by Nancy Werlin
As she calmed, Marnie had an abrupt memory of herself holding Jenna Lowry in a way that was not unlike this. Marnie had said, It’s okay, to Jenna then. Without knowing a damned thing, she had said that. No wonder Jenna had been angry, Marnie thought now. No wonder. In fact, Marnie was lucky Jenna hadn’t slugged her.
The Elf did not say, It’s okay. He just kept on with the heys. Another few weeks, Marnie thought, full of self-loathing, and who knew, he might even have had a Paliopolis score that was higher than hers. He did way better on human interaction, that was for sure.
She realized after a time that she was hideously uncomfortable; that she was crouched on the cot with one leg nearly numb beneath her; that she needed desperately to blow her nose. And—incredibly, because she’d drunk so little—to use Yertle.
The Elf kept saying, Hey. He was so warm. She liked having him stroke her bristly hair. She liked the way his arms felt. She liked him, so much.
And, she suddenly realized, she’d never bothered to ask him one single thing about himself. What music he listened to. What he wanted to study in college. What his family was like. What he and his friends did when they hung out. Oh my God, she thought. She didn’t even know his real—
The Sorceress in her head interrupted snidely. Oh, please get off it. This isn’t a date!
Which was true.
He was so warm. She wondered what would happen if she turned in his arms and hugged him back. If she tipped up her head and—
No! You stink, remember?
Marnie cringed. She took a deep breath, muttered, “Sorry. Thanks,” pushed away from the Elf, and, gulping in more air, turned her back on him. Surreptitiously she wiped her nose on her sleeve.
She could feel him behind her. But she wouldn’t turn and look. She wouldn’t say anything. She didn’t dare. She’d got him shot. His leg was probably screaming in pain. She was now on the point of getting him killed. And … and she smelled.
After another minute, chin held high, forcing her numb leg to work, she managed to make her way over to Yertle.
CHAPTER
27
Marnie didn’t look at the Elf, but she knew he was doing the polite thing, back turned and all that. She was so full of uncertainty about what she should say now, to make it very clear that she was back in control of herself and didn’t need help or pity or … or anything, that the Elf surprised her by simply speaking. “Marnie, I’m terrified too. As if you couldn’t guess. But I thought it should be said.”
Mr. Macho Cyberspace Hero thought it was important to say he was scared? Marnie blinked and suppressed the stupid impulse to deny that she was frightened. A secret bit of her was relieved that he thought that was why she’d turned away from him. “Okay,” she said uncertainly. She got up cautiously from her squat. She stayed where she was, across the room from the Elf. She watched his back as he spoke.
He said, “I have a few things to say, okay?” And after the barest of pauses, he continued. “Point one: I’d really rather not die. I’m not ready to give up. We haven’t fully tried thinking our way through this yet. There might be something we haven’t realized. Some way out.”
Marnie knew this cell better than the Elf. She’d explored it before he came. If Leah really had abandoned them, if Max didn’t somehow see past all the red herrings Marnie had unthinkingly piled in the way, they were dead. “You sound a little better,” she temporized.
“Yeah, yeah,” said the Elf. “I feel a little less woozy than I did before. My head’s clearer.” He hesitated. “You done over there?”
“Yes,” Marnie said.
The Elf turned. There was a focused, determined look on his face. “Come back and sit down, so I can look at you while we talk?”
After a moment, Marnie sat. There was no sensible reason to refuse.
“I know you’re pessimistic that Leah will come back,” the Elf was saying. “And now that you’ve told me about this sister thing I understand why.” He hesitated and then added, “But what I’m thinking is, if she’s truly crazy, then she might still come. You know? Sure, it’s logical for her to abandon us, hope we die or whatever—but maybe she’s not logical.” He leaned toward Marnie. “Is that possible?”
“Maybe,” said Marnie doubtfully.
“You think she won’t be back.” A statement, not a question.
“I think we’re going to die here,” said Marnie bluntly.
“I know, but—” The Elf stopped and sighed. He put one hand up to his head, and Marnie noticed that he had dark stubble. She’d read somewhere that hair and nail cells still grew after death. Maybe by the time their bodies were found, the Elf would have a full head of hair. His family wouldn’t recognize him.
“It’s just not productive to think that way,” said the Elf.
He wanted productive thinking? “Well, by all means,” Marnie snapped. “Let’s banish all negative thoughts. Come on. Let’s throw ourselves at the door again, so we’ll feel like we’re doing something. Or do you have a better idea this time, Elf? Something more productive?”
Marnie stared defiantly at the Elf, whose jaw had dropped.
Then, unexpectedly, he grinned. “You drive me up the wall. You always have, even in Paliopolis. Look.” He stopped and then said, in an oddly tentative voice, “Marn … do you think you could try remembering for more than five minutes that I’m on your side?”
I can’t afford that! Marnie thought uncontrollably. Then she was appalled at herself. Where had that come from? Why? When she knew that here, now, they were a team …
She turned her face away. Eventually she said flatly, “I know that. I’m sorry. I just … you must think I’m nuts.”
He was quiet for so long that she figured he was trying to find a way to say yes. A nice way, of course, because the Elf was a nice guy. A nice, normal teenage guy with a family and buddies and good grades and college plans and everything. Probably he had a girlfriend, too, and he was looking at Marnie and wishing he were safely with her. She wanted to throw up.
He said, “I think you’re scared. I think this is terrifying, probably more terrifying for you than I can imagine. And I think …”
Marnie couldn’t stand it. “What?”
“I think you’re really used to being alone.”
It was like a stab in the throat.
She tried to think of something to say. She wondered why it was so awful, hearing something aloud, from someone else, when you’d said it to yourself a million times. When you knew, yourself …
The Elf said, “I know what that’s about. Believe me, I do.”
Marnie made a shrugging movement.
“Look at me, Marn,” the Elf said. He sounded kind of impatient.
Marnie took in a little puff of breath. She set her mouth in a straight, firm, tight line. She turned back. She tried to say, “What?” but the word only formed on her lips and didn’t quite make it out into the air.
The Elf said, “Do I look like Mr. Popularity?”
Finally Marnie managed to say something. “You have friends. This buddy Dave guy.”
“I have a friend,” corrected the Elf. “And he’s marginal too, in his own way.” He paused and then added, “Don’t get the wrong idea. I don’t have a problem with that. And it’s not as if I go around collecting losers. I just—I kind of like people who …” He paused. “People who are a little different.” He looked directly at Marnie. “You’re a little different. I like that. Do you believe me?”
She thought about it and found that she didn’t. She couldn’t. She shrugged again.
“Don’t you like yourself?” demanded the Elf.
Marnie stared at him. It was not a question that had ever occurred to her. She knew that no one—except Skye—had ever liked her.
Of course, you’ve never let anyone close enough to find out, whispered the Sorceress.
It was as if the Elf read her mind. “I didn’t ask about whether other people liked you. I asked if you liked yourself.”
Mar
nie’s mouth twisted. “Yes,” she said. “I mean, I’m not perfect, but … yeah.” Her voice strengthened. “Yeah. I like myself. I believe in myself. I don’t care that I’m not the same as everyone else.”
The Elf nodded. “What I actually believe is that everybody is truly strange, unique, if you look closely. But most people are desperate to hide it. Desperate to blend in, to not be noticed. So they play all these games … do what they think other people want them to do and say what they think other people want them to say; don’t even dare feel what they really feel. Especially kids our age, you know? God forbid anybody should stick out. You know what I’m saying?” The Elf’s stubbled head bobbed with intensity.
Almost against her will, Marnie found herself drawn into what the Elf was saying. He was so passionate. She felt as if she were listening to some kind of manifesto. The Elf philosophy. And he wasn’t wrong. Marnie thought of Jenna Lowry and her gaggle of friends. And then of Jenna—a different Jenna—crying. She wondered, unexpectedly, if Jenna felt misunderstood by her friends. If she ever felt alone …
“Yeah,” she said, and heard with surprise that her voice had strength again. “I know what you’re saying.”
“I’m not interested in blending in,” continued the Elf, “and I decided a long time ago that I wouldn’t even try, no matter what it cost.” His expression had gone a little defiant. A little proud. A little—shy? Vulnerable? No, that couldn’t be.
“And you,” said the Elf. “You don’t try to blend in either, Marn. Even online, you stuck out. In person …” He made a vague hand motion, and Marnie found her own hand at her cheek. She thought of her makeup, her hair. Blend in? Fat chance.
“I think maybe my reasons were—are—different from yours,” she said.
The Elf leaned forward. “A lot different?”
It was suddenly easy to share. “There was never any hope of my blending in,” Marnie said simply. “Skye, you know. Once I figured that out, I went the other way. Flaunted it. It just seemed like the thing to do.”
Looking thoughtful, the Elf nodded. “I can see that.” Then he said abruptly, “Did you know you’re one of the most popular topics of discussion in the Paliopolis chat rooms? Nobody could figure you out, but they loved trying. Did you ever lurk and listen? Under another name, maybe?”
Marnie stared.
“I guess not,” said the Elf. “You were always playing. Even the Dungeon Master said he didn’t have a clue who you were. And you never chatted with anyone. It was always business with you. It was always the game.”
Marnie’s mind was spinning. Other people weren’t in Paliopolis for the game alone? That was the stupidest thing she’d ever heard! They went there to chat? About what? They didn’t know each other! And what were they doing talking about her? And the Elf …
Finally Marnie said slowly, “You don’t seem like a gamer to me, Elf. You did in Paliopolis, of course. But in person … something’s just not right.”
“I was doing research,” said the Elf. “On online communities. Paliopolis was just one of them.”
“But—you were playing. And you’re not bad … you were actually getting frighteningly good. And you spent a lot of time there this spring….”
“I got interested,” said the Elf. All at once he blushed. Fiercely. And Marnie couldn’t help it: she thought of the fifteen e-mails she would never read. She looked away. Toward the door.
And then, at the door.
And at the door frame.
At the way the door fit—or rather, was currently not fitting—in the door frame.
The Elf was talking. Marnie reached behind her and seized his arm. Hard.
“Hey!” he said. “Marn—”
Her hand tightened, and she cut her eyes toward him. “Shhh!” she mouthed. With her other hand, she pointed. The Elf stilled as he saw what she did. They had not broken the door, but nevertheless—
It was an inch ajar.
Someone had opened it.
CHAPTER
28
The Elf’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head. Recovering, he mouthed, “Is someone out there?” and Marnie moved her free hand in an I-don’t-know gesture. She supposed, however, that Leah was eavesdropping—most likely accompanied by her gun. She could tell that this was what the Elf thought as well. Together they mouthed, “Leah?”
The air suddenly pulsed with renewed possibilities. And, of course, with immediate danger. Abruptly Marnie felt her heart rate triple. She pulled breath deeply into her lungs. This is it, she thought. The location of the door, and the angle of the opening, meant whoever was out there could not see them. Could not see the cot at all. Could only hear.
This was their chance. Maybe their only chance.
Marnie said aloud, in a voice that sounded nearly normal, “So, what made you interested in researching online communities?” and saw that for a split second the Elf thought she had finally snapped under the pressure. But then his lashes flickered in comprehension, and he began babbling rather fluently about advanced placement psychology. Marnie couldn’t help wasting a moment on the reflection that it figured: She got treated like a criminal for hanging out online, while the Elf called it independent study and got academic credit.
The Elf was frowning a question at Marnie, and she shrugged. It didn’t need saying. The Elf was disabled. If anybody was going to tiptoe over to the door, slam it fully open, and do … well, whatever next seemed to be the thing to do—it would have to be Marnie. She gestured, You stay here! to the Elf and let go of his arm, only then becoming aware that she’d been clutching it the way a child clutches a doll in the dark. She hoped she hadn’t hurt him. She further hoped that between now and the door, inspiration would strike. She eased quietly to her feet—
—And the Elf grabbed her arm, arresting her. “Amazingly, it turns out there are interesting parallels between sites that are organized around chat and gaming communities like Paliopolis,” he expounded wildly. As Marnie turned an incredulous face on him—had he lost it?—he used her for partial leverage to struggle to his feet beside her, all the while continuing to speak.
Then, entirely predictably, he staggered. Marnie used the moment to let him know in no uncertain terms—it was amazing how much you could say in silence, by scowling and baring your teeth—that he would only get in the way. In her way. He snarled right back, flailing his left hand to indicate that nothing and no one was keeping him in this room. Marnie wished ferociously that this was Paliopolis and she could bespell him to freeze where he stood. Or better yet, club him over the head.
They were wasting time. She mouthed, “Trust me, you idiot,” wrenched herself free of him, and launched into a silent, rapid stalk toward the door. Just short of it, she reached out without thinking and grabbed up Yertle by its handle, moving it into position before her. As she did so she heard the Elf’s prattle falter for a second before continuing: “… irrepressible social bonding instinct of nearly all humans in any circumstances …”
She had no idea if he was following her. She hoped he wasn’t. She wished at the very least she had watched more kung fu movies.
She kicked the door hard, with her left foot. It slammed open.
And bounced back. Marnie caught it with her foot before it slammed shut.
There was no other sound. No gasp or hiss from Leah. No crack of wild, spontaneous gunfire. No sound to indicate the direction in which Marnie should aim the contents of the bucket.
Nothing.
Perplexed, Marnie glanced over her shoulder at the Elf. He’d made it halfway across the room. She saw him shrug at the same moment that she felt her own shoulders move identically.
She swiveled her head back, listening hard to the ringing emptiness, and took three seconds to think. It was probably already too late. Leah was probably out there, holding her gun, aiming it at the door. If Marnie stepped through it … But they couldn’t stay here. Her plan … well. She clutched Yertle. Her plan was to face Leah and win. Somehow.
M
arnie kicked the door again and raced through as it slammed open. But at the moment she crossed the threshold, she knew. The skin stretching over her entire body stood at attention and told her. She stopped dead. She stood still and looked around, as if to confirm what she was already certain of.
“Elf,” she said after a moment. She spoke in a whisper, but knew her voice was clear enough to be heard. “Elf, she’s not out here.”
The Elf had already hobbled to the doorway. Marnie cast one last disbelieving look around before putting down Yertle and going to assist him. He shrugged off her hand, however, and leaned against the wall. He too scanned the room in puzzled astonishment. “What the … ?”
“Leah opened it and left?” Marnie asked dubiously. But it seemed the only possible explanation. The door had been firmly locked. Had she come to her senses? Were they expected to leave quietly?
Or was Leah waiting at the top of the stairs with her gun? Marnie could think of no earthly reason why she would do that … but …
The Elf said hoarsely, “Marn, I have no clue anymore. Is she letting us go?”
Marnie’s eyes wandered to the stairs and then back to the Elf.
He too was now looking thoughtfully at the stairs. Then he surveyed the room, his eyes stopping on the pile of two-by-fours. “I guess it’s time for us to split up,” he said. “You have to be the one to go upstairs.”
“Yeah,” said Marnie. She had come to the same conclusion. It was the logical way to proceed. Still, she blinked once, hard, and then felt her whole body shudder.
“You want a piece of wood?” said the Elf, nodding at the two-by-fours. “In case you need to, uh, defend yourself …”
Marnie remembered attacking Leah with a two-by-four. She said tersely, “No. I’m bringing Yertle.”
Did the Elf grin for a second there? Marnie hoped not. This was not the slightest bit funny.
“All right,” she said. “Why don’t you go stand by the bottom of the stairs, in that alcove there? Take a two-by-four, and if anyone comes down who’s not me, just—just—”