Cyborgia

by D. M. Darroch

  Angus squeezed behind the snow tires and the cat glared up at him. “What did you do that for?” the cat whispered. “You scared me half to death! Now she thinks I’m a scaredy-cat. And a klutz. Thanks a lot.”

  “I thought you’d disappear if she touched you,” Angus whispered back.

  “I told you I’d be fine. As long as I don’t focus my thoughts on her, I won’t disappear.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Angus, are you coming back?” asked person-Ivy. “Leave your nervous cat alone, and let’s work on this project.”

  “See?” said cat-Ivy. “She thinks I’m nervous. I’ve been all over this universe, in and out of parallel worlds, living in bodies of insects, animals, birds, and fish. I’m not nervous.”

  “Calm down. I have to work on my project.”

  “Tell her I’m not nervous.”

  “What?”

  “Tell her I’m not nervous. You’re the reason I’m hiding under these tires like a fool. You’re making me look bad. You have to stand up for me.”

  “She doesn’t care. You’re a cat.”

  “TELL. HER.”

  Angus sighed and stood up. “Ivy, my cat, Sir Schnortle,” he looked pointedly at cat-Ivy, “is not nervous. In fact, he’s a very brave cat.”

  Person-Ivy laughed. “Sure. Whatever. He’s pretty clumsy, isn’t he?”

  “I’m not clumsy!” whispered cat-Ivy. “It’s this collar. It’s really heavy.”

  “What do you want me to do about it?” asked Angus, forgetting to whisper.

  “I’d like you to get over here so we can get started on our project already,” said person Ivy. “That’s what I’d like you to do about it.”

  “She’s sure bossy. She’s nothing like me at all,” whispered cat-Ivy.

  Angus snorted, rolled his eyes, and shook his head.

  “What? Would you like to dissect a squirrel first like you did for your last science project? Or do you expect me to do all the work?” demanded person-Ivy.

  “Temper, temper,” whispered cat-Ivy. She climbed over the tires and cocked her head.

  “Okay,” said Angus, walking toward the workbench. “Let’s get started.”

  “Well, since you’re ready,” said person-Ivy. “You know, Angus, I didn’t want to work with you in the first place. I could do this entire project by myself and ace it. I don’t need you bringing down my A.”

  Sir Schnortle strutted toward the workbench and sat on the concrete floor, back erect, staring up at person-Ivy. “Okay, okay. I said, let’s get started,” said Angus.

  “Did you read the chapter?” asked Ivy.

  “Which one?”

  “Today’s homework. Have you read it yet?”

  “No, I just got home.”

  Person-Ivy rolled her eyes. “I always read ahead. So I guess, in addition to doing the entire project myself, I’ll have to fill you in on the reading, too.”

  Cat-Ivy growled deep in her throat. She was getting irritated with this person who-sort-of-looked-like-her but was really nothing like her at all. What gave her the right to talk to Angus like that?

  “No, you don’t have to,” Angus said evenly. “I can read the chapter myself. Let’s start the project.”

  “How do you expect to start the project when you don’t understand any of the foundational concepts?”

  Person-Ivy unzipped her backpack and pulled out her science textbook. She plunked it down on the workbench and opened it to the chapter in question. “You read. I’ll set up the results sheet.” She grabbed her notebook, a ruler, and a felt-tipped pen.

  Angus flipped through the science textbook and counted fifteen pages of dry discourse. He counted the pages again. Nope, still fifteen. He scanned the bold headings, hoping he’d get the gist of the reading and be done with it. There were a few pictures dispersed through the fifteen pages, so he read their captions. He saw three graphs, so he read the labels on their x and y axes. He counted the pages again. That should be sufficient.

  “Okay,” he said.

  Person-Ivy looked up from her notebook where she was carefully tracing perfectly measured columns and rows. “No way did you read that whole thing.”

  The cat narrowed her eyes at person-Ivy. She didn’t believe he had read it either, but this person-Ivy was mean.

  “Sure I did,” said Angus.

  “Then tell me about it.”

  “Why? Didn’t you understand the chapter when you read it?” asked Angus.

  “Of course I did! But I know you didn’t read the entire thing,” said Ivy. “You’re lying and you’re going to ruin my grade.”

  Cat-Ivy was curious about the project. She wondered what the chapter was about. She meowed and sprang to the workbench. Trying to adjust her leap to compensate for the additional weight of the crystal collar, she miscalculated her ascent and slipped on the landing. She extended her claws to try to gain traction but was unable to grip the smooth, hard, melamine surface of the workbench. She skidded across the slippery top and nudged Angus’s forgotten milk glass. The glass tipped, and a small stream of milk flowed over person-Ivy’s carefully drawn chart. The black ink liquefied and the neat lines pooled into blotchy gray silhouettes.

  “Ahhh! Angus!” yelled person-Ivy. “Your clumsy cat!” She turned her wrath on Sir Schnortle. “You beast! You ruined my work! You are so fat you can’t even jump right! You stupid, stupid cat!” She swatted the cat off her notebook with the back of her hand.

  Cat-Ivy hissed. “I am not fat, and I AM NOT STUPID!” She lunged for the hand that had struck her painfully across her left hip and felt the flesh tear satisfyingly between her teeth.

  “Would you two kids like some snacks?” asked Mrs. Clark opening the garage door to reveal a snarling cat, a shouting girl, a shocked Angus, and sizzling, swirling yellow smoke. “Oh? Did the science project work?”

  6

  Eccentricities

  The girl threw the cat to the floor and grasped her hand to her chest. Sir Schnortle landed on his feet, darted away, hissed once more and ran through the open door into the kitchen.

  “Oowwww!” yelled Ivy.

  “Ivy? Are you okay?” asked Angus, chasing after the cat.

  “Your stupid, rabid cat attacked me!”

  Ignoring the girl, Angus pushed past his confused mother and looked for Sir Schnortle. He ran to the living room and looked beneath the sofa. Sir Schnortle sat in his safe hidey hole licking his hip. “Ivy, Ivy? Are you okay? Did she hurt you?”

  The cat regarded the boy with mistrustful eyes and pulled its ears tightly to the side of its head.

  “Talk to me, Ivy. Are you okay?”

  “I’m here, you stupid! What are you doing down there?” Ivy Calloway stood beside Mrs. Clark. They had followed Angus to the living room. “Get me a band-aid or something. Or an antibiotic shot,” demanded Ivy.

  “I’m sure I have some hydrogen peroxide for that,” said Mrs. Clark hurrying away.

  Angus looked at the girl. He peered under the sofa again and looked at the cat.

  “Ivy, if you’re there, give me a sign.” The cat blinked at Angus and growled. Angus reached an exploratory finger within an inch of the scared cat. It hissed and lunged for his finger. Angus yanked his hand out of harm’s way and sighed. “You’re gone. Where did you go Ivy?”

  “I’m right here!” The girl stomped a foot.

  Angus stood. He looked into Ivy’s eyes. “What’s the difference between a parrot and a macaw?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “One wrong. Checking to see if you’re Ivy.”

  “Of course I’m Ivy!”

  “Then how do you say ‘Hold on tight’ in orca?”

  “Orca? What’s that?”

  “Two wrong. Orcas are marine mammals that live in pods in the Puget Sound. One last question: What tastes better: sloth bones or mammoth bones?”

  “Your cat bit me!”

  “True, but that doesn’t answer the question.”

  The gi
rl stared at him. “What is your problem?”

  “Nope. You’re not Ivy. She’s gone.”

  The girl clenched her fists by her sides and stomped both her feet. “Angus Clark, you are so aggravating!”

  Angus slumped on to the sofa sadly. “And Ivy Calloway, I like the other you better.”

  Mrs. Clark entered the room carrying a white box stamped with a red cross. “I knew I had just the thing,” she said as she snapped open the first aid kit. “Let’s see that wound, Ivy.”

  Ivy ignored her. “You’ve lost your mind, Angus Clark.”

  “Whatever,” said Angus. To himself he thought, I’ve lost something much more important than that. And I’ve got to find her. He stood and left the room.

  “It was like World War III around here this afternoon with the cat,” said Mrs. Clark as she poured dish soap in the sink and ran hot water.

  “Oh yeah? What happened?” asked Mr. Clark picking up a dish towel.

  “Ivy Calloway came over to work on a science project after school.”

  “Little Ivy Calloway? Wow, I haven’t seen her around in a long time. She and Angus used to be such good friends when they were younger.”

  Mrs. Clark rinsed suds off a drinking glass and placed it gently in the drip tray. She stared off into space. “Well, I doubt you’ll see her again for a while. He bit her.”

  “What! He bit her?” Mr. Clark dropped the pot lid he was drying. “Did I hear that right?”

  “Give that to me. I’ll have to wash it again.” Mrs. Clark reached for the lid. “Yes. I’m not sure why, but he has been behaving strangely today.”

  “Yes, he has. Longer than just today. I’ve been meaning to talk with you about that,” said Mr. Clark as he ran a steak knife gingerly over the towel.

  “Well, I took him to the doctor today, and he’s gained weight.”

  “Hmmm. I don’t see it. He’s looking trim to me. But why did he bite her?”

  Mrs. Clark leaned on the sink and sighed. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s the food I’ve been feeding him: It might be making him more aggressive than usual. He told me it’s been giving him diarrhea.”

  “Poor guy. Still, that’s no excuse for biting Ivy. I’ve never heard of someone his age biting a person, unless there was a serious psychological issue.” Mr. Clark sorted the utensils in the silverware drawer.

  “No, I think it’s pretty common. Especially as they age. They begin to feel more vulnerable, and sometimes their joints hurt. He told me he hasn’t been sleeping well,” said Mrs. Clark.

  “So you’re making the excuse that he bites girls because of growing pains?” Mr. Clark asked in disbelief.

  “Well, he’s finished growing. He’s not a kitten anymore. Are you little man?” Mrs. Clark dried her hands on her apron and bent to scratch Sir Schnortle’s chin. He gazed up at her with innocent amber eyes and purred.

  Mr. Clark stared at her. “Who are we talking about here?”

  Mrs. Clark stared back. “Sir Schnortle. He bit Ivy today.”

  “Oh! I misunderstood you.” Mr. Clark laughed and closed the silverware drawer.

  “Why? Who did you think I was talking about?”

  “Angus.”

  “Angus?” Mrs. Clark stood and released the plug in the sink. The water began to drain. “But that’s absurd. Why in the world would Angus bite Ivy?”

  “That’s what I was wondering. You said he told you he had diarrhea and wasn’t sleeping well.”

  “Yes. The cat isn’t sleeping well. He thinks it’s a deviated septum.”

  “Who thinks that? The vet?”

  “Dr. Shouyi is a woman. If you ever took him for a checkup, you’d know that. She doesn’t know he has a nasal problem. He told me.”

  “Who told you? Angus?”

  “No.” Mrs. Clark was beginning to get annoyed. “What would Angus know about it? The cat!”

  “The cat told you about it. The cat told you he has a problem with his nose that is preventing him from getting a good night’s sleep. The cat,” said Mr. Clark.

  “Yes. The cat.”

  Mr. Clark stared at Mrs. Clark. “So, Sir Schnortle is talking to you now.”

  “Only the once. I can’t get him to do it again. Can I, my little fat man?” Mrs. Clark scratched the cat’s ears.

  Mr. Clark threw down the dish towel and walked to the phone.

  “What are you doing?” asked Mrs. Clark.

  “I knew something like this would happen. Your family has always been a bit ... eccentric.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Your uncle who paints unicorns.”

  “He’s a children’s book illustrator!”

  “Your cousin with the cotton swab collection.”

  “They’re all in their original wrappers.”

  “Your niece who tells fortunes ... for dogs?”

  “Okay, she is a little different.”

  “Our family needs counseling. Angus thinks he’s a pirate ...”

  “He was only pretending. He’s moved on. We’re doing fine.”

  “What about the herb garden fire? The strange clothing? Yours, as well as his.” Mr. Clark pointed at the chaps still fastened tightly around his wife’s legs. “Look at how his grades have fallen. Do you really, truly believe that we’re doing fine? Or is our cat, our family cat, the one with the four legs and the tail, speaking to you right now?”

  Mrs. Clark scowled. “It was only the one time.”

  “We need professional help. I know exactly who to call.” Mr. Clark picked up the phone and dialed.

  Angus stretched out on the superhero comforter and opened his red lab notebook. The house was too quiet. His room felt empty. He was finally back home, but he’d never felt more lonely.

  Sighing, he picked up a mechanical pencil and began to draw. He knew that his artistic skills were lacking: His drawings of people, animals, and nature were little more than rudimentary shapes and stick figures. When it came to machines though, he was Michelangelo. He rapidly sketched views of the World Jumper: top, side, and interior. He’d hidden his notebook quickly when his mother and father came in to say goodnight and tell him to turn off his light. He’d obliged until they left, and then he turned his light back on and labeled the diagrams using capital letters so his writing would be legible and uniform. Sir Schnortle had scrabbled at his door and meowed to be let in and out three separate times before Angus was satisfied with his drawings. Then, he began to write.

  First, he explained the inner workings of his World Jumper, as he understood them. He recorded the codes for each of the worlds he’d visited and described how he’d discovered the relationship between a world’s color and its code. Only when his scientific account was complete did he begin writing about his adventures.

  He wrote about Maniacal Marge and Shep. He wrote about Billy and Granny. He wrote about Captain Hank, the sloths, and the lion. And above all, he wrote about Ivy: how she had saved his life on more than one occasion, how she had become separated from her world and her body, how she had jumped bodies, and how she had jumped worlds by following his aura. He wrote about her temper, her bossiness, her brains, her humor, and her friendship.

  He scribbled long into the night. When Mrs. Clark woke him for school the next day, she found the red notebook cradling his head like a pillow and a barcode scanner gripped tightly in his hand.

  7

  On the Road Again

  Angus avoided Ivy Calloway at school the next day. This was easy to accomplish because she was avoiding him also. He would only have to face her in Mrs. Howitzer’s science class at the end of the day when they divided up into lab partners. When the final, dreaded period came, Ivy was not there. Mrs. Howitzer told him that she’d been excused early to see a doctor about her injured finger. Angus thought he should have felt a little guilty about it, but he didn’t. Instead, he spent his time reading the chapter on polymers that had caused so much strife the day before.

  The final bell rang announcing the e
nd of the school day, and Angus hurried to his locker. He had spent his entire day thinking about where Ivy might have gone and how he could find her. He needed to bring her back and keep her safe while they figured out how to return her to her own body and her own world.

  As he’d been turning pages in his science book, an idea had come to him. He couldn’t wait to get home and test his theory. He dropped his science book in the bottom of his locker, grabbed his hoodie and his backpack, and slammed the metal door.

  “Dude, there you are! What happened between you and Ivy? All kinds of rumors are flying around. Did you really try to skin her finger?” Billy hopped from foot to foot while juggling an armload of books. “Patricia told me Ivy got a skin graft.”

  “Seriously? That’s insane.”

  “I don’t know. It could happen.” Billy grinned. “It would have been pretty cool, though.”

  Angus shook his head. “Really dude? You’re twisted. You know what happened? She hit my cat, and my cat bit her. That’s it.”

  “Well, that’s boring.”

  “She totally deserved it. Who hits a cat?”

  “Yeah, that’s not cool. The way the girls are talking, it’s like you did something to her.”

  Angus ignored this. In his opinion, girls were always talking about someone, and if you didn’t make a thing of it, they’d quickly move on to someone else. “So, are you heading? I’ve gotta get home.”

  Billy looked at the pile of books he was carrying. “Let me dump these, and I’ll walk with you. You still haven’t told me about your big adventure or whatever. Remember?”

  Another idea popped into Angus’s head. “Perfect! You can be my lab partner.”

  “But Ivy’s your partner. We’re not allowed to work together anymore, remember?”

  “Not for science. For another experiment. And for what I’ve got in mind, you are the ideal lab partner. Come on. I’ve got lots to tell you, and we haven’t got a moment to waste!”

  “So BP was a real pirate?” Billy bounced on Angus’s bed. “All that time, I has hanging out with a 100%, fully real, totally awesome pirate!” Billy hooted.