“What list?”
Lena shook her head. “Forget it. It’s nothing.” She sniffed the air. “Why do you smell like rotten fruit?”
But he wasn’t going to let her change the subject. “What list?”
Lena reluctantly pulled a piece of paper out of her pocket. “This one.” She handed it to him, and his breath caught in his chest as he scanned the lines of neat handwriting.
“First kiss? First dance? First date? What is this?” he whispered.
“Milestones,” she said. “All the coming-of-age stuff I wanted to do this year.”
He blushed as he noticed that “first kiss” had been checked off with his name written in red beside it. But then he realized what this meant. “What was Brent going to be?”
“First date, maybe?” she said, shrugging. “I didn’t totally think it through. And obviously, it was a mistake.” She glanced at the door to the boys’ bathroom, but Brent still hadn’t come out. “Do you think he’s okay in there?”
Marcus folded the list carefully and handed it back to Lena, trying not to let her see how crushed he was. Of course, the kiss had just been something she’d wanted to check off her list. For all he knew, she’d had her eye on Brent Adamson all along. How stupid he’d been yesterday, telling Grandpa Joe that he thought Lena might actually like him.
“Marcus?” she asked. “Are you okay? Your face is kind of blueish.”
So much for playing it cool. What would Grandpa’s book say about the situation? Something about not being a sore loser, probably. Accepting defeat gracefully. He wasn’t sure what else to do.
He let out a long breath. “I’ll go check on Brent.”
“Are…are you sure?” Lena asked, suddenly looking puzzled.
“Yeah. But I told you, whatever you did to him probably didn’t work.” He spun around and went into the bathroom.
At first it was silent, and Marcus wondered if Brent had jumped out the window. According to the manual, backfires could be pretty extreme, so he wouldn’t be surprised. But then he heard a toilet flush, and Brent came out, wiping his mouth. His face was red, and his eyes were watery.
“Hey, are you okay?” Marcus asked.
“Yeah,” Brent said, his voice hoarse. “I totally puked for no reason.”
“Oh…sorry.” This was who Lena had wanted to fall in love with her? Some guy who sounded like he’d just stumbled off a surfboard?
“I guess I should stop eating tacos for breakfast.” Brent chuckled before splashing water on his face.
Marcus returned a weak smile before ducking back out of the bathroom. Lena was still waiting in the hallway with an anxious look on her face.
“Well?” she asked. “Is he okay? Did I kill him?”
Marcus shook his head. “I think he got sick, that’s all. Maybe it had nothing to do with you.”
But at that moment, the bathroom door swung open and Brent appeared. He took one look at Lena, and the color drained out of his face. “Oh no,” he said, covering his mouth. Then he turned and hurried back into the bathroom.
Chapter 16
Pedaling home from school, Lena still couldn’t believe what had happened. Brent Adamson was supposed to think he was in love with her, not get sick at the sight of her! And now, according to Marcus, all she could do was wait until her zap faded.
As if that wasn’t bad enough, Marcus had been weirdly quiet around her ever since he’d found out about the Brent thing. Was it possible he was jealous of her wanting Brent to like her? Is that why she’d felt so guilty when Marcus had figured out what she’d done?
No, that was crazy. Like she’d told Abigail, she and Marcus were friends. Friends didn’t get jealous or feel guilty about spending time with other people. The last thing Lena needed was more love nonsense like that in her life. She had plenty as it was with the Mrs. Katz situation.
As Lena stopped by the old woman’s house to check on her, not surprisingly she spotted a mail truck parked in the driveway. Lena peeked in through the window and gasped. Mrs. Katz and the mailman were ballroom dancing around the living room. It was midafternoon, but they were all decked out in formal wear.
How could people let love do this to them? It was disgusting!
With a sigh, Lena got on her bike and headed home. When she walked in the door, she wasn’t expecting to see her dad back from work, and she definitely wasn’t expecting him to be packing a picnic basket. She didn’t even know they owned a picnic basket.
“What are you doing here?” she asked as Professor ran over to deliver a chewed-up sneaker at her feet. It looked suspiciously like the one that had mysteriously disappeared from her closet a year ago. Then, as usual, he went back to his squirrel lookout in front of the sliding glass door.
“I’m playing hooky this afternoon,” her dad said. “Marguerite’s on her way over. We’re going to have a late lunch in the park.”
Lena couldn’t remember the last time her dad had taken any time off from work except when she was sick. This had to be the matchmaking hypnosis in action. “So you like her?”
Her dad grinned. “I suppose I do.”
“What do you like about her?” Lena asked, suddenly curious about how all this matchmaking stuff actually worked. Did it completely blind you to the other person’s faults, or did it make you like everything about him or her, no matter what it was?
“Well…” Her dad thought about it for a minute. “I suppose it’s nice to have a fellow scientist to talk to. Plus, Marguerite was married before, so we have that in common. And we like the same classic British science fiction shows—I’ve never met anyone else who liked those. But mostly…I guess I enjoy the companionship.”
“Is it the same way it was with Mom?” Lena asked.
She expected her dad’s smile to fade like it always did when she brought up her mother, but he only said, “I suppose in some ways it is, although Marguerite is a much more upbeat person. She’s easier to be around.”
Lena nodded, remembering how sad her mom had been so much of the time. Even doing simple things like going to the grocery store had seemed to bring her down. Lena would constantly try to cheer her mom up, but it clearly hadn’t done any good in the end.
“Wait, what are you doing home?” her dad asked, glancing at the time. “I thought you’d have play practice.”
She shook her head. “No luck this time.”
“I’m sorry, Chipmunk.”
She blinked at him. This was the second time he’d used the nickname in two days. “You haven’t called me Chipmunk in years.”
“I haven’t?” He laughed. “Well, I suppose you’re not as tiny as you were when I first gave you that name. And you don’t hoard nearly as much food.”
“I think you made that part up anyway. There’s no way I could have snuck all those peanuts into my crib.”
Her dad gave her a sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry you didn’t get into the play, Chipmunk. You know I love you no matter what, don’t you?”
Lena stared. Her dad never used the L-word, not in a nonscientific way anyway.
“I thought you said love is only chemicals.”
He ran his hand over his bald spot. “The love that parents have for their children isn’t simply chemical; it’s biological. It’s a matter of survival of the species. There’s nothing more important.”
“So do you think you could love Marguerite? Even after everything with Mom?”
Finally, her dad’s smile dimmed. He seemed confused all of a sudden. “I…I don’t know. Part of me thinks I couldn’t, but there’s another part of me…that thinks maybe I could.”
Lena could practically see her matchmaking voodoo working against her dad’s normal thoughts. She suddenly felt terrible that she’d messed with his emotions like that.
“Dad, can you do me a favor and not hang out with Marguerite for a few da
ys?” Once the “love boost” wore off, then he could go on all the dates he wanted. At least Lena would know that what he was feeling was real and not something she’d caused by accident.
Her dad frowned. “But I already made plans with her for today. She’ll be here any second.”
“Tell her you’re sick or something.”
Her dad’s eyebrows went up. “What is this all about? I thought you said you wanted me to spend time with her.”
“I…I don’t want you to rush into things.” Besides, if she found her dad and Marguerite ballroom dancing in the house, she’d scream.
“No one is rushing,” her dad said. “We’re just having a picnic.”
“Please, Dad.” She felt tears stinging at her eyes before she quickly blinked them away. Lena couldn’t remember the last time she’d cried, and she wasn’t about to do it now.
Clearly, Dad was surprised to see her so emotional too. “What’s going on, Chipmunk? Is this about the play?”
“Yeah, I guess, and about other stuff.” She wished, yet again, that she could tell him what was going on. Of course, his scientist brain could never accept all the crazy supernatural things she’d been dealing with. But in a way, it would be a relief to have him tell her that none of it was real. Maybe then she could fool herself into believing that for a little while.
But even if she had gotten up the courage to tell him the truth, the doorbell rang, and it was too late. Marguerite waltzed in wearing a checkered sundress, exactly the kind of thing you’d expect someone to wear to a picnic.
“Are we ready to go?” she cooed at Lena’s dad, ignoring Professor, who was trying to regift his old sneaker offering.
Her dad gave Lena a questioning look. She could tell he wanted to go—voodoo or no voodoo—but that he wouldn’t if she asked him not to. But the hopeful look on his face shut her up. Yes, maybe all this love business was fake, but her dad seemed happy. She was sure that if she checked out his aura, it would be a hundred times lighter than it had been the other day. She couldn’t take that away from him, could she?
“Have fun, Dad,” she told him. “I’ll be fine.”
“Are you sure?”
Lena nodded, and he gave her a warm smile. She couldn’t remember the last time her dad had looked at her like that. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed it.
As she watched Dad and Marguerite leave for their date, Professor came over and rubbed up against Lena’s leg. She absentmindedly scratched behind his ears, marveling at everything that had happened the past few days. The whole power-swapping fiasco had messed things up with Brent Adamson and ruined her chances of getting into the play, but if her dad was finally happy, then maybe it wasn’t all bad after all.
Chapter 17
Marcus walked home from school the longest way he could think of. If he took his time, maybe he’d avoid seeing Caspar Brown. He was starting to wonder if Caspar had put a tracking device on him or something. How else could he keep popping up around every corner? After the phone incident, Marcus had stopped carrying Grandpa’s book around with him, just to be safe.
As he walked past the old playground where his dad had once brought him to do pull-ups—before it became painfully clear that Marcus would never be anything but skinny and unathletic—his phone beeped in his bag.
Marcus held his breath and grabbed the phone from the side pocket where he’d hidden it. The Cajun rice had done wonders absorbing the water from the phone, but it had also made it smell like a spice rack.
He hoped it was a message from Eddie. Marcus and Lena had spent all of lunch working on a list of everything they could remember about Connie’s party so Eddie could re-create it. But it was Marcus’s mom asking if he’d want to visit Grandpa Joe tonight.
Marcus accidentally breathed in the spices wafting off his phone and started to cough. He sucked in a breath of fresh air and typed back: Can’t go tonight. Test tomorrow. After the crying incident at the nursing home yesterday, he doubted his dad would let him set foot in there again anyway. There’d been no more talk of getting him new running shoes, which should have been a relief. But it had only made his dad’s disappointment in him even clearer.
He rounded the corner, holding his breath again, and let out a relieved sigh when he didn’t see anyone in front of Caspar’s house. He hurried his steps until he was practically running. If he kept this up, maybe he really would be able to jog three miles one day.
He was almost in the clear when he heard a sound that cut right into his soul. It was a cry so pitiful that Marcus knew he couldn’t ignore it, not if he could do something to help.
With a glance over his shoulder at Caspar’s house—which still looked empty—he went to the pond on the other side of the street and listened intently until he heard the cry again. It was coming from a nearby clump of bushes.
He pushed some branches aside and saw a pair of yellow eyes staring at him. It was a cat, an old skeletal thing with mangy fur. It didn’t have a collar around its neck, and the wild look in its eyes made Marcus wonder if it was feral.
Suddenly, the world shifted, and Marcus could see the cat’s soul barely clinging to its body, like a piece of dandelion fluff about to blow off its stem. Then the colors faded away, and the world went back to normal again.
Lena hadn’t said anything about collecting animals’ souls. He wasn’t even sure if that was part of her job. But Marcus had no doubt that this cat wouldn’t be alive for very long. He stood frozen for a minute, not sure what to do.
He remembered what Lena had told him about souls wandering aimlessly if they weren’t collected at the right time. Did that mean he should collect the cat’s soul and make sure that at least it would die peacefully?
No. He couldn’t kill it, not even if it was already dying. But he had to help it somehow. He would bring it to the vet, he decided. Maybe it wasn’t too late.
He slowly took off his jacket, careful not to make any sudden movements, and then reached out to wrap the cat in it. The creature tried to wriggle away, clearly afraid but too weak to run.
“I won’t hurt you,” Marcus whispered. “I promise.” He kept talking to it in a calm voice until finally he was able to wrap the jacket around it. Holding his breath, he picked up the cat and brought it slowly to his chest.
When it was cradled in his arms, still wriggling but not fighting him, Marcus slowly got to his feet. But before he could turn to go, a voice behind him made him freeze.
“Hey, Dumpus!” It was Caspar Brown’s voice.
Marcus didn’t turn around.
“Dumpus, are you deaf? How do you like your new nickname?”
Marcus still didn’t turn around.
“Whatchya got there?” Caspar asked, coming up next to him. “Cool! Is that cat dead?”
“No,” Marcus said, trying to back away. “I’m taking it to the vet so they can help it.”
“What’s the hurry?” Caspar grabbed a stick off the ground and went to prod at the cat just as it let out another pitiful sound.
“Leave it alone!” Marcus said.
Caspar stopped and looked at him, clearly surprised to hear Marcus raise his voice. “Why do you care?” he asked. “Is this your cat or something?”
The creature started struggling in his grasp again, and Marcus knew he had to get out of there. “Just let me go.”
“Come on. I want to have some fun with it.”
“No,” Marcus cried. “Leave it alone!” Then he turned and tried to run away, but Caspar grabbed his shirt and yanked him back. As Marcus lost his balance, the cat let out a yowl. It fought out of Marcus’s arms, scratching and clawing at his hands until he couldn’t hold on any longer. Then it leaped onto the ground and darted into the bushes.
Marcus looked down at his scratched hands, realizing with horror that at some point during the struggle, his fingers had started glowing deep purple.
Then he watched as the glow faded, as if his fingers had done their job.
“No,” Marcus whispered in disbelief. “No!” What had he done? Was the cat dead now because of him?
“Aw, man. You let it go!” Caspar said, ducking into the bushes to go after it. But Marcus couldn’t let that happen.
“I said, leave it alone!” Marcus yelled, shoving Caspar aside.
The minute he did it, he knew he’d made a mistake. Not only was it crazy for him to touch anyone after his fingers had just been glowing, but Caspar seemed to double in size right before his eyes.
Marcus tried to turn, tried to run, but he wasn’t quick enough to get away.
Chapter 18
Marcus could barely see straight when he flopped onto his bed. It felt like his eyes were the wrong shape, like someone had dented them. He supposed Caspar’s fists had done that…and more.
Every inch of him hurt so badly that he never wanted to move again. But he knew things were only going to get worse once his parents found out what had happened.
A little while later, there was a knock on his door. “Marcus?” his mom called. “We picked up some dinner on the way home. Come eat.”
“I’m not hungry,” he called, his voice barely more than a groan.
“What was that, honey?” she asked. Then she tried to open the door. “Why is this door locked? You know the rules. Open up.”
“I-I can’t.”
“Marcus, open this door right now. I’m not joking.”
It was no use. There was no way to hide this from his parents. Maybe if he explained things to his mom first, she’d get his dad to go easy on him.
He sighed and forced himself to sit up, every inch of his body creaking like it was made of old wood. Then he stumbled to the door and pulled it open.
His mom took one look at him and screamed. “What happened to you?”
“Nothing,” he said. “I got into a fight.”
“A fight? What fight? Who were you fighting with?”
“I wasn’t fighting anyone. The guy was fighting me.”
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