The Blue Girl (29 page)

I’m going to live a little. I’m going to cram as much of the years I missed from being dead into the time I have today.

I walk away from the school, from the place of my death, and I don’t look back.

I’m uncomfortably sure that something’s going to go wrong.

I know, I know. You’re not supposed to put that kind of thing out into the universe because then you just make it happen. But I can’t stop thinking that Imogene’s plan is
too
simple.

“That’s the beauty of it,” she told me when I tried to talk her out of it one last time. “Things have more of a chance of messing up when you make everything complicated.”

Which is true, I suppose, but only up to a point. Sometimes a plan can be so simple that it’s just stupid, and the more I think about this one, the more I worry. I can’t talk to anyone about it, and I certainly can’t talk to Imogene, and she’s the one I talk to about
everything.

Esmeralda’s no help either. There was another e-mail from her waiting for me when I got home last night:

Date: Thurs, 30 Oct 2003 22:07:38 -0800 From:
[email protected]
Subject: Busy busy busy To:
[email protected]

Maxine,

I saw from my server log that you tried to contact me earlier and I’m sorry I wasn’t available to chat, but this time of year is always very busy for me—a hundred small crises. The borders are so thin, so naturally things keep leaking though that need to be dealt with.

Since you didn’t send a follow-up e-mail, I’m assuming it was nothing urgent.

We’ll definitely deal with your problem once Samhain is behind us. I’ll write back on Saturday, or better still, Sunday, when I’ve had a chance to rest up a little.

Oh, but before I forget. I did mention your situation to a colleague of mine who’s better versed in shadow lore than I am. She said that if the anamithim take definitive forms when they manifest, then traditional fairy protocols can be invoked and the anamithim will respect them.

I know. It seems odd that such Unseelie creatures would obey what are really nothing more than social mores—albeit from a different social structure than our own—but Kate—my friend—assures me this is the case.

And now I really *must* run. Stay inside and keep the lights on!

E.

None of which was a real help, except it did start me wondering again about just who this Esmeralda was. Exactly what sort of problems did Halloween bring anyway? It had to have something to do with that gate she mentioned earlier, but that didn’t help me understand.

And who was Kate? Maybe I should ask Esmeralda for her contact info so I could try talking to her directly.

Except I had school all day, after which I had to lay out the clothes for the fairies, and then it was showtime. There wasn’t going to be the opportunity to get more advice.

There was always Christy, but I couldn’t go to him without asking Imogene first, and I already knew there was no way she was going to agree to that.

So here I am at Redding, trying to get through the day, which is really hard for me, because for the first time I can remember, I don’t want to be at school. I don’t mean between classes or at lunchtime, when I’m never very comfortable, but during the classes, too. I’m in this total daze and think I should have stayed home the way Imogene has. Except I’m the one who has to lay out the clothes for the fairies, and it’d be hard to show up at the end of the day when I’ve missed all my classes. How would I explain
that
if one of my teachers spotted me?

I can tell how out of it I am when Valerie says something to me at lunch that has all her friends laughing and I don’t even know what it is she said. I wasn’t paying attention, just as I’ve been too dazed to do my usual scan-and-avoid-the-bullies routine before coming into the cafeteria.

“What?” I say, forgetting Imogene s first rule of bully avoidance: “Don’t engage them in conversation, because then they
know
you’re paying attention to them and that’s all they really want. Someone to pay attention to them.”

“Jesus, Chancy,” Valerie says. “You are
such
a total lezzie loser.”

One of her friends gives me a shove. I lose my grip on my books and my lunch. They all start to laugh again when the books fall to the floor. My binder pops open, and my notes go all over the place. My lunch bag tears, and the apple I’d put in it this morning goes rolling away under a table.

I want to say something like, You’re the loser. And what’s wrong with lesbians, anyway?

Or better yet, just smash a book in her face.

But all I do is flush and bend down to try to retrieve my notes.

Someone slides their foot against mine and pushes so that I lose my balance. I fall down on top of my books. My knee hits my lunch bag, and I feel my sandwich squash under it. Everyone laughs yet one more time—not just Valerie and her friends, but the kids at the nearby lunch tables, too.

That kind of thing always disappoints me.

You’d think they’d know better, because what’s happening to me could be happening to one of them instead. But they don’t think of that—or maybe they’re just glad that it’s happening to someone else and not them. I never laugh— that’s something Imogene didn’t have to teach me. Laughing at the victim’s misfortune is like showing your approval for what the bully’s done.

When Imogene s around people getting bullied, she gets this dark look in her eyes and scowls. She doesn’t do anything, but anybody who sees her usually stops laughing and looks away. Embarrassed. I remember what Imogene told me about her old school and realize that maybe they’re a little scared, too. Maybe they see something in her that I haven’t: the potential for retribution. I don’t know. What I do know is that even Valerie never pushes Imogene too far and she always keeps her distance, even when she’s being mean.

Obviously, I’m not so lucky.

I hunch my shoulders, waiting for the next attack, but Valerie’s finally moved on. I collect my books, proud that at least I didn’t cry. When I finally get my stuff together, I stand up and give a quick look around.Valerie’s on the other side of the cafeteria, with Brent and the rest of their crowd.

I make my escape and hurry down a hall, not stopping till I’ve found one of the side stairwells that isn’t used as much as the main ones. I sit on the stairs there and try to reorganize my notes. I eat my squashed sandwich. I wish I had my apple.

I realize that I really miss Imogene. Not just her physical presence—let’s face it, her
protective
presence—here at school, but the Imogene she was before all this got so serious. The lighthearted and funny Imogene, who always seemed to say the last thing that you’d expect.

I wonder if I’m ever going to get her back.

*    *    *

I get through the rest of the day without incident— mostly because I’ve got my bully radar turned up to high and avoid the possibility of any further contact with them. I go to the library after my last class and pretend to study until Ms. Giles comes over to tell me that they’re closing.

I have the halls pretty much to myself. There’s not much in the way of after-school activity inside the building on a Friday unless there’s a dance, but then I realize that today’s one of the last big football games of the year. It’s the city finals, and we’re playing against Mawson High. That means there’s going to be stragglers in the gym for hours afterward, using the locker rooms and showers, goofing and fooling around. They’ll be full of relentless good cheer if we win, totally bummed if Mawson does.

I make my way to my locker, wondering how I could have forgotten that there was a game. I take out the bag of clothes I bought at the thrift store, then sit down by my locker and turn on my cell phone. Imogene answers on the first ring and I explain about the game.

“So the gym’s out.”

“Maybe we should call it off,” I say, trying not to sound hopeful.

She laughs. “I don’t think so. I’ll still meet you outside the drama rooms around seven thirty. We’ll figure it out then.”

I want to ask her, Doesn’t anything faze you? Not bullies, not monsters in the shadows, nothing?

But all I say is, “Okay.”

I leave my jacket and books and everything in my locker, only keeping my cell phone, which I stick in the pocket of my cargo pants, and a flashlight, which I stick in a pocket on the other leg to balance the weight. Closing my locker, I pick up the bag of clothes and head for the basement.

I keep expecting to see Adrian or one of the fairies—I mean, if I can see the ones in Imogene s room, then I should be able to see them all, right? But there’s only me and the custodian in the labyrinth that’s the school’s basement. Though maybe he’s watching the game. If he’s not, I’m hoping he’s in that room where he drinks and sleeps off his drunks.

I walk in the opposite direction from where Imogene told me he hangs out and make my way to the furnace room. It’s huge and really spooky, with all these weird boilers and heaters and pipes and everything. It’s not actually pumping hot water through the pipes at the moment, but the hulking machines mutter and gurgle to themselves like drowsing dinosaurs.

It makes sense to lay the clothes out there. It’s a place no one’s going to come, probably not even the custodian.

I feel a little stupid taking off my shirt and putting it back on inside out, just like I do about the oatmeal and rowan twigs I’ve got in my back pockets, but I promised Imogene, so I do it. Then I lay the clothes out in little groupings in the middle of the room: shirt, pants, socks, hats, jackets. Ten sets in all, mismatched, some missing a hat, or a jacket, but they’re mostly pretty complete. I didn’t bother with shoes because I couldn’t begin to guess the fairies’ sizes.The clothes weren’t so hard because Imogene told me the fairies are only a foot or so tall.

When I’m done, I stand back and clear my throat.

“Thank you, spirits,” I say aloud, hoping my voice won’t draw the custodian, “for your hard and selfless work to keep this building clean and safe the way you have over the years. We know you can never be fully repaid for all you’ve done, but we hope these small tokens of our gratitude will bring you even a fraction of the pleasure that your presence in this building has brought to us.”

I half expect them to pop out of thin air, but nothing happens. Maybe they’ve already peeked and hate what I brought. Or maybe they’re just too shy with me standing here.

I smile to myself. Maybe they’re off watching the game.

I look at my watch. I still have loads of time before I’m supposed to meet Imogene, so I find myself a hiding place behind some big metal vat that I suppose is part of the heating system and settle down to see if I can catch a glimpse of the fairies before they have to go away.

The first thing I do when I wake up Friday morning is check the color of my skin. Still blue, but I was expecting that. The question is, am I any bluer than when I went to bed?

I can’t tell. Maybe. Or maybe it just looks different from last night because of the sunlight coming in through the window.

I suppose I could ask Mom or Jared, but I don’t want to remind them. It already turned into a point of contention last night, and I know if I’m not a noticeably lighter blue by tomorrow, Mom’s going to insist we see the doctor. She’s too worried to think it through properly, but all I can see is myself stuck in some laboratory for the rest of my life while they run tests on the stupid blue girl.

I understand Moms anxiety, just like I understand what Thomas is feeling. He called last night and wanted to come see me, but I had to put my blue foot down and say no, and then of course he thought I was mad at him. He told me not to be embarrassed, that he liked me for me, not for what color my skin is, but that wasn’t the point. The point is I don’t want him any more involved in this than he is already. Whatever Maxine, Pelly, and I manage to do tonight, the less the people I care about are in danger, the better I’ll be able to concentrate.