by Amy Ignatow
Oh no. Oh no no no. He was going to be in a crowded testing room and he completely couldn’t stop himself from transporting. He did it again. “JAY!” He yelled, terrified, and then tried to breathe. “Jay,” he called again.
Jay bounded back into the room. That kid was fast. “Jay, I’m freaking out,” Nick explained, taking a big step to his right and immediately blinking back four inches to his left. “I don’t think I can take this test!” He did it again.
Jay jumped forward and grabbed his arm. “Okay, okay, old man, breathe. In through the nose, out through the mouth. You must find your inner yogi. Waheguru.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You know I’ve always been interested in Eastern spirituality! You are a rock. You are a mountain. You are a feather falling on a mountain. You are a drop of rain in the ocean! Just breathe.”
Nick wasn’t sure what Jay was talking about, but his weirdness was familiar and oddly calming. “Okay,” he breathed. “I think I can go downstairs.”
“Excellent! Jilly is making Molly cook crepes. Pregnant women get all the perks,” Jay said.
Nick took another deep breath. “I don’t know how I’m going to get through this exam without teleporting,” he told Jay.
Jay turned to face Nick and put both of his hands on Nick’s arms. “Don’t worry, old friend,” he said seriously. “I will find a way to get you through this.”
Intellectually Nick knew that putting his faith in the spazziest kid in school was probably not the best plan, but at least it was a plan.
The exam was held in the cafeteria, which always struck Farshad as unnecessarily evil. He understood that it was easier for the team of proctors to oversee a larger room, and that it was more difficult to get away with cheating, but there was also the incessant humming of the vending machines, and if anyone sharpened their pencils the sound would reverberate throughout the entire room. Farshad found it annoying, although he could usually tune it out. He put his pencils on the table in front of him. One for answering the questions, a backup for if that one got dull, and two more backups for if he accidentally pulverized the first two.
Farshad tried not to seem like he was paying attention to his bus companions as they filed into the cafeteria. First there was Cookie, who looked as if she hadn’t been sleeping very well. Farshad considered sending her an encouraging thought in the form of directions to the ice cream parlor, but decided against it. She probably had her brain full trying to ignore everyone else’s thoughts.
Nick came in with Jay close at hand, of course, and they sat a few rows behind Farshad. It must be so annoying to have to deal with that little spaz all the time, Farshad thought to himself before realizing that Jay was actually holding on to Nick’s arm. He was keeping Nick from teleporting.
That kid really didn’t care how ridiculous he looked.
Farshad almost didn’t notice Martina slip into the seat left of Nick. That seemed dangerous. If he was going to teleport, he’d probably teleport right into her. She didn’t seem too worried. She also had four pencils and two pens, which she immediately used to draw in her sketchbook as if the second most important exam of the year wasn’t about to take place. Farshad shook his head. He had to concentrate and this wasn’t the time to be worrying about them.
“Oh, aren’t you two just the cutest.” Farshad heard Izaak’s voice coming from behind him.
“Why thank you,” Jay said, “I don’t personally find you cute, but it is nice to hear.”
“Shut up, faggot,” Izaak snapped.
“You shut up,” Nick growled.
Farshad turned around. Nick was standing up and everyone in the room was looking at him. He had turned beet red, but he kept standing as Izaak stared at him. “Oh look,” Izaak said. “His boyfriend is going to defend him.”
“Must I explain this to everyone?” Jay said, standing up and inserting himself between Nick and Izaak, “I feel like you’re trying to insult us, but we don’t think that being called homosexual is particularly insulting. Now, if I were to say something like ‘You’re a dimwitted Neanderthal’ to you, it would be insulting. To Neanderthals.” Jay smiled. “Because you’re dumber than one.”
Izaak grabbed Jay’s shirt and yanked him over the table, shaking him like a rag doll, but quick as a snake Jay opened his mouth and clamped down on Izaak’s hand with his teeth. “GAAAAAAHHH!” Izaak screamed, his voice surprisingly high-pitched.
“MR. CARPENTER!” Principal Jacobs bellowed, running up to them. Jay unlocked his jaw and Izaak clutched his hand, howling in pain.
“PRINCIPAL JACOBS!” Jay yelled back, otherwise completely composed.
“What on earth do you think you’re doing?”
“HE BIT ME! THAT LITTLE FAGGOT FREAK BIT ME!” Izaak wailed.
“MR. MARCUS! I do not tolerate that sort of language in my school!”
“It really is intolerable,” Jay said. “He also tastes disgusting.”
“Mr. Carpenter, I suggest you stop talking. Take your things and go to Testing Room B immediately. Mr. Marcus, you’re fine, stop howling like a great big squalling infant and sit down. I will deal with both of you after the exam is over. EVERYONE ELSE, there’s nothing to see. Sit down and face front.”
“But my dear Principal Jacobs, it is imperative that I remain—”
“Mr. Carpenter, NOW.”
Farshad looked down at the table where his exam would soon be, determined to make himself as small and unnoticeable as possible. These were the people that were the closest thing he had to friends. It was infinitely better, he thought, not to have any friends at all.
As soon as the exam was over, Cookie was out of her seat and heading for the door. She was pretty certain that she did well on the Fill In Your Name section of the test and also that she did miserably bad on the Everything Else section.
“Cookie, where are you going?” Addison asked as Cookie sped past the table where she was sitting with Claire and Emma.
“Gotta go, text you later,” Cookie mumbled without looking back. As she left the cafeteria she could hear Emma blabbing on about the difficulty of the math section and how nervous she was to get the results back in two weeks. Ugh. Please. If you’re good at something, don’t pretend to be bad at it so that you look even better when oh my gosh, you did well. It irritated Cookie to no end.
“That wasn’t fun,” Martina said, falling in step next to Cookie.
“I swear, are you a cat or something? Maybe your super-special power is being a cat because you’re crazy quiet and you just show up and I can never see you coming.”
“I don’t think so,” Martina said. “Also, we have a cat and you can always see her coming, so I don’t think you know much about cats.”
“Cats are quiet and sneaky. You are quiet and sneaky. You are like a cat.” They’d reached Cookie’s locker. She opened it and started jamming her jacket into her messenger bag.
“Dinah is grossly overweight and not very sneaky. She falls down the stairs a lot. My sister thinks she looks like the poop emoji when she sits down.” Martina leaned on the locker next to Cookie’s. “Where are we going?”
“I don’t know. Anywhere. Out of here. Away from Ms. Zelle.”
“Would you like to go to Lancaster?” Martina asked.
“What? Lancaster? Why?”
“Abe wants to find his sister. He wants to find out what happened to her. Also I think he probably misses her.”
“Why does he need us to go with him?”
“Probably because we’re the only ones who won’t judge him for what he’s become.”
Someone was approaching them. Nick. “I can’t find Jay,” he said.
“He’s probably in Principal Jacobs’s office,” Martina said. “There’s nothing you can do for him now. Are you ready to go?”
Cookie raised an eyebrow. “He’s coming?”
“Of course.”
“What about Farshad?”
Martina wrinkled her brow. “He was unrecep
tive.”
“Surprise, surprise.” Cookie looked down the hall at the crowds that had begun to file out of the cafeteria. It was only a matter of time before she was spotted with Nick and Martina. “Okay, fine. You two go, and I’ll meet up with you.”
“We’ll be at the gym entrance parking lot,” Martina said, and started to walk away.
“Wait, why aren’t you coming with us right now?” Nick asked.
“Because she doesn’t want to be seen with us,” Martina said, looking at Cookie with strikingly light green eyes. It felt like she knew every terrible thought and feeling that Cookie had ever had. Hearing her own terrible thoughts and feelings spoken out loud hurt. And yet, as always, Martina didn’t seem particularly bothered.
“I have to go the bathroom,” Cookie said. “I’ll meet you there.”
Addison, Claire, and Emma were already in the bathroom when she got there. Of course.
“Hey, girl,” Claire said, sidling up to Cookie. “Post-exam hangout?”
“Yeah, stranger,” Addison said. “It’s nice out. Let’s walk into town.”
“Maybe we could get some ice cream or something,” Emma said, looking pointedly at Cookie.
“Yay! Ice cream! Come with us. Ice cream ice cream ice cream,” Claire sang.
Just go with them, Cookie thought. You can either just tune out the voices in your head and hang out with your friends—and their annoying little extra friend-person—or you can go with a bunch of weirdos on a mission to find out more about your own weirdness. The choice seemed so clear—
Cookie couldn’t have gone too far, she was just here.
I’ll check by her locker.
“Sorry, rain check,” Cookie said, giving Addison and Claire each an airy kiss on the cheek as she left the bathroom. She headed for the gymnasium exit. Once outside, she scanned the parking lot for Ed’s car.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she groaned when she saw the horse-drawn buggy. Nick and Martina were already in the back. She climbed in.
“Go go go,” Cookie said to Abe through the front window. She turned to Martina and Nick. “I heard Ms. Zelle, she’s looking for me again.”
“Again?” Nick asked as the horse began to trot out of the parking lot.
“Yes. I heard her the other day.” Cookie explained how she’d left Mrs. Whitaker’s class after hearing Ms. Zelle’s approach in her mind.
“All right,” Nick said, “but you’re saying this like she was doing something nefarious. Maybe she just wanted to talk to you about your grades.”
“Okay, first, why are you assuming that my grades aren’t good?”
Nick squirmed. “Maybe she wanted to . . . congratulate you for being such a good student?”
“That was a terrible save. Which brings me to my second point, which is why would she come get me during another teacher’s class to either high-five me for being such a great student or to tell me that I’m a great big dumb-dumb? Teachers don’t do that. They only pull you out of class if something tragic has happened, and even then the science teacher isn’t going to be the one informing you that your dog died.”
“I think it would have to be something bigger than that,” Martina said, looking out the window. “It would probably have to be a human death. And it would still not be the science teacher.” She turned to Cookie. “He just wants to trust Ms. Zelle because she’s very pretty and he’s attracted to her.”
“HEY!” Nick blurted, blinking out and reappearing four inches to his left. Martina leaned over and put her hand on his knee. He looked equally furious and grateful for her assistance.
“Well, it’s hard to believe, but sometimes even pretty people are untrustworthy,” Cookie said with a roll of her eyes.
“I don’t trust her,” Abe called from the front of the cab. “Mostly because she entered my family’s barn without permission and then tried to hurt me with a zapper and then set the barn on fire.”
“Technically Mr. Friend set your barn on fire,” Nick pointed out.
“Oh my god, listen to yourself.” Cookie looked pointedly at Nick as he shifted awkwardly on the hard wood seat of Abe’s buggy. “If nothing else, Ms. Zelle clearly can’t be trusted.” They were on a county road now and picking up speed. “Abe, could you tell Mr. Horse not to kill us all this time?”
“He did not kill us all last time,” Abe said. “If he had done so, we would all be dead.”
“Hey, Abe,” Cookie said as the farmland flew by. “Do you even know where your sister lives?”
“No,” the Amish boy said, “but someone told me where she works.”
Rebecca lived on the top floor of a house on the edge of town with a guy named Beanie, who was one of the other shunned Amish teenagers. They didn’t seem to Nick to be boyfriend and girlfriend, although he would be the first to admit that he was never able to tell about these things anyway. They did have separate bedrooms.
The apartment was pretty bare. There was a small folding table near a kitchenette, two folding chairs, and a very ugly plaid sofa. Rebecca’s bedroom door was closed but Nick could see what looked like a futon mattress on the floor of Beanie’s room. Thinking about sleeping on it made Nick’s back sore.
“Would anyone like anything to drink?” Rebecca asked after they’d all come in. Cookie asked for water and Rebecca seemed relieved that it was something she could actually provide (in a glass that read Conestoga Valley Annual Beef & Beer Wrestling). When she opened her fridge all Nick could see was some milk and what looked like a lot of packets of Nugget Town condiments.
Cookie and Nick sat on the plaid sofa and Martina sat cross-legged on the floor with her sketchbook in her lap. Abe remained standing. He looked unhappy and agitated.
“Do Daett and Maemm know that you’re here?” Rebecca asked him.
“Neh,” Abe said.
“Do they know where I am?”
“Ich vays nett.” Abe began to twist his fingers into knots. “But I—we—need to talk to someone about something that you might know something about.”
“All right,” Rebecca said, sitting down on one of the folding chairs.
“It’s about . . . the Hexerei.”
Rebecca looked upset. “I am not . . . you need to know, I am not a Hexerei.” Abe was silent. “Do you believe that I am a Hexerei?” she asked him, anguish in her voice.
“There have been strange things happening,” Abe said, “and I don’t know what to believe. But I believe that no matter what, you are my sister and you are a good person, and I will believe whatever you tell me.” He looked at Nick, Cookie, and Martina.
“We’ll believe you, too,” Cookie said.
Rebecca looked at her with curiosity, and then back to Abe with a raised eyebrow. “We’re all in this together,” he told her, and began to tell the story of the past week. The storm. The bus accident. The invisible man who he thought was a ghost. Mr. Friend. Abe’s ability to communicate with animals. Dr. Deery and the makeshift lab in Philadelphia. Occasionally he would lapse into Pennsylvania Dutch, but Nick could follow the thread. He already knew the story (although Abe’s weaponizing of bird poop was news to him). Rebecca listened to it all, wide-eyed. “Wait,” she said when he was finished, and went down the stairs.
She came back a minute later with a large, bored-looking gray cat. “Vemm sei grohi katz is sell?” Abe asked.
“My landlord’s,” Rebecca replied, setting the cat down on the bare wooden floor. “His name is Señor Fuzzybutt. Please,” she said to Abe, gesturing to the cat.
Abe crouched down and looked into Señor Fuzzybutt’s eyes. The cat lay down.
“There.” Abe said.
Everyone was silent. “So . . . what are we looking at here?” Cookie asked.
“I made the cat lay down.” Abe said.
Rebecca looked worried. “Are you sure?” She asked. “Señor Fuzzybutt lays down all the time. He might have just wanted to lay down.” She looked at the cat, who had decided that it was the best possible moment to clean h
is own butt with his tongue. “Did you make him do that, too?”
“No!” Abe yelped. “He just wanted to be clean. Down there.”
“Okay, Abe, can you make the cat do anything a little more interesting?” Cookie asked.
“I can’t make animals do anything,” he explained, “I ask them politely to do something, and then if they feel like it they do it.”
“So when you just asked the birds to poop all over the policeman?”
“Well . . . yes. They seemed happy to oblige. I think they enjoy pooping on people.” Abe looked at the cat again.
Señor Fuzzybutt stopped licking himself, lay down again, and rolled over. Then he rolled over again. And again. And again until he hit the sofa.
“He’s never done that before,” Rebecca admitted.
“Rebecca,” Cookie asked, “can you tell us what happened to make your family shun you?”
When Martina had told him that they were going to Lancaster, Farshad had done his best to gracefully bow out of the trip. “I can’t, I’m busy,” he’d told her.
Martina’s eyes had turned a dark gray, and he’d wondered at the time how much longer it would be before someone else noticed. She never seemed particularly worried about it. “What are you doing?” she had asked.