Two nerve-wracking days passed, during which Scarlett thought about running away from home about six thousand times and hardly slept a wink. The drunken Roger passed out Saturday evening and stayed out all day Sunday. When Monday morning came, Scarlett talked her aunt into driving her to school by faking cramps. She was damned if she would be caught out alone in the open, fearing at any moment Bruno would appear out of nowhere to finish her off in a spectacular and messy way. No such attack materialized and her intuition offered no warnings, but she remained fearful and alert nonetheless.
She survived the morning without incident except to spill a bowl of peas all over herself in the cafeteria. After lunch, Scarlett tiredly spun the dial on her school locker and opened it. Taking off her backpack and setting it on the hall floor with care, she began an exchange of books and papers between pack and locker in preparation for her next class.
“Don’t rustle those papers so loudly,” groaned a voice from the Tupperware container at the bottom of the backpack. It was the first time Roger had spoken since the weekend.
She smiled in spite of herself. “I’ll try to be more careful.”
“Man, I hurt all over. What day is this? Wednesday?”
“Shhh,” said Scarlett, hearing someone approach.
“My head is killing me! This is the worst hangover in—”
“Shush!” Scarlett thumped the side of the backpack with a booted foot, bringing a gasp and a moan from the backpack’s inhabitant. Moments later, the Brain and the Art Chick walked by, too engrossed in their own conversation to notice anything out of the ordinary.
“C’mon, Daria!” said the Art Chick. “We could have pizza money for the rest of our lives! If we could rent out one fake boob for twenty dollars a weekend, think of how much we’d get if we rented out ten boobs! Upchuck would be our best repeat customer! Think about it!”
“I’ve thought about it,” grumbled the Brain, “and I don’t think there’s any cure for your condition short of a brain transplant.”
“Then give me your boobs and I’ll do the money-making!”
“Keep your hands off my boobs, Lane. I have to give them back to Doctor Shar by tomorrow afternoon.”
“Can we go see her so I can get my own boobs, then? Does she have big boobs, like really big boobs? You know how guys are about big boobs.”
The Brain and the Art Chick disappeared around a corner. Scarlett sighed and continued trading books and papers between locker and backpack.
“Did I hallucinate that conversation?” asked Roger from inside the backpack. “What the hell was that all about?”
“Forget it,” she replied, getting tense again. “You don’t need to know. And it’s Monday.”
“What happened to Sunday, damn it? And why aren’t you out trying to save Rita?”
“Rita doesn’t need saving half as much as we do!” said Scarlett crossly. “And if you ever get drunk on me again, you will go down a toilet!”
Roger made whining noises but subsided. Scarlett did feel sorry for the little idiot, but she had a lot else on her mind, like the chance that Bruno the Giant would show up to shoot her dead or blow up her aunt’s apartment, or both. Or worse. She had talked to Tananda twice since Mahna Mahna’s party, but nothing was accomplished there except to gain Tan’s repeated declarations that the Leopards were solidly on Scarlett’s side, no matter what. Not much good that will do me when Bruno shows up, Scarlett thought glumly as she shut her locker door with a bang.
“Ow!” came a muffled cry from within the backpack. “Keep it down, okay?”
“I’m going to math now!” Scarlett hissed. “Be quiet!”
Math was boring, as usual (Quadratic Equations Week began today), but it gave her a little time to think. She didn’t like the idea of running away and hiding for the rest of her probably short life, mostly because she didn’t know where she could go. However, she liked the idea of getting killed even less.
Giving up, however, was unthinkable. If she couldn’t run, hide, or surrender, what was left?
She tapped her pencil’s eraser against her upturned nose. What was it Max Lane had said about her going after Bruno? Bruno would never believe it. Well, thought Scarlett, I wouldn’t believe it, either, if I were him. I wouldn’t know what to think. Forget it, this is no help. My only advantage—which isn’t much of an advantage—is that I’ll instinctively know when he’s coming after me. If I’m lucky, I’ll have time to scream so they can find my body. I guess if my precognition alarm hasn’t gone off, then Bruno’s not coming after me. Yet.
So, would it do me any good to rattle the big lunk’s cage? If I went after him, he might think I knew something that he didn’t, or maybe he’d think I had a foolproof plan or weapon. Do I really want to make him mad, though? No—but what does it matter? He’s tried to get me once already. Max said he hates me just because I’m a psi like him, so he’s already got me in his sights. I run, he gets me. I stay, he gets me. I can’t win for the losing, great. If it doesn’t matter what I do, what’s there to lose by going after him, except for my cowardice? Maybe Max is right, I should try something and rattle his cage, since he’s going to blow my freaking head off anyway. It’s like yelling obscenities at an atom bomb, but what the hell. Go out with a bang. Oh, man, I wish I hadn’t thought that.
“Anyone want to try to work out problem number eight on the board?” asked Mr. Smith, the teacher. “Anyone? Jane? Oh, right, you did a problem earlier. Scarlett, how about you?” He held out a piece of chalk. “Come on up and give it a shot!”
Scarlett grimaced (Give it a shot, way to go) and got up. Her intuition hadn’t warned her that she would be called on in class, but it never worked for little things, only for big, life-changing things, and always for dangerous things. Taking the chalk, she stood before the board and considered what she should write. Not a thing came to mind, except to wonder if Max Lane was any relation to Jane Lane. She decided not, as it seemed like too much of a coincidence.
“Give it the old college try!” said the teacher in an encouraging tone.
Scarlett sighed. Well, this is just great. I look stupid as hell standing up here. I’ll pretend to think, then. Squint my eyes, rub my chin. That’s it. Smithy will get tired of it and call on someone else like he always does. Huh. If I thought really hard about where Bruno came from, would my power tell me what country or place he was from before he got to the U.S., or what state he was born in, or what city? This is pretty damn important, not like—
“Just solve for X, Scarlett,” said the teacher. Someone in the back of the room snickered. She recognized the snicker-er as the extreme skateboarder who had joined school at the same time she had. What a dork. Keep pretending to think, and ignore him. Solve for X, solve for X. Yeah, right. I can’t even solve my own life issues. Where did Bruno come from? Think hard. Where did Big Bruno come from, Goddess? She did think hard—and after a moment, the image of the back alley behind the Good Time Chinese restaurant came to mind. She shook her head and frowned. No, that’s not it. What country or state did Bruno come from before he came to Lawndale? That’s what I meant.
“Scarlett?” said Mr. Smith. He sighed. “Okay, you can sit down. Dewey, you think this is so funny, you come up and try it. Come on!”
Scarlett gave up the chalk in relief and took her seat. The picture of Good Time Chinese had not left her mind, though; it floated in the back of her consciousness, waiting. This is getting me nowhere. Her gaze drifted down to her backpack, on the floor beside her, and she pictured Roger asleep inside in his deodorized, aerated container. He told me he reappeared after his death behind the—
She blinked and sat up in her seat. Roger had awakened as a mouse behind the Good Time Chinese restaurant. Perhaps other people and things had magically appeared there, like that dime Roger said might be counterfeit. Perhaps Bruno had appeared there, too . . . but how? And from where?
I could go back to Good Time Chinese and investigate it—oh, right, and get bitten by that damn dog, probably. What was that blonde lady’s name, Wolf something? Maybe I could go back if she doesn’t suspect me of anything bad. She let me go, after all, and I haven’t done anything bad anyway, so what’s the problem? I could go back in the front door this time and skip the alley, do nothing suspicious. I could go by there this evening and take Tananda and maybe some of the other girls. Safety in numbers, they say. Maybe we could look around and see what there is to be seen. Roger would come, too, if he wants. Hmmm . . .
She worked herself up to an artificially inflated level of confidence, then shared her intuition with Tananda between classes—making sure that Roger was sound asleep in the backpack first.
“You think Bruno’s connected to the Chinese place?” asked Tan after Scarlett filled her in.
“I dunno. It’s just a guess, but it made sense. It might be dangerous, though, with the dogs around. And if Bruno shows up—”
“I’ll go,” said Tan with a grim look. “Maybe it will help Uncle Max.”
“Maybe some of the others could go with us.”
“Yeah, like Angel,” said Tan immediately. “Mahna Mahna would be good, too. Taryn and Kevo, Beth Ann, Woot, Kristen . . . yeah, we’ve got enough. Time to put on the war lipstick.”
“Look—no, Tan, look at me. No fighting, okay? It’s too dangerous! We’re just going over to scout around, scope out the place. Maybe Roger can sneak in and—no, wait, the dogs. I forgot. I should leave him home tonight or something.”
“No idea at all what we might find there?”
“None, except maybe for Bruno. That would be really bad.”
“Not for us. I’d kick his big Bruno ass.” Tananda looked thoughtful. “I don’t think he’d blow up the restaurant if he has anything to do with it, so I think we’re safe there. He can’t shoot anybody without the police coming. And I’m a girl, so he might hesitate long enough for me to hit him right where it counts.”
“No fighting, okay?”
“I won’t start anything, promise!”
“That’s not what I said!”
Tan snorted. “I heard you.”
Scarlett gave up. “I’ll call you when I get home. I have to get clearance from my aunt first.”
The bell rang and the girls ran to their separate classes. The occupant of Scarlett’s backpack groaned when she entered class, and she drew a few stares from other students who overheard her whisper, “Shut up!”
Contemporary Art Appreciation was one of the highlights of her school day, because all she had to do was watch lots of movies and slide shows given by the teacher, Ms. Defoe, who loved to talk but rarely asked questions about the material. It gave Scarlett lots of time to think. Thinking, however, only made her worry, and her earlier confidence melted away. By the end of school, her last nerve was shot and she was ready to hop on the first bus heading for California to get out of Bruno the Giant’s territory.
“Hey,” said a voice behind her. “Whoa! Calm down, it’s just me!”
Scarlett forced her heart to stop beating a hundred times a second. “Hi, Kristen,” she said when she could speak normally.
“Tan said you were kinda freaked out,” said the Goth girl with the skull-and-crossbones backpack. “No prob, the Leopards got you covered.” She reached in a pocket of her black windbreaker and pulled out an open bag of chocolate candies. “M&Ms?” she asked.
“Thanks.” She took the candy offered and tossed all of it in her mouth.
“Chocolate cures everything,” said Kristen, pouring some for herself. “You’d be surprised.”
“It won’t cure this mess,” Scarlett grumbled.
“Tan said there might be dogs around tonight.”
“Shhh!” Scarlett nodded at her backpack.
“What?” Kristen looked puzzled.
Oh, that’s right, she doesn’t know everything about Roger. “Uh, my mouse is sleeping.”
Kristen gave Scarlett a strange look, then shrugged. “Whatever,” she said in a stage whisper. “Anyway, chocolate will definitely cure the dog thing.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Dogs love chocolate, but it makes them sick,” said Kristen. “If we meet any dogs that make you nervous, I’ll drop a little chocolate for them—not enough to really hurt them, but enough to slow them down. It gives them the runs.”
The idea of making an animal sick repelled Scarlett, but not as much as the image of the same animal chewing her leg off. “Does that work right away?”
“No. Usually takes a day or so. Why?”
Scarlett groaned. “Just forget it. Don’t give them anything. The wrong dog might eat it.”
“Oh, yeah. All right, no chocolate to the dogs. Hey, you live out near Pizza Forest, right?”
“Yeah.”
The Goth girl giggled through a mouthful of candy. “When I was thirteen, one of the squirrels there told me his name was Phil, and he said talking squirrels were an endangered species and asked me if I wanted to help save his nuts, so guess where I kicked him? That was such a riot! I think those guys in the animal suits are all from Lawndale State University. The job market sucks around here, which is perfect because those guys suck, too.”
“Were you in the Blue Belles, too?” asked Scarlett, who already knew the answer.
“Oh, that was awesome! You should’ve been there. We had such a blast!”
Scarlett shook her head. “Are you my bodyguard for the time being?”
“Actually, Beth Ann’s your bodyguard. I wanted to ask you something.”
“What?”
“Tan said you were a real witch. Is that true?”
“Tan wasn’t supposed to say anything about that,” Scarlett muttered darkly, wondering if Tananda had said anything about Roger as well. “And I’m not like a—”
“Can you like put a curse on someone and make them fall down a lot or get a heart attack? Not a fatal heart attack, just a little heart attack. The faculty-DJ roller hockey game is in a couple weeks, and Andrea and I put twenty each on DeMartino to crash and burn.”
Scarlett sighed. “I can’t do it.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Both.”
“Damn! Oh, well. Maybe if I gave DeMartino a five-pound bag of M&Ms before the game, he might eat a bunch of them and have a—”
“So, where’s Beth Ann?” Scarlett interrupted, looking around.
“She’s around. You sure about the curse thing? I could split some of my winnings with you.”
“All I want to do tonight is just—”
“I know, I know, recon in force, no fighting unless they start it, yadda yadda yadda. Hey, school pictures are next week. I’m thinking of having my nose pierced before then. How do you think that’d look? Would it kill my parents? Say yes.”
“I dunno. I’m sorry, I just can’t think straight today.”
“You just need more chocolate. Here. By the way, Tan says Uncle Max might be in trouble. That true?”
Scarlett pocketed the handful of chocolate candies. “Yeah. He might be.”
Kristen was silent for a minute as they walked. “I can’t believe anyone would want to hurt Uncle Max,” she finally said in a low voice. “He’s such a good guy.”
“Bruno probably would,” said Scarlett.
Kristen inhaled through her nose, then exhaled heavily. “That’s how the Big Boy wants it, that’s how the Big Boy gets it,” she murmured. “Better sharpen up my cutlery.”
“No! No fighting, okay?”
“I heard you.” Kristen slowed and stopped when they reached the next corner. “Beth Ann will walk you the rest of the way home. See you tomorrow.”
Scarlett looked around but saw no one nearby. “Where is she?”
“Over there,” said Kristen, waving as she walked off in a different direction.
Scarlett frowned and looked around once more. She seemed to be alone. This made her nervous, so she hurried the last two blocks to her aunt’s apartment complex and went up the stairs. A note written in pencil on an index card was stuck to the apartment door with a wet wad of chewing gum.
What the hell? she thought. How did she . . . oh, whatever. She threw out the note after she went into the apartment. Her aunt Elaine was in the apartment’s little kitchen cutting up carrots with a large chef’s knife while her laptop made buzzing noises on the table.
“How was school?” her aunt asked, pausing in her work.
“Sucked. Can I go out tonight with some friends? No boys, just girls.”
“Where are you going?”
“Restaurant, Chinese place. We just wanted to get out for a while.”
“Which friends are these?”
Scarlett rolled her eyes in mild annoyance. “Oh, you know, gang members, psychopaths, carjackers, muggers, violent types in and out of jail all the time. The usual.”
“All right, as long as you get your homework done first. Do you have a lot of it?”
“Nah, not much. I’ll do it now.”
“Be back by ten, okay? School night.”
“Sure, thanks.” Scarlett reached over and took a few sliced carrots before heading back to her room. The carrots were perfectly and identically cut, as always. Her aunt was always so tidy.
“What’s that smell?” asked her aunt, wrinkling her nose at Scarlett’s backpack. “Did you take that mouse to school with you?”
“I’ll put more deodorizer in his cage!” Scarlett called, hurrying off. She ran into her room, locked the door, then took the newly awakened Roger out of her backpack. “Listen,” she said as he groggily tried to rub his eyes, “I’m going out tonight with some friends. It would be better if you didn’t come along.”
“You promised you wouldn’t leave me here,” Roger grumbled petulantly. “Where the hell do you have to go that’s so important, anyway?”
She gently lowered the mouse into his cage. “We’re just going out, no big.”
“I don’t like being here by myself,” said Roger, squinting up at her. “You said you’d take me with you when you went out.”
“I’m . . . I’m going on a date, okay? I’d rather I was alone. I mean, I don’t want someone listening in to everything that’s going on, all right? It’s personal.”
Roger gave her a sour look. “I get it.” He turned his back on her and tried to walk into his hutch on his rear legs, but he tripped and fell on the wood shavings. He picked himself up with as much dignity as he could muster, then waddled in on all fours and hid in a corner where she couldn’t see him.
I hated lying to him, but it’s for the best. He’d never let me go if he knew the truth, and he’d be in too much danger with those damn dogs around. Scarlett sighed and got out her homework, sitting down at the desk to knock her lessons out as quickly as she could.
She had been working only a few minutes on a history paper before Roger came out of his hutch. “You know to be careful, right?” he asked. “I mean, when you go out on a date?”
Scarlett put down her pencil. “Careful?”
“Yeah, careful. You know, if you’re with a guy and—look, I don’t know what kids today really do these days or anything, all right? But you’ve got to take care of yourself. You can’t just let a guy do anything he wants to do. He’ll feed you a line like you wouldn’t believe just to—well, you know. You have to be really—”
“Excuse me,” said Scarlett with a touch of irritation, “but are you talking about sex?”
Roger’s ears and nose turned a bright pink. He drew himself up. “Yes,” he said. “I am. And you—”
Scarlett glared at the mouse, then reached down, picked up a used nightshirt from the floor, and draped it over the mouse cage so the latter was completely covered. “Hey!” shouted Roger in a muffled voice, but she got up and left. She locked herself in the bathroom for a while to stand in front of the mirror with her arms crossed in front of her, glaring at the sink. When she calmed down, she came out and went to the kitchen to get herself a glass of water and a few more perfectly cut carrot sticks. Then she came back and sat down at her desk, then lifted a corner of her nightshirt and peered into the cage.
“Apologize,” she said to the mouse, who was holding his nose with both forepaws.
“Apologize?” said Roger in a nasal voice. “For what?”
“You don’t know anything about me, you’ve got the wrong idea entirely about what I’m like, and stop acting like you’re my parent, okay? I don’t like it!”
“Okay, jeez! I’m sorry! Just get this thing off the cage! Phew!”
She took the nightshirt off the cage, still glaring. As soon as she did, the mouse raised a tiny paw in hr direction—and gave her the finger with a long middle claw. Scarlett stared in shock, then burst into laughter. She slapped her knees and rocked back and forth until the fit passed. “You little monster,” she said, wiping her eyes. “That was pretty good.”
“That was for your stinky nightshirt,” said the mouse in a cross tone. “I could have suffocated.”
There was a knock at the bedroom door. Scarlett turned around in her chair, mirth gone. “What?”
“Everything okay in there, sweetie?” called her aunt.
“Yeah. I was just laughing at something on TV.”
“Okay, just checking.”
Relaxing again, the teenage witch and the talking mouse regarded each other. “Now that we’re over that,” the girl said, “what do we do?”
“Our first fight,” said Roger, looking uncomfortable.
“Look,” said Scarlett, “we’re not going to argue about this anymore. Don’t worry about my sex life, and I won’t worry about yours.”
“Not fair,” said the mouse mournfully. “I don’t have one anymore.”
“Maybe I’ll go to a pet shop and get you a girlfriend, then.”
“No!” cried Roger, waving his paws at her in sudden panic. “No, don’t do that!”
“Why?”
“Because that would just be a mouse! I don’t want to be around real mice! They’re—they’re barbaric and gross! They’re not like me! They’re not human, and some of them bite!”
Scarlett fought down a smile. “Oh, fine, I’ll get you a mouse Playboy or something.”
“Just . . . just don’t worry about it, okay? Just forget I brought it up. Go out and have fun.” Blushing bright pink again, Roger went back into his hutch and disappeared.
“I won’t do anything you wouldn’t do,” Scarlett called after him, but Roger didn’t rise to the bait. I don’t know what I really would do on a real date, she reflected. All the guys around here are such . . . what’s that word . . . dopes. They’re the least exciting bunch I’ve ever seen. They look awful, they talk awful, they behave like dorks—what’s the use? She shook her head and dived back into her homework. It was hard to concentrate, but not because of anything Roger said. She was starting to think that going back to Good Time Chinese might prove to be the worst thing she could possibly do, if Bruno appeared. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the issue, but nothing intuitive came up for or against it.
“Aunt Elaine?” Scarlett asked an hour later, homework done and Tananda and company on their way to walk her to the restaurant.
Her bright-eyed aunt looked up from her laptop at the kitchen table as she took a sip of pomegranate juice from a wineglass. “That’s my name,” she said. “What’s on your mind?”
“Nothing.” Scarlett sat down in the chair across from her aunt. “Just thinking.”
“An unappreciated habit,” said her aunt, setting the glass aside. “About what?”
“Stuff.”
Her aunt’s smile grew as she leaned back in her chair. “You remind me of your father,” she said. “Art was such a worrier. He felt responsible for everything and everyone. He always had something picking at his mind.”
Scarlett picked at her fingernails. “Was he brave?” she asked, and was surprised at herself because she had never asked that question before. She had always assumed he was.
“Oh, yes,” said Elaine slowly, looking over Scarlett’s head at the wall beyond. “He was the bravest man who ever lived. He was in the war, you know.”
“The war?” Scarlett frowned. This was news. “What war?”
“Why, the war,” her aunt repeated. “He had to fight, it wasn’t a choice, but he never ran when times were bad. He was always there where he was needed, doing his best to do the right thing. He was a wonderful brother. We owe him so much—everything, really.”
Scarlett looked down at her fingers again. “Am I like him?” she asked, fearful of the answer.
Elaine’s gaze turned to her niece. “More than you know, dear,” she said, and there was a curious note in her tone. She looked back at her laptop. “You had best be going if you’re to meet your friends.”
“But they’re not—”
The doorbell rang, and several people began knocking on the door at the same time.
“—here yet,” said Scarlett, looking at her aunt oddly as she got up to answer the door.
“Have a nice evening out,” said Elaine with a wave and a smile. When Scarlett had left with her companions and the door closed behind them, however, the smile faded. The woman sat in thought, staring at the door, then got up and went to the refrigerator to get out more carrots. She put the bag on the countertop, then hesitated and looked back at her laptop.
She then picked up the twelve-inch chef’s knife and gave it a little toss in the air. “Finish the rest of them,” she said, walking from the counter back to the table. “I’ve got a little work to do.”
The long knife hovered in the air over the counter as Elaine left with the laptop, then turned and sliced open the bag of carrots with one stroke. After nudging one carrot out, it swiftly sliced it into little sticks and nudged out another one with its tip. Each carrot slice was perfectly and identically cut. As always.
Last updated 12/23/06