Doing her homework was difficult with a talking mouse only two feet away, but Scarlett was able to focus her attention with superhuman effort, restricting herself to occasional comments about her classes or teachers while the mouse ate. When the apartment doorbell rang, she rushed out to get the Chinese food order, then brought back her share of the chicken fried rice and sweet-and-sour soup to eat at her desk, again locking the door behind her. She spotted the mouse—Roger, she reminded herself, his name is Roger—trying to read her math homework through the cage bars. He retreated to pick up more granola as she sat down again and arranged the food on her desk with her schoolbooks and papers. The mouse cage still had a bit of a sharp odor—mouse pee, she knew, but tried not to think about it so she could eat.
“You know anything about math?” she asked. “I’m having problems with number twelve.”
“Uh,” said Roger, but Scarlett had already propped up her math book beside the cage. “Number twelve, right there,” she added. “I hate word problems.”
“I . . . oh, what the hell.” The mouse went to the bars and peered out, squinting. After a pause, Scarlett noticed the mouse was moving its lips as it read.
“Did you ever have any kids?” she asked. “I mean, not when you were a mouse, but when you were a guy.”
Roger glanced at her, then looked back at the book. “Uh, no. Not that I know of. Divorced twice, but no kids.”
“What do you mean, not that you know of?”
“I meant no. I’m pretty sure there aren’t any surprises out there for me. Someone would have mentioned it, otherwise, I’m sure.”
She stared down at the mouse, marveling at how calm she sounded as she talked to it. “Why’d you get divorced? Two times?”
Roger groaned and eyed her. “Look, do you want help or not? I can’t do everything at once, unlike a teenager.”
“Oh, okay. The math first, then.”
“All right.” The mouse read the problem aloud, then told her how to solve it. Scarlett scribbled the information down. “How about number fourteen?” she asked.
“Aren’t you supposed to do this by yourself? How are you going to learn anything otherwise?”
“I hate math.”
“Everybody hates math. So what? You still have to know math in real life.”
“Just help me with number fourteen, and that will be it.”
Roger groaned again, then went back to reading the book.
“Do you want me to look up stuff about you in the school computers tomorrow?” she asked, continuing to speak even when the mouse gave her an annoyed look. “Like, about the, uh, skydiving thing, or anything else? I can print it off and bring it back so you can read it.”
“Let me think about that. I looked up a lot of stuff when I was in the school in the last few months. Good thing kids are messy, I’ll tell you that. I ate pretty well right off the floor, every night.”
“Eww.”
“A guy’s gotta do what a guy’s gotta do.”
“If I come back in the next life, it won’t be as a mouse.”
“This wasn’t my first choice, either, but I got stuck with it anyway. Let me finish reading this, okay?” Scarlett subsided, and soon Roger recited the formula for finding the answer. She had just finished copying the information down when the phone rang again. “Bet it’s Tan,” she said to Roger. “One of my friends.” She picked up the handset and said, “Scarlett, hi.”
“Hello?” said a boy on the other end. He sounded young, maybe fifth or sixth grade. “Scarlett?”
She frowned, not recognizing the voice. “Yeah?”
“My name is Brian. Brian Taylor. I’m Brittany’s brother. You know her? The cheerleader?”
Scarlett’s eyes grew large. She glanced at Roger. “Who?” she said, stalling.
“Brian Taylor!” the boy repeated in irritation. “Hey, I called because I wanted to ask you something. Do you have a white mouse that you got from a science teacher? One that my sister took away from me? It’s my mouse, you know. She gave it to me.”
“Uh, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said—and hung up. “Crap,” she whispered, looking at Roger with concern. “And that’s not French.”
“Obscene phone call?” Roger asked. He looked away from the math book.
“No.” She debated over whether to say anything, then decided to come clean. “It was that kid who was messing with you, the cheerleader’s brother. I think he wants to get you back. He must have gotten my phone number from someone.”
Roger looked at Scarlett in horror. His pink mouth fell open. “Oh, no!”
“It’s okay, I didn’t say—”
“Scarlett, listen to me! I’ll do anything you want, but don’t let that kid get me! Please, don’t do it!”
“He won’t, all right?” she said. “He tried to get his sister to buy you from me today at school, but I said no.”
“He did? Man, this is really bad!” Anxious and agitated, Roger began to walk on all fours in a circle inside his cage. “This is really bad! I can’t go back there! That kid is sick! He’s a monster! I can’t go back there!”
The phone rang again. Scarlett let it ring twice, then picked it up and listened.
“Hello?” said Brian Taylor.
“Stop calling here, okay?” she snapped, then hung up again. After a moment of thought, she unplugged the phone from the wall to prevent further interruptions. Getting back in her chair, she noticed Roger was not in view in his cage. Leaning to once side, she saw him hunched up in a far corner of the hutch. “Hey,” she said softly, “it’s okay. He’s not—”
“It’s not okay, damn it!”
“He won’t get you, I promise. He won’t.” She swallowed. Whatever that damn kid had done to Roger, she didn’t want to know about it. “Listen, hey, let’s talk about something else.” When he didn’t respond, she called, “Roger?”
A pause. “What?” he said in a faint voice.
“You haven’t asked me any questions, you know. I’ve been asking you everything, so ask me something, okay?”
With a little more coaxing, Roger came out of the hutch again. “Sorry,” he said. “That kid really gets to me. I can’t believe I’m such a chicken.”
“Chicken?” said Scarlett, forcing a smile. “You don’t look like a chicken.” He glared at her, but she refused to be upset. “Hey, it’s a joke! You’re safe here.”
Roger didn’t look as if he felt any better, but he muttered, “Okay, okay.”
“Ask me a question. Ask me anything.”
“Anything?” Roger looked up at Scarlett, then his gaze dropped to a spot below her chin. He squinted. “All right. Lean a little closer,” he said.
“What are you looking at?” she asked, suspicious, but she leaned closer anyway.
“That crosslike thing you’re wearing on that necklace,” he said. “I can see it now. What is that?”
“Oh! This is an ankh. It’s made of silver. My aunt got it for me online from a company in Egypt last Christmas. I mean, last Yule. Winter solstice. Whatever.”
“An ankh? That’s one of those things you see in old tombs, right?”
“It’s a symbol,” she said, warming to the subject. “The ancients used it to stand for eternal life and a bunch of other things. I wear it because of my . . . uh, my beliefs.”
“Your beliefs? Is this some kind of Christian thing?”
“Uh, no. It’s—okay, this is going to come out funny, but I’m serious, okay? I’m a Wiccan.”
Roger tilted his head as he eyed her. “You’re a what?”
“A Wiccan. I’m a witch.”
Roger sat stock-still for a moment. Not even his nose twitched. “A witch,” he said flatly.
“Yes, but not like on the movies, okay? And I’m not into Satan or drugs or anything like that. This is a real religion. Some people call it New Age or whatever, but it’s more than that. I guess I don’t want you to make fun of it. Some people do, and I’m a little sensitive about it. Anyway, that’s what I am: a witch.”
“I see,” said the mouse, who clearly did not see. “A witch.” He took a breath and shrugged. “Well, I’m a mouse, so I guess I’m in no position to make fun of anything. Wait—you asked me something yesterday, about me being your familiar. Was that, uh, some kind of witch thing?”
“Yeah, but a familiar is a whole different thing, and I don’t think you’re one. You’re something else. Forget about it.”
“This is almost funny,” said Roger. “I jump out of an airplane only to find out my chute’s been sabotaged, and I land on a cow and die, and then I come back to life as a mouse and almost get killed two hundred times until I hide in a school and get captured and used in lab experiments and tortured by a little hoodlum, and now I’m living with a teenage witch.” He thought about it. “Yeah, I think I’ve got it right. Does that sound right to you?”
“Well, there’s nothing wrong with me being a witch, okay?”
“I didn’t say that! I just said . . . look, Scarlett, I’m sort of overwhelmed with life at the moment, okay? Really. Look at it from my perspective. I don’t mean anything by it, all right?”
“Okay. Sorry.”
“Me, too. Okay, more questions. Uh, what grade are you in? You go to Lawndale High, right?”
“Yeah. Tenth grade.”
“And you live with your aunt, right? Where are your parents?”
“My dad died of cancer when I was two, and my mom was killed in a car accident right after that. My dad’s older sister, Elaine, she’s my guardian. We sort of hang out together, I guess.”
“Sorry to hear about your parents.”
Scarlett shrugged. “I really don’t remember them. My aunt’s always been there for me, though. She’s pretty cool.”
Roger’s nose twitched. “She doesn’t make you pick up your room. I bet that’s what you mean by cool.”
Scarlett frowned and looked around. “What’s wrong with my room?”
“You’ve got underwear and socks and everything all over the floor, even sticking out from under your bed, and—” Roger broke off, peering at Scarlett’s face. “Is that purple lipstick you’re wearing?”
“Yeah, it is. And my room looks fine. I know where everything is, okay? I don’t need to pick it up all the time. You’re not like my guardian or anything, so give me a break.”
“I know, I know. I was just . . . anyway, uh, are you dating? Got a boyfriend?”
“A boyfriend?” She leaned back in her chair and sighed. “No. I go on dates once in a while. Usually a bunch of us go together and hang out, see what’s up.” She paused, looking glum. “No one wants to go out with a witch in this high school, I guess. I don’t know what guys think of me, really. I don’t know much what anyone thinks of me.” Nervous, she began to play with her hair.
“You’re more likely to go on a date than I am, that’s for sure.”
“Do you wish you weren’t a mouse?”
“Yeah, I do. Love to see that Rita again, for sure. I can’t figure out how I’m going to be anything else but this, but if I changed once, I guess it could happen again—only I don’t feel like testing the Great Wheel of Karma to see if I get reincarnated one more time. I’ll stay alive as a mouse as long as I can, thanks.”
“That’s funny,” said Scarlett after a moment. “I was just thinking that talking to you feels sort of natural now. It’s weird.”
“I get the feeling you don’t go out a lot. I don’t mean anything bad by that, just that here you are with me, and you even did your homework. I was afraid at first you’d talk my ears off, or call all your friends and invite them over to meet me.”
She thought about that. “My aunt gets on me a lot if I don’t do my homework, so I’m just used to doing it, no matter what happens. We had a tornado warning once when we lived back in the Chicago area, and I just kept on working on homework because there wasn’t anything else to do. And I don’t have many friends here, just a few. They’re pretty cool, but . . . I don’t know if I’d surprise them with you just now. I like it that you’re my secret, you know?”
Scarlett stopped talking. The mouse wasn’t looking at her. It was staring hard at the carton of chicken fried rice on the table near it. “Hey, are you hungry?” she asked.
“What?” Roger appeared distracted. “Oh, no. It’s just—can you move that box there closer? The one with the red stripes going up.”
Puzzled, she did as asked. Roger stood up on his hind legs and peered at the box. “Good Time Chinese Restaurant,” he said, reading the label on the carton. “That’s the place I woke up next to when I turned into a mouse,” he said in wonder. “After the skydiving thing, I mean. How strange.”
“Really? My aunt said they deliver.”
Roger snorted. “I guess they do, in a manner of speaking.”
Scarlett pointed at the carton. “Do you think we should go by there, you and me? Maybe see if, I don’t know, anyone knows anything unusual?”
Roger looked at her with big eyes. “You mean about what happened to me? Who’s going to know anything about that? I mean, seriously. It’s probably just a restaurant, and some angel with a lousy sense of humor is up there having a good laugh at my expense. That’s all.” The mouse shook his head. “And, to tell the truth, I really don’t want to get out much myself. I had just a hell of a time before trying to keep from getting eaten, and being an albino didn’t help when I was trying to hide, either. If it’s all the same with you, I’d rather just stay in here. It’s safe and warm and there’s food and water, and you’re sort of looking out for me on top of it. I could get to be a real bum. Beats running around out there in the real world. At least like this.”
“Aw, no joy rides on my shoulder or anything?”
“I’d rather you didn’t even try to pick me up,” said Roger with concern. “That cheerleader did, and then she dropped me when I bit her. Frankly, heights scare me to death after my little, uh, escapade with the parachute and—” The mouse sighed. “You know what I mean.” It coughed, then said, “I need a rest, if you don’t mind.”
“That’s okay. Sorry if this bothered you, talking about stuff.”
“You don’t bother me. That Brian kid bothers me. Just make sure he doesn’t know I’m here and that no one lets him into your room. That’s all I ask.” Roger hesitated. “He’s a little too fond of electrical things, if you get my drift. And dropping things out of high windows into buckets of water.”
Scarlett frowned. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure he stays out.”
“Great. That’s all from me, then. Just want to rest.” Roger ambled off into the hutch, but he stopped before going in and sat up—and waved a forepaw. “See you later,” he said. “And thanks for the granola.”
“Sure. Goodnight.” Scarlett watched him go, then reconsidered her idea for visiting the Chinese place. She could look the location up later on, and then go by and see if she could find out if it was unusual in any way. It couldn’t hurt. After all, it was only a Chinese restaurant. What could possibly be unusual about a Chinese restaurant?
Last updated 12/23/06