The Otherworldlies (8 page)

Lindsey Lin handed Fern two white bottles. Each bottle was plain and fit in the palm of her hand. Both had W.A.A.V.E. printed on them in small ornate letters.

“Where’d you get these?” Fern asked, looking down at the bottles as if she held a magic potion in each hand.

“What is a Rollen?” Sam demanded as loudly as he dared. The door to the master bedroom creaked open. The three of them could hear the Commander prowling around upstairs. They froze instantly.

“Byron?” Mrs. McAllister called softly, hoping not to wake her children, whom she assumed were fast asleep. Byron went bounding up the stairs and into the arms of Mrs. McAllister. Lindsey, Sam, and Fern remained absolutely still, terrified that she might come down the stairs. They waited until their muscles cramped. After a few minutes, they heard the door to the master bedroom close.

“Use them; you won’t be sorry.” Lindsey Lin whispered at Fern. “You have a beautiful home,” she said, grabbing the front door with one hand. She gave Sam and Fern one last glance, opened the door, slipped out, then closed it behind her. Sam, thoroughly dissatisfied, wanted to run after her and drag her back so he could force Lindsey to talk. But the Commander was awake, and any noise now might tip her off. Instead, the McAllister twins exchanged disbelieving, confused stares.

Fern and Sam were both exhausted from the night’s activities. They ascended the stairs, Fern clutching her W.A.A.V.E. bottles, Sam sweating in his turtleneck and ear flaps, knowing they would figure out what to make of their midnight visitor in the morning. Things would be much clearer then. After all, they couldn’t possibly get murkier.

Outside, Lindsey Lin, the second stranger to grace the McAllister living room in one evening, made her way home under a pale blue moon.

Chapter 5
the haircut

S
ince Lindsey Lin’s late night visit to the McAllister home, St. Gregory’s had become a much less disagreeable place for Fern. Though Sam was fairly convinced that neither W.A.A.V.E. bottle was safe for Fern’s personal use, it was hard to argue with the results: It had been ten days since Fern had walked to school with the aid of her Breakfast Sunglasses. The same amount of time had passed since Fern’s tender snow-white skin had shown any effects of the scorching California sun. Fern might never be sure what was in the bottles Lindsey had handed over in the darkness of the McAllister living room, but she was convinced things would be better from now on.

Still, Fern’s status as a loner remained unchanged: At lunch she sat by herself, behind the outdoor stage, across from the multipurpose room, with a brief visit from Sam. Chapel was another of Fern’s alone activities. Sam always invited her to sit next to him, but every time she did, his friends would stare at her to the point that she preferred sitting by herself.

For the middle and upper grades, chapel was required. Every Tuesday students would file into the triangular stucco building in their formal wear. For girls, that meant a gray skirt, a white oxford shirt, dress shoes, and a blue sweater with the St. Gregory’s crest emblazoned on the right breast; for the boys that meant leather shoes, a navy school blazer, and slacks. On cold days, girls were allowed to wear pants. Fern usually chose to wear Eddie’s baggy hand-me-downs.

A round stained-glass window that looked almost the size of a baseball infield dominated the front of the chapel. Each morning the sun would rise over the Capistrano hills and its rays would hit the chapel window. For a person sitting inside, the backdrop of bright light made the saints depicted in the colored glass glow neon bright.

Everyone at St. Gregory’s called the steepled building a chapel, but one look disclosed that it was really much more. Ornately carved doors led to a cavernous aisle with padded, lacquered pews. Gold-threaded tapestries depicting some of the Bible’s most celebrated stories hung on the walls. The silver organ pipes lined the tops of the cement walls. The pulpit and the area behind it were more than worthy of the sacred rites performed by Mother Corrigan.

On chapel mornings, Fern would linger in the bathroom, watching the clock until she had exactly one minute to cross campus and slip into the back row after everyone was seated but before Mother Corrigan began her sermon. It was Tuesday again and Fern found herself waiting in the girls’ bathroom, counting down the seconds. She had nearly three minutes until it was safe to begin making her way across the quad to the chapel. The clock on the tile wall ticked and tocked at a slow pace.

When the door to the bathroom creaked open, Fern jumped and took shelter in the nearest metal stall. She waited, wondering who else would dare risk a detention by being late to chapel.

“Feeeeern,” the voice said. “We know you’re in here.” Fern lifted her feet up and sat on the toilet seat. Although she didn’t want to be right, she would know that voice anywhere. Lee Phillips had come looking for her.

“You may as well come out of that stall,” a second voice said. Fern recognized this voice too. Lee Phillips rarely went anywhere without Blythe Conrad.

Fern spotted two pairs of black Mary Janes under her stall door. Soon every wall of the stall began to shake. Lee and Blythe were kicking the doors open, one by one.

Boom. Boom. Boom.

With four stalls to go before they reached Fern, Fern decided to preempt the girls. She popped out of her stall and leaned against the mirrored back wall of the bathroom.

“What do you want?” Fern questioned as she raised an eyebrow. The two girls smiled wickedly at each other and closed in on Fern.

Now they were an arm’s length away from her. Both girls were nearly four inches taller than Fern, having already had their growth spurts. Their tan, slim legs were the envy of most of the girls at school.

“Oh, we don’t want much,” Lee said, flipping her strawberry blond hair behind her shoulders. Blythe reached into her book bag and pulled out a large pair of scissors.

“How come you always hide in here before chapel?” Blythe said, hissing, holding the scissors at her side. “You sneak in at the last minute and sit in the back row all by yourself. You think you’re too good to sit with everybody else?”

“No,” Fern said, a little puzzled and a lot worried. “I think nobody cares what I do.”

Blythe and Lee inched closer.

“You think you’re speeeecial,” Lee purred, “don’t you?”

“No, I don’t,” Fern exclaimed, backing up until she was flush against the wall. She glanced up at the clock. “If we don’t leave now, we’re all going to be late for chapel.”

“Oh, I’m sure you don’t have to worry about that. Why don’t you just disappear there?” Blythe asked.

“I didn’t disappear,” Fern said.

“Of course you didn’t disappear,” Lee said.

“What do you want from me?”

“We’re going to help you out by giving you a
special
haircut,” Blythe said, putting her fingers into the scissors and waving them through the air with menace.

“Something freaky for freaky Fern, no?” Lee said, smiling devilishly.

Fern pushed off the wall and bolted between the girls.

Blythe lunged at Fern’s hair, grabbing a fistful as she neared, yanking Fern backward. Fern grimaced, trying not to scream out loud. The skin on her scalp throbbed.

Lee gripped Fern’s shoulders and slammed her against the side of the nearest stall. Pain shot up Fern’s spine to her neck. She groaned and tried to twist free.

“Hold still,” Lee demanded. “You don’t want Blythe to accidentally cut something that shouldn’t be cut, do you?” Blythe pressed the cold blades of the scissors against Fern’s ear. Fern squirmed under Lee’s iron grip. Several locks of her jet-black hair fell to the floor.

“The problem with you, Fern, is that you’re a poser,” Blythe said as she snipped away. Lee was leaning with all her force against Fern, making it impossible to move.

“You’re going to get into real trouble,” Lee continued, “if you keep pretending to be you’re something you’re not.”

“I’m not pretending to be anything,” Fern said.

“We are
so
on to you, Fern McAllister,” Blythe said, raising her voice. “How does it feel to have nobody like you?”

They pressed up against Fern until she could hardly breathe.

“You are the only girl in school who doesn’t have a single friend!” Lee taunted with a nasty glint in her eye.

“You’re . . . ,” Fern said, struggling to speak as Lee and Blythe crushed the air out of her. “You’re both . . .”

“STOP THAT RIGHT NOW.”

Both girls’ blond heads whipped around. They released their iron grip on Fern, who slid down the wall into a heap.

Lindsey Lin stood in the entrance of the bathroom with her hands on her hips. She looked fierce. “What do you think you’re doing?” she asked, her eyes focused and narrow.

“We’re here helping Fern with a more stylish look,” Lee said with syrupy sweetness.

“I mean, Lindsey, take a look at her. Actually, I can’t stand to look at her, and that’s the whole problem,” Blythe added, talking quickly.

“It’s like she shops at a thrift store for thrift stores.”

“More like the trash in back of a thrift store,” Blythe quipped.

“If people are looking at her hair, they might stop looking at her pleated parachute pants,” Lee said, taking a swipe at Fern’s oversized slacks.

“Somebody’s already told Principal Mooney that you two aren’t in chapel yet,” Lindsey said without hesitation. “I’m sure he’s got his search team after you.”

“What? Did you rat on—” Blythe said, wide-eyed.

“Leave now and you might still make it,” Lindsey replied, unwilling to hear Blythe out.

Lee released her grip on Fern. She looked at Blythe. The pair stood in place.

“You have no idea who you’re messing with,” Lee said, pushing the swinging door open. “You may think of yourself as the class monitor, but this is personal.”

“Well, how’s this for personal,” Lindsey said, with glassy eyes and a steel grimace. “If you don’t leave the rest room right now, I’ll make sure Mooney is on you every hour of every day. You won’t be able to even write notes to each other without someone watching over you.”

Blythe rolled her eyes and sighed loudly.

“Come on, Lee. Fern stunk up the place anyway,” she said, holding her nose between her thumb and index finger and pushing on the exit door. Lindsey Lin may have been bluffing, but no one doubted the sway she had with St. Gregory’s administrators.

Oh,” Lindsey said as they brushed by her, “and Lee, why don’t you empty your pockets for me. Blythe, leave the scissors, please.”

“What?” Blythe glowered at Lindsey.

“Do it,” Lindsey demanded.

“Fine,” Lee said, turning her pockets inside out. Locks of Fern’s hair fell out of the pockets and to the ground.

“Gross,” Lee said. “Some of your nasty hair got into my pockets. I think I’m going to vomit.”

Lindsey held out her hand.

Blythe blew air upward out of her mouth, causing her bangs to float up from her forehead. She slapped the handle of the scissors into Lindsey’s open hand.

“I’m sure these have lice on them now anyway,” Blythe said, looking at Fern. The girls walked through the exit, and the door swung shut behind them.

Fern, in shock, gaped at Lindsey.

“Come on,” Lindsey whispered, pulling Fern by the arm into a stall. “We don’t have much time until the sweep.” Lindsey lowered the lid to the toilet and climbed on top. She waved at Fern to join her.

The door to the rest room squeaked open once more. Lindsey put her index finger to her lips. The newcomer’s footsteps echoed through the bathroom. Fern, flush against Lindsey as they both crouched on the toilet seat, remained statue still. She peered through the crack in the stall door. One of the campus supervisors, Ms. Mannitoli, was now standing in front of the pile of Fern’s hair. She wore a bright pink visor and had frizzy yellow hair. Ms. Mannitoli was known as St. Gregory’s most stringent enforcer. Legend had it, she once gave a student a year’s worth of detention for spitting his gum out in a planter.

The campus supervisor bent her knees for a closer look at the pile of black hair. Fern tensed up as Ms. Mannitoli moved her focus to the stalls, scanning underneath the doors for any sign of life. Fern could see her squinting inquisitively at their stall. Ms. Mannitoli straightened and took a few steps in the girls’ direction, then paused.

When Ms. Mannitoli walked down the row of stalls and turned around, Fern had to stop herself from sighing out loud. Soon the campus supervisor was out the door and on her way to some other important, detail-oriented task.

Fern collapsed on to the beige tiled bathroom floor.

“How did you know Ms. Mannitoli was coming?”

“Mannitoli always comes in and does a sweep of the restroom after recess,” Lindsey said, assuredly hopping down from the toilet. “She never looks in the stalls, though. Once she’s through, you can stay in here for the rest of chapel and not worry about someone finding you out.”

“You’ve hid here before?” Fern asked.

“A few times,” Lindsey said, casually.

“What about missing chapel?”

“They don’t take attendance in chapel. It would take too long.”

“But how’d you know I was in here?”

“I saw Lee and Blythe come in today, and you always stay in here before chapel, so I put the two together.”

“Oh,” Fern said.

“Don’t worry. It’s not like the whole school knows you come in here to hide.”

“Why did Lee have some of my hair hidden in her pocket?”

“I’m not sure. Those girls really have it in for you,” Lindsey said.

“Don’t you think that’s really weird?”

“Maybe they’re into Wicca and were going to put a hex on you or something—who knows?” Lindsey said, dismissively. She pawed Fern’s hair to assess the damage.

Lee and Blythe had cut three random hunks off in the back—at least five inches worth. Fern now had patches of long hair and patches of short hair. A shorter piece had been cut off the front, giving her half a forehead of bangs. If Fern hadn’t looked like a freak before, she was certainly closer to looking like one now.

“I don’t understand
why
they’re after me, though,” Fern said, feeling the back of her head for the hair that was no longer there.

“They’re jealous,” Lindsey said, as if it were obvious.

“Jealous! Jealous of
what
?” Fern questioned.

“Sit on the floor,” Lindsey said, taking the confiscated scissors from where she had tucked them into her skirt.

“Why?”

“Because I’m going to fix your hair.”

“Do you know what you’re doing?” Fern said, sinking to the floor just to the left of her chopped-off hair.

“Trust me,” Lindsey said, kneeling over Fern and beginning to snip furiously.

“How do you know they’re jealous?” Fern insisted as Lindsey worked away on her hair.

“Because you
are
special,” Lindsey said matter-of-factly.

Fern wanted to believe Lindsey, but she was convinced Lee and Blythe’s interest in her was a straight case of the school predators picking on the weakest of the herd. Fern’s mind turned away from Lee and Blythe toward other things.

“Lindsey, do you know who Vlad is?”

Lindsey stopped snipping and leaned over Fern’s shoulder so she could look her in the eye.

“How do you know that name?” Lindsey asked, astonished.

“I overheard a conversation,” Fern said.

“Whose conversation?”

“I hear these voices sometimes. At first I thought they were voices in my head, but I think they’re real people.”

“Vlad is a very bad man. Evil, in fact.”

“One of the voices said that he was looking for me,” Fern said, anxious to get all the information she could from Lindsey. “So who is he? How do you know who he is?”

Lindsey looked puzzled. She got behind Fern once more.

“Fern, I can’t talk about this with you right now.”