Ryan’s hands are touching mine, bound together by the same rope. Not that I feel them. I don’t feel anything. I’m numb all over. There’s only one thought in my head: Heathcliff is gone. Forever.
“We’ve got to find a way out of here, for starters,” Samir says.
“Um, no duh,” Blade says. “I was hoping for more of a concrete suggestion.”
“Why isn’t anyone talking about how Ms. P just levitated Miranda?” Parker asks. “Is no one else freaked out by that? I mean—hello! Mindfreak, special!”
“Miranda, I should’ve believed you,” Ryan is saying next to me. “I’m sorry. I see that you really were trying to tell me something real.”
“Believed what? Will someone fill me in?” Parker demands.
Everyone ignores her.
“Miranda?” Ryan asks, nudging me gently. “Say something.”
I don’t answer him. I feel dead inside. Heathcliff is gone and everything seems completely hopeless. What’s the point of explaining things to Ryan? What’s the point of anything?
“Miranda?” Ryan tries again.
“Don’t bother. She’s heartbroken, or can’t you tell?” Blade says.
Ryan flinches. “I don’t understand,” he says.
“Sorry to be the one to break this to you, pal,” Samir says, “but she’s had a thing for Heathcliff since day one.”
“She’s only had the hots for him forever,” Blade agrees. “And now he’s gone. Poof. Back to Wuthering Heights.”
“Wuthering Heights? What the hell is everyone talking about?” Parker asks, sounding even more annoyed.
I can barely even hear what anyone is saying. My life is over. I didn’t realize how much Heathcliff really meant to me until now. Now that I can’t even see him again.
“Is this true, Miranda?” Ryan asks me, eyes imploring and demanding an answer.
I glance up at him. I know I owe him an explanation. I should tell him something, anything, but I just can’t. I’m too far gone. Nothing seems to matter anymore. What good would explaining do? Heathcliff is gone and there’s nothing that will change that.
“Just let Miranda have a quiet minute, okay? She’s been through a lot,” Blade says. Ryan drops the conversation. Apparently, the look on my face told him everything he wanted to know.
“I hate to interrupt this little love triangle, but will someone tell me what the hell is happening around here?” Parker demands.
“Should we tell her?” Samir asks Blade.
Blade narrows her eyes. The thought doesn’t appeal to her. “I don’t know if Parker can handle the truth.”
“If someone doesn’t tell me what is going on right now, I’m going to scream,” Parker says.
“Let’s just tell her. I’ve got a headache already and screaming won’t help,” Samir says.
“Fine, but you do it.” Blade says. “I’m not doing that skank any favors.”
“Who are you calling a skank, you freak?”
“You want to know what’s going on or not?” Samir asks.
“Just get on with it, already,” Parker mutters.
“Okay, check this,” Samir says, then takes a deep breath. In a rapid-fire speed voice he starts explaining, “We’re trapped on the ship from Moby-Dick with crazy Ahab as the captain. He’s doing the bidding of Ms. P, who is really Sylvia Plath’s ghost, because all the Bard faculty are actually dead—it’s purgatory!—and she’s trying to escape, which might be impossible without actually destroying the world and/or universe. Special books in the vault beneath the school contain the souls of all the teachers and can bring fictional characters to life like our friend Ahab and recently banished Heathcliff. And we all know this because we’re part of the Literary Investigative Team—name courtesy of Blade—and we pretty much save the world every semester.” Samir takes in a deep breath. “Whew. Did I leave anything out?” he asks Blade.
“That pretty much covers it,” Blade says. “But just because you know this doesn’t mean you get a LITs T-shirt,” she warns Parker.
“Uh-huh, right,” Parker says. “Do you think I’m an idiot?”
“Is that a serious question or a rhetorical one?” Samir asks. “Because I’ve definitely got an answer for you.”
“Quit joking around,” she says, sounding seriously annoyed. “Would someone please tell me what’s really going on?”
“Such a nonbeliever,” Blade says.
“It’s sad, really,” Samir agrees.
“You guys are insane,” Parker declares.
“How else do you think Ms. P levitated Miranda?” Blade says. “You saw it. She’s a ghost. Deal with it.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Parker says. “I don’t believe…”
I hear a massive churning sound, like metal on metal, and realize that a group of sailors on the other side of the ship are hoisting up the anchor. Within seconds, the deck beneath our feet shifts and suddenly we’re moving toward the opening of the cave. In seconds, bright daylight blinds us as the ship sails free of the cove. The tide is taking us out.
“Are we moving? We’re totally moving,” Samir says.
“That’s what ships do,” Blade says.
“I told you guys this would happen,” Samir frets. “We’re going out to sea! Oh my God, I can’t swim!”
“As long as we’re on the ship, you won’t have to,” Blade points out. “Do you think Ms. P can really sail out of purgatory? I mean, is that possible?”
“How should I know?” Samir says.
“Still going on about purgatory!” Parker sniffs. “Ha!”
“Shut up, Parker,” Ryan snaps.
“Oh, come on, you don’t really believe all this?” Parker huffs.
The ship shudders and groans beneath our feet. It’s headed out to sea.
“But how did she conjure up all of this by herself?” Blade says, ignoring Parker and Ryan. “I didn’t think ghosts could do it on their own, and not to mention something this big? A ship?”
“She had to have help,” I say, speaking for the first time. I’m starting to come out of my fog a little. There’s something about this whole situation that bothers me. Something I’m missing.
“Whatever, you all are certifiable,” Parker says.
“Parker, if you aren’t going to help, just be quiet,” Ryan says.
“That’s the best suggestion I’ve heard all day,” Blade says.
“Shhhhh,” I hiss. “I think I hear something.”
“Hear what?”
“Listen.”
In the hall there are voices. Heated voices. Both female.
“You promised I’d get to have him!”
“In time, dear. In good time.”
“But you promised.”
That whine is unmistakable. Lindsay! And she’s arguing with Ms. P.
“Is that who I think it is?” Blade asks me.
“Shhhh. I can’t hear.”
“I told you I would help you, but only if you got Ryan for me,” Lindsay says. She stomps her foot because now she’s pouting. “But you won’t even let me see him.”
“Lindsay! Is that you? Are you okay?” I shout.
“Miranda? What are you doing here?” Lindsay cries, coming into the cargo hold with Ms. P trailing behind.
I blink fast. She’s okay and in one piece, but she’s not tied up, and she doesn’t seem to be Ms. P’s prisoner. Wait, I’m confused. She’s not a prisoner after all?
“Trying to save you, Einstein,” Blade says.
“What do I need saving from?” Lindsay asks, looking confused.
“These sailors didn’t take you hostage?” Samir asks.
“Hardly!” Lindsay snorts. She’s finding this all very funny. “Ms. P told me I’d get extra credit if I came out here and helped her. She said I couldn’t do it, but I totally proved her wrong.”
“So Parker wasn’t the one who dared you to find Whale Cove?” I ask, the truth starting to sink in.
“Pffft,” Lindsay says, shaking her head.
“No.”
“I told you,” Parker says. “But you wouldn’t listen to me!”
It all becomes clear to me at once. Of course—my sister is part fiction, like I am. She’s got special powers in this place, too, and Ms. P has harnessed them to help her in her scheme. And Lindsay has no idea she’s playing with fire. Lindsay is probably the one who helped her bring the ship to life. Lindsay is Ms. P’s partner in crime.
“Ryan! There you are,” Lindsay says, seeing Ryan for the first time. “Why is he tied up?” she asks Ms. P. “Untie him!”
“In good time,” Ms. P says.
“Lindsay, you’ve got to stop helping Ms. P,” I say, trying again. “What you’re doing—bringing these fictional characters to life—is really bad news. It’ll make the dimensions unstable. You could cause the end of the world.”
“Blah, blah, blah. Whatever. Ms. P says that’s all baloney.”
“That’s right, Lindsay,” Ms. P purrs. “Your sister just wants to keep you from being great. She’s just jealous that you are more powerful than she is.”
“I am not! Lindsay, I swear, this is serious. You have to stop playing around.”
“Don’t talk to me like that,” Lindsay says. “I’m not a child, okay? And you’re not my mother, so quit acting like it.”
“Okay, girl, seriously?” Blade says. “Miranda isn’t fooling. She’s telling the truth. You could totally end us all right now.”
Lindsay considers Blade for a second, then dismisses her. “You’re just saying that because you’re her friend.”
“Um, Lindsay. We’re all tied up. Do you wanna ask Ms. P why we’re all tied up?” Samir asks. “Ryan? A little help here.”
Ryan swivels his head around. “Lindsay, it’s true. You’ve got to stop.”
“Um, and I don’t know what anybody here is talking about,” Parker says, “but Lindsay, if you don’t untie us right now, I am going to make sure you’re a social pariah on campus and that no one ever talks to you ever again.”
“Enough,” Ms. P says. “Don’t worry about Parker, Lindsay, and Ryan is just saying that because he’s still in love with your sister. Your sister is trying to steal him from you!”
“Lindsay, I’m not, I swear,” I say. And I realize it’s completely true. It’s then that I realize that despite Ryan’s gorgeousness, I really am over him. He’s like a good friend, nothing more. It’s Heathcliff I really love. And he’s the one who’s gone forever.
Lindsay seems to consider this a moment. I decide to take another stab at convincing her that Ms. P is crazy. “And why don’t you ask Ms. P why she’s been kidnapping students. That’s not something a sane person does.”
“We needed crew members,” Ms. P says. “For the ship. We had a little mutiny and we didn’t have enough crew to sail.”
“Mutiny?” I ask. “There’s no mutiny in Moby-Dick. There’s the threat of one, but it doesn’t actually happen.”
Ms. P throws back her head and laughs a little. “So, Headmaster Brontë didn’t tell you that things don’t always go according to plan? Not with fiction in this world. Anything can happen, but didn’t you know that already? Once you release a story into the world it can take on new shapes. Like a mutiny. Or a car crash instead of a sinking boat, in Rebecca’s case.”
Ryan’s head snaps up. “What did you say?”
How does Ms. P know about that, I wonder.
“It’s of no matter,” Ms. P adds mysteriously. “The important thing, Lindsay, is that only I can tell you about Bard’s real secrets.”
“Yeah, real secrets,” Lindsay echoes.
“And you didn’t trust her to tell her the truth to begin with,” Ms. P adds. “Why on earth would Lindsay trust you now?”
“Yeah!” Lindsay seconds.
“Lindsay, shut up!” I can’t stand it when she pretends to be a parrot. Immediately, I regret the outburst.
“Oh, I am so not doing you any favors now,” Lindsay says, then sticks her tongue out at me.
“That’s okay. I told Ms. W where we’d be,” I say, suddenly remembering the note I left. Surely she’s found it by now. “When she finds you, she’s going to totally put you on toilet duty.”
“Ms. W?” Ms. P says, a small smile on her face. “You mean this Ms. W?” She lifts up a copy of Virginia Woolf’s To the Lighthouse. It can only mean one thing. She’s trapped Ms. W in her own book. And that means no one is coming to help us.
“You didn’t!” I shout, tugging on my ropes.
“Come on, Lindsay, we have work to do,” Ms. P says, guiding her to the stairs.
“Yeah, Ms. P and I are going to summon Moby Dick. Bet you never did anything like that,” Lindsay says.
“Moby Dick! Lindsay, you can’t do that. He’s huge. He’ll…”
“End the world as we know it. Blah, blah. So you say!” Lindsay says, skipping up the stairs after Ms. P.
“We are so dead,” Samir says after the two of them leave.
“Is your sister always like that?” Blade asks me.
“Pretty much,” I say.
“So remind me again why we were doing the rescue thing?”
“I’m seriously beginning to forget now,” I say.
“Maybe we can break free,” Ryan says, struggling against the ropes. He pushes and tugs, but gets nowhere.
“You think you’re going to get free that way? Please,” Blade sniffs.
“You’ve got a better idea?”
“Maybe a rescue spell or something?” Samir asks Blade.
“I told you that witchcraft doesn’t work that way. I could curse Lindsay, though.”
“I could get behind that,” I say.
“You guys are all certifiable, all of you,” Parker says. “I still don’t believe any of this crap.”
“I hate to be a wet blanket, but could we focus on the escape part of the plan?” Samir asks.
“Maybe we can find something in here to cut the ropes with?” I ask.
“The only thing I see in here is gunpowder and whiskey,” Ryan says, pointing to the barrels. “And maybe some stale crackers.”
It’s true that our surroundings are pretty bleak. Out our little round window, the sky seems to be getting darker, too. It looks like a storm is coming, which would explain why the floor beneath our feet seems to be swaying a little more forcefully than when we started this little trip. And the lanterns hooked into the ceiling are swinging back and forth. Our chairs, which aren’t tied to anything except each other, start to slide a little.
“Whoa, did you do that?” I ask Samir.
“No. Did you?” he asks me.
“I wouldn’t have asked you if I’d done it,” I point out.
“Fair point,” he says.
“Somebody better do something,” Parker says. “I am not going out to sea. I get seasick.”
“Um, guys, I think the wind is picking up,” Blade says. “The waves are, too.”
“We all have to work together,” Ryan says, taking charge. You do have to admire his cool head in the face of what’s likely to be total disaster. “If we all move together as one, maybe we can get closer to the stairs. I think there’s a latch near the door. Maybe we could use it to cut the ropes.”
Just as he finishes his sentence, our chairs slide even more, this time so much that I nearly topple into a barrel of gunpowder. Above our heads, a lantern swings dangerously high on its hook, sending darting shadows across the cargo hold. I hear shouting above deck.
“Let’s move together, toward the staircase, on three,” Ryan says.
We all struggle even harder against our ropes. Suddenly, the ship lurches violently to one side and our chairs topple over. Samir, Ryan, and Parker hit the deck hard with their shoulders. Blade and I are half-suspended in the air in our giant chair circle.
“Is everyone okay?” I ask.
“Easy for you to ask, given you’re on top,” Samir says. He’s pinned to the ground with Ryan and Parker. Ryan grunts that he’s okay. Parker shouts to all o
f us to get up and off her.
The ship lurches back the other way, sending us sliding on our sides back to our former position. The sudden change in direction knocks the lantern above our heads off its hook and onto the ground, where it bounces once, then rolls toward us, its safety latch flying open and its wick exposed just a few feet from us.
“That’s not good,” I say, noticing that the open flame is dangerously close to the barrels of gunpowder and whiskey all around us.
“Do you have any fire extinguisher spells there, Sabrina the Teenage Witch?” Samir asks Blade.
“Do I look like Melissa Joan Hart to you?” Blade spits. “Now, shut up and blow!”
Frantically, we start blowing in the direction of the lantern, hoping to put it out, but it’s too far away.
“We’ve got to get closer,” Ryan says. All together we try to wiggle our way closer, trying to kick against our ropes. But it’s slow going, especially since Parker doesn’t know how to work as part of a team. Her every movement seems to be going against the grain.
“Parker! Move with us!” I shout.
“I am!” she snaps back.
The flame grows bigger in front of our eyes, then the ship careens again to one side, sending the lantern rolling straight into a nearby burlap bag. The fire licks at the edges and it starts to smoke. Just inches from the sack, there’s a wooden barrel full of black powder.
“Tell me that’s not gunpowder,” I say.
“And since when do we ever get a break? You know it’s going to have the gunpowder,” Samir says.
Right. Of course it is.
Twenty-five
“Blow harder!” Blade shouts at us, even though it’s becoming pretty clear that we’re not really doing much to stop the flames.
“You know, that sounds kind of dirty,” Samir says.
“Just blow, perv!” Parker snaps.
“There’s a little sawdust down here,” Ryan says. “I’ll try to kick some on the flames. Parker! Help me!”
“I’m trying!” she huffs. “I’m tied up, or didn’t you notice?”
Frantically, we all work to stop the fire, but it’s no use. There’s not enough sawdust to suffocate the fire and blowing on it does absolutely no good. We watch helplessly as the fire travels up the burlap sack, getting even closer to the barrel of gunpowder sitting nearby.
Moby Clique Page 15
