The Blue Girl (15 page)

Like I could if Pelly’d just come clean.

I sigh and turn from the window to look around my room. I can’t stay up forever. I have school tomorrow. I suppose I could blow it off, but getting good marks—really
earning
them—last year gave me a little buzz. It was like I could actually be good at something normal and law-abiding instead of just living fast and shoplifting.

So eventually I leave the chair by the window where I’ve been sitting and lie down on my bed.

But relaxed I’m not. I lie there all stiff and on edge, ears straining for the first whisper of that toy orchestra starting up. When it does, I have this dislocated moment of not knowing if I’m awake or asleep, but then I see Pelly sitting on the foot of my bed, and I know which is which.

Awake, the only anomaly in the world is the ghost of a dead kid who killed himself.

In a dream, any damn thing can happen.

I sit up and lean back against the headboard.

“So how’s it going tonight?” I ask my old imaginary friend.

He gives his head a mournful shake.

“Yeah, yeah,” I say before he can speak. “Beware the Ides of Who Cares and don’t look sideways into the darkness or whatever. But do you remember when we used to just hang out and talk, and there wasn’t all this weird crap in between us?”

“I’m not real,” he says.

“Well, duh. Of course not. I’m dreaming.”

“You should stop dreaming.”

“I’d like to, but  ...  to tell you the truth, I don’t really mind seeing you again. I could lose your little friends and that creepy music, plus it’d be nice to have you talk to me like a friend instead of someone who can only go all mysterious whenever you open your mouth. But it
is
still good to see you.”

He gives me a sad look with those eyes that know too much. Then he reaches for my foot and pinches my toe.

“Wake up,” he says.

And I do.

*    *    *

I relate the dream to Maxine the next day while we’re having lunch, just the two of us, as usual.

I had high hopes for this school year, but Barbie and Ken are still on our case. We’re still the homo girls and only have each other because no one else wants to hang with us and get on the bad side of the Doll People, as I’ve taken to calling Valerie and Brent and their crowd. That’s not so bad because we like each other and would hang together anyway, but it’s the last year of school, and I really want Maxine to have a good one. I want her to shine with her newfound beach bunny confidence and win everybody over. But the first day we get back, Valerie has some scathing remark for her, and Maxine just retreats right back into her shell.

I almost take a swing at Valerie right then and there, but I grit my teeth and hold back, because that one punch would just lead to so many complications that would not only end in Maxine being disappointed in me, but in me being disappointed in me, too. I think I’m finally really unlearning the lessons I learned from Frankie Lee back in Tyson.

His philosophy was pretty simple: you take what you want and you solve problems with a fist, or better yet, a tire iron. And you always get even.

I guess I have to admit I’d still like to get even with the Doll People, but not in a violent way. Something subtle, though of course then it’d go right over their heads.

So anyway, Maxine and I are sitting together out by the baseball diamond where we first met, and I tell her my theory that Pelly’s holding back not because he’s playing games with me but because not being cryptic will only lead to something worse, though what that worse could be, neither of us can guess. Then she tells me her idea of going to talk to this writer who came to the school before I got here, some guy who specializes in collecting anecdotal evidence on fairies and stuff like that and treats the material like it’s for real.

She’s looking nervous as she’s telling me this, and that makes my heart break. What does she think I’m going to do, call her an idiot? Not likely.

“Sure, we can talk to him,” I tell her.

How he can help, I haven’t a clue. But it’s not going to hurt to go see him.

“Really?” she says.

“Well, yeah. Just because I don’t believe in that kind of stuff doesn’t mean I think that people who do are dumb or something. I reserve that for Barbie and her Doll People.” Maxine smiles. “God, they are so full of themselves this year.”

“Well, they’re full of something, all right.” But I’m sick of talking about my dreams and the Doll People and decide to change the subject. “So Jared tells me he got tickets to Mr. Airplane Man.”

“He asked me this morning if I wanted to go.”

“And you said yes, of course.”

Maxine grins. “Of course. Are you coming?”

“Definitely not. You guys need an actual date without me tagging along.”

“But ...”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. Maybe I’ll go see my own boy tonight.”

She thinks I mean Thomas, and maybe I do when I say it, but Thomas is closing the shop tonight, so he won’t be free until ten. I could hang out with him, which can be fun because it’s dead on a weekday evening, and we could lounge on the old sofa they’ve got by the front window, listen to anything we feel like, and make out a little with that extra buzz of maybe getting caught if someone comes wandering in the door.

Instead, once it gets dark, I come back to the school.

*    *    *

“So what exactly are your superpowers?” I ask Adrian.

We’re sitting in the stands by the baseball diamond, dangling our feet. It’s a beautiful night, the kind of clear sky where the city’s light pollution doesn’t seem to make much difference because the stars feel so close and bright.

He gives me this confused look.

“You know. What is it that ghosts can do?” I start ticking items off on my fingers. “There’s the invisibility, the walking through walls, the not needing to eat or sleep  ...”

I guess.

 “... the sending of weird dreams to innocent bystanders  ...”

“What do you mean?”

I shake my head at the guilty look on his face.

“Don’t ever try to play poker,” I tell him, “because your face’ll telegraph your every hand.”

“I’m not sending anyone dreams,” he says.

“Yeah, right.”

“I wouldn’t even know how.”

“But you know someone who does.”

“I ... I’ve got to go.”

And then he does the fadeaway, and there’s just me sitting there in the stands. Unless he’s still sitting beside me, only he’s invisible.

“If I ever figure out a way to smack around a disembodied spirit,” I say on the off chance he’s still around, “you’ll be toast.”

I don’t even try to avoid the dreams tonight, but start to get ready for bed right after I finish my homework. I laugh as I put away my schoolbooks and wash up, thinking of what Frankie’d say if he could see me now. Studying. In bed before midnight. But who knows? Maybe he’d be happy for me.

Sure. And maybe he’s given up his wicked ways and entered the police academy as a recruit.

This is pointless, I tell myself. Worrying about what Frankie’d think, or what he’s doing now—that belongs to someone else’s life now.

I get into bed and lay my head on my pillow.

Besides, I’ve got a whole new set of problems—problems that Frankie’s kind of solution couldn’t begin to solve.

Pelly seems to show up the moment I close my eyes. I pretend I don’t know he’s there. I keep my breathing even and peer through my lashes, waiting to see what he’ll do. He comes over to the bed, and I really have to work at not tensing up as he reaches a hand to my face. But all he does is brush some hair from my brow.

He turns away then and makes for the window. When he gets it open, all those weird little twig-and-stick fairy creatures stream out of it onto the fire escape, taking the music with them, though I didn’t see one of them even carrying an instrument, never mind playing one. Pelly’s the last to go.

I give it a count of ten before I throw back the covers and look out the window. I’m just in time to see them disappear around the corner of the alley.

I look down at myself, surprised that I’m still just wearing my T-shirt nightie. This being a dream, I was sure that I’d be fully clothed since I’ve decided to follow them. It doesn’t matter. It just takes me a few moments to throw on some jeans, sneakers, and a jacket, then I’m out the window myself, creeping down the fire escape.

When I step out of the alley, there’s no one on the street and no traffic. But I remember seeing Pelly turn to the right, so I run down the pavement in that direction, stopping at each cross street to listen for the little invisible toy orchestra.

Nothing.

I’m about ten blocks from home when I give up and start to head back. Turning, I bump right into Pelly.

We’re alone on the street. No gangs of fairy creatures, no toy-instrument soundtrack. Just the two of us.

“So what happened to your friends?” I ask.

“They’ve gone to a revel.”

“A revel.”

“It’s like a rave, only for fairy folk.”

Of course. If you’re going to dream about fairies, they might as well be the party-hearty types.

“You should go home,” Pelly says.

“I am home. I’m just dreaming this.”

“You should stop dreaming this.”

“We’ve been through this already,” I tell him. “It’s not like I have any control over it.”

“You should try harder.”

“Oh, for god’s sake. What’s with you? I know I’ve changed since I was a kid, but do you have to treat me like this? You used to be my friend.”

“I’m still your friend. That’s why I’m telling you.”

“What happens if I don’t stop dreaming about you?” He hesitates before he says, “Then they win.”

“They? There’s a ‘they’ now? Who are they?”

“Go home. Wake up. Forget about all of this. Teach yourself not to dream what others would have you dream. Please, Imogene.”

I shake my head. “Not until you tell me who they are.” He tries to wait me out, but I stand my ground. I stare into his big eyes, refusing to blink. We used to have staring contests all the time, and I always won. Just like I do now. He sighs and looks away.

“Fairies are doing this to you,” he says.

“What? That little gang of critters that hangs out with you in my closet?”

He shakes his head. “The fairies in the school where your dead friend lives.”

“I
knew
he had something to do with all of this. So what’s his game?”

“He doesn’t have one. He just wanted you to believe him, and the fairies offered to make that happen.”

“So dreaming about you is supposed to make me believe in fairies? Hello, big difference between dreams and real life.”

“Are you so sure of that?”

“Well, yeah,” I say, except something in his eyes tells me different.

Oh, relax already, I tell myself. You’re dreaming. Anything can seem real in a dream.

I tell him as much.

“Hold fast to that thought,” Pelly says. “Don’t give in to them.”

“Who? The imaginary fairies living in the school?”

He shakes his head. “Just go home, Imogene.”

“Not until I understand what’s going on,” I tell him.

He gives me a look that’s—oh, I don’t know. Tender and loving, which is really weird because he still has these seriously scary eyes. Then his gaze lifts from me, looks past me, and the warmth goes cold.

I turn to see what he’s looking at, but there’s nothing there. Just the street, the buildings fronting it, the shadows of the buildings that are pooled in the stoops, and the alleys running between them. Then I get one of those what’s-wrong-with-this-picture feelings and I realize that the shadows are encroaching
into
the light cast from the street-lamps, and that’s impossible.

“We’ll talk more another time,” Pelly says from behind me.

He pinches me on the back of my arm and I wake up, except here’s the really weird part. I’m
still
standing on the street, just like I was in the dream. The only difference is there’s no Pelly, and the shadows across the street are doing just what they’re supposed to, which is retreat from the light cast on them.

Okay, I tell myself, as I can feel the panic rising in me. This is still just part of the dream. You haven’t woken up completely.

So I try to wake up, but that’s a no-go, and I’m totally on the edge of wigging out now. I close my eyes and force myself to breathe evenly. I wait, and when my heartbeat finally starts to calm a little, I start for home.

It’s not a fun ten blocks.

I keep expecting I-don’t-know-what to come out of the shadows and jump me—fairies, monsters, maybe just your ordinary everyday mugger or rapist—and that’s not normal for me because I’m usually fearless. It’s what got me into all the trouble back in Tyson and why Frankie and his gang took me in. They couldn’t believe this little hippie chick wasn’t scared of anything. Well, except for people not liking me, and I never told them that and I’m pretty much over it now anyway.

But I make it home okay to find Jared sitting out on the front steps of our building, smoking a cigarette. We have the street to ourselves except for an old stray tabby that’s watching us from a couple of stoops over.

“I thought you’d quit,” I say as I sit down beside him.

“I have. I just wanted one tonight.”

Jared’s one of those obnoxious people who can smoke when he wants to but never
has
to have a cigarette.

“I thought you’d given up prowling around at night,” he adds.

“I have. This is just a dream.”

He gives me a funny look. “Well, at least you’re still weird. It’s been getting so I don’t even recognize my own sister anymore. Used to be, I just had to look for the closest hullabaloo, and there you’d be, right in the middle of it.”

“I like that word.”

He smiles. “I know you do.”

“Do you miss that other sister?” I ask.

“Nah. I’m happy to have you no matter what you want to be. Now go to bed.”

“I’m not tired.”

“I know. You’re just dreaming. But you’ll be sorry in the morning if you don’t.”

He puts out his cigarette and gets up.

“Coming?” he asks.