Days walking: 61
Demerits: 4
Conversations with Steffi: 6
Doos clothing acquired: 0
Monday morning Steffi and Fiorenze were hand in hand walking past my locker. Steffi gazed up into Stupid-Name’s eyes as if the answer to today’s Public Relations quiz could be found there. It was only first recess! Yesterday afternoon he hadn’t even known she existed.
“Fairy dung,” I said under my breath.
“I hear you,” Bluey Salazar replied. He has a dog fairy (all dogs like him even if they bite or pee on everyone else). I hadn’t noticed him at his locker beside me. “She’s not even my type, but whenever that fairy- fluffed Fiorenze is in the room I can’t look anywhere else. It’s so annoying. Gosh, she’s . . . it was so much better last week when she was out sick.”
“Oh,” I said. That’s why Steffi hadn’t known about Stupid-Name. She’d been sick all of his first week at school. Why couldn’t her illness have lasted, say, till the end of high school?
“You really think she’s pulchy?”
Bluey sighed. “Only when she’s around. There ought to be a law against a fairy like hers. Though I love what she’s done with her hair.”
Her hair was braided and the tips of the braids were dyed bronze—almost the same shade as her skin. Our standard uniform is a bronzey brown, so she was now bronze from head to toe with only her eyes and lips standing out. In no way did she look adorable, pulchy, or doos.
I grunted. “Must have cost a fortune.”
“She’s rich. I heard her grandfather was a king in one of the old countries.”
“I heard he was a bank robber,” I muttered, though I hadn’t heard that at all.
“It’s a pity she’s so stuck-up,” Bluey said. “You know, I think it’s been weeks since she spoke to anyone other than a teacher. It’s an even bigger pity she’s already got the new boy.” He sighed again.
“I thought you said you don’t like girls?”
“I know. The whole thing is so annoying!”
We watched Steffi lean forward and bounce two of Stupid-Name’s braids against each other.
Aaaarggh!
I was so ready to beat her about the head until her obnoxious, fragged, make- my- life- a-misery, doxhead fairy curled up and died. What was she doing with Steffi? My Steffi! Had she had six conversations with him since he started school? No, she had not! Fiorenze had never shown interest in a boy before. Not one. Why Steffi!? Other than him being the pulchiest boy I’d ever seen.
“See you,” Bluey said.
“Uh- huh,” I replied, staring at Steffi and Stupid- Name. They were definitely holding hands, which is an infraction. Stupid- Name was looking coy and glancing at her feet while standing so close to Steffi their fairies must have locked wings. Until now she’d been way too up herself to be linked with any of the boys at school. Though she’s always happy to let them carry her gear or buy her lunch or whatever. I’d never seen her holding hands with anyone before.
Steffi leaned forward and blocked Stupid-Name’s face from view. I couldn’t tell if he was kissing her or not, but it sure looked like it. But they couldn’t be that insane, could they? Being caught kissing on campus or off meant instant expulsion.
My fencing coach, Van Dyck, came striding down the corridor in the gold and brown jacket all the coaches wore. Sandra claims that Coach Van Dyck’s gaze is so intense she can set students ablaze. There are rumors that her fairy is a setting- students- on- fire fairy.
Adrenaline flooded through me. Steffi couldn’t be expelled! I’d just met him!
Without thinking about demerits or injuries I threw myself at the lovebirds, catching Steffi at the knees in a tackle that sent him crashing to the ground and Stupid- Name with him.
“Whoa!” Steffi began.
“You okay?” I asked, standing up, offering him a hand.
Steffi nodded. Stupid- Name sat blinking with her back to the lockers.
“What was that about?” Steffi asked.
“Charlotte Adele Donna Seto Steele!” Coach Van Dyck said, rushing up beside us. “Did you just attack these students?”
“No, Coach. There was a, there was a—”
“Wasp,” Stupid-Name finished for me, standing up. She started to describe the wasp’s huge dimensions.
“A wasp?” Coach repeated. “Which has now vanished?”
We all looked around for the non existent wasp. I was grateful that there were so many windows, making the wasp’s existence and disappearance slightly plausible.
“Apparently, Coach,” Steffi said. He looked confused.
Coach Van Dyck ran her fiery gaze over Steffi, then Stupid- Name, before coming to a rest on me. “Perhaps in the future, Charlotte, you might want to call out instead of tackling people?”
“Yes, Coach,” I said, waiting for the demerit.
Van Dyck held her gaze on me for several very long wordless seconds before walking away.
“Thank you,” I breathed, “for the wasp thing.” I couldn’t believe I’d gotten away without a demerit. “I wholly appreciate it.”
Fiorenze nodded, but didn’t look at me.
“No worries,” Steffi said. “But why did you tackle us?”
“Kissing,” I said. “It’s against the school rules. You could get expelled. If Van had seen you . . .”
“Really?” Steffi said, astonished.
Fiorenze stayed silent.
“Students aren’t supposed to engage in any public displays of affection.”
“How about that?” Steffi said, turning to Fiorenze. “A wasp, eh? Well done.” He kissed her cheek, then said, “Oops.”
Fiorenze looked down and then muttered something I couldn’t hear, which made Steffi laugh. He shook his head as if he could not believe how funny she was. It was wrong. Stupid-Name does not tell jokes. She is without joy or humor. Yes, covering for me was good of her, but I doubt she was thinking about it that way. She knew that kissing was expulsion worthy.
Doxhead.
I opened up my locker, remembered that my tennis gear was in the change room locker, and closed it again. Fiorenze finally disentangled herself from Steffi. As she walked past, I looked up, and for less than a second we stared at each other. I started to say something—it seemed weird not to—but she had already turned away as if talking to me, or any other girl, might make her head explode.
Why was she so stuck-up?
I stomped off toward the changing rooms, where Rochelle greeted me with a sympathetic smile. She was wearing black satin matching bra and panties, reminding me of how great her fairy is and how torpid mine is. She opened her mouth to speak.
“Don’t,” I said, holding up my hand in the universal sign for seal-your-lips-I-don’t-want-to-hear-it.
“She looks horr—”
I pushed my hand to within a fairy’s wing of her cheek. “Which part of the hand are you not comprehending?”
“The little finger. Also the lower part of the palm.”
I growled, opened my changing room locker, stared at my tennis gear, sweats, and tees in a crumpled stinking mess, and realized I hadn’t remembered to take them home to wash, or to bring in fresh ones. If I wore the pongy clothes, I’d score a demerit. And if I burst into tears on account of the general decrepitude of my day, I’d earn another one. Crying is vastly frowned upon. “Dung.”
“Erk,” Rochelle agreed, stepping back. “Those are on the nose. You can borrow some of mine if you like.”
As if. Rochelle is almost exactly twice my height. Okay, slight exaggeration. But to make it clearer: I am a teenytiny point guard; she is a correctly sized center. If I tried to play in her giant tentlike tennis uniform, it’d be a demerit. “Very funny.”
“What about wearing your fencing whites? Or your cricket ones?”
“Or your swimmers,” Sandra said, opening her own locker. Sandra Leigh Petaculo is my second-best friend at school. Her fairy is a serving fairy. No matter what, her tennis serves always go in. Coach Ntini predicts that with some real speed and power, she will be one of the best tennis players New Avalon has ever produced. She will certainly be one of the most sarcastic.
“Oh, yes,” I said, “everyone is laced with humor today.” Wearing incorrect attire is also an infraction.
“Except you, Charlie,” Rochelle said, giving me her big-eyed, are- you- okay/ can’t-you- take- a-joke look.
“Fairy fragger,” I muttered, pulling my fencing whites out. “Don’t laugh.”
Coach Ntini levied my demerit and noted that I was only three away from a game suspension. He did this without saying a word: he looked at my fencing whites sorrowfully, turned on his tablet, noted the demerit next to my name, slipped the tablet back in his pocket, and held up three fingers.
I looked down at my clothing and mustered up an expression of shock, as if this were the first time I had noticed what I was wearing.
“I’m sorry, Coach.”
“Your sorrow changes nothing; only your deeds can.”
“Yes, Coach.”
“Go.” He looked in the direction of Rochelle, Sandra, and the rest of the B-stream tennis squad, who were warming up.
I slunk off toward them, wishing there was a way to execute my fairy, not merely make her go away. If I hadn’t been stuck with her I wouldn’t be walking everywhere, and I wouldn’t have racked up demerits, nor would I be so knackered all the time that I kept forgetting to do all the stuff I was supposed to be doing. Like washing my clothes.
Doxhead fairy!