Laura Monster Crusher

by Wesley King

  It does that after I cry sometimes.

  Tom suddenly reached out and squeezed my fingers. He also always knows exactly how far away I am. Sometimes I think he can see more than most people.

  “It’s going to be fine.”

  “I know,” I said. “Just a little nervous, maybe.”

  He smiled, revealing his sparkling white teeth. “Me too. But I’ll be the most popular kid at school by next week. The captain of the football team always is.”

  “That’s true. And I’ll be the head cheerleader, so I don’t know what we’re worrying about.”

  “Exactly.” Tom suddenly frowned, looking past me. “Do you see that?”

  I turned around. There was nothing there but the bathroom wall with its flaking green paint and brown water spots. “Where?”

  He pointed at the wall, near my waist level. “Light,” he said.

  “There’s nothing there, Bat Boy.”

  He shrugged. “Strange. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going birdwatching.”

  Tom also liked to come up with ironic tasks that he had to hurry off to. I shook my head as he strolled back down the hallway, using his hands for guidance. He really was a strange boy.

  But he was also a brave one.

  —

  I flicked off the light and went to my room. I was done crying.

  That night I lay in bed—my dad had somehow found the time to build it—splattered in white paint and thinking nervously that I was going to school the next morning. The house was coming along. We painted the living room that evening after we got back from the mall, and I’m pretty sure my dad was now hard at work installing new kitchen cupboards. The man didn’t sleep.

  I was busy wondering what my new school would look like when the rattling started again. There was no doubt: it was coming from my closet.

  Again, I didn’t investigate. I really am a wimp. I just lay there and once again pretended that nothing was rattling. Where was Bat Boy when I needed him?

  The morning dawned, and only then did I creep over to the closet and peeked inside. Still nothing. This was getting weird. But I didn’t have time to worry about haunted closets—it was the first day of school. I changed into my new purple top and blue jeans, grimacing as I tugged them on. It felt like the stitching was about to blow.

  I made my bed, grabbed my backpack, and started for the door. On the way I glanced out the window, just to make sure there wasn’t a shadowy figure standing in the trees. I stopped immediately. There wasn’t a man out there. There was something worse.

  Two yellow eyes were watching me from the deep shadows of the woods.

  They were large and pale, with thin, vertical black pupils like a snake. I hurried over to the window to get a closer look, but by the time I got there, the eyes had blinked closed and disappeared. I stood there for a moment, scanning the woods. Great. Now there were yellow snake eyes in my backyard. This new house was awesome.

  Shaking my head, I went to the bathroom to get ready, convincing myself that it was just a particularly large cat. After fixing my matted chestnut hair and putting just a bit of blush on my cheeks—something my mom insisted I do—I went downstairs to eat some breakfast. I know most people eat breakfast before getting ready, but if I went down there on the first day of school without looking semi-presentable my mom would insist on doing my hair and makeup for me. I tried to avoid that as much as possible.

  “You look nice,” my mom said brightly as I walked into the kitchen. “Maybe I could just curl your hair a little—”

  “No,” I said firmly.

  She returned to her paper, looking disappointed.

  “I just saw yellow eyes watching me from the forest,” I said.

  She didn’t even look up. “Was it a cat?”

  I paused. “Possibly.”

  “Maybe it was whatever ate the last owner,” Tom suggested.

  “Tom,” my mom said, scowling at him. “Don’t encourage your sister.”

  I plunked some bread in the toaster. “I saw eyes,” I muttered.

  She looked up and smiled. “You’re just nervous for school.”

  “Of course I am,” I said, glancing down at my tight purple shirt. “I look like fat Barney.”

  Tom laughed and spit out a chunk of English muffin. He covered his mouth.

  “Oops,” he said.

  My mom just sighed.

  After breakfast, I brushed my teeth and put on a brave face as I stared at my reflection in the mirror. I flattened my hair again, wishing it would just stay down and cover my cheeks and make me look skinny. You can do this, I told myself. It has to be better than Newcastle.

  —

  My mom always drives us to school because of Tom, so we climbed into her van and set off. We drove in near silence through Riverfield, which was a little smaller than Newcastle. It was nice enough, I guess.

  The main street was about a five-minute drive from our house, and it was old-fashioned and cozy, with red-brick shops and cafés and little boutiques. The surrounding houses were all Victorian-style wood and brick homes like mine, many with white picket fences and neatly manicured gardens. The whole town had the feeling of being a century or two behind.

  I saw a few kids along the way and snuck little peeks at them out the window. I really hoped they were in high school, because they all seemed cool and old. One girl in particular caught my eye. She had long, glistening raven hair and this perfect tanned skin, and she was wearing black yoga pants and a tight, blue T-shirt. She had to be at least in tenth grade.

  I was not looking forward to meeting that girl in high school.

  We pulled into our new school a few minutes later: Riverfield Public School. It was an old, one-storey structure of sun-blasted red bricks and black metal doors. Colourful cut-outs and pictures dotted the windows in the kindergarten section.

  It looked like a happy place.

  “Better than the old school?” Tom asked.

  I paused. “Possibly.”

  My mom piled out of the van and pulled open Tom’s door. She never helped him get out though. He liked to do it himself. He usually used his walking stick whenever we went somewhere new, but he didn’t want to bring it today. He told me he liked people to try and guess if he was blind first. He has a strange sense of humour.

  “School doesn’t start for five or ten minutes,” my mom said. “I’m going to take Tom to meet his Educational Assistant. You can just go around back to the yard. Have fun, honey.”

  “Yeah,” I said skeptically. I hugged my brother. “See you later, Bat Boy.”

  “Go get ’em, Giant Girl,” Tom said, squeezing my arm.

  With that they were gone, and I was on my own in a strange new school in a strange new town with a purple shirt that was desperately trying to escape my body.

  This should be good.

  I wandered around to the yard and saw that a fair number of kids had already gathered outside, waiting for the bell. The older ones were standing in scattered groups. Some of them looked at me with raised eyebrows, but no one laughed or said anything derogatory. That was a good start. I tried to look as natural as possible as I shuffled along the brick wall, heading for the door. When I was eight years old, I made five rules for bullied people and stuck them on my bedroom wall to remind me. They were:

  1. NEVER bring attention to yourself.

  2. Boys are mean…girls are evil. Avoid them.

  3. Smaller lunches are better. Fewer fat jokes.

  4. Don’t react to insults. It only makes it worse.

  5. Remember that no one bullies you at home.

  Not the most inspirational, I guess. But they made sense at the time, and I’d sort of followed them ever since. I figured it was probably best to use the same rules here.

  I was just settling into what I figured was an inconspicuous location when I noticed two other girls standing by themselves near a portable. They looked a little nervous. There was something about the way they were standing right against the steps and
cautiously glancing around that told me they weren’t overly popular. One had long auburn hair that was tied back in a nicely braided ponytail, light freckles, and she was wearing a jacket over a white shirt and snug jeans. The other was a skinny, short girl with caramel skin and shoulder-length black hair. She was dressed a bit more plainly with a black sweater and loose-fitting khakis.

  I briefly made eye contact with the auburn-haired girl and then stood awkwardly against the wall for a moment, wondering if it was time to abandon my rules. I wasn’t very popular at my old school. And by that I mean I didn’t have any friends. Like none. I was sort of reclusive, since I always assumed everyone was making fun of me, and because my rules forbid me from going near boys or girls, my options were pretty limited. But it was a new school and a new town. Why not try something new?

  It took another few minutes to muster up the courage. My stomach was doing backflips as I snuck glances at the two girls and debated if I could actually do it.

  But I knew if I didn’t talk to them on the first day, I wouldn’t do it, period.

  And so I walked right over to them. They looked confused as I approached.

  “Hey,” I said. “I’m new here. Just thought I’d say hello. Laura, by the way.”

  The two girls looked at each other.

  “Uh, Shal,” the girl with the auburn hair said. She had big hazel eyes and a nice smile. “Well, Michelle, but people call me Shal. And this is Mia.” The short girl waved shyly.

  “Hi,” I said, nodding at her. “Do you mind if I hang out until the bell?”

  I fully expected them to tell me to go away. I was already preparing myself for it and trying to justify that I was at least proud I had tried something new.

  Shal shrugged. “Sure.”

  “Really?” I asked. “I mean, thanks. I like your hair, by the way.”

  She immediately touched her hair. I recognized the instinct. It was from someone who was worried about how they looked. “Really? I’ve never worn it like this before.”

  “You should,” I said. “It looks really good.”

  “Thanks,” Shal replied, blushing. “I like you already.”

  This was easy. I already liked Riverfield way more than Newcastle.

  “No problem. So whereabouts do you guys live—” I stopped.

  They were both staring behind me, their eyes wide. I slowly turned around.

  There, walking around the school in her yoga pants and blue shirt, was the girl from the street, flanked by three well-manicured minions. Her dark eyes immediately flicked toward me, and a smile split her lips. I knew that smile. It was the same one that Portia had worn every day she saw me. It was the smile of evil.

  I slumped. “Perfect.”

  Chapter Five

  I should have known it was too good to be true. There’s always one. Portia Carson was more your typical blond cheerleader type: flawless skin, perfectly flowing hair, clothes that my mother would never allow into her house. This girl was all raven hair and dark eyes and annoyingly beautiful features. This was going to be bad.

  “Tell me her name isn’t Portia,” I whispered.

  “No,” Shal said. “It’s Allison Black.”

  Of course it was—the perfect name for a villain. She walked right by us, sparing just a quick glance and still wearing that evil smile. She made a comment I couldn’t hear, and the three girls beside her giggled. They sounded like cackling seagulls. I glanced at Shal and Mia. Except Mia was gone. Vanished. I frowned at Shal, who just shrugged.

  “She doesn’t like confrontation,” Shal said quietly. “If Allison Black or any of the popular kids even look in our direction, she takes off. I call her Mia Mouse—she always disappears when predators approach.”

  “Is she gone?” a quiet voice asked.

  “Yes, you big coward,” Shal said, and Mia reappeared from the other side of the portable, looking at the ground in embarrassment.

  “It’s true,” she murmured, her slender little hands fidgeting nervously in front of her. “But Shal’s afraid of her too.”

  “Well, obviously,” Shal said. “She’s terrifying. But I don’t run away.”

  “You’re just too slow,” Mia replied.

  Shal paused. “Shut up.”

  “Well if you’re too slow, I’m in trouble,” I said, watching as Allison joined a larger group of kids by the basketball court. “How come you guys aren’t popular? You’re just as pretty as those girls.”

  Mia and Shal looked at each other.

  “Is she patronizing us?” Shal asked.

  “Probably,” Mia said. “But I like it.”

  “Me too,” Shal agreed. She turned to me and smiled. “Would you like to officially join our group? There aren’t many perks. We get made fun of a lot, we sit alone at lunch, and we spend our weekends at my house listening to my mom talk about how many parties she went to when she was our age. Boys don’t really look at us, unless it’s to throw their pudding cups at our heads. That aside, we do share lunches, and Mia’s mom makes some awesome sandwiches. Anything else?”

  Mia thought about that for a moment. “Not really.”

  “Thanks,” Shal muttered. “So what do you say?”

  They both looked at me expectantly. I grinned.

  “I’d love to,” I said. “And I make some pretty good sandwiches myself.”

  “Perfect,” Shal said happily. “Now, I have a whole lot of gossip to catch you up on. First things first, Allison is the queen bee, but she does have some competition. Ashley Tumwick is the main one. She’s almost as pretty, and her family is rich.”

  I listened happily as Shal discussed just about everyone in the school. I didn’t really care about the gossip; I was just thrilled people were talking to me. I’d been at my new school for five minutes and accomplished more than I had in eight years at my old one. Sure, my closet was haunted and there were yellow eyes watching me from the woods. But overall, I was starting to think Riverfield was pretty awesome.

  And that was before I ran into Liam R. Kelp.

  There were only twenty-seven eighth graders in the entire school, so Mia and Shal were obviously in my class. Of course, so was Allison Black. She also sat right behind me, which was slightly unfortunate, but she seemed too preoccupied talking to a boy named Carl Hemwing to pay much attention to me. Well, she did snicker when I said my name in the little introduction game—probably because she was thinking of alliterative nicknames—but it was still a lot better than Portia Carson.

  The desks were assigned by our teacher, Ms. Haddock, so Mia and Shal were spaced out around the room. It would have been nice to sit next to them, but I didn’t want to get caught talking anyway. That would definitely violate rule number one.

  After the introductory games and outlines of the curriculum, we had recess, and then we finally came to our first subject: geography. I was excited: geography was one of my favourite subjects. I stopped by my locker to grab my notebook and hurried to get to class before it started without me. I was just reaching the classroom door, peering back to make sure I had closed my locker, when I walked into someone.

  My notebook toppled to the ground, and I looked up in horror to see an equally stunned boy with thick black glasses. I recognized him from the front row. I braced myself for a mean comment. I hadn’t been watching where I was going, and I’d almost run him over. He was going to say something insulting about my size. I knew it.

  “Sorry about that,” he said, flashing me a shy grin. He quickly snatched up my notebook, which I had already taken the liberty of labelling GEOGRAPHY! YAY! He read the label and then handed it to me. “I guess we’re the nerds of the class.”

  “Yeah,” I murmured, taking the book. “Sorry.”

  “Sweet shirt, by the way,” he said. “Laura, right?”

  He stuck his hand out, and I tentatively shook it.

  “Liam R. Kelp,” he said, and then paused. “Not sure why I told you my last name. Or my middle initial. Can I do that again?”

  I
smiled. “Laura T. Ledwick. Nice to meet you.”

  “So you’re new to town, right?”

  “Yeah. It’s nice.”

  He shrugged. “I guess. It’s pretty quiet.” He glanced into the class and saw Ms. Haddock preparing to start. He gestured to the door. “After you,” he said, smirking.

  “Thanks,” I replied, flushing and hurrying inside.

  I snuck a peek at him as he sat down in the front row. He was as skinny as my left wrist, had a mop of messy almond-coloured hair, a freckled, pointy nose, and those thick black glasses. Not to mention his last name was a slimy ocean plant. But there was something about him. And the more he spoke, the more I liked him.

  He answered just about every question. Clearly a brainer. I knew the answers too, but I was afraid of being pelted by an eraser. Not Liam. He put his hand up again and again, even when people snickered and gave him dirty looks. I was already in love.

  Okay, maybe not love, but you get the idea. Let’s just say I smiled a lot when he walked by. And I kind of watched him play some sort of fantasy card game with his two friends, Paul and Steve, at afternoon recess. And I wanted to marry him.

  Anyway, I thought I was being secretive, but before the end of the day Mia and Shal had already nicknamed me Laura Lovesick, giving me yet another name to add to my collection. I didn’t mind this one.

  You might be thinking I’m a terrible sister by now, but I did keep a distant eye on my brother in the yard too. He mostly had to walk around with an Educational Assistant, but I did see him talking to a few classmates. I certainly wasn’t going to go over there. The last thing he needed was an overprotective, pudgy sister following him around the schoolyard.

  When we were driving home that afternoon, I asked him how his day went.

  “Not bad,” he said. “They already asked me about football. I told them I’d have to see how my schedule plays out.”

  My mom looked in the rear-view mirror, clearly confused. “They want you to play football?” she asked, hesitating just a little. “Like…on the team?”

  I smiled. Not a bad day overall.

  —

  That night we went to dinner at my uncle’s house. He lived in a smaller place on the north end of town, tucked onto a little suburban road. I noticed his house was a little rundown, and the normally tidy front yard was overgrown and wild. That was surprising, since my uncle always seemed so full of energy. Clearly he wasn’t doing yard work.