Trouble's Brewing (Stirring Up Trouble) (25 page)

“Yes.” No. I wasn’t sure. I wasn’t sure about anything anymore. I’d have to lose my powers or spend ten days in a horrible place and I’d accomplished nothing at all. A harsh penalty for dogs licking my mother’s face.

“I’m off then. The Council is particularly upset about your error in the potion brewing. They are concerned that your behavior was reckless.”

I nodded.

Finn popped back in at five a.m. with the news that the Council was considering my counterproposal and that they wanted me to leave by tonight for The Hospital.

“But there aren’t any guarantees?” Mom asked. “She could miss Christmas and lose her powers?”

“Theoretically,” Finn said. “I doubt that they will do that, but it is a possibility.”

They were punishing me. They could easily decide to take my powers anyway. “I’ll do it,” I said. “I have to try.”

Finn examined me and said, “We don’t know what your automatic punishment will be yet. We’ll have to make our final decision when we see what you’re dealing with.” He squeezed my shoulder. “Hang in there. I’m going home to catch some sleep. You should do the same. Call when you wake up. I’d like to know as soon as possible.”

I nodded.

“Thanks, Martin,” Mom said.

Hopeless, exhausted, and defeated, I climbed the stairs and collapsed into my bed.

When I woke up later that afternoon, I thought my vision potion had been reversed. I’d had twenty-twenty vision for years, but today I opened my eyes and instantly realized I needed glasses.

“Mom!” I screamed.

I heard the creak of bed springs and then a huge thump on the floor. Then some scuffling and the sound of running footsteps. Mom burst into my room. “What is it? What happened? How bad?”

“It’s my vision,” I said. “It’s blurry.” And there were faint lines in a strange pattern.

Mom, or the blurry blob that I knew to be Mom, jerked a couple of times as she looked at me. “Oh, my.”

My breath caught. “What?”

“You have bug eyes.”

I pushed her aside, jumped out of bed and ran to the mirror over my dresser. I had bug eyes. Gone were the human eyes with the black pupils and green irises. Instead, I had giant bug eyes that took up my eye sockets and ran onto my cheeks and up onto my forehead.

My reaction was to retch, and since I’d not eaten much, the result was dry heaves.

Mom rushed over to put her arms around me. “Calm down, sweetie. It will be okay.”

I retched again.

“Relax, Zoe. If you can make yourself calm down, this will stop.”

I focused on my mother’s voice and willed myself to get a grip.

She rubbed my back, and the comforting gesture began to work. I stopped with the dry heaves.

“It’s going to be fine. Remember, you’re headed off to do volunteer work tonight. You could be back to normal by tomorrow. Or Tuesday. How poor is your vision?”

“It’s weird. I can’t see that well, like I need glasses, but I can also see extra stuff.”

“What do you mean extra stuff?”

“The Band of Horses poster. It’s got another layer of color.”

“You mean it’s glowing? I think insects can see ultraviolet light.”

“It’s not glowing.” It was hard to explain. “It’s like another color, but I don’t have a name for it.”

“Interesting.”

I scanned the room, working to distinguish each item and figure out my limitations. “I can’t read. I can’t focus on the letters.”

“That stinks. Let’s try going downstairs. Can you see well enough to walk?”

“Yes. It’s weird, but I think I can.”

I held onto the railing going down the stairs. I felt somewhat off balance. Once downstairs, I walked around each of the rooms, moving slowly, noting the difference in how everything looked and working to reconcile what I was seeing with what I knew was there.

After a few minutes, I was less afraid of falling over as I walked. Mom had been walking just behind me, to make sure I didn’t hurt myself. “I’m okay, Mom. I can do it. I just need some more practice. You can sit down.”

“I’ll call Martin,” she said, rushing for the kitchen.

Ten minutes later, Finn arrived.

“Goodness, Martin. You look dreadful,” Mom said.

“Mother!”

“With those circles under your eyes, you look at least four years closer to your true age.”

“Something to consider, Annie. Perhaps I should skip sleep for a couple of weeks. I might find myself back to normal.”

I couldn’t help smiling.

Finn approached me. “Zoe, may I touch your face?”

“I’m not sure it is my face,” I said, “but go ahead.”

He used his hand to gently lift my chin. “Fascinating. It could have been much worse.” He released me and stepped away. “Can you walk to the kitchen and pour a glass of water and return to us?”

“I’ll try,” I said. I walked to the kitchen, removed a glass from the cabinet and went to the sink. My depth perception wasn’t so great, but I managed to fill the glass by guiding it with my fingers. I turned off the faucet, and then raised the glass to my lips. The motion was dizzying because I could see the glass coming at my face as if my peripheral vision was better. I took a sip, and then went back to the living room to share my experience.

“Maybe it won’t last long,” Mom said.

“It better not. I’m not going to be much help at The Hospital.”

“If all you can do is go from bed to bed and talk to the kids, you will be doing some good,” Finn assured me.

“I’ll fix some breakfast, and you two can practice,” Mom said. “How’s the stomach, Zoe?”

“I’m good.” To be honest, I kept looking at the houseplants by the window, and that pretty color that had no name was making me hungry.

“I don’t know whether to tell you this or not, Zoe.” Mom brought more clean socks, bras, and undies from the laundry room and placed them neatly in my suitcase.

“More bad news?”

“Not exactly. Your grandmother is coming down on Christmas Eve, and I’m going to talk to her about the things we learned about her mother.”

“And I’m going to miss it.”

“I know you’ll be miserable because you’re missing her visit, but I didn’t think you’d want to find out later.”

“You were right to tell me.”

“I’m worried about you, Zoe. Missing Christmas and going to a place like that for so long, without knowing a soul—”

“I’ll be fine, Mom. It won’t be that bad and it won’t last that long. I can do it if it means keeping my powers. I have to keep my powers.”

“Finn said you can text me twice a day. Make sure you don’t forget.”

“I won’t forget. You’re going to mail Milo’s present tomorrow.”

“I won’t forget.”

Oh my gosh. I fingered the charms against my chest. “Mom! I never showed you my present from Jake.”

I pulled out the necklace, and she held it as she examined the charms.

“He’s a good one, Zoe,” she said. “He knows you very well.”

“He knows about thirty percent of me. He doesn’t know about Finn, the potions, the toad slime, the Frog Fiasco.”

Mom put her arm around me and kissed me on the cheek. “I think you have plenty to deal with for now. Jake did well. He’s a great boyfriend. You should count your blessings.”

I nodded. “I know.”

Mom added my Nook, my Kindle, and my iPad to my bag even though not one of them was of any use to me with this vision. “I don’t think you’ll be insect-eyed for more than a few days.”

“I hope not.”

Even with the toiletries, the small duffel bag wasn’t full. “It seems like so little for ten days away.”

“I guess I’ll get used to wearing a hospital uniform.”

“Sure you will,” Mom said. “Oh, I forgot your nightgowns!” Mom rushed off to the dresser. She grabbed all five of my gowns and added them to the bag. “I hope you’ll have time to read at night. It might help you adapt and clear your head about what you’ve dealt with during the day.”

“I’m sure the three hundred or so books on these devices will hold me.” If I could get the trick of figuring out what I was seeing in time to use these crazy eyes to read.

“I added a few more, actually,” Mom admitted. “I thought you might want some more variety.”

“You put some self-help books on there, didn’t you?”

“Maybe some inspirational poetry and short stories.”

For all I knew, I might need them. “Thanks, Mom.”

“I know you’re not a kid anymore, but I thought it might be a good idea to pack something to snuggle with. Maybe one of your stuffed animals.”

I went to my bookcase and grabbed the Christmas bear from when I was five. He looked perfectly cuddly. I wasn’t above sleeping with a toy if it would make my sentence any easier.

Once we finished packing, I called Milo.

“I wondered when you’d finally call.” He’d already heard most of it. My mother had called Marjorie for moral support. “Anything I can do?”

“No, but thanks.”

“You’ll be okay,” he assured me. “And you’ll have great stories to tell.”

I probably would.

The last thing I did before going out to Finn’s car was email Jake. Mom decided I should tell him I was spending the time with my grandparents at an RV park in the middle of nowhere. I pressed send on my latest lie to Jake.

Riding to Atlanta in Finn’s Smartcar was an adventure. First, there was the speed issue. Finn had some residual slow-driving grandpa in him. Second, my vision disoriented me at this speed, and every passing car freaked me out. Third, there was his incessant questioning.

“Can you describe your near vision?”

I sighed. I’d already described everything about my bug’s eyes just about as well as I could.

“Is it bothering you that I’m recording this?” he asked.

“No.” I was all about science after all. I was tired, stressed, and I couldn’t escape the heavy feeling that I had disappointed everyone.

“You were talking about another color. Can you elaborate on that at all?”

Inwardly groaning, I did my best to explain the color. “And it makes me kind of hungry,” I admitted.

“Really,” he said, as another truck flew past us. “Fascinating.”

“Does this place look like a deserted insane asylum to you?” I asked Finn as we went through the entrance gate. “Or is that just from my buggy vision.”

“The appearance to the outside world discourages curious visitors,” Finn said. “Inside, you’ll find a fully equipped modern hospital facility. Remember that your appearance is also disguised while you are here in order to keep you from benefiting from the volunteer work.”

“Do I still have the bug eyes?”

“Yes, but you’re a stocky redhead.”

“Great.”

“You will go by the name Chloe.”

“Chloe?”

“It sounds enough like your name for you to answer to it.”

I guess.

Finn put the car in park and came around to open the door for me. Then he grabbed my suitcase from the trunk. “Don’t forget to text your mother twice a day.”

“You aren’t going in?”

“I have to send you in by yourself. You’re looking for Carly, the volunteer coordinator. She’s expecting you.”

I gave Finn a hug, holding on to him for a minute or two before I managed to pull myself together and say goodbye.

“Your mother will pick you up on the thirty-first,” he said.

I nodded. Then I turned toward the front doors, and rolling my suitcase behind me, walked toward my penance.

I stepped through the door to find myself in a busy, modern hospital. Nurses rushed through the lobby wearing the cartoon-embellished uniforms worn at any pediatrician’s office. An elderly lady sat at an information desk inside the door.

“Hi,” I said. “I’m here to see Carly.”

“Wonderful!” The lady beamed at me as if I were an angel instead of a delinquent about to serve her sentence. “Have a seat, and I’ll let her know you’ve arrived.”

I waited about ten minutes but didn’t stay seated. I couldn’t see much if I stayed by the door, so I walked around, watching parents walk through on their way to the cafeteria which was right off the lobby and doctors in white coats talking quietly to family members in the adjoining glassed-in surgery waiting area.

So far, The Hospital hadn’t proved to be frightening.

Carly was tall and thin with a big smile. “I can’t tell you how much your time means to us, Chloe. This is a horrible time of year for finding volunteers. Many of the parents have obligations at home with their other children, and we rarely have young people available to help out. The children and other teens do so well with the younger volunteers.”

“I’m excited to be here.” I was warming to the idea. It was nice to be needed.

“Grab your suitcase and I’ll show you where you’ll be sleeping, and then we’ll get you some uniforms to use.”

I followed Carly to an elevator and down to basement 3. The fluorescent lighting and white floors didn’t dispel the creepiness of being so far underground.

“We try not to use this floor for patients,” she said. “It’s not as cheerful down here without any natural light. So we use this wing for our volunteers.” She opened the door to room B3-91 and ushered me in. The room had a twin bed, a wardrobe, an adjoining bathroom, and a television mounted on the wall. “You can leave your things here. I’ll give you a key to the door so that you’ll have some privacy.”

She handed me the key, and I slipped it in my pocket. Then I set down my things and went to the hall, and she locked the door with her master key. “Now we’ll tour the facility and you can grab some lunch. You can pick up your uniforms after that.”

This place wasn’t so bad. It was lonely, and it wasn’t home. It wasn’t disturbing or frightening like I’d feared.

Moments after I’d had that thought, a boy with a giant elephant head walked slowly by us. He had some combination of traction and a walker which supported the weight of the giant head. I considered my bug eyes. I was lucky all right.

As Carly led me down the young children’s wing, I heard crying and then screaming. My chest tightened. How was I supposed to help out here when every noise and sight freaked me out?

Later I met Carly in the cafeteria to have dinner with the other volunteers. She was standing at a table where two guys and three girls were sitting. They all appeared to be teens or in their early twenties. They weren’t seeing me though. They saw a chubby redhead when they looked at me. All five of them stared at my bug eyes. I tried to pinpoint their punishments. One of the guys had lobster claws for hands. The other had an alligator tail that stretched out behind his stool for at least six feet. I couldn’t see anything wrong with the girls. Was I the only “bad” girl here?