“Jeans are perfectly acceptable at Saxet Shores High,” he said, finally tearing his eyes away from my seemingly indecent legs. “There are dress codes for certain social functions, but you needn’t worry about that now. Shall we?” He offered my mom his hand as we walked up the stairs.
“Whoa. These steps are all slimy. It’s like they’re covered in fish sweat.” Crap. Mom’s giving me the oh you are so gonna get it later fake laugh.
Mr. Anderson’s eyes narrowed on me, and then weirdly widened before he quickly ushered us inside.
Oh. Dear. God. I think I just walked into an aquarium…with lockers…and hall monitors. Everything had blue tile—ceilings, floors, lockers, and walls—and there were fish tanks scattered everywhere.
“Miranda,” said Mr. Smarmy—er—Mr. Anderson.
“Marina.” Again, I gently corrected him. Either he was a giant horse’s ass or on the brink of senility.
“Yes, yes, well, Principal Jeepers is just there,” he said, motioning to a circular door just down the hall. “He’ll have your textbooks and class schedule. I’ll get your beautiful mother settled in admissions, not to worry.”
“Have a great day, sweetie,” whispered Mom. “See you after school.” I hated watching her walk away with Mr. Smarmy.
When I knocked on the strange cork-like door, it eased open with a loud screech. The principal’s office was a large, cluttered circle, full of bizarre clicking sounds. Books, shells, and framed pictures of various islands filled sandstone bookshelves. The rickety old desk looked a bit too short for the stately chair sitting behind it.
“Hello? Principal Jeepers?”
The hairs on the left side of my face suddenly stuck straight out; I turned to find a pair of brown eyes peering at me from behind the door. A man abruptly rounded the door, seized my shoulders, and stared at my face, eyes, and nose, cocking his head from side to side. His overgrown whiskers and shaggy, salt and pepper hair made him look manic. After releasing a pathetic yelp, he let me go.
“Sorry. You just look like a seriously spooky version of a famous rotten-tooth pirate I have an inexplicable crush on. And I did not just say that.” Clearly, I’ve lost some of my manners—and my brain-to-mouth filter—while in the institution.
“Well, shiver me timbers! Ye the lil’ leprechaun bringin’ me pot o’ gold? Yo-ho-ho! Savvy?” he said in a surprisingly convincing pirate voice.
“Wow, so you exploited my red hair and green shirt for a crafty comeback? Well played.” I kind of liked the man. “Interesting school you’ve got. Very pro-aquatic.”
“Yeah, we lean towards the unconventional, as sea towns go.” Instead of sitting in the chair, he hopped on the desk, picked up my file, and scanned it with amusement. “Not much for rules, eh? Good, good. Makes things interesting. And a reader too! Wonderful!”
“Are you sure you’re the principal?”
“Uh-huh. Now, I see here that Madame Helena—frightening woman—has issued the blocking guard?”
“Yeah, it basically means I can never touch a card again. Good thing my name’s not Rémy, right?”
He looked at me like I was oozing something from my ears. Apparently, he wasn’t a superhero buff. “Fascinating little reader, aren’t you? I think we’re done.”
“Aren’t you going to lecture me, give me a list of rules, or something?”
“Rules are self-explanatory. Lectures are monotonous. Besides, you’ve had enough of that kind of thing for a lifetime. Just use your best judgment, do your homework, and, let’s see, uh, respect your mom. Oh, and since Saxet Shores is one of nearly two hundred banishment locations across the globe, the other students and townsfolk are aware of your time in the institution and of your—”
“Malfunction,” I supplied.
“Eh, I was gonna say talent, but if you prefer malfunction, then…”
“Yeah, I don’t prefer.”
“Good. Off ya go, now! Lunch! You must be ready to eat real food again,” he said, walking me to the door.
“I am. Anything but fish. I hate fish. Hate the smell, hate the texture, hate the taste. Hate.”
“Aversion to scales, eh?”
“More like a reaction. If I smell them, I gag. If I taste them, I puke. I basically become a circus sideshow.”
“Ah. Huh. Could be problematic.” Mr. Jeepers stared thoughtfully at the floor for a few seconds before waving me out the door. “Don’t forget your books and schedule on the chair, there.”
Sitting on a dusty old chair was a gorgeous camel-brown leather backpack, chock-full of books.
“Wasn’t sure if you’d have a backpack,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Anyway, it’s yours if you want it.”
“I don’t know what to say. Nobody’s given me anything since I was a little girl. I—just thank you.” I couldn’t take my eyes off the scraggly man in front of me—this kooky man had a father’s instinct.
He smiled warmly. “I stuck some extra notebooks in there, just in case you needed them.” My shocked, thankful eyes must have been making him uneasy because he more or less pushed me out the door. “Lunch beckons! And, for your health, just keep walking to the far end of the food line, okay?”
“Sure,” I said. “Uh, what does that mean exactly?”
Mr. Jeepers had already slammed the door shut. Strange man. Not really knowing where to go, I wandered around until I spotted a couple of blond students walking through a little door down the hall. Above the door was a blue sign with the prettily painted words, Fun, Feast, & Food Line.
I walked on in and wanted to gag: all fish. “That’s why he wanted me to go to the far end of the line,” I said, trying to suppress the gags as the smell reached my nostrils.
A stout black-haired woman tried to serve me a spoonful of what I must assume was some kind of tuna soup. GAG. And she wasn’t wearing the ever-so-stylish hairnet. Highly unsanitary. Note to self: Always check food before eating.
“Um, excuse me, but where’s the non-fishy food?” Er. Being on the receiving end of Lunch Lady Hairnet-less and her frightful face wasn’t fun.
“Food for the Normals is at the end of the line,” she said scruffily.
“What are Normals?” Whoa. Ms. Hairnet-less wanted to kill me. “I’ll, you know, just go down here.”
Down the line, a boisterous lunch lady with cream colored hair sticking out of her pink hairnet—hurray, safe food—was busy staffing an empty station of fried chicken, corn on the cob, and chicken fried steak with white gravy. When I stepped up, she couldn’t have been kinder.
“Well, hello there! You must be our new girl!” Her pale blue eyes and cheery smile were warm and welcoming.
“This looks fantastic, Mrs.—”
“Thank you, peaches! You can call me Ethel. What’ll it be?”
“Chicken fried steak, please.” I could eat this all day, every day, end up the size of a walrus, and be perfectly content.
“Here you go. Enjoy, Marina,” said Ethel cheerfully.
“Um, Ethel? The lunch lady down there said this is food for the ‘Normals.’ What did she mean?”
Ethel’s rosy cheeks drained of color. “She gets pretty annoyed by anyone who doesn’t want her fishy dishes. You go enjoy that before it gets cold, ya hear?”
Smiling, I entered the cafeteria. I’m truly shocked I didn’t drop my tray. The entire room was one large aquarium…literally. Coral tables sat against large glass windows where sharks, dolphins, eels, and colorful fish darted about playfully. Was it weird? Absolutely. Was it beautiful? Absolutely. Was I a little freaked out by it? Absolutely…yes…positively…no doubt.
The student body was another matter entirely. I must have entered some alternate universe where every redhead’s worst nightmare lived and breathed: a room full of tan-skinned blonds—light, dark, medium, curly, and straight haired blonds.
“Marina! Marina!” Running for me with his arms wide open was Trey Campbell, my best friend from the institution. Trey’s an intuitionist, meaning he can
see truth behind lies and sniff out secrets better than a scent hound.
“Trey!” I struggled to hold my tray when he hugged me. “I’ve missed you so much!”
“Me too, Squiggle, me too.” Trey nicknamed me Squiggle ages ago; he says my mind resembles a squiggle line, never following a straight path. I’m fairly certain that was his way of saying I’m scatterbrained, but, you know, I let it slide.
“Marina! You look…really awful, but in an I just survived hell kind of way, which adds some merit.” Polly Purdue had bubblegum pink hair, steel blue eyes, and was socially inept. Of course, this wasn’t really her fault. As a demon soul swapper, Polly tended to lose parts of her human soul and bring back demon replacement bits. We choose to find it endearing.
“Thanks, Polls. Can always count on you to say exactly what you think,” I said, hugging her.
“Thank you! You’re welcome!” she said perkily.
“Where’s Meikle?” I asked.
“At the table,” said Trey. “She’s still not much of a hugger.”
As they led me to their cramped little corner table, I looked again at all the blonds, staring at us like we had some incurable disease. “Did a bottle of bleach explode in here or something? Are we the only non-blonds?”
Polly grabbed my shoulders and spun me around. There was a stark, albeit invisible, line drawn down the middle of the room: blond students to the left, students with streaked black hair to the right.
“Aw, we have a newbie,” said a grumpy girl, who seemed overly infatuated with her jet-black hair. The glittery red jewels in her necklace, ring, and bracelet provided the only hint of color in her otherwise gloomy ensemble. “You must be the new Normal.”
“Oh, hey, I’m Marina. Nice jewelry. Want to sit with us?”
The girl scrunched up her nose. “Do I want to sit with you? Absolutely not.”
“What’s going on here?” said a boy with rugged good looks. This must be the long-lost love child of some silver screen bombshell and a dashing archaeologist with a fondness for fedoras and bullwhips. Ooh, hormonal moment on the horizon.
“Troy, this Normal invited me to join them at their table. Tell her the rules,” said the cranky result of a one-night fling between a creepy Goth rocker and a ruthless alien queen.
“Normals have their table. You don’t talk to us, we don’t talk to you,” said Troy. And so passes said hormonal moment.
“And yet, here you are, talking to us right now,” Trey said. “You’re not the brightest bottle blond, are you?”
“Just clarifying how things work for the new Normal,” Troy said, crossing his muscular arms.
“I see manners are still on the endangered species list. I have a name. It’s Marina. Let’s go, guys. People like y’all suck, by the way.”
“Oh, and the red streaks?” said Polly, pointing at the grouchy girl with Troy. “So five years ago. Not even an Arse Hair Demon would find that hairstyle interesting, and they do love to pull hair, though mostly on the buttocks, which may be an option for you. Anyway…’kay, bye!”
As we walked away, Troy stared at me strangely. Perhaps his lordship wasn’t used to a lowly outsider not taking his crap.
Meikle Martinez glanced up at me when I pulled the chair out next to her. She was busily painting her nails her favorite color, Undead Red. “You still look like a poor man’s princess, and I still hate princesses. Did you just look at my bag? Don’t look at my bag! I can have it melt your eyes from your sockets,” she said, snatching the purple sequined bag off the table.
“You’re gonna get lines in your polish,” I said in a singsong voice.
“That’s how I like it…like I’ve clawed through the trenches of hell. Seriously, are you trying to look at my bag?”
“Still not interested in your bag, Meeks,” I said, setting my tray down. Meikle has always had an obsession with her bag. We’ve never fully understood her fixation.
“In that case, missed you.”
“Missed you too, Meeks.”
“Meikle’s last name could be Addams,” said Trey, winking.
“Maybe it is,” said Meikle, not cracking so much as a smirk.
“So, uh, could somebody tell me why we’re called the Normals?” I asked.
Polly leaned forward and lowered her voice. “We are Normals because none of us are from Saxet Shores, and we don’t have blond or streaked black hair.”
“Ironic, considering how non-normal we are,” I said, plowing my face with food.
“Apparently, no one in this town is impressed by our malfunctions.” I swear, Polly sounded exactly like Madame Helena when she said the word malfunctions. Must be the whole part-demon-soul thing. “I think it’s a form of mocking. I like that they underestimate us. Makes me all warm and boil-y inside.”
“Don’t forget their royal hierarchy fixation. The blonds call themselves the Fairhairs,” said Meikle.
“They labeled themselves? Who does that?” I snorted.
“I know, right?! Most of the Fairhairs are pretty decent, even though they kowtow to the Ravenflames,” said Meikle, clipping back her chestnut curls.
“Ravenflames…you mean the ones with the black hair and blood-red streaks?” I asked.
“That’s them. They are evil-vicious,” said Polly.
“Same goes for the teachers. If they have black hair, switch classes,” said Trey. “That’s why the two groups sit apart. Ravenflames and Fairhairs loathe each other. You’ll never see them mixed in classrooms.”
“Funny, since Normals never have classes together,” Meikle muttered.
“We won’t have any classes together? Why?”
“Maybe they don’t want us spending too much time around each other,” said Trey.
“Oh, Trey, stop being such a conspiracy theorist! If that were true, why would we have lunch together?” Polly gently smacked Trey on the arm. “There are just so few Normals that the odds of us having classes together are slim. And it’s not like we can’t see each other outside of school. Although, we rarely do, but only because Meeks goes witch-y in her off time, and you wander off on the scent of some gut feeling.”
“Subject change approaching. What’s their story?” I asked, pointing at Troy and the grouchy girl.
Polly straightened the pink sweater around her shoulders. “Troy Tombolo is king of the school. He’s also the leader of the Fairhairs. Katrina Zale heads up the Ravenflames. She’s such a big time bitch.”
“What they say or do is what everyone says and does. Mostly, I just want to set Katrina’s fingernails on fire,” said Meikle.
“Okay, but why are they sitting together if their respective groups hate each other?” I asked, thoroughly confused.
“Aside from them basically being the dictators of our school, they are stupidly in love with each other,” said Trey, flipping off Troy Tombolo.
I carefully studied Troy and Katrina. I’m not sure what love looked like, but if that was love…yeah, I’m not impressed.
“So, there are only four so-called Normals at this school?” I asked, indulging in my last bites of chicken fried steak.
“Now there are only four, but there were three more last year,” Meikle clarified, adding some black eye liner to her already cat-like eyes. “They were boring. Claimed to be from Oklahoma’s Walla Panpette Institute for Wicca Ways. Ha! I have more ability in a single nose hair.”
“Did they graduate or something?” I asked, fighting the urge to lick the gravy off my plate.
“Nope. They moved,” supplied Polly. “No warning, nothing. Very bad etiquette. They really should’ve thrown a going away party for us to enjoy. May I use that spoon?”
“Wait, Polls. They can’t just move. This is a designated banishment location. There are barriers,” I said, handing her my spoon. Polly disinfected the spoon with hand sanitizer. “What, do I have germs?”
“Possibly, yes,” she said, rubbing her hands raw. “They moved, end of. We can’t, of course, but they did.”
�
�That makes zero sense.”
“Tell me about it,” said Trey, leaning back in his chair. “I’m guessing there’s a loophole. I was pissed. Earl, my best buddy, must’ve discovered something. Would’ve been nice if he had told me. His girlfriend, Ophelia, and her twin sister, Odette, took off about two months later.”
“Couldn’t you have just asked Ophelia how Earl managed to escape?” I asked. “I would think he’d tell his girlfriend.”
They looked at each other strangely before Polly answered. “She didn’t know. He left in the middle of the night. She seemed really hurt and incredibly clueless…of course that could have been due to her massive brain cell shortage.”
“The strange thing is,” said Trey, “Ophelia and Odette also took off in the dead of the night. So, either they held out on us, or—”
“Or something happened to them,” I added.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Polly. “They weren’t exactly the friendliest people. Even Earl was a jerk to Trey from time to time, mainly because of Ophelia’s lust for our boy, here. And they hated Meikle.”
“Not my fault they were welterweight witches,” said Meikle. “Marina, read the cards. You could probably find the loophole…maybe even see where they went.”
“Um, yeah, I can’t. I hit a little snag during the hearing.”
“Did you mouth off?” asked Trey, smirking.
“Well, does accusing The Hoodoo Council of practicing their crafts count as mouthing off?”
Polly huffed and stomped her foot. “Really smart, Marina. Do you know how dangerous that was? You could’ve been labeled a rogue! I mean, you were already skating on imp-fractured ice, seeing as it took you five friggin’ appearances before they banished you.” Polly’s blue eyes turned black as oil, and her voice dropped to the kind of growl you never want to hear. “Urrvol ev-indestraff!” She shook her head and rubbed her eyes. “Ugh, sorry, y’all. Temper flash means demon-takeover moment. Now, I’m guessing the bitch enacted the blocking guard on you?”
I nodded. “At least you guys still have your powers. Me, I have an expiration date. It’s not as bad as milk, but nowhere near as good as a chili cheese corn chip.”
FINNED (The Merworld Water Wars) Page 2