I grit my teeth as fury overtakes me. Is that it? Do they think they can just wipe away the disaster as if it were but a layer of soot? Pretend it didn’t even happen? Consider my brothers dead and gone as if they were just collateral damage?
Once the new parts come in tomorrow, there will be even less evidence of the catastrophe and things will be business as usual. I can’t let that happen.
Scanning the area, I notice a stray piece of metal about the size of a baseball bat half-hidden in a patch of weeds. I pick it up and march toward the rig, raise the apparatus above my head, and swing. It strikes the platform with a loud clank and bounces backward, nearly toppling me in the process. Before the next attempt, I spread my legs and take up a more stable pose. With a deep breath, I hit the rig even harder. I can tell it’s not doing any damage, but at least it’s making me feel better, so I continue swinging.
“Hey, kid! What the hell do ya think you’re doing?” An irritated voice interrupts the metallic echoes, as a man in a blue security guard’s uniform runs toward me.
Shiznits. I should have known the place wasn’t completely empty.
Dropping my weapon, I start to back away but slip. This mud is really getting on my nerves, but being caught vandalizing private property takes priority, so I attempt to stand before the guy gets a good look at me.
“Mira Sighansen, is that you?” The figure squints, lowering what’s either pepper spray or a TV remote control in his hand.
Dang it. I really need to move to a city with more people.
Now that anonymity is out of the question, I should probably stay on my butt and prepare to accept my fate, but instead my brain tells me to attempt running for the fence. As I look over my shoulder to scope out the path, though, approaching red-and-blue lights catch my eye.
I’m actually impressed this bumbling security guard called the cops on me until the car stops and Mom jumps out from the passenger side. My heart sinks, and I barely catch any of her half-scolding, half-relieved monologue about my disappearing and then being found like this.
When she holds out her hand to me, I realize she’s waiting for some sort of answer or at the very least for me to go with her.
Still butt-deep in the muck, I retreat like a crab, and the lines on her face deepen. “Sweetheart, I know this is hard on you. It’s hard for all of us. But you can’t lash out like this. I wish it would help, but I promise you, it won’t.”
I shake my head, remembering what my brothers told me at the Falls last night. I wish I could tell Mom, but she wouldn’t believe me even if I had my voice back, so I do the only thing I can. Scrambling to my feet, I run, but I slip again. My hands break my fall, but there’s something under the squishy soil that digs deep into my left palm. I grunt and look at the injury as blood begins to trickle from a gash. Mom runs to me and although her attention focuses on the wound, I am more interested in its source. Pulling the object out from the mud, I can barely believe my eyes.
The triangular shape and chipped texture is unmistakable. It’s an arrowhead.
And it just might be the thing I need.
I thrust the artifact into Mom’s hand, which momentarily distracts her, allowing me to attack the surrounding vegetation. The nettles tear into my already injured flesh, but I can’t give up now. There has to be more and even though I probably look crazy, I have nothing to lose.
When a semicircular piece of hard, red clay emerges from the weeds, Mom kneels beside me and begins to sob. The trooper still hasn’t caught on and urges us to go back with him to the station to get things straightened out when dark spots appear in the sky. I don’t even have to wait for them to get closer to know what to do.
Jumping up, I slip back out through the fence and follow the egrets. They’re flying parallel to the rig site, and it’s possible they’re following the Aishihik River. When I get closer, the tree line blocks them from view, but I push on. My side hurts and I’m out of breath when I reach the embankment, yet they’re still nowhere. Skipping along the rocks, I frantically search the treetops around me when I see something in the water itself.
At the edge of the Falls, lying scattered in the shallow stream, are six bodies. They’re bruised, bloodied, and dirty, but they’re all moving just enough to show they’re alive.
IN THE COMING DAYS, weeks, and even months, tales form about my brothers’ miraculous survival. I have to admit, some of the speculation is quite logical. The blast from the rig propelled them into the air before depositing them in the river, before the current carried their limp, naked bodies downstream to hide them from the search party. It’s only Cody’s broken arm—identical to the injury I’d witnessed the prior day—that convinces me there’s something greater at play.
My suspicions are confirmed when a professor comes up from Whitehorse and validates my discovery of tribal relics. And because sacred land can’t be used for drilling, the rig can’t be rebuilt. Not on its current site, anyway, which was all Clay insisted.
I managed to keep my word to him, even if it was completely by accident. I guess I’m good at industrial sabotage, after all.
Things slowly begin to return to normal. As Owen predicted, my voice comes back in a few days. My family is also back together. River even asked me out on a proper date, and Poppy decided a boy isn’t worth fighting over, so I have my best friend back too.
Maybe fairy tales can still have happy endings, even if they do start with the wedding.
The Friend-Zone Promposal
tammy oja
CHAPTER ONE
The Week Before Prom
MALLORY PUTS HER HAIR UP in her go-to messy bun, realizing it’s the only way she can salvage being on time. Carefully she moves some of her long bangs and arranges them to cover her left eye and cheek just so. School is about to start and Trevor will be picking her up any minute. She banishes the idea of a shower and instead spritzes herself with some body spray and applies a quick layer of makeup skillfully enough that it looks like she isn’t wearing any.
It’s not like people are going to notice me anyway, she thinks.
As she slides on her black skinny jeans, black hoodie, and her retro Chuck Taylors to finish off her shadow-blending motif, the familiar hum of Trevor’s Chevy, Black Beauty, echoes through the windows as it pulls into the driveway. Grabbing her ID and tucking it beneath her hoodie, she stops for a quick glance in the mirror to make sure her reflection doesn’t look as disgusting as she feels inside.
“Mirror, mirror on the wall . . . who isn’t excited for today at all? Whoops, wrong fairy tale. I am so not that princess. More like the invisible princess that wasn’t.”
Well, except for the flaw. That’s never invisible.
Two friendly beeps send Mallory flying out the door, and she jumps into Black Beauty like an Olympic pole vaulter. As she pulls her seat belt across her chest, she is assaulted by the sour stench of decay.
“Trevor!! We agreed. No hockey equipment in the car. Oh, man!! How can you put that on your body? Thank goodness I skipped breakfast!”
Trevor hands over a cup of hot coffee. Cinnamon-scented steam wafts from the lid’s tiny hole, and Mallory quickly lifts the cup to her nose, thankful for the reprieve.
“Thank you. You’re forgiven. Barely.”
He turns and flashes her his best million-dollar smile. The same one that Mallory is sure would melt the resolve of any girl he used it on. Mallory has seen it a thousand times since they were kids, although he hasn’t used it on her since last year when he needed help passing algebra.
“Slept in late? Drink the coffee. I need you sharp today. I need a big favor from you, my friend.” Mallory plasters on a smile, wondering what diabolical plan will get her grounded this time. Trevor has always had a knack for getting her into sticky situations, and she’s had a knack for always letting him.
“What is it this time? Hack into the Pentagon database and make yourself a general?”
Trevor gives her a mercy chuckle and quickly turns it into a disa
ppointed frown. “I’m serious. I’m desperate. And you happen to be my best friend, and only hope.”
Mallory straightens her shoulders and puts on her game face. If he’s pulling the best-friend card, she’s going to have to perk up and pay attention.
“I want to make a promposal to the new girl, Jessica. Like a really good one. I know I wasn’t planning on going, and it’s only a week away, but this new girl has only been here a few months, so I’ve got a shot. Proposals are all the rage, Goth girl! And the best ones are planned by girls. And you’re sort of a girl, so I was hoping . . .”
Mallory chokes on her coffee, making her inhale the thick, rancid odor of jock sweat and dead skin. “Sort of a girl? We’ve been over this a thousand times! I am a girl. Just because you’ve been beaten by me at like, everything, doesn’t make me less of a girl!”
She plays off the insult with mock anger while she pulls a little more hair from her bun to cover her face. Hiding her birthmark is an impulse she clings to whenever any insecurities hit her.
Trevor raises his hands off the steering wheel in an “I surrender” pose and pouts. “I’m sorry, I only meant you’re more of a friend than a girl—like, ugh! That’s not what I wanted to say either. Just say you’ll help me. Please? You know I’m clueless about romance and promposals and girl things.”
Mallory takes another giant gulp of her coffee as an excuse for the scrunching face she knows she’s making. Her hand automatically clenches into a fist and an inner yearning to smack him upside the head is slowly convincing her to give in. Still, as she’s weighing her options, the buried fist remains in place. The fear of his crashing the car and killing them both wins out, for now.
He’s a guy. And clueless. And it’s just as much my fault for being a chicken.
Yeah, he is clueless. She has stared at, dreamed of, and drooled over him for a year now. And he still thinks she holds his feet during sit-ups because of a seventh-grade bet gone bad.
Clueless is an understatement.
But helping him take another girl to prom? That’s something she doesn’t think she can do. Even the thought of it makes her chest hurt.
Where are those evil flying monkeys when I need them? she thinks.
“Trev, I’ve always got your back. But you know, you could go classic and just ask her. It’s almost too trendy now to make such a big deal of it. YouTube hits on promposal are way down.”
As Beauty lurches to a stop in the school parking lot, Trevor’s face lights up. He gives her a wink and a deep-pink blush travels from his neck to the tips of his ears. Mallory knows that means he’s about to say something he doesn’t believe. She’s always told him never to play poker, because his face always betrays his emotions.
“Don’t start messing with my mind today, Mal. No one wants classic. It’s just another way to say ordinary. And Jessica doesn’t like ordinary. She likes extraordinary. Which is why she’s going to like me!”
Mallory rolls her eyes so drastically it gives her a stomach knot. She reaches out her still-balled fist and finally releases her fury by punching him on the shoulder.
“At least you share the same delusions! You have that going for you.” Then she feels a little bad for being harsh and adds, “Relax, Trev. She won’t turn you down. If she does, she’s crazy.”
Trevor swings around and for an instant she imagines he is about to put his arm around her. Instead he gives her bun a yank and grabs his backpack from the seat behind hers. She groans as the hair cascades down her shoulders and the messy bun takes on the look of straight-up bed head.
“No fair! Foul,” she huffs, trying to swirl the caramel-colored locks back into submission.
Trevor gets out of the car, shaking his head at her. As he walks away he yells over his shoulder, “I’ll meet you at lunch. We can pick your brain and come up with something perfect.”
Sure, pick my brain; you’ve already broken my heart. Maybe you can take my kidney too and make it a trifecta of torture.
He walks left toward North House, the wing for seniors also known as the Holy Grail of hallways, where every day is a countdown to being finally done with school. The magical, mystical land where Trevor spends his days laughing with his hockey buddies and now drooling over the new transfer Jessica. The probable cheerleader, who is no doubt perfect for Trevor with her long legs and megawatt smile. Mallory hasn’t met her yet, but knowing Trevor, she feels her vision is pretty solid.
As she exits the car, new bun intact, the first-period bell shrieks.
“Perfect, now I’m late. I so need a fairy godmother. Or a wizard who can rewind time.” Grabbing her backpack, she does an impressive sprint toward what appears will be a very long day.
CHAPTER TWO
Wingman
AS SHE ALWAYS DOES, Mallory carries her lunch to the bench in the courtyard to watch Trevor and his hockey friends play whichever sport allows them to knock each other around the most. It keeps her away from the constant barrage of cafeteria noise and allows her to capitalize on one of her greatest roles in life: spectator.
When she pulls out her lunch bag, Trevor leaves the testosterone pack and slides next to her on the bench in the sun. Mallory glares at her friend, fully aware that he is about to wreck her day. He knocks her with his shoulder, and she punches him in the arm at full strength. Rubbing his arm in mock pain, he grins sheepishly before saying, “Stop it, you’re off the hook. I figured it all out! I’m gonna rock it!”
Willing her face to maintain its normal mask of nothingness, because she knows expressing shock or heartbreak would give away her true feelings, she cocks her head and meets his twinkling green eyes. “You figured it out? Promposal?”
He sits back and crosses his legs, putting his arms behind his head with his face toward the sun. Mallory can’t help but laugh when he nods and says, “Like a boss! It turns out the drama team is doing a retelling of fairy tales. The auditorium is set up to look like an enchanted castle and Kyle says he can slip me in there today after school. He’s even setting me up with a Prince Charming outfit and a tiara for her. It’s going to be awesome.”
Remain calm, Mallory. The first rule of a crisis is to remain calm. Observe, assess, be supportive, and above all: do no harm. Fall apart later.
“Today? You’re going to do it today? That’s insanity. You barely know her. Maybe she’s got a castle phobia! Maybe she’s planning on being in England that night! Today?” Mallory takes a deep breath and slowly exhales. She has a million reservations about the whole promposal with a total stranger, but she can’t help questioning whether she’s worried for him or just plain old jealous of Jessica.
Trevor nods. “No time like the present. And thanks for the confidence. England, really? Where’s the love, wingman?”
She gives a halfhearted “Yay!” which causes Trevor to bolt upright.
“What? It’s great. And romantic. And you said she’s crazy if she says no. Besides, girls love fairy tales. I totally got this. It’s gonna be epic. I just need you to get Jessica to the auditorium after school, okay?”
Mallory’s single bite of sandwich sticks in her throat like cement. “What? I didn’t agree to get involved. The agreement was to help you come up with a promposal idea. And I say send her a pizza with ‘prom?’ spelled out in pepperoni and call it a day. Or better yet, just quietly ask her and avoid the ruckus.”
Or, forget Jessica altogether and realize your best friend likes you, idiot.
“Come on, Mal, I need you. You’re my wingman. I can’t trust these blockheads for that. Please? I never ask you for anything.” Before she can react, he grabs half her turkey sandwich and heads to the pack of boys playing a rough version of Frisbee in the court. She puts the remaining half-uneaten sandwich back in her bag and crosses her fingers. As she looks away from Trevor laughing with the guys and stares at her throbbing crossed fingers, she can’t help but wonder what she’s hoping for.
Squirrels, a pack of rabid squirrels couldn’t hurt. Just one rabies-filled bite cou
ld get me off the hook.
THE REST OF THE DAY Mallory can’t keep her mind on class. She fluctuates between anger at herself for not telling Trevor her feelings and fear at his excitement over dating someone who isn’t her. She tries to find a scenario where she comes out unscathed, and it just doesn’t happen. She’s doomed.
As sixth period drags by, she feels herself starting to sweat. The ticking of the clock torments her and she tries to will appendicitis to hit. Though she has a grumbling stomach from skipping lunch, she can’t seem to conjure a single bout of voluntary projectile vomiting. By the time the bell rings, she’s aware there’s no out. No amount of pixie dust will help, no fairy godmother is going to show up and save the day. She’s going to have to tell him she just can’t do it. Best friend or not, she can’t set up the one boy she’s ever dreamed about with someone else.
Trevor stands waiting outside the door when she exits the class. His green eyes sparkle like a kid’s on Christmas morning. He grabs her by the shoulders and plants a kiss on her cheek. “You are the best. You know that, right? I owe you so big! I’ll do anything.”
Anything? Forget the promposal. Forget asking Jessica to prom and let’s pretend today never happened.
She blushes and puts her hand on her cheek to protect the kiss. She sees his eyebrows raise and she instantly wipes it off. “Ewwww. Listen, Trevor. About the promposal . . .”
Trevor pushes her toward the outer door at breakneck speed. “She’s wearing a teal skirt and a white jean jacket that’s short; maybe it’s a hand-me-down, I’m not sure. Her nails are pink, like cotton-candy pink, and she will be hanging with the cheerleaders, they’ve got practice at four, so you have to hurry. You got this, wingman!”
He propels her forward against her will until the cement of the front walkway is beneath her dragging sneakers. Mallory turns around in a huff, ready to blow. Until she sees his expression. He looks happy. Genuinely happy. Like, scoring-the-game-winning-goal-at-the-biggest-game-of-the-year happy. Mallory has seen the look before. Like a sunrise, it’s elusive and it almost makes you do anything to catch it again. She swallows her anger, gives him a thumbs-up, and heads for the senior wing, wishing she had some ruby-red slippers to transport her away.
Once Upon Now Page 17
