Thresholds

by Kiriki Hoffman, Nina

  “You know I hate it when you open the door before I say come in!” She glanced toward the clock. It was seven thirty, and she was due at school by eight fifteen. “Gah,” she cried, erupting from her bed and scattering sketchbook and pencils on the floor. “Get out of here!”

  Peter left, slamming the door behind him.

  Maya went to the chair where she had laid out her clothes for the first day of school: underwear, socks, jeans, an orange T-shirt that darkened to red at the hem, and a gray hoodie with purple lining. She slithered out of her nightgown and into the clothes, then stuffed her sketchpad and pencils into the prepacked backpack with all her other school supplies. She dashed downstairs.

  The new kitchen was big enough for Mom and Dad to both stand in front of the stove at once. Their old kitchen had been tiny and dark and couldn’t hold more than three people at the same time. There was a table in the new kitchen that three kids and two parents could sit at without jamming elbows.

  Sully, their golden retriever, lay on the floor by the freezer. He thumped his tail twice when Maya arrived.

  Maya’s brother and sister sat at the table, eating. She and her siblings had the same coloring: silver-blond hair and seawater gray-green eyes. In that, they resembled their father. Candra was tall and thin like their father, but Peter and Maya were shorter and denser, like their mom, who looked solid and strong. Mom’s hair was light brown, and she had maple syrup-colored eyes and a strong, square face.

  “Oatmeal or scrambled eggs?” Mom asked Maya as Maya sat at the table.

  “Oatmeal, please.”

  Mom scooped up a bowlful and set it in front of Maya. “Eat fast,” she said. “You’re later than usual today.”

  “I had this dream—”

  “Eat,” said Candra. “Don’t talk. You want to make Mom and Dad late on their first day?”

  Maya dumped brown sugar, raisins, and milk on her oatmeal, then shoveled it in her mouth.

  Dad set a brown bag, its top folded over, next to her bowl. “Lunch,” he said. “From now on, you’re responsible for making your own lunch, all right?”

  “Thanks, Dad.” She stuffed the lunch into her backpack. “Hey, squirt,” she said to Peter, “thanks for getting me up.”

  “Yeah. Okay for today, but you gotta take care of yourself now, Maya.”

  “I know,” she said.

  “Have a great first day, everyone,” Dad said. “You ready, Candra?”

  Candra rose and put on her black leather jacket and her pack. She followed Dad out.

  Peter stood up in a rush, gave Sully a big hug, and grabbed his pack. “Do you think my teacher will have animals, Mom?”

  “I know he will. I’ve already seen your classroom.” Maya’s mother turned to her. “Lock the door when you go out. This isn’t small-town Idaho. Take care of yourself, sweetie. See you after school.” She herded Peter out the back door toward the car.

  Maya was heading to school by herself for the first time. Hoover Middle School was close enough to walk to. She felt strange and forlorn, alone in the new house, abandoned by everybody except Sully, who was scarfing up something someone had dropped on the floor—with any luck, food. Sully had a history of inappropriate eating, with subsequent throwing up in inconvenient and newly slippery places.

  Last year, B.C.—Before Cancer—Stephanie had spent the night at Maya’s before the first day of school. They had headed to sixth grade together the next morning, wearing matching black headbands with crystal stars on them, and when they got to their classroom, they knew all the other kids already. “It’s the witch twins,” one of the kids said, and other kids laughed. So did Stephanie. “Watch it,” Stephanie had said, “or I’ll put spells on you all!”

  Maya let Sully slurp up the dregs of her oatmeal before she put him in the backyard with a big bowl of water for the day. She left the house by the front door, letting it lock behind her before she checked her pockets and discovered she hadn’t remembered her key.

  By the time she got home, someone else would be there, probably Mom and Peter, and they could let her in.

  Sully barked from the backyard as Maya headed down the street past the Janus House Apartments. She barked back. Just then, three kids slammed out of the Janus’s big front door.

  THREE

  A tall girl and boy led the way across the front porch, followed by a shorter boy. Maya hoped they hadn’t heard her barking at her dog.

  Stephanie would have laughed at Maya if she were here. She never cared what other people thought.

  “You are such a scrunt,” the tall, dark boy said to the girl as they came closer, “such a smitch! When will you ever learn?”

  “Shut up,” the girl said. She had long, curly, dark brown hair and an oval face with dark brows, blue eyes, and a generous mouth. Her skin was pale. She wore a black spiderweb shawl over an embroidered blouse, a ruffly maroon calf-length skirt, and tall red boots. She had a tapestry bag slung over one shoulder. A charm bracelet dangled from her right wrist. She looked more like somebody off on a quest in a fairy tale than a middle school student.

  She was frowning. Maya wondered what her smile would look like.

  Maya’s fingers itched to draw her.

  “How could you screw up at a time like this?” asked the tall boy in a mean voice. “Haven’t you been watching the message traffic? Something big and bad is going on. We have to be extra careful right now.”

  The tall boy wore black jeans and a black long-sleeved shirt. His straight, ragged, black hair hung down to his shoulders and covered half his face. The part of his face Maya could see looked caramel brown and handsome, but frowny. The eye she could see was honey brown.

  Maya wanted to draw him too, for different reasons.

  “How could you leave the door open with a traveler in the tea room?” he asked.

  “I went to get her some nectar,” said the gypsy girl. “I didn’t know she’d leave.”

  The shorter boy’s skin was the gold of onion skins. He was wearing jeans and a green T-shirt and a big black and red backpack. He looked way too normal to live at Janus House. He saw Maya and nudged the other boy. “Hey,” he said.

  “Never leave the door to the tea room open!” the tall boy repeated. “Don’t you know your basic wards? What’s the matter with you?”

  “Leave me alone.” The girl shifted her shoulders, turning her face away from him. “I made a mistake. I get it. We found her again. Give me a break!”

  The shorter boy tugged the taller one’s sleeve. “Hey,” he said, a little louder.

  “At a time like this, when things are missing and nobody knows where, when everybody’s already worried, you can’t make stupid mistakes,” the taller boy went on. “She was gone for hours!”

  “Hey, Rowan, shut up,” said the shorter boy.

  Rowan brushed the hair out of his face and gave the shorter boy a glare. The shorter boy jerked his head toward Maya.

  Rowan looked up. Saw Maya. Glared some more, this time at her. She could almost feel the heat in his gaze.

  “Hi, there,” Maya said. She finger-waved.

  The girl smiled at her as the three of them came closer. Nice smile. Maya felt a sudden rush of hope. Maybe she’d found a new friend. Just as quickly, she felt a rush of shame. She already had a best friend . . . well, no, not anymore.

  “Hello,” said the gypsy girl. “We were just talking about pet mice.”

  Mice? Nectar for mice? A tea room for mice?

  Maya’s heart beat faster. She realized they had been discussing a missing person, and they wanted to keep it quiet.

  What if their missing person was . . . her fairy? The nectar would fit, but she wasn’t sure about the tea room. Or the big and bad thing, or things missing. If they were talking about her fairy, what else might they believe in or know about?

  On the other hand . . . mice? Okay, a dodge, and not a very convincing one. Secrets. Maya was happy with the prospect of secrets.

  “You have mice?” Maya said. �
�We have a dog. We just moved into the house next door.” She pointed.

  “Oh? ” said the girl. She smelled faintly of incense. “You’re in the Spring House? I’m Gwenda, and these are my cousins, Rowan”—Gwenda pointed to the taller boy—“and Benjamin.”

  “Maya,” Maya said, wondering if they would shake hands. Gwenda didn’t stick out her hand, so Maya didn’t, either. “Nice to meet you. My little brother really likes animals. I’m sure he’d like to see your mice.”

  “We don’t—” Rowan began in a cold voice.

  “The mice are kind of shy,” said Benjamin. “Maybe later.”

  “Cool.” Maya checked her watch. “Oh, no!”

  “What time is it?” Gwenda asked.

  “Eight.” Homeroom started at 8:15. Maya didn’t want to be late on her first day in a new school. She tightened her backpack straps and ran.

  Their footsteps followed her.

  Benjamin caught up with her. “Hoover Middle School?”

  “Yeah. Seventh grade. You?”

  “Same,” he said as they ran. “All three of us.”

  Hope stirred in her chest again. “Maybe we’ll have some classes together.”

  “Probably. Are you—” He paused and panted. They kept running. “Are you a traveler? Are you chikuvny?”

  “Huh?” She wasn’t sure she’d heard him right.

  “Oh. Nothing.” He flashed her a sweet smile.

  He looked so nice she wanted to trust him. “Do you believe—” in fairies? No, she couldn’t say that to somebody out of the blue.

  Just because they talked about visitors in their tea room didn’t mean they were strange. Old-fashioned or English, maybe, but not necessarily hosts to fairies.

  She peeked at Benjamin. He looked like a perfectly normal kid.

  She glanced over her shoulder at Rowan and Gwenda. Nope. Not exactly normal. Rowan loped easily where Maya was puffing, but it wasn’t just his athleticism that impressed her. There was definitely something strange about him.

  Gwenda looked like a gypsy.

  Maya wondered if they would let her paint them or if she would have to do it on the sly.

  “Do I believe what?” Benjamin asked when Maya had been quiet for half a block.

  “Do you believe we’ll make it in time?”

  “It’s the first day. Everything’s nuts on the first day,” he said. “Even if we’re a little late, we should be okay.”

  Cars sped by them on Passage Street, pulled into the loop of road that led past the front of the yellow brick complex that was Hoover Middle School, and dropped off kids. A couple of empty school buses pulled out of the side lot.

  Oregon kids looked a lot like kids from her old school in Idaho. She glanced down at her clothes and at other people’s. Gwenda’s dress was the most interesting outfit.

  Maya slowed as they came even with the front entrance, and so did Benjamin. Rowan and Gwenda moved up beside her. Maya waited for new-kid chemistry to kick in, for all the powers that were to notice her, judge her, decide whether to snub her for the rest of the year or give her a break. She’d seen it happen to new kids at her old school. This was the first time she was the new kid. The first time she didn’t know a soul at school.

  Then she thought: Hey. I’m not alone.

  She didn’t even know these kids, but she was already in a group.

  She felt warm and happy.

  For about two seconds.

  “Hey! Tovah! How was summer camp?” Gwenda cried, and ran off to talk to a short girl with masses of dark crinkly hair.

  Rowan stalked past Maya toward the front entrance, not looking at anybody.

  She glanced at Benjamin. Was he going to take off, too? “Gee,” she said, “is he always that friendly?”

  Benjamin smiled. “You bet.”

  She pulled out her class schedule. “I have Mr. Ferrell for homeroom first period. Room M44.”

  Benjamin said, “Me, too.”

  “What does ‘M’ mean?” she asked.

  “M is the main building. This place is kind of a maze. Follow me.” Benjamin headed toward the front entrance.

  “Cool,” she said. A boy she already knew was in her homeroom, and he lived right next door. Plus, he’d agreed to be her native guide without her even asking.

  They pushed inside and entered a long, low-ceilinged hall where the odor of disinfectant and various people scents clashed. Kids crowded the hallway, talking fast and hard. Banks of lockers lined the walls, interspersed with doorways. Fluorescent lights ran down the center of the ceiling and made everyone look like they were in a bad movie.

  An ear-battering bell rang down the hallway, cutting through conversations. “First bell. Five minutes,” Benjamin said. “This way.”

  Unfortunately, Benjamin was short, and he was going fast. She lost him after one turn.

  She jumped up and down, trying to see over people’s heads. No luck. She couldn’t find him in the sea of heads and backpacks.

  She touched a tall girl’s sleeve and said, “Room M44?”

  “That way.” The girl pointed to another hallway. “Take a right.”

  “Thanks.” Maya rounded the corner and jumped up to search for Benjamin’s dark head again. When she came down, she slammed into a guy she hadn’t even noticed. She grabbed his arm to keep herself from falling.

  She stared up into his dark blue eyes. He had short, wavy, auburn hair and a spatter of dark freckles across his face. He was a head taller than she was, and pretty muscular. This was easy to tell, because his gray T-shirt didn’t have any sleeves.

  He smelled . . . strange. Sour, like maybe he’d just been sick. Shadows framed his eyes, and his skin was pale under his freckles. He radiated heat.

  Her hand tingled and pulsed against the bare skin of his upper arm.

  “Chikuvny,” whispered the boy.

  FOUR

  “Huh?” Maya said.

  “Chikuvny,” he said.

  Benjamin had asked her if she were chikuvny. What the heck was it, and what made these guys think it had anything to do with her? “Sorry, no,” she said.

  “Where is the portal?” the boy asked. He gripped her wrists. His hands felt fever hot. His intensity scared her.

  “What portal? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I must find the portal.” Sweat streaked his face.

  “You’re sick,” she said. “Maybe you should see the nurse.” She glanced around. She wished she had a map of the school. She had no idea where the infirmary was, or anything else.

  “No. No nurses. No doctors,” he said. “I only need a portal.”

  “And I need to find M44. Do you know where that is?”

  He shook his head.

  “I have to go,” she said, trying to break his grip. He was way strong for a sick guy.

  He didn’t let go of her wrists, just stared into her eyes.

  She looked away. Kids were clearing the halls, funneling into classrooms.

  Should she yell for help?

  Sick Boy finally released her.

  She rubbed her wrists and ran down the hall, then glanced back. He stood there, swaying like he was going to fall, still staring at her.

  She was sure he needed help. She had no idea how to get it for him, and she didn’t want to get near him. She didn’t want him to grab her again.

  Second bell rang.

  She ran, checked room numbers, then glanced back again.

  He had disappeared.

  Nothing she could do now.

  She found her homeroom at the end of the hall. Most of the desks were taken by people who already knew and were talking to each other. There were some empty seats in the front row, but who wanted to sit there?

  Gwenda and Benjamin were in the back row, and there were empty desks all around them. Maya took the desk beside Benjamin and dug into her backpack.

  Benjamin smiled at her, which was a relief.

  “Guess what just happened?” she said.

&n
bsp; “Settle down, settle down.” The teacher, a guy with carroty orange hair and a big red mustache, wrote MR. FERRELL on the green board. “Time for check-in.” He held up a computer printout. “Do we have an Albert Brandy here?”

  A few girls giggled. One of them raised her hand. “I’m Brandy Albert,” she said.

  Mr. Ferrell made a mark on his sheet and called more names.

  Gwenda’s last name was Janus. Benjamin’s last name was Porta. When Mr. Ferrell got to them, kids turned in their chairs and glanced at them with strange expressions. Some muttered to each other.

  Maya guessed the empty desks around Gwenda and Benjamin should have clued her in.

  Maybe she’d picked the wrong friends.

  She checked out the other kids. None of them looked as interesting, though some of them looked nice. Brandy sat with three other girls. All four of them had the same style of ponytail streaming from the left sides of their heads, though their hair color ranged from blonde to black. They were all chewing gum, too. No way she wanted to be part of the Brandy Brigade.

  Mr. Ferrell finished attendance and said, “Are you in the seats you want for the rest of the semester? I’m going to make a seating chart, so be sure.”

  “You could still move,” Benjamin whispered to Maya.

  “I like it here,” she whispered back.

  A couple of kids shifted in their seats and looked around. One girl moved back a row.

  “Okay. I’m charting you now,” said Mr. Ferrell. “I may have to ask for names again. Help me out.”

  Maya pulled out her class schedule and showed it to Benjamin. “You have any of these classes?” she whispered.

  Before he could answer, the door opened and a boy with long, ragged blond hair slouched in. He was taller than anybody else in class. He looked like he worked out with weights. The knees of his worn jeans had giant holes in them, and his white T-shirt was marked with dark stains, as though he’d dunked his hands in grease and then wiped them on it.

  “Mr. Finnegan,” said Mr. Ferrell in a mean voice. “So nice of you to grace us with your presence.”

  The boy burped, a long, melodious one, which made everybody laugh. He shambled toward Maya and collapsed into the desk next to hers, yawning. He didn’t have a backpack or anything, not even a pencil. He smelled like fried bacon.