The Otherworldlies (7 page)

“You were acting a little psychotic,” Fern said.

“I wasn’t that bad,” Sam said.

“Yeah? You looked like you were ready to bite his hand off.”

“Whatever,” Sam said, feeling a little guilty but trying not to show it. “Hey, is that what
you’re
wearing?” Sam scrutinized his sister’s outfit. She was wearing flannel pants with clouds all over them and an old Anaheim Angels shirt she’d inherited from Eddie.

“I’m going to put flip-flops on,” she said. Sam walked to her bedroom window and lifted it open. Cool night air rushed into Fern’s room. Her stomach contracted with pain, almost as if the air triggered it. She doubled over.

“You okay?” Sam said.

“Yeah. I’m just looking for my other flip-flop,” Fern said, unwilling to give Sam another reason to worry about her.

Midnight was fast approaching.

“You’re wearing both of your flip-flops, idiot.”

Sam reached out the open window to the jacaranda branch just outside. He swung his skinny legs and feet over the windowsill and fell forward, so he was crouching on the branch with both his legs and arms wrapped around it. The branch let out a slow creak as it bent under Sam’s added weight. Slithering along the branch till he got to the trunk, Sam looked precarious as he made his way down the jacaranda. He slipped down the tree and finally hit the grass with a soft
thud
.

Fern followed her brother, nimbly crawling from one branch to another. She had climbed up and down this jacaranda for much of her life—scrambling down its maze of branches and trunk was her preferred way of exiting the McAllister house. In the spring, when the tree was in bloom, she’d constantly be told she had bits of tree in her hair. No matter how hard she’d tried, she could never pick out all the lavender blue flowers. She was down in half the time it’d taken Sam.

The Salt and Pepper Twins faced the quiet street. Sam wished he’d thought to bring a flashlight with him. Fern longed for a sweatshirt. Silent, they made their way down to the grove under the flickering orange light of the suburban energy-saving street lamps. Walking quickly, they had reached the corner of Acacia Avenue and La Limonar when the crackling of breaking twigs stopped the twins dead in their tracks. On the left side of the sidewalk, by the McGraw house, a lone cypress tree swayed back and forth. Fern broke into a cold sweat, and even in the sputtering moonlight, she could tell Sam’s face had paled.

The combination of movement and noise could have been any number of things: a coyote, a cat, an escaped pet, a raccoon, even an opossum. But Fern and Sam both thought it was a sure sign of danger.

“Run,” Sam said, in a voice so calm, it seemed less of a command and more of a plea.

“Wait,” said a voice coming from the general vicinity of the cypress tree. It was almost as if the tree itself was speaking. The voice was female and young—the antithesis of dangerous. The cypress tree shook furiously. Soon a mess of arms and legs spilled out onto the sidewalk in front of Fern and Sam. A girl had fallen out of the cypress tree. Fern leaned over the body and could discern a fanned-out mane of black hair and a tall frame. The owner of the voice was lanky, wearing dark jeans and a ribbed blue tank top.

“Wait, wait!” said the tree person, who was out of breath and speaking into the sidewalk. As she got up and brushed various twigs, leaves, thorns, and dirt from her body, she looked up at the twins, standing in front of them for the first time. Her almond-shaped eyes blinked curiously at them; her dark pupils were massive. A thin brow and pointed chin gave her face a delicacy. She had the straightest and glossiest black hair that Fern had ever seen, resting just below her shoulders. Sam and Fern recognized the girl immediately.

“What are
you
doing here?” Sam stammered, still in shock that this familiar face had cascaded out of the tree.

“Nice to see you too, Sammy!” Her voice was chipper. Fern took in her red lips and round cheeks. All of her features seemed slightly exaggerated, but they came together to give her face sophistication rarely found in thirteen-year-olds. She turned to Fern.

“Fern, I’m Lindsey Lin, and it’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said, extending her tan arm toward Fern. Fern took Lindsey’s hand for her second shake of the night.

“I know who you are,” Fern said.

“I figured, but we’d never been formally introduced. I know Sam, here, because he’s in my math class.”

Anybody at St. Gregory’s would have recognized Lindsey Lin. She was Associated Student Body President for the middle grades, boasted more friends than almost anyone, and was the MVP of the volleyball team three years running. Lindsey Lin wasn’t just popular; she was a social force of nature. She was the kind of girl who could start the fashion of wearing underwear as a hat simply by doing it a few times.

She was also the person Fern and Sam would have guessed they were least likely to find at midnight getting closely acquainted with the inside of a tree on their street corner. Sam, unimpressed with the social icon in front of them, was all business.

“What are you doing here, Lindsey?”

“I was going to go meet you at the grove, but then I decided that we’d just be walking right back to your house, which seemed kind of pointless. I wanted to make sure you were actually going to come. The grove seemed so poetic, you know? But it wasn’t practical and I knew I couldn’t knock on your door, so I picked the tree and waited. I’ve been here for fifteen minutes.” Lindsey caught her breath. Fern had never heard anyone talk so fast.

“You sent the note?” Sam said. Fern detected the anger in his voice. Was this entire thing another prank perpetrated by one of the popular kids trying to get at Fern?

“Of course I sent the note,” Lindsey said. “Why would I be here if I hadn’t sent the note?”

“What did you mean by it?”

“I want to help,” Lindsey said. “I heard Fern’s disappearing story. My parents would kill me if they found out I was here, or I was messing with the ‘balance’ or whatever they call it, but I knew I just had to help. I just know you’re all right—that you’re one of us.” Lindsey’s beautiful smile radiated confidence in the dewy night. She put her hand on Fern’s forearm gently. “I don’t know how you got here, but you’re not the bad kind at all. You couldn’t be. Just look at you!” Lindsey then threw her arms up in the air, as if what she had just said followed normal conversational cues and logic.

“What is the bad kind? And why would your parents kill you?” Sam said.

“My parents are your stereotypical overly protective sorts. It’s a school night,” Lindsey said, waving Sam’s question off. “Look, I don’t have time to explain everything, but you have a dog, right?” Fern thought of Byron’s soft ears and bad breath. The McAllister dog’s specialties included lounging, licking and moping.

“Yeah,” Fern said, wondering how Lindsey Lin knew anything at all about her family. “Byron.”

“Good.” Lindsey said, thinking aloud and talking to nobody in particular. She stepped toward Fern and grabbed both shoulders with her hands. Lindsey’s breath was hot on Fern’s face. Though nearly a head taller, she was staring right into Fern’s eyes.

“You’re wearing contacts, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Fern said.

“What color are your eyes normally?”

“I don’t know. You’re the one who’s looking
at
them.”

“Are they gray?”

“People say they’re gray or yellow,” Fern said, wishing Lindsey Lin would release her. “The mean ones say they’re the color of snot.”

“I need to see your dog,” Lindsey stated quickly, barely processing Fern’s reply.

“You can’t do that. You’ll wake up the whole house.” Sam said, annoyed. “Why did you say you could help? Why did you say you know who Fern is?” Sam’s anger grew as he stared menacingly. The camouflage pants seemed to be going to his head. He wanted answers.

“Calm down, Sammy. I told you, I’m going to help, and I will help. But before I do that, I need to see your dog. If you’ve got a problem with that, I’ll turn right around—”

“No, no. Come with us. We’ll show you,” Fern said, not wanting to alienate Lindsey Lin. Fern couldn’t help staring at Lindsey as she and Sam retraced their steps back to the house.

“Jeez!” Sam exclaimed as he stopped completely.

“What is it?” Lindsey said.

“Look, another one,” Sam said, pointing down to the small, still object in the middle of the sidewalk. It was a dead bird. A swallow, in fact.

Lindsey crouched down to get a better look.

“Whoa,” she said. “You guys haven’t seen a really large condor flying around here, have you?” Lindsey asked, as her face grew white.

“There was one at our window the other day, yeah,” Sam said.

Lindsey’s eyes grew larger. Her face then changed back to its normal expression. “Yeah, me too. It must be lost or something,” she said. “That’s sad about the little bird. Cycle of life, though. Ob-la-di, ob-la-da. The night’s not getting any younger.”

She turned away from Sam and began walking again, challenging the twins to keep up with her.

The twins decided that Lindsey would wait on the porch while Sam and Fern scaled the tree. Once inside, they would sneak downstairs and let Lindsey in. Fern and Sam were terrified of what might happen should the Commander awaken.

They reached the front door and opened it.

“What are you waiting for?” Sam whispered urgently. Lindsey stood frozen on the porch.

“I haven’t been invited yet,” Lindsey said, in her cool and casual manner.

“You need an invitation to come in the house when the door’s already been opened for you?” Sam said in disbelief.

“It’s cultural,” Lindsey said, rolling her eyes.

“Come in,
now
,” Sam demanded.

“Thank you, I will. Gladly,” Lindsey said, smiling and snapping her head in agreement.

“Follow me,” Sam said, with a tinge of resignation. Sam thought that they were as good as caught. Fern and Lindsey followed him into the living room, where he shut the door to the kitchen in order to muffle the noise.

“Now, what’s this about?” Sam said.

“What Sam means, Lindsey, is what do you know about me?” Fern still couldn’t believe the most popular girl in school—a girl Fern wouldn’t have expected a slight nod of the head from as she passed by—was standing in front of her.

“Get your dog in here, will you?”

Sam, worn down, didn’t argue. He exited the room and returned, dragging Byron by the collar. At just over seven pounds, Byron couldn’t mount much resistance to Sam. He was, however, whimpering, ignoring Sam’s whispered pleas to remain quiet. Eddie usually slept through everything from earthquakes to fire alarms, but Mrs. McAllister was sure to wake up if she heard Byron’s high-pitched bark.

Fern looked at her brother and then at their guest. Lindsey’s face shone brightly, almost twice as brightly as Sam’s. The McAllister dog was silent; his dark eyes were focused on Lindsey Lin. Byron, more than ten years old, had short floppy white ears and white curly locks. Although he was old, Byron was known throughout the neighborhood for picking fights with animals three times his size. Mrs. McAllister would always say Byron didn’t recognize his own limits.

Lindsey grabbed Byron by the collar. She led him behind the couch and ducked down. Both McAllister twins lost sight of Lindsey and the dog. After three seconds, Lindsey popped up again. She still had Byron by the collar and led him out from behind the couch. Byron was whimpering with his head down to the floor.

“Fern, I want you to tell me what I just told Byron.”

“What?” Fern said, very confused.

“Tell me what I just whispered into Byron’s ear.”

“How am I supposed to know? You were behind the couch”

“Why don’t you ask Byron?” Lindsey said, still talking rapid-fire.

“How would he understand what you said anyway?”

“Because, I learned a few phrases before I came here tonight.”

“From who?” Fern fired back.

“I did some research.”

“Is this a joke?” Sam said, taking a confrontational step toward Lindsey.

“Ask him, Fern. Ask him and he’ll tell you.” Lindsey was focused, and she squinted at Fern as if she were looking at direct sunlight.

“How do you know about that?” Sam said, putting his finger right in Lindsey’s face. “Why are you here?” Fern could see Sam’s face turning red. If Lindsey hadn’t been a girl, she was sure that Sam would’ve wrestled her to the ground and demanded answers with physical force.

“Calm down, Sam,” Lindsey said with a coolness that made Fern want to trust her.

“How do you know about Fern and Byron?” Sam had never figured out Fern’s relationship with Byron, but since Fern had been six years old, she could teach Byron to do all sorts of strange things: run in circles, use the toilet, dance to Madonna, or climb the jacaranda with her. The dog followed Fern everywhere.

“You told him that you think I’m a Rollen,” Fern said quietly. Sam and Lindsey, who had both turned away from Fern, faced her. Lindsey Lin’s steely pout gave way to a huge smile.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sam questioned. “What’s a Rollen?”

“Not only can he understand me,” Lindsey said, still grinning, “but you can understand him. Just like I thought.”

“What is a Rollen?” Sam demanded. “Why have you come here?”

“How long have you been able to do that, Fern?” Lindsey said, ignoring Sam.

“I don’t know. I can hear his voice in my head and he can hear mine.”

“Fern,” Sam said, grabbing his sister’s arm, “don’t give her any answers until she gives us some!”

“From what I know, fully developed canine communication doesn’t kick in for another few years. You’re a prodigy, though, so you must be one of them!”

“One of who? What are you talking about? Do you realize how crazy you sound?” Sam said with muffled anger.

“Look, don’t mention that I came here. I don’t think I’m wrong about you, but if I am . . . I could get in a lot of trouble,” Lindsey said while reaching into her brown satchel. “Take these; then maybe you’ll believe me.”

“Believe what? You haven’t
told
us anything.”

“Believe that I want to help,” she said, and looked thoughtfully at Sam and Fern. “This round bottle is for your skin—rub it all over—and the square one has eyedrops for the mornings.”