Ninja Girl: The Nine Wiles

by Steven W. White

  A curly-haired boy in a striped shirt sat down at their table. "Ashley?"

  Mule looked up, exhausted and surly, his concentration broken. He glared at the boy, and the fresh pink scar on his chin made him look even more dangerous.

  "I'm Spencer Marsh, with the Friday Falcon. May I ask you a couple of questions?" He smiled innocently. He had the youthful, plump build of a freshman, with baby fat still in his cheeks. Ash had talked to a lot of people from the paper, but not him.

  "Not now, Spencer." Ash was talked out, and ready to put her fifteen minutes of fame behind her. She longed for obscurity.

  Spencer didn't give up. "I just wanted to ask if you've heard of Mr. Alexander's plan, and whether you think it will help."

  Ash hadn't heard anything about it. Mule hadn't either, judging by the way his glare held. Spencer kept on talking. "Security cameras. Everywhere. Thirty thousand dollars' worth, with motion-triggered activation and around-the-clock operation." Spencer set a notepad on the desk, and the tip of his pen hovered over it. "Tell me, will that improve student safety, or is it an affront to our civil liberties?"

  Ugh. Ash rested her head on the table. "Spencer... I'm sorry. Could you go away please?"

  "Of course," Spencer said. "In just a moment. I just want to ask you if–"

  A low growl crept from Mule's throat. Spencer froze, his eyebrows high, watching Mule as if he'd missed a Beware of Dog sign somewhere.

  But the freshman reporter didn't give up. "If I could just..."

  Mule reached, ever so slowly, for the collar of Spencer's shirt. Spencer's eyes nearly bugged out of his head as those enormous fingers spread and got closer and closer.

  Spencer jumped out of his chair before Mule could touch him. "I guess this isn't a good time."

  Mule pushed back his own chair, its legs scraping the old brown carpet, as if he was about to rise.

  "Bye!" Spencer ran for the library doors.

  Mule scooted his chair forward and settled back into the chapter.

  "Thank you," Ash said.

  Mule shrugged, and his fingers probed his new scar thoughtfully. "Pretty much what I do." His eyes returned to the page. "Okay, so help me out – who is this hairy guy?"

  Ash peered over. "That's Huck's dad."

  Mule grinned, showing big teeth. "What a loser."

  Ash grinned too. "Hey, that reminds me. Guess who I met today."

  "Who?"

  "The principal's son."

  "Yeah? Boy, having the principal for a dad must suck rocks. What's the word on him?"

  "Total jerk."

  Mule arched a heavy eyebrow. "Really?"

  Ash wiggled her fingers like claws. "He glowered at me. Grr. Then he just stomped away."

  "Glowered?"

  Ash nodded. "Like you and Spencer just now."

  Mule looked impressed. "Yikes."

  "I have no idea what his problem is. Do I smell? Is that it?"

  Mule leaned over and inhaled deeply. "You smell fine. Like a girl, in fact."

  "Thanks." That was at least one benefit to being a girl. No boy-stink. Ash frowned and fell silent. She remembered Drake's stare, and the disgust in those icy blue eyes. Almost horror. "I wish..." She stopped.

  "What?"

  She wished a lot of things. She wished those cold eyes would look at her in another way. She wished she could run into Drake again – she was bound to, with neighboring lockers – but when she did, would that awful contempt still be there?

  Mule was looking at her, waiting.

  "I wish he would deal with his neurological issue," she said.

  #

  After tutoring Mule, Ash pulled her ballet clothes and pointe shoes from her locker, feeling a little sick to her stomach as she stuffed them in her bag. She couldn't imagine herself at practice. Her fingers stopped on the bag's zipper as she tried to decide, hating the idea of going and hating the idea of skipping.

  She wanted to shut her locker and see Drake standing behind it. He could smile at her and apologize, laughing at his earlier behavior. He could offer to make it up to her.

  What did Drake look like when he laughed? She stood quietly in front of her locker, not moving.

  Enough. She took a deep breath and slammed the locker shut.

  Drake wasn't standing there.

  She started the walk to the ballet studio. The sun had set and the gray of the sky grew darker, and cars lit her with their headlights as they drove by. Ash walked past an alley with a dumpster, and was seized by the notion that the switchblade man hid behind it. Her heart seemed to stop, and she froze, afraid to move.

  He could be back there. The police hadn't caught him, and this alley was only a few blocks from the campus, where he had attacked her before.

  He could be anywhere.

  Ash got a grip on her fear and pushed it down. After taking a few breaths, she walked on, faster now... but the fear caught her again, tried to take her over. It settled into her heart and dug in, making a new home for itself. Ash's eyes darted from shadow to shadow, and she raced along just short of a jog.

  This was another way the switchblade man had hurt her, she thought. He had cursed her with this fear. Was this what walking alone at night would be like for her now?

  Her father's voice came back to her. There are certain things that girls – women – shouldn't do. He was right. She felt her face tighten, her molars pressing together with anger.

  She reached the ballet studio's intersection and could see the building across the street. She waited for the light to change and watched the sky fading from twilight gray to city-lit amber, and felt the fickle breeze tug her dark hair.

  White light poured from the studio's glass doors. Inside, Ash knew, Miss Claudine was waiting. In another minute, the other girls would be towering over her, reaching for the ceiling, tall as willowy trees, and she... she was just a sapling. And it just didn't matter how well the sapling could dance. Across the street, the walk signal finally beckoned.

  Time to go be the littlest ballet dancer.

  Thumbelina.

  Ash didn't step from the curb. The lights of the intersection blurred, and she wiped tears from her eyes. She just couldn't do it.

  The light changed and the glowing red hand returned to forbid her crossing.

  She would not step through those glass doors. Not anymore. She turned on her heel and began the somber walk home, sad and afraid, making a broad circle around the high school campus, where there were no lights.

  #

  Ash turned the corner onto her street, and saw the warm glow of her house's porch light. She imagined Dad inside, alone, waiting for her, worrying.

  She turned her house key and pushed open the front door. "Dad, I'm home!" She dropped her backpack on the armchair and headed for the stairs.

  She froze when she saw the woman sitting on the couch.

  The woman wore faded jeans and a green sweater and sat with her legs crossed, her fingers interlaced peacefully on her knee. She was slender, with dark hair pinned up, and the lamp on the end table lit her from the side, giving her a mysterious look. She watched Ash without surprise, her head tipped and her chin slightly elevated, her eyes taking Ash in over rimless, almost invisible eyeglasses.

  Ash didn't know her, but the woman held a warm presence about her, and something about that presence was familiar.

  Dad came in from the kitchen, holding two glasses of ice water. "Ash, welcome home... no ballet practice?"

  Ash let out an unsteady breath. How could he ask that? "I... I decided not to... who is this?"

  "This is your Aunt Elsbeth. She's your mother's sister."

  4

  Elsbeth extended her hand to Ash. Her grip was gentle, but formal. "Nice to finally meet you, Ashley."

  "Most people call me Ash." She and her dad sat down opposite the strange woman.

  "Ash." Elsbeth considered the ceiling. "After a fire... that which remains." She smiled. "I like it."

  Ash couldn't tell Elsbeth's age, and tr
ied not to stare. She might have been a mature thirty-year-old or youthful and fifty. The weird thing was, Ash never knew Mom had a sister. Mom had never spoken much about her family, and hadn't stayed in touch with them.

  An old five-by-seven photograph of Ash, Dad, and Mom sat on the mantle. They were picnicking on the grass at Gasworks Park. In the picture, Ash was about ten. Ash quietly compared Elsbeth's face to her mother's.

  Their eyes were the same, playful but observant.

  "Elsbeth is going to be staying," Dad said, "in the guest room for a few days. She's looking for your mother."

  "Really?" Ash asked. "Mom walked out years ago. Why are you here now?"

  "Ashley," Dad said, his tone disapproving.

  Ash pressed her lips together. She didn't mean to be rude, but she had to wonder what was really going on. Mom had walked away from her and Dad and never even sent a postcard. She must not have loved Dad the way he loved her, and if she never came back, that was okay with Ash.

  But Dad still pined away for her. He kept that picture on the mantle, and Ash could see it in his eyes even now as he looked at Elsbeth.

  Hope. For a clue, a trace, a glimpse of Mom.

  Elsbeth smiled disarmingly. "At the moment, I'm afraid I don't have anywhere else to go. I lost my job and my house was foreclosed on. I had to move out. Your mother and I grew up in that house. It belonged to our parents. And while I was clearing everything out, I found that." Elsbeth nodded to a steamer trunk in the hall. It looked a hundred years old, covered with scratches and stains. "I'm trying to find her, to see if she wants any of that stuff. And it would be nice to know if she's all right. Nobody in the family has seen her for almost a year. Oh! I just remembered..."

  She floated from the couch and crossed the room with a grace that told Ash she might be a dancer, too. Elsbeth threw the clasps on the trunk and lifted the lid. She drew out a small oblong box, wrapped in pink and black, and closed the lid carefully. "Now, Ash... this is just a little something from me to you. To celebrate our getting to know each other."

  She handed the box to Ash, leaned in close, and whispered, "Open it when you're alone."

  Ash felt her face flush hot and wondered if Dad had heard. That was an awkward thing to say. What the hell was it? Underwear?

  Elsbeth sat down in her previous spot, by the lamp on the end table. Ash held the box in her lap and cleared her throat nervously. Whatever was in the box, it wasn't underwear. It was too heavy.

  The house line rang. Dad skipped up to answer it, all spritely energy.

  "Yes, she is," he said into the phone. "Just a minute."

  Ash perked up. Mule wouldn't call on the house line. Who could it be?

  "Ashley?" Dad wiggled the cordless receiver at her. "Somebody named Drake."

  A hot buzz of energy ran from her scalp to her knees... followed by an icy surge of fear. Why would he call? To apologize? Yeah, right – as if he could read her mind. Was he just calling to be mean again?

  Settle down, Ash thought. She set the box on the coffee table and snatched the phone from her dad. "I'll take this upstairs." She raced up the steps two at a time, holding the phone in both hands, and slammed the door of her room behind her. It was an impolite exit, but she didn't care.

  She flopped on her bed and pressed the phone to her ear. No sound.

  She swallowed. "Hello?"

  "Hey, Ash?" It was him. That voice!

  "This is me." Lying on her stomach made her feel like her heart was about to explode. She rolled over and sat up.

  "Hey," he said. There was a long pause. "How are you doing?"

  "Great." Breathe, she told herself.

  "Listen... I got your number from the student directory. I hope you don't mind me calling."

  "That's fine." It was a crime that such a voice should belong to such a jerk. If only she could lower her guard and lose herself in that sound… but no, she wouldn’t. She’d rather endure this torture. What did he want? Ash got up and stood at her window. "What's up, Drake?"

  "Well... I just called to say thanks. For helping me with my locker. I got it. After I left. Later on, I mean."

  Was that it? Ash drew in a long breath, held it, and let it out slowly. There had to be more. "No problem."

  "Yeah, okay. Hey... are you busy tomorrow night?"

  Ash nearly dropped the phone. Her legs started wobbling, and she staggered to her desk to sit down. "Tomorrow night?" she squeaked.

  "Yeah. You know that field south of the Seattle Center? Sort of near the Space Needle."

  "I think so."

  "They have free concerts there on Fridays. You just sit on the grass. Anyhow, Kithkin is playing there. Want to go? I mean, meet me there?"

  This can't be happening. "Yes. I would. I mean... yes, Drake."

  That's enough, she thought. Shut up.

  "Cool. At seven. Meet me at the outside tables."

  "Yeah. See you then."

  "Okay," Drake said. "Well... good night."

  The words sent a thrill through Ash's body. "Bye. I mean... good night." But the line was already dead.

  Ash lay back on her bed and stared at the ceiling, her mind swimming, her body numb. What had just happened? All she could do was hear his voice in her mind.

  Good night.

  #

  Ash kept her cool during dinner. On any other night, she might have gushed to Dad about the phone call, but Elsbeth was there. So instead, she made polite conversation about nothing. Elsbeth was quiet too, although Ash was aware throughout the evening that Elsbeth was watching her, glancing her way nonchalantly through those barely visible eyeglasses.

  Ash went to bed early, and slept little.

  The next day, Friday, Ash met Mule in the library after school. They chose a table in the corner opposite the entrance, where an old guy in coveralls was bolting a metal bracket to a wall. It would hold a video camera in a few more days, along with dozens of others all over campus. Ash was not looking forward to that. It would be like going to school in a fish bowl.

  Mule grinned at her as she sat down. He didn't grin like that very often, and it spoiled his usual rugged, dangerous look. His teeth were a bit too big for such a smile, and it made him look goofy.

  So Ash couldn't help but smile back. "My, my. We're happy today, aren't we?"

  Mule nodded enthusiastically. "We are. No tutoring this time. I just wanted to show you this." He slid a stapled packet of white paper across the table to her. Huckleberry Finn Exam, it said, and the score was 23/25.

  Mule raised his hands to the ceiling in triumph. "I killed Huck Finn! I killed him!"

  She picked up the test. The English teacher, Mrs. Cavanough, had drawn a little happy face on it. "Mule, this is fantastic," Ash said. "Congratulations!"

  "I rock!" Mule held his fist toward her. "Fist bump!"

  Fist bumping Mule was like fist bumping concrete, but Ash was too excited to mind. She massaged her knuckles while he carefully slipped the test into his bag, as if it was a precious document.

  "Thanks, Ash," Mule said. "I owe you."

  Ash shrugged demurely, trying to keep from beaming. "Oh... I didn't do anything."

  "I would have crashed and burned without you. You're a genius."

  Ash giggled. "Could be." Okay, enough of that. Time to change the subject. "You won't believe who showed up on our doorstep last night," she said.

  "Who?"

  Ash told the story of meeting Elsbeth.

  "Wait, wait," Mule said. "So this long-lost aunt shows up with a crate of your mom's things, asks for room and board, and your dad says sure, no problem?"

  "Pretty much. Dad's weird about Mom, so it's not surprising, in a way. Elsbeth is nice, I guess. She's just... oh, my God!" Ash remembered the pink and black package – Elsbeth's gift.

  "What?"

  "She gave me a present." Ash pressed her hands to her face. "I completely forgot!"

  "What was it?"

  "I never opened it. I never said thank you. I'm so rude! I just left
it on the coffee table."

  Mule frowned. "That's weird."

  "I was about to, but I got a phone call..." Ash stopped. She felt a surprising pin-prick of anxiety, and wondered if she should tell Mule about her date with Drake. What if he...?

  Mule leaned forward. "From who?"

  Ash thought for a moment. What if he... what? Mule was her friend. She couldn't withhold this from him.

  "Well..." Ash took a deep breath. "From Drake."

  5

  Ash watched him for his reaction. Mule still leaned forward, his square jaw hanging open slightly, waiting for more.

  "He asked me out," Ash continued. "On a date."

  "Wait, wait." Mule leaned back and shook his head, his eyes squeezed shut. "Neurological-issue guy? The principal's son?"

  Ash took a breath. "Yeah."

  He peered at her suspiciously. "But he's a jerk. You said."

  Ash shrugged. "I know! But–"

  "I was thinking about pounding him."

  "Don't do that," Ash said. "Listen, he called, and... he was nice. It was weird."

  "He apologized?" Mule asked.

  "Well, no. Not exactly."

  "Then..."

  Ash opened her mouth and no words came out. Finally, "Maybe you're right. Maybe I'm crazy."

  Mule frowned thoughtfully at her, probing the scar on his chin. "You're going?"

  Ash straightened and placed her palms on the table. "Yep."

  Mule nodded slowly. His eyes settled onto the grain of the table's wood. A long moment passed.

  Ash watched him. "Hey. You okay?"

  Mule snapped out of it. "Who, me? Sure." He let out a long sigh. "It's you I'm worried about."

  #

  Spencer Marsh sat at his desk in the broom closet, typing.

  The tiny room hadn't held brooms for over two years, although the scent of ammonia still lingered, especially whenever Spencer first stepped in and shut the door behind him to write the next article for the Falcon. The cleaning supplies had been cleared out to provide office space in the main building for the newspaper staff – a dazzling coup for the Journalism Club, and something the seniors still bragged about.