to confront Cookie.

  “What did you do?” Addison was asking.

  “I didn’t do anything, she just freaked out,” Cookie said, feeling weak.

  “You did do something, otherwise she wouldn’t have done . . . THIS!” Addison shouted, pointing to the damaged wall.

  “Maybe make her go away?” Martina asked Cookie, but it was all Cookie could do to remain standing upright. There were too many people, too many thoughts, and the room was spinning.

  “WHAT DOES THAT MEAN, MAKE ME GO AWAY?” Addison screamed, her face twisted with rage. Cookie had never seen her friend act this way. She’d never seen anyone act this way.

  “I think we need to go now,” Martina said as Addison raised her fist. She was not aiming for the wall, though. She was aiming at them.

  “GAH! RIHANNA!” Nick yelped. He was right next to them, and he was holding a live, squawking, flapping chicken.

  Farshad and Jay were slowly walking. Normally they were both fast walkers; Farshad was a runner and he had long legs, and Jay was naturally hyper, yet despite that they were walking very, very slow without any real sense of where they were headed.

  “We should follow the girls,” Jay said. “But at a safe distance.”

  “And then what?” Farshad asked. “We hide in the bushes outside of Izaak Marcus’s house?”

  “Don’t be silly, we don’t even know if he has bushes. And you’re very tall—and, I suspec
t, bad at hiding.” Jay thought a moment. “Maybe they have a tree we can climb.”

  “No,” Farshad said. “That is not happening.”

  “Oh, come on, when’s the last time you climbed a tree?”

  “Okay, let’s say we get there, and we somehow manage to find a tree to climb, what then? We just hang out in a tree outside of a party that we’re not invited to so we can sort of peek through the windows?”

  “I may not have thought this through enough,” Jay muttered. They continued to walk.

  Farshad didn’t want to go home. Home was where his parents were and with them more questions that he had no idea how to answer. “Are you going to tell your parents that Ms. Zelle gave you the papers?” he asked Jay.

  “If I have to, although I’m beginning to think that maybe that isn’t the best idea. She’s pretty embedded in Auxano. They may actually ask her about it.”

  “How much do you think they know?”

  “How much do you think your parents know?”

  “How much do we actually know?” Farshad wondered.

  “Not enough.” Jay had a sudden look of determination on his face. “But I know who does. We need to get to a computer.” He looked at Farshad. “That you haven’t ruined.”

  “Okay, why?”

  “Because we need to find . . . THE HAMMER.”

  “Did you seriously just pause for dramatic effect?”

  “I . . . DID. Did it work?”

  “Kind of.”

  “Bully for me! So here’s the plan. We email The Hammer to set up a meeting so we can find out what he knows and compare notes. Then, if anything happens to us, at least we’ll have a reputable journalist who knows our story.”

  “Jay. The Hammer is a conspiracy blogger. That’s pretty much the exact opposite of a reputable journalist.”

  “But is it?”

  “Yes! It is!”

  “Oh, but is it?”

  “Is this how you win arguments? You just wear your opponent down?”

  “You’d be amazed at how effective it is. Let’s go find a computer!”

  Farshad threw up his hands. “Fine. But just because I don’t want to go home. And you probably shouldn’t go home. Does Nick have a computer we can use?”

  “His aunts do. Let’s go.”

  “Is he there?”

  “Sure!”

  “Oh. I thought you didn’t know where he was.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Then why did you say, ‘Sure!’?”

  “Because, my treelike friend,” Jay said, spinning on his heel to face Farshad, and reaching up to grasp both of his shoulders, “sometimes you just have to act like you know what you’re doing in order to get anything done. Why am I always the only one who seems to know this? Besides Cookie.” He let go and started walking in the direction of Molly and Jilly’s house. “Let’s find Nick.”

  Nick had never run so fast in his life. He had no idea where he was, or where he was going, but he was very, very aware that it would be best to get away from the horde of deranged partygoers that seemed intent on tearing Rihanna limb from limb. And possibly him as well. Probably him as well.

  It seemed that Martina had taken charge, choosing which direction to run. She had grabbed Cookie’s hand, which seemed to be the only thing keeping the smaller girl moving. They zigged and zagged through the evening suburban streets as fast as they could go, but Nick could hear the party crowd behind them. They were a mob. A crazed, bloodthirsty, potentially chicken-murdery mob.

  “This way,” Martina said quickly, ducking into a darkened yard and rolling under a split-rail fence, dragging Cookie behind her. Nick’s eyes widened. There was no way he was fitting under there.

  “THEY WENT THIS WAY!” Nick heard someone who was much too close to them shout, and all of a sudden he and Rihanna were on the other side of the fence. He took off after Martina and Cookie.

  They ran and ran, through backyards and small wooded areas, until they could no longer hear the mob behind them. Nick collapsed on the ground near a small residential construction site. He felt like his lungs were about to burst, and he let go of Rihanna. The chicken wandered around nonchalantly, as if she hadn’t been through both teleportation and a mad chase, and started pecking at a discarded fast-food bag near a dumpster. Martina and Cookie were also breathing hard, but managed to stay mostly upright.

  “Why . . .” Nick wheezed, “why is a mob of Company Kids chasing us?”

  “Why are you carrying a chicken?” Martina asked, watching Rihanna down a half-eaten French fry. “Is it like the bunnies? Is it a screaming chicken?”

  “Bok,” Rihanna said.

  “I guess not,” Martina said.

  “No, no, I was just trying to see if I could teleport with something that was alive,” Nick explained.

  “Bok,” Rihanna said.

  “Sorry, someone alive.” Nick looked over at Cookie, who was doubled over and clutching her head. “Cookie. Are you all right?”

  Cookie shook her head.

  “She was a little overwhelmed in there,” Martina explained.

  “I thought you were getting better at tuning people out,” Nick said, awkwardly patting Cookie’s back.

  “I was,” she said, “but those were not normal thoughts.” She looked up at Martina. “Did you see the look on Addison’s face when she was about to hit me?”

  “I did,” Martina said quietly.

  “I know you’re not exactly the resident expert on normal, but did that seem normal to you?” Cookie asked.

  “No,” Martina said. “She looked like a crazed ragebeast.”

  “Claire looked the same way, right before she punched the wall,” Cookie said.

  “And Eric looked that way when he was threatening to kill Neil deGrasse Hamster.”

  “And how that entire crowd of Company Kids looked when they were trying to kill us right now?” Nick asked.

  “And their thoughts—they were just really . . . angry,” Cookie said. “And they were all thinking them at once.”

  “Do you still hear them?”

  “A little,” Cookie admitted. “I want it to stop.”

  “Just breathe,” Martina told her. She looked at Nick. “Do you think you could teleport with us?” she asked him.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “That’s the goal, but as it is I barely teleported with Rihanna.”

  “You named the chicken Rihanna?” Cookie asked.

  “Bok,” Rihanna bokked, and cocked her head toward a sound in the distance.

  It was the angry mob of Company Kids, and from the sound of it they weren’t just looking for them anymore. Nick could hear sounds of smashing windows and splintering wood. He grabbed Rihanna.

  “What are they doing?” Cookie whispered.

  “I do not want to find out,” Nick whispered back, looking around wildly. They were surrounded by fencing and the only way out was back toward the sound of the melee.

  “Here!” Martina pointed to a large dumpster and began to run toward it.

  “You’re kidding me,” Nick heard Cookie moan as he ran past her.

  “It’s fine, it’s mostly empty!” Martina called from inside the dumpster. About a half second later Nick and Rihanna were in there with her, having unintentionally teleported through the side of it. There were some splintered two-by-four planks of wood and the floor was unpleasantly sticky, but otherwise it seemed fine. Cookie peeked her head over the edge.

  “Gross,” she said despairingly, “gross gross gross and I hate this and I hate both of you for making me do this gross gross gross.”

  “Come on!” Nick shoved Rihanna into Martina’s arms and went to help Cookie. “Jump, I’ll catch you!”

  “Gross!” she whimpered, and tumbled into him. His catching skills were less than stellar and they tumbled to the bottom of the dumpster. Cookie used his body to push herself into an upright position without having to touch the sticky floor. She was on the verge of saying something (probably “gross”),
but Martina put her finger to her lips. They quietly moved to the most shadowy corner of the dumpster and crouched together as the Company Kids gathered outside.

  Nick tried to listen for distinct voices, but he couldn’t hear any. He couldn’t even hear distinct words—the Company Kids seemed to be just screaming in rage and banging things into other things. They sounded like wild animals. Really pissed-off wild animals. Nick looked at Cookie, who was holding her hands over her head and shaking with actual terror. Martina, too, looked uncharacteristically scared, her wide eyes changing from light blue to dark gray to brown to green to hazel with maddening speed that only got faster as the Company Kids began to bang on the side of the dumpster.

  “BOK!” Rihanna said.

  There was no way that they had heard her over the sounds of their own banging and wailing. Someone screamed something that sounded vaguely like an order to continue the hunt elsewhere, and the banging stopped as the Company Kids made their way out of the construction site. Nick slowly let out the breath that he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in.

  “BOK BOK BOK BOK BOK BOK BOKBOKBOKBOK!!!” Rihanna screamed, and Nick, Cookie, and Martina clung to one another in terror as the mob thundered back.

  Claire’s face popped over the edge of the dumpster, wild-eyed with fury. She spotted the terrified trio and threw back her head and let out a long, ear-splitting shriek, and Nick desperately wished to be anywhere other than stuck in a sticky dumpster surrounded by bloodthirsty maniacs.

  “It worked!” Abe said, delighted. “Hello, Martina, hello, Cookie, good to see you.”

  “Bok,” Rihanna said.

  Farshad was uncomfortable. In addition to not being accustomed to hanging out at other people’s houses, he really wasn’t accustomed to hanging out at other people’s houses when they weren’t even there. Added to that was the extra layer of weird that he and Jay weren’t even at Nick’s house; they were at his aunts’ house. So they were uninvited guests of a guest that wasn’t even there. Jay seemed completely unbothered by the situation.