She didn’t need a new best friend because she already had one, thank you very much.
But that wasn’t totally good either, because talking by phone and computer couldn’t begin to be the same. Not when they used to be able to simply cut across the cornfield and just be at each other’s house.
She missed that. She missed the farm. But most of all, she missed Red. Her handsome, sweet-tempered, mischievous Red. He—okay, technically, it—had been the perfect horse, but she’d had to give him up.
That was what was so totally unfair.
So, maybe it wasn’t her parents’ fault. She didn’t understand much about the stock market, except that if you had your money in the wrong kind of investment, you could end up losing it all if the market crashed. Which was what had happened to them.
But shouldn’t you be able to see that coming?
Apparently not.
Apparently, you could lose all your savings, and your family home, and have to start over fresh again, where you were supposed to put on a good face, your best foot forward, soldier on. Even when it meant you’d lost the most important thing in your life.
When you hadn’t lost so much, dealing with it wasn’t so hard. Mom was happy with her new job at the hospital. Dad didn’t seem to mind going to an office every day instead of working out of the spare room the way he’d done pretty much forever. Even stupid Derek was happy, because now he was in a place where he could start up a real band and there were clubs where he could play. He already had a new bunch of friends, though obviously no loyalty to old ones the way she did.
Red mattered to her. Julie mattered to her.
Did anyone ever consider her feelings? Of course not. She was only fourteen. No one cared about what she thought.
It was all, “You’ll make new friends.”
Like her old ones weren’t important.
Or, “We can’t afford to board Red, T.J. Maybe in a couple of years we can get you a new horse.”
But a new horse wouldn’t be Red.
It was all Dad’s fault for losing their money.
And Mom’s for taking this stupid job—which had brought them to the city in the first place—and then acting like the change would be good for the whole family.
And Derek’s for being so happy to live here.
She could feel the tears welling up behind her eyes like they always did when she thought of her beautiful Red. Like they did when she was “just feeling sorry for herself instead of embracing life’s challenges,” as Mom would say. Well, she had every reason to feel sorry for herself.
Scritch, scritch.
The sound brought her back. She wiped her sleeve against her eyes, and turned to stare at the wall. She wished she had Oscar’s apparent X-ray vision, because it really did sound like voices. But now, instead of being curious, she was kind of bored and irritated. She raised her fist to bang on the wall, then froze.
Because the impossible happened.
A small section of the baseboard opened as though it was a tiny door, spilling out a square of light. A girl appeared in the doorway, looking back inside. She held a duffel bag in one hand and was wearing a jean jacket over a T-shirt, a short red-and-black plaid skirt, and black clunky shoes. Her hair was a neon blue. She looked to be about sixteen or seventeen.
And stood about six inches high.
“I’m not that person,” she called back to someone inside, her voice hard and angry. “I don’t want to be that person. I’m never going to be that person and you can’t stop me!”
“Tetty Wood. You come back inside this instant!” a voice called from within.
“And my name’s not Tetty!” the miniature girl shouted back.
She stepped outside and slammed the baseboard door shut.
The sudden loss of light made T.J. blink in the darkness.
I’ve fallen asleep, she thought. Fallen asleep and started to dream that action figures can come to life. Because that was what the girl appeared to be. The size of one of Derek’s old action figures, complete with duffel-bag accessory.
But her eyes had now adjusted to the low light and there the miniature girl was. She stared back at T.J., her eyes apparently adjusting at the same time, and suddenly realising that she wasn’t alone.
“Oh, crap,” she said. “Don’t swat me.”
T.J. realized that she still had her fist in the air from when she was going to bang it against the wall.
“I thought you were mice,” she said, lowering her hand.
“Do I look like a mouse?”
“No, but when I could only hear you…”
T.J.’s voice trailed off. She felt stupid, like she did too much of the time since they’d left the farm. And why should she? People supposedly got that way when they were nervous or scared—according to her father—but she was a hundred times bigger than this uninvited guest glaring up at her. What did she have to be scared about?
And it was her bedroom.
“So what is your name?” she asked.
It seemed the most polite question. Better than what are you and why are you living inside my bedroom walls?
“Elizabeth.”
“But whoever was inside—”
“My uptight parents.”
“—called you Tetty.”
“It’s a stupid nickname. Their stupid nickname. My name’s Elizabeth.”
“I’m Tara Jane, but most people call me T.J.” She waited a moment, then added, “I like having a nickname.”
“Whatever works for you,” Elizabeth said.
She’d dropped her duffel bag to the floor and stood looking up at T.J. with her hands on her hips, a challenge in her eyes.
“So what’s your damage?” she asked.
“I’m sorry?”
“For what?”
“I meant, what do you mean?” T.J. said.
Elizabeth gave a wave of her tiny hand. “Why are you sleeping on the floor when you’ve got a perfectly good bed?”
“I was curious about the noises I was hearing…”
Elizabeth laughed. “See, they’ve got this huge worry thing going on. ‘Don’t be seen.’ ‘Always stay hidden.’ But it turns out that all their yelling was just attracting attention.”
“You mean your parents?”
“Oh yeah. There’s, like, a hundred rules and regs, and they’ve been drilling them into us since the day we were born.”
T.J. nodded. She knew all about parents. Like the kind who just gave away your horse and moved you to some ugly subdivision, and then expected you to be happy about it.
She peered more closely at Elizabeth.
“So do you have wings?” she asked.
“Do you see wings?”
“No. I just thought they might be folded up under your jacket.”
“Why would I have wings?”
“Well, aren’t you a fairy?”
“Oh, please. I’m a Little.”
“I can see that.”
“No, it’s like you saying you’re a human being. A Little’s what I am.”
“I don’t think I’d ever say that. Who goes around saying they’re a human being, except maybe the Elephant Man?”
“Whatever.” Elizabeth cocked her head, reminding T.J. of a bird. “So you’re okay with a little person just showing up in your bedroom like this?”
“I suppose I shouldn’t be—I mean, it’s totally unreal, isn’t it?—but I don’t feel surprised at all and I don’t know why.”
Elizabeth nodded. “And the ’rents get all in a twist about anyone even guessing that we exist. I knew it would be no big deal.”
“Well, it could be a big deal,” T.J. said.
“How do you figure?”
“Think about it. If the world found out someone like you is real, it’d be all over the news.”
“Cool. I’m so ready for my fifteen minutes of fame. Look out, world, ’cause here I come.”
“I don’t think it would be like that. I think it’d be more like they’d put y
ou in a terrarium in a laboratory to study you. And everybody’d be tearing up their baseboards looking for more of you.” She paused for a moment, before adding, “Do you have, like, a house back there?”
“Oh, sure. It’s just all small and secret, you know, and it stretches out through the walls. But we’ve got all the amenities. We only moved here a few years ago, when they first built these houses, but it’s totally comfortable now. My brothers and I even dragged in an old miniature TV that we found in the garage and hooked it up to the cable. It’s like big screen for us.”
“So why do you want to leave?” T.J. asked. “I mean, that’s what you’re doing right? Running away?”
“I’m not running. I’m old enough to make my own decisions about my life.”
“You don’t look much older than me.”
“I’m sixteen.”
“That’s not old enough to live on your own.”
“My mother was already married and had her first kid when she was my age.”
“Gross.”
Elizabeth shrugged. “It’s no biggie.” She looked around the room. “So do you mind if I crash here with you tonight? I’d kind of like to avoid going outside until it starts to get light.”
She might be two years older than me, T.J. thought, but at least I’m not afraid of the dark.
“I like it outside at night,” she said. “Sometimes I sneak out and just sit and look at the sky for a while, but it’s not the same here as it was back home. The sky’s way duller.”
“That’s because of the light pollution from the city. And I’m not scared of the dark.”
“Then why won’t you go out at night?”
“I didn’t say I couldn’t. It’s just not safe with cats and owls and foxes and all.”
“Oh, right.”
“So are you staying here on the floor? Because I want to bed down somewhere that you won’t roll over on me in the middle of the night.”
“No, of course not.”
T.J. threw her pillow onto the bed and got up, being careful not to drop the flap of her sleeping bag on the Little or step in her direction.
“I’m going to put on the light for a minute,” she said. “Is that okay?”
“It’s your room. Knock yourself out.”
The bright glare blinded both of them. Blinking, T.J. went over to her dresser and took her old teddy bear out of the little stuffed chair it was sitting in. She put the chair on her night table then turned to Elizabeth.
“You can use this,” she said. “I guess it’s big enough to be a couch for you.”
“Thanks.”
“Do you want a hand up?”
Elizabeth gave her withering look. “Do I look like a cripple?”
“No, it’s just…”
T.J.’s voice trailed off as Elizabeth opened her duffel bag and took out a length of rope with a hook on the end. The hook folded out into three prongs so that it looked like an anchor. After a couple of swings over her head, up it went, catching in the cloth of the comforter at the top of the bed. She gave the rope an experimental tug. When she was satisfied it would hold her weight, she slung her duffel onto her back, using its handles as straps, and shimmied up the rope.
“Wow,” T.J. said. “You’re strong. I am so useless trying to do ropes in gym.”
Elizabeth grinned, pleased. “We learn how to get around at an early age.”
She worked the hook out of the comforter and coiled the rope, then walked across the top of the bed and jumped over to the night table. It was only a few inches, but when T.J. worked out the proportions, she realised it would be like her jumping over a gap as wide as her own height.
Elizabeth acted like it was no big deal. Dumping her duffel and the rope on the top of the night table, she stretched out on the chair. It wasn’t quite a couch for her, but easily big enough that she could lounge comfortably in it.
T.J. got into bed and lay down with her head facing her guest.
“I still can’t believe you’re real,” she said.
“Get used to it. The world’s a big and strange place, my dad says, and just because you haven’t seen a thing doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.”
“Obviously.”
It was funny. Elizabeth said she hated her parents, but when she’d mentioned her dad just now, she seemed kind of proud of him.
“Will they come looking for you?” she asked. “Your parents?”
“I doubt it. They’ll be totally freaking right now that you’ve seen me. They’re probably packing up and moving the whole family out as we speak.”
“They don’t have to do that. I won’t tell anyone.”
“That doesn’t mean anything to them. You could promise on whatever you care for the most and they figure you’ll tell anyway. ‘Don’t trust a Big.’ That’s, like, one of the major rules.”
T.J. was insulted.
“Hey, don’t look so bummed. It’s not personal. That’s just what they believe. And it’s worse ’cause you’re a kid, and in the world of my parents, kids only do what they’re supposed to when you keep them under your thumb. God forbid you should have a thought of your own.”
“Yeah, I know that feeling.”
“So that’s your horse?” Elizabeth asked, hooking a thumb in the direction of the picture of Red, which shared the night table with her chair and a small lamp.
“Was my horse.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard you arguing with your parents about it. That sucks.” She shook her head. “You know, it’s funny, you thinking we were mice, because I had a pet mouse once. His name was Reggie.”
A sweet-sad look came into her eyes and T.J. realized that this was the first time Elizabeth’s features had softened. Up until that moment, she’d worn a look of steady confrontation, as though everything in the world was her enemy and she had to stand up against all of it.
“What happened to him?” she asked.
“Same as what happened to you. My parents made me get rid of him.”
“But why?”
“Well, you know mice. They just poop and pee whenever they have to, no matter where they are. You can’t train them. I’d take him out with me when we were foraging—for his exercise and the company. The ’rents said that his pellets would make the Bigs think their house was infested with mice and they’d call in an exterminator or something, and then where would we be?”
“I like mice,” T.J. said, feeling a little guilty for all the ones that had been trapped and killed back on the farm.
“What’s not to like? Besides the pooping and peeing, I mean. I promised to clean up after him—like they cared or believed me. But I would have.”
She sighed, then added, “I loved that old fellow. I really did. I think that’s when I started to hate my parents.”
“You don’t really hate them.”
“Don’t I?” She had that hard look in her face again. “I’m surprised you don’t hate yours—considering what they did.”
T.J. thought about that. Her parents exasperated her, and she was still upset for what they’d done, but she didn’t hate them. How could you hate your own parents?
“I just don’t,” she said.
“Whatever.”
“So are you really going to go out into the world and let everyone know you exist?”
“No, I’m not crazy. I know it would be a horror show. When you’re my size, being secret and sneaking around is about all you’ve got going for you. A Big could just smash me like a bug and there wouldn’t be anything I could do about it.”
“So what are you going to do?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Get away from here and find someplace to live, I guess. Someplace snug, where I can have a mouse if I want one.”
“You could stay here,” T.J. said. “I don’t know if having a mouse is the greatest idea, but I could get you a bunch of little furniture and sneak you food and stuff.”
“Oh, so I could be your pet?”
“No, nothing like that. I just t
hought it would be fun and, you know, safe for you.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “Not going to happen. Don’t take this personally, but you’re a little too Goody Two-shoes for my tastes and anyway, the whole purpose of going out on my own is to prove that I can do it.”
T.J. would have felt insulted about being called Goody Two-shoes, except she knew she was. She did what she was told and tried to do well in school. She kept her blonde hair cut to her shoulders and she would never have worn a skirt as short as Elizabeth’s.
“But who are you going to be proving it to if your family moves away?” she asked.
“That’s a dumb question,” Elizabeth told her.
But she had a funny look in her eyes as she said it—there for a moment, then quickly gone.
“You should turn out the light,” she said. “I’d like to get some sleep before I take off in the morning.”
“Okay.”
T.J. reached for the light switch, then paused before turning the light off.
“I probably won’t be awake when you go,” she said. “I’m not much of a morning person. So, good luck, and you know, everything. I hope you find a way to be happy.”
“Soon as I’m out of here, I’ll be happy.”
“And if you want to leave your family a note or something—to let them know that I really won’t tell, I mean—you should, so that they won’t move.”
“Like they’d ever listen.”
“Um, right. Well, good night.”
“Sure. Can you get that light?” T.J. flicked the switch and the room plunged into darkness.
Just before she fell asleep, she thought she heard Elizabeth say softly, “But just because you’re a Goody Two-shoes doesn’t mean I don’t think you’re okay.”
But maybe that was only because it was something she wanted to hear.
T.J. awoke to find that Saturday had started much earlier without her; the sun was already well above the horizon. She looked at her night table. There was no Little sleeping in her teddy’s stuffed armchair. There was no Little anywhere to be seen, nor any sign that there’d ever been one.
Firebirds Rising Page 8
