Jinx yawns dramatically, ruffling up her sleep-mussed hair. “It’s too early for a party. If you need me, I’ll be sleeping in.” She runs off, climbing up the stairs on all fours.
“Monkey girl,” I whisper.
“I heard that!” Jinx yells.
“How’s your mom?” Peyton asks as I shut the door behind him.
I shrug. “I haven’t seen her yet.” A small tickle of fear pokes me. What if Mom isn’t fine and I haven’t even bothered to check on her?
“She’s better, thanks, Peyton.” Dad appears at the top of the stairs, looking somewhat worn out. “She should rest in bed today.”
“I’m fine!” Mom bellows from their bedroom.
“Chill out, Shea! I’ll bring you some eggs,” my father calls back. He grins. “She’s already bored. You guys have fun today. Try not to get into too much trouble.”
We go upstairs so we can begin our action-packed day of hanging out, eating chips, and playing computer games. Along with his laptop, Peyton brought along a giant book about Impressionist painters from his art teacher’s library, and we sit on my bed, flipping through the extra-large pages. I recognize some of the images from puzzles and things. Lots of water lilies. A night sky.
“You’re super into this art business, aren’t you?” I ask him. I reach for Peyton’s sketchbook and check it out. My heart drops a little bit. He’s so good. As though he’s a professional and I’m a preschooler. I close the book and slide it across the bed to him, trying not to wish that Peyton wasn’t so fantastic at absolutely everything he tries. It leaves only crumbs for the rest of us.
Peyton blushes a bit, smiling. “I don’t know, Xander. I might have found my calling.”
Ah. I still disgust myself. I shouldn’t be jealous of him. “I thought you wanted to be a pro baseball player.”
Peyton shrugs. “Who says you can’t be two things? People can’t play baseball forever. Hey, I know what: we’ll be artists together. Like Gauguin and Van Gogh. This book says they were friends.”
“You sure you want to do that?” I point to a paragraph about Van Gogh. “Because they think Gauguin cut off Van Gogh’s ear.”
Peyton caws his most raucous laugh, which echoes through the house. One thing about him: when he’s happy, everybody in the neighborhood knows. “If I did that, it’d be because you deserved it.”
I roll my eyes, and then, remembering my dream, I repress a shudder. “I’d never do that to you,” I say a little too vehemently.
“Dude”—Peyton gives me a funny look—“I’m only kidding around. You okay?”
I shrug and consider telling him everything, just so I don’t have to feel so alone. I haven’t told Dad—or anyone—the extent of my nightmares or how bad I feel about myself sometimes. I don’t need them to dislike me the way they did when we were hiking.
I don’t want Peyton to know what a horrible person I might be deep down inside. What if he picks up his art book, says, You’re disgusting, Xander, and takes off forever?
Just then, the door opens and in walks Jinx. She’s changed into jeans and her MISFITS shirt, but her hair’s still wild. “What are you guys doing?”
I throw a dirty sock at her. She dodges it nimbly. “How many times do I have to tell you not to barge in like that?” I say. “I could be asleep or naked for all you know.”
“Yeah, right. I heard this cacklebox”—she points at Peyton—“going full-force. Ain’t nobody going to sleep through that.” Jinx sits on the bed next to us.
Peyton shuts the art book. “I don’t believe you were invited in.”
“I’m half-oni, remember? We come and go as we please.” Jinx reaches for the book. “More art? I thought we were supposed to be reading about war.” She produces a paperback of The Bushido, the Warrior’s Way, from her back pocket. “I mean, the next time an oni scorpion ambushes Xander, what good is Monet going to be?”
I don’t even have to look at Peyton to feel him tense up. I frown at her. “Art is how I found out about my power in the first place.”
“At least we have talents, Jinx.” Peyton leaps to my defense, his hair sticking up like a vengeful rooster’s comb. “What’s yours?”
She curls her arm and pops out her bicep. “Muscle.”
Peyton snorts. “Let me get out my magnifying glass.”
Jinx gets into a sumo wrestler pose, half squatting, lifting up one foot and then another. “Oh yeah? Try to knock me over.”
“Please.” Peyton waves her off. “I could knock you over with a feather. I’m not going to dignify that with a response.”
“That was a response.” Jinx jumps onto the footboard, her toes gripping the wood, and her arms dangling like a chimp’s. “Or do you want to maybe run the mile again?” She smirks at him.
Peyton’s expression darkens. Before Jinx showed up, nobody at school had ever beaten his mile time of five and a half minutes. Which is, like, elite-level good for our age. And then Jinx ran it in four minutes, ten seconds, and I don’t think she was even trying particularly hard. He smiles at her. “Is that in the air or on the ground? Because if I could fly, I’d beat you.”
She sniffs. “You’re never getting your wings back in this world, Peyton. Might as well get used to it.” She points at him with her big toe. “Here, you’re as average as anybody else. But I’m half-oni no matter where I am.”
Peyton’s face goes blotchy. He stares hard at the art book.
I intervene. “You know what your talent is, Jinx? Getting under people’s skin.” I hit her with a pillow. “Seriously, Jinx, what do you even want to be when you grow up?”
She shrugs, bending to dodge my next pillow attack. “I do things the Zen way, baby. Worry about the present only.”
“Yeah. That’s how every president got to be president,” Peyton scoffs.
She thumbs her nose at us. “Speaking of talents, where are all your drawings, anyway?” Jinx points at the blank walls.
“Yeah.” Peyton looks at the walls, too, as if he’s just noticing this. Which he probably is. “You didn’t tear them up, did you? Some of those were really good.”
“Whatever.” He’s being nice. I shrug. “I got tired of looking at them, so I stuck them in my desk.”
Peyton frowns. He puts his sketchbook in front of me and a pencil in my hand. “Draw.”
I stare at the book like I’m a little kid who doesn’t want to eat his broccoli. “I don’t want to.”
“Just do it.” He opens it to a blank page.
“What are you, some kind of art pusher?” Reluctantly, I hover my pencil over the paper.
What should I draw? Maybe a portrait of Jinx as a monkey and Peyton as a real bird. Nope. Not going to do it. I put the pencil down and look up at Peyton. He and Jinx are at my desk now, arguing about a YouTube video. How’d they’d move over there so fast? I hand the book to Peyton. “I’m not in the mood.”
“What are you talking about?” Peyton points to the page. “You’ve been drawing for a half hour.”
Oh crud.
I can barely bring my eyes to the page, but I do. There’s a picture of me and my dad and my grandfather on a cliff above a raging ocean where a serpent slithers on the bottom. Above us is a cloud-like black shape, huge and threatening. Is it some kind of oni? It has no face, but just looking at it fills me with dread. Worse even than a math test I haven’t studied for.
In the picture, my grandfather is lying down. Dead? He is in real life, so that’s not surprising. But my father’s on his hands and knees, trying to crawl away from the dark shape, moving right toward the cliff.
And what am I doing?
I’m holding the sword that I found on my adventure. The Sword of Yumenushi, the Sword of Dreamers. The Momotaro sword that can slay monsters. But I’m kneeling, my head bent, and the sword is on the ground. My other hand is up, shielding my face from the oni.
I’m cowering.
Peyton wrinkles his nose. “Well, that can’t be good, can it?”
I s
hut the book so hard Peyton’s hair ruffles in the wind. “I told you I didn’t want to draw!” This is worse than I’d feared. Is this the future? Me, being all cowardly and scared while my father goes to his doom?
“But what does it mean?” Peyton opens the page to the drawing again. “Your grandfather’s dead. Your dad’s trying to get away. And you’re just looking scared.”
“Thanks for the recap.” I shiver.
Jinx sits next to me and puts her arm around my shoulder. It’s oddly comforting. “Xander, just because you draw it doesn’t mean it’ll come true. I mean, Lovey did not literally turn into an ape, did she?” She’s referring to the cartoon I drew of Lovey, where I depicted her as a rather unfortunate orangutan.
“No, she didn’t.” I look at the cloud again. “But that thing is an oni. I can feel it. This isn’t the same.”
Jinx blows out hard through her nose. “Okay, maybe you really did draw the future, and you’re going to wimp out on your dad and everybody else and get killed by some lame, vaguely threatening cloud. Is that what you want to hear?”
“Don’t talk to him that way.” Peyton’s hair practically stands on end as he leans into Jinx’s face. “Can’t you see how terrified he is?”
“I’m talking sense into him!” Jinx doesn’t budge.
“Is that how your father gave you pep talks?” Peyton asks. “Because that didn’t work too well, if you remember.”
Jinx’s eyes narrow. “I suggest you stop bringing up my father!”
Just then, Inu busts in and throws himself between Jinx and Peyton. Woof woof woof! he barks sharply, pushing his great paws against Peyton’s chest, then throwing his body against Jinx’s. Inu hates it when people fight. Even play fighting upsets him.
“Hey! I can speak for myself. I am not terrified, Peyton.” I pat Inu’s hindquarters, making him sit. “Everybody calm down and let me think for a minute!” My mind is racing, my heart is pounding, and I feel like crying. Again. “I am never picking up a pencil again as long as I live.” I gulp.
“Don’t worry about it, Xander. I’ve got your back.” Peyton rips the drawing out of the book and shreds it with his long fingers. He sticks a piece into his mouth and chews. “See? All gone.”
“Save some for me.” Jinx grabs a big handful out of Peyton’s hand and stuffs it into her mouth. “Your scary drawings are delicious,” she says, a piece of pulp flying out of her mouth and landing squarely on Peyton’s cheek.
At this I have to laugh.
We spend the day playing computer games and watching TV. Nobody mentions the drawing again. Peyton keeps his sketchbook in his backpack.
Although nobody talks about it, the picture is all I can think about. I knew that would happen if I tried to create something. I’m going to have the worst nightmares ever tonight.
I’m definitely going to use the baku.
At bedtime, Jinx knocks on my door and sticks her head in before I can answer. “Good night, children. Don’t let the bedbugs bite.”
I throw another sock at her. “Again, WAIT before you come in here.”
She sticks her tongue out. “You have an endless supply of dirty socks. You really need to do laundry.” She shuts the door, and I hear her running down the hall.
“Ewww.” Peyton swoops off the bed, lifts up the corner of his sleeping bag to check the floor underneath. “You don’t actually have bedbugs, do you?”
“Couldn’t you just eat them if I did? You’re a bird.” I get under the covers of my bed.
Peyton crawls into the sleeping bag. “I’m not much of a bird these days.” Peyton lowers his voice. “You know, after we got back from the island, I actually tried eating an earthworm.”
“No!” I pull the blankets up over my mouth. “Peyton, that’s gross!”
“It wasn’t too bad. Like slimy chicken mixed with dirt.” He makes a gagging noise. “I’m joking. It was tremendously awful.”
“I bet that’s what the worm said about your breath,” Jinx calls through the door.
I throw my shoe at it, knocking loose a poster. “Jinx! No eavesdropping.”
“You better get to sleep. Tomorrow, training starts again.” Her voice drifts down the hallway as she heads down to her room.
Peyton shakes his head. “Truly, I don’t know how you stand her.”
I think about this. Jinx isn’t exactly like the other kids. Obviously—she’s half-demon, for goodness’ sake. But also, she’s a year older than everyone else.
The other day, I asked Jinx if she wanted to play Craftworlds with me, and she said that thirteen-year-olds didn’t play that game.
“Sorry,” I’d said, “I didn’t know you were so sophisticated.”
Jinx had sighed. “Do you have any idea how much older thirteen is than twelve?”
“Four years?” I had answered dryly.
“Ten percent of my life. I have ten percent more experience than everybody else.” Jinx had frowned at me. “I’m a freak at school.”
“You’re a freak everywhere,” I’d muttered. “You could try to get along.”
“Do or do not. There is no try,” she’d responded. “And I’m doing not.”
“Okay, Yoda.” I’d gone into my room to play Craftworlds by myself.
So I shrug at Peyton, who’s waiting for my answer. “I’m a saint. Plain and simple.” I frame my face with my hands. “Look for this on a medal very soon: Xander, First Prize for Putting Up with Annoyance.”
I burrow down in my bed, covering myself so only my face is exposed. It’s so comfy. Dad changed the sheets for me, so they’re nice and crisp. I can dimly hear my parents watching television downstairs and laughing. Inu flops around on my bedspread, his front paws moving as he emits little yips of joy. I bet he’s dreaming about chasing rabbits. Maybe this time he’ll catch one.
Below me, Peyton’s already breathing slowly and evenly.
I should have a good-dream night.
But still, maybe I won’t.
I inhale and take out my baku. I had better use it, just in case.
If Obāchan knew how I was feeling, she’d understand.
Baku, baku, come eat my dreams.
I fall asleep.
When I wake, I don’t remember a single thing about my dreams. That’s good, right?
I stretch, feeling energy coursing through me. I want to get up and do stuff. I leap out of bed.
On the floor, Peyton yawns. I kick his sleeping bag semi-gently. “Hey, Peyton, let’s make pancakes.”
“Pancakes?” He stares at me like I’ve got a horn growing out of my forehead. “That’s a lot of work. Can’t somebody else make them?”
“It’s a mix. Come on, it’s easy.” I start out the door.
“You go ahead. I’ll be there soon.” Peyton doesn’t move.
Whatever. Maybe he needed the baku.
Downstairs, my parents are slouched over the table, tucking into heaping bowls of sugary cereal. Several boxes do a conga line across the table. Chocolate. Marshmallow. Chocolate and marshmallow. Fruity. “Where’d all this come from?” We never have stuff like this.
Dad shrugs. “I had a craving.”
“Well, I’m not complaining.” I grab the biggest cereal bowl I can find and fill it up.
We crunch away in silence. My parents seem particularly tired, barely blinking. Usually they’re so chipper they could give those annoying TV morning-show hosts a run for their money. They’re all like, Xander, what are your plans? Today we’re going to run a marathon and paint the living room and then make strawberry jam! and I’m just like, Ughhhh. Too much ambition.
But maybe Mom’s still not one hundred percent, and Dad’s tired from taking care of her.
“I’m ready for archery. Should I set up the targets outside?”
Crunch, crunch, crunch.
They stare off into space.
Dad slurps the last of the milk out of his bowl. “Nah. It’s too much trouble. Let’s take today off.”
“Really?” I
look at my mother. She pours herself more Frosted Sugar Crunch. “Where’s Obāchan?”
“Still asleep,” Mom says through a mouthful of cereal. “She’s got a cold or something. Let her rest.”
Peyton stumbles downstairs, his hank of hair looking even crazier than usual. He stares blankly at the scene in front of him.
“Hey, Peyton,” I say. “Ready for archery?”
He makes a face. “Can we watch it on TV?”
“Good idea,” Dad drawls. “Netflix has its new movies loaded. Like the robot movie.”
“The robot suit–wearing guy, or the robot who takes over the world?” my mother asks.
“Guy,” Dad says.
“You mean Iron Man?” I ask. Why are they acting so dumb?
“Cool,” Peyton says.
I glance outside. It’s seventy degrees and sunny. I feel a weird, unfamiliar longing to get out there and do something. “All we have to do is set up the targets outside. I could do it.”
They ignore me.
“I’ll practice with you, Xander.” Jinx comes downstairs. “Oh boy, Count Chocula!” She pours herself a big bowl, then runs water over it. Jinx doesn’t drink milk.
I stare with worry at my friend. “You sure you’re okay, Peyton?”
He nods with a mouthful of cereal.
“What am I, chopped liver?” Jinx kicks my knee softly. “I said I’d go.”
When Jinx and I come back inside, Dad and Shea and Peyton and Inu are all slumped on the couch in the darkness, watching some reality show where little girls with spackled-on makeup compete in a beauty pageant as if their parents’ lives are at stake.
“Who do you think will take it? My money’s on Little Zazzy Zoo Zoo.” Peyton has a bag of fun-size candy bars on his lap. Wrappers litter the floor by his feet.
Shea takes a slurp from a giant cup of soda. “Nah. Yolanda the Yodeler’s got this one. Did you hear her lungs?”
“Is this all you’ve been doing all day?” I stride to the curtains, pull them open. “Mom, isn’t your test tonight?” I point at her stack of books.
She waves her hand. “Eh. I didn’t have time to study today. I’ll take it later.”
Xander and the Dream Thief Page 6