“People say they’re gray or yellow,” Fern said, wishing Lindsey Lin would release her. “The mean ones say they’re the color of snot.”
“I need to see your dog,” Lindsey stated quickly, barely processing Fern’s reply.
“You can’t do that. You’ll wake up the whole house.” Sam said, annoyed. “Why did you say you could help? Why did you say you know who Fern is?” Sam’s anger grew as he stared menacingly. The camouflage pants seemed to be going to his head. He wanted answers.
“Calm down, Sammy. I told you, I’m going to help, and I will help. But before I do that, I need to see your dog. If you’ve got a problem with that, I’ll turn right around—”
“No, no. Come with us. We’ll show you,” Fern said, not wanting to alienate Lindsey Lin. Fern couldn’t help staring at Lindsey as she and Sam retraced their steps back to the house.
“Jeez!” Sam exclaimed as he stopped completely.
“What is it?” Lindsey said.
“Look, another one,” Sam said, pointing down to the small, still object in the middle of the sidewalk. It was a dead bird. A swallow, in fact.
Lindsey crouched down to get a better look.
“Whoa,” she said. “You guys haven’t seen a really large condor flying around here, have you?” Lindsey asked, as her face grew white.
“There was one at our window the other day, yeah,” Sam said.
Lindsey’s eyes grew larger. Her face then changed back to its normal expression. “Yeah, me too. It must be lost or something,” she said. “That’s sad about the little bird. Cycle of life, though. Ob-la-di, ob-la-da. The night’s not getting any younger.”
She turned away from Sam and began walking again, challenging the twins to keep up with her.
The twins decided that Lindsey would wait on the porch while Sam and Fern scaled the tree. Once inside, they would sneak downstairs and let Lindsey in. Fern and Sam were terrified of what might happen should the Commander awaken.
They reached the front door and opened it.
“What are you waiting for?” Sam whispered urgently. Lindsey stood frozen on the porch.
“I haven’t been invited yet,” Lindsey said, in her cool and casual manner.
“You need an invitation to come in the house when the door’s already been opened for you?” Sam said in disbelief.
“It’s cultural,” Lindsey said, rolling her eyes.
“Come in, now,” Sam demanded.
“Thank you, I will. Gladly,” Lindsey said, smiling and snapping her head in agreement.
“Follow me,” Sam said, with a tinge of resignation. Sam thought that they were as good as caught. Fern and Lindsey followed him into the living room, where he shut the door to the kitchen in order to muffle the noise.
“Now, what’s this about?” Sam said.
“What Sam means, Lindsey, is what do you know about me?” Fern still couldn’t believe the most popular girl in school—a girl Fern wouldn’t have expected a slight nod of the head from as she passed by—was standing in front of her.
“Get your dog in here, will you?”
Sam, worn down, didn’t argue. He exited the room and returned, dragging Byron by the collar. At just over seven pounds, Byron couldn’t mount much resistance to Sam. He was, however, whimpering, ignoring Sam’s whispered pleas to remain quiet. Eddie usually slept through everything from earthquakes to fire alarms, but Mrs. McAllister was sure to wake up if she heard Byron’s high-pitched bark.
Fern looked at her brother and then at their guest. Lindsey’s face shone brightly, almost twice as brightly as Sam’s. The McAllister dog was silent; his dark eyes were focused on Lindsey Lin. Byron, more than ten years old, had short floppy white ears and white curly locks. Although he was old, Byron was known throughout the neighborhood for picking fights with animals three times his size. Mrs. McAllister would always say Byron didn’t recognize his own limits.
Lindsey grabbed Byron by the collar. She led him behind the couch and ducked down. Both McAllister twins lost sight of Lindsey and the dog. After three seconds, Lindsey popped up again. She still had Byron by the collar and led him out from behind the couch. Byron was whimpering with his head down to the floor.
“Fern, I want you to tell me what I just told Byron.”
“What?” Fern said, very confused.
“Tell me what I just whispered into Byron’s ear.”
“How am I supposed to know? You were behind the couch”
“Why don’t you ask Byron?” Lindsey said, still talking rapid-fire.
“How would he understand what you said anyway?”
“Because, I learned a few phrases before I came here tonight.”
“From who?” Fern fired back.
“I did some research.”
“Is this a joke?” Sam said, taking a confrontational step toward Lindsey.
“Ask him, Fern. Ask him and he’ll tell you.” Lindsey was focused, and she squinted at Fern as if she were looking at direct sunlight.
“How do you know about that?” Sam said, putting his finger right in Lindsey’s face. “Why are you here?” Fern could see Sam’s face turning red. If Lindsey hadn’t been a girl, she was sure that Sam would’ve wrestled her to the ground and demanded answers with physical force.
“Calm down, Sam,” Lindsey said with a coolness that made Fern want to trust her.
“How do you know about Fern and Byron?” Sam had never figured out Fern’s relationship with Byron, but since Fern had been six years old, she could teach Byron to do all sorts of strange things: run in circles, use the toilet, dance to Madonna, or climb the jacaranda with her. The dog followed Fern everywhere.
“You told him that you think I’m a Rollen,” Fern said quietly. Sam and Lindsey, who had both turned away from Fern, faced her. Lindsey Lin’s steely pout gave way to a huge smile.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sam questioned. “What’s a Rollen?”
“Not only can he understand me,” Lindsey said, still grinning, “but you can understand him. Just like I thought.”
“What is a Rollen?” Sam demanded. “Why have you come here?”
“How long have you been able to do that, Fern?” Lindsey said, ignoring Sam.
“I don’t know. I can hear his voice in my head and he can hear mine.”
“Fern,” Sam said, grabbing his sister’s arm, “don’t give her any answers until she gives us some!”
“From what I know, fully developed canine communication doesn’t kick in for another few years. You’re a prodigy, though, so you must be one of them!”
“One of who? What are you talking about? Do you realize how crazy you sound?” Sam said with muffled anger.
“Look, don’t mention that I came here. I don’t think I’m wrong about you, but if I am . . . I could get in a lot of trouble,” Lindsey said while reaching into her brown satchel. “Take these; then maybe you’ll believe me.”
“Believe what? You haven’t told us anything.”
“Believe that I want to help,” she said, and looked thoughtfully at Sam and Fern. “This round bottle is for your skin—rub it all over—and the square one has eyedrops for the mornings.”
Lindsey Lin handed Fern two white bottles. Each bottle was plain and fit in the palm of her hand. Both had W.A.A.V.E. printed on them in small ornate letters.
“Where’d you get these?” Fern asked, looking down at the bottles as if she held a magic potion in each hand.
“What is a Rollen?” Sam demanded as loudly as he dared. The door to the master bedroom creaked open. The three of them could hear the Commander prowling around upstairs. They froze instantly.
“Byron?” Mrs. McAllister called softly, hoping not to wake her children, whom she assumed were fast asleep. Byron went bounding up the stairs and into the arms of Mrs. McAllister. Lindsey, Sam, and Fern remained absolutely still, terrified that she might come down the stairs. They waited until their muscles cramped. After a few minutes, they heard the door to the master
bedroom close.
“Use them; you won’t be sorry.” Lindsey Lin whispered at Fern. “You have a beautiful home,” she said, grabbing the front door with one hand. She gave Sam and Fern one last glance, opened the door, slipped out, then closed it behind her. Sam, thoroughly dissatisfied, wanted to run after her and drag her back so he could force Lindsey to talk. But the Commander was awake, and any noise now might tip her off. Instead, the McAllister twins exchanged disbelieving, confused stares.
Fern and Sam were both exhausted from the night’s activities. They ascended the stairs, Fern clutching her W.A.A.V.E. bottles, Sam sweating in his turtleneck and ear flaps, knowing they would figure out what to make of their midnight visitor in the morning. Things would be much clearer then. After all, they couldn’t possibly get murkier.
Outside, Lindsey Lin, the second stranger to grace the McAllister living room in one evening, made her way home under a pale blue moon.
Chapter 5
the haircut
Since Lindsey Lin’s late night visit to the McAllister home, St. Gregory’s had become a much less disagreeable place for Fern. Though Sam was fairly convinced that neither W.A.A.V.E. bottle was safe for Fern’s personal use, it was hard to argue with the results: It had been ten days since Fern had walked to school with the aid of her Breakfast Sunglasses. The same amount of time had passed since Fern’s tender snow-white skin had shown any effects of the scorching California sun. Fern might never be sure what was in the bottles Lindsey had handed over in the darkness of the McAllister living room, but she was convinced things would be better from now on.
Still, Fern’s status as a loner remained unchanged: At lunch she sat by herself, behind the outdoor stage, across from the multipurpose room, with a brief visit from Sam. Chapel was another of Fern’s alone activities. Sam always invited her to sit next to him, but every time she did, his friends would stare at her to the point that she preferred sitting by herself.
For the middle and upper grades, chapel was required. Every Tuesday students would file into the triangular stucco building in their formal wear. For girls, that meant a gray skirt, a white oxford shirt, dress shoes, and a blue sweater with the St. Gregory’s crest emblazoned on the right breast; for the boys that meant leather shoes, a navy school blazer, and slacks. On cold days, girls were allowed to wear pants. Fern usually chose to wear Eddie’s baggy hand-me-downs.
A round stained-glass window that looked almost the size of a baseball infield dominated the front of the chapel. Each morning the sun would rise over the Capistrano hills and its rays would hit the chapel window. For a person sitting inside, the backdrop of bright light made the saints depicted in the colored glass glow neon bright.
Everyone at St. Gregory’s called the steepled building a chapel, but one look disclosed that it was really much more. Ornately carved doors led to a cavernous aisle with padded, lacquered pews. Gold-threaded tapestries depicting some of the Bible’s most celebrated stories hung on the walls. The silver organ pipes lined the tops of the cement walls. The pulpit and the area behind it were more than worthy of the sacred rites performed by Mother Corrigan.
On chapel mornings, Fern would linger in the bathroom, watching the clock until she had exactly one minute to cross campus and slip into the back row after everyone was seated but before Mother Corrigan began her sermon. It was Tuesday again and Fern found herself waiting in the girls’ bathroom, counting down the seconds. She had nearly three minutes until it was safe to begin making her way across the quad to the chapel. The clock on the tile wall ticked and tocked at a slow pace.
When the door to the bathroom creaked open, Fern jumped and took shelter in the nearest metal stall. She waited, wondering who else would dare risk a detention by being late to chapel.
“Feeeeern,” the voice said. “We know you’re in here.” Fern lifted her feet up and sat on the toilet seat. Although she didn’t want to be right, she would know that voice anywhere. Lee Phillips had come looking for her.
“You may as well come out of that stall,” a second voice said. Fern recognized this voice too. Lee Phillips rarely went anywhere without Blythe Conrad.
Fern spotted two pairs of black Mary Janes under her stall door. Soon every wall of the stall began to shake. Lee and Blythe were kicking the doors open, one by one.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
With four stalls to go before they reached Fern, Fern decided to preempt the girls. She popped out of her stall and leaned against the mirrored back wall of the bathroom.
“What do you want?” Fern questioned as she raised an eyebrow. The two girls smiled wickedly at each other and closed in on Fern.
Now they were an arm’s length away from her. Both girls were nearly four inches taller than Fern, having already had their growth spurts. Their tan, slim legs were the envy of most of the girls at school.
“Oh, we don’t want much,” Lee said, flipping her strawberry blond hair behind her shoulders. Blythe reached into her book bag and pulled out a large pair of scissors.
“How come you always hide in here before chapel?” Blythe said, hissing, holding the scissors at her side. “You sneak in at the last minute and sit in the back row all by yourself. You think you’re too good to sit with everybody else?”
“No,” Fern said, a little puzzled and a lot worried. “I think nobody cares what I do.”
Blythe and Lee inched closer.
“You think you’re speeeecial,” Lee purred, “don’t you?”
“No, I don’t,” Fern exclaimed, backing up until she was flush against the wall. She glanced up at the clock. “If we don’t leave now, we’re all going to be late for chapel.”
“Oh, I’m sure you don’t have to worry about that. Why don’t you just disappear there?” Blythe asked.
“I didn’t disappear,” Fern said.
“Of course you didn’t disappear,” Lee said.
“What do you want from me?”
“We’re going to help you out by giving you a special haircut,” Blythe said, putting her fingers into the scissors and waving them through the air with menace.
“Something freaky for freaky Fern, no?” Lee said, smiling devilishly.
Fern pushed off the wall and bolted between the girls.
Blythe lunged at Fern’s hair, grabbing a fistful as she neared, yanking Fern backward. Fern grimaced, trying not to scream out loud. The skin on her scalp throbbed.
Lee gripped Fern’s shoulders and slammed her against the side of the nearest stall. Pain shot up Fern’s spine to her neck. She groaned and tried to twist free.
“Hold still,” Lee demanded. “You don’t want Blythe to accidentally cut something that shouldn’t be cut, do you?” Blythe pressed the cold blades of the scissors against Fern’s ear. Fern squirmed under Lee’s iron grip. Several locks of her jet-black hair fell to the floor.
“The problem with you, Fern, is that you’re a poser,” Blythe said as she snipped away. Lee was leaning with all her force against Fern, making it impossible to move.
“You’re going to get into real trouble,” Lee continued, “if you keep pretending to be you’re something you’re not.”
“I’m not pretending to be anything,” Fern said.
“We are so on to you, Fern McAllister,” Blythe said, raising her voice. “How does it feel to have nobody like you?”
They pressed up against Fern until she could hardly breathe.
“You are the only girl in school who doesn’t have a single friend!” Lee taunted with a nasty glint in her eye.
“You’re . . . ,” Fern said, struggling to speak as Lee and Blythe crushed the air out of her. “You’re both . . .”
“STOP THAT RIGHT NOW.”
Both girls’ blond heads whipped around. They released their iron grip on Fern, who slid down the wall into a heap.
Lindsey Lin stood in the entrance of the bathroom with her hands on her hips. She looked fierce. “What do you think you’re doing?” she asked, her eyes focused and narrow.
&nbs
p; “We’re here helping Fern with a more stylish look,” Lee said with syrupy sweetness.
“I mean, Lindsey, take a look at her. Actually, I can’t stand to look at her, and that’s the whole problem,” Blythe added, talking quickly.
“It’s like she shops at a thrift store for thrift stores.”
“More like the trash in back of a thrift store,” Blythe quipped.
“If people are looking at her hair, they might stop looking at her pleated parachute pants,” Lee said, taking a swipe at Fern’s oversized slacks.
“Somebody’s already told Principal Mooney that you two aren’t in chapel yet,” Lindsey said without hesitation. “I’m sure he’s got his search team after you.”
“What? Did you rat on—” Blythe said, wide-eyed.
“Leave now and you might still make it,” Lindsey replied, unwilling to hear Blythe out.
Lee released her grip on Fern. She looked at Blythe. The pair stood in place.
“You have no idea who you’re messing with,” Lee said, pushing the swinging door open. “You may think of yourself as the class monitor, but this is personal.”
“Well, how’s this for personal,” Lindsey said, with glassy eyes and a steel grimace. “If you don’t leave the rest room right now, I’ll make sure Mooney is on you every hour of every day. You won’t be able to even write notes to each other without someone watching over you.”
Blythe rolled her eyes and sighed loudly.
“Come on, Lee. Fern stunk up the place anyway,” she said, holding her nose between her thumb and index finger and pushing on the exit door. Lindsey Lin may have been bluffing, but no one doubted the sway she had with St. Gregory’s administrators.
Oh,” Lindsey said as they brushed by her, “and Lee, why don’t you empty your pockets for me. Blythe, leave the scissors, please.”
“What?” Blythe glowered at Lindsey.
“Do it,” Lindsey demanded.
“Fine,” Lee said, turning her pockets inside out. Locks of Fern’s hair fell out of the pockets and to the ground.
“Gross,” Lee said. “Some of your nasty hair got into my pockets. I think I’m going to vomit.”
The Otherworldlies Page 7