by Kristy Tate
“Why do you think the little men and the mermaid both called you Blanche?” Kelly asked.
“I don’t know, but don’t call her a mermaid. That’s too strange.”
“How do you spell Brockbank?”
Grace told her, knowing that Kelly was probably looking Brock up on social media.
“Oh hotness!” Kelly squealed. “He saved your life? So now you owe him, right?”
Leave it to Kelly to zero in on the guy and forget about dwarfs and mermaids. “He has a girlfriend,” she told Kelly.
“Hey, but he drove you home. That means something.”
“Maybe he just wanted to go home, and I provided a good excuse.” Grace looked through the trees dividing the properties. The lights from his house twinkled in the dark. She wondered what he was doing, how long he’d been with Alicia, and if he thought Grace was some car-kicking nut-job with poor swimming skills.
“Mmm, maybe, but probably not.” Through the receiver came the sound of a clicking keyboard. “This is interesting…”
“What?”
“According to this, Blanche is a medieval French nickname meaning ‘white, fair.’ The name is derived from the Germanic word blanc.”
“So?”
“So? Come on…little men? Like dwarfs?”
Grace squirmed around so she could lean against the orange tree, trying not to think about the little men offering her an apple.
“Everyone says you look like Snow White!” Kelly said.
“This is too creepy.”
“Yeah, it is. Can anyone else see the dwarfs?”
“What are you saying?”
“Well, maybe everything has been too much for you—your dad’s deployment, the move, and your new school. I know you don’t want to hear this, but don’t you think a breakdown makes more sense than being stalked by dwarfs and hunted by a mermaid?”
“She wasn’t hunting me, and stop calling her that.”
“Text me a picture of the aquamarine stone.”
Grace huffed out a sigh and did as Kelly asked. In the falling twilight, the stone cast a warm glow. Grace quickly stuffed it in her pocket so no one could see it. Silence came from the other side of the line.
“It’s real,” Kelly said after a while.
“Of course it’s real!”
“I want to see the dwarfs!”
“Stop it. I can’t just take their pictures. Besides, I think they’re with the circus.”
“Oh. You didn’t tell me about the circus…maybe it’s not so weird.”
“Are you kidding me? First I’m accosted by little men calling me Blanche, and then I meet a woman from the SeaWorld who calls me the same name!”
“You’re right. You need to come home. You can’t stay there. I’ll ask my mom if you can come and live with us.”
“We already did that.”
“Yes, but maybe if your mom knew it was paramount for your mental health…”
“Paramount for my mental health?” she repeated.
“What’s wrong with your mental health?” came a voice from behind.
Shocked, she dropped the phone. She turned to see Brock standing on the other side of the stone wall, grinning.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Grace stared at him with an open mouth.
“You know, if we were in Charleston right now, you’d be swallowing fireflies.”
His words broke her paralysis. She stooped and picked up Toby’s phone. “Gotta go, Kells.”
Kelly squeaked, but Grace hung up without listening to her protest and tucked the phone in her back pocket. “How long have you been standing there?”
“Long enough to hear about your little friends and the woman from SeaWorld.”
She tried not to flinch. “What about the SeaWorld woman?”
He lifted a shoulder. “You have to tell me. Was she an animal trainer, or just a guest?”
Relief swooshed through her. He thought she’d been talking about SeaWorld, the animal park in San Diego, not the sea world where Poseidon ruled as Lord of Oceanlandia.
“Grace?”
“Yeah,” Grace scrounged for a lie, “she was just someone I saw there. She mistook me for someone named Blanche and the men from the circus also thought my name was Blanche. Weird, right?”
He agreed. “Especially since I don’t know any Blanches. Doesn’t that sound like a name for a seventy-year-old? Is it French?”
“German,” she said, remembering what Kelly had told her. The Grimm fairy tales were from Germany. Where did the original Snow White story come from?
“Gracie!” Heather called from the back porch. “Where are you?”
“Gracie?” Brock asked, lifting an eyebrow.
“Only my family calls me that,” she told him. “Out here, Heather!” she called back.
“Time to eat!” Heather said.
“I have to go.”
“Do you guys eat dinner together?”
“You and your mom don’t?”
“Almost never. And if we do, it’s at a restaurant. My mom has a complicated relationship with food.”
“Oh.” Grace tried to imagine eating at a restaurant more than once every couple of years. “If you want to join us…” She jerked a thumb at the house.
He shook his head no, but his expression looked as if he wanted to say yes.
“I’m sure there’s plenty.”
“No, that’s okay. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
#
Singing interrupted Brock’s dream. One moment, he was riding a warm ocean wave and the next he was enveloped in the tide listening to a sweet melody. The flute-like voice filled the ocean. He tried to grasp the lyrics, but the words made no sense. Brock rolled over and put his pillow over his head but he couldn’t shut out the music.
A sharp wind rattled the window blinds. Brock sat up, pushed his fingers through his hair, and rubbed the stubble on his chin. He glanced out the window at the gray pre-dawn backyard. Without the sun, the trees loomed like alien creatures. Brock climbed from his bed, shivered in the cold air, and slammed the window shut. Still, the music continued, the volume undiminished.
Brock grabbed his sweatshirt off the back of his desk chair and pulled it over his head before padding out of his room. Groggily, he made his way to his mom’s room. Her bed was empty, but a collection of luggage in the middle of the room told him she’d returned.
He followed the music to the living room. He expected to find a tablet or a phone in a dock, but he saw nothing out of the ordinary. Beige silk sofas with beaded pillows, wooden side tables holding nothing more than potted orchids, the baby grand piano, bookshelves lining the wall. Wait.
He edged closer to the shelves. There, in front of the books, was a flute. It glistened in the semi-darkness.
“Darling!” His mom’s voice froze him. “You’re awake early!”
He spun to see Cordelia standing in the front hall. She wore a navy silk robe and looked beautiful, despite her mussed hair and the tired lines etched around her eyes.
“You must be excited about the first day of school to get up before dawn.”
“The music…” Brock began, but even as he spoke, he realized the music had stopped.
An irritated wrinkle appeared between his mom’s eyebrows. “I don’t hear anything.”
“I thought I did.”
She smiled, but it couldn’t hide her obvious fatigue. Wrapping her arms around him, she pulled him into a warm, musky hug. “Oh, I’ve missed you,” she said into his chest as she rubbed his back. She felt small and fragile against him, and he flashed back to when their roles had been reversed, when she was the larger, stronger person in their family of two.
“When did you get home?” he asked, pulling away from her.
“A few hours ago.” She tightened the belt on her robe and flashed him another tired smile. “Everything okay here?”
“Yeah. Of course.”
She let out a small groan. “Nishapur was a mess. It’s such a sen
sory overload. Too many people, too many animals, too much noise…”
“That music I heard. It sounded like a flute, but also like singing.”
Cordelia cocked her head. “Sweet dreams?”
“It didn’t seem like a dream.”
“But what else could it be?”
He glanced at the flute. “Is that new?”
He went to pick it up, but Cordelia beat him to it.
“I found this in a quaint Persian village for a buyer.” She held it up for his inspection, but didn’t hand it to him.
“It’s a pretty little thing, isn’t it?”
“Was it worth the trip?”
She lifted her small shoulder. “The buyer made it worthwhile.” Patting his cheek, she gazed into his face. “I missed you.”
“I missed you, too.”
“Big day today—starting your junior year!” She let out an exaggerated yawn. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’m going to bed!”
“Mom?” he started.
“Mmm?” she raised an eyebrow, waiting.
But Brock didn’t know how to ask all of his questions, so he simply said, “Love you.”
Her gaze turned tender. “Love you, too.”
#
Panic gripped Grace as soon as her mom pulled the Jeep into St. Mags’ parking lot. The oatmeal she’d eaten that morning turned into a heavy seething ball of grossness in her stomach. She thought of Kelly and the rest of her friends at home and blinked back tears. She turned her head so Jeanie wouldn’t see.
Because they had to be early, the junior and senior parking lots were nearly empty. The Jeep rattled over the speed bump that separated the teachers’ lot from the students’. Jeanie parked between an Audie and a BMW.
“Everyone here knows everybody else.” Grace tightened her grip on her textbooks.
“Not true,” Jeanie said. “I have a list of new kids.” She elbowed Grace. “You’re not alone. Besides, Heather said you met some friends who took you to the beach and the kid next door brought you home.”
“Yes, but...”
“And…”
“Nothing! He has a girlfriend that looks like Barbie.”
“Tall, blonde, and skinny?”
“A different species,” Grace told her mom as she gathered up her backpack. “Everyone here is different from me. I’m like an alien.”
Jeanie rolled her eyes and climbed from the car. “I’m just glad you’re not a zombie.”
“You’re right. It could be worse.” Grace followed Jeanie through the parking lot, but at the gate they parted ways. Jeanie headed for her classroom and Grace went to find her locker. The empty halls echoed now, but she knew that soon they’d fill up with students and ring with hundreds of voices—all talking, laughing, and joking at once.
No one would notice her. They’d look past her as if they were looking for and hoping to see someone else. For a small, brief moment, she was glad she was wearing the hideous uniform, because then, at least, she’d look like she belonged even if she didn’t feel like it. Grace pushed her backpack into her locker, drew out a well-worn copy of The Princess Bride, and tucked it into her notebook.
Back outside, she found a bench and pulled out her book. Soon she was totally lost in the adventures of Buttercup and Westley.
Someone sat down beside her and nudged her thigh with a knee. She glanced up into Chase’s smiling face.
“I’m glad you’re here, Salmon-girl.” With comb tracks running through his hair, and in his white polo shirt and crisply ironed navy pants, he looked like a different creature than the guy at the beach. “You up for this?”
“Sure.” She tucked her book inside her bag.
“Good thing you didn’t drown yesterday.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“You didn’t let Brockbank take advantage of you on the way home, did you?”
Grace snorted. “He couldn’t even if he tried.”
“He won’t try. He’s tied to Alicia. Or at least he was. She was pretty mad yesterday when he ditched her.”
“Oh. Was he her ride home?”
“She got a ride from me.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
Chase bumped her with his shoulder. “I didn’t say there was a problem, yet. I’m just warning you. Alicia is a pussycat with claws.”
Grace started to tell him she wasn’t afraid of Alicia, but then she saw someone she was afraid of. A bunch of someones. What if Kelly had been right and the little men were a figment of her imagination?
Grace dropped her voice to a whisper. “Do you see those guys?” She motioned to the far side of the parking lot where the dwarfs congregated.
“Sure, they’re small, not invisible.”
Grace laughed and heard the relief in her voice. She wondered if Chase could hear it, too. “They think my name is Blanche.”
“Who’s Blanche?”
“I don’t know. But I know she has nothing to do with me.” A thought struck her, and she quickly counted their bald heads. “There’s seven of them.”
“So?” Chase frowned at them.
Grace elbowed him. “Don’t stare. It’s rude.”
He shook himself and turned the power of his brown eyes on Grace. “Are you thinking about the seven dwarfs?”
“Aren’t you?” She huffed out a breath. “Blanche means ‘white’, as in Snow White.”
He laughed. “That’s just...”
“I know, right?”
By now, the quad had filled with students—a sea of red and navy tartan. People steered clear of the bearded men. They were like their own little island. Grace angled away so she couldn’t see them, but she felt their eyes on her back. Being a new girl was bad enough, but being the new girl with miniature stalkers was over the top.
“Do me a favor?” she asked Chase.
“Maybe…” His eyes got a speculative glint. “But only if you’ll do something for me.”
“What?”
“You first.”
“Go ask their names. Find out who they are and what they want.”
“Why don’t you just do it yourself?”
“They scare me.”
“Are you kidding? They’re tiny.” He laughed. “Okay, I’ll go and talk to the little bad guys, but if I do, you have to find out if Gabby will go with me to Homecoming.”
“That’s so third grade.”
“But it’s the price you have to pay.” He stuck out his hand. “Deal?”
Standing, she placed her hand in his. Instead of shaking on it, Chase pulled her up against him and kissed her fast and hard.
Grace stumbled back, surprised, but not, she thought, as surprised as Brock. He stood in the corner of the quad, watching with an unreadable expression on his face. Beside him stood Alicia, wearing the same expression Grace’s dad made when he was involved in a difficult chess match.
“Meet me back here at lunch,” Chase said, “and I’ll tell you what I learn.”
Grace slipped her bag over her shoulder and turned her back on Brock, Alicia, and the seven little men.
She hesitated outside the door of Spanish Class. The teacher, Mr. Hernandez, had dark hair and skin, and the build of Antonio Banderas. His Spanish was probably way better than that of Mrs. Nelson, her last Spanish teacher at Salmon Dale High.
Someone touched her elbow, and she turned to see Amy. “Are you in this class?”
“I am.”
“Awesome. You’ll like Mr. Hernandez—all the girls like Mr. Hernandez. But he has a wife who looks like Salina and a baby who’s so cute you’ll just want to kiss her fat cheeks.” Amy pushed her into the classroom. “Come on,” she urged.
But when Grace caught sight of the dwarfs outside the window, hanging in the branches of a tree, she hesitated. The panic filling her chest deflated when she caught sight of security guards in yellow jackets approaching the tree.
Amy followed her gaze. “What the hell?”
The kids in the class gathered at the window. Even
Mr. Hernandez watched from behind his desk.
Grace followed Amy into the room, trying to ignore the circus on the other side of the window where the men were arguing with the security guards.
“If they have a weapon, they’ll be arrested,” a girl with a long ponytail said.
“They might be arrested anyway,” a guy said. “They’re trespassing.”
Limp with relief, Grace slid into a seat beside Amy, pulled out her Spanish text, and tried to calm her jittery nerves.
#
At the lunch table, Chase plopped down beside her. Amy and Oliver sat across from them.
“Mission accomplished,” Chase said as he set down his tray and picked up a slice of pizza.
“Yeah?”
He grinned. “You owe me.”
Amy and Oliver watched him with curious eyes. “What’d you do?”
“Found out who Grace’s admirers are,” Chase said.
“You mean Brockbank?” Oliver asked.
Amy shushed her brother. “You know he’s with Alicia,” she whispered.
“Yeah, but he’s keeping an eye on Grace.” Oliver slid a glance at Chase. “And Alicia wasn’t with him last night at the beach.”
Chase wrapped his arm around Grace’s shoulder, pulled her close, and kissed her cheek.
“Stop kissing me,” she said, scooting away.
“She plays hard to get,” Chase told the others.
Grace groaned. “What’s with you?”
“Just trying to help you out,” Chase said.
“How?”
“Brockbank’s going to find you a whole lot more interesting if he thinks he’s got competition.”
“I’m not competing for Brock or anyone else.” Grace heaved a sigh and bit into her tuna sandwich. “Did you find out their names?”
Chase slowly chewed his pizza before he said, “I did.”
“Whose names?” Amy asked.
“Grace has stalkers,” Chase said.
“No. Not really.”
“Yes, really,” Chase said. “They think you took something of theirs and they want it back. Bad.”