Unhinged

by A. G. Howard

  There’s a prick in my heart, like a thorn piercing me from the inside out. “Dad, I’m sorry.” The apology feels inadequate. Memories are such precious and priceless things. It’s always made me sad to think about Jeb losing his from Wonderland. But this is so much worse. “You never told me.”

  “You already had a messed-up childhood. I wasn’t going to add anything to that. You needed at least one parent who had a semi-normal past. Right?”

  I shrug, though I don’t know if I agree. Maybe if we’d both been honest all along, we could’ve helped each other.

  “So, do you see now?” he asks. “Why she doesn’t want you driving that car? It’s too easy, when you have unharnessed power at your fingertips, to forget you’re not invincible. To make rash decisions that can affect your whole future.”

  His words are so perfectly cut for me, they could be the missing pieces of my own thoughts and fears.

  “I want you to work things out with her before you go to school,” he says, in a final tone. “And I want you to make a better effort to get along with her. She’s been trying so hard with you.” His jaw clenches. “Make me proud, Alyssa.”

  Alyssa. He hasn’t called me by my first name alone since the time I came home in ninth grade with a C in geometry. It’s worse than if he’d yelled at me.

  “All right,” I mumble.

  “You better get ready for school,” he says. He stands and drops his keys on my bed. “You can drive my truck. I’ll call someone to take me to Micah’s Tire Repair. They’re supposed to be done with Gizmo this morning. Oh, and I parked the Mercedes in the garage last night to keep it safe. Bring your friend home after school to pick it up. Okay?”

  “Okay,” I say, though I have no idea how I’ll accomplish that.

  Dad looks like he’s about to leave. Instead, he stops to lift the dress bag from my bed. “Is this what I think it is?”

  At first I have no idea what he means—I’m not even sure I remember what’s in the bag. Then I nod.

  He opens the zipper, tugging out the mask and a corner of the dress.

  “So you were serious about going to prom tonight?” He looks suspiciously close to happy again. He’s wanted me to go to a school dance since I was a freshman. He signed himself and Mom up to be chaperones the minute he heard I’d told Jeb yes, but it’s obvious he never believed I’d follow through until now.

  He lays the bag back on the bed and glances at the flowery tiara pinned on the hanger. His famous Elvis smirk appears. “You’re going to wear a crown? Aw, Allie, you’ll look just like a princess. Just like when you used to play dress-up.” His goofy grin is pure nostalgia, and it makes me want to cry. He strokes the mildew-tinted lines of the mask. “Well … a princess who’s been through a bit of a rough patch. I like it.”

  “Thanks.” I attempt a smile as I wrestle the dress back into the bag and zip it closed, hating that I’ll disappoint him yet again when I don’t show up for the dance tonight.

  A worried wrinkle appears between his eyebrows. He catches my hand and drags me close for a hug, tucked safe under his chin. I snuggle into him, my daddy … my champion. And the love of Mom’s life. It’s amazing what she did for him, putting that photo journal together, giving him his past back. That doesn’t sound like a woman who resents her marriage. Maybe she really did choose Dad over the crown. Maybe there really was more to the story. I need to give her the benefit of the doubt and hear her out—if we ever get the chance to discuss it again.

  “Listen, Butterfly,” Dad whispers against my head. “You haven’t seemed yourself, but I get it. It’s the end of school. You have tests, prom, graduation, and on top of all that, you almost drowned. It’s understandable that you feel a little unhinged. Maybe you need to talk to someone other than me or Mom.”

  A burning sensation rises in my esophagus. I push back enough to glare up at him. “What, like a psychiatrist? No, Dad. I’m not going crazy.”

  “That’s not what I meant. You could go to your school counselor. You just seem to be teetering a little. We can put you right again. Let us know what you need.”

  My 6:45 alarm buzzes and we jump.

  I crawl across my bed to shut it off. “Can we talk about this later? I should get ready.”

  “Sure,” Dad says. He stalls outside my door. “There are scrambled eggs in the kitchen. And don’t forget to apologize to your mom before you leave. I’m going to take a shower, to give you two some privacy.”

  I promise him I’ll fix things. I do want to talk to Mom, for so many reasons, but the instant Dad shuts my door, I know that I won’t follow through. Not this morning … but hopefully later today, after I take care of my royal advisor.

  I cram Dad’s truck keys into my pocket, then throw open my closet. Rabid’s standing there with his skeletal hands intertwined, thimble dangling cockeyed from an antler prong and mismatched socks hanging off his ears. For one weird moment, he reminds me of the White Rabbit I always read about in the Carroll tales.

  In spite of my emotional uproar, I can’t stop the smile that breaks on my lips. “Thanks for being quiet. You did good.” I pat his bald head.

  He blinks bright pink eyes at me. “Rabid White, hungry be.”

  Opening my empty backpack, I wave him inside, hoping netherling stowaways like eggs for breakfast.

  Turns out netherlings do like eggs, at least the buttery kind my dad makes. After Rabid and I have breakfast, I scoop some extra into a Tupperware bowl. Along with a bag of Mom’s cookies and a bottled water, I put the bowl into my backpack to keep my royal advisor occupied on our way to school.

  For such a small creature, he has a huge appetite, and a huge knowledge of the inner workings of Wonderland’s politics. During the drive, he sits out of view on the floorboards of the passenger side, head poking from the backpack zipper. He answers every question I ask as he gobbles up eggs.

  According to Wonderland law, there are three ways the blood heir of a netherling queen can relinquish her throne once she’s been crowned: death, exile, or losing to another blood heir in a magical tournament. I turned my throne over to Grenadine, but that doesn’t count as an official abdication. She can only be a temporary substitute, since she’s not of our lineage. Now that the kingdom’s in trouble, it’s up to me to step back in, take up the crown, and defeat Red. It’s like Morpheus said while we were in the car: I’m the only one who can release and wield the magic that is now a part of my blood.

  So I’m stuck for life, which is another fact Morpheus failed to mention before he placed that thing on my head last year.

  Then again, now that I’m coming to terms with my netherling inheritance and responsibilities—and how they’re entangled with my mortal side—I’m not sure I would give up my crown-magic to just anyone, even if I could. The recipient would have to want what’s best for both Wonderland and the human realm.

  If only I could divide myself in half and be two people: The human side could stay here with Jeb and my family, and the netherling one could reign over Wonderland, keeping the peace with an iron fist.

  It’s 7:20 when I pull into the north parking lot, forty-five minutes before the first bell. I park Dad’s truck next to the Dumpsters where Morpheus waited for me after school yesterday.

  The lot is abandoned except for two vehicles, both of which I recognize. One belongs to the principal, and one is Mr. Mason’s new car with the annoyingly ineffective alarm system.

  Even though Morpheus stayed out of my head like he said he would, I can still sense him in the background, watching how I handle things. Just like when we were kids together. As mad as he was when he left, I’m confident he wants me to succeed. Not only that, he wants me to find him. He doesn’t do anything without a reason. It must be important for me to discover where he went on my own.

  I just need to figure out what he meant by “hiding among lost memories.”

  Before I go in, I try to call Jeb one last time. It’s not like him to be so quiet. I’m starting to wonder if he got my t
ext last night at all. But if he didn’t, why hasn’t he called to check on me and Mom? Doesn’t he care? At least Ivy’s out of town, so I don’t have to torture myself worrying about her.

  Jeb’s phone goes to voice mail again. This time I leave a message. “I’m at school. Text me. I need to talk to you.”

  I stare at my phone. Something’s still bothering me: Nurse Terri.

  Pleasance University Medical Center doesn’t have an employee directory online. On a whim, I do a search for nurse uniforms along with the name of the hospital. An announcement pops up, posted on the News page from a week ago:

  During Memorial Day weekend, in tribute to fallen veterans, Pleasance University MC will be reinstating vintage nurse and doctor uniforms. Any employee who has lost loved ones in past wars and wishes to participate should contact Louisa Colton in human resources for available sizes and styles. Rentals paid for by Catholic Family Services Board and supplied by Banshee’s Costume Boutique.

  I close the link. That explains Nurse Terri’s costume on Monday and possibly her desolate, sad eyes. Maybe I jumped to conclusions about her. She was so nice and helpful. But what about the clown and my stolen art from Mr. Mason’s car? Could there have been another netherling around that I didn’t see?

  After zipping Rabid into my backpack along with my phone, I start toward the back entrance. The classroom windows glow yellow, muted by the closed blinds and that hazy light of post sunrise. The building looks just like it always does, even though everything is different inside, at least for me. Morpheus saw to that.

  I skulk through the deserted breezeway and inhale the scent of yeast and sweet spices wafting from the cafeteria. The sounds of screeching zombies and annoying theme music drift out of my backpack. I made the mistake of showing Rabid how to play a game on my phone. Muscles tensing, I unzip my backpack, take the phone out, and mute it before handing it to him once more.

  I duck into the dark gymnasium and use the flashlight on Dad’s key chain to find my way to the girls’ locker room, treading carefully so my boots won’t leave black streaks on our mascot—the giant blue and orange ram painted in the middle of the wooden floor.

  As I curve around the partition entrance to the locker room, the stench of old socks and musty tile stings my nose. With a flip of the light switch, a fluorescent glow buzzes to life overhead, and I face a panel of full-length mirrors.

  I unzip my backpack. Rabid clambers out, his mouth stuffed with cookie. He punches buttons on my phone in a last-ditch attempt to kill the zombies in his game. Gently, I pry the cell from his skeletal grip and tuck it into the backpack.

  “Are you ready?” I ask, though it’s a rhetorical question. On the way to school I gave him direct orders to go straight to the Red kingdom and stay by Grenadine’s side until I return to help her.

  Rabid fishes in his coat. His thimble clatters to the cement floor. He picks it up and starts to dig again for his key.

  “It’s okay. I got this.” I hold mine up on its chain and stare into the closest mirror, picturing the Thames sundial trail in London. An image of the sundial statue boy that hides the rabbit hole from human eyes blurs in the glass—projected by my memory.

  I wait for the mirror to splinter. As soon as the cracks appear, my heartbeat kicks into overdrive. I’m right where I was a year ago, standing at the doorway to madness. Only this time, I know exactly what’s waiting on the other side.

  Pushing past my hesitation, I press the key into the juncture of crinkles shaped like a keyhole. The portal ripples open, and a cool breeze swishes through my hair, scented with grass and flowers.

  I take Rabid’s craggy hand. We’re just about to step through, when I pause. The ground around the sundial appears to be moving, as if it wasn’t grass but a dark and angry sea, its waves thrashing against and underneath the sundial’s stand.

  “What is that?” I mumble.

  Rabid leans in, his bones clattering. “Fire pincers. Pinch you, Majesty.”

  I lean closer and realize it’s a sea of fire ants—shimmering a deep black and red—invading the rabbit hole. There are enough to cover the ground for what looks like the length of a football field—thousands upon thousands of them.

  I wonder if anyone on the sundial tour is seeing this.

  I don’t have time to look around and find out; I need to get Rabid down the rabbit hole. There’s no safe place to step. It doesn’t matter that ants chat with me on a daily basis; they still won’t hesitate to attack with their pincers if they’re angry or determined, especially if I stand in their path. And these are fire ants. The most aggressive and painful of their kind.

  If I didn’t have to be quiet in the locker room, I’d shout out to them. They can’t possibly defeat Red’s zombie-flower army. Yet it’s obvious they’re on their way to try.

  Unexpected voices from the gym shake my concentration. I jerk free of the mirror, closing the portal. Then I shuffle Rabid into the backpack and scoot it into a locker.

  “Stay hidden until I see what’s going on out there,” I say and hand him the bag of cookies. “When I get back, we’ll come up with some way to make peace with the ants.”

  The locker door won’t latch shut with the backpack in the way, so I leave it open a crack. After turning off the light, I peer around the partition wall into the gym.

  Multibulb fixtures beam down from the ceiling. I blink at the brightness, taken aback by the flutter of activity along the floor. A handful of students carry in white, glittery trees and doily lanterns. More follow with giant plastic tubs of lacy white tablecloths, crepe paper, and other party decorations.

  My stomach drops. It’s the student council and prom committee, setting up for tonight’s fairy-tale masquerade dance. Could I possibly have worse timing?

  Some of the bigger guys fold the wooden bleachers and roll them against the walls to leave the rest of the floor free for dancing. Most of the girls putter around on either side of the gym, setting up the snack area and the makeshift stage where the band will play, announcements will be made, and the prom king and queen will be chosen.

  I groan as more students saunter into the gym. Any possibility of sending Rabid through the mirror before school is shot. Someone could walk in just as we step inside. I consider hiding in a shower stall till everyone’s gone, but movement in the crowd stops me in my tracks.

  “Hey, you!” Taelor shouts, holding up her arm.

  She’s the last person I want to talk to. I sink farther behind the partition, then exhale a relieved breath when I realize she’s not yelling at me. She waves her arm again at a dark-haired, baby-faced sophomore in the corner diagonally across from where I’m hiding. He stands next to a tree he placed on the floor, and before he can look up, he’s surrounded by Taelor, Twyla, and Kimber.

  “We have to leave space for the park bench where the couples pose for pictures,” Taelor scolds him. “The tree goes on the other side of the gym, by that long banquet table where the snacks will be.”

  The boy stares at her, dumbfounded, either stunned by her beauty or shocked to be addressed by a senior.

  She sighs and starts dragging the tree in its pot, completely oblivious of the streaks it and her black cowboy boots are making on the high-buffed floor.

  Wait. Cowboy boots? That’s a first.

  Even her dress looks carefully chosen to impress an entomologist: a silvery mini with fluttery sleeves that look like wings. Maybe she’s hoping Morpheus will mistake her for a moth and pin her to his corkboard.

  I almost smirk at that. I’d heard a rumor that she broke up with her original date to prom after M asked her to go. I never thought to ask him if it was true, but it sounds like something he would do—lead her on just for the fun of it. She’s about to be disappointed.

  “Ugh.” She whimpers when she’s a couple of yards away from me. I slink farther into the shadows of the locker room but keep her in my sights. Her arms—tanned and toned from incessant tennis and volleyball practice—shimmer under the lights as she
tugs at the potted tree. “This thing is heavy.”

  Blushing, the sophomore snaps out of his trance and jumps in to help, winning a stunning though sarcastic smile.

  “Thanks, Superman,” she purrs and releases her side of the pot.

  I can almost see stubble sprouting on his chin as he fast-forwards through puberty, following at her heels.

  I duck behind the wall when they pass by.

  “Al?”

  Jenara’s voice brings me out again. A basket hangs on her arm. Lanterns thump together inside. She threads string through a few to form the garlands other students are hanging on the trees.

  “I thought that was you lurking back here,” she says. “What’s going on? I didn’t see your name on the sign-up list.”

  “I didn’t exactly sign up for this,” I say, meaning it on so many levels.

  Jen smirks. “Yeah, me neither. It’s part of my penance for defacing the prom posters. As if posters have faces.” She snorts, then sobers when I don’t respond. “You never brought your dress by last night.” Her meticulously lined eyes narrow with concern. “Is your mom …?” The question trails off, falling silent beneath the hum of the busy students in the background.

  “No, she’s fine.” Reluctantly, I ease out of the safety of the shadows and into the gym, trusting Rabid to stay hidden. “Something came up when we got home from the emergency roo—”

  “Whoa!” Jen interrupts as I step into the light. “What’s with the au naturel?”

  Only then do I remember I don’t have any makeup on. It’s the first time since I was a freshman that I’ve shown up to school without wearing my armor.

  Against every instinct to run, I take a lantern from her basket and some string to start my own garland, nostalgic for the times I would string moth corpses with Morpheus in Wonderland—back when I didn’t have to wear armor. “Sheesh, Jen. Make me feel like a troll, why don’t you?”