“Wow, can you possibly cryptic that up a little more for me?” said Trey.
“Sorry. Before the hearing, I did one last reading. I was just trying to see the outcome. Instead, it got all death-y again…my death. I’m set to spoil this New Year’s Eve.” For a moment, my friends were quiet.
Finally, Polly slammed her hands flat against the table, breaking the sad silence. “Well, we just won’t let it happen. In the meantime, we’ll throw you a going-to-die party. That’s polite, right?”
“You can’t stop a reading, you know that. I’m okay with this, really. Heck, I couldn’t have imagined a better way to spend my last months—free, with family and friends.”
“Shut up. We’re not losing you. We’ll figure it out. If we have to consult a magic eight ball, wave a wand, or unearth some illusive force, we’ll find a way.” Meikle grabbed my hand, looking at Polly to join.
“Fine,” Polly sighed, adding her hand to ours, “but I’m still pissed at you for losing your power.”
“Kind of beyond that now, Polls,” said Meikle. “Trey?”
Trey wouldn’t add his hand. Instead, he leaned in, looked me in the eye, and said, “You’re still a reader with potent friends. That sure as hell isn’t in death’s handbook.”
Chapter Three
Butt of the Joke
Two dreadfully dull classes later—plus one rather unfortunate mishap with a racquetball in the always useless gym class—and it was finally ninth period. The last class of the day was English, my favorite. Of course, getting there might prove difficult.
Why were there so many twists and turns in this school? And what’s with all the freakin’ fish tanks! Ugh. I’ve had to carry my books around with me all afternoon because my locker was a complete jack-wipe and refused to open. Ew. I just caught a glimpse of my reflection in a fish tank.
After three more wrong turns and two dead ends, I finally stumbled upon the right hallway.
“I’m so sorry I’m late! Took a left at the wrong fish tank,” I said, flying into room three hundred and ninety-four.
“Don’t you worry. This school is tough to maneuver. I’m Mr. Gibbs.” Mr. Gibbs had a reserved laugh. He reminded me of a slightly manlier Charles Bingley from Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice, my mom’s very favorite novel. “Oh my! Are you okay?” Aw, crud. He spotted my forehead.
I could feel my embarrassingly pale skin burning crimson. “I’m fine. Just a little gym class accident,” I muttered, moving my bangs over the giant red mark of pure idiocy.
“To tell you the truth, I’ve never been a big fan of gym,” whispered Mr. Gibbs. “If you’re sure you feel okay, Marina, then just go take the last desk behind Troy Tombolo.”
Fabulous.
“Have a little surprise for y’all today,” said Mr. Gibbs, rubbing his palms together. “Follow me, and don’t forget your assignments.”
Before we could move, there was a faint knock on the door.
“So sorry for the interruption. I’m hoping you can help me. I’m trying to find room three hundred. Apparently, I took a right at the wrong fish tank.” In walked my mom.
“Of course,” said Mr. Gibbs, his mouth hanging open in a twisted, goofy grin. “Your daughter had the same problem. This is the toughest wing of the school.” Turning back to the class, he added, “Just be a minute.”
Don’t do it, Mom. No. Don’t. Do. It.
“Hello, sweetheart!”
She did it. And—Oh Dear God—she blew me a kiss. The snickering was too loud for me to ignore, so I shrugged, nodded, and laughed with them.
“Was that your Mom?” asked the Fairhair girl sitting next to me.
“Sure was,” I said.
“What does your mom do?” she asked kindly.
“I think she’s getting a job in admissions.”
“Well, she’s just lovely! You have her aqua eyes. I’m Airianna Hail, but everyone calls me Airi,” she said, twirling her silky, platinum blond hair. She must be what angels look like in heaven. “And you’re Marina Valentine. Do you have a nickname?”
Before I could answer, a boy sitting in front of Airianna contributed a nickname.
“Cheese Curl Head,” he said.
“Benjamin, that’s not nice,” said Airianna. “Don’t mind Benji. He’s still upset they discontinued his favorite color depositing shampoo. What was it called, Benji? Honeysuckle blond or some such nonsense?” Benji’s amber eyes filled with humiliation. “So, are you dating the Normal boy?”
“Trey? No, no we aren’t. I’m not much of a dater.”
“Why ever not?”
Because dating triggers my unfortunate gag reflex. “My last date was on the Fourth of July, which was also my sixteenth birthday. So heinous. The guy turned out to be a Snitch Demon, and I wound up getting thrown into solitary for reading. The whole dating-relationship-love thing kinda makes me wanna hurl.” Poor Airianna. By the look on her face, you’d think I just told her Santa Claus wasn’t real. “But I’m sure it’s totally anti-hurl-ish for some very special people who truly believe in it.”
She flashed a gorgeous smile and wistfully said, “Yes, believing makes all the difference. I see myself with a handsome Normal, basking in the sun on an exposed coral reef—”
“Lines. Crossing,” said Troy, glancing over his shoulder.
“Anyway, I bet the love bug will bite you one of these days, and all your doubts will go right out the porthole,” she said, waving her hand in the air.
“Big doubts on that one,” I said truthfully.
“Why do you say that?”
“It’s just, how can I want something I don’t really believe in?”
“How can you want something that doesn’t want you?” muttered Troy.
I glared at him. How dare he say something so nasty! Just because I don’t want love, doesn’t mean I don’t want love to want me. Hmm. That might sound a tad shallow.
“Yeah, and you know what they say about fire heads, right? Who’d want to date that?” said Benji, looking back at Troy, who slyly smiled. I wanted to slap the grin right off his face.
“Well, I personally love your hair,” said Airianna, placing her hands on her hips.
“Watch where you’re stepping, Airi,” said Troy.
I looked at him sideways. Seriously, why doesn’t he mind his own business?
“I’ve always wanted to be a redhead,” she said, staring dreamily towards the ceiling.
“Pushing, pushing,” Troy muttered.
“Well, all it takes is a box of hair color,” I said.
“Oh My Mother of Poseidon, I couldn’t possibly!”
“Oh my…Poseidon…what?”
“Just something I say,” said Airianna, blushing. “Anyway, I’m prohibited.”
“It’s not like you’re kaleidoscope-ing your hair.”
“I know, and I want to, but…”
“But what?”
“I have to do what I’m told. My mother wouldn’t mind, but she must abide by my father’s orders.”
“You have got to be kidding me. Women earned the right to vote forever ago, you know. Tell ya what, you can grab a box of hair color, come by my house, and I’ll color it for you.”
Airianna seemed genuinely interested. “You’re in the Southland beach house?”
“Yeah, right on the beach. Think the street is Shell Drive.”
“It’s a nice house. Did you know you live next door to—”
“Airi, you’re at the corner of stop and think,” said Troy, glaring dangerously at her. Airianna looked terrified.
“Next door to who? I haven’t had the chance to be neighborly.”
“Never mind. I can’t come over. Sorry,” she said, dropping her head.
“Good girl, Airi,” said Troy.
I couldn’t stand it any longer. “Okay, you are getting seriously extracurricular with the whole I am man, you are woman, Neanderthal vibe. Take a tip from those insurance cavemen guys—they graduated dragging-woman-by-hair a loooong time ago.”
“Maybe you’re the gotta-be-cruel-to-be-kind type. Whatever it is, you’ve really honed your asshat skills. Lay off Airi.”
Turning around to face me, he said, “It’s none of your business how we treat Airi, or any girl for that matter.”
Them’s fightin’ words! “Hey, I’m looking out for a friend.”
“She’s not your friend.”
Ooooh, bring it, pretty boy! “That’s her decision, not yours. And I didn’t think you were supposed to talk to me. Rules are rules, right?”
“Don’t play with fire. And in case you didn’t know, men discovered fire.”
“True, but women learned how to play with it, and I’m practically a phoenix…or Vesta. I can’t decide which is better—a regenerating bird or the goddess of hearth and fire.”
Our eyes locked hard on one another. His voice was cold, cruel, almost threatening, but his eyes were deep, gentle, and even a bit sad. His mouth screamed hatred and disgust, but his eyes whispered something different.
“Now,” said Mr. Gibbs, sweeping through the door, “a classroom doesn’t provide the right mood for reading poetry. Everybody, grab your poems and follow me!”
Troy and I finally broke eye contact to grab our books and follow Mr. Gibbs through the winding halls.
“Did you have the chance to write a poem?” asked Airianna. “I had a terrible time with mine.”
“Sure did. I wrote two of them. One is strictly for fun. Want to read it?” I asked.
“I’d love to. And, thanks for that back there. I guess I’m a real guppy.”
“Yeah, well, a few years in a needle-happy institution will de-guppify you real quick,” I said, handing her my poem.
“Marina! You better tuck this away so you don’t accidentally turn it in!” She had the most lady-like snorts I’d ever heard.
“Mr. Gibbs would probably send me to Mr. Smarmy’s…I mean Mr. Anderson’s office. Sorry.”
“He is smarmy,” said Airianna, vigorously nodding. Troy looked at Airianna and grimaced. “Here, better hide this,” she said, handing back my poem.
“Mind if I see it?” said Troy, snatching it from her hands.
“Troy, don’t talk to her,” said Benji angrily.
“Remember who I am,” Troy warned.
“Wow, someone has a Jesus complex. Give me that!” I tried to grab it from him, but he was far too tall. Plus, he kept putting his massive hand on my head to keep me at bay. Not cool. “Get your hand off my head!” I said, slapping his arm away.
“Well, well…this is a little cheeky,” he said, smirking. “I wonder…nah…I’ll bet you haven’t got the guts.”
“The guts to do what, exactly?” I asked, smoothing my hair.
“To read this in front of the class,” he said, messing up my hair.
“I have nothing to hide, but this is going to be graded and—”
“And you’re a wimp.” He puts the cock in cocky.
“Hardly.” Man, this guy gets under my skin! Everything about him—his smile, the tone of his voice, the playful look in his sky blue eyes—forces me to react.
“Prove it. I dare you to read this in front of the class and hand it in for a grade.”
Dang. He used the word dare. I simply cannot ignore that word. “What will you give me?” I asked.
“Ten bucks.”
“Make it twenty.”
“Fine.”
“Fine,” I replied coolly, whipping the paper out of his hands.
We followed Mr. Gibbs until we reached a magical little courtyard hidden behind the school. A narrow cobblestone path over a candlelit reflecting pool led us to about two dozen plush wicker chairs. Overhanging palms and a sparkling fountain added the finishing touches to a setting made for poetry.
“Take a seat anywhere,” said Mr. Gibbs.
Airianna and I chose a couple of seats next to the fountain. Surprisingly, Troy took the chair right next to me.
“Wonder how Mr. Gibbs will like your cheeky poem in this setting,” he whispered.
Hurl.
Mr. Gibbs stood in front of the group and clapped his hands. “Your assignment was to write a poem that embodies a certain plight or struggle specific to a race, gender, or religious group. Ready? Benji, you’re up first.”
After about thirty minutes and countless criticisms, it was my turn.
“Marina! Up you go!” called Mr. Gibbs.
Oh Dear God, was I really going to do this?
“Marina? Did you not receive the assignment?” asked Mr. Gibbs when I was not immediately jumping up.
“I did. I’m just getting it out of my folder,” I said faintly.
“Take your time. I know it’s stressful and sometimes embarrassing, reading your work aloud.”
Oh, poor Mr. Gibbs, you have no idea. I could feel lunch chunks threaten to spew from my mouth.
“Marina,” whispered Airianna, “don’t do it. Most of these people don’t have a sense of humor. They’ll crucify you!”
“They already hate me for being one of the Normals. Why shouldn’t I give them another reason? Besides, you laughed,” I said, searching her worried face for some relief.
“I know, but they’re…different.”
Aren’t we all? I started to take my “safe” poem when Troy looked at me, his eyes dancing playfully around my face, waist, and legs.
“So, what’s it gonna be, Miss Valentine?” he whispered huskily.
Arrogant son of a gun.
“Sorry. I’m ready now!” I pranced up and cleared my throat. “My poem is about an undeniably horrible battle all women have to face multiple times over the course of their lives.”
“Interesting! Sounds like a serious issue,” said Mr. Gibbs.
He was going to fail me, and my mother was going to kill me. “Oh, it is Mr. Gibbs, very serious.” Breathe. “My poem is called, ‘Bottom, Oh Bottom.’”
Bottom, oh bottom
Why so blue?
Don’t you know I can’t see you?
You hide, you lurk
You crack a permanent smirk
Perhaps even with a dimple or two
Oh, you can be cruel
Bottom, oh bottom
I’m well aware of your backwards glare
Go on and stare, see if I care
Bottom, oh bottom
Why so gray?
Could it be because I won’t let you stray?
Bottom, Dear Bottom
I’m not being mean
I just like to keep you lean
So I can always wear my favorite blue jeans.
Crud. The courtyard was far too quiet. I didn’t hear giggling, whispering, gasping in horror…nothing. I wanted to shout, “It’s about butts and how they love to make our lives a living hell by growing inexplicably!” Just when I was about to write them off as a bunch of jerks, the courtyard exploded into deafening laughter and applause.
“Well, Marina,” said Mr. Gibbs, in between laughs, “that’s not exactly what I had in mind when I gave the assignment, but you did well.”
“Thank you,” I said, unable to suppress the cat-like grin stretching across my face. Troy had the twenty dollars waiting when I sat down. Taking the bill from his hand, I whispered, “Not so wimpy after all, huh?”
“Looks like you’ve won them over,” he said, grinning.
“All right, for the next ten minutes, I want you to work in groups of three and come up with at least five themes you heard in today’s poetry reading,” said Mr. Gibbs.
“Well, humor would be one theme,” said Troy.
“You did so well, Marina,” said Airianna, clapping ever-so-slightly.
“Thanks. So, do you do anything special on the weekends around here?” I asked.
“No, but I hear someone is going to ask you out,” she said mischievously.
“What? Who
?” I asked nervously, pressing a finger to my lips.
“Yeah, who?” asked Troy, not looking at me.
“Trey,” said Airianna. “That’s why I asked if you two were dating. He’s been talking for weeks about asking you out once you got here. I, um, like to eavesdrop. Trey is so hot, especially when he senses a clue! He’s like a young Sherlock.”
“Minus the smelly pipe and Watson confusion.” In the midst of our laugh-fest, I fumbled my pen. “Ugh, Troy, can you hand me my pen? I can’t reach it from over here.” Without acknowledging me, Troy picked up my pen and fiddled with it for a moment. “Do you have a pen fetish or something? I’ll need that to take notes,” I said, growing agitated. Without a single word, he tossed the pen at me. Naturally, I didn’t see it coming, and it hit me in the head. “Gee, thanks.”
As I started writing with it, I felt some bumpy areas. I twirled the pen around in my hand and saw the words Screw you clearly scratched on its surface.
“Well, screw you, too!” I said, chucking my pen in his lap.
“Marina, how will you take notes? Oh, I wish I had a spare.” Airianna could get worried eyebrows quicker than anyone.
“I’ll take mental notes,” I said, watching Troy run his fingers over my pen.
“Okay, class, let’s review some key points in poetry writing, common themes, and the advantage of humor,” said Mr. Gibbs.
While I stared blankly at my notebook, silently fuming, Troy shot his arm out in my direction.
“Take it,” he said, offering me his own pen.
“What?”
“My pen, take it,” he said.
“What about my newly defaced pen?”
“I’ll use it,” he said gently.
When I reached for his pen, our hands touched, and the courtyard faded away. Our eyes met—our bodies twisted together—his hands tenderly stroked my hair and face—my hands ran across his bare chest—he took my hands in his and whispered, “Hold your breath.”
ARGH! The school bell sounded like a massive foghorn. Our hands were still touching when the hideous horn interrupted what I can only describe as the most surreal experience of my life.
“Troy, did you—”
“Yes, and it can never happen,” he said before abruptly leaving.
FINNED (The Merworld Water Wars) Page 3