Chapter 8: Act of Idiocy
It would be nice to spend a day at school where I actually get to think about, well…school. Instead, I sit in class and find myself contemplating a stupid note and its very hot messenger. Just the thought of his silky voice warms me all over.
Why would I want to run around the neighbors’ yard with Mona’s mail? And why is someone I don’t know instructing me to do so?
Is this some strange prank everyone is playing on the new girl? I glance around the class, taking in each individual student’s face, to see if anyone breaks into as little as a smirk, but no one does. I hoped someone would because a prank would be easier to deal with.
Macey leans over when the teacher walks out of the room in sixth period. “What’s with you today? You’ve been in a funk all morning.” She pulls her hair back into a low ponytail. With a few quick movements of her fingers, she secures it with a rubber band.
“I dunno. Just got a lot on my mind, I guess.”
“Like what?” she pushes, picking up her pencil and playing with it.
“You know, the usual girl drama.” I give a weak smile because I know as soon as the words leave my lips, this information will set her off.
“Oh—I love drama. Tell me more,” she insists, leaning in with interest, the way she always does.
Hmm, which absurd thing should I share with her? The part where the Lady in Black burns my brain into a crispy critter, or the part where a Grungy Gang materializes out of thin air to try to kill me? Everything sounds so ridiculous, so I stick with the tamest. No need to scare my new friend away.
“Well, for one, I kinda have a thing for a guy,” I say. Macey’s eyes light up.
“But?” Her eyes grow larger, if that’s possible.
“But, I have no idea who he is, and—well—he’s kind of mysterious.”
“Hmm, that’s definitely a drama problem, but I love mysterious boys.” She leans closer and tips her pencil to her chin. “Is he in this class?” she whispers. Her eyes shoot around the room, surveying the options.
“Uh—no. I’m not even sure if he’s a student here—don’t know anything about him.”
“That sucks,” She harrumphs. Her lips form a pout.
“I know, tragic, right?”
“Anyway, did you notice how many students were absent from Spanish earlier? Even this class looks pretty slim,” I say and glance around, looking to change the subject. Despite my meeting with the boy this morning, I did manage to make it for part of the class.
“Yeah, I did. Really weird.” Macey scans the room, obviously counting the empty chairs.
“You ladies know that some of the students switch to the east building, right?” Chris Kwan, the boy nearby, chimes in.
“What do you mean—they switch? Isn’t it the same school?” I ask.
“Yeah, of course, but the east building is for boarders. You know, like a boarding school,” he explains.
“A boarding school?” I hadn’t taken much notice of the other building. There never seems to be any activity there. I guess I’ve been too caught up in my own craziness to consider it noteworthy.
“Yeah, they have dorm rooms and take classes there. Kinda blows if you think about it. They’re always hanging around the same building,” Chris continues.
“Seriously, that does suck. You’d have a hard time skipping wouldn’t you?” I say, and we all laugh together at the east building’s unfortunate boarding students.
Our teacher, Ms. Ames, slips back into the classroom, and we return our attention to her lecture.
•
After school, Macey and Xavier walk home with me. Having them around to talk about normal things makes me think it’s impossible that the Lady in Black or anything else that has happened is real.
Macey swoons over a boy in her biology class named Quinn Hayes. Since we don’t share the class, she insists on describing him in great detail every day. She rambles endlessly about his “perfect surfer bod, and dreamy blue eyes,” and how completely devastated she was when he hadn’t shown up for class today. When she sighs dramatically, Xavier and I exchange a look.
She continues rambling, but when I look over at Xavier, something’s wrong. He cringes at every remark she makes. I realize that he probably likes her, but he may be too shy to act on his emotions. He quietly listens to her babbling every afternoon. For this, I consider him sweet. It makes me sad that Macey is too caught up with Quinn to notice him.
“You should come jam with the band later, Sera,” Xavier says, changing the subject. The Quinn topic is getting old, even for me.
“If you’re going, I’m going too,” Macey adds, waiting for my answer.
Xavier perks up and gives me a look of desperation. Yeah, he totally has the hots for her. “Sounds like fun. What time?” I ask, shifting my backpack.
“How about in an hour?” Xavier suggests.
“Cool, see you then,” I say.
They turn away, and I watch them leave. Macey towers over Xavier by at least a foot. Her dark curls brush the top of his black knitted hat.
I continue toward Mona’s on my own, pumped about this afternoon’s jam session. It’s been a while since I’ve had time for my music, and I really miss my bandmates.
My hands are cold and I shove them in my pockets as I step off the curb to cross the street. The fingers of one hand brush against the envelope I’d stuffed in my pocket earlier, and I mentally debate whether following its instructions would make me officially insane.
Regretfully, I decide to make a fool of myself by running around the neighbor’s yard per British Stalker Boy’s suggestion. I pray no one else will be home to see my act of idiocy.
A few minutes later, I stand in the Strovels’ front yard, gripping the now crumpled piece of mail. I’ve already read and memorized the directions, so I shove the green sticky note in my pocket.
I focus on Mona because this is some kind of keyword. For what, I’m not sure.
Mona. Mona. Mona.
I take a deep breath and run as fast as I can across the front yard, hoping something will happen before I plow through the opposing snow-covered hedges.
Mona. Mona. Mona.
Lifting my knees to my chest and extending my stride, I fly. I look back over my shoulder, alarmed by a hideous sound of the earth ripping and moaning in protest. Townhomes and buildings crush in on themselves as they lift high into the sky. An oversized shadow of the earth spits debris and hangs above in a dark cloud. Finally, the earth races down to crush me. When the land closes like a book, slamming shut, I catapult through the familiar wormhole.
The wintry muted colors stream past. City sounds disappear through a whirlwind of crisp air, transforming into eerie whispers that call my name. The ghostly words escalate into a high-pitched whistle. My body rolls around in uncontrollable weightlessness, whipping various directions before finally landing inches away from Mona’s snow-covered hedges.
This time I stick the landing, because I know the end of the tunnel is coming. Now, I realize, I have done this before—twice. My unplanned trips through whirling vortexes weren’t dreams. They were real.
I sit quietly below the hedge line, wondering if anything has changed. I pop my head up to assess the situation. Mona stands on the opposite side of the yard, toiling with the front hedges.
Is this what I’m supposed to see? She shouldn’t be home yet. It’s too early.
Someone strolls past on the sidewalk. I can see bits of their dark blue pant legs through the hedge wall.
“Hey, Mona. Taking down the Christmas lights, are ya?” the man asks.
“Hello, George, lovely to see you,” Mona says cheerfully.
“I’ve got your mail here.”
Ruffling paper exchanges hands. I look down at Mona’s mail in my hand, the piece British Stalker Boy gave me. A connection, maybe?
“Thank you, George. Have a fabulous day.”
“Thanks, you too.” The mailman’s footsteps f
ade into the distance.
Mona’s front door creaks open. Someone cautiously walks down the stairs and out onto the snowy sidewalk. Through the branches, I can only make out a pair of olive green pants with distinctive bronze buttons on the seam.
“Are you leaving already?” Mona asks. I hear her kiss and hug the person. Does Mona have a secret boyfriend? Wow, I didn’t see that coming. Unfortunately, I can’t see much from across the yard.
“Oh, wait, hold on. I’m getting a call,” Mona says to the person. I hear her phone flip open.
“Hello, Terease. Yes, Seraphina is on her way as we speak. I’m very excited. We all are. Oh, wait one moment.” She pauses.
“Bye, love.” I hear another peck, and the mystery person walks away. I picture Mona waving goodbye to someone tall and handsome, while holding her cell phone to her chest.
“I’m back,” Mona starts again. “Sorry, yes…I know…it should appear any day now…I think, eventually, it will be our best defense against CC…yes, Samantha…Max can’t wait…I most definitely expect Seraphina to have her mother’s gift of wandering.”
I jump unconsciously at that word—wandering.
“Oh—hold on. Let me call you back.” Mona’s phone slaps shut.
“Oh crap.” I cover my mouth. Did Mona hear me?
Mona’s slow, deliberate footsteps move toward me on the sidewalk, and I realize there’s nowhere to run.
Wander Dust Page 8
