by Diana Wagman
“I want to talk to you.”
Walker didn’t seem surprised. He turned his startling blue eyes to me and smiled. “Great.”
“Don’t,” I said.
“Don’t what?”
Don’t be so sweet, I wanted to say. Don’t be so cute. Definitely don’t touch me and make me feel all loose and Jello-y. But I couldn’t say that to him. “Did anything happen this morning?”
He looked puzzled.
“Did we talk? Did you have a fight with Trevor?”
“I just got here.” He looked calm and clean, not as if we’d been running through the woods and fighting crows. “Your poor head. Now what?” He reached for my forehead and touched the bump with one finger.
That touch. Like warm syrup running through my veins. I remembered his arms around me in what had to be my dream, the way he inspected every part of me to see if I was okay, the way we almost kissed. Had to be a dream. Had to be. I shook my head. “Sorry,” I said.
Then he ran his hands through his hair and the sleeve of his button down shirt pulled back and I saw the long, raw scrape down his arm.
“Your arm,” I said.
For a second his face shifted, blanched as if he’d been caught, but returned to normal so quickly I couldn’t be sure I’d seen anything. “What?” he asked.
“That’s quite a scrape.”
“You’re not the only klutz around.” He laughed and pulled his sleeve down. “I tripped.”
He was lying. I knew it. But if the morning had happened, then how did I end up in the grass? I was dizzy. “I have to sit down.”
He caught me as I swayed and led me to the curb.
“I don’t feel well,” I said.
“Take deep breaths,” he instructed. “Slowly.”
I breathed. I looked up at him, but he was scanning the sky. My stomach lurched. “Looking for crows?” I asked.
He squatted in front of me. “Please,” he said, “Please stay away from Trevor.”
His face was so serious, so beautiful, almost shining in the sunlight. I thought of Trevor and he was dark and mysterious and yes, kind of sexy in an earthy way. “Okay,” I said even though I wasn’t sure I should. I wobbled to my feet. “I’ll stay away from him—for today—but then you have to tell me what is really going on.”
“I will,” Walker said. “Trust me.”
That again. “When?”
“Tomorrow.”
The rest of the day passed uneventfully except Ms. Lani gave me detention for running out of class to “talk to a boy.” I didn’t tell her I already had detention, and I hoped she wouldn’t find out.
The fireflies were out again in the empty lot as I rode the bus home at sunset. They were the highlight of an otherwise sucky day. I did get out a couple stops early so I could see them up close, but I didn’t skip or twirl. I apologized for not being as excited as the day before, but I didn’t imagine them saying anything back. I dragged my butt down my street. My headache throbbed. I wanted to go inside and collapse in front of the TV, but I still had to write that stupid paper on WWI.
Madame Gold’s black Ferrari was in our driveway. I groaned. I was not in the mood. And my mom still wasn’t home so it would just be my dad, the loony hypnotist, and me. I couldn’t face sitting there listening to her crapola.
I went around the house and let myself in silently through the back door hoping to avoid them. The kitchen was dark. I sniffed. Nothing cooking. Dad hadn’t done anything about dinner and I was starving. In fact, the bowl with the pancake batter, the plates, and the dirty skillet were still exactly where he had left them that morning. I saw his uneaten pancake on his plate on the counter. Was it only that morning I’d sat there and watched him not eat? It felt like ages ago. He had never eaten his pancake and there was batter left in the bowl. He was definitely not his old self. I opened the refrigerator and grabbed an apple. I took a jar of peanuts off the counter. It was almost six o’clock, but it didn’t seem dinner would be anytime soon. I could hear Dad and Madame Gold talking in the birdhouse room, but their voices were so low I couldn’t quite make out what they were saying. I tiptoed out of the kitchen hoping I could get up to my room without being noticed.
“It is more important than ever,” Madame Gold was saying, “that you keep her on your side. Keep her close to you.”
Dad sounded like he was whining in reply, but I only caught a few words, “family,” and “mother,” and then, “stolen.”
“Luisa was the only choice.”
They were talking about Luisa. Without thinking, I charged into the den. “What about Luisa? Do you have any news?”
Dad looked guilty—he hadn’t known I was home—but Madame Gold nodded. “I thought I heard you come in,” she said. “It is too bad about your friend. I heard about her—on the radio.”
“Anything new?”
Madame Gold gave me that simpering, sad, but condescending smile that grown ups use like a pat on the head. And she was hardly a grown up. I really disliked her.
In her low, carefully modulated, hypnotist’s voice she said, “I’m sorry, no. But the universe works in mysterious ways, October. Everything happens for a reason.”
“Don’t spout that baloney at me.”
“October!”
I turned and got a good look at Dad. He had lost weight. Already. He looked thinner and his hair was a mess, sort of spiky around his head, not in his usual slicked back, combed and parted immaculate style.
“Dad?” I was worried.
“I feel better than I have in years,” Dad said. “All thanks to Madame Gold. Please apologize to her.”
“It’s not important.” She hummed at me. “Join us. Sit down.”
My head ached and a wave of nausea undulated through me. I put out my hands to steady myself and they were covered with red welts. I could feel the itch beginning, this time on my chest and stomach. I had to get out of there. “Homework,” I croaked. “Lots of homework.”
I ran up the stairs to my room and shut the door behind me. I opened the window and gulped in the fresh air. I felt better. I needed to eat, I decided. I hadn’t been hungry at lunch and hadn’t eaten anything since that one pancake. I shook a handful of peanuts out of the jar and ate them one by one, forcing myself to relax. The blotches on my hands looked like enormous bug bites, only they didn’t itch, they burned. I looked in the mirror on the back of my door and saw there were welts on my neck as well. I lifted my shirt and saw them on my stomach too. I peeled off my jeans. There were red stripes all across my legs, as if I’d been grilled on the barbecue. Great, just great. First an itch, now some disgusting rash. Maybe Nurse Raynor was right and it was mange or, I shuddered, body lice.
I threw on my softest, loosest pajama pants and my comfiest T-shirt. I sat down on the floor with my laptop. I ran my fingers over the silly, childish ladybug sticker my mom had given me. I missed her. I knew she loved her work—Dad called her the Queen of Mushrooms—but I was sorry she was so busy right now. I wanted her home. I wanted her to meet Madame Gold so we could hate her together.
My phone chimed signifying a text. I pulled it out of my backpack and read the screen:
Hi October. My name’s Enoki. Where are you?
I typed back: Home.
ENOKI: Come out and play?
I’d hung around with my mom enough to know Enoki was the common name of a kind of exotic mushroom. I didn’t know anybody with that name and it was definitely odd, but maybe she—or he—loved fungi as much as my mother. Anyway, who was I to say anyone’s name was unusual.
Me: Who are you?
ENOKI: Your BFF.
Me: Sorry. That position is empty.
ENOKI: Not anymore. Come outside. I’m waiting.
Me: Outside my house?
ENOKI: Don’t let that crazy hypnotist see you leave.
I jumped back from the computer. I turned off my light. Enoki, whoever she/he was, was right outside, possibly able to see in my window. I closed the computer so my room w
as completely dark and crept to the window. I peeked out. The street looked empty. Where was she/he? How did she/he know about Madame Gold? I sat on the floor and texted.
Me: How do I know you?
ENOKI: Think of me as an early birthday present.
I had no idea what that meant. I was tempted to go out there and meet this person, find out what it was all about, but then I remembered that saying: curiosity killed the cat. And that made me think of the dead cat in my side yard and the crows coming after me, at least once, even if the second time hadn’t been real. I typed a reply.
Me: I’m staying in tonight.
No response. I waited and waited, but no more messages came. I figured I had discouraged Enoki and I was okay with that. I really had to write that paper. Then I heard the little chime again.
ENOKI: Trevor sent me.
Me: Really?
ENOKI: Let’s go save Luisa. I know where she is.
A shiver went down my spine all the way to my feet. My logical, mature, intelligent self knew I should call the cops. But my reckless, curious, completely stupid self was already putting on my sneakers. We all want to be heroes, right?
I dropped my phone on my bed, opened my window, and popped out the screen. I’d never had a reason to sneak out, but I knew I could. All I had to do was go out my window, sidestep across the roof with my feet in the gutter, jump over to the orange tree, and climb down. Without my father or Madame Gold hearing me. And without falling off the roof and breaking my neck. Problem was, I was scared of heights. The glass elevator at the mall made me queasy. A photograph of a person standing at the edge of the Grand Canyon—a photograph—was hard for me to look at. Still, I had to do it. I had to find out if this Enoki person really could take me to Luisa. I tied my Converse extra tight. I swung one leg out the window, then the other. I rolled over on my stomach and wiggled back until my feet felt the gutter. I scuttled along the roof. That part wasn’t too hard and my back was to the drop behind. Then I had to turn around and jump to the tree. The branch was close, but not that close. I teetered. I was definitely going to fall. I tottered. I fell, but just in time I caught the branch, scratching my hands and chin as I did. I was breathing hard as I hung there. All I had to do was let go. How far was it to the ground? I wasn’t sure, but it felt very, very far. I looked down. Not so bad. And I let go.
I survived. I hit the ground right beside the window where my dad and Madame Gold were still having their session or whatever. I peeked inside. My dad was sitting in a folding chair with his eyes closed and Madame Gold was standing behind him whispering into his ear. He was barefoot—a very rare occurrence—and his narrow white feet with the crazy long toes were tapping and bopping, like mine on the bus going home the day before. And he looked thinner than when I’d first come in. Madame Gold flapped her big sleeves across his face and he smiled kind of sleepily. I couldn’t watch anymore.
It was chilly and a breeze blew right up my pajama legs. Pajamas! I’d been in such a hurry I’d forgotten my jeans—and my phone! I started for the tree to climb back up.
“No time for that.”
I jumped a foot in the air. A girl stepped out of the shadows right beside me. She was not as tall as me, but in her sleeveless tank top and skintight jeans I could see how strong she was. I understood why they said body builders were ‘sculpted’ as I looked at her backlit by the street lamp. Her muscular arms almost didn’t look real. Then she stepped forward and I could smell her: muddy, moldy—like pond scum.
I must have made a face. “C’mon,” she said, “Deal with it.”
“Ever heard of showers?”
“Do you want to find Luisa or not?”
“Who are you?”
“I’m Trevor’s little sister.” She put her hands on her boyish hips and looked me up and down. “I don’t see what makes you so special.”
She pulled me into the light from the street lamp. She turned me, lifted an arm, almost my shirt.
I pushed her hands away. “Cut it out.”
“You look like an average, ordinary, boring human to me.”
What a b-i-t-c-h. “Are we going to meet Trevor?”
“Car’s this way.” She headed off and I trotted to keep up.
Where do you go to school?” I asked.
“Homeschooled,” she said.
With a body odor like hers, I was not surprised. She sped up, expecting me to follow, which I did. I noticed that she wasn’t wearing shoes and that her feet looked enormous and her toes as flexible as fingers. Like monkey feet. Her hands were huge too. There was something of Trevor in her. Her muscles. Her pointed chin. Her large brown eyes. Her dark, shaggy hair as if she and Trevor used the same dull pair of scissors for their haircuts.
“Where is Trevor?” I asked.
“Moping about you,” she said. “He’s been a drag all day.”
“Yeah, right.”
She shrugged. “Doesn’t make any sense to me either.”
I couldn’t believe this girl. Maybe she was disabled in some way. “Is your name really Enoki?”
“Is your name really October?”
That shut me up. We jogged around the corner to her bright red VW bug. She got in. I stood there. It was not very smart to get in a strange car with an even stranger girl who wasn’t even wearing shoes. But then I did.
“We are going to drive carefully,” she said. I think it was as much for her as for me. “You’ve already had enough excitement today.”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Oh, right. You haven’t. Let’s see. You haven’t been attacked by crows and you haven’t been chased by slobbers and you haven’t run through a wall and ended up back in time, back at school.”
“I haven’t? I mean, I have?”
“You have?”
“Of course not.”
“I didn’t think so.” She turned on the radio and cranked it up. Heavy metal—not a surprise. She screamed along. I rolled down my window. Every stoplight seemed to be green and waiting for us. There was no traffic, no one on the road at all, as if it were the middle of the night instead of the end of rush hour. And it did seem late. It was dark, the sun had set and no moon or stars were visible.
“Where does Trevor think she is?” I shouted over the music.
“Who?”
“Luisa.”
“Who?”
“You’re taking me to find Luisa.”
She turned off the radio and smiled. “No,” she said. “I’m not.”
9.
When I was nine-years-old, my mom and dad took me on a family vacation. Our only vacation—ever. We had no grandparents to visit, no aunts and uncles, no old college friends. My parents were complete loners who almost never left the house except to work or go to the grocery store. We kept our curtains drawn and didn’t even know the neighbors’ names. I never had a birthday party, my parents never suggested I have a play date or a sleepover, and consequently I was rarely invited anywhere else. I grew up pretty much solo. But my schoolmates went places like the beach or the mountains or to see the Golden Gate Bridge and I wanted to too. One day in fourth grade the science teacher talked about bird watching at the Morro Bay Bird Sanctuary, only a couple hours away. I whined, begged, and pestered my parents to take me there until they gave in. I convinced them it was educational, told them about the Black Oystercatcher and the Mountain Plover and my dad was psyched to see some different birds. I thought he could watch the birds and I could go to the beach like other kids.
The preparations were extensive. Mom packed the car with most of the house, anything we might possibly need for any scenario. A snakebite kit, a reading lamp in case the motel didn’t have one, food, games, even our own silverware. It was as if she didn’t believe anything existed outside of our neighborhood. Finally, we were ready to go. I was slathered with sunscreen even though we wouldn’t get to the motel until six o’clock that night and who knows how long after that I would actually touch the sand. But I was excited. My mother was a nervo
us wreck. My dad, not yet truly fat, opened a bag of chips before we left the driveway. “Road food!” he laughed.
About half way there, we stopped at a highway rest stop to use the facilities and stretch our legs. I went to the restroom and my mom slipped off her sandals to walk barefoot in the little patch of grass. She hated shoes, took them off wherever and whenever she could. She had big feet for a woman her size. When I came out of the bathroom I saw three young people approaching my mom. The three, two guys and a girl, looked like siblings. They all had dark, messy hair and dark eyes and they weren’t very tall. I didn’t see a car in the parking lot other than ours; they seemed to have walked out of the woods bordering the back of the rest stop.
My mother saw them and gave a little scream. My father rushed out of the men’s bathroom and stopped. I walked up beside him, but neither of us went any closer. Mom hugged the three people and they hugged her. She was taller and skinnier, but she looked related in some way. My dad grabbed my hand and squeezed so hard it hurt. I looked up at him and his face was sad.
“Ruth.” He called to her, but she didn’t even turn around.
She began to change, to blend in with them. She seemed to shrink and fill out at the same time. Her mousy brown hair got darker and her legs, in her red plaid mom shorts, got thicker and stronger. My dad let go of my hand and hid his face. I had to do something. I ran to her and threw my little arms around her from behind. She looked down at me and her face was different, more angular, and then it wasn’t. She was Mom again.
“This is my daughter,” she said quietly to the others. “Mine and Neal’s.” She gestured back to dad. “Her name is October.”
They stepped away from me, and then closer. The girl looked me over very carefully. “Is she?” she asked.
“We don’t know,” Mom replied.
“When she’s eighteen?”
“We don’t care.” My mom was adamant. “We don’t.”
The older of the two guys looked at my father and his face was angry, mean. “Your husband is not himself.” He laughed.
