The Blue Girl (32 page)

By now I actually have sore feet, but that’s not what makes me want to find some place to hole up. I might have been like a hick, but I was also like a little kid, gorging on hot dogs, ice cream, warm pretzels, chocolate bars, soda pop—all the things I want when I’m intangible. The only reason I stopped was because I pretty much ran out of the money I’d had when I died. All I have left is some change. But I would have had to stop anyway, because just as I was getting close to the school, that junk food caught up to me.

This is the part of having a corporeal form that’s not so much fun.

I decide to sneak into the school before the doors get locked for the night. No one pays any attention to me—I’m just another kid—and I make my way up to the home ec rooms. I open a door at random. I lie down on the floor at the back of the dark classroom, and hope my stomach will settle down a bit.

I’m kind of surprised that Tommery or one of the other fairies hasn’t shown up yet to see what’s going on with me. You’d think they’d get a kick out of seeing me sick to my stomach, and be curious about how I was back in my body for the night.

But they don’t.

So I lie there feeling miserable and sorry for myself.

And lonely.

It’s funny. That’s never happened to me as a ghost. I’ll drift through the cafeteria and wish I could have a soda or a bag of chips. I’ll be in the library and want to be able to pick up a book, or go surfing the Internet in the computer lab. I’ll definitely lust after the girls in the hall. But loneliness isn’t a part of my afterlife.

I’m not sure why that is.

Maybe it’s because most of the time I’m not even here, if that makes any sense. To be honest, until Imogene came around, I hadn’t been doing much of anything. I just drift around. Sometimes days can go by while I’m—not exactly sleeping, but not really in the world either. I don’t know where I go, or if I go anywhere. Maybe ghosts don’t sleep. Maybe when we do the equivalent of sleeping, we just shut off and we’re nowhere until something turns us back on again.

All I do know is that right now, nauseous as I’m feeling, I’m so lonely it hurts. It’s been building up ever since I became tangible, but it’s hitting me worse now—I guess because I’m already feeling so miserable. At one point, I thought of going by Imogene’s place but then I realized that with me being tangible as I am now, she really could hit me, so naturally I chickened out.

Or maybe it’s not my present misery. Maybe it’s
because
I’m tangible. Maybe having a physical presence intensifies everything. Like I’m a virgin—no surprise there, right? I never even kissed a girl before I died. I wanted to, but I knew I didn’t stand a chance. I don’t stand a chance with Imogene either, but the thing of it is, if by some miracle she
was
interested, we could actually do something. Physical, I mean. Well, at least we could tonight. Like that would ever happen.

This is no good.

I sit up and the world does a slow spin.

Sick as I am, I know I’m wasting precious time. Time when I should be making up for the danger I put her in, that is. I want to forget my stupid little fantasies about her.

So I decide to find Tommery and see if he’s got some kind of fairy cure for a sick stomach.

Moving’s not as bad as I think—at least not once I stand up and hang on to the nearest counter for a minute, waiting for the world and my stomach to stop churning.

I find the fairies in their favorite elf bolt—the one at the top of the school’s main stairs. They’re cavorting around in kids’ clothing, acting all excited, and it takes a moment before anyone notices me leaning against the wall, making a valiant, and so far successful, effort not to throw up on myself. I try to figure out what they’re doing dressed like this. Tommery s in a pair of OshKosh overalls that are way too big for him, wearing a pink T-shirt that says “Florida.” It probably says more, but the rest is hidden under the bib of the overalls. The others are wearing Care Bear shirts, Little Mermaid pajama bottoms, a Barney hoodie ... that kind of thing.

I decide they’re up to some Halloween prank when Quinty finally spies me.

“Addy!” he cries.

“Well, look who finally figured out Halloween,” Tommery says.

It figures that they’d known all along and hadn’t bothered to tell me. “Do you have something for a stomach ache?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “The one night you can walk around in corporeal form, and you get sick?”

“We already know I’m a loser,” I say. “I’d just rather not have to throw up as well.”

“Ginger’s good,” Krew says.

“Like ginger ale?” I ask.

I think I have enough change to get a can out of the vending machine in the cafeteria.

He nods. “It’s best when it’s flat. But I was thinking more of ginger root.”

“Or tea,” Sairs says.

Krew nods. “The tea’s very good.”

“You wouldn’t happen to have any?” I ask.

They shake their heads. I see Tommery getting a considering look, like he has some new misery planned for me, but then he shrugs and gives me a smile.

“Help him out, Quinty,” he says. “Give him a taste of your healing hands.”

I give Tommery a suspicious look.

“Why are you being so helpful?” I ask.

“I’m in a generous mood tonight, Addy. And besides, you’re our friend. Friends help each other, expecting nothing in return.”

I flinch when Quinty steps up and puts his hands on my stomach, but whatever it is he does, it takes the nausea away, just like that.

I blink, feeling normal for the first time in what seems like hours .You ever notice how everybody takes their health for granted until they get sick? And how
good
it feels when you’re better again?

“Wow,” I say. “Thanks.”

Quinty smiles at me, then does a little pirouette, holding out the bottom of his Olsen twins T-shirt to show it off.

“What do you think?” he asks.

“Well, it’s ... great.” I look from him to the others. “So what are you guys up to?”

“We’re going home,” Oshtin tells me.

“Home?”

They all beam.

“We were thanked for our hard work,” Tommery says, “and given the gift of clothing.That means we’re finally free to go.”

I’m still mulling over the idea of any of them doing hard work, when what he says sinks in.

“Somebody put these clothes out for you?” I ask.

Tommery nods. “And thanked us, too.”

I’m remembering the story of the cobbler and the fairies who did his work for him until his wife laid out clothing for them.

“So who was it?” I ask.

“Don’t know,” Tommery says. “Don’t care. We heard the thanks being said in the furnace room and when we went down there, we found our clothes waiting for us.”

I can’t imagine who would do this. I think of Imogene, but even if she knows the story, why would she bother?

“So you’re going away,” I say. “And you seem pretty happy about it.”

“Why wouldn’t we be?”

“I don’t know. I thought you liked being here, playing tricks on everybody.”

“We did, Addy,” Tommery tells me. “We did. But now it’s time to go home.”

“To Fairyland.”

“It’s been a very long time since we’ve seen our home.” Then he shrugs. “Besides, it’s not like we have a choice. When we’re thanked ... it’s like a
geas.”

“Like a what?”

“A thing we must do.”

“Well ... bon voyage, I guess.”

“We’ll miss you,” Tommery tells me.

I nod. Like I believe that.

“So before you go,” I say, “can you tell me how to stop the
anamithim
from taking a soul?”

“Now where did you learn a big word like that?”

“From one of the gatherers.”

“You don’t want to listen to them. They’re as ready to send your soul on as the shadows are to take it.”

“Right. But back to my question. How can the
anamithim
be stopped?”

“It’s simple,” Tommery says. “Don’t be noticed by them. Stay off their radar and you’ll be fine.”

“But if someone
has
been noticed?”

They all actually look a little uncomfortable.

“Oh, you mean your girlfriend,” Tommery says.

I don’t bother to argue that there’s as much chance of Imogene being my girlfriend as there is of me living a normal life now.

“They’re after her,” I say.

“We didn’t do it,” Tommery says. “At least, not on purpose.”

He gives me that guileless look that he always does when he’s lying.

“I just need to know how to stop them.”

“You can’t. Sorry about that.”

“But—”

“If you want to save your girl,” he says, cutting me off, “you know what you need to do.”

And I do. All along I’ve been pretending that there was some other way, but I’ve always known there wasn’t.

“Yeah,” I say. “I guess I do.”

This, I realize, is just one more joke for the fairies. I think maybe I hate them more for it than for any of the others.

“Hey,” Tommery says, “perhaps if you tell her what you’re about to do for her, she’ll feel so grateful, she’ll have sex with you.”

I have to admit that’s a pleasant fantasy, but it’s never going to happen. Not with Imogene. Not in a million years.

But, “Yeah,” I say. “She probably will.”

They’re starting to fade now, stealing my ghost shtick, except they’re slipping away to ... wherever. Fairyland, I guess. For a moment, I feel a breeze on my skin that holds a sweet smell of apples and roses and reminds me, for no good reason, of all the things I’ve never had, all the things I’ll never have.

“You’ve been fun, Addy,” I hear Tommery say, followed by a chorus of good-byes from the others.

Their voices seem to come from as far away as far can be.

And then they’re really gone.

*    *    *

I’m going to take this night for myself, I decide. I’ll take it and then I’ll give myself over to the shadows. But I deserve this much.

I’m not sure what I’m going to do. What I’d like to do is talk to Imogene, but that doesn’t seem like a particularly good idea. Instead I’ll go out into the city. Maybe I can find Bobby. Maybe he’ll pretend we’re friends and let me tag along on whatever adventures he has planned.

But first I’m going to check out the furnace room to see if I can figure out who sent the fairies packing.

It takes me half an hour to hike back to the school. When I get close, I sneak into the sunken parking lot of the apartment building next door. It’s quiet down here. Sometimes the skateboarders use the ramp, but I have the place to myself tonight. I hoist myself up at a low part of the wall and push my way into the cedar hedge. Hidden, I check out the lay of the land.

There’s no sign of Brent. No sign of anybody, actually. No police, teachers, students, or even Mr. Sanderson, who you’d think would be cleaning up Brent’s blood. But Sanderson’s probably passed out drunk somewhere, or well on his way. The teachers and students will all have left for home. As for the police, well, depending on how big a mouth Brent has, they might be knocking on Mom’s door right now.

I feel bad about that. Mostly for the worry it’ll cause her, but I also know that she always gets nervous around the police. It comes from having lived so many years with—and
as,
if we’re going to be honest—a dopehead like my dad.

But the police will just be an inconvenience for her. When it comes to me, they could be big trouble. Assuming I make it through the night.

When I’m sure the coast is clear—and I mean
completely
clear this time, no abusive guys beating on their girlfriends in the shadows—I step out of the hedge and dart for the door.

It’s still locked. I check the shadows on either side of me again—don’t say I don’t learn from my mistakes—then work on the lock. It doesn’t take long to get its tumblers all aligned. I pull on the door, take a last look around, then open it wide enough to slip inside. Once through, I catch the door with my hand so that it doesn’t bang shut. I wait another moment, listening while I take off my jacket and turn it inside out. When I’m sure I haven’t attracted any unwanted attention, I start up the stairs, heading for the drama department.

I don’t mind the empty halls, or the soft scuffle of my boots on the marble floors, but it’s different inside the drama department’s rooms. I can’t chance a light at this point, so the strange shapes of the props they have stored here feel stranger. And kind of spooky.

I’m berating myself for suddenly going all wimpy, when something stirs in a corner where the shadows are deepest. I dig out my switchblade and wish I hadn’t given Pelly all our protective stuff as I let the blade
snik
out. Sure, I have the blue skin, but who knows how long its defense lasts? Maybe the protection wears off before the color.

“Who’s there?” I say.

I take a step in the direction of the corner, my knife held out before me, glad that at least my voice sounds firm.

“It’s only me,” a familiar voice says, and I feel like an idiot.

It’s Pelly. Of
course
it’s Pelly. This is where I’m supposed to meet him and Maxine.