Fairy Tale (17 page)

I have to pry the trash can from her fingers. She doesn't seem to realize she's holding it in a white-knuckled death grip. "What?"

The same soft voice floats up, barely audible. "Mrs. Nelson is bringing Gracie home today."

It's sad; the little ranch across the street has been dark all week. I look past the bushes, toward the blackened windows, and say, "To make her more comfortable in her last days?"

She closes her eyes. "She's fine."

I stand there for a moment, not comprehending. "What do you mean by fine?"

"Mrs. Nelson said that not only is the cancer gone, but the doctors say it was like it never existed in the first place. If s completely gone."

"But... two days ago she only had a week to live, tops."

"I know. It's a miracle."

"Your
sfogliatelle
? "

She looks at me and nods. "What other explanation could there be?"

"Sweet. Well, I'm glad she's okay."

"I think I should go into business with that recipe," she says, struggling to get to her feet. Looking out across the lawn, she says, "Well, there's another person who is back from the dead. I haven't seen Cam in ages."

I whirl around and catch Cam waiting at the line between our houses. Grinning big. Since that's the first glorious grin I've seen in a while, it's obvious he got the collage of stories I'd made for him last night. After midnight, I'd gone over and left it poking out of his mailbox so that he'd see it first thing in the morning.

"He looks well fed and healthy, as usual," she says to me, poking her head around the ivy trellis to get a better look at him.

I shake my head in bewilderment. So, it's true. I'm the only one who can see the ears, the wings, the tiny stature that Cam now has. I'm the only one who notices the cloud of pink swirling around his head. Even my mother, who can detect a fleck of dust the second it falls to our carpet, can't see it.

"Well, tell him we miss him around here. Invite him to dinner tonight.
Pasta efagioli.
His favorite."

"Everything you make is his favorite" I answer. His smile, from across the lawn, feels like sunlight after a long rain. "But I think he's busy."

"Shame. Well, one day next week."

I wave goodbye, thinking that if all goes right, one day next week could be a possibility.

As I near him, Cam, my king of the fairy world, looks better and better. He looks rested, more like the old Cam, despite the fact that he's lost another few inches. I can see straight over his head.

"Hey, Boo! One, two, three" he says with a chuckle, grabbing my hand and pulling me to him.

I find myself hunching over to give him a kiss, and when he pulls me to him, it's awkward, like sitting in a small, spindly, uncomfortable chair that's in danger of breaking under my weight. But I don't care. He's smiling.

"Same to you. What's gotten you so happy?'' I ask, pretending I don't know.

"My mail-order bride is passing through customs as we speak," he says, holding my hand in his. "It's a good day."

I punch him playfully, not as hard as I normally would, because I'm afraid he'll fall over. He's right; the whole world seems brighter. Now I wonder why I was tinged with concern at Pip having a date with Sara. All of that seems so unimportant right now. "Isn't Pip coming with us?" I ask after we take a few steps toward school.

"No. I haven't seen him since yesterday"

"What do you mean?" I ask, feeling my temperature rise. "You mean he didn't get back from his date last night?"

He shrugs. "I have no idea. I was out late, too."

Panic sets in. "I mean, I hope he's okay. Our plan depends on it," I explain, taking a few cleansing breaths.

"He's fine," Cam says.

"How do you know?"

"I told you, fairies have a heightened sense of everything around them. For instance, I know you're wearing the red heart thong."

I pull away and wrap my arms around me. "What?"

"Are you?"

I bite my lip. I can't remember.

He laughs. "I have no idea. It was just a guess. But you should see your face."

Blah. Guys may be immature, but guy fairies give the word a whole new meaning.

He wraps an arm around me and squeezes. I remember when his squeezes would rearrange my internal organs, but this one is so light, I barely feel it. He says something reassuring and nuzzles my ear so that it tickles and I have to swat him away. And that's when I look up at Cam's house, onto the porch, and see it.

The collage I made. The orange construction-paper cover is poking out from the top of the mailbox, just as I had left it.

I turn to him, confused.

And he's happy... why?

THE MYSTERY DOESN'T become any clearer by the time we get to school. Cam won't tell me why he has that grin plastered on his face. I venture that maybe he got his throwing arm back, or that perhaps Dawn has laid off being such the drill sergeant, but he just shakes his head and says, "It's part of the fairy code. Confidential" which makes me hate the fairy world even more.

'What? What? Tell me!" I whine, knowing that he can't take my pathetic preschooler routine for more than a few minutes.

He runs his fingers up and down my back, leans toward me so that our foreheads are touching, and says, "Remember how we talked about moving on to the next thing?"

I nod. "What? Have you found your next thing?"

But he just grins again and refuses to say more. Grr.

When we part, I head down to the music wing, toward my locker. That's when I hear the yelling. People tear down the hall, past me. "Come on!" a shaggy-haired guy in a Beastie Boys T-shirt yells to his friend, and then I hear a snippet of what sounds like "kicking ass" and I know it's a fight. Few things can bring the otherwise comatose student body at Stevens to life like a good brawl, but they've never interested me. I walk at a leisurely pace, just hoping there's no blood on or surrounding my locker, when I hear another person shout. I can just make out "In the gym" and "That new kid."

New kid.

I forget about making it to my locker, about the wrath of Tanner. I find myself at the doorway to the gym, out of breath, though I can't remember running there. There, in the center of the room, is a rabid swarm of at least fifty students, all chanting in rhythm, "Go! Go!"

I'm elbowed and punched a dozen times before I finally make it to the center and see exactly what I'd feared.

There's a motionless body on the ground, in fetal position, and Scab is on top of it, his full weight bearing into it, pummeling it with both his fists like a jackhammer. I know the body is Pips. Pip might have the strength to hit back, and even to win against a guy like Scab, but he never would. I wish for a second that Cam could be here, to talk some sense into his best friend, but I know he's on the other side of the building. And so it's all a blur when I force my way into the center of the circle and scream for Scab to stop.

My cry doesn't break through his delirium. Instead of obeying, he starts to kick Pip in the stomach, and Pip's body lurches inches across the hardwood with every motion.

Cam would kill Scab if he laid a hand on me, so I feel safe going in there, despite how crazed the guy looks. With my good hand, I try to pull back on his arm, but I'm shocked when he throws his shoulder back, lashing me in the face. The thunder of the jeering crowd and the beating of my heart are muffled in my ears as I slide down to the hard surface of the gymnasium floor. I feel for my nose, which is beginning to ache numbly, and when I bring my fingers in front of my eyes, they are coated in red.

He is
so
going to get it when Cam hears about this.

And still, Scab doesn't stop. The crowd grows louder. The size and volume seem to increase along with the drama, so the sight of my blood forming neat, round droplets on the shiny wood floor has launched them into a frenzy. Wiping my face with the back of my hand, I somehow get the nerve to throw myself behind Pip, and drag him a few feet away. "What the hell?" is all I can bark out.

Scab looks up, a bit of humanness returning to his face, and for the first time seems shocked to see me bleeding.

"Is this because of Sara?" I yell at him, then pull Pip back and look at his face. He has a bloody lip, probably from the first sucker punch Scab threw at him, but other than that, I think I took worse. He stirs and makes it to his elbows, a "What happened?" look on his face.

Scab looks down at him in disgust. "It's because he's a loser."

"How do you know that?" I ask, my voice trembling, though I concentrate on every word to keep it even.

Scab shakes his head. "Obvious. He can't even fight."

Pip is rubbing his tender jaw. I help him to his feet and see John Vaughn standing there, in his football jersey, holding a football. "John," I say, pointing out across the gym. "Go long."

John looks at me blankly, and I have to pry the football from him with my bloody hands. "You heard me. Go!"

He shrugs and heads out across the gym until he's nearly half a fields length away. The crowd watches-as does Scab, with a half-tired, half-still-dying-to-pummel-Pip look on his face.

I hand Pip the ball and nod at him.

He barely has to put in any effort. Despite the fact that he's crumpled and woozy, he returns my nod, pulls the ball back behind his ear, and robotically lets go. It sails perfectly into John's hands, as if he were pulling it to him with a magnet.

" Obvious, huh. Was that?" I ask Scab.

Scab doesn't answer, just stands there like the rest of the crowd. Mouth open, completely silent.

WHEN THE TEACHERS arrive, the mob quickly disperses. A faculty member ushers Scab toward the principal's office, and in the midst of all the commotion, I'm able to walk Pip to an alcove behind the bleachers, to help him catch his breath. He looks at me gratefully, but there is a hollow, distant glaze in his eyes.

I take the last remaining tissue from my bag, divide it, and offer one part to him. Then I dab the other half cautiously over my nose. "He's a jerk. He's had a crush on Sara forever. I should have warned you, but I didn't know he'd-"

"That's all right." He is staring at the slats of the bleachers ahead of him, or at nothing. His voice is soft but very even.

"I guess you can't get back to Otherworld soon enough now, right?" I say, more lightly.

A slow, sad smile dawns on his face. He turns to look at me, then grimaces, clenching his side.

"What?" I ask him. "It hurts?"

"Not so bad. I was just thinking."

"About?"

"About you. You don't think you 're brave, and yet..."

"Listen, it's no big deal. I've known Scab forever. The only thing scary about him is the way he shovels food into his mouth." I look down at his shirt, which is scuffed with black marks near his ribs, where Scab had kicked him. "Oh, God. Do you think something is broken? Lift up your shirt. Let me see."

"I'm fine." He takes a step back, pulls his shirt down over his waist, very modestly.

"Come on, don't be shy; let me see" I say, reaching for it. He tries to push my hand away but finally stops. I pull the fabric up, just to midchest, and see those abs I'd seen last Friday, this time close-up. They really are every bit as glorious as I'd remembered. They're smattered with a few purplish marks, but nothing too horrible. And soon, I'm touching them, running my fingers along his ribs, saying, "Does this hurt? How about this?" and trying not to think of what I am doing in anything more than a medical sense. He's breathing so heavily, I feel it hot on my forehead, and I can almost hear his heartbeat.

"I guess I'm going to live," he murmurs, ending with a quick laugh, and I realize it's the first time he ever attempted humor with me. So, he's learning. Maybe last night's fabulous date with Sara unleashed that in him.

"Turn around-let me check your back," I say, trying to force him to whirl about, but he stands there, feet planted. He's trying to pull down his shirt, but if he wouldn't throw punches at Scab, he's definitely not going to put up resistance with me. I easily twist him to the side and wrangle up his battered Gap tee, and that's when I see them.

Scars. Red slashes, crisscrossing his lower back. And probably farther up, but his shirt is covering his shoulder blades. Now they're just hard tracks, the skin shiny and thick around the edges, but when they were new, the pain must have been unbearable. Worse than anything I've felt in my lifetime.

"What are those?"

He skirts away from me and covers himself, clearly humiliated. "It's nothing. I'm fine."

"Pip, that doesn't look fine. That looks horrible. What is that from? Did that happen to you in Otherworld?"

He looks away, then tries to walk past me. "I have to get to class."

I put my hand on his chest. "Not yet. Is this what they do to humans in Otherworld?"

"No." He seems adamant. "Well, not all of us."

"So they did do this to you? Why?"

He sighs, wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. It's a moment before he says, "All right. I lied to you."

My heart catches in my throat. "About what?"

"About being in love."

"You said you didn't know if you were capable of that."

"I'm not sure I am now. Because I was in love, once. In Otherworld."

"Oh," I say, wondering how being in love could have gotten him a dozen red welts. I remember the conversation I'd had with him last night. He'd said before that he wasn't interested in love, because it was too painful. Yes, love can hurt, but this is a little crazy. "Was she a fairy?"

He nods. "Perhaps it was more like infatuation than love. I guess you could say I wanted so desperately to fit in with her kind.