by Sarah Cannon
“What are they talking about? Destroying the puppets doesn’t free the puppeteers. They just shut down! They die!”
Cayden looks as shocked as I feel, but it fades as he starts thinking things through.
“The Nopesers don’t know that,” he says. “We didn’t put it in the post.”
“What if someone’s planning to do something tonight? We have to stop this right now!”
I start pounding keys, preparing to make another anonymous post so I can clear this up—and get only a gif of Whanslaw, shaking his head in grandfatherly disappointment, for my troubles.
Nopes is offline, and I just unleashed an anonymous army on Pearl.
“The hide-and-shack!” I say. “Someone could go out there to verify. We can tell them, and spread the word!”
I’m halfway up the stairs already, and I’m going with or without them, but it matters when they follow me even though I no longer deserve it.
* * *
I first get an inkling that something might be wronger than we thought when I detect a five-alarm smell for anyone who lives in the desert: smoke. Fire spreads so fast around here that there’s no stopping it once it gets going. Raymond wrinkles his nose before I can say anything. He looks at me, not to tell me, but to see confirmation on my face. After all our disagreements, I’m glad to see that he still has confidence in me.
I see Cayden reach for his bag and pull out a recently acquired slingshot. Something’s different about the gesture. Less nerves, more readiness, I think. He’s changing.
Part of me figured the cabin would be elsewhere and we’d have to sit around waiting for it to show up. But it’s there. At least, what’s left of it.
The shack is ablaze. As we arrive, one of the walls collapses inward with a crash. Another’s a charred stub. The door is still there, but it’s been kicked in.
I run to the wreckage. Cayden’s right behind me. Then I realize that whoever burned it down could be watching, hoping to find Nopesers like we were, and I pull him down into the sagebrush instead. Raymond’s already thought of this, of course. He skulks his way over to us, staying low.
Somewhere, the Blurmonster growls.
“I’m not wearing any BASH!” Cayden says, before I can ask. He looks around cautiously. “Do you think the Blurmonster did this?”
I shake my head. “If it was going to ram the shack, it would have done it when we were hiding. Also, the Blurmonster doesn’t start fires.”
“There are footprints all over the place,” says Raymond. “Look.”
Sure enough, there are.
And there are drag marks. Light ones, like from the edges of a robe.
I’m following them when I step around some brush and find myself mere cubits away from the Blurmonster.
It’s not moving, really. Just sitting there, purring. We’re not wearing BASH! or hatching evil plots, and it’s not hassling us.
The puppets have been lying like rugs about everything that matters. Maybe they lied about this.
“Whoa,” says Raymond, coming up behind me. I hold a hand up to shush him.
Me and Raymond might not always agree, but the kid knows who he’s dealing with. “Ada, what are you going to do?” he asks.
“I’m going to walk up to it and see what happens.”
I’m so nervous as I move in the Blurmonster’s direction that I imagine I can feel my body heading two ways at once. My steps are so cautious I bet I’m not even leaving prints. But I go. Closer, and closer. Its low rumble doesn’t change tempo or volume. Closer. I hear Raymond and Cayden whisper-arguing behind me, but neither of them wants to make enough noise to break the stalemate.
Closer.
I extend my hand, fingers trembling.
Something shoots out of the sagebrush and runs smack into my ankles.
I about jump out of my sneakers. I don’t scream, but I definitely emit a strangled squeal. The Blurmonster puffs in surprise, and the edges of it eddy upward, like it’s bobbing its head in alarm. I freeze.
The critter that might have just sealed my fate goes bounding off, antlers held high, white rabbit tail flashing. I deserve it. I filled the co-op with them the last time Scoby advertised a special on free-range jackalope. I still think it honored the spirit of the ad. I shut my eyes, then open them when I realize how pointless it is to avoid looking at an invisible monster.
“Ada, come back,” hisses Cayden, but I ignore him. The Blurmonster seems to have calmed. I want to say it’s watching me, but of course I can’t tell. Slowly, I edge my hand out toward it again. It takes a long time to work up the guts to step forward, but I do. Without getting any louder, its low, even rumble begins to fill the air, until everything around us—the air, the landscape, my own self—seems to vibrate. Closer … closer … and then my hand touches … something. It’s warm. It’s soft. Air puffs against my hand.
The Blurmonster makes a deep chuttering sound, and I jump a little. It snorts.
“Hey,” I say softly. “This is all right. This is oooookay.”
Once I’ve been there long enough to feel secure that it’s accepting me and not just confused, I step away. Then I do the scariest thing of all. I turn my back on my blurry new friend and walk over to my startled old friends. Raymond stands out, dark against the late-day sky, and Cayden’s eyes are wide behind the sweep of his hair.
“Sometimes,” I say as I pass them, “a calculated risk pays off.”
It follows us most of the way back before it slides off into the wild. I don’t mind. Between the boys’ silence and the voice in my head that won’t stop shouting Pearl’s in danger, I appreciate the company.
Chapter 28
Deserter
“Cayden?”
Mr. Mitchell collected the Sweepstakes canvassing forms today, and we were supposed to figure out what to do about the anonymous Nopesers after school, but something’s not right at Cayden’s house. Boxes of trash, a broken lamp, and a coffee table Xerple busted in a fit of enthusiasm are sitting out by the curb. A zombie rabbit is upside down in one of the boxes, feet flailing. Another one puts the lamp plug in his mouth, and the bulb lights up. I take the steps at a run, and find the front hallway cluttered with boxes and suitcases. I yell for Cayden, and he answers from upstairs.
I burst into his room. He’s throwing his soccer cleats into his shiny wheelie suitcase, with the biggest frown on his face I’ve ever seen—and I saw him during the fourth-period spider invasion.
“What the heck are you doing?”
I think he’s been looking for someone to shout at. “What does it look like I’m doing? I’m packing.”
I take a deep breath and try again. “Okay, never mind. WHY?”
He slams his suitcase shut half full, which is how I know he’s doing it for effect.
“Remember what Xerple said about Signal Boost?”
I rack my brain. “The night we went … up there? About it being bad medicine?”
He shoves a stack of jeans into a duffel bag with great feeling. “Yeah, that. Turns out he was right.”
“How do you know?”
“I switched out the labels, and replaced all my parents’ Signal Boost with sodas from Bodega Bodega.”
Uh-oh.
“It went badly?”
“My parents are back to their normal selves. Unfortunately, they’ve revised their opinion of our ‘dog.’ And our yard. And, you know, the town. They’re demanding job transfers from Splint even as we speak.”
“Can’t you give them their Signal Boost back so they forget?”
He stares at me for a very long time. I guess it was kind of a selfish question.
“So that’s it? You’re just … leaving?”
“Oh, right. I forgot, I’m talking to Oddity’s number one rebel turned double agent. My parents say we’re leaving. And in the normal world, Ada, kids do what their parents say.”
“Even if their parents call them Uncle Gunnar?”
“Right, except this messed-up town caused tha
t problem, didn’t it? Around here, evil grocery store owners drug people with old-fashioned sodas.”
“You don’t want to get to the bottom of why Greeley is doing that?”
“I bet I know why! Greeley and the puppets don’t want my parents fixing the cell signal around here.”
“And you’re going to let them get away with it?”
“You know what? Yes! I want to go back to Chicago and go to baseball games, and eat deep-dish pizza, and do normal science homework and not Applied Bomb-Defusing Tactics.”
I throw my hands up in the air. “Fine. Fine! But think about this: If you really want to leave so bad, why are you angry?”
I slam his door behind me before he can answer.
I end up on his back stoop, and to be honest, I’m a little numb. I ought to be thrilled. Without Cayden, I’ve got one less thing to worry about, right?
Except, in all fairness, he’s shaped up a lot. When I’ve needed him, he’s had my back. I might also be a little bit sappy over the way he’s taken care of Xerple.
Right after this thought enters my head, someone sniffles. It’s muffled, like the person’s trying to be quiet, but he’s about as subtle as a bear horn. I peer around the corner.
It’s Xerple, of course. Poor little guy. He’s on the other side of the house from the side yard, so he hasn’t lost his mind completely, but still, being outside without us is taking his life in his … whatever.
I don’t know how he’s crying with no eyes, but he’s doing it. Things are sploshy in the yard at his feet, and as I recall, we live in the desert. Mr. Mitchell said we’re technically in grasslands and mixed conifer woodland, but whatever. I creep around the corner and say the little alien’s name. He’s so bummed out he doesn’t even move.
“Hey, Ada,” he says in a sad little voice. I reach out carefully and put a hand on top of his grape-shaped head, though I might get fouled out of his life for doing it. Instead, he leans into my palm. He’s warm and pitiful.
“You heard, huh?”
“Yes.” He takes a deep, shuddering breath. “Cayden is … l-leaving me.”
Uh-oh. That’s exactly how I feel. Like he’s leaving me. But Xerple’s getting a lot more left than I am. Even as the landlady, I’m not sure I can keep him safe if he has to walk through my yard to get in and out of the house. I’d better start thinking about who can take him.
I pat him a little. “Don’t worry, Xerple. We’ll find someplace safe for you to live.”
He stands bolt upright all of a sudden, quivering with outrage.
“I do not want someplace to live! Places are easy! There are always more places. People are different. Finding the right person is HARD. And…” Here his bottom lip starts trembling, which is really alarming when you consider that it takes up roughly half his face. “Cayden is leaving!” He begins to sob. I sit with him until Daddy calls me in to dinner.
* * *
It takes me a long time to fall asleep, so I can’t have been dreaming for long when I wake to a pattering noise I almost never hear: rain. The second I recognize it, I reach over, flip on my lamp, and look up at the water stains over my bed.
It must have gone on just long enough.
The vines curl down from the ceiling like they’re curious, or reaching out to greet me after their long absence. I don’t remember ever being afraid of them. They’re covered, all over, with huge, bell-like paperwhite flowers. Some are as big as my head, and they’re growing so fast they rustle as they unfurl. I always run to look for them if I’m home when it’s raining, but they aren’t fooled by ten-minute thundershowers that are bark and bite and nothing else. They wait for the longest rain of the year. They’re one of the few things Pearl and I never argued about, too, which makes them even more perfect. I lie breathing in their faint scent, which reminds me of old letters scented with perfume so faded it’s almost not there at all.
When I’ve gotten my fill of them, and the lowest one is brushing against the tip of my nose, I slide sideways out of bed and throw on my sneakers. It’s time to initiate someone new into this little tradition of ours.
Mason wakes up right away when I shake his shoulder. I put a finger to my lips.
“Come on, kiddo.”
He obeys without being told twice, sitting up and shoving his feet into shoes he keeps lined up by the bed, just like we taught him.
We creep downstairs. I make him wait in the hall while I check out the dining room windows to make sure there’s nothing in the yard to worry about. Then I lead him outside.
I love the smell of rain on hot pavement. I don’t think Mase has ever been out in the rain at night before, and his nose is twitching like a rabbit’s. A real rabbit. But he doesn’t see the best part until we round the corner of the house.
All across the side yard, they’re coming up, the lucents. I don’t know if they’re fungi or flowers. They’ve always seemed like a little of both, really, with their tall, glowing stems and their globelike, beaming tops. They reflect in Mason’s wide eyes. He squeezes my hand, and all of a sudden I’m in tears. I thought he was too big to do that anymore. I wish Pearl was here to hold his other hand while we watch.
I hear a tiny “Whoa!” I look over to see a zombie rabbit sleepily rubbing his eyes. More and more come to join him, peeking out of the landscaping in amazement, and then comes a true miracle: they’re happy. They giggle, and whoop, and race in circles around the clusters of lucents.
I hear a gentle tap on glass, and glance at the house to find Daddy looking out the family room window. I figure I’m in for it, but instead he smiles at me as the gentle rain comes down, and down, and down, making pearls in our hair.
Chapter 29
Party Crasher
The problem with a town like Oddity is that there’s nowhere to conspire. An unlimited amount of nowhere. Miles and miles of nowhere. And my legs are getting tired from hiking around the nowhere looking for the other anonymous Nopesers.
That’s when it finally occurs to me. Collusion is hungry work. I don’t have to search the nowhere. All I really need to do is find the best nowhere-adjacent restaurant.
Which is how I got where I am now.
The afternoon sun glares on the silver curves of Crash Diner (and the flying saucer sprouting from the roof). The bells on the door bang the glass as I push my way in. On the jukebox, Elvis is singing about how he’s never lied to me. You know things are bad when I find that comforting.
It’s busy, but not quite dinnertime yet, so I take a whole booth without so much as a dirty look from Patsy. I down my Frito pie, then treat myself to Patsy’s famous cactus float, which is fizzy pink heaven in a glass. As I sit there sipping and doodling on my place mat, I virtuously refrain from staring at one of the squid-chinned aliens. He’s holding his red plastic basket of curly fries right up to his face, and it’s totally fascinating because it’s almost impossible to tell the fries from the tentacles.
As the level of float in my glass drops, I calculate my food-to-loitering ratio and figure I’ve got about fifteen minutes to spy on my fellow Oddiputians before I have to order something else.
Eavesdropping is not as exciting as it sounds. I quickly reach two conclusions: Oddiputians who eat early dinners have a lot of free time, and they mostly spend it complaining.
“… and I told her, if you’re not going to plunge the drains like I told you to, whatever comes up them when you’re in the tub is your own problem to deal with.…”
“Oh, you don’t have to tell me! Mine came downstairs this morning, and lo and behold, he’s got a bump on his forehead. The Murphys just got over a spider infestation, so you know perfectly well that’s what it is. If I’ve told him once, I’ve told him a thousand times, don’t share hats! But no, he knows everything.”
Just when I’m slurping my float as loud as I can in self-defense, someone across the aisle says, “Sweepstakes Day. It has to be then.”
“But why? That’s a terrible time. Everyone will be there.”
“Exactly. Everyone will be there.”
There’s a pause. I lean over my doodling and sneak a peek. Two guys. One is my dad’s age, with a mustache. The other is practically still a kid. He’s got one of those neck tattoos that annoy me because I never know whether it’s rude to read them, and the gauges in his earlobes are so big I want to give a zombie rabbit a Ping-Pong ball and send it over there to practice free throws. I immediately dub him YOLObes.
“Look,” says Mustache, “if everyone sees it—”
“—we’ll be killed,” says YOLObes.
“Okay. Yes. Maybe. But it will be useful.”
“Um…,” says YOLObes. “How?”
I hear Mustache shift in the booth. “I don’t know how to do it yet. Maybe with smashing! Or an explosion. Or a car chase. But—”
“No, I mean how will being dead be useful? Like, will our great sacrifice destroy the … you know whos? Will it save lives?”
Another pause.
“Oh. Well. Not necessarily. I think it will be symbolically useful.”
“Symbolically useful?”
“Yes. You see, what happens is, we try to kill them, and they kill us.”
“Riiiiight,” says YOLObes. “And then there’s a revolution?”
“Not exactly,” says Mustache. “But everyone learns an important lesson.”
“What lesson is that?”
“They learn that you can stand up to … you know.”
“If you want to get killed.”
“Yes.”
There’s a long pause as YOLObes thinks about this. Finally, he says, “Or we could go play Winterhammer.”
“Move over, Fred,” says a woman, shoving her way roughly into Mustache’s side of the booth.
“No names!” Mustache hisses. I can’t see him anymore behind the newcomer’s broad shoulders and her hair, which is so bed-head spiky it looks angry. Her head turns my way, and I instantly look back at my place mat, pretending to read an ad for insurance. NOW WITH ARMADUINO PROTECTION!
“What did I miss?” Angry Hair asks.
Duke, the skinny-jeaned server, blocks my view.
“Anything I can get?” he drawls.