“Ugh, we don’t want to learn anything,” corrected Mitzi. “We’re smart enough. We’re just bored here is all.”
“We want to play basketball and to help you gets—I mean get—more dirt.” Blix’s skin flushed grape with excitement.
Lexie looked from Blix to Mitzi. What a nightmare. How could things get worse than pixies at Parrish? “My life is officially out of control,” Lexie murmured.
“We might need to borrow some of your clothes,” mentioned Mitzi.
“And hair product,” added Blix. “I like your watermelon-smelly glop.”
“Oookay.” I’ll handle this whole mess, Lexie decided—the ex-pixie invasion, my lack of gravity, the invisible house, being a bad big sis, Pete Stubbe—everything, once the election’s done. Then I’ll reclaim my human touch, re-vegan my diet, and make up with everyone—maybe even including Mina.
But above and beyond anything, Lexie decided, she had to win the stupid election. Or at least get it over with because she couldn’t bail out now. At this point, it had caused her too much capital T trouble.
“‘Our visions begin with our desires,’” she said, quoting the poet Audre Lorde. She’d always liked that quote. The problem was, Lexie realized, she didn’t have a clear vision or a clear desire. All she knew was she’d have to see this whole muddle through to its sweet—or bitter—end.
12
BUTTERSCRATCH AMBASSADORS
Good news. Our house re-visibilized,” announced Maddy the next morning. “Thanks to our kook-tastic friend, Madame Peabody.”
Lexie looked out the window. Sure enough, there it was. “She came over early and put our house back on the map,” said Hudson. “Then she showed us how to make spiderwebs, and how to grow mold for our haunted house, and how to build a zombie. Peabody’s got a few inhuman tricks up her sleeve.”
“Same as Lexie,” murmured Maddy.
“Be quiet,” Lexie growled as she reached for an orange and an apple. Her stomach rumbled. If only she could have some steak for breakfast. That would start the day out right. She knew it was a vampish thought, and she was surprised that she didn’t much care. Maybe I’ve crossed the line, she thought. Maybe I’m not the same as “same old Lexie” anymore.
Maddy and Hudson had already finished breakfast and were outfitted in their Hallo-month costumes. This morning, Hudson was dressed as a shepherd, while Maddy was a ketchup-spattered pirate.
Lexie looked her up and down. “Let me guess your phrase of the day—‘terror me timbers’?”
“I’m not that much of a blunderhead,” said Maddy with a sniff. “And you better hurry up and finish your fruit or you’ll make the pixies late for their first day at school.”
Outside, the kids turned to walk their separate ways, Lexie, Mitzi—who was carrying a huge bouquet of roses—and Blix heading downtown to Parrish, while Maddy and Hudson veered uptown to P.S. 42. As they split off, Hudson said, “Hey, Lex, tomorrow I’m dressing up in a vampire costume. So I was thinking you can give me some tips. Since you’re the vampest in the family.”
“Whatever,” Lexie snorted over her shoulder.
But no matter how she tried, throughout the day, she couldn’t shake Maddy’s and Hudson’s comments. It seemed that she really had “fallen off the wagon,” as Blix had told her. Even her little brother and sister sensed it.
At least, for today, the pixies were a busy distraction.
“Being a student might be harder than being a pixie,” Lexie warned them as they checked in with the front office to present all their fake Butterscratch documents. “Especially algebra and writing-composition class.”
“No math, no English,” said Mitzi. “Just lunch and sports.”
Lexie shook her head. “Good luck with that. Who are those roses for?”
“For the most popular Parrish person,” answered Mitzi, burying her nose in the bouquet. “We want to get in with the in crowd.”
“That would be me,” said Lexie. “I’m likely to win the class elec—”
“Welcome, Butterscratchian exchange students!” bellowed Ms. Oliphant, the school principal, bursting from her office to shake the pixies’ hands. “What an honor. We hope you will enjoy your week at our school. Do you have any special requests or considerations?”
“We request extra sports and lunch,” said Mitzi as Blix pulled out a pocket mirror and patted his stylish Mohawk.
Lexie left the pixies in Ms. Oliphant’s hands.
Right from the start, it turned out that everyone loved the Butterscratch foreigners. Lexie was stunned by the pixies’ ability to charm all the teachers and kids. They even sweet-talked Mina after Ms. Oliphant had deposited them in homeroom.
Only Mina, who had recognized the “visitors” from the fairy ring, was suspicious at first. “Hey. You’re those crazy ballet kids. But you’re so much taller,” she noted. “How’d you pull that off?” Her eyes narrowed.
“It wasn’t easy. And we hope our last encounter is all ‘water under the bridge,’” said Mitzi. “We’re sorry we got carried away with the Wiley Eye Rabbit. Our bones was—were—in great pain from our sudden, extreme growth spurt. Dancing was our only relief. Please accept our apology flowers.” With a small bow, she offered Mina the bouquet.
Mina took it. “Thanks. At least now I know you’re more with it than your host family,” she said loudly. “Those Livingstones, especially Lexie, are ooky-spooky.”
“What’s your problem?” Lexie asked Blix and Mitzi later when she joined them for lunch. “I thought you hated Mina. After all, you helped wreck her campaign. You call her troll girl, remember?”
Mitzi shook her head. “We didn’t like her when she was dressed up like a pixie. Now we see that she is an adorable human, with lots of natural bounce in her hair and irresistible dimples.”
“I know I can’t resist them. We want to be friends with her,” added Blix.
“In fact, we were saving that chair for her.” Mitzi pointed to the seat that Lexie was sitting in. “We are sooo all about Mina Pringle.”
Lexie was upset but not surprised. After all, Orville had warned her that pixies were horribly disloyal.
Later, when Dylan came by to drop off some campaign toys, tiny little basketball nets with string-attached foam balls that read PASS THE VOTE TO DYLAN, the ex-pixies squealed and squawked.
“A present! A pixie present!” Mitzi clapped.
“Nobody ever gave us a present before!” Blix wiped a tear from his eye.
“Aw, that’s too bad,” said Dylan. “I thought you two were friends with Lexie.”
“She never gave us a single present in her life,” said Mitzi sadly.
“Lexie’s a sweetheart,” said Dylan. “I bet she’d give you a present on your birthday.”
“No, no. Only walnuts or cupcakes. Lexie’s a fartsmelt raisin chicken,” said Blix. “So watch out.”
Lexie couldn’t think of a single quote in her defense as Dylan quickly left them to drop some campaign basket-balls at the next table. Those pixies were the pits. More than ever, she missed her lunches with Pete, but these days he ate his sandwiches in the art room so that he could use the time to make signs about saving endangered species.
Throughout the week, as the pixies gained influence, they got increasingly on Lexie’s nerves. They were so interested in showing kids how to style a Mohawk or how to talk backwards that they hardly had any time left over to help her with her campaign.
At least, like the election, the end was in sight.
“You know, M. and B., it’s the final speeches tomorrow,” Lexie reminded them that night as they ate cupcakes under her covers. “Did you ever get me any dirt on Riley Burnett?”
“Sorry, Lex,” said Mitzi. “I didn’t have time. Mina and I ended up going shopping after school today. She’s so cute. If Mina was a pixie, she’d have her pick of elf suitors lined ten toadstools deep to win her hand. I’m voting for her, no question.”
“And I’m voting for Dylan Easterby,” Blix confided
, licking butterscotch frosting off his fingers. “If Dylan was a pixie, I’d let him ride my best winged unicorn to soccer practice.”
“If Mina was pix, I’d brew her walnut stew every—”
“Enough, both of you!” Lexie looked up from her PHOLD. “You don’t even go to Parrish. Kids can’t be pixies, and Mr. Fellows won’t let you vote, so end of discussion.”
Blix nodded. “Not all true. Us—I mean we—changed Fellows’s mind, didn’t we, Mitzi?”
“Changed it? How?” asked Lexie.
In answer, the pixies traded a wink, finished their cupcakes, and fell asleep, leaving Lexie to fret through a long, sleepless night.
13
SPEECH, SPEECH!
Lexie was still fretting at the end of the next afternoon, when the student body filed into the auditorium for the final speeches. Mr. Fellows stood onstage at the podium. Mina, Neil, Lexie, Dylan, and Riley all sat behind him on folding chairs.
“Now, students,” instructed Mr. Fellows. “Please hold your applause until each of our five candidates has spoken.”
Everyone started to applaud anyway. Then Lexie noticed something fishy. On Mr. Fellows’s feet were a pair of purple leather shoes, laced in pink silk ribbon.
“Quiet,” said Mr. Fellows. “Each candidate has three minutes to speak. But first, our school anthem, led by Boris the Brown Badger.”
He tapped his feet. Purple leather gleamed. Very suspicious.
Boris, who was really Mrs. Yoder in a brown badger costume, took the microphone. Lexie slipped out of her seat and offstage. She tugged on her teacher’s arm. “Mr. Fellows,” she whispered. “Where did you get those shoes?”
“Oh, these?” Mr. Fellows flushed. “Oddest thing. They were wrapped up in my mailbox the other day. From a secret admirer. Just my size, too.”
“I think your secret admirers are Mitzi and Blix, so you’d let them vote.”
Mr. Fellows’s mustache trembled. “I’m the victim of a political conspiracy? That’s unprecedented!”
“Take off your shoes and see how you feel.”
Mr. Fellows slipped off his shoes and then checked out Blix and Mitzi, who were easy to spy in the audience since they glowed with a pastel luminescence that no other Parrish students could replicate with makeup or clothing. “You’re right, Lexie, they shouldn’t vote. They’re only visitors.”
He slid the shoes back on. “Okay, now I think they should vote.”
“See? It’s a trick. An old pix . . . I mean, Butterscratch trick.”
“But they’re such lovely shoes,” said Mr. Fellows. He bent and retied the laces. “Go back to your seat, Lexington. And may the best candidate win.”
“So does that mean they get to vote?”
“Of course. I have no intention of walking around bare-foot all day.”
Lexie returned to her chair with lead in her feet and a wrench in her stomach.
Mina spoke first. Ducks, fountains, and Fizzle Nuts. “And remember, friends—I’m the candidate who’s creating the OTLE plan. It stands for option to leave early, and it means kids get to tell volunteers to go home. First order of business—we’re gonna OTLE the Yoder. Yep, I said it—and you know I’ll do it, too. Thanks, darlings!”
On her way back to her seat, Mina stepped hard on Lexie’s foot. When Lexie squeaked, the auditorium roared with laughter.
Dylan’s speech was fun. He yelled and whooped and pumped his fist in the air. On his way back to his chair, he also stepped on Lexie’s foot—but not to hurt. Just to make the kids laugh again. Which they did.
Lexie hobbled to the podium. Everyone just wants to be entertained, she thought grimly. Nobody cares about my policies. Not even me. Her one-minute-long speech reminded everyone not to trust Mina, though she couldn’t totally remember the reason why. “In conclusion, many are called, but few are chosen. In this case, choose me. Thanks.”
“Somebody is boring me, and I think it’s me,” she quoted to herself sadly as she slunk back to her seat.
Neil was next. He outlined his plan for how to have an in-service day at Parrish on alternate weekends. He got some boos. He talked about fire drills. Nobody listened.
By the time Riley Burnett took the stage, kids had become restless and chatty. Mr. Fellows had to ask for quiet three times.
Riley’s voice was very soft, to match her mousy looks.
“Speak up!” shouted Blake Chapman, a senior.
Riley coughed. Then started again. “Dag, labass, selam, welina, and hey to everyone,” she said, loud and clear. “You all know me as Riley, the new girl with the funny accent. What you might not know is my parents work for the United Nations. Since kindergarten, I’ve lived in seven different countries.” She stopped and smiled. She had a warm smile. “I’ve seen how lots of schools work, and I wanted to share some thoughts based on my different experiences. So here’s one: let’s sign up for online classrooms, like at my old school in Hong Kong, where we interact with our global community. We can learn from them, and they can learn from us. I know this is a speech but—any thoughts?”
“I like that idea,” spoke up Miss Evans, the new chemistry teacher, who was sitting in the front row. “I’ve been campaigning for that since September.”
“Cool. Let’s talk after. Idea two.” Riley paused. “Rainwater. Did you know our school’s got a flat roof? We can harvest gallons of fresh water to filter and reuse. And it worked at my school in Frankfurt.”
The room was abuzz about the flat roof, fresh rain, and Frankfurt. Riley’s voice gained volume.
“And here’s another idea. Let’s make a compost heap from lunch scraps, like in my school in Akureyri, to create an organic garden. We’ll build it off the courtyard and share the fresh veggies all year.”
“Ew.” Mina sniggered. “Compost.” But Lexie could see in the audience that kids enjoyed the idea of a garden in the courtyard. Her own mouth was watering. Fresh-picked tomatoes every day. Yum.
“Oh, and here’s something else,” Riley continued. “At my old school in Halifax, we had a student radio program where kids could call in and just talk about—well, anything, really. I hope you’ll take a chance on me: ‘Riley with a smiley.’ Thank you, arigato, merci, asai, spasibo, gracias.”
Riley hopped from the podium and returned to her seat.
Then Mr. Fellows came center stage. “That’s it. Thanks, everyone, for coming to the debates,” he said. “And thanks to our ambassadors from Butterscratch for their visit. One day, perhaps one of us will have the honor of visiting you and voting in your student election.” He clicked his purple heels.
Lexie shuffled dispiritedly out of the auditorium. She’d just witnessed a true politician up at that podium, and her name was Riley Burnett.
The sound was faint at first. Then her ear homed in on it. It was the hum of an insect, bumping around the back hall to the music rooms. A mosquito? Mmm. Right now, a mosquito sounded even better than a bee pollen smoothie.
She darted down the hall. Listening. Searching. Where was it? She careened into rooms. The sound was fainter. It must have escaped through a window. Lexie pushed through the fire escape door into a back alley lined with trash cans.
Nope. There was no mosquito out here.
She jumped as the claw fell heavy on her shoulder.
“Lost your way?” intoned the voice.
“Orville!” He’d been perched in wait on the fire escape. “You scared me.”
“Lexington,” said Orville, “you have gravely disappointed me.”
“You? Me?” Lexie squeaked. “How? Why?” Was Orville joking? Was this a Halloween prank? But no, the old creature looked dead serious.
“I think you know why. These past weeks, you’ve rejected everything that you, as an on-your-way-to-human being, should have valued most.” Orville’s hooded eyes blinked in reproach. “Is your ancient nature an unbreakable force?”
“I don’t know,” said Lexie. “Is it?”
“That’s for you to decide. All we kno
w is that you’ve resorted to vampire traits of heartlessness and vengeful-ness. In fact, you are on the brink of becoming . . .” He paused. “Nocturnal.”
“No.” Lexie’s voice was hardly more than breath. Not nocturnal. Anything but that. Had she really regressed so much? It wasn’t a complete surprise. “B-but then I won’t be able to go to sc-school at all,” she stuttered. “I’ll be awake all night and asleep all day. Everything will be so upside down.” And so lonely. So unbearable.
“If you’re not tired tonight, then it’s already happened,” Orville admitted. “But either way, you should start work now. To reclaim.”
“Reclaim what?” Lexie faltered.
Orville ruffled his feathers. “Reclaim humanity, of course. In fact, I can think of a few individuals that you’ve hurt on your path to victory.”
“Oh, right,” mustered Lexie. But she wasn’t sure who Orville was talking about.
Suddenly, the fire escape door banged open, and an irate Dylan stood before her. “Aha. I thought that was you I saw through the window. Lexie, you’ve gone too far.” He shook his finger. His green eyes blazed.
Lexie quaked. “Whatever it is, I didn’t do it.”
“Don’t lie. I know you were behind this!” He held up a poster board.
The giant, blow-up picture was of Dylan in his underwear, practicing a karate kick. His face was scrunched, his kick was crooked, and his underwear had a design of lassos and cowboy hats on it.
It might have been possible for him to look like a bigger idiot, but Lexie didn’t see how. “I—I didn’t take that picture,” she stammered.
There was a brush of wings against her back as Orville swooped off.
“Course you did. It’s the same photo stunt you pulled with Mina. Do you think I’m just some dumb jock who doesn’t know how sneaky you are?” Dylan scoffed. “I used to think you were cool, Lexie. But you’ve redefined that word for me. You’re a creepy, obnoxious, obsessed loser. That’s how cool you are.”
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