by Cyn Balog
Blah. Guys may be immature, but guy fairies give the word a whole new meaning.
He wraps an arm around me and squeezes. I remember when his squeezes would rearrange my internal organs, but this one is so light, I barely feel it. He says something reassuring and nuzzles my ear so that it tickles and I have to swat him away. And that's when I look up at Cam's house, onto the porch, and see it.
The collage I made. The orange construction-paper cover is poking out from the top of the mailbox, just as I had left it.
I turn to him, confused.
And he’s happy… why?
Chapter Thirty-four
THE MYSTERY DOESN'T become any clearer by the time we get to school. Cam won’t tell me why he has that grin plastered on his face. I venture that maybe he got his throwing arm back, or that perhaps Dawn has laid off being such the drill sergeant, but he just shakes his head and says, "It's part of the fairy code. Confidential" which makes me hate the fairy world even more.
'What? What? Tell me!" I whine, knowing that he can’t take my pathetic preschooler routine for more than a few minutes.
He runs his fingers up and down my back, leans toward me so that our foreheads are touching, and says, "Remember how we talked about moving on to the next thing?"
I nod. "What? Have you found your next thing?"
But he just grins again and refuses to say more. Grr.
When we part, I head down to the music wing, toward my locker. That's when I hear the yelling. People tear down the hall, past me. "Come on!" a shaggy-haired guy in a Beastie Boys T-shirt yells to his friend, and then I hear a snippet of what sounds like "kicking ass" and I know it's a fight. Few things can bring the otherwise comatose student body at Stevens to life like a good brawl, but they've never interested me. I walk at a leisurely pace, just hoping there's no blood on or surrounding my locker, when I hear another person shout. I can just make out "In the gym" and "That new kid."
New kid.
Pip.
I forget about making it to my locker, about the wrath of Tanner. I find myself at the doorway to the gym, out of breath, though I can’t remember running there. There, in the center of the room, is a rabid swarm of at least fifty students, all chanting in rhythm, "Go! Go!"
I’m elbowed and punched a dozen times before I finally make it to the center and see exactly what I'd feared.
There's a motionless body on the ground, in fetal position, and Scab is on top of it, his full weight bearing into it, pummeling it with both his fists like a jackhammer. I know the body is Pips. Pip might have the strength to hit back, and even to win against a guy like Scab, but he never would. I wish for a second that Cam could be here, to talk some sense into his best friend, but I know he’s on the other side of the building. And so it’s all a blur when I force my way into the center of the circle and scream for Scab to stop.
My cry doesn't break through his delirium. Instead of obeying, he starts to kick Pip in the stomach, and Pip's body lurches inches across the hardwood with every motion.
Cam would kill Scab if he laid a hand on me, so I feel safe going in there, despite how crazed the guy looks. With my good hand, I try to pull back on his arm, but I'm shocked when he throws his shoulder back, lashing me in the face. The thunder of the jeering crowd and the beating of my heart are muffled in my ears as I slide down to the hard surface of the gymnasium floor. I feel for my nose, which is beginning to ache numbly, and when I bring my fingers in front of my eyes, they are coated in red.
He is so going to get it when Cam hears about this.
And still, Scab doesn't stop. The crowd grows louder. The size and volume seem to increase along with the drama, so the sight of my blood forming neat, round droplets on the shiny wood floor has launched them into a frenzy. Wiping my face with the back of my hand, I somehow get the nerve to throw myself behind Pip, and drag him a few feet away. "What the hell?" is all I can bark out.
Scab looks up, a bit of humanness returning to his face, and for the first time seems shocked to see me bleeding.
"Is this because of Sara?" I yell at him, then pull Pip back and look at his face. He has a bloody lip, probably from the first sucker punch Scab threw at him, but other than that, I think I took worse. He stirs and makes it to his elbows, a "What happened?" look on his face.
Scab looks down at him in disgust. "It's because he’s a loser."
"How do you know that?" I ask, my voice trembling, though I concentrate on every word to keep it even.
Scab shakes his head. "Obvious. He can’t even fight."
Pip is rubbing his tender jaw. I help him to his feet and see John Vaughn standing there, in his football jersey, holding a football. "John," I say, pointing out across the gym. "Go long."
John looks at me blankly, and I have to pry the football from him with my bloody hands. "You heard me. Go!"
He shrugs and heads out across the gym until he's nearly half a fields length away. The crowd watches-as does Scab, with a half-tired, half-still-dying-to-pummel-Pip look on his face.
I hand Pip the ball and nod at him.
He barely has to put in any effort. Despite the fact that he's crumpled and woozy, he returns my nod, pulls the ball back behind his ear, and robotically lets go. It sails perfectly into John's hands, as if he were pulling it to him with a magnet.
" Obvious, huh. Was that?" I ask Scab.
Scab doesn't answer, just stands there like the rest of the crowd. Mouth open, completely silent.
Chapter Thirty-five
WHEN THE TEACHERS arrive, the mob quickly disperses. A faculty member ushers Scab toward the principal’s office, and in the midst of all the commotion, I'm able to walk Pip to an alcove behind the bleachers, to help him catch his breath. He looks at me gratefully, but there is a hollow, distant glaze in his eyes.
I take the last remaining tissue from my bag, divide it, and offer one part to him. Then I dab the other half cautiously over my nose. "He's a jerk. He's had a crush on Sara forever. I should have warned you, but I didn't know he'd-"
"That's all right." He is staring at the slats of the bleachers ahead of him, or at nothing. His voice is soft but very even.
"I guess you can't get back to Otherworld soon enough now, right?" I say, more lightly.
A slow, sad smile dawns on his face. He turns to look at me, then grimaces, clenching his side.
"What?" I ask him. "It hurts?"
"Not so bad. I was just thinking."
"About?"
"About you. You don't think you 're brave, and yet…"
"Listen, it's no big deal. I've known Scab forever. The only thing scary about him is the way he shovels food into his mouth." I look down at his shirt, which is scuffed with black marks near his ribs, where Scab had kicked him. "Oh, God. Do you think something is broken? Lift up your shirt. Let me see."
"I'm fine." He takes a step back, pulls his shirt down over his waist, very modestly.
"Come on, don't be shy; let me see" I say, reaching for it. He tries to push my hand away but finally stops. I pull the fabric up, just to midchest, and see tho
se abs I’d seen last Friday, this time close-up. They really are every bit as glorious as I’d remembered. They're smattered with a few purplish marks, but nothing too horrible. And soon, I'm touching them, running my fingers along his ribs, saying, "Does this hurt? How about this?" and trying not to think of what I am doing in anything more than a medical sense. He's breathing so heavily, I feel it hot on my forehead, and I can almost hear his heartbeat.
"I guess I'm going to live," he murmurs, ending with a quick laugh, and I realize it's the first time he ever attempted humor with me. So, he's learning. Maybe last night's fabulous date with Sara unleashed that in him.
"Turn around-let me check your back," I say, trying to force him to whirl about, but he stands there, feet planted. He's trying to pull down his shirt, but if he wouldn't throw punches at Scab, he's definitely not going to put up resistance with me. I easily twist him to the side and wrangle up his battered Gap tee, and that's when I see them.
Scars. Red slashes, crisscrossing his lower back. And probably farther up, but his shirt is covering his shoulder blades. Now they're just hard tracks, the skin shiny and thick around the edges, but when they were new, the pain must have been unbearable. Worse than anything I've felt in my lifetime.
"What are those?"
He skirts away from me and covers himself, clearly humiliated. "It's nothing. I'm fine."
"Pip, that doesn't look fine. That looks horrible. What is that from? Did that happen to you in Otherworld?"
He looks away, then tries to walk past me. "I have to get to class."
I put my hand on his chest. "Not yet. Is this what they do to humans in Otherworld?"
"No." He seems adamant. "Well, not all of us."
"So they did do this to you? Why?"
He sighs, wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. It’s a moment before he says, "All right. I lied to you."
My heart catches in my throat. "About what?"
"About being in love."
"You said you didn't know if you were capable of that."
"I'm not sure I am now. Because I was in love, once. In Otherworld."
"Oh," I say, wondering how being in love could have gotten him a dozen red welts. I remember the conversation I’d had with him last night. He'd said before that he wasn't interested in love, because it was too painful. Yes, love can hurt, but this is a little crazy. "Was she a fairy?"
He nods. "Perhaps it was more like infatuation than love. I guess you could say I wanted so desperately to fit in with her kind.
"I promised I would do anything for her. So when she accidentally killed another fairy, I took the punishment. I was already an outcast for being human, so I assumed it would be easier for me, and she was so fragile. I was incarcerated for two of your years. It wasn't a pleasant experience."
"They hurt you in prison?"
"That wasn't so bad. But when I was released, nearly every fairy who did speak to me before never spoke to me again. Including her." He clenches his fists. "That was the worst part."
By the time he’s done explaining, his eyes are wet, which makes me feel guilty, wonder why I’d bothered to press him to tell the story.
"As I've told you, fairies are not capable of love. She wasn't. It's not her fault. It's mine for thinking I could change her."
"That's horrible," I say, looking down at the ground to stop the tears from flowing. And the worst thing of all is that he's going to be headed back there in only three days' time. Why would any person in their right mind want to head straight back into the fire like that? Could he actually be that insane?
"You left Otherworld willingly. You don't want to go back," I say, my voice soft. "The only reason you're going back is… because of the plan? Because of what I asked of you?"
"It's because I know what it's like to lose someone you love."
"But if you go back, it will be even worse than before you left." He points to his swollen jaw, dark purple in the shadows. "I'm not much better off here."
"But you can be," I tell him, unable to stop the words from coming out of my mouth. "Don't you think you'd have a better chance here? With other humans?"
And, under that logic, maybe Cam will have a better chance of fitting in with other fairies. But I refuse to think about anything logical right now.
"I can't let you… We can't go through with this. I will hate myself forever if I let that happen to you."
"Don't you want to be with Cam?"
I sigh. "More than anything."
"There's your answer." He smiles at me, reassuringly. "Don't worry about me. I will be fine."
Somehow, I don't believe him. I say, "Is there a way we can keep you both here?"
"No. That would upset the balance between the two worlds " he says quickly. "But, Morgan, I am fully prepared to do this for you
"… for true love," I complete his sentence.
"Right. Because when two people love each other, nothing should stand in their way."
I mumble a thank-you. My cheeks feel hot, and I have to look away from his intense gaze. I find myself wishing he weren't such a sweetheart. Maybe that would make this feeling stop-this feeling like there's a giant seam in my middle, unraveling as my two halves are pulled further apart.
Chapter Thirty-six
MY MOTHER WAS to take the time out from her busy food-shopping schedule in order to pick up the two casualties of the wrath of Stevens's biggest defensive tackle, but when the principal explained that we were completely innocent in the matter (as a bunch of onlookers who so desperately wanted a free psychic session or an invite to my party could attest), she softened and said she would be right over after she got the ice cream into the freezer.
So Scab was suspended, and Pip and I have the day off to recuperate. Nurse Jean, an old lady who is obviously a pacifist, considering the number of times she made "tsk, tsk" noises and shook her head with disapproval, gave Pip an ice pack for his swollen jaw, while I got a little Band-Aid for my nose. It turned out that it wasn't as bad as it had appeared; it wasn't broken, which saved me another agonizing trip to the emergency room. Instead, the jerk had scratched me, from under one eye to just above my lip, with his lame studded bracelet that he thinks makes him ultratough but actually makes him look like a groupie of one of those eighties hair bands. I text Cam with the news of the fight, and it's fewer than ten seconds before he's standing in the doorway of the nurse's office, breathing hard.
"Damn" is all he can say once he's surveyed the damage.
"Please tell me that means you're going to kick his ass."
"He's definitely off my list," he says.
"What list? The list of people whose asses you're not going to kick?" I ask hopefully.
He shakes his head. "Look at me. He outweighs me by a hundred pounds."
"Can’t you-I don't know-turn him into a toad?"
"I can't use my magic like that. Not yet, anyway."
Oh, right. Bummer.
Nurse Jean pok
es her head behind the curtain and grins. "Oh, Mr. Browne! I thought that was you."
Nurse Jean is, and probably always will be, in love with Cam. With all his minor football injuries, he visits her constantly, so I wouldn't be surprised if he had her number programmed into his cell phone right next to mine. He gives her a semiwave, a little bashful.
She steps back and inspects him. "Well, well, well. You look just great. You must be following that new diet I gave you. Yes? "
He shrugs, and I find myself fascinated by the fact that even a trained medical professional can’t notice his obvious physical changes. While she takes Cam across to discuss the diet, I lean over to Pip. "Why can nobody see what's happening to him except me?"
His eyes widen. "What do you mean?"
"Hello? Among other things, his ears are getting pointy, and nobody's freaked out about it."
"You can see that?"
"Uh-huh. Can't you?"
He gnaws nervously on his fingernail. "Massif knew that Cameron would go through certain changes before he fully inherited his powers, so he put a spell over all humans until his sixteenth birthday, to protect him. He was afraid that…"
"I know. That we would discriminate against him the way they do humans. The way they did you. Right?"
He looks worried. "Morgan. He put that spell on all humans. You are not supposed to be able to see the changes."
"Well, Massif must have screwed up," I say. "I'm a psychic. I can see things lots of people can't. I can even see Dawn when she's invisible."
"I meant to ask you about that. You really can?"
I nod.
His worried look melts into an uneasy smile. "So, you are an enchantress, after all. In Otherworld, we give that name to any human female with magical powers."