Typeractive Tales: A Collection of Clean Short Fiction

by Janette Rallison

Brains

  by R.C. Hancock

  Getting eaten by monsters is not as much fun as it sounds. Not that I’ve ever actually been eaten (or seen a live monster for that matter) but when you’re the smartest girl in your fourth grade class you just know these things.

  While being brainy is great for impressing teachers and winning arguments with your parents, it’s much more important in the early detection and escaping of monsters.

  This particular evening I’d just been sent to my room for sassing my mother (being brainy can also get you in trouble). I had flipped on my light and was halfway to the bed when my superior intelligence told me something was wrong.

  I froze. An eerie chill flowed through my body, like I’d swallowed a gallon of ice water. Something was watching me.

  It was no good calling for parental support. They'd think I was trying to get out of my punishment.

  I was on my own.

  Keeping absolutely still, I reviewed the four steps of survival (which I had devised last Halloween after watching the Friday the 13th marathon).

  The first step (Detection) had already been completed.

  Next came Location. That was easy. With the closet door closed the only other way the monster could be watching me would be hanging from the light fixture or hiding underneath the bed. Ready to dive to safety, I flicked my eyes upward. The ceiling was clean.

  So it was a Bed Monster. I shuddered. Beddies were the second worst, right after Attic Snatchers. Fortunately smart genes also tend to run with those for bravery, so I was able to keep my cool and think of the next step.

  Evasion. Running back into the hall was no good. If my mother caught me she’d lock me back in my room, and then I really would get eaten.

  Hiding in the closet wouldn’t work—there was no way of knowing whether it was also an Under-The-Door Slider. (Even superior intelligence can’t tell you everything.)

  My only chance was to jump. Assuming this wasn’t a Long-Armed Bed Monster, I should be able to make the flying leap onto the mattress before the beast sunk its claws into my juicy calves.

  I wiped my palms on the front of my shirt and sprinted toward the bed. With only a few feet to go I zigzagged and hurtled over the footboard, landing safely on my unicorn comforter. I gasped with relief.

  That last little maneuver had been a stroke of genius. The Beddie would’ve been waiting by the side of the bed, hardly suspecting I would find another path to safety.

  Now I was free to move on to the fourth and final step of survival—Taming.

  Of course Bed Monsters are harder to tame than others--that’s why they’re second worst on the list (which I devised last summer after watching the entire Nightmare on Elm Street series).

  The only known way to tame a Beddie is to jump on your bed until it gets so tired of the noise it crawls out and asks you to stop.

  I know what you're thinking. What’s so hard about jumping on your bed? The hard part comes next. No matter how scary or ugly or evil-looking the monster is, you have to look it straight in the eye and say, “I’ll stop when you become a vegetarian.”

  If your spring-squeaking is annoying enough the Beddie will quickly agree and that will be the last you’ll hear from it.

  Now while I was sure I had the brains and courage to pull this off, I was already in trouble with my mom and didn’t want to get into any more by jumping on the furniture. There had to be another way to pacify this lurking fiend.

  Then it hit me. Why not feed it something else? Then it would no longer be hungry for my succulent flesh. It was the perfect plan. I climbed under the covers to wait.

  Yes, wait. Anyone who’s ever been sent to their room knows you can’t come right out asking for food (even if you explain it isn’t for you). Parents tend to believe a lot less in monsters and a lot more in wild imaginations.

  After the house grew quiet, my mom peeked in on me and turned out the light. (I’ve got a really convincing fake snore.) Ten minutes after she’d gone, I threw my covers onto the floor.

  While the Beddie was distracted by my falling pile of blankets, I hopped on top of my dresser, made a flying leap to the center of the room, and scrambled to the door. I didn’t stop until I was safe in the hall with the bedroom door shut behind me.

  Once more, I froze. Had I made too much noise? I waited, but nobody appeared to usher me back into my room (and certain death.) The sound of my father gargling in the bathroom drifted down the hall and my shoulders relaxed. My parents hadn’t heard.

  As quietly as an Under-The-Door-Sliding Closet Chomper, I crept to the kitchen and opened the fridge. What did child-eating-monsters like besides miniature femurs? Nothing in the fridge looked remotely appetizing to me, so it certainly wouldn’t tempt a monster. Then I opened the freezer and knew I’d found it.

  Ice cream cake. Who didn’t like moist chocolate cake layered with vanilla ice cream? I took a bite to make sure it was delicious enough. Mmmm. This Beddie would never know what hit him.

  Not wanting to give myself away by dirtying dishes, I dug a handful of the frozen cake directly from the container and scurried back to my room.

  My fingers had gone completely numb and were starting to throb as I opened the door and dashed for my bed. Just before I jumped to safety, I lobbed the hunk of dessert like a softball. Bingo. It disappeared into the blackness under the bed.

  With a squeak of springs I landed unharmed next to my stuffed companions and listened for a sign that the Bed Monster was going to emerge.

  Nothing. The cake had done the trick. I slid under my covers and slowly licked my fingers clean. Another monster tamed by sheer mental power.

  A week went by without a single monster sighting. By the middle of the second week I began to get worried. Surely the cake couldn’t have held its hunger this long. Had it really left for good or was it preparing to make a second attack? My panic grew when I learned that my father had finished the last of the ice cream cake.

  That’s when the smell came. Almost as if the bed monster had brought back all his toilet-dwelling buddies to hang out in my room.

  It was too much to hope my mother wouldn’t notice. That evening when she came in to tuck me in, she gasped with disgust. In a matter of seconds she had her nose waving all around the room like a mouse sniffing for peanut butter. When her nasal search led to my bed, she pulled the whole thing back from the wall.

  And screamed.

  I screamed too, but only so she wouldn’t feel silly screaming on her own. There on the floor lay the bed monster (or what was left of it). It moved and pulsed like its skin was boiling off. I got closer and saw that something was swarming all over it. Cockroaches.

  My mom sent the insects scurrying, and I finally got a good look at the Bed Monster. All that remained were a few fuzzy green lumps that had fused into the carpet.

  Mom was not happy. Although she lectured me for twenty minutes about not eating in my room, I knew the real reason for her anger. She was horrified that a nasty Beddie had almost devoured her only daughter. I, on the other hand, started to feel a bit sorry for the little guy.

  I mean, everybody knows that getting eaten by cockroaches is not as much fun as it sounds.

  Match and Mirror

  by R.C. Hancock

  Why hadn’t Fawn bothered to put some clothes on? She looked completely out of place standing next to the dilapidated mansion.

  Admittedly, if Nix had looked like that in a bikini she probably wouldn't want to take it off either. But still. The pool party ended an hour ago. And the breeze blowing through the moonlit trees was seriously cold.

  “I think most of us have made it up the hill,” Fawn called from the back porch without so much as a shiver. “One of my upperclassmen friends got the back door open, so we’re finally ready to play.”

  A boy in a tank top clapped loudly next to Nix, startling her.

  “We need one more volunteer,” Fawn said in a throaty voice, “someone who’s never played Match and Mirror before.” r />
  Around her, people nudged their friends, but no one seemed anxious to participate. What kind of game did you have to break into an abandoned house in the middle of the woods to play?

  On the raised porch, a line of teenagers already waited behind Fawn. “Diego, why don’t you come up?”

  Nix stood on her toes, following Fawn’s line of sight.

  Diego Padilla was the type of boy who made girls forget they had boyfriends. Since Nix had never had anything resembling a boyfriend, she tried to stare every chance she got.

  A nervous laugh came from somewhere to her left.

  And there he was, glowing in a patch of silvery light, like the ghost of some prince.

  It had only been a few months since she’d last seen him, but Nix's memories of Diego were outdated and grossly inadequate. The boy was cocaine for the eyes.

  Beside Diego stood a thin guy with white-blond hair, half-hidden in the shadow of a bushy fir tree. Nix pushed her way over to him.

  “Nix Winkle," Jordan said, his braces twinkling in the silver light. “How did you get up here? I thought you had to work.”

  “Got off early and found a ride.” Actually she had quit her job and borrowed her neighbor’s bike. She had also, unfortunately, overestimated her ability to ride uphill and had ended up walking most of the nine miles to the party. At least she’d finally made it. Even if she had missed the swimming. And the food. And most of the partying.

  Jordan grinned and Nix found herself smiling back. She couldn’t get over how different he looked. At the start of summer he’d gone away a short, dorky kid with crooked teeth. He’d come back taller, with shaggy hair, and a tan—in short, much less dorky. It made Nix sad. They used to be dorky together, pretending not to care what the other kids thought. Now from the look of it, Nix would have to be dorky by herself.

  Somehow that didn’t seem as much fun.

  “How about it, Go-Go?” Fawn called.

  Nix realized the eyes of the crowd were still on them.

  “Go-Go?” Nix whispered.

  “That’s Fawn's pet name for Diego,” Jordan whispered back. “He hates it.”

  Nix turned to face Diego and her train of thought momentarily derailed.

  There were plenty of attractive guys at Cross High.

  Diego was something else. Some part of her wanted to punch him for stealing Jordan for three months, but a larger part was completely occupied with those tight lines that outlined his mouth when he smiled.

  This close, however, Nix could tell the smile was forced. It was obvious Diego had no intention of volunteering. He almost seemed scared.

  Strange. Guys were usually aching to prove their macho-ness, especially in front of swarms of girls.

  “Go ahead Diego,” Jordan said. “Can’t be that bad.”

  Diego shook his head and smiled again, although it quickly fell into a grimace of supreme discomfort.

  “Go-Go, don’t be a baby,” Fawn called, apparently enjoying herself.

  “Let someone else do it,” Diego said, lamely.

  Fawn turned to the masses for back up. “Who wants to see my Go-Go play Match and Mirror?”

  The crowd cheered and a few kids began chanting his name. Nix watched Diego’s expression go from embarrassed to mortified. It was clear no amount of chanting was going to change his mind and he was looking more awkward by the moment.

  Nix knew that feeling—dozens of eyes staring at you, waiting for you to make a fool of yourself. It was a feeling that ugly people got used to.

  But Diego was beautiful—he shouldn’t have to feel like that. Nix wanted so badly to help him, but what could she possibly. . .

  “I’ll do it!”

  The chanting died, leaving the sound of the rustling trees. Nix felt a hundred faces turn from Diego and fix on her. Maybe not the best idea she ever had.

  “Who invited her?” a boy said, earning a few laughs.

  Fawn, on the other hand, had a look of deepest annoyance etched on her face. “Excuse me?”

  Nix was about to withdraw her reckless comment when she saw Diego’s expression. He watched her with a kind of worried relief, as if grateful she’d shifted the spotlight and hoping the ruthless crowd would allow her to go in his place.

  “Let me try,” Nix said. “I’ve never played before.”

  Fawn rolled her eyes. “Nobody asked you." A few people made rude statements of agreement.

  Nix's windpipe seemed to grow smaller, but she could also feel Diego’s pleading gaze. “We’ve already wasted ten minutes. Are we going play or sit around all night?”

  From the look on Fawn’s face, if she’d had a nail gun, she would’ve put it to good use. Some of the kids in the yard, however, seemed to agree with Nix.

  “Let’s just do something,” one called.

  “Yeah, it’s getting boring, let her try.”

  Fawn seemed to sense her control over the mob slipping, and quickly changed tactics. She smirked at Nix. “Fine. If you’re so intent on being the center of attention, get up here.”

  “Yeah!” Jordan said, giving her a mock shoulder rub. “Go Nix!”

  She thrilled to see Diego’s look of appreciation as she made her way up onto the porch.

  “What’s your name?" Fawn asked, grabbing Nix by the arm and pulling her to the edge of the porch. “Ticks?”

  The cloying scent of flowers and overripe fruit hit Nix like a garbage truck. She coughed. “It’s Nix. Short for Phoenix.”

  Fawn stared up at her with an expression clearly indicative of her interest level. And in that moment the contrast between the two of them became brutally clear to Nix.

  Fawn stood there in her negligible swimwear, short, slim, and pale. Everything Nix was not. And although they had more or less the same color of dark brown hair, Fawn’s curly locks fell in shiny tresses while Nix's just sort of stuck out, as if repelled by the rest of her.

  “So you think you’ve done my boyfriend a favor?” Fawn said in a softer voice.

  Nix shrugged.

  “You think he’s cute?”

  Nix just stared. Was that a trick question?

  “Here's a tip,” Fawn said, moving in closer. “Just because he doesn’t mind asking fat awkward girls for help doesn’t mean he wants to date them.”

  Nix felt like she'd been punched in the gut. At least with the dark nobody would see the blood in her cheeks.

  Fawn smiled at Nix as if they’d just shared a private joke and turned back to the kids in the yard.

  “The rules are simple,” she shouted, finding her enthusiastic party voice again. “Heidi has written a message on one of the mirrors somewhere in this house.”

  A girl with multicolored hair raised her hand, obviously pleased with herself.

  “The players spread out and look for the message alone,” Fawn continued. “You will know you found the correct mirror because there will be a single match close by. The first to find the match has to light it, read the message, then escape.

  “But the other players aren’t just going to let him stroll out and win. Once someone has struck the match, all the others have to keep that person from getting out of the house. If everyone can get to the match-lighter before he escapes, he loses. But if he can get out of the house and tell us the correct message, he wins.”

  “That’s stupid,” someone yelled, “why don’t we just hide Easter eggs while we’re at it.”

  “It’s a little different than an egg hunt,” Fawn spat, “since the power is off and there are no flashlights allowed.”

  An excited murmur spread through the crowd. While most of the kids were distracted, Nix took the opportunity to wipe at her eyes. Normally she wasn't a crier—she'd gotten used to comments about her weight. Fawn had just caught her off guard.

  Still, it made her wonder if she really wanted to go through with this. She wasn’t scared of the dark, but she didn’t like the idea of wandering around, trying to tackle people in it. She’d probably end up walking into a w
all and knocking herself out.

  She looked down at the sea of faces. Diego and Jordan were beaming at her. Instantly a vision opened up and she saw herself barreling out the back door screaming the secret message while everyone cheered. The others were coming out after her, complaining how quick and stealthy she was. Then Diego was approaching, glowing, inclining his head toward hers . . .

  “Hey, dork! The match is inside!”

  Nix realized she stood alone on the porch. All the other participants had gone into the house. Apparently Fawn was playing too. Good. This was Nix’s chance to beat the self-proclaimed queen of the high school. Or at least pile-drive her after she lit the match.

  Nix focused all her attention on getting inside the house without tripping or running into anything. As she entered she noticed a section of window broken out of the door. That must have been how Fawn’s friend had gotten in. This proof of their crime seemed to jar Nix. What was the penalty for breaking and entering?

  It didn’t matter—it was too late to turn back. She’d just have to hope Woods Cross P.D. had better things to do than patrol this far up the hill.

  Once Nix got away from the back windows she waited a moment to let her eyes adjust. The sounds of people bumping into things echoed through the black corridors. A house this size probably contained dozens of mirrors. But only one held the message that would defeat Fawn and earn Diego’s admiration.

  She decided to make a plan before blindly feeling her way into corners. Heidi would have put the match as far from the exit as she could, so it was most likely not on the first floor.

  After groping along the walls and nearly getting knocked down by several fellow match-seekers, Nix located the staircase to the second story. Climbing steps in the dark was harder than she expected, but she clung tightly to the railing and was soon exploring the dusty upper rooms of the Abendroth mansion.

  Although the hall was pitch black, most rooms were fairly well lit by moonlight filtering through the windows. An occasional noise made its way up from the floor below, but it seemed Nix had the upper floor to herself. So close to victory. As long as she didn’t knock herself out this would be a piece of cake.

  She slipped from room to room, quickly identifying seven mirrors. Four attached to dressers and three above bathroom sinks. Still no match.

  By the time Nix had made her way back to the first floor, she realized the sounds of people bumping into things had fallen silent. Come to think of it, it had been a while since she had heard any sounds at all. Had someone found the message already? Wouldn’t she have heard all the running and screaming of people getting tackled?

  That’s all she needed—to come wandering out after the game was long over. Especially if they’d all gone home.

  Nix made her way to a back window and peered out. There were still people out there. Although most of the them seemed bored, they were definitely watching the mansion for some sign of development in the game.

  Maybe the other players had given up. At any rate the match must still be inside somewhere, along with her chance to be the hero. Full of renewed determination Nix spun around and collided with a piano, sending a less-than-musical echo through the house.

  A few hoots of laughter came from outside. Nix massaged her hipbone. At times like this she was grateful for her extra padding. She sidestepped the piano, and began her search of the first floor a little more cautiously.

  For a while she explored the main level, getting more anxious by the minute. Where was everybody? In the darkness she felt a doorknob and turned it. A coat closet. She moved on to the next door, which stuck a bit, but finally swung open. Inside was darkness. No windows. A bathroom?

  She stepped into nothing. Her foot had gone past the place where the floor was supposed to be. Her stomach lurched up into her ribs, as if looking for something to hang onto. Just as Nix opened her mouth to scream, her foot hit something. The next step. She flung her arms out and caught the banister.

  Nix could almost hear her heartbeat echoing off the walls. Wouldn’t that have been a great way to end the evening. Game’s over—the fat girl fell down the stairs. Who wants to haul her to the hospital?

  Why hadn’t they warned them about the basement? Suddenly Nix realized the significance of her discovery. Downstairs would be a perfect place to hide the match. She made her way down the remaining stairs, making quite sure there were no more steps before taking her hand off the rail. The only trouble now was that she didn’t have the light of the windows to use as a reference. She may as well have been in the coat closet.

  Nix moved more slowly, systematically checking the wall for doors. The basement turned out to be larger than she expected. After what seemed like an hour of bumping around in the pitch black, she began to question the intelligence of this game.

  Sure, it sounded fun at first, but this had to be unbearably tedious for the spectators outside. Sort of like watching football with the TV off. Not to mention the amount of time they were all wasting.

  What time was it? What if it was already past her curfew? She didn't think it had been that long, but who knew. Cut off from her senses down here, her mind was starting to play tricks on her. Like the sound of a doorknob slowly turning—surely that was just the house creaking in the wind.

  What would happen if she didn’t show up when her mother expected? She'd probably call her work and find out all kinds of inconvenient things from Mr. Dibble. At which point Nix would become an endangered species.

  The sooner she got home, the greater her chances of survival, but she couldn’t just walk out of the mansion without someone finding the message. Maybe she could guess it. It was probably “Heidi is the best” or something equally narcissistic.

  She heard the noise again.

  It sounded even more like a doorknob rattling. Nix stopped and strained her ears.

  A creak. Barely perceptible over her quick shallow breaths. Was someone else down here? Why were they being so quiet? “Hello?” Nix said into the blackness.

  No answer. She suspected as much. If they’d already gone to this much trouble not to be discovered, they certainly weren’t going to pop out and say, “You caught me, you clever thing, you.”

  Or perhaps she really was alone. Maybe the sound she’d heard was a rat. Nix rubbed her fingers on her clammy palms and took another couple steps. Even over the noise of her sneakers shuffling on the tile, she heard the next sound. A single footstep as if someone had decided to move, then discovered how loud his feet were.

  Although the whole situation was downright creepy, the fact that Nix wasn’t the only one still wandering around the house actually made her feel a little better. The other person was probably just as terrified as she was. Most likely Nix had surprised someone in their search of the basement and they hadn’t dared move for fear of being tackled.

  Nix couldn’t resist. She strode toward the footstep, reaching into the darkness. She waited for a scream or the sound of someone scurrying away, but nothing came. Instead she smacked her wrist on a doorknob, sending pain shooting up her arm. The door swung open wider with a slight creak.

  Nix was too disconcerted to even rub her throbbing hand. Loud Footstep Guy had somehow vanished without making a sound. Had he left the room? Or maybe he’d just entered and was waiting for her inside. Nix’s body went cold. She wasn’t one to scare easily but this whole situation was getting strange.

  No turning back now, though. Her curiosity had a firm grip on her will, and was twisting it into unnatural shapes. Why couldn’t she just leave and forget the whole thing? Why did her need to know trump her need to live? There had to be something wrong with her. Chronic Reckless Curiosity Disorder—that’s what she had.

  Holding her breath, Nix slipped through the doorway. (Which was quite a feat considering the opening was narrow, she was wide, and the only thing she could see was a big black nothing.)

  Inside, the room was warmer and smelled a little dank. She felt along a wall. Light switch—use
less of course—some sort of hook, a towel hook? Yes. She felt the sink. It was a bathroom. She reached up blindly and touched the cool surface of the glass in front of her. Her fingers slid down until something smeared. Yes! She’d found it. The message must have been written in lipstick. Hopefully she hadn’t made it illegible with her clumsy smudging.

  The vision of her triumphant reception returned full force as she feverishly felt along the sides of the sink. She was going to win this.

  She felt something slender, like a garden tool, resting on the sink, but no match. What if someone had already found and lit it? No, she would have heard the tackling. The match had to be there. Heidi would’ve tried to make it tricky. Nix lifted the large object and felt underneath.

  Sure enough, something small slid onto the ground. She crouched and found the match quickly considering her visual impairment.

  But before she straightened up she caught another whiff of the musty smell. Body odor mixed with something else . . . a flowery scent. Fawn. She was either in the room or had been very recently.

  Of course. Fawn had found the match, but instead of lighting it—and getting clobbered in the process—decided to wait and clobber someone else.

  Ha! Fawn didn’t count on the girl built like a rugby player finding it. As if that scrawny little pageant-queen could clobber anything, anyway.

  Nix stood with the sliver of wood in her sweaty fingers. She had the match, she was seconds away from knowing the message and nobody was going to keep her from getting outside. Let them try.

  The problem now was how to light the match. She’d heard of people doing it on their zipper, but she didn’t know if that would work. She certainly didn’t want to ruin the match tip—this whole stupid game would be for nothing. She decided to go with the wood cabinets under the sink. They felt weathered enough to create some friction.

  The first strike yielded a spark and a funny smell, but on the second, the match flared. The glow seemed like a hundred-watt bulb after so much wandering in the dark. Nix held the match on its side to catch the wood as her eyes adjusted. Would Fawn tackle her before she’d had a chance to read the message? Nix decided she’d best hurry and read it before the match burned out—she could deal with Fawn when the time came.

  She held the match close to the mirror and leaned forward. Her own face appeared on the glass, dirty and shiny with sweat.

  In front of her image was the message. It was nothing like she’d expected. For one thing it was very crudely done--it didn’t look like Heidi could have spent more than a couple seconds on it. A layer of blackish muck covered the mirror and the message seemed to have been written in it with a finger. With some difficulty she could pick out the words, but it still didn’t make any sense.

  Her fingers grew hot as the flame crept down the length of the match. Had she read the message right? What on Earth could it mean? She looked down and saw the object she had moved to uncover the match.

  It wasn’t a garden tool.

  There on the sink, covered in the same dark goop, lay a long, slender kitchen knife. Nix recoiled and looked back at the mirror, her mind grappling for the answer that was just out of reach. As the flame sank closer to her exposed skin, Nix read the smeared message again.

  Your prints are on the knife.

  Then something else in the mirror caught her attention. She stopped squinting at the message and looked past it. Something was behind her on the floor.

  Nix spun around and at that same moment, the fire touched her finger. She yelped and dropped the match. The flame traveled to the floor, sending shadows crawling up the walls, and for half a second, illuminating the figure in front of her.

  It was Fawn. But she wasn’t crouched ready to pounce. She was lying in the bathtub on top of several other bodies. An instant before the match spluttered out on the floor, plunging the room into darkness, Nix saw the blood.

  She screamed. She flung herself sideways out of the bathroom. She couldn’t stop screaming—the terror consumed her and kept her vocal chords ringing involuntarily. She screamed as she stumbled to the stairs and crawled up on her hands and knees. She screamed as she scrambled through the halls toward the back door, every second expecting to feel the cold knife driving into the flesh of her back.

  Then a thought hit her that brought hope and despair all at once. He would let her live to take the blame. Someone had planned it all, and Nix had walked right into the trap.

  Bruised, exhausted, and trembling, she finally reached the back door and burst onto the porch. Hundreds of wide eyes fixed on her. Nix felt like she was going to cry and vomit at the same time, but she forced her ragged voice to the maximum decibel. “THEY’RE DEAD—SOMEONE KILLED THEM ALL!!”

  Instead of the widespread panic Nix expected, the crowd broke into riotous laughter. Nix stepped back in shock. Didn’t they understand there was a murderer on the loose?

  Then it hit her. There was no murderer. Who would kill a bunch of kids and then take time to write a note on the mirror? It was a joke.

  Sure enough, through the door behind her, tromped the other players, all covered with theater blood, all laughing hysterically.

  “Took you long enough, tubby,” said a boy with red goo stretching from ear to ear along his throat. “I nearly suffocated at the bottom of that pile.”

  “We were ready to give up!” squawked another in a red-stained shirt.

  The crowd in the backyard didn’t seem at all surprised. Obviously word had circulated that the purpose of the entire charade was to make a fool of the last volunteer. Nix’s mortal fear melted away leaving a much more unpleasant feeling: complete and utter humiliation.

  She smiled stiffly, trying to keep the pain from showing in her face. So she'd made a fool of herself again. Big deal. But then she saw Jordan and her heart broke. He was laughing.

  She didn’t cry—she shut off all emotion and continued to grin sheepishly. She felt dead inside. With the smile permanently etched on her face, she walked down the steps past Jordan and Diego.

  “Sorry, Nix,” Jordan said, dropping his grin as he grabbed her arm. “We didn’t know, honest! They told us after you’d gone in.”

  “That’s okay,” Nix answered softly. “What time is it?” She felt cold and distanced from what had happened, like she couldn’t cry if she wanted to.

  “Don’t be mad. It was kind of funny.”

  “What time is it?” she asked again.

  Diego, who she noticed still looked a little queasy, pulled out his cell phone.

  “Almost nine.”

  She was supposed to be home from “work” in fifteen minutes. A virtual impossibility.

  Most of the kids were making their way to the road, still chuckling about the spastic girl.

  “You guys need a ride home?” Diego asked. “I was gonna call my mom.”

  Before Nix could answer, Fawn appeared and planted a kiss on Diego's cheek. Diego pulled away. “I can’t believe you wanted me to do that.”

  Fawn laughed. “I wish you would have. It took Sea World an hour just to make it into the basement.”

  Jordan’s expression darkened and he opened his mouth, but Diego beat him to it.

  “Don’t call her that.’

  “Go-Go, you're so cute when you're defending people.”

  “And don't call me that,” Diego said, his eyes growing cold. “In fact don't call me at all.”

  Fawn rolled her eyes. “My Junior friends only have two more spaces in their car, so your little pals will have to find their own way home.”

  She grabbed Diego's arm but he shook her off. “They're getting a ride with me. And I'm serious about you not calling me anymore. We need a break.”

  Fawn stared at Diego for a moment with her mouth slightly open, and then shrugged. “I was tired of your Mexican body odor anyway.”