by F. T. Lukens
“Damn, I get it. You had a rough weekend, but don’t take your snark out on me. Build a bridge and get over it.”
Bridger lifted his head from the locker and glared at her. “Is this make fun of Bridger day? Did I miss a memo?”
She smirked. “Every day is make fun of Bridger day.”
Bridger groaned. He opened his locker and grabbed his English notebook and shoved it in his bag. “I swear, if we talk about Ophelia’s drowning this period I am going to straight to the nurse’s office. Do not pass Go. Do not collect two hundred dollars.”
“Well, if you do that then you’ll miss out on your daily ogle of your favorite football player.”
Bridger slammed his locker shut. “Say it a little louder, Astrid. I don’t think the rest of the student body heard you.”
“Oh, cut it out, drama llama. You know there is a subset of students you could talk to. A school organization even. I hear they are super supportive.”
Bridger intensified his glare. Great. Astrid on her soapbox was just what he needed today. He’d rather deal with the lake mermaids. “Yeah, and those kids don’t get harassed ever.”
“So you’re scared?”
“No. I’m not—that’s not—don’t put words in my mouth.” Ugh. Why did his liking a guy have to be a whole production? Why couldn’t he just be himself and it not be a big deal? Why did high school have to suck? Why was there such a thing as a manticore? He’d looked up pictures on the Internet. They were terrifying.
“Fine. You’re not scared. Then talk to Leo without being weird and awkward.”
“First, I don’t know if you’ve met me, but I am the definition of weird and awkward.” Astrid rolled her eyes. “Second, I don’t want the attention and the inevitable drama that would follow. I just want to keep my head down and graduate.”
“But what if there was someone that could make your last year fun and happy?”
“Are you saying that you’re not going to try and make our last year fun and happy?”
Astrid crossed her arms. “Quit being obtuse.”
“Fine. That person would have to be interested enough to brave the social ostracization as well. It’s not worth it.”
“Is ostracization even a word?”
Bridger gritted his teeth. “Not. The. Point.”
“Okay, whatever. But it doesn’t change the fact that you’re a river in Egypt,” Astrid said primly.
“And you’re being bossy. Drop it, Astrid. I don’t want to talk about this anymore. Leave me to my confusion and misery.”
She sighed. “You’ll have to figure it out someday.”
“And when I do, hopefully it’ll be when I’m soaking up the sun on a warm day at a college campus far away from here.”
Astrid’s playful expression dropped. “Wait? Is that why you’re hell bent on leaving?”
Uh oh. Filter has failed. There was a leak. Contamination. Warning. Warning.
“Not talking about it,” Bridger deflected, brushing past her to walk down the hall. The tape on his leg holding his bandage in place pulled at his skin as he walked. Another irritant. Another reminder of a world beyond his imagining. “We’re going to be late if we don’t hurry.”
Astrid pursed her lips and opened her mouth to respond, but Bridger cut her off.
“Astrid, please. Not today, okay?”
The please did it. Astrid snapped her mouth closed and nodded.
Relieved, Bridger let out a whoosh of breath. One battle down. Now, if only Ophelia’s death was off the table. He crossed his fingers.
Lunch was awkward.
After his not-fight with Astrid before school, she barely talked to him. She treated him as though he was fragile and ready to break the rest of the morning. They did indeed talk about Ophelia in English Lit, but Bridger was so tired he fell asleep during the discussion. He fell asleep in his second period class, too, and earned a demerit.
Maybe he was clairvoyant. He’d have to ask Pavel.
Bridger’s every waking moment was dominated by his brain running nonstop: pixies, mermaids, manticores, werewolves, trolls. His thoughts were on a hamster wheel of improbability, and he couldn’t turn it off or even slow it down. His wound itched under his jeans, and he curled his fingers against his thighs to keep from pulling at the bandage.
Bridger slumped over his tray of square pizza, a pile of corn, and a can of pop. Astrid watched him with a concerned gaze, but didn’t engage. She talked to her field hockey squad, who sat with them during the season. They gave Bridger pitying glances.
Of course, the rumor that Bridger had drowned at the lake had run rampant among the senior class and even into the lower grades. And as rumors are known to do, it became more elaborate and sensational as the day went by. By lunchtime, Bridger had flat lined, and was resuscitated by Leo via mouth-to-mouth, and kept alive until the EMTs came.
The sad part was, Bridger didn’t refute the lie. At least in that universe, he had gotten to kiss Leo—even if he was unconscious. Leo the champion over death. Leo the star football player.
Leo the hero.
Great, as if he wasn’t already unattainable.
Bridger was half-asleep when a tray plopped into the space in front of him. All conversation around him ceased. That was odd.
“Hey, are you okay? I texted you between classes, but you didn’t answer. And you looked really out of it in English class.”
Bridger lifted his gaze.
Stupid freaking gorgeous Leo sat across from him. Beautiful, wonderful Leo had joined them for lunch. Bridger would have to ask Pavel if dimension traveling was a thing, because that was the only reasonable explanation why Leo abandoned his athlete buddies to sit at a table with Bridger.
“Um…” Yeah, real articulate there.
Leo settled on the stool and popped open the tab of his drink. He had a salad and fruit on his tray.
“Bridger?” Leo asked. “Is it okay if I sit here?”
“Uh…” What a great time for the hamster to die. His brain had been spinning all day, and now he couldn’t even muster a response in the face of the amazing, talented Leo.
Astrid kicked him under the table. Bridger jerked back and banged his knee. He glared at her. She smiled sweetly back.
Oh, hey, look, the hamster took off.
“Yes, of course. Sorry. I had a rough weekend.”
“Yeah, I was there.”
“Right.”
“By some accounts, I even performed chest compressions.”
Bridger groaned and buried his face in his crossed arms. His face flushed. Heat burned in his cheeks. How embarrassing.
Leo laughed. It was an amazing sound.
“Sorry. Don’t worry. I set everyone straight.”
Straight. Of course. Thanks for the reminder. Even with the awkward flirting and the hand-holding, Bridger couldn’t make heads or tails of what any of it meant. Maybe that was the part Bridger had imagined.
He groaned again and looked up from his cotton cocoon. “Thanks. But I don’t think I’m going to shake being the guy who passed out and almost drowned in a tangle of seaweed.”
Leo smiled gently. He pushed the toe of his sneaker against Bridger’s under the table. “That’s not so bad. And hey, it’s the beginning of the year. Maybe by the end you’ll be known for something else.”
Bridger smiled back, dopily, smitten, his defenses obliterated. “Did you just jinx me? Did you imply that I’ll be known for something worse than drowning? Seriously, Leo, I thought we were friends.”
“Oh,” Leo said, putting a hand over his mouth, “I didn’t mean it in a bad way.”
“That’s Bridger’s brand of teasing, Leo. If you hang out with him at all, you’ll get used to it. I tend to ignore it.”
“Is that so?” Leo’s brown eyes sparkled. “I better hang around more
often then. To get used to it.”
Flirting again! That was flirting. It had to be. He hadn’t imagined it. Bridger’s heart beat so hard he was scared it would beat right out of his chest ala Roger Rabbit. He could feel the blush rising and burning in his ears. And he instantly perked up. Who knew a little flirting was a like a shot of adrenaline?
“You should,” Bridger said. What the hell was he doing? Asking the most popular kid in school to hang out with him more? This was probably going to end in tears.
Leo ducked his head and spun his fork on his tray.
“Hey, Leo,” one of Astrid’s field hockey friends yelled across the table, “are you aware that you have a real chance of being Homecoming king?”
Leo raised an eyebrow. “Really? I didn’t know. I don’t pay attention to that stuff.”
“Well, yeah, the savior of the football team.”
“It helps you’re hot,” another girl yelled. They giggled.
Bridger scowled and shot a withering glare toward Astrid. She stepped in and diverted them with talk of their upcoming field hockey game. She really was his best friend. It was going to be difficult for him to keep the whole other-world thing under wraps. He’d barely made it a few hours last summer before he was blurting out the sordid story of being attracted to a guy. And pixies were another level.
She’d dig it so hard.
“Speaking of homecoming,” Leo said, inching forward. Bridger’s attention whipped back to focus on Leo and his shy grin and the twirl of the fork in his fingers. “I was thinking—”
Bridger’s backpack began to ring, which was odd because his phone was in his pocket on vibrate. It started softly, a low hum that broke up the conversations at the table and had everyone squirming in their seats trying to find the source. Bridger ignored it and the light that flashed through the gap of his bag where he hadn’t zipped it up all the way after class. He gritted his teeth and forced a smile, acting nonchalant, even as he remembered he had shoved the compact mirror into the bottom of his bag.
Crap.
“Do you need to get that?” Leo asked.
Bridger played dumb—which he was surprisingly good at. He put his chin on his hand. “Get what?”
“Your bag is making noise,” Leo said. “Is that your phone?”
“That’s not mine.”
“Bridge,” Astrid butted in, leaning over the table, “did you change your ringtone?”
Bridger drummed his fingers and gave Astrid a small shake of his head. He stared at her and with every ounce of his body language tried to urge her to drop it and move on.
She didn’t.
“No, seriously, what is that?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Bridger swept his bag to the floor from where it sat on the chair next to him, and it fell by his feet. He felt around with the toe of his shoe until he found the round object under the fabric. He stepped on the compact, slowly exerted pressure, and, when that didn’t work, he stomped, which accomplished absolutely nothing except to prove to Bridger that his life sucked.
Astrid gave Bridger a look as if he’d grown another head. And another question for Pavel—hydras: real or fiction?
“Okay,” she said, drawing out the o. “Are you—”
“Absolutely sure, Astrid.”
She rolled her eyes and went back to her field hockey friends. He hoped she’d chalk it all up to Bridger’s weird charm.
Leo gave Bridger a small smile and looked adorably confused.
“Anyway,” Bridger said, clearing his throat, “you were saying?”
“Yeah, well, you know—”
The sound intensified. Bridger blew out a loud breath. He did his best to try to ignore the incessant noise from his bag, but with each passing moment it grew louder and louder. The sound, which Bridger could only describe as what he imagined a thousand car alarms would make, only became more intrusive.
He was going to kill Pavel. Okay, lie, but he was going to speak to him in a raised tone of voice about giving Bridger a foghorn.
“Is someone going to answer that?”
And that was from a kid three tables away. Okay, time to… do something.
“I need to go,” Bridger said, slinging his glowing, ringing bag over his shoulder. “I don’t feel great.”
Leo blinked. “Oh, do you need me to—”
“Nope! Thanks, though. See you later.”
Bridger bolted. He didn’t look back. He ran straight for the double doors and, once in the hallway, kept walking. He beelined for the exit and didn’t miss a beat when he passed the school office and strode outside, down the front steps, and out of the building.
He needed a place to hide. He went for the equipment shack. It sat in the middle of the athletic fields. Bridger knew it well from playing soccer and, since he was non-essential field personnel, he was one of the lucky people who had to get out cones and balls and jerseys.
With one hard jerk, the door creaked open, and Bridger ducked inside. The compact had only increased in volume and had started to vibrate. Bridger ripped open his bag, found the glowing makeup case, and flipped it open.
Nia and Bran stared back at him.
“Hello!” Nia said, her purple face taking up all of the small mirror. “I was almost beginning to think you wouldn’t pick up!”
“What the hell!” Bridger shouted, then he remembered he had skipped class and was hiding in a shed. “I mean,” he continued, quieter, “what the hell!”
Bran shouldered in. “Maybe we did break his brain.” He stared at Bridger, then fluttered his wings. “Hi, Bridger,” he said, slowly, “it’s me, Bran, the pixie. We met you last night. Remember?”
Bridger shook with frustration. “I know who you are. What I don’t know is why you are… calling me on a mirror?”
“Because that’s what mirrors are for.” Nia laughed and shoved Bran. “Isn’t he cute? I told you he was cute.”
“I am at school,” Bridger said in a harsh whisper. “You can’t contact me whenever you want. I have a life. I was talking to someone.”
Nia huffed. “It couldn’t have been as important as us.”
“I just met you.”
“So, we’re pixies. We’re always important.”
Bran shrugged. “She speaks the truth.”
“What do you two want?”
“Straight to the point,” Nia said, impressed. “I like that!”
“Me, too. It’s a quality you don’t find often in humans.”
Nia turned to Bran. “You know, you’re right. Humans have a tendency to prattle. Just the other day Pavel was going on and on about sparkling hoof prints—”
It appeared that a pixie’s attention span was in direct proportion to their body weight. “Focus!”
“Oh! Okay,” Nia flicked her hair over her shoulder. “We need a pound of butter, salt, nails, a horseshoe, whipping cream, chocolate—”
“As much chocolate as you can get!” Bran said pushing Nia out of the way and shoving his face into the mirror. “And none of the off-brand stuff because we’ll know.”
Nia pushed her way back in. “Rope soaked in holy water, aconite, garlic, a silver bullet, handcuffs—”
“What is all this stuff for? And where am I going to get a silver bullet? And how am I going to pay for it all?”
“Go to the apothecary and charge it to Pavel’s account. Actually,” Nia said, tapping her fingers against her bottom lip, “we’ll mirror the owner and give her the list so all you’ll have to do is pick it up!”
“Oh, that’s a great idea, Nia! We should’ve thought of that instead of bothering the human at school while he was talking to someone.” Bran winked.
How was this happening? How was this Bridger’s life? Pixies called him and demanded sweets. He had the urge to throttle said pixi
es despite the magical consequences.
“Oops, I think we broke him again.”
“It’s the store in the middle of Capitol Street, down the block from the intersection with Second Street. See you later!”
The image of the pair faded, the soft golden glow sparked out, the mirror went blank. Bridger stared at his own astonished expression and yeah, wow, he did look rough. Astrid was not lying. His blond hair hung in limp strands and dark circles ringed his green eyes. His face was pale except for twin spots of angry red on his cheeks, and his lips were bloodless and chapped.
“I look like death warmed over. How stunning.” He tried a smile and shuddered at the ghostly reflection. “That’s horrifying. But he talked to me today and didn’t run in the other direction. He talked to me! He talked to me. He talked to me.”
The door swung open and Bridger jumped. He almost dropped the mirror, but snapped the clamshell shut. A group from a freshman gym class stood in the doorway.
They stared at him.
Bridger smiled. “Practicing,” he said. Fake it until you make it. “For a play. Hamlet, actually. It’s a senior thing. You’ll find out one day.” He flashed a cheeky grin. A few of the girls giggled, and one of the guys blushed. Bridger kept the smile firmly in place and waltzed out through the crowd until…
“Aren’t you the guy Leo saved at the beach?”
Bridger sighed and hung his head all the way back to class.
“When you said you needed a favor for work, this was not what I was expecting,” Astrid said, following Bridger into the small building.
They had barely found the apothecary, wedged as it was between a massive warehouse store and a Starbucks. The parking lot had two spots, and one was already occupied by a car older than Pavel’s, which was impressive. Bridger pushed open the door, and chimes clanged. A shiver passed over him, the same shiver as when he walked through the door of Pavel’s house—a ward.
He was also hit with a wall of fragrance. The bitter and sharp scent of herbs and the sweet smell of flowers mixed to make a pungent experience as he and Astrid entered. Bridger sneezed.
