This is really the story of a vacation I took in the South Seas, or mostly the story of my South-Sea vacation. Susan would say that it's ostensibly about my vacation. Don't worry if you don't know what "ostensibly" means... it will all become clear once I get underway.

---

 

1. What Ms. Gifford Said
 

Today is Wednesday. It's two days after Christmas. It's a week and a half since I was kidnapped and escaped.

Now I'm prisoner again, this time in my own house.

Don't worry, though — I won't be a prisoner for long. I'm going to get away pretty quickly. I've just got to tell you a couple of things... a couple of unpleasant things... that happened before my vacation started. You need to hear about them, or you won't understand what came after.

I've already told the story of my kidnapping; I'm not going to tell it again. This time I have a much stranger story — or maybe a couple of stories — to tell. They're all clumped together and connected, and it's very confusing. I'm pretty sure that it all makes sense in the end, but you have to know the whole story first...

Keep in mind that while I'm telling this story — or these stories — to you, I'm also trying to get the facts straight in my own head, and get it all written down before I forget any of the details.

This is really the story of a vacation I took in the South Seas, or mostly the story of my South-Sea vacation. Susan would say that it's ostensibly about my vacation.

Don't worry if you don't know what "ostensibly" means... it will all become clear once I get underway.

Unfortunately, before I can take off on my vacation, and tell you how and why I got to sail on the other side of the earth, I have to tell you about the mess here at home.

Let's start with Christmas.

Christmas was great. Christmas was mess-free. Christmas had snow, presents, unexpected happy surprises... It was peaceful and wonderful. My family and I finally felt settled and at home in our new house here in Flickerbridge, New Jersey. I was still more than a little freaked by what happened to me, but I was coping. I had help, professional help, help from friends like Susan (and even Maisie), and Mom and Dad were great.

The world and I were returning to normal. It was Christmas, after all! Full of hope and joy, turkey and mistletoe, glad tidings and jingle bells. Love, love, love. Peace on earth, goodwill to men.

At least, that was how it was until the day after Christmas. On that day, Christmas was officially over, and whatever it is that keeps the world sane and safe, broke down and fell to pieces. All the shattered pieces came and landed on my lawn.

My house was under siege.

I couldn't even peek out the window. Not even a tiny, tiny bit. Not even half an eyeball. If I did, lights would snap on and cameras would swivel, straining to catch any glimpse of me, even if it was just my eye or part of my cheek.

All the curtains were drawn, and all the gaps where the curtains met were covered with black plastic sheets. Well, okay, they're really garbage bags that Dad taped to the glass. The point is, no one could look in and no one could look out. A little sun seeped in at the edges, but we had a light on in every room. We didn't dare go out... well, Dad went out this morning: he had to go to work. I wanted to watch as he braved the crowd of reporters and cameramen, but there was no place that I could. He called later to say that it wasn't too bad; they didn't jostle him or block his car or anything like that. It was just a barrage of shouts, questions, flashbulbs, and bright lights.

We even had to unplug the phone. Luckily, during the first wave of reporters, Dad had picked up three throwaway cell phones, and that's what we used. Back then, during the first wave, we hadn't needed them, but we sure needed them now.

See, what happened is that when I escaped from the kidnappers, reporters came. They swarmed for three days, then left. That was the first wave. It was a little alarming, but thankfully brief, and I thought (with some relief) that my time in the media spotlight was over.

Once the reporters left, giving no indication that they'd ever be back, we had a quiet, peaceful Christmas. I was looking forward to the week ahead; I didn't have to go back to school until January 8, and I really needed that time to recover. My nerves were shot, and I'm only thirteen years old! I had some extra sessions scheduled with Mr. Angle, my therapist, and for once I was looking forward to seeing him.
 

In case you're wondering why the reporters came back and why there were so many more of them the second time — well, I had the same question, and I was going to ask Ms. Gifford when I saw her. Grace Gifford is the District Attorney, and I had an appointment with her that morning at ten.
 

---

 

Okay: deep breath! Let me get my bearings before we go on. I'm trying to get to the vacation as quick as I can... so what's still in the way? (1) I have to tell you what Ms. Gifford said, (2) I have to tell you about the secret passage, and (3) you need to know about the horrible dinner that Ida cooked.

Once I cover those three things, we'll be good to go — ready for the plane; ready to leave Flickerbridge far behind.

SO...
 

---

 

Mom was holding together pretty well. Not great, but she hadn't quite flipped all the way out. It seemed like all her tension and nervousness went into her hair. She looked half-crazed, but she behaved quite calmly.

However, she told Ms. Gifford, in a voice verging on hysteria, that there was NO WAY she could drive through the pack of reporters at our house and then through the second pack at the courthouse. She couldn't, and she wouldn't.

How could you blame her? Could you imagine my mother behind the wheel, me next to her, and nothing outside the car windows but a mass of shouting bodies? How would she know if she'd hit one of the them, or run over three or four?

Apparently Ms. Gifford couldn't blame Mom, either. She told her that a police car would pick us up and take us home.

Getting out of the house wasn't too hard. Two tall policemen flanked us, and warned us to keep our eyes straight ahead. "Don't listen to anything they say," one of them cautioned. "Tune them out. Just look straight ahead and concentrate on getting into the car."

The police cruiser brought us through a back entrance to the courthouse, so we bypassed the media circus on the front steps. As we waited for the elevator, Mom kept looking over her shoulder nervously. I just watched the floor indicator, with one hand on my stomach as the elevator inched nearer.

When at last we arrived in Ms. Gifford's office, she was at the window, peeking through the curtains.

"I've never seen so many reporters in my entire life!" she exclaimed, by way of greeting. "They're like a flock of sheep out there! Did you manage to get through okay?"

I shrugged. Mom just sighed.

We all sat down. Ms. Gifford clasped her hands on top of her desk and grinned at me. "Don't worry," she said. "It won't last forever. Just think: for celebrities, it's like this every single day."

"Yikes!" I commented. "That must be awful."

She froze for a minute and looked at me.

In that moment I understood: she was lapping it up. She loved the attention. Dad told me later that it was probably good for her career.

For me, it was a very different matter, and for Mom, it was just plain hell.

Ms. Gifford straighted her posture and got very business-like. "Marcie, let's talk about what's going to happen today. We're going to take your deposition. All that means is that you answer questions about what happened to you. I'll ask some questions and the defense will ask some questions. All that's expected of you is that you tell the truth."

"Fine," I said.

"This is important, so don't let yourself be rushed or get flustered. If you need to pause and collect yourself, do it. Remember: you'll be under oath, and your testimony today will be used during the trial."

"What?" I said. "I don't understand. Isn't this the trial? Isn't the trial today? I thought the indictment was the start of the trial."

She smiled. "No, Marcie. The indictment is the presentation of the charges. The trial probably won't happen until the summer. Right now we have to build the case and prepare for trial. The defense and I have a lot to do before then. It's even possible that we won't go to trial. They could agree to a deal, or plead out..." She stopped and took a breath.

"Okay, I get it," I told her.

We talked a bit more, and then went to a small meeting room, where we did the deposition. It took a long time. We broke for lunch and went back to it, and it wasn't until three in the afternoon that everyone agreed we were finished.

We went back to Ms. Gifford's office, and she asked her assistant to call for our ride home.

"Now, Marcie," she said, "your mother tells me that you don't have school next week. I hope I'm not out of line suggesting this, but if you have a relative in another state — a grandparent, an aunt or uncle, a close friend — anyone you could stay with, NOW is a good time to go. And by 'now' I mean today or tomorrow. Go away if you can. Get away, as far from Flickerbridge as you can go.

"You still have to get over what happened to you, and that's going to be hard with reporters dogging your footsteps. You should take off somewhere, go someplace, while you still can. Once the trial starts, you won't be able to leave town, so... in the meantime, you ought to jump at any chance to travel that you can find. Go somewhere that you can relax, and not look over your shoulder.

"A lot of the reporters are just here for the arraignment, so the crowd will thin in two or three days, but they won't all go, and once the trial starts, they'll all come back. Unless, of course, another big story knocks us out of the spotlight. But I doubt that's going to happen. So, Marcie, you and your mother better get used to it: you're going to be in the news for a long time to come."

"Why?" I asked. "Why is this such a big story? Doesn't this sort of thing happen all the time?"

Ms. Gifford's face went white for a moment. "All the time?" she repeated. "No, thank God! It doesn't happen all the time! Good lord!

"Marcie, this is a *very* unusual case. To start off with, a kidnapping is always shocking news. Kidnapping a minor is even worse. Thankfully, you got off without a scratch, but because you did, everybody wants to see and hear the brave girl and find out how she got through her ordeal. Understand? Already, just with that, you have a story.

"Then you get a twist: the real target was another girl, who happens to be your best friend. Add to that, the fact that this girl is an heiress, a skinny, blonde, thirteen-year-old with a trust fund. A future Paris Hilton? Now, it's even more of a story.

"Add to that, the fact that the kidnapper is Robert Strange, a police officer with more than 20 years of service.

"Add to that, the fact that Officer Strange is the brother of Mary Beth Strange, also known as Sister Honoraria, a person of high standing in our community, AND the principal of the high school that both girls attend."

Mary Beth Strange? I silently echoed. *That's* her real name?

"Then, add to everything I've said so far," she continued, making a motion with her hands as if she was gathering all those facts into a huge pile on top of her desk, "the fact that the girl who was kidnapped is a sort of teenage action heroette, who recently foiled a bank robbery — in which, incidentally, Officer Strange was also involved!

"If all of that wasn't enough, just consider the fact that you escaped your kidnappers by shooting your captor with his own gun — a man nearly twice your size — after which you locked *him* in the cell where he kept *you* prisoner, and then called 911, just as cool as you please!"

"I wasn't so cool," I said, cringing, and my face going pale. "I was scared to death." As I spoke, I had a vivid flash of myself, emerging from the cabin, filthy, trembling from the cold, teeth chattering, my hands barely working, and my knees knocking so hard that I could barely stand.

"It doesn't sound that way on the 911 tapes. You told the operator what to do; she didn't tell you."

Ms. Gifford took a deep breath. "Of course, there's more. Much, much more."

My eyes bugged. More? More about me?

Ms. Gifford paused and looked Mom and me in the face. "I'm not sure when this is going to become public knowledge... probably in a day or two, but neither of you should disclose it or make any comment on it. Understand? This is strictly in confidence.

"It turns out that Officer Strange has been abusing his power ever since he joined the force. Extortion, bribes, connections to organized crime... money laundering... even gun-running! Can you believe that? Gun-running in Flickerbridge!? It's like a dozen episodes of Law And Order rolled into one, in our quiet little New Jersey town! I've had to hire temporary staffers to keep up with all the paperwork!

"Once it became clear that this bad boy is definitely going to jail, people began to come forward. They're not afraid of reprisals any more, or they're emboldened by your example, or both, but in any case not a day goes by without some one, two, or three people coming forward to lodge a new complaint against that man.

"So," she concluded, "This is a story with legs. This is a story that seems to have no end. The more they look at the crook, the more bad things... shocking things... criminal things, they find. The more they look at you, the more amazing and heroic things they find. You were a busy girl back in California, too, apparently. Surprisingly, and most apropos, you aided in the capture of two kidnappers, one of them a wanted criminal."

She blew out the rest of her breath, and leaned back in her chair. "Don't be surprised if someone wants to make a movie about all this. Lifetime-television-for-women, most likely."

"What?" I said, going white again.

She looked at me in surprise. "Wouldn't you like that? Hell, I know *I* would! I'd have thought that any teenage girl would love to have a movie made about her!"

"Uh, not me," I stuttered.

"Really? You've never thought about which actress could play you? I have! I'm thinking Rose McGowan... for me, I mean — you know, Paige from Charmed? A lot of people tell me there's a resemblance."

"Um..."

"Just imagine, maybe your favorite actress could play you. Up on the big screen, or on TV! Wouldn't that be the coolest thing?"

"I guess," I said, feeling a bit faint.

"Marcie, are you all right?" she asked, concern in her voice.

"I don't know," I told her. "I'm seriously thinking about passing out."

© 2008 by Kaleigh Way

[OTHER STORIES]

"No, it wasn't that..." I hesitated. "It was Ms. Gifford..."

I wasn't sure how much I wanted to say. The real reason I was upset was all the media attention... what it might lead to. What it would have to lead to, if it kept up. If the reporters started looking into my life, they'd find out pretty quickly that I used to be a boy.

---

 

2. The Secret Passage
 

I didn't pass out, but I was pretty freaked.

Ms. Gifford seemed to think she could talk me into liking the idea of my-life-as-a-movie, but the more she talked about it, the more my anxiety grew.

Finally, she understood that she was only making things worse by talking about it. The tipping point must have been when I shrieked, "Can you PLEASE stop talking about a movie of my life?"

She was puzzled and a little shocked, but she dropped the subject.

"Okay," she said. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."

"Can we go home now?" I asked.

"Are you going to be alright?" she asked, sounding genuinely concerned.

"Probably," I said, putting my hand on my stomach. "I don't know. Can I get back to you on that?"

---

When we got off the elevator into the parking garage, we saw a familiar face.

"Theresa!" I cried, delighted to see her. "What are you doing here?" In case you don't remember, Theresa was the detective who took me home after the kidnapping.

She was wearing a very cool dark-gray pantsuit with a black blouse. "I'm your ride home," she told me. "Do you mind?"

"Heck, no!" I said. It's funny... I only met her that one time, but I feel so much affection for her, as if we were old friends.

"Good," she said. "I was in the building because I had to give testimony, and when I heard you needed a ride, I volunteered. Couldn't pass up the chance to see my favorite teenage crime-fighter!"

"Oh," I said, pulling back into myself a bit, as if her last few words had exposed a wound. I thought she didn't notice... she didn't seem to notice. But then, after greeting my mother, she looked down at me, and pulled me into a hug. I grabbed her tight and held on.

"Don't worry," she said. "You'll be okay, kid."

I sucked the tears back inside of me before they had a chance to come out, and smiled at Theresa. Gesturing with her arm, she said, "Come on, my car's over here."

While we crossed the garage, Mom whispered to me, "Why don't you sit in front, with Theresa?"
 

We pulled out of the dimly lit garage, back into daylight. Once we were underway, Theresa asked, "Was it difficult? You had your deposition today, right?"

"Yes, I had my deposition, but no, it wasn't hard." I said. Then, as an afterthought, "Well, sometimes it wasn't hard."

"It upset you," she offered.

"No, it wasn't that..." I hesitated. "It was Ms. Gifford..."

I wasn't sure how much I wanted to say. The real reason I was upset was all the media attention... what it might lead to. What it would have to lead to, if it kept up. Once the reporters started looking into my life, they'd find out pretty quickly that I used to be a boy.

"Grace?" Theresa asked, puzzled. "She didn't do something to upset or offend you, did she?"

"No, not really... not directly."

Theresa gave me a quick look, and a smile that said, You don't have to talk if you don't want to. But if you *do* want to talk, I'm listening.

Encouraged, I went on, "She kept talking about someone making a movie of my life."

"And that's what upset you?"

"Yes."

Theresa again kept silent. It was my choice to go on talking, or just shut up. I went on.

"I was afraid... I am afraid that all the reporters and other people might start digging into my life... and..." Then I stopped, because beyond that point, lay Mark, the boy I used to be.

"You're afraid they might find something that could embarrass you," Theresa offered.

"Yes," I said, happy to leave it at that.

"I understand," Theresa said.

Do you? I thought. How could you possibly understand?
 

Mom interrupted at that point. "Theresa, please don't take this the wrong way, because I know you're very capable... but there's only one of you, and there are so many reporters and cameramen back at the house... and..."

Theresa smiled. "I understand, Mrs. D," she replied. "Don't worry: I'm not going to be alone. A patrol car's meeting us at your house, and two big, burly friends of mine will make sure that nobody gets near either one of you."

"Oh, thanks!" Mom breathed a huge sigh of relief and sank back in her seat.

Theresa looked into the rear-view mirror at my mother's face for a long moment, then glanced at me. "Do you guys mind if I come in for a sec when we get to your place? There's something I want to talk to you about." She followed this with a reassuring smile directed at me.

"Yes, of course," Mom said. "You don't mind, do you, Marcie?"

"No," I said, smiling. "She's my favorite police detective."

"I'm the only police detective you know," Theresa countered, and I laughed.
 

---

 

Mom made us tea. The three of us sat at the kitchen table. Theresa cupped her hands around the hot mug, looking down at it. Her mouth was working slightly, as if she trying to figure out the best way to say something. Then she looked at Mom and me, and stretched her hand toward me, palm up. I put my hand in hers. It was warm, nearly hot, from the tea. She squeezed my hand, and kept hold of it.

"What I'm going to tell you," she began, "is something that Grace Gifford doesn't know yet. I've decided to tell her tomorrow. I wanted to tell you first.

"Sometimes I have to work for the district attorney... investigating, doing background checks, stuff like that." She paused for a moment, then said, "I think I know what's worrying you, Marcie: why you're afraid of the reporters... and why the idea of a movie scares you."

I stiffened, and she felt it through my arm, so she gripped my hand a little tighter.

"You're afraid they're going to find out about Mark," she said in an even tone, looking me straight in the eyes.

"But... how..." I faltered.

"You're the chief witness for the prosecution," Theresa explained. "Grace wanted to be sure that she didn't get any surprises. Imagine if you were sitting in the witness chair and she found out that you'd shot someone else in the foot two years ago."

"Is that legal?" Mom asked. "I mean, poking around in someone else's life like that?"

"I didn't want to do it. I often hate doing it," Theresa replied, "but the D.A. really needs to know. By the way, I was pretty impressed with some of the things you did back in Tierson. It was kind of odd when there was nothing before that."

I actually began shaking as I said, "So, if you know, tomorrow Ms. Gifford will know... then the papers will know—"

"Hold on there," Theresa said. "The papers, the media won't automatically know, and Ms. Gifford can't tell them. I'm just letting you know that *I* found out, and it wasn't hard. If the media starts taking a close look at you, it won't take them long to find out."

I looked at her wild-eyed. I heard her, but what she said didn't help. "It will be on TV," I continued. "My school will know, and Dad's job will know..."

"Everybody could potentially know," Theresa said, cutting it short. "Right."

"I kind of thought," I said, beginning to cry, "that I could just quietly be a girl, and no one would ever know... that I was... that I used to be... a boy."

To my surprise, Theresa didn't seem very sympathetic. She sipped her tea and waited for me to stop crying. Mom was also quiet, watching to see how things played out between me and the police detective. Neither of them spoke, neither moved to comfort me. So, it was a bit strange: it was like crying on a stage, with people just watching, interested but not involved. I cried quietly for maybe a half a minute, then stopped.

Mom said, "Theresa? I've never known your last name."

"Dandino. Do you want my badge number, too?"

"No," Mom replied quietly. "I was just curious."

"Marcie," Theresa said to me. "Listen to me. I've seen a lot of horrible things in my short career, and I've sat at a lot of kitchen tables, stood at a lot of front doors, and had to give some pretty bad news to some pretty nice people. And, quite frankly, I understand that you're upset, but this is really nothing. I'm not saying you're not entitled to have yourself a good cry, but then you've got to straighten your shoulders and go on. There are a lot of people a lot worse off than you. Remember that. You're young and healthy and attractive. You have a nice house, a nice family, and everybody thinks the world of you. Life goes on, you know? You're not the first transkid in Flickerbridge, and you won't be the last. At least you had a shot at nobody knowing who you used to be, but all the others had to change on the spot, in their schools, with the people who've known them their whole life.

"Maybe you ought to get in touch with them, find out what's it like. Realize that you're not the only one in your situation."

"Were any of those children — the ones you just mentioned — outed on national TV?" Mom asked.

Theresa froze for a moment, then admitted, "No, none of them have."

Mom nodded. She didn't need to say the rest: So it's not "nothing."

Theresa drank the rest of her tea, and said, "I just wanted to give you the heads-up, so you'd know it was coming, and not be taken by surprise."

"We appreciate that," Mom told her. "Thanks."

"If there's anything I can do," Theresa said, "call me. I don't know that there's anything I can do, but here's my card." She stood up and set a business card on the table. "Sorry to bring bad news, but anyway... just keep one thing in mind, Marcie: you're going to be alright. Remember that."
 

---

 

I sat in the kitchen alone while Mom made a phone call to Dad. I wasn't sure what to think. I had no idea how anyone would react. I guess I'd see tonight, when I'd tell Ida. She was one of the people closest to me. And I'd have to tell Susan. And the people back in Tierson: Eden, Jerry — oh, my God! Jerry. How would *he* take it? At least he wouldn't be able to break up with me over it — we'd already done that. Still, I had to tell him before he heard it from someone else. Even if it made him hate me. Would it make him hate me?

Mom came back to the kitchen with her cell phone in her hand. She'd never really been comfortable with one, and she held it as if it was going to bite her or explode or both. "Your father wants to talk to you," she said.

I put the phone to my ear. "Dad?"

"How are you doing, kid?" he asked.

"I'm alright," I said. "I'll be alright."

"Remember, your Mom and I are always behind you, with you, wherever we need to be, okay? We'll get through this together, alright?"

"Okay," I said, sniffling.

"Listen," he said. "I have to tell you something that has to remain a family secret."

"What are you talking about?" I asked.

"You cannot tell anyone, not even a hint. Do you understand?"

"I guess," I said hesitantly. I was mightily confused.

"Don't guess," he insisted. "Tell me you understand: this has to be a secret between you, me, and your mother. No one else. No one else on earth."

"Okay," I said. I still had no idea what he was talking about.

He took a deep breath. "Marcie, do you remember hearing that our house has a bomb shelter?"

"Yes," I said, "but it's walled off. We can't get into it."

"Right," he said. "That's not exactly true. In fact, it's not true at all. There's a secret door in the basement that your mother is going to show you tonight."

"Why?" I asked, more than bewildered.

He ignored my question. "I don't want you going down there, or taking your friends down there. Especially boy friends. Is that understood?"

"Yes, but why?"

"Your mother is worried about getting past the reporters tonight, when you leave to go to Ida's. She imagines — and she's probably right — that they're going to dog your steps all the way to Ida's house–"

"So what's that got to do with a bomb shelter?" I asked, bewildered.

"Here's the thing." He hesitated. "The bomb shelter has a second entrance, or second exit, however you want to put it. There's a secret way in and out of the house."

"NO WAY!" I shouted.

"Jeez! My ears, Marcie!"

"Sorry!"

"It's okay. Anyway, it comes out in a little stone outbuilding behind the hedge out back."

"Cool! But that's not our property, is it?"

"It is. We have an easement on the lot behind ours, and this is why."

"What's an easement?"

"Ask your mother later. I don't have time to explain. But listen to me, Marcie. I don't want you using the secret entrance at all, except for emergencies, and your mother feels that tonight qualifies. Each time you use it, you increase the chance of it being discovered, so it's better not to use it at all."

"Okay," I agreed. I was nearly jumping out of my skin. I couldn't wait to get down there and check it out!

"Once it's discovered, it's not a secret any more."

"Got it," I replied.

"Sounds like this bit of news has cheered you up a little," he commented.

"Yeah, just a little bit," I laughed. "Are you going to meet us at Ida's, Dad?"

"No," he said. "I'm going to camp out in a hotel near work tonight. Maybe tomorrow as well. We've got a lot going on, and running the gauntlet of those reporters morning and night would wear me thin.

"Oh, and one more thing: Did your mother talk to you about visiting my sister Jane until school starts?"

"No, she didn't!" I said. "Aunt Jane?" At first I was excited by the prospect, but then remembered that in a few days everyone in Tierson would probably know about Mark. Oh, well. Aunt Jane, Denise, and Alice already knew about me, and they were still my friends. I had the feeling that Eden and Carla would be okay... I stopped thinking about it right there. I didn't want to think about it any more. Not right now, anyway.

"We agree that it's a good idea for you to get away. If not with Jane, well, we have plenty of other relatives that would love to see you."

Would they? I wondered, blushing. Still... after that talk with Theresa, I wasn't feeling so... afraid and inadequate. Now I was curious. I wanted to see who would still want me, who'd be on my side, once they found out.

"We'll work something out, and we'll work it out soon, hopefully tonight." Dad said. "Now maybe you and your mother should go down to the basement and clean the secret passage: knock down the cobwebs, scare away the mice."

"Yick," I said.

"Everything has its price, Marcie," Dad said.

"Yeah," I said, "I know. Still, a secret passage!"

"Yeah," Dad laughed. "I know. It's a hoot, isn't it?"

© 2008 by Kaleigh Way

[OTHER STORIES]

"But what if it isn't?" I asked her. "What if it's not going to be alright?"

She took a deep breath and said, "Then we deal with it. Whatever that means."

---

 

3. The Princess And The Pea Sauce
 

There were no mice, or rats, or snakes, or people living in the secret passage, but it was dank and creepy. There were dim lights spaced along the way, which Dad had replaced when we first moved in. Mom told me that Dad had also cleaned it a little: just enough so that he and the building inspector could get in there.

At that time, Mom couldn't bear to even look inside, and Dad had taken an hour-long shower afterward.
 

Here is how the secret part of the house is set up: It's hidden behind the north wall of the basement. This wall, which is at the back of the house, is full of built-in cabinets and bookcases, made of thick, heavy wood. It's very solid stuff. You can knock on it all day, and never hear a hollow sound. Knock, and it sounds like there's concrete behind.

This is how you get inside: You open one of the lower cabinets and — crouching down — you reach inside, all the way to the back, inside the top, on the right. When your fingers find a metal ring (you can't see it by looking), you pull on that ring until you hear a springy plonk!, which is the sound of the catch releasing. Then you stand up, put both hands on the bookcase, and push.

The bookcase is on a track with rollers. It slides backward, into the wall.

Once you step through, you find yourself in an entryway. Straight ahead is the tunnel that leads outside. To the left is the huge heavy door to the bomb shelter.

"Let's leave the bomb shelter for another time," Mom said. "It's a huge room, and it's a mess. Someday we'll have to clean in there." She shuddered. "You can have a look tomorrow, if you like, but right now we have to clean this passage. We don't want to go to Ida's all covered in cobwebs!"

We'd put on our oldest clothes and tied big kerchiefs over our heads. Well, they weren't really kerchiefs. Mom cut up an old sheet, so the pieces would be long enough to hang down our backs. We didn't want any spiders (or worse) dropping down our necks!

Then, donning filter masks, rubber gloves, and safety glasses (you never know!) we attacked the tunnel. Before I went in, I tried to hang a can of bug killer on my belt, or stick it into my waist, but it didn't work. In the end I had to settle for leaving it on the floor behind me, and moving it with me as I went along.

The way we worked was this: I took an old broom, and walked step by step down the tunnel, swinging at all the webs and dirt. When I'd come upon a spider or other creepy thing, I'd bathe it with bug killer, until it ran off. Mom followed behind with the wet/dry vac.

Every so often my broom would get so hopelessly and disgustingly covered with spider silk and greasy dust, that I'd go back to Mom and have her vacuum it off.

We had to empty the vacuum cleaner three times. Yuck, yuck, yuck! Each time it was full of grossly compressed disgustingness mixed with greasy dust. I wanted to close my eyes when I touched it, but at the same time I wanted my eyes open to be sure that none of the dead spiders jumped out and ran inside my clothes.

Even though all we did was swing a broom and vacuum, getting to the end of the passage took a lot longer than I expected. When we finally reached the stop of the stairs that led outside, we had just enough time to quickly shower and change.

Once we were clean and dressed, we draped new pieces of sheet cloth over our heads, took a deep breath, and went inside.

The passageway was only wide enough for one person, so Mom led the way. At the end of the long, arched passage, was a set of stone steps with an iron gate at the top. The gate opened inward, and was secured by a chain and padlock.

Mom opened the gate, and let me go through. Then she took a small flashlight from her purse, switched it on, and handed it to me. She went back down the stairs, turned off the lights, and came running back up to join me. Now we were both standing inside the stone outbuilding.

"Your father grilled me on how to do this," she explained, as she replaced the chain and padlock. Then she turned to the door leading outside. It had a deadbolt lock, which she opened, and the two of us stepped into the cold evening air. There were no footprints on the ground where we were: it was a space between two hedges. Mom pushed the door closed, and relocked the deadbolt.

"Turn off the flashlight," she whispered. I did, and handed it to her. Then crunching through the snow, we made our escape through the driveway of the neighbors in back of us.
 

Once we reached the sidewalk, Mom slipped her arm through mine and smiled. I could feel the tension draining out of her.

"Oh!" she breathed. "We're free! At least for a little while, anyway. It's so nice to get away from those reporters and the cameras and the lights! I don't know how celebrities do it... I don't know how they can even live, if it's anything like this!"

"Yeah," I said. I was happy for her.

At the same time, my worries about the future were sitting in my stomach, gnawing at me. I knew how badly Mom had been freaking out, so I wanted her to enjoy this evening. I tried to banish the worry from my face. I decided to hide it from her, at least for tonight.

But she saw it. Even here, under the pale glow of the street light, she saw it, and the Mom in her rose to meet it. "Don't worry, Marcie," she said in a gentle voice. "It's going to be alright."

"But what if it isn't?" I asked her. "What if it's not going to be alright?"

She took a deep breath and said, "Then we deal with it. Whatever that means."

We started walking, very slowly, and after a few paces I said, "What about school? What happens when they find out?"

"Ah, school," Mom said in a funny tone. "Honey, I have a confession to make. When we came here from California, your father and I were pretty, um, well... frightened by all the things that happened to you... and so... we thought..."

"Oh, you didn't!" I said, as a sense of outrage rose in me.

Mom drew in a breath and gave me a concerned look.

"You did, didn't you? You already told the school!"

"Before you even came to New Jersey — yes, we did. I'm sorry."

"But why?"

"Well, we couldn't deceive them. The legal risk was just too great... also, we thought that if you thought that you might be discovered, it would make you more cautious..."

I twisted my mouth in chagrin. "You figured I'd keep a low profile."

She didn't laugh. She said, "Yes, that's what we thought. At least, that's what *I* thought. Are you angry with me?"

I walked a few steps, thinking. I wanted to be angry with her, but somehow I couldn't work myself into it. She walked beside me, quietly waiting for my verdict. "No," I said. "I'm not angry. I'm kind of glad I didn't know. Do all the teachers know?"

"Yes. The teachers, the staff, the administration. You're not the first... girl like you to go there, as it turns out."

"Really?"

"Yes, but they wouldn't tell me more. Obviously, they couldn't violate the confidentiality of the other girl..."

The *other* girl? Does that mean there's another girl like me at BYHS, right now? I filed that thought away for the future.

"I'm sorry we deceived you, honey. I'd understand if you were angry."

I took a few more steps, breathing the cold night air. So... the school knew. So what? "No," I said. "I'm glad. At least that's *one* telling out of the way. So... what about Dad's job?"

Mom gave a short laugh. "Well, there, I think, it won't be such a surprise. They already went through the Mark-to-Marcie switch once already. Some of them might have guessed... or at least suspect..."

That made sense. "I have to tell Susan," I said. "Maybe I could walk over tomorrow morning–" I stopped. I'd have a flock of reporters behind me if I did.

"You can't use the secret entrance," Mom said. "This is a special occasion — we needed to get away."

"I can call her," I said.

Mom knew that Maisie already knows... so, who's next?

"Oh, Mom," I said quietly. "I decided that I want to tell Ida tonight. Is that okay? What do you think?"

Mom bit her lower lip and looked at me.

"Oh, Mom!" I said, crossly. "Who else did you tell?" I was beginning to feel a little cheated. All this time, I'd been burdened with a secret, and now I couldn't even tell it, because everyone already knew! "Does every-frickin-body in Flickerbridge know about me?"

"Watch your language, young lady," she cautioned.

"Frickin's not bad," I said.

"It's too close to what you really mean," she said.

I sighed.

"Anyway...," Mom continued, "to answer your question, everybody in Flickerbridge doesn't know. Only Ida. When you went to sleep over at her house, I *had* to tell her."

"What did she say?"

"She took it in stride. I mean, she saw the moving men unload all those Mark boxes, and she knew I hid them in the basement. So..."

"Do all our relatives know?"

"Pretty much. All the relatives we could think of."

I didn't ask how they took the news. I could wait to find out.

All in all, it seemed like nearly everyone had already been told. Like I said, I felt cheated. I didn't get to tell it. Oh, well.

The only ones left to hear were the girls in my school, the people in my town, and the people who watch TV or read newspapers. I'd have to settle for that.

---

When Ida opened the door, her mouth fell open in astonishment. She let us come inside, then ducked out to look up and down the street.

"How did you get here?" she asked in a tone of surprise. "I expected a whole herd of people on your heels!"

Mom said, grinning, "We asked them politely to give us some space. We told them when we'd be back, and asked them to watch the house while we were gone."

Ida laughed. "Oh, you did not!"

"Okay," Mom agreed, as if she'd been joking. "Marcie is friends with a police detective named Theresa. She picked us up and dropped us a couple of blocks from here, so we could walk a little bit. It's the first time we've been able to stretch our legs since it all began."

"Oh, you poor things!" Ida said. "Here, let me get your coats."

"Mmm," Mom said. "Something smells good."

"Yes," Ida said proudly. "I've cooked dinner!"

"You did?" I asked, incredulous.

"Yes, I did!" Ida laughed. "I'm so proud of myself! I hope that you're both hungry."

As a matter of fact, we were. I almost told her that we'd worked up an appetite cleaning the secret passage, but Mom jumped in ahead of me and said that we did some heavy housecleaning, just to keep busy.

"Well, great! We can sit right down. I didn't make any hors d'oeuvres... I didn't get *that* ambitious. But I was SO embarrassed by... you know, when Marcie came over here and whipped up those delicious meals, just like that, like it was nothing... and I thought... well, I just HAVE to try. So, I apologize for making you two my guinea pigs. You have to tell me if it's bad! If it is, if it's terrible, we'll just toss it out and order in. Okay? So have a seat, and I'll serve up the dinner!"

Mom and I took our seats in the dining room. The table was nicely set, with a white tablecloth and napkins, crystal glasses, fine cutlery. There were two red candles on the table, and a bouquet of pink roses.

"This is beautiful, Ida!" Mom called. "It's so elegant!"

"Thank you very much," Ida gushed, as she returned with two plates. One for me, one for my mother. Then she went back to the kitchen for her own plate and a bottle of white wine. She poured a glass for herself and one for Mom, then poured water into mine.

"To good friends," she said, raising her glass. We all clinked and took a sip. While Mom oohed and aahed about the wine, I tried to figure out exactly what was on my plate. The green stuff had to be peas in some sort of greenish... pea sauce. But the other two things? One was a light gray. The other was a brownish gray, and had a distant resemblance to meat of some kind.

"Oh, salt and pepper!" Ida said, suddenly missing them. She ran into the kitchen.

"Mom," I whispered. "What is the gray thing?"

She glanced at me, a smile at the corner of her lips. "Which one?"

Ida returned before I could answer. I poked at the light-gray lump experimentally with my fork. Maybe it's mashed potatoes? Hard mashed potatoes?

"Oh, and there's homemade cheesecake for dessert!" Ida announced, her face a little flushed. "It wasn't *that* hard to make."

"Cheesecake is one of my favorite desserts," Mom said. "I'm sure it will be delicious."

I was still busy trying to figure out what was on my plate. Ida caught my look, and said, "Oh, no! Don't tell me you don't like liver! I should have asked! Maisie hates it, but I love it. I eat it every chance I get..."

"Oh, no," Mom assured her. "Marcie and I love liver. Don't you, hon?"

"Is that what that is?" I exclaimed. Then, realizing how it sounded, I added lamely, "I thought it was beef or something."

Ida recited the menu: "Chicken liver, mashed potatoes, peas."

Mashed potatoes, ha! I was right! That took care of the the two gray lumps. Great! Now that I knew what everything was, all I had to do was eat it. I looked it over and swallowed hard. There was no bread on the table, so I took another sip of water.

I wanted to make an excuse about having eaten a big lunch — Mom told me later that she'd had the same thought — but we'd both already declared that we had huge appetites.

And unfortunately for me, it was true: I was VERY hungry. Very, very hungry, *and* I didn't want to offend Ida.

So I started with the potatoes. Potatoes are the simplest thing. How can you go wrong with potatoes?

Ida had found the way. They weren't completely cooked. They were still crunchy and raw in parts, and they weren't entirely mashed. I took my knife and cut the lumps into the smallest pieces possible. Mom gave me a kick under the table and a warning look. I mixed in some butter and salt.

My plan was to line my stomach with the potatoes, then force down the liver, and drop the peas on top. How bad could it be?

After a few forkfuls of potato, I had to give it up. It was mighty tough eating. So I took a big bite of the liver. Ida was watching, so I smiled and made a MMM-mmm sound.

I love liver, but there is thing I call the Liver Limit. When you're eating liver — even if you like liver — at some point it begins to taste very mealy, like liver-flavored sand, or an edible concrete. Once you hit that point, you really need to stop, because you've hit the liver limit. It probably depends on the quality of the liver and how it's cooked. The way Mom cooks it, it's never mealy.

Ida's liver, on the other hand, started out mealy and just kept going. Sometimes nuts and apples get mealy. Maybe they dry up and get old, and when you put them in your mouth they break down to a sandy loam that sits on your tongue and doesn't want to be swallowed. Bah! That's what this was like. And if it was bad in my mouth, my throat and esophagus were not pleased with it, either. I managed to choke down three gobbets before I drained my glass of water. I noticed that Mom was cutting hers into itsy-bitsy pieces, and that she took a tiny sip of wine after each one. It seemed to be helping her.

"Um... do you think I could try some wine?" I asked, in a timid voice.

Ida smiled. "Oh, no, hon. Your body can't metabolize it yet. It would be like poison to you."

"Oh, okay," I said. But this dinner, on the other hand?

Alright. No help there. My stomach fluttered for a moment. It was trying to tell me something, and I wish now that I'd listened. I had a heavy feeling in my entire body, and involuntarily I sat up very straight in my chair. Was something going to happen? I waited, tense and anxious.

Then, suddenly... it passed. Maybe the food slid down my intestine or into my legs or something. I don't know. But once it happened, I was able to pick up my fork and begin again.

This time, I started with the liver, and made it disappear. I wondered what I'd been fussing about. The peas? Okay, so they were mushy. And the green sauce tasted like... hmm. I dipped some of the potatoes into it and ate it that way. It had a strange tang, like... hmm... like... oh! Like that strange orange drink, Tang!

I finished everything on my plate, which pleased Ida no end, and astonished my mother. She blinked at me but said nothing. I shrugged and told her, "I was hungry," while Ida was in the kitchen getting the cheesecake.

We could hear Ida singing to herself as she cut the cake. My stomach gave an ominous rumble. Mom closed her eyes, and I knew she was trying not to laugh. After a deep breath, she opened her eyes and put her finger to her lips.

"I wasn't going to say anything," I told her.

Ida returned with a large piece of cheesecake for me, and smaller slices for herself and for Mom.

Well, it looked like cheesecake. I took a bite. It didn't seem to taste like anything at all, but I still was pretty hungry, so I packed it away.

"Marcie, you certainly have a big appetite tonight," Ida observed.

"Oh, Ida," Mom put in, "I don't know what I'm going to do with this girl."

"What?" I asked. "What did I do?"

"To start with," Mom replied, "You forgot your shovel."

Ida started giggling.

"Oh, Mom!" I groaned. "Not this again!"

"Are you going to tell Ida that you liked her food? How would you even know? It sailed past your tongue so fast, you couldn't possibly have tasted it."

I sighed. I also noticed that Ida didn't try to bail me out, so it must have been true. At the same time I realized that Mom was trying to cover for the fact that she'd eaten so little.

In any case, we retired to the living room, where the women sipped coffee and chatted. I flipped through some of Ida's clothes catalogs. Every so often I'd show something to Ida and Mom.

Everything was quiet and relaxed. It was nice here... just the three of us. Dad was lucky he'd hadn't come; he would have been uncomfortable as the only man. I turned my head and looked out the window, knowing that at home I wouldn't be able to. I wondered whether Mom and I could stay the night...

Then, suddenly, Mom stood up and said, "Ida, excuse me, I need the little girls' room. That coffee went right through me." She hurried out. It was odd. For some reason, I looked at the clock. It was five minutes to eight.

Ida came and sat next to me. We talked about clothes, turned the pages together... we finished the catalog... and Mom was still gone. Ida glanced at the clock and said nothing.

"Maybe she fell in," I suggested, and we giggled.

Finally, after thirty minutes, Mom returned. Ida moved back to her armchair, and the two women left me to the catalogs.

That's when my torment began. Silently but forcibly, I felt the contents of my stomach turn over. It was like someone went in with the heavy machinery, the earthmovers. I had to keep myself from gasping, because I had an abdominal pain like I've never felt before — it was worse than appendicitis.

A sweat broke across my forehead. I put both hands on my belly. It was hard, like a beach ball full of lead. The pain was so bad that I squeezed my eyes shut. When I opened them, Ida was gone. I heard her in the kitchen, doing something with the coffee cups.

"Mom," I whispered, "We have to get out of here as soon as possible."

"Don't be impatient, honey, ..." Mom began, but I cut her off.

"This cheesecake is going to tear a hole through my stomach," I told her, "and I don't know what will happen when it does. We've got to LEAVE. I am NOT kidding."

Another spasm hit me. I clutched my gut with both hands and softly cried, "Ah-hoo-eee!"

Mom said, "Don't be so dramatic. We'll leave soon, but I don't want to be rude to Ida."

"Okay," I whispered, "but if I explode into tiny pieces, don't say I didn't warn you."

© 2008 by Kaleigh Way

[OTHER STORIES]

I felt like a pregnant woman. I held my stomach (which felt enormous) with both hands, and took small, waddling steps toward the kitchen. With every step, I let out a little grunt, groan, or whimper.

---

 

4. Concrete That Expands
 

Mom picked up a magazine, crossed her legs, and started reading. I couldn't believe it! I was in deep digestive agony, and she thought I was being dramatic.

Ida was still pottering around the kitchen, singing to herself. Groaning, I raised myself to my feet, hoping that maybe if I moved a little, things might get better inside of me.

I felt like a pregnant woman. I held my stomach (which seemed enormous) with both hands, and took small, waddling steps toward the kitchen. With every step, I let out a little grunt, groan, or whimper.

"Oh, stop it," my mother told me in a low, unsympathetic voice.

I stopped moving and looked down at her. "If I wasn't in so much pain," I told her, "I'd have something to say to you. But I am, so I don't."

My mother wasn't really listening, so she didn't get it. She turned a blank face toward me and asked, "What did you say?"

"Forget it," I groaned, and went back to my waddling.
 

When I finally arrived at the kitchen, Ida was just closing the refrigerator.

"Watcha doin'?" I asked. "Do you need any help?" I hoped with all my heart that she didn't, because at that moment, standing and talking to her was all I could manage.

"Well," she replied, "I was just about to wrap up that cheesecake so you could take it home with you. You polished off your piece like it was nothing, and I don't dare keep it in the house, or I'll blow up like a balloon."

While I, on the other hand, will blow up like an oil refinery, I thought, but of course I didn't say it. I just smiled and felt a bead of sweat run down the full length of my spine.

"I'll just wrap it up and put it in a bag for you two," she continued. "You go on back with your mother and I'll join you in a moment."

I worked my way back to the couch. Mom was still reading.

"Mom... MOM!" I whispered. "Can you help me? I can't bend. Will you help lower me down to the couch?"

She scoffed, but rose to her feet and held one of my arms so that I could ease down, like a plank, to rest diagonally with my feet on the floor and my head on the arm of the couch.

"Thanks," I sighed. "Ach... that cheesecake... it's like concrete that expands."

Mom gave me a warning look.

"I won't say anything!" I protested.

"You don't have to," she replied, drily. Then she went back to her chair.

I began to do Lamaze-style breathing. It seemed to help. Mom shot me a look, so I quit.

Ida walked in, smiling, and set a little carrying bag by the front door. She tilted her head to the same angle as mine, and asked, "Are you comfy there? You don't look comfortable."

"Oh," I groaned, "That dinner of yours made me SO sleepy. I can hardly stay up."

"I'm glad," she said.

Mom clicked her tongue in disapproval. "Ida, I'm sorry to eat and run, but this one has been complaining about being tired all the time you were in the kitchen. I better take her home and put her to bed."

"That's alright," said Ida. "I'm glad you two could make it."

After some hugs, and compliments on the dinner, Mom and I were alone again, and walking home. Mom carried the cheesecake. I carried my poor bloated belly.

We walked in silence, until we passed a trash can. I heard Ida's cheesecake fall heavily inside as Mom let go of the bag, and I wished I could drop my inner cheesecake as easily as that.

I sighed heavily. "Oh, Mom," I groaned, "that cheesecake is really killing me! Maybe we should go to the emergency room!"

She scoffed. "There was nothing wrong with that cheesecake! I feel perfectly fine."

"You only had two bites! AND you were in the bathroom for a half an hour!"

She was silent for a time, then admitted, "That cheesecake... it did have a taste like — what's that stuff you use for patching walls? Spackle."

I couldn't laugh, I was in such desperate pain.

"Mom, what was that tang in the... the pea sauce? There was this kind of sharp taste..."

"I don't know... I was thinking about that. Honestly, I think she used some sort of oil, some sort of very old oil, in there. When oil gets old, it gets rancid. And the... liver..." Mom belched slightly and excused herself. "I'm not saying it had gone bad, but today might have been the very last day that it could have been served."

At the thought of the liver, I whimpered slightly. I put my hand to my stomach, which by now seemed as large as a weather balloon. From deep inside, near the tops of my legs, came a roiling and gurgling sound that didn't promise anything good. Massive, hot, acidic bubbles churned up from below, broke through the tectonic plate of cheesecake, and erupted in an abrupt, rock-shivering belch.

"Oh, really, Marcie!" Mom protested. "Next time, if you can't hold it in, at least have the decency to turn your head!"

It smelled terrible. If I wasn't afraid of letting go of my stomach, I would have waved it away from my face.

A wave of desperation and nausea washed over me. My salivary glands kicked into overdrive. Involuntarily, I clutched my stomach tighter with both hands and shouted, "Mom, I have to get home, quick!"

And I took off, running.

"Marcie!" Mom called from behind me. "Marcie, wait!"

But I didn't wait. I couldn't wait. Something bad — something VERY bad — was about to happen, and I wanted it to happen at home, not on some stranger's lawn.

I kept running, like a mad juggernaut. The whole time, bubbles of gas noisily made their way through my internal plumbing. I whimpered like Maria Carey's falsetto, but I kept my face pointed home, and kept my legs moving.

It was difficult, because each jarring footstep shook the dangerous mixture inside me, making an explosion increasingly imminent. At the same time, I knew that standing still was no solution: the explosion could come anyway, anytime. I felt like a volcano packed with nitroglycerine — and a tactical nuke buried far down below the magma and the nitro. And a couple sticks of dynamite, too, tossed in like cinnamon sticks. Shaken, stirred, and set afire.

I heard my mother's voice from a half block behind me: "Not that way, Marcie! We can't go in the front door! All the reporters are that way!"

"I don't care!" I shouted. "It's the shortest way! I have to go!"

When I was two houses from home, I stopped to catch my breath. For the moment, there was silence in my inner world, and I looked ahead of me. The reporters were camped all around, waiting, chatting with each other, smoking cigarettes, standing on our lawn and in our driveway. It was insane.

Some calculating part of me realized that all of them thought I was inside the house, so I had the element of surprise in spades.

Mom caught up with me. She, too, was out of breath.

"I can't go round the block, Mom," I told her. "I can't. I have to get inside as quick as I can."

"Alright," she said.

"Look," I told her, "They all think we're inside. We can walk up along the curb, and if anyone recognizes us, we can make a run for it. They won't expect it, so they won't react in time."

Mom nodded. "Slow, then fast. We can make it." She got her keys in hand, and put the front-door key between thumb and forefinger. "Ready?"

I nodded. She took my arm, and the two of us walked up the street as naturally as we could. It was working: you could see the reporters actively ignoring us. It must be something they learn, to avoid being bothered when they're out on the job.

It was like being invisible. To them, we were just another pair of curiosity seekers: they filtered us out of their awareness. No one recognized us, no one bothered to look.

In fact, none of the reporters or cameramen even looked at each other. Weird. It was as though each news station was pretending to be the only ones there.

We stopped in front of our steps, the ones that go up the lawn to the front door. It looked far, especially with the toxic load I was carrying.

Mom gave me a grim look, clutched the front-door key firmly, and said, "Let's go."

When our feet touched the first step, there were slight tremors in the camp. A few people stirred, as if they were waking up.

Still, in their estimation we were probably just neighbors. The neighbors had been nice, dropping off food, even flowers, or just stopping by to wish us well, to welcome us to the neighborhood. Then there was the bonus (for our neighbor) of a possible few moments on television... sometimes a mini-interview. (Oh, yes, they just moved in, but they're the *nicest* people! And it's shocking what happened to that girl!)

We were halfway to the door, but no one stirred. We still hadn't registered in their minds. I felt as if everyone was asleep, in a fog, or frozen in suspended animation. But then, something happened to wake them up.

A low rumble rocked my inner world. It was part of my body's early warning system. Just as I passed a cameraman who slouched in a lawn chair, a powerfully evil and noxious gas slid silently out of me. From the burn and smell of it, I imagined it to be a sulphurous yellow, and the man cried out in offended surprise.

What he actually said was, "Hazmat!" (It took me a while to figure it out.)

When she heard him cry out, Mom thought we'd been recognized, and in a bound she was at the door. I'd swear she cleared six yards in that jump! In a single stroke, she had the key in the lock and the door open. I hurried after her, and when I got close enough, she grabbed my arm and propelled me inside. I looked back toward the lawn, and saw shocked faces, like people disturbed in their sleep, and some of them fumbled uselessly with their cameras, but none of them got there in time.

Mom slammed the door and noisily locked it.

"Wow, Mom!" I said, well and fully impressed. "That was amazing! I didn't know you could move that fast! Really!"

I would have gone on, but she turned to me, trembling and breathing hard. She was scared.

"Mom...," I began, "I'm sorry... I'm sorry this is so hard for you..."

She cut me short. "I thought you were desperate for the bathroom," she said.

Right on cue, the cheesecake-rock twisted inside me. Even Mom was alarmed when she saw the face I made.

I tore off my coat and boots and stumbled to the bathroom, dropping clothes along the way.

After forty minutes of agony, I finally felt some degree of inner peace, and Mom helped me get upstairs.

Halfway up, I stopped and told her, "Mom, I think I understand the pain of childbirth."

She bit her tongue.

---

Later, after she'd tucked me in, given me some cool water to drink, and fluffed my pillow, she sat on the edge of my bed.

"Oh, Marcie," she sighed. "What a life we live!" But she smiled as she said it. "Are you feeling better?"

"Yes," I said. "I think I got it all out of my system." I lay still a moment, mentally searching my body, seeking out the spots where the cheesecake could still be hiding, but there didn't seem to be any trace of it left.

I looked at Mom. She seemed a bit more relaxed.

"Hey, Mom," I asked her, "How come the cheesecake didn't get to you?"

"It did," she replied. "But remember, I only had two bites. You ate a very large piece. You practically swallowed it whole. AND you ate every bite of Ida's dinner. I only picked. Maybe the wine helped, too. The alcohol might have killed or neutralized whatever made you sick."

I chuckled. "AND you spent some time in the bathroom."

She sighed. "Marcie, do we have to talk about that? You're not nine years old, you know. Besides, I wanted to talk to you about something else–"

"Oh, that reminds me! Remember how you said you told Ida, because I stayed overnight? Does that mean you told Susan's parents, too? 'Cause she stayed over here?"

"Ah," Mom said, as she adjusted to the abrupt change in topic. "No, we didn't tell Susan's parents. For one thing, we never talked to them directly — in fact, I don't know whether they even speak English. Besides that, given your emotional state at the time, we just wanted her to be here with you.

"I hope it won't become a problem. At the time it seemed like the right thing to do."

I murmured in agreement. We'd have to see. I'd tell Susan tomorrow, and then we'd take it from there.

"ANYWAY," Mom continued, "As I was saying–"

"Did I interrupt?" I asked.

"Yes," Mom replied, "and you've just done it again. As I was saying... Ms. Gifford was right about your getting away. I talked to your father about it earlier, and he agrees. He said he'd call your Aunt Jane tonight, so we'll see in the morning if you can stay with her... unless there's somewhere else you'd rather be? Someone else you'd rather stay with?"

"Maisie?" I ventured.

"Could you stay with her?" Mom asked.

"I don't know," I said. "I could ask. I don't know what it would be like."

"You'd be safe there," Mom offered.

"Yeah, that's for sure." Maisie's father lived in Llewellyn, a gated community. The press had never seen Maisie, because they couldn't get in. If I was there, no one could see me, either. "I wonder if Susan could come with me," I mused.

"There's a thought," Mom said with a smile. "We can find out all of that tomorrow, and see how soon we can slip you out of here. I'm hoping you can go tomorrow... get you out of here as soon as possible."

"Tomorrow?" I repeated.

"Try to see if you can come up with any other relatives or friends that would be good possibilities. There's my sister..."

I stiffened.

"She's not so bad," Mom said reproachfully.

"Didn't she do all kinds of mean things to you when you were growing up? She was always whacking your butt and bossing you around, wasn't she?"

"Well, yes, but that's what older sisters do. You're lucky you're an only child." As she spoke, Mom gave me a strange look.

"What does that look mean?" I asked her.

"What look?" she asked.

"Do I have a brother or sister off somewhere that I don't know about?"

"No, honey. No evil twin, either. There's just you; you're the only one."

"Good," I said, and burrowed down into the covers. I only meant to blink, but it turned into a long one: my eyes were closed for several seconds. I almost drifted off.

"You look exhausted," Mom said.

"Yes," I mumbled. "That cheesecake really took its toll on me."

"Alright," Mom said, turning off the light. "We'll figure out where you're going tomorrow. Have a good rest. Sweet dreams!"

© 2008 by Kaleigh Way

[OTHER STORIES]

Cameras flashed, and the crowd surged forward around her. I had to move fast, or they were going to cut me off.

"Get out of the way!" I shouted. "Can't any of you jackasses help her? What's wrong with you? She might be hurt!"

---

 

5. Blue Water
 

When I woke up, the sun was shining. In fact, it was pouring into my room as if it were midsummer rather than midwinter.

I blinked at the brightness, and moved my tongue around the inside of my mouth. It was dry, very dry. My tongue felt like a rough, old, dry scrap of burlap.

I didn't move for a while. I felt empty inside, thankfully. All the cheesecake had gone away. I wasn't hungry, or even all that thirsty, but I did have to pee.

If it wasn't for that, I would have stayed where I was. Staring at the ceiling was all the self-improvement I needed at the moment. And yet... Maybe nature makes us pee so we don't sleep our lives away, I reflected.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed, sat up, and looked around the room.

The clock said one, which meant it was already afternoon. I'd slept for 13 hours! Maybe more... I didn't feel like doing the clock-math at the moment.

When my feet touched the floor, I looked down at myself. Were these really the pajamas I wore last night? I searched my memory, but couldn't even remember getting into bed. The pajamas were white with pictures of tiny red apples, like polka-dots. Did I even own a pair of pajamas like these? They were cute — a little *too* cute — and they did have a bright-white newness... Mom must have bought them recently and helped me into them last night, while I was too ill to notice and protest.

There was a big blank in my memory. I could remember saying something to Mom on the stairs... I remembered her talking about my going away... but nothing else.

I had been really sick last night.

But now... What was the deal with the sunlight? All my curtains were open. Why would Mom do that? We'd been keeping them closed so the press couldn't see in, and here Mom had thrown them as wide as they could go.

I suppose it wouldn't have been hard for her to open them without being seen from below...

And the sunshine was nice... it was just a bit much for someone still waking up.

I blinked and wished for sunglasses. All this brightness seemed like the wrong way to go. Considering how badly I felt last night, wouldn't Mom want me to sleep late? After all, I was on vacation, and it wasn't like we could go anywhere, or had anything to do.

I closed my eyes, but the intense brightness shone right through my eyelids.

It was nice and too much at the same time.

Okay, okay...

By now my brain was slowly kicking into gear, putting two and two together: Sunshine, open curtains... Mom must want me to get up, but didn't want to actually wake me.

And *that* probably meant that she and Dad had found a place for me to go, to get away from here.

I stood up, and felt very light, like a helium balloon. I liked the feeling. Until I began to feel light-headed. I took a few deep breaths...

... which only made things worse. I sat back down heavily on the bed.

I rubbed my nose and cleared my throat. As if that was her cue, Mom walked in.

"Hello, Sleeping Beauty," she said. "Are you feeling better?"

"Yes," I said. "I guess. I'm cheesecake-free, at any rate."

"Well, I'm glad to hear that!" she replied, with a huge smile. "Do you see what a beautiful day it is?"

"Yes," I replied, "blindingly beautiful."

"I just couldn't resist," she gushed. "I can't open the curtains downstairs, but I opened them in every room upstairs."

"Great, Mom," I murmured, still not fully awake. Still, even in my stupor, I could see that Mom was acting very suspiciously. "What's up?" I asked her. "You look awfully happy."

"I may be!" she said, in a mysterious tone. "I just may BE awfully happy. Do you feel up to breakfast?"

"I dunno. Maybe just my tea and some toast."

"I can bring it up to you. Why don't you take a bath? It'll help you feel better."

"Okay," I agreed, and was just asking myself which to do first, when Mom cut into my thoughts.

"You can have your breakfast in the tub. How's that sound?"

"Luxurious," I replied. What had gotten into Mom? She was more puzzling by the minute. "Um, Mom, I don't want to look a gift horse in the mouth or anything, but seriously: what's going on? I mean, like, who are you, and what have you done with my mother?"

She laughed lightly. "Listen, I'll start the bath and go down to make your breakfast. Then, when I bring it up, we can talk. Okay?"

"Okay."

She left to forestall any more questions. I rubbed my eyes and stood again. This time I wasn't dizzy, so I softly padded into the bathroom, where I studied myself carefully in the mirror. "Time to take inventory," I announced. My hair... it looked slept on. "Slept-on hair, check," I said. "Sleepy eyes, check." I opened my mouth, checked my teeth, and breathed into my palm. "Morning mouth, check." Then I felt my breasts. "One pair boobies, check." I slid my hands down behind me. "One pair buttocks, check." I pulled on my ears, scanned my face for pimples (none!) and got undressed. "Optional extra equipment, check."

The water was good and hot, and I could taste the bath salts. Nasty, but good for the skin. And the bath felt SO good. After ten minutes, Mom came in with a tray, which she set on the floor next to the tub, then went out to get a chair for herself.

The word breakfast made my digestive system cry out in alarm, but the reality of it was very soothing. Toast was exactly what my tummy could handle, and the tea restored me to life.

While Mom was away, getting her chair, I draped my washcloth over my private area because... well, because it's private! If I'd had the operation, I wouldn't have minded Mom seeing me naked, but as I was, it was a thing I wanted to keep to myself.

She settled her chair between the sink and the bathroom door, sat herself down, and looked me over. "You look a lot better than you did last night," she said.

"I *feel* a lot better, too."

"You look relaxed."

"So do you, Mom."

She smiled. "Stop saying what I'm saying," she joked.

I laughed and came back: "*You* stop saying what I'm saying."

Then she told me, "You know, I'm thinking that you got sick last night because of all the tension here."

"Really?"

"Yes, you kept holding your stomach, all the time we were at the courthouse."

"Oh, was that yesterday? It seems like weeks ago!"

"Mmm. It was yesterday."

I sat up, gobbled down half a piece of toast, and took tiny sips of tea. Tension? *Mom* was the tense one, not me.

"Anyway, Mom, that terrible food made me sick, not tension. I'm not tense."

"I think you are," she insisted. "Just think about all that's happened to you in the last four months: you decided to become a girl, you had a serious operation — AND the appendectomy — you moved twice... no, THREE times, started two new schools, plus all the crazy things that happened, to say nothing of the... ah... recent... business..."

"The kidnapping," I supplied.

"Yes. And now, the press is camped outside, night and day..."

I sighed. It would be nice to just shut it all off for a while. "I hope I *can* get away, like Ms. Gifford said."

"Good!" Mom said. "I was going to suggest exactly that."

"Well, yeah, I know," I said. "We talked about this last night."

"No," Mom said. "This is different. This is new."

I frowned. Was she making any sense?

"How would you like to go a South-Sea island?" she asked. "A place like Tahiti or Bora Bora?"

I scoffed, "Is Bora Bora even a real place?"

Then I took another look at her face. "Mom, are you kidding?"

She smiled.

"You're NOT kidding!? This is for real? A South-Sea island!?"

"No, I'm not kidding! Isn't it the wildest thing? Your father called this morning with an offer that came through Rhonda Means." [Rhonda Means is my father's boss.]. "If it wasn't for *that* — I mean, if it hadn't come through *her* — I don't think we'd consider it at all, but both your father and I think it's a great opportunity for you. That is, of course, if you're willing to go."

"So what exactly is the offer?"

"Well! It turns out that when Rhonda was your age, she went to a Catholic girls school, too, and this one, I forget its name — Saint Doma or Dooma or something —" she waved her hand dismissively "—anyway, some of the girls from that school are going on a team-building vacation for a week, going sailing in the South Seas. They'll fly to Hawaii, and from there to some little island, and get on a sailing ship. Does that sound like fun?"

I scratched my forehead. "What does it all have to do with me?" I asked.

"One of the girls got sick and can't go. When she saw you on TV, she thought you might want to get away... well, one thing led to another... Rhonda's a very active fund raiser for the school, and one of the organizers of the trip called her."

"Why?" I asked. This sounded kind of suspicious to me.

"The newspapers mentioned where your father works, so this man... person... organizer called Ms. Means and asked if she knew him.

"Anyway, the long and the short of it is, you're invited! What do you think about that?"

"I'm... I'm touched," I said. To think that a girl who didn't even know me would want me to have her vacation... "Can I really go?"

"Yes!"

"What do I have to do?"

"Just be ready when they come to pick you up!"

"When?"

"They're going to come by at six to pick you up."

"At six? Tonight? That's only four hours away!"

"It's five hours away," Mom replied calmly. "Don't worry! I already packed your bag. I did it while you were sleeping. They gave me a list of things to bring, so it's not as though you would have packed anything different..."

"It's so sudden..."

"Yes, it is, but we agreed last night that you need to get away today. The reporters won't be able to follow you, and once you're gone, maybe they'll all leave. By the time you come back, hopefully something else will be the top story, and we can all get back to our humdrum, ordinary lives again."

I hesitated. I was sure there were dozens of reasons that I shouldn't go, but my brain jammed... I couldn't think of what those reasons were.

The main problem was that it was happening so darn quickly... I wanted some time to think!

"You should go, honey! Just think: sunshine, fresh air, warm sand, blue water..."

"Okay, okay," I said, "I'm sold!"

Then after a moment: "Wait a minute... blue water?" That didn't sound right.
 

I looked at the What To Bring list, and checked the bag Mom had packed. I found the sunblock that she forgot, and a big blue jar of skin cream.

Then I took a smaller, carry-on bag and added a few things, like sunglasses and a set of lighter clothes that I'd need when we landed.

There was still enough room in the bag to slip in a notebook, two pens, and two magazines: Redbook and Cosmo.
 

Once I was ready, I called my father to say goodbye. While I was on the phone with him, I saw my mother across the room, fiddling with my carry-on. I couldn't see what she was up to, so I made a mental note to check the bag before I left the house.

"Try and have a good time," Dad said. "Leave the craziness here: don't bring it with you in your head. Try to forget your regular life and enjoy the new experiences."

I bit my tongue. It was always cute when Dad got philosophical, but rather than tease him, I said, "Thanks, Dad. I'll try."

"Have fun," he said. "That's the only requirement. Okay?"
 

Mom and I had an early dinner together. She was so excited, you'd think she was the one who was going! Flitting around like a crazy bird, she fussed over everything.

After dinner, the two of us sat in chairs by the window. I know it was silly, since the drapes were closed. We couldn't look out (on account of the press), but what else could we do?

"I'm so excited!" Mom gushed. "I've got gooseflesh! I'm SO nervous! Aren't *you* nervous, Marcie?"

"No," I said, "I think you're using up all the nervousness for both of us."

She laughed and ran over to hug me. She was beginning to worry me: she was too wound up! Mom was so over-the-top that it made me calm and cautious. I felt like I had to keep my eye on her.

"Are you sure you're going to be alright while I'm gone?" I asked her. The woman was positively giddy.

She laughed as if I'd said the funniest thing in the world. "Yes, MOM!" she cried, and let off a stream of giggles. I shook my head.

Then it hit me. "Hey!" I said. "You're not glad that I'm leaving, are you? Is that why you're acting all silly and happy?"

Her eyes got as big as they could go. "Oh, no, honey! I'm going to MISS you! It's just that I'm so GLAD for you—"

"Okay, okay," I said, dismissively. "It's alright. I don't mind."

She scoffed. "Honestly, Marcie! Your own mother! I have never—"

Whatever she was about to say next was canceled by the bell. I mean, the doorbell rang and interrupted her. Mom dashed to answer it, and I heard a strange, creaky, young girl's voice ask, "Does Marcie Donner live here?"

Mom invited her in, and I walked over to meet her. The girl was short — about five-two — had long, straight brown hair, and brown eyes. She was thin, and wore wire-rimmed glasses. And, she had a very friendly smile.

"Hello," she said to me in her funny little voice. In a sudden flash, I knew what her voice reminded me of. Do you remember the Wicked Witch in The Wizard of Oz? "All in good time, my little pretty!" Well, imagine what her voice would have sounded like when she was a teen, and that was the sound of my visitor's voice.

Except that this girl had nothing wicked about her: she was sweet and funny and cute, and I liked her right away. She looked a little nerdy, but she was *very* self-assured.

She introduced herself in a single breath: "My name is Hedwig Wetherwax. I know it's an odd name, so please call me Wiggy. Everybody does, and I know it's a funny nickname, but it's a lot better than Hedwig."

"Wiggy?" I repeated. It was about the only word I caught from her rapid-fire delivery. The way she talked, piling words pell mell on top of each other, made it hard to take in what she said. She talked faster than I could hear! I mean, faster than I could listen.

"That's me!" she agreed. "You must be Marcie." She pumped my hand the way you'd jack up a tire.

She was, in a word, quirky, but I liked her right off.

Wiggy took another breath and fired off another salvo: "I must tell you that I'm not typical of the girls who'll be on this trip. I don't know how much you've been told—"

"Almost nothing," I said, managing to fire a few words into the stream.

"Ah," she said, stopping for a moment. "Well!" Now that I'd interrupted her momentum, she was at a loss. She turned her shoulders to the left and right a couple of times. She smiled, thought for a moment, found her place, and began again.

"They're cheerleaders," she said, as if that explained everything. "I can give you the lowdown in the car."
 

I gave Mom one last hug. She glanced at Wiggy and smiled at me. "She's nice," I whispered. "I like her."

"Good," Mom replied, her eyes twinkling.

"Don't laugh at her," I whispered. "At least she's not a cheerleader!"

Mom hugged me again. Wiggy boldly pulled open the front door.

At first, the sight was overwhelming: our walk was crowded with cameras and lights and sprinkled with microphones.

My first thought was of the Oscars and the red carpet. My second thought was about how I was dressed.

Wiggy stood directly in front of me, so no one could see me — at least, they couldn't see my face.

She looked down at the expectant crowd, put her hands on her skinny hips, and in a loud, high, squeaky voice, that little girl bellowed, "ALL RIGHT! BACK IT UP! That's right! I'm talking to YOU! Back it up there! People coming through!"

And oddly enough, wildly enough, they backed up! The reporters cleared the walk, so we could leave.

"It's like Moses and the Red Sea," I told Mom.

"I wonder whether *I* can do that?" Mom mused.

Wiggy turned, picked up my carry-on bag, and stepped outside. She walked directly into the bright lights, the flashing lights, the shouts and questions, as if was something she did it every day of the week.

I followed with my heavy bag, more than a little disoriented. It seemed like Wiggy was in charge — and not just of me, but of everything.

"Where are you going, girls?" was the question that echoed and re-echoed in the many voices around us. "When are you coming back?"

"Coming through!" Wiggy squeaked. "No comment! Nothing-to-say-at-this-time! Coming through!"

I looked up at the reporters. Their heads were jerking back and forth between Wiggy and me. They weren't sure where to look or who to talk to. Who was this pipsqueak, who had suddenly taken charge?

When we got to the top of the stairs, I could see a sleek black car waiting for us. It would have been easier if he'd pulled into the driveway, I thought, the way the police did. But, oh, well! In a few minutes we'd be away from here.

Wiggy paused at the top of the steps, and turned, one hand holding my bag, the other on her hip.

"We're leaving!" she announced, but I never found out what more she intended to say. She lost her footing and tumbled down the stairs. It was more of a bumpety-bump-bump than a roll, and it hurt just to see it. My carry-on bag rolled down after her, and landed on her stomach when she stopped at the bottom.

"Ooof!" she grunted when it hit her.

Cameras flashed, and the crowd surged forward around her. I had to move fast, or they were going to cut me off.

"Get out of the way!" I shouted. "Can't any of you jackasses help her? What's wrong with you? She might be hurt!"

I fought my way through, pushing some of the cameras roughly out of the way, and hitting people right and left with my suitcase.

By the time I got to the bottom of the stairs, Wiggy was on her feet and straightening her glasses nervously.

"I'm okay," she said in a small voice.

"Let's get in the car and get the hell out of here," I told her, and that's exactly what we did.

© 2008 by Kaleigh Way

[OTHER STORIES]

She paused, aghast at a sudden thought. "You're not a cheerleader, are you?"

"No," I said. "Never have been, never will be."

"Oh, good!" she cried, with obvious and immense relief. "I mean... not that there's anything wrong with cheerleaders!"

---

 

6. The Manly Thing
 

"Are you sure you're okay?" I asked her for the third time.

"Yeah," she pouted, stretching the "yeah" into two long syllables. "I'm fine. I always do things like that. I think I have everything in hand, and then I just spazz out. Sorry."

"Why are you sorry?" I asked her. "You saved me from that crowd of hyenas. It was amazing, the way you bossed them around. Even my mother was impressed."

"Really?" she said, brightening up. "Thanks! It's nice of you to say that!"

I was going to say that I wasn't being "nice," it was just the plain truth, but she spoke first.

"Do you mind checking my clothes again, to make sure nothing's ripped or raggedy or ruined?"

"Sure," I smiled, and Wiggy got up, awkwardly half-standing inside the car, turning every which way.

"You're good!" I announced, after brushing off an imaginary bit of dirt.

"Thanks," she smiled.

"So...," I prompted, "Cheerleaders?"

"Oh, yeah!" she said, remembering. "This trip is for the cheerleaders, and no, I am not a cheerleader." She paused, aghast at a sudden thought. "You're not a cheerleader, are you?"

"No," I said. "Never have been, never will be."

"Oh, good!" she cried, with obvious and immense relief. "I mean... not that there's anything wrong with cheerleaders! One wouldn't want to stereotype!"

"Of course not," I agreed.

"But they are so stupid," Wiggy confided in a low tone. She peered over the top of her glasses to see whether the driver heard. He wasn't listening. "I mean..." she huffed.

While she was talking, Wiggy pulled a piece of paper from her bag. She glanced at it before she handed it to me. "Anyway," she said, "here is the roster."

Across the top, in big dark letters, were the words: THE AMAZONS.

"Amazons?" I asked.

"It's the name of the squad," Wiggy explained. "National small-squad champs. Small squads are up to ten members. We have nine."

"Does that count you?"

"Pull-eeze! I'm the manager! Do I look like a cheerleader?"

"Oh! But, hey — aren't you guys from an all-girl school? Who do you cheer for?"

"Yes, we're from St. Oda's, and yes, it's an all-girl school. The Amazons cheer for St. Servaas', which is a all-boy school."

"Okay," I said. Then I looked over the roster Wiggy had given me, and here is what it said:

Captain: Mirina Manley

Tilda Knickerbocker (Knickers)
Iske Hoogaboom (Boogers)
Renske Onderdonk (Donkey)
Katrien Keese (Cakey)
Jetske de Graaf (Graffy)
Veerle de Groot (Grooty)
Romy Wubbels (Bubbles)
Belle Dubois (Ding-Dong)

Manager: Hedwig Wetherwax (Wiggy)

I felt a bit disoriented, reading that list. First of all, the names where unlike anything I'd ever seen before. Most of them, anyway. And then...

"Wiggy, these things in parentheses... are they..."

"Nicknames? Yes."

"But... but... these nicknames aren't just bad... they're mean!"

Wiggy shrugged. "It's part of being on the team. Mirina gives everybody a nickname, and it's like, uh... a red badge of courage, or something."

"Ugh. And how come Mirina doesn't have a nickname? Is she special?"

Wiggy pursed her lips. "Yes, Mirinia is special. I'd better give you the lowdown on *her* before we get to the airport." She glanced at her watch.

"I mean...," I went on, scanning the list again, "the only half-way normal nickname on here is Bubbles. No offense."

"None taken. Ironically, Bubbles is the only one who won't be here," Wiggy told me. "She's the one who got sick and had the idea of your going instead."

"Hmm. Can you give me her address, so I can write her a nice thank-you note?"

"Sure." She smiled. "So, anyway, about Mirina. Everything begins with Mirina, everything revolves around Mirina..."

"Why?" What was odd was that Wiggy wasn't complaining or mocking. She was just describing.

"She had the idea for the cheerleading squad in the first place. She had the idea that it stay a small squad, so it could compete against small squads. She had the idea for the name, and her father is the one who supports the team."

"Supports as in gives money?"

Wiggy gave an emphatic "Yes!" She gestured at the car, which was quite luxurious and roomy. "He's paying for this car, for example. He's paying for the trip. He plays for the uniforms (plural), the workout clothes, the jackets, transportation, special coaches, everything."

"Wow."

"Yes. And let me tell you, 'wow' doesn't begin to cover it. As long as Mirina is captain of the team, the money keeps coming, for pretty much anything we can justify as cheer-related."

"And is Mirina any good?"

"As a cheerleader? Yes, she's very good. And she's a natural leader. I mean, like I said, she's not smart, but she knows how to get people to do what she wants."

"And why are *you* involved, Wiggy?"

"Me?" she smiled coyly. "I'm involved because I've found a way to get something out of it."

"And that is?"

She smirked a little. "This is just between us, right? Well, I'm the manager, which means I get to book competitions. I find them, and I book them. If I can, I send us to places that *I* want to go, and I schedule side-trips to see the things that I want to see. I tell the cheerleaders that the side-trips are the educational or cultural part of the trip, so they think it's the school's idea."

"And so?"

"Well! It makes them not want to go! They usually skip the side-trips, and I get to go by myself!"

I pictured Wiggy being driven somewhere in a car just like this, a doorman helping her out, Wiggy eating an elegant lunch, going to a show...

"And it turns out that I need a very slick computer to keep track of equipment, bookkeeping, the schedule... and morpegs."

"Morpegs?"

"M-M-O-R-P-G? Massive Multiplayer Online Role-Playing Games," she laughed.

"What do online games have to do with cheerleading?" I asked, more than a little confused.

"Nothing!" she said, tossing her head a little. "It's what *I* get out of cheerleading."

"Oh!" I said. "Now I get it!"

"Yes," she agreed. "But like I said: don't tell anyone."

"I won't," I laughed. I was really beginning to like Wiggy. "But, wait... there was something I wanted to ask you, Wiggy... it was... oh, yeah! Does Mirina have a nickname? Or is she too special?"

"No," Wiggy smiled. "She has many nicknames, all variants of the same idea, and she hates them all, so you could say she has the *worst* nickname.

"Her last name is Manley, so we call her her manliness, or the manly one, or the manly girl, but mostly we call her your manliness or her manliness."

"And is she manly?" I asked.

"She was born Manley," Wiggy giggled. "But no, she's not manly at all. She's very girly. She hates the manly thing, but she can't really object, because she gave those nasty nicknames to everybody else."

"Yeah," I said. "I don't think I can call a girl Donkey or Boogers." I looked at the list again. "The name 'Knickers' isn't so bad..."

Wiggy giggled like mad. "You know what? Knickers means 'panties' in England."

"Really?" I asked. "Why?"

Wiggy shrugged.

"Do the girls know that?"

"No," Wiggy replied, "they have no idea. Which reminds me: I keep looking for a competition in the UK that we could go to, but it never works out. But, listen, don't ever call them the girls. You always have to refer to them as The Amazons, or just Amazons, or you'll get a lecture."

"Okay," I agreed. It seemed like a small price to pay for such an expensive trip.

"Anyway," Wiggy said, "The girls will *want* you to call them by those nicknames. Mirina's probably going to give you one, too, come to think of it."

"Hey," I said, gently teasing, "You just called them 'girls'."

"Yeah," she agreed, "but not to their faces. I only do that when I'm mad at them."
 

---

 

By the time we reached the airport, Wiggy and I were talking like old friends. The poor driver had to put up with our shrieks of laughter and my cries of astonishment.

Wiggy gave me the lowdown on all of the girls, but I kept mixing them up. I did get a few salient points, though: Graffy and Grooty looked like twins, although they weren't related. All of the girls were extremely feminine, tall, blonde, and slim. "You and me," Wiggy said, gesturing between us, "we'll be like what's wrong with this picture when we stand next to them."

She explained that all the names were Dutch. "Everybody's of Dutch descent where we come from. Graffy and Grooty speak Dutch, and Cakey can understand it. Ding-Dong says she understands it, but that is yet to be demonstrated."

"And Ding-Dong is the dumb one?" I asked. Then I blushed. "I'm really embarrassed, talking about them like this, and using those awful nicknames."

Wiggy waved my objection aside. "Once you meet them, you'll see. They don't care. But yeah, Ding-Dong is naive to a point that... defies belief. Sometimes, she makes Forrest Gump seem like Einstein."

I made a face. It seemed unnecessarily cruel. Wiggy caught my expression. "I'm not being mean!" she said. "I love her to bits. She's the sweetest thing. But sometimes she makes me want to tear my hair out."

After that, we were silent for a spell. Then Wiggy began shifting around, as if she was uncomfortable. I began to wonder if she needed the bathroom, but at last she came out with it. "Marcie, I want to ask you something. It's kind of a favor, and it's a little embarrassing." She glanced at the driver and frowned.

When she didn't continue, I asked, "What is it?"

"Well, there are a lot of rooms on this ship we're going on... most of the them are for two people..."

"Are there any singles?" I asked.

She faltered. I figured that she was building up to ask if I'd room with her, but I have some privacy issues that I'm sure you can understand.

"No," she said. "There are two four-bunk rooms, and the cheerleaders will take those. The rest are all doubles.

"Anyway, there are two teachers and you and me. The four of us could each have our own room if we wanted, but..." she began twisting the heck out of a piece of cloth she was holding.

She let out a little huff of breath, and confessed everything. "Look, Marcie, I'm afraid to sleep by myself. I mean, in a room by myself. And I'm shy, so I don't like getting changed in front of other people...

"Every time we go on these trips, I'm the odd man out. I always end up in a room by myself, and I hate it! The chaperones always want their own rooms, so... We stay in these fantastic hotels, but I can't sleep! I sit in a chair all night, wrapped in a blanket with all the lights on and the TV going. It's exhausting!

"I know I'm a little neurotic, maybe, but... anyway... what I'm asking is, will you please room with me? I'll give you whatever space you need... it's just that at night, when we sleep, I want to know that somebody else is in the room with me. Will you? Please, please, please?"

I said, "Yes." If she didn't want to change in front of me, it would be easy for me to not change in front of her. Besides, if it didn't work out, I could always take one of the empty rooms.

She squealed in delight. "Oooh! Thank you thank you thank you!" She jumped to the seat next to me and squeezed me tight. I started laughing.

"I'm SO glad! I'm so relieved! Oh, my goodness! I was afraid I wouldn't get to sleep for the whole entire trip!"

"I'm glad you're so happy," I said, smiling.

"I am!" she replied. Then she stopped abruptly and looked me in the eye. With intense seriousness she said, "Don't tell the girls anything I said about being afraid, etc., etc. Okay?"

"Okay," I agreed. "Mum's the word."
 

---

 

When we arrived at the airport, we easily found the Amazons: they'd taken over a sitting area near the ticket counters. As Wiggy and I walked up, we saw a boy and two men trip over some bags and go sprawling because they were staring at the pack of young blondes.

If I was a boy, I'd have been staring, too. They were all beautiful, tall, slim, poised...

At the same time, they were all very nice, and — excepting Mirina — didn't seem vain at all.

Wiggy hurried through the introductions. In addition to the eight Amazons, there were two teachers, also blonde and good looking, but with a few more years and a few more pounds than the girls. I knew I'd have to learn the names all over again. The only ones I got were Ding-Dong, who seemed very sweet, and Grooty and Graffy, who were unbelievably identical! ("They're lucky they don't look like either of their fathers!" Wiggy whispered to me with a smirk. I thought about that remark for a long time after, and I'm still not convinced that it makes any sense.)

Of course, Mirina stood out, but I'll talk about her in a moment. She welcomed me with a smile and said, "We're all very glad that you could come with us."

In the meantime, Wiggy fished in her bag, which was like a small, flat version of a postman's pouch. She pulled out a folder and said, "Let's talk inside. We have to check in and get through security." Then she turned and started walking toward the check-in line.

Everyone, teachers included, trooped behind her.

The line was unbelievably short. There were only two people in front of us. I noticed that it was the line for first-class passengers, which made me raise my eyebrows, but I didn't say anything. Mirina's father must be loaded! If he could spring for a trip like this...

The girls chatted with me and each other while we waited. Wiggy looked in her folder, which had everyone's tickets and various printed lists. She glanced the faces of all the ticket agents and swallowed. The look on her face reminded me of the look she had as she bumped down the stairs. Although she was acting as the adult for everyone in our group, I realized that her confidence level was not as high as she wanted us all to think.

Even though Wiggy is two years older than me, she's two inches shorter, and right now she really looked like a little girl.

"Hey, Marcie?" she asked in a soft voice that no one else could hear, "Do you want to sit next to me on the plane?"

"Yes," I replied, "I was hoping I could."

When I said that, a smile lit up her face. "Okay, good! I'm going to check in everybody else first, and you and me last, okay?"

I nodded. Just before our turn came, Wiggy turned to the Amazons and said, "I'll call you up in pairs. Just stay in line until I call you. Have your photo ids ready. If another ticket agent is free, let the people behind pass you."

All the girls and the two teachers nodded.

"Come with me?" Wiggy asked shyly. And so I did. The two of us went to the counter.

"Hi," Wiggy said. "We're a group of twelve, and I'd like to check everyone in in pairs, if that's alright."

"Are you all first-class passengers?"

"Yes," Wiggy replied without looking up. Then, glancing over her shoulder, she said, "Graffy and Grooty."

As the two girls trotted obediently to the counter, Wiggy stood on tiptoe and placed their tickets in front of the agent.

"These two would like to sit together, and—" consulting her sheet, she said, "Ms. de Groot would like the window."

And so it went. She called everyone up, pair by pair, announced their seating preference, and confirmed that vegetarian meals had been ordered for two of our party. All of them seemed quite used to having Wiggy direct them about. They waited exactly where she told them to wait, until all of us had been checked in.

She led the way through security, and then to the gate.

Once there, the Amazons took over a section of the waiting area, spread out their belongings, and sat down.

"Wiggy, now what do we do?" Ding-Dong asked.

"We wait until they start boarding the plane," Wiggy replied.

"How will we know?" Ding-Dong continued.

"It will be in about twenty minutes," Wiggy said. "I'll tell you when. Don't worry."

Mirina waited a moment, to be sure that Wiggy was finished, then she smiled at me.

"Now, Marcie, I'm sure that Wiggy told you something about the Amazons on your way here," she said. "But now it's time that *I* took over."

© 2008 by Kaleigh Way

[OTHER STORIES]

"Um, I'm okay," she said with a puzzled frown. "What are you doing here? Why aren't you dressed?"

"I don't know," I replied. "I've been asking myself the same question."

At that, Nina burst into laughter. "Oh, Marcie, you are so funny!"

---

 

7. First Prize Is An Old Nightgown
 

"We are the Amazons," Mirina said. "Our motto is that we are the best that life has to offer."

She paused, waiting for my reaction. At first, I was simply shocked. Then, I was appalled. And finally, I realized that *that* was the reaction Mirina was after. She gave her eyebrows a bounce and smiled.

"You think I'm being awful," Mirina continued, watching my face as she spoke. "But I assure you it's not a declaration based in vanity or delusion. We know that there are girls who are more beautiful than us, more graceful than us, more intelligent than us." At that last phrase, she looked at Wiggy, who had her head down as she looked through her bag.

Wiggy later told me that she'd heard this speech a thousand times. In fact, thinking back, I remembered that as Mirina spoke, all of the Amazons had a sort of expressionless look. Now (having heard the speech a dozen times myself) I know they were trying to hide their boredom.

"The point is, we are striving to be the best. It's our goal in training, and our motivation when we compete. We don't compete to win; we win as a by-product of our excellence."

Knickers — who I later found is Mirina's lieutenant — added, "And so, we're national champs!"

"Yes," Mirina coolly acknowledged. "We won this year's national small-squad competition. This trip is our reward, as well as a team-building activity."

"Great," I commented. "Congratulations. And thanks for including me. I really appreciate it."

"You ought to thank Bubbles, who couldn't come," Mirina replied. "She was the one who thought of you, and graciously gave up her place for you."

"Oh, I will," I said, fumbling for words and glowing red with embarrassment. "I already asked Wiggy for her address."

I *had* — you know I had — but even so, Mirina made me feel like a mannerless clod — as thought I'd have never thought of thanking Bubbles myself.

"Yes, Wiggy," Mirina echoed. "I'm happy to see that you and she have hit it off so well. Of course, we're all glad that you can be here and enjoy this little vacation, but there will be some activities and events that are strictly for Amazons. Since you're not one of us, you won't be allowed to participate. You and Wiggy can keep each other company."

---

"She's not *too* full of herself, is she?" I said in a undertone to Wiggy, once we were settled on the plane. Wiggy had chosen the last two seats on the left in first class. No one was behind us, and no Amazons were in front of us. Clever girl! She also asked whether I "minded" sitting by window. Minded? Ha! I was glad to!

Wiggy shrugged. She was busy, gently scratching her head in a thorough and business-like way. "Everybody's got their quirks. Even you. Even me."

"I guess."

She twisted up her mouth and eyed me critically. "You look exhausted, Marcie. If you fall asleep, do you want me to wake you up for meals or anything?"

"No," I said, as I experimented with my seat. "How much does this seat recline? Whoa!" The back of the seat went down so far it was like lying in bed. As the back went down, the leg rest came up. "Oh! There's a leg rest? Wow, this is luxury!"

Wiggy grinned. "The Amazons always fly first class."

"Lucky you," I said. "But, if I fall asleep — no, don't wake me up for anything until we land. I'm sorry I won't be sociable, but I had a rough night last night."

"It sounds like you've had a rough couple weeks," she commented.

"I guess," I said, and unleashed a huge yawn. "Sorry!"

"No problem," she smiled. "We'll have plenty of time to get acquainted on the ship and the island."

"Is there an island?" I asked.

"Yeah! Oh, that's right, you don't know anything about the trip!"

"I know that we change planes in Hawaii, right?"

"Yes."

"Ummm," I said, wrapping my blanket around me. "That's all I need to know for now."

"Sweet dreams," Wiggy said. "Oh, you know what? I'll wake you before we start to land, so you have time to go the bathroom before they make us stay in our seats."

"Ah," I said, smiling, "I can see you're a seasoned traveler."

She nodded knowingly, then said, "Night-night!"
 

---

 

I closed my eyes, and immediately felt myself sinking. From that point on, there was no turning back: I couldn't have opened my eyes if I wanted to.

I sank down as if I weighed a thousand pounds and the seat was made of foam... I sank through clouds... real clouds, then clouds of mashed potatoes, of whipped cream and huge sheets of sheer shining silk, milky fog, beds of tofu that bent and broke and disappeared beneath me... endless miles of foam... foam like the bubbles in a bubble bath... endless thick, foamy piles of tiny bubbles...

A soft, silent whiteness in infinite supply...

I kept on sinking, down, down, down, into the milky silence, lit by a diffuse glow from somewhere far above. There were sounds — brief, muted — like flashing thoughts that left no trace.

Then came another sound... a gentle, constant sound... like the sound of the ocean: the roar of waves as they approached, soft thunder as they broke nearby and continued breaking and falling all along the beach, reducing at last to a soft, effervescent hiss. Over and over, waves rolled in and broke and hissed, in perfect rhythm as I breathed in and out.

I'd never fallen asleep this way: knowing that I was drifting deeper and deeper into slumber; watching one world let go of me and another world wrap itself around me.

For a moment, I was still aware of myself in my seat on the airplane, fully reclined with my feet up, wrapped in a light woolen blanket with a pillow under my head. I heard Wiggy turn the page of a magazine. I pictured her next to me, legs tucked underneath her, wire-rimmed glasses on her nose, lips pursed in thought.

We're already roommates, I thought, with me asleep like this.

I snuggled, burrowing deeper into the seat with my shoulders and hips, and out of me came a long, deeply satisfied sigh. For the first time in weeks and weeks, I relaxed. I let go. I let go of everything... and God! I was SO tired. Mom had been right about my tension... I felt its grip on me loosening... the tightness began to thaw and melt...

All the things that bothered me, all the things that worried me, all the things that frightened me... they all fell away. I dropped them out the window of the plane and watched them fall. They disappeared into the clouds below us.

Finally, I was gone: far from Flickerbridge, far from flashing cameras, bright lights, shouted questions, and reporters. Far from Grace Gifford and her favorite actress. Far away from Officer Strange and the bad things that had happened to me.

I escaped.
 

---

 

When you're asleep, you're not aware of time. It passes, it doesn't pass, it's all the same. I'd fallen into deep, unconscious, undreaming sleep, and had no idea how long I'd been out. Five minutes? Five hours? Five days? Five years? An instant, an eternity. When you're asleep, you can't tell.

As I slowly came to, as I woke up, groggy, everything was different.

I don't know how I could tell. My eyes were still closed, but... something — the world — had changed.

For one thing, my blanket was gone. As I groped for it, I realized that my arms were bare. Had I rolled up my sleeves in my sleep?

I ran my hands up my arms to pull my sleeves back down. My fingers slid all the way up to my shoulders. My sleeves were entirely gone, and at my shoulders I found lace!

Shocked, I opened my eyes and looked down at myself. My clothes were completely different! Rather than a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved top, I was dressed in a well-worn, long but sleeveless nightgown. It was white and clean, but soft from countless years of wear. Here and there were holes, some mended, some not. Looks like I'm wearing Cinderella's hand-me-downs, I said to myself.

My clothes were not the only thing that changed: I was no longer lying on my airplane seat. I was on a couch. A couch I knew, but couldn't place at the moment.

And in front of me stood a Christmas tree...

I wasn't on the plane any more, that was for sure. What was going on? Had I blacked out? Had they carried me from the plane, unconscious, to this house, to this room?

But wait... I know this place... I know it very well!

Although I'd never seen it with a Christmas tree before...

The room was a living room. And not just any living room, but the living room of the Auburn's house, in Tierson, California!

Whoa! Now this was a mystery! The last thing I knew, I was on a plane to Hawaii, sitting in first class next to Wiggy, with eight of the Amazons and two of their teachers.

Here I was, apparently a single moment later, waking up in the living room of my old boyfriend's house, dressed in a old nightgown. I ran my hand through my hair. Even without a mirror, I could tell it had that slept-on look. I sat up and wondered what day it was.

From the sun's angle through the living-room windows, I figured it was morning, maybe about nine o'clock. There were sounds in the kitchen, and I could hear Mrs. Auburn talking. I couldn't make out what she was saying, but I didn't hear anyone answer her, so she had to be talking on the phone.

I took a deep breath and tried to search my memory. Had I slept here last night? It sure looked that way, but why would I do that? And why on the couch? And yet, if I *had* slept on the couch, why weren't there any sheets or blankets? I shivered a little, for no particular reason.

Just then, Nina Auburn walked in from the kitchen. She was wearing a cute dress, but she looked a little over-dressed: Her dress was white with light blue trim, and its skirt belled out as though she was wearing petticoats.

"Hi, Nina," I said. "How's my favorite little girl?"

"Um, I'm okay," she said with a puzzled frown. "What are you doing here? Why aren't you dressed?"

"I don't know," I replied. "I've been asking myself the same question."

At that, Nina burst into laughter. "Oh, Marcie, you are so funny!"

"Thanks, I guess."

Now that I was more awake, I was more alarmed. Nina obviously wasn't completely surprised to see me in her house. Which meant — if this wasn't a dream... if this was really happening — I must have had a memory lapse. For the moment, I couldn't think of any other explanation. But what an alarming thought!

Then again, the lapse, the forgetting... it might only be temporary... I *had* just woken up... It would probably all come back to me in a little bit. I decided to act natural and try to go along with whatever happened, and see where that took me. I wasn't in danger; I was with people I knew and liked and trusted. If I had some sort of problem, I'm sure they'd tell me.

So why didn't I remember?

Nina's eyes twinkled as she looked at the old nightgown I was wearing. "You really like that old thing, don't you?"

I plucked at the soft, worn fabric. It seemed very comfortable and familiar... like something I half-remembered. "Yeah, I guess."

"Mom says that one day that nightgown will get so old, it will fall to pieces while you're wearing it. Can that really happen? Can clothes get so old that they fall apart? All at once?"

This was odd: why would Mrs. Auburn comment on my nightgown? Then I remembered: it wasn't my nightgown. "Um... I don't think so, Nina. I think they'd wear and rip and get little holes here and there."

Nina stuck her finger through a hole in the cloth, near my belly button. "Like this?"

I paused and considered how to react. I like Nina. She's a nice little girl, but I found her gesture a little too familiar. Gently I took her hand and pulled it away from my stomach.

She didn't seem to mind my gesture... she just took her hand back. Then she smiled and asked me quietly, "Marcie, seriously! Why aren't you ready? Why are you still in your night clothes?"

"I don't know... I guess... um... well, I don't know where my day-clothes are, for starters. Do you know?"

Nina grinned. It seemed like everything I said this morning made her laugh. "Your day-clothes? Do you mean your best dress? How could you not know where it is? Did Cassie hide it, so you'd get in trouble? If she did, Mom is going to be so mad! I mean, mad at her, not at you."

Hide my dress? Why would Cassie hide my dress? And why wasn't I wearing it, in the first place? I looked around the room, hoping to find something... anything... that might explain my predicament. Nina was a smart ten-year-old, but I was beginning to feel that I could talk to her all day without ever getting a clue as to what was going on.

I decided to use a direct approach.

"Nina, what's going on?"

She gave me a puzzled look. "What are you talking about? What's going on with what?"

"How long have I—"

At just that moment, Cassie descended the stairs. When she saw me, her eyes nearly popped out of her head.

"What are you doing?" she demanded. "What is wrong with you?"

"I don't know," I replied truthfully, but my response seemed to increase her indignation.

Cassie walked around the couch until she was almost directly in front of me. Taking a handful of my hair, she said, in a tone of shocked disbelief, "You haven't even taken a shower!" Then her eyes went to my nightgown. "And you're not only not dressed, you're wearing that ratty old nightgown! When are you going to throw that thing away?"

I was speechless for a moment, and searched for some kind of answer. "I wasn't sure if the shower was free," I told her.

"Oh!" she gasped, in a tone that said I can't believe what an IDIOT you are! Cassie glanced at the kitchen. Mrs. Auburn hadn't yet appeared. It sounded like she was still on the phone.

"Come with me," Cassie hissed, and grabbed my arm. She pulled me off the couch and toward the stairs.

"Ouch! You're hurting me!" I told her.

"Shut up, you knucklehead! I'm *helping* you! Mom is going to flip if she sees you like this!"

There didn't seem to be anything else to do but follow. I probably should have been getting ready, not sleeping on the couch.

I noticed that Cassie, like Nina, was dressed up. Cassie was wearing her SBD: her Simple Black Dress. Still, for a simple dress, it was fairly sophisticated. I didn't have a lot of time to study her outfit, though, because once we got upstairs, she roughly pushed me into one of the bedrooms, but kept her grip on my arm.

It was obvious a girl's room. I assumed it was Cassie's, since I'd seen Nina's room and it was nothing like this.

Like I said, it was a girl's room, but it was messy. There were clothes and books and shoes and... things... everywhere. There was so much disorder, it was hard to walk or find a place to stand. I couldn't believe a girly girl like her could live in a room like this. The walls were white and a little dirty in places, and in one corner I saw some sticks for field hockey and lacrosse.

I stumbled on the piles of clothes and shoes as Cassie propelled me toward a door. She didn't stop or even slow up, so I had to dance a bit to keep my footing.

Cassie, still holding my arm, opened the door. It led to a shared bathroom. The door on the other end of the bathroom was open into another girl's room. I couldn't see much of it, but it was more the sort of room I imagined Cassie would have. Three girls? I asked myself.

Somehow I understood that — for some reason — I was staying with the Auburns. This messy room had to be an extra room, a guest room. Maybe some other girl, a fourth girl, was staying in this room?

I couldn't quite put it together.

Cassie opened the hand that gripped my arm, and used it to give me a shove toward the bathroom. "Shower," she commanded.

I looked at her fearfully. She didn't seem to be going anywhere, and that was a problem. There was no way I was going to undress in front of her.

"I will," I said, "as soon as you leave."

Cassie frowned. "You should have taken a shower hours ago. I want to see you get in there and start washing!"

"No," I protested. "I need my privacy."

"OH!" she shouted. "Why are you always such an idiot!?"

"What did *I* do?" I demanded. "Why are you treating me like this? And what do you mean, always?"

Cassie rolled her eyes, as if to say I don't have time for this!, and with a resounding smack!, she slapped me on the butt!

"Eee-ow!" I cried in pain and surprise. "Have you lost your mind?"

"GET-IN-THE-SHOWER!" Cassie barked, and moved to slap me on the hindquarters a second time. I quickly shifted and put my backside out of her reach, carefully covering both cheeks with my hands.

She feinted left, then right, and suddenly grabbed my nightgown near my hips with both hands. Working her fingers, she was rapidly gathering the length of it into her fists. I looked down and saw the hemline flying up my legs. She was going to pull the nightgown right off me!

I grabbed her hands and pushed down. I had to keep myself covered! "Stop!" I shouted. "What are you doing!?"

She set her teeth and pulled on my clothes. "I'm trying to get you ready! What is WRONG with you!?"

Cassie was pulling up. I was pushing down. She wanted to grab as much nightgown as she could. I tried to open her hands so she'd drop what she'd taken. She wanted the nightgown off over my head. I wanted it covering me up. She held my nightgown, I held her wrists. She pulled, I pushed, both of us straining with with all of our strength.

I took a step to try to get away, and the two of us began moving, with heavy, awkward steps, through the cluttered room, locked in our vertical tug-of-war. Grunting and struggling, we must have made quite a picture: Cassie, dressed to the nines, hair and makeup just so; me, in a worn old nightgown, no makeup, hair like a rat's nest. Nina watched wide-eyed, but I had the strange feeling that she'd seen this sort of battle before. She moved to the relative safety of the hallway.

"Cassie! CASSIE! Stop!" I cried, as I tried to get away from her and keep her from pulling off my clothes.

"You have to get ready!" she hotly insisted. "I should just rip this stupid thing off you!"

"Stop! Stop! STOP!" I cried. "Are you CRAZY?"

"Crazy!?" she repeated in disbelief. "You're calling ME crazy? Have you looked in the mirror lately?"

We shifted across the room, which was a difficult thing in itself. A lot of my struggle was just to keep upright. There were so many piles of clothes and... well, junk, on the floor, that it was hard to not trip and fall over. Clearly, Cassie was aiming at that. She was pushing me, so I was moving backward, and had to keep turning my head this way and that. Cassie wanted me to fall. If I fell, I was pretty sure she'd get my nightgown off.

Every so often, she let go of the nightgown to deliver a stinging slap to my derriere. I couldn't let go of the gown to cover my butt! My face was red with exertion and embarrassment. I had no idea why we were fighting, but this was a fight I could not afford to lose.

Unfortunately, Cassie was bigger and stronger than me. She's an attractive girl — she could easily be a model — and was quite feminine in every way, but she also has muscles and determination. If this contest went on much longer, I was sure she would win. What could I do?

I tried to beg. "Cassie... Cassie," I gasped. "Just let me go into the bathroom and shut the door and I'll get right into the shower. Okay?"

"No!" she replied, "I don't believe you! You'll lock yourself in there and stare at yourself in the mirror for an hour! I want to see... uh! you... uh! uh! — get this stupid thing OFF! I want to see you in the shower, washing!" (The uhs were failed attempts to swat my backside.)

Things was getting both desperate and ridiculous. It suddenly struck me that my only hope was to go for broke and try to tackle her. Maybe if I could get on top of her, I could pin her down and reason with her? Was there a way I could put her own dress and hair in peril, and turn the tables?

While I tried to come up with a strategy, Cassie got a few more cracks in. My derriere was beginning to sting. By now, I had enough. Time to use my secret weapon.

I took a big deep breath and let out my loudest, highest, most piercing scream. Wide-eyed, Cassie froze.

I thought I'd won, until Mrs. Auburn's voice came from the doorway.

"Girls! What in the world are you doing?"

Wide-eyed, wild, and panting, I looked into her face.

Cassie, I noticed, still looked perfect, and Nina was peeking around her mother.

"Oh, Marcie!" Mrs. Auburn said, shaking her head. "What in the world am I going to do with you?"

I was never less prepared to answer a question.

© 2008 by Kaleigh Way

[OTHER STORIES]

I closed my eyes and relaxed. It was the first moment since I'd awoken that no one wanted anything from me. No one asked me any questions, no one wondered why I wasn't "ready," no one was smacking me on the butt. Of course, I wondered how Cassie dared to do such a thing, but thinking about it didn't help me understand.

---

 

8. Where's Jerry?
 

"I was trying to get her ready," Cassie explained. Nina said nothing.

Mrs. Auburn sighed as she looked at me. I must have been quite a sight. My hair was a mess. I probably needed a shower, and I was wearing an old, worn nightgown, most of which was gathered in my fists. I opened my hands and let it fall into place, covering my bare legs.

"Come here, you," Mrs. Auburn said, in a voice that seemed more tired and sad than angry or frustrated. "Why aren't you ready?"

"I don't know," I said softly.

She looked at me reproachfully and sniffed. "I think you can get by without a shower, but we need to do something about that hair." Looking down, beside her, she said, "Nina, would you get Marcie's shampoo and conditioner? Cassie, will you pick out something for her to wear? Get everything together: dress, shoes, underwear... and lay it out on—" she glanced around the messy room and sighed once again. "Lay it out on my bed."

Nina came up and handed her mother the hair products. Mrs. Auburn thanked her and said, "Now will you go find the hair dryer and a brush? Bring them down to the kitchen." Then, after giving me a look that told me she'd brook no nonsense, she turned and walked down the stairs. Meek, wordless, I followed her all the way to the kitchen. Once there, she pulled a chair over to the sink.

"Oh," she said, looking around and missing something. She looked up and called out, "Nina? Will you bring me two big towels? Please?"

I stood there before her, in that ragged, old nightgown. I still had no idea why I was here, what was going on, what we were "getting ready" for. A word came into mind: forlorn. I was forlorn! I was sure that if I looked for the word in the dictionary, next to the definition would be a little picture of me, with my slept-on hair and hole-full gown.

I had nothing but questions.

How had I gotten here? Why didn't I remember anything? Why was everyone treating me so strangely? They all seemed to think I belonged there, somehow.

And where was Jerry?

Then, I realized that I hadn't seen Mr. Auburn, either. Jerry must be off with his father somewhere.

"Sit down," Mrs. Auburn gently commanded. As I did, she scooped my hair into the sink. I tipped my head backward so that my face was looking upward into hers. All my uncertainty and confusion was written there, plain as day, for her to read.

And she did read it. She gave another sigh, much heavier and deeper than before, and said, half-hurt, half-reproachful, "Marcie, you break my heart when you look at me like that."

"I'm sorry."

"I'm not mad at you. I just wish you'd gotten ready by yourself. We still have time, if we keep moving." She listened for Nina's footsteps, but they didn't come, so she turned on the water, adjusted the spray, and waited for the water to heat up.

"Do you know who I was talking to on the phone?" I shook my head no. "I was talking to my sister Julia. She's very ill." Mrs. Auburn took a deep breath and made an effort to kept herself from crying.

"Is she sick?" I asked.

"Yes," she breathed. "Very sick. She has cancer."

"Is it bad?"

"They don't know yet," she replied. We heard Nina's pounding footsteps on the stairs, so Mrs. Auburn quickly dried her eyes. "Not a word to the girls, alright? It's just between us. I don't want to ruin the day."

"Okay," I agreed, and she gave me a weak smile. She took the towels from Nina, arranged one under my neck, and began washing my hair.

I closed my eyes and relaxed. It was the first moment since I'd awoken that no one wanted anything from me. No one asked me any questions, no one wondered why I wasn't "ready," no one was smacking me on the butt. Of course, I wondered how Cassie dared to do such a thing, but thinking about it didn't help me understand.

I tried to relax, clear my mind, and enjoy the shampoo.

"I always loved doing this," Mrs. Auburn said.

"Mmm," I agreed.

After two applications of shampoo, she worked the conditioner into my hair, combing it through. Then, the final rinse, and soon I was sitting up as she towel-dried my hair.

"This is the nicest thing that's happened to me today," I told her.

"Hmm," she replied. "Well, we're not done yet." It sounded like a threat.

Nina sat down as if she had a ringside seat at a show.

Mrs. Auburn dried her hands, plugged in the hair drier, and put the hair brush in easy reach.

"All right, now," she warned me. "Just remember that you could have done this yourself hours ago, so you have nothing to complain about. Understand? And I don't want to hear any yelling."

Nina big-eyed, got her fingers ready to stick in her ears. I smiled at her, and her eyes grew even bigger.

Mrs. Auburn turned on the hair drier, grabbed the brush, and went to town on my head, brushing and pulling without any grace or pity. I was beginning to wonder whether I was better off with Cassie.

"Ow!" I shouted, as the brush grabbed a knot of hair and ripped it free. Then, a moment later, as another knot came free, I added, "Oooch! That hurts!"

"You have to learn to brush your hair," she countered. "Every day! Otherwise you get knots. Like this one!" She tugged and tugged and brought tears to my eyes.

What in the world was going on this house?

"Ouch! Ouch! Ouch!" I said. "You're burning me with that hair dryer! Can I do it myself? Eee-yow!"

"Too late!" Mrs. Auburn said. "If you like, I can let Cassie finish."

"No!" I protested. "I'll stick with you."

"Smart girl."

I looked at Nina. She wasn't laughing. She seemed to be studying a bizarre anthropological ritual. She shrugged at me and smiled, but kept her fingers in her ears. I smiled back.

She sat there until the very end, which was the moment Mrs. Auburn turned off the hair drier. "Thanks!" I said, as I jumped from the chair and ran up the stairs.

Mrs. Auburn had told Cassie to lay my clothes out on her bed. It was easy to tell which room to go to: Cassie was standing at the door of one, and she said, "It's all ready for you, Princess Marcelline." Her face didn't give her away, but I knew she was waiting for me to pass so she could give me another swat. I covered my bottom with both hands, and walked through the door turning, so I faced her the whole time.

In the room, which was clearly the master bedroom — Mr. and Mrs. Auburn's bedroom — a lovely blue dress was lying on the bed. It was a nice acqua color, with long sleeves. Cassie had chosen a pair of dark blue shoes to go with it.

"Nice," I said. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," she said, with surprising civility. "Hey, your hair looks good."

"Oh, thanks," I said, smiling. I turned to look at myself in the mirror, and as my hand went toward my head...

Whack! another slap landed on my behind.

"Cassie," I said, trying to keep my temper... but she was already gone. Finally alone, I quickly changed, and went downstairs to join the others.

---

Well... the story could go on like this for days, couldn't it? I'll try to cut to the chase.

What everyone was getting ready for, it turned out, was a portrait. Mr. Auburn arrived from work (he'd taken part of the day off), and we piled into their car. Mrs. Auburn had Nina sit between Cassie and me "so they don't fight."

I was already puzzled by... by everything so far, but that one just went over the top for me. "Why would we fight?" I asked. "I don't want to fight."

Mrs. Auburn replied, "Marcie, don't even start!" in a tone that sealed my lips for the rest of the ride. Cassie gave me a superior smirk.

God! And to think there were times when I'd actually wished I could be *part* of this family!

In any case, the day went on. We had a picture taken: Mr. and Mrs. Auburn with Cassie, Nina, and me. I hung back each time, since of course I didn't belong, but they always pulled me in and sat me in the photo. I couldn't understand why they wanted me there, but clearly everyone agreed that they did, so I went along.

I still didn't remember a thing; had no idea what was going on or why I was here. However, the general idea seemed to be that Jerry and I had traded places, similar to the way that Maisie and I had done our mom-swap. This time, however, it was a full-on family swap.

Everyone certainly treated me as though I was part of the family, and no one mentioned Jerry at all. At times I wondered whether this was a bizarre new reality show, but I couldn't catch even the smallest glimpse of cameras or microphones.

At the same time, the idea that I might be on TV kept me quiet. I didn't want to have a memory lapse on national TV. I imagined a couple of teenage girls saying: Oh my God! Did you see it last night? That Marcie girl didn't know what was going on! It was like she forgot everything! What a goof she is!

After the photo, we went out to lunch together. I found myself sitting next to Mr. Auburn.

"You're awfully quiet today," he observed, with a twinkle in his eye.

"I told her about Julia," Mrs. Auburn told him in a low tone. He nodded.

"Try not to worry, kiddo," he told me. "We don't know much yet."

Of course, Cassie hadn't missed any of this, and soon Mrs. Auburn, against her will, was telling the girls about their aunt's illness.

"I didn't want to tell you before your trip," she told Cassie, "because I didn't want you to worry."

Cassie chewed her lip, and Nina looked to me, so I gave her what I hoped was a reassuring smile.

I wanted, in all honesty, to tell them that I wasn't quiet because I was sad about this Julia person, but I had enough tact to know that it would have been the worst thing to say. Instead, I accepted it as the cover to my confusion.
 

---

 

When we got back to the Auburn's house, Mr. Auburn (who still thought I was sad about Mrs. Auburn's sister) took me aside and said, "Would you like to go for a walk with me in an hour or so? If you want to talk, we can talk. If you don't want to talk, we can just walk. How does that sound?"

"That sounds good," I replied, smiling. It did sound good. I like Mr. Auburn. Even though he can be a terrible tease, I trust him. I decided right then that I was going to tell him about my difficulty and find out what was going on.

I trudged up the stairs. Nina and Cassie were behind me, and I felt my spider-sense tingling. I had to protect my backside from Cassie. So, once I got upstairs, I put my back to the wall. She smiled. She knew why I was doing it.

"Well?" Cassie asked. "Aren't you going to get changed?"

"Yes," I replied. "I'd like to."

"So, do it."

"I will." It was then that I realized I had no idea where my clothes were. Except for the old nightgown, which I'd left in Mrs. Auburn's room, but I couldn't wear that.

Cassie studied my face. "What's with you?" she asked. "Usually you can't wait to get out of that dress."

Now that she mentioned it, the dress was a bit uncomfortable. "I don't know what to wear," I told her lamely.

"How about jeans and a t-shirt?" she suggested.

"Okay," I agreed without moving. Nina stood there, too, watching me. My behavior must have seemed quite odd to them, but I just didn't know what to do. In this situation I couldn't just follow along, and I had no idea what to do next.

Cassie gave me a funny look and said, "Do you know, if you want to actually get your clothes to change into, you have to go into your room?"

"My room?" I asked blankly. Cassie responded by pointing to the messy room I'd been in earlier, the one where we'd fought over the nightgown.

I entered the room, hands carefully covering my derriere. "If this is my room," I wondered aloud, "who made this mess?" I shook my head, perplexed.

Cassie and Nina, who thought I was joking, burst out laughing behind me. "It must have been your evil twin," Cassie replied with a grin.

I looked at her expression. Was she joking? At this point, anything seemed possible.

Then I broke down. "Oh, my God," I sighed. I couldn't pretend any more. I had to come clean.

Cassie looked at me with concern. She wasn't teasing when she asked, "Are you alright?"

"I don't know," I replied. "I'm wondering whether this is all a dream, or maybe if I've lost my mind."

She relaxed her concern and smiled. "Well, if that's all it is...," she replied, "You might have lost your mind, but I'm sure this isn't a dream."

"Yeah," I countered, "but, you could say that, even if this is a dream."

"Okay," she agreed, nodding, giving me the point, and she began looking around my room. Her eye stopped on my window, and she walked over to it. Looking outside, she moved around for a bit. It seemed like she was looking for something, and then she found it.

"Look," she said, smiling. "Come over here and I'll prove to you that this isn't a dream."

When I didn't move, she beckoned with her hand. "Come on, come over here," she coaxed, so I went over. She put her hand on my shoulder and said, "Do you see that little bush over there?"

I could see it, just barely. I moved a little closer to her, and she moved back to make space for me. "Yeah, I see it now," I told her.

"Okay. Now: can you see what's behind the bush?"

"No..." I began, and then — I bent forward slightly, trying to get a better look. I still didn't see anything. The bush was in a funny spot, and I could barely see it from the window, let alone whatever was behind it. So I bent a little more and turned my head...

At that same moment, I felt Cassie's hand leave my shoulder.

Suddenly, in a flash, I knew what was coming. I leaped back, facing her. Her right hand was raised.

"I knew it!" I said. "You were going to slap my butt again! Why do you keep doing that?"

She shrugged. "Because I can? Because it never gets old?"

"Hey, news flash!" I retorted. "It just got old! It's official! Cut it out! It hurts!"

Mr. Auburn called up from downstairs. "What's going on up there? Is everyone okay?"

"Yeah, Dad!" Cassie called. "We're just playing. Everybody's fine."

I went over to the bed, shoved aside a pile of clothes, and sat down. I put my face in my hands. It was just too much. It was all too much.

"Marcie, what's wrong?" Cassie's voice was full of concern. "Seriously now: Talk to me."

I sniffed and said, "I don't know what's going on. I don't know why I'm here. I don't understand anything."

"What don't you understand?"

"Anything! How did I get here?"

"Oh, come on. Are you serious? Do you want me to ask Mom to explain how babies are made?"

"No, not that!" I spat. "I mean TODAY. I woke up on the couch downstairs... in that nightgown..."

I hesitated, not sure how much to say, but heavily burdened. I wanted to unload my distress, and so I looked up at the two girls to see if I could dump it all on them. They both stood there, listening, concerned and frightened. Well, a little frightened, anyway. And I didn't want that. I didn't want them worrying on my account.

As they waited for my next words, I drew a few ragged breaths and thought for a moment.

Was there an easier way to find out what was going on? Maybe there was... I thought for a moment, then took a different tack. I sniffed and wiped a tear from the corner of my eye, then asked them, "Can you tell me just one thing? Where's Jerry?"

"Jerry?" Cassie repeated, as if she had no idea who or what I was talking about.

But Nina got it in one. Her eyebrows arched, her mouth formed a perfect oh!, and she murmured, "Uh-oh!" in a soft little voice.

Cassie looked from her to me, and her to me again, and then she got it, too.

"Oh, crap!" she whispered. Then swallowing hard, she looked me straight in the eye and said, "Wait a minute. Don't tell me: you think you're Marcie Donner, don't you?"

"Well, yeah!" I responded. "Who else would I be?"

"Uh, try Marcie Auburn?"

"WHAT!?"

© 2008 by Kaleigh Way

[OTHER STORIES]

Cassie came close, and knelt in front of me. "Listen to me, and listen to me good. Whatever you believe right now, whoever you think you are, for Mom–" she grimaced for a moment "–for Mrs. Auburn, you have to at least *pretend* to be her daughter, okay? If you don't, if you say that you forgot, or that your last name is Donner, she will flip right out. And believe me, she does not need that right now. So, until we can straighten out all the stuff that you don't remember, can you play along and be Juliette Auburn's daughter?"

---

 

9. Living The Dream
 

"She forgot again," Nina said.

"Oh, no!" Cassie cried. "That explains why you were acting like such a doofus! I mean, more than usual."

"Thanks a lot," I said. "But anyway, I'm not Marcie Auburn. How could I be?"

Cassie came close, and knelt in front of me. "Listen to me, and listen to me good. Whatever you believe right now, whoever you think you are, for Mom–" she grimaced for a moment "–for Mrs. Auburn, you have to at least *pretend* to be her daughter, okay? If you don't, if you say that you forgot, or that your last name is Donner, she will flip right out. And believe me, she does not need that right now. So, until we can straighten out all the stuff that you don't remember, can you play along and be Juliette Auburn's daughter?"

"Your mother's name is Juliette?" I asked.

"Your mother's name is Juliette. Got it? Will you at least play along? Call her Mom? Okay?

"You can talk about this to me and Nina and Dad — Mr. Auburn. But *not* to anybody else, or you could end up in the loony bin. Okay? Please trust me, this once."

"Okay," I said. "I'll trust you IF you quit swatting my buns."

"Fine," she said. "Until you remember, no swats."

She sat back on her heels and turned to look at Nina. "Maybe this time *you* should tell her the story, because she isn't going to believe me."

"Is it long?" I asked. "Because I'm going for a walk with your– with Dad in an hour."

"Oh, good," Cassie said. "He thinks you're all bummed out about Aunt Julia... but you don't even know who she is, do you?" I shook my head. "She's Mom's identical twin. So, as you can guess, they're *very* close."

I swallowed hard.

Cassie said, "Let's quick get changed, and meet back here. Then, Nina, you can give her the rundown so that she's got some idea before she talks with Dad."

Nina ran to her room. Cassie picked out a pair of jeans and a top for me. "These are your faves," she told me, and the moment I touched them I knew that I *did* like them.

"Thanks," I said. "Looks like I wear them a lot."

Cassie rolled her eyes. "You have a TON of really nice clothes," she told me, "but you wear the same old things over and over."

"I do?"

"Yes, you do."

With that, she left and I got changed.

As I did, I made a discovery: I'm a girl! A real girl. I suppose I should have noticed before, but what with all the... I mean, I was so disoriented... anyway, I didn't notice! But now I was noticing, believe me! Yes, I was girl in every way, in every part! All the way, through and through. I pulled down my underwear to look, and was stunned. I was real down there, too!

I would have spent more time checking myself out, but I heard Nina coming back, so I quickly finished changing. I was still zipping up when she appeared at my door.

"Hi," I said. "Do I really live in this mess?"

"Yes," she said. "You're the messy one. I think Mom's given up trying to get you to clean."

I looked around at the white walls and the windowless curtains. "And how come the room is so bare? Why isn't it more... girly?"

"You can never make up your mind what color you want or what drapes you want. Mom wants to choose, and Cassie would choose, but you say that *you* want to pick your own stuff, and you don't trust Cassie."

"Hmmph," I said. "And how come Cassie is always fighting with me?"

Her eyes opened as high as they could go. "Um, you fight with her, too. The two of you are always fighting."

"Why?"

She frowned and stared at me. "Because you're sisters." Then, remembering, she said, "Oh, but you forgot..."

"I forgot what? And where is Jerry?"

"Wait," she said. "Wait until Cassie comes."

"Alright," I said. "In the meantime, I'm going to start picking up this mess." I bent down and scooped up the biggest pile of dirty clothes. Then I looked around for a place to put it. There really wasn't any. Nina smiled, and I dropped the clothes back on the floor.

"Why don't we get some garbage bags?" she suggested. "Then you can bring 'em down to the basement and start washing them."

"Okay," I agreed.

"Cassie's going to take a while anyway."

We went down to the kitchen, and Nina grabbed a box of trash bags from under the sink.

"What are you girls up to?" Mrs. Auburn asked.

"I'm cleaning my room," I said. "Oh, and... uh... Mom... I give up on decorating my room. I'll never decide. So, if you want to pick... whatever color you want, I'll paint it."

She looked stunned. "Am I hearing right?"

"And for drapes and everything... whatever you want is good for me."

"Oh," she said, as if she couldn't believe it. She turned to Mr. Auburn and said, "Pinch me."

"You're not dreaming," he replied.

"Can I take your car to get some paint?" she asked him. He laughed and nodded. "Best to strike while the iron's hot," she said. "Before she changes her mind."

"I won't change my mind," I said.

Nina and I went back upstairs, and she helped me sort the clothes and stuff them into bags.

When Cassie came in, she said, "Can you do that and listen at the same time?"

"Almost done," I replied.

"Nina, stop doing that," Cassie said. "Sit with me on the bed and tell Marcie all about herself."

The two of them sat down. I quickly ferreted out the last of the dirty clothes and stuffed them in a bag. Then I sat on the floor, ready to listen.

"Okay," Nina began. "See... Where Dad works there's this machine. It's a time machine, and he went back—"

"Wait," I interrupted, shaking my head. "There is NO WAY—"

"No," Cassie said. "You wait. Just listen, and then when you go for a walk with Dad, you can talk about it. For now, just keep your trap shut."

I frowned, but closed my mouth.

"So anyway," the little girl went on, swinging her legs as she spoke, "He went back in time and switched you and Jerry when you were in the... um... in the two mothers' bellies—"

I was about to open my mouth again, but Cassie gave me a fierce look, so I shut it.

"And that's why you grew up as Marcie Auburn, and he grew up as Jerry Donner."

"So where is Jerry now?"

"In New Jersey, with his family, in Frickenitch."

"Flickerbridge," I corrected.

I didn't believe it at all. There was no way on earth that what she was telling me was true. I knew it was impossible, but I also knew that what was between my legs was impossible, so I listened.

For sure, what she was telling me was all a crock, but I was sure that eventually I'd find out the truth.

Cassie jumped in. "See, the last thing you remember is being on a plane, right? With a girl named Piggy?"

"Wiggy," I corrected.

"Whatever," she went on. "Anyway, that's when Dad hit the button, and everything rewound."

"The whole world?" I asked, incredulous. This story was beyond ridiculous. "If that were true, everybody would know what was going to happen next."

"No," Nina said. "The only people that remember are you, me, Cassie, and the two fathers: Dad and Mr. Donner."

"What about the mothers?" I asked.

"They didn't want to remember," Cassie explained. "Don't ask me why; I don't know."

"And how come nobody else remembers? And how come *I* forget, if this is true?"

"Nobody remembers because that's the way the machine works. Dad can explain, I guess. But I don't know why you forget. It used to happen, like, once a year when you were little, but since then it happens less and less often. The last time was just before school started, in September. But the time before that, you were nine or ten."

"What about Jerry? Does he remember?"

Cassie smirked when I mentioned his name. "No, he doesn't remember. He didn't want to."

"So why are you smiling like that?"

"You don't remember?"

I shook my head.

"Because when he came here, to stay with his Aunt Jane, the two of you were all over each other."

I turned red.

"Mom had a BIG talk with you... you don't remember?"

"It will come back to you," Nina threw in.

"Yeah," Cassie agreed. "Some time tonight or tomorrow you'll start to remember. When you were really little, you'd forget for days, but now, it's shorter. In September, it only lasted a couple of hours.

"Anyway, back to you and Jerry... Mom wanted to send you away with Aunt Julia, or to an all-girls school or something. She even thought about putting you on the pill."

"The pill?" I repeated, going white.

"She didn't want you to be a teen mother. Then you had to do that stupid fake-baby thing for Home Ec., and it seemed to help a little."

"Really?"

"There were times I thought we'd have to spray you two with a firehose to get you apart—"

Nina turned red and said, "If you two are going to talk like this, I'm going to leave."

"Sorry, Nina," I said, blushing myself.

"You were broken-hearted when he moved," Cassie said, pretending to pout with sadness. She wiped away an imaginary tear.

Ignoring the big-sisterly meanness of her remark, I asked, "So do I have a boyfriend now?"

"Not really," Cassie replied. "You keep that poor John Martin dangling..."

"I do?"

"Yes. You should either go out with him or dump him, but you let him run after you like a sick puppy..."

"Okay, okay!" Nina said, standing. "I'm leaving!"

"Wait, wait," I said, and Nina sat back down. "What about all the things I did, like climbing the building, and catching the baby, and running after the kidnappers..."

"Oh, yeah," Cassie said, remembering. "Um... you didn't do those things. You made sure they didn't happen. Like with Cory... I think you went and reminded him about his backpack or something. And the baby..."

"You got the conductor to make the mother sit in the closed car," Nina said. "So the baby didn't fall off the train."

"And the kidnappers..."

Nina looked uncomfortable. "You called 911 and said there were suspicious men outside the school, and you told them that the police were coming."

"So they got away?"

"Yes, but they didn't take that girl."

"Oh," I said.

"But now we're almost caught up," Cassie said. "Pretty soon, everything is going to be new."

"Yeah," Nina said. "I'm glad, 'cause it's been really weird, knowing what was going to happen."

Cassie shrugged. "It's had its upside, too." She stood up.

"So!" she said, "that's enough to get you going. Dad can tell you the rest. I have things to do. Come on, Nina, let's let Marcie dig through this stuff."

"Oh, wait!" I said. "Am I friends with Eden and Carla?"

Cassie laughed. "Oh, yeah! Eden's your best friend, and you and Carla are teammates."

"Teammates?"

Cassie pointed to the sticks in the corner of the room. "Field hockey? Lacrosse? You're fast, and Carla's strong. Neither of you are the best player on the team, but you're good. Your coach loves you."

"Coach?" I repeated, searching my memory. "Ms. Price?"

Cassie nodded, and the two girls left me to my work.
 

---

 

I looked through the closet. It was true: I did have a lot of nice clothes, but they looked as if I never wore them.

I pulled the sheets off the bed and carried them down with the other dirty stuff, and started a white load. Then I returned to the room, took another garbage bag and started throwing things away: old papers, wrappers from sports bars, empty Gatorade bottles... "What a pig I must be," I said aloud. Soon one bag was full, and I started on a second.

Next, I gathered all the books from the floor and from my desk, and organized them in the bookcase, tossing out piles of paper that I'd left on the shelves. While I was busy doing that, Mr. Auburn knocked gently on the door.

"Hello," he said. "Oh, look at that! There's a floor in this room! And a rug! I forgot all about that rug, I haven't seen it in ages!"

I laughed, and realized that it was the first time I'd laughed since I... well, since I woke up here. He smiled.

"Ready for our walk?" he asked. "Cassie told me what you girls were talking about. I'm sure you have a lot of questions."

"Yes," I replied. "Just let me get my shoes on."
 

---

 

"Based on past experience," he said, "I think I know what your first couple of questions are going to be: the first one is always Is there really a time machine?"

"Is there?" I asked.

"Yes and no," he said. "It's not a time machine, in the classic sense of the term. You can't get inside and go back in time. And it doesn't go forward at all. There are machines that do, but I don't think any of them are around right now."

I shook my head.

"Yes, I know," he said. "It's unbelievable. I can't go into a lot of detail, but it came from the future. We don't know how it works, but what it does is that it lets you look into the past and change small things."

"Like an embryo in a mother's womb?" I asked.

He coughed and said, "I know. Talk about unethical... Sometimes I can hardly believe I did this to my own family and to... well, to yours."

I looked at him.

"Oh, and there's something else," he went on. "I didn't know until I talked to... your... father, but... I had no idea that you weren't born a girl. I was able to change that when I moved you into your mother's womb."

"You mean Mrs. Auburn's womb."

"I hope you'll call her Mom to her face," he said.

"Oh!" I said suddenly. "How come the mother's didn't want to remember how everything used to be?"

"I don't know," he said. "I've thought about it a lot, but of course there's no way to ask them... I have a theory, though, that it was the only way they could go through with it. To ask a mother to give up her child... it's unthinkable."

"And yet, they thought it," I said.

"Yes, but you know... there is a reset button."

"Really?"

"Yes. If I hit it, everything will go back to the moment before it all changed. You'd be on that plane to... where was it? Hawaii?" I nodded. "With whats-her-name... Piggy?"

"Wiggy," I corrected.

"So, if things had gone horribly wrong, if everyone was terribly unhappy, I could always hit the button and send things back the way they were. Except—" he looked at his watch. "Huh. Maybe that explains why you forgot..."

"What?" I asked.

"You know, I honestly forgot, but we're getting close to the day when I pushed the button. I mean the first time around, while you were still Marcie Donner. Maybe this will be the last time you forget. Let's hope so, anyway."

"Why do I forget?" I asked.

"I don't know," he replied. "No one at work has any idea, either. But it *has* gotten less and less frequent, and your forgetting lasts less and less time. I think that sometime, tonight or early tomorrow, it will all come back to you. Not all at once, but enough for government work." He gave a wry smile.

"I'm sorry," he told me. "It was an experiment that I probably shouldn't have done, but it seems — aside from your occasional memory lapse — that everyone is happier this way."

I thought about my new anatomy, and nodded.

"Listen," he said. "I can still hit the reset button. It's the big UNDO. Like I said, you'd find yourself as Marcie Donner, back on that plane to Hawaii, and we'd have Jerry back. I'm guessing that maybe there's a month or so left when I can use the reset. After that, there's some kind of dissipation or degradation of the, uh, reset buffer, and once that happens, you can't go back. We'll all be stuck this way. So, if you feel like going back to way things used to be, let me know and we'll talk."

"And you'll push the button?"

"We'll talk about it," he replied.

"Okay," I said.

"And one more thing," he said, as he stopped and turned me to face him. I noticed that we were back in front of the Auburns' house — our house. It hadn't been a long walk, and now it was over. "I love being your father. It's wonderful having you as a daughter. I know that you and Cassie fight like crazy sometimes, but that's what siblings do. I think we have a great family."

"I think so, too," I said. I don't know what I based that on, but I believed it completely.

Then he opened his arms and gave me a fatherly hug that made me feel like I was in the right place in the world.

It was all crazy, and, honestly, the business with the time-machine was pure hokum. I didn't buy it.

There had to be a logical, reasonable explanation, and eventually I'd find it. Maybe I just imagined that I was Marcie Donner. Maybe it was all a dream, and my family — the Auburns — were humoring me now, trying to ease me through... whatever it was that was happening to me.

As we walked into the house, I thought, Maybe I'm crazy. Maybe this is a dream. Maybe Marcie Donner was a dream. Still, what's happening right now seems so real! No: it didn't *seem* real. It WAS real.

In that moment, I made my big decision: No matter what's going on here, no matter what the explanation is, I like this! I like being Marcie Auburn! Whatever's behind this, whatever the truth is, I'll let it go for now. I'm going to live this life, and I'm going to live it as well and as deeply as I can.

What else could I do, after all?

© 2008 by Kaleigh Way

[OTHER STORIES]

"It isn't pink," she said defensively. "I know you don't like pink, so I didn't get pink. It's Peach Puff."

---

 

10. Pink, Just Like A Fairy Tale
 

I went to the basement to check on my laundry. The white load was ready for the drier, so I started a dark load. That left enough for a third, mixed load. I didn't look forward to the ironing that would follow, but I still felt enough like a guest that I didn't want to weigh on my hostess, Mrs. Auburn. I mean, Mom.

As I worked, I thought about the time machine...

It had to be complete nonsense. As I went over the conversations we had, I realized that the Auburns didn't make any effort at all to convince me that the time machine was real... which struck me as evidence that the whole business was a very flimsy lie.

Maybe it was *supposed* to be a flimsy lie, so that I'd quickly see through it and get to the real truth.

Which was? I shook my head.

At the same time, I was sure and for certain a biological girl. How could I explain that?

AND, things were beginning to come back to me. I knew at once where the laundry detergent, softener, etc. were, and where I'd find the iron and ironing board.

It was nothing earth-shaking, but it was a start.

After that, I went into the kitchen, and — just for the hell of it, just to feel liked I lived in this house, I yanked open the refrigerator door and looked inside. Somehow, something in me was saying that's mine! that's mine! but I wasn't sure which articles of food or drink it was talking about.

So I shut the door and went upstairs to my room.

And there was Mom, in an old pair of highwater jeans and a oversized t-shirt. She was putting her hair up under a baseball cap. Everything in the room was covered with drop cloths, and the furniture had been pulled away from the walls.

"Wow," I commented. "You didn't waste any time! Do you want some help?"

She hesitated and looked at me. "Waste time?" she echoed, "Honey, I've been waiting to do this since you were eight years old."

"Really?"

"Yes! This room hasn't been painted in all that time! That's why it's so dingy! I don't know how you could stand it."

"I don't know either," I said. "I guess I couldn't decide on a color."

"Anyway," she half-interrupted, "I want to get it done before you change your mind or have second thoughts. And no — since you ask — I don't want any help. I'd rather you go away and let me do it. Why don't you call Eden and see if you can stay over there tonight?"

"You could stay in my room with me," Nina offered.

"Um," I said. It was clear that Mrs. Auburn — I mean, Mom — didn't want me underfoot. But I was worried about seeing Eden while I still didn't remember everything. "I'll stay with Nina," I said.

"Yay!" Nina cried.

"Okay," Mom said, with a look of great uncertainty and mistrust. "Well, why don't the two of you go off and... do something. Anything, as long as it's not right here."

"You could read to me," Nina said.

"Okay," I said. "Pick a book." She lifted the drop cloth that covered my bookcase, and dug around for a moment.

"So...," I said, looking at the can of paint in the middle of my floor. "What color did you get?"

"Marcie," she said, "Why don't you let me surprise you?"

"I won't change my mind!" I told her. "I swear!"

With great misgivings, she opened the can, and the color was...

"Pink!?" I cried in horror. Oh, brother! I suddenly remembered something: I remembered why I'd never let my mother choose the color of my bedroom.

"It isn't pink," she said defensively. "I *know* that you don't like pink, so I didn't get pink. It's Peach Puff."

"Okay," I said, trying to remember my promise. Whatever it was *called*, it was still pink. I hated it. I was sure I'd hate it for a long time to come.

"It will look different on the wall," Mom promised.

"Good," I said.

Nina emerged at that moment with a book in her hands. "Why don't we go downstairs and read?" I told her.

"Why don't you do that?" Mom told us. "That's a good idea. And don't come back up for a while. For a *long* while."

As we turned to go, Mrs. Auburn said, "Marcie? If you really don't like it, you can pick a new color, and I'll help you paint it, okay? Just give it a week, and then you can change it. If you want."

I nodded and smiled. "I appreciate it, Mom. The room really needs a lot of help. I'm going to try to keep it cleaner from now on."

She gave a cautious look, as if I've heard *that* before collided with the desire to not discourage me. She bit her tongue and said nothing.

I figured I'd throw her a bone: "Oh, and I'll throw out that old nightgown of mine."

She gave me a sheepish grin. "I already did," she confessed.

"Oh, well, uh, thanks," I replied.

Nina and I went downstairs and sat on the couch.

"Okay, so what is this book?" I asked.

"It's one of yours," she said, and handed me a well-worn copy of — what? Princess Marcelline, and other transgendered fairy tales, retold by Kaleigh Way.

"What the heck is this?" I asked her.

"It used to be your favorite book," she said. "I think because of the title."

Nina took the book from me, and turned the pages until she found the one she wanted to hear. "Read me this one."

"Please?"

"Please."

"Okay." I cleared my throat, and was about to begin, when Nina stopped me.

"Hey, you know why Mom says you can change the color?"

"Why?"

"Because she knows you won't."

I looked at Nina in silence. She grinned and shrugged and pointed at the book.

I cleared my throat a second time and started to read.

The Puir Laddie And His Godmother

"Oh, wait," said Nina. "What's a puir laddie?"

"I think it means poor boy," I told her. "I think it's Scottish."

"Why doesn't it just say 'poor boy', then?"

"I guess it sounds better," I replied, and shook the book so I could get on with it.

There was a time, oh so long ago, when your grandfather's grandfather's grandfather knew a man who knew a man who told the story of a poor couple who lived far off in a great forest.

The wife, as it happened, gave birth to a lovely baby boy, but the family was so poor that they couldn't get the laddie christened. You see, the parson didn't baptize babies just for the fun of it: he wanted his fee, and he wanted it first, so that he wouldn't go to all the trouble of sprinkling water on a child and THEN find out there was no money in it for him.

If there was any way of undoing a christening once it had been done, then the parson might have changed his tune, but as things stood there was nothing for it: the poor couple had to find the money, or the baby would remain unchristened.

And so, in the space of a single day, the father took himself from house to house and asked every soul he knew if they might be a godparent to his son. All were willing enough to stand, but not one of them felt the need to pay the fee.

At last, when there was no one left to ask, the poor fellow made his way home.

As he followed the path through the woods, he came upon a lovely lady dressed in fine clothes, who looked oh-so good and kind, through and through. She offered to get the baby christened, but after that, she said, she must keep the child as her own.

The father answered, "Fair enough, but I must ask my wife what she thinks about it."

When he got home and told her, his wife said, "No!"

The next day, the husband thought that someone might have changed their mind, and might say yes after they'd slept on the matter. But though he begged and prayed, he found no help.

Once again, on the way home, he met the lovely lady, who looked so sweet and good, and she made the same offer as the day before.

With a heavy heart, the man went home and told his wife how things had gone, and she said, "Husband, it's a hard lot we've been given, but try again tomorrow, just one more day. If no one will stand for the soul of our puir wee bairn, we must let the lady have her way, if she truly is as good and kind as you say."

The third day the man went out to ask again, but it was worse than the day before. And yet he tried with all his heart, and once again asked every single person that he knew, low and high, far and near, for a third and final time, but no one would do what he asked.

So, on the way home, when he met the lady again, he gave his word that she could have the child if only she would have him christened at the font.

The next day she came to the poor little cottage, along with two strong men to serve as godfathers. She took the baby and carried him straight to the church, where he was christened. After that, she took him to her own house, and treated the boy as if he were her very own son.

Time passed, and the boy grew, until he was nearly half-ways to being a handsome young fellow.

Then the day came when his foster-mother told him, "I must go on a journey. I'll return in a few days. While I'm gone, you may go anywhere in this house except for these three rooms." And she showed him which rooms she meant.

As you might guess, the moment his foster-mother was gone out of sight, the boy could bear it no longer, and he opened the first door, but just a wee little bit! just a crack! just a sliver! And when he did — POP! out flew a star.

I stopped at that point and looked at Nina, who giggled. "Go on," she urged.

When his foster-mother came back, she was very vexed to find that the star had flown off, and she got so angry that she threatened to send the boy away. But the child begged her, and promised and swore that he'd never do the like again, and so she let him stay.

Sure enough, time passed, and the foster-mother found that she had to go off on another journey, and just as before she made the laddie promise to stay away from the other two rooms, the rooms in which he'd never been. He promised that he would, and told her he'd be good as good, but as soon as he was left alone he began to think and wonder what on earth could be in the second room! At last he could stand it no longer, so he put his foot against the door, and pulled it just a crack, just enough to peep inside, when POP! out flew the Moon.

Nina erupted in a fountain of giggles.

"Nina, really," I said. "The Moon?"

"I like the POPs!" she said, smiling. "Come on, keep reading, keep reading!"

This time, when the foster-mother came home and saw what the boy had done, she fell into a deep sadness, and said, "There's nothing for it, my boy. You cannot stay with me a moment longer." But the lad wept so bitterly, and begged so earnestly, that when he asked her with all his heart to forgive him this time, too, she told him he could stay.

"Let me guess what happens next," I told Nina. "She goes on another trip."

Nina smiled impishly. "Maybe," she said. "But maybe not! Go on! Keep reading! Let's see!"

Time passed, and once again the foster-mother had to go away. This time she spoke quite seriously to the laddie, and told him he was old enough to understand, and that promises were made to be kept, and so on and so forth. She told him to be sure not to try, or even think of trying, to go into, or even to peep, through the smallest crack of the third and final room.

The boy promised quite sincerely, but the moment he was left alone, he ran to the door of the third room and put his ear against it. He didn't hear a thing. He wondered whether he could climb up and look through the window, but there was no way it could be done. He went off and did his level best to keep himself busy, but his thoughts kept drifting back upstairs to that little room.

At last he sighed and told himself, "I've learned my lesson with the first two doors! I won't make the same mistake again! This time I'm SURE I can make the teeniest tiniest wee little crack of a crack, and then I'll slam it shut. Nothing will come sailing out this time! See if it won't! Come on, then, my lad, buck up! Let's see what's hidden in that room! I'm sure I can do it, and my lady will never know!"

The boy pushed and pulled on the door at the same time, and tried to be as clever as clever could be. Still — as I'm sure you've already guessed — the moment he saw the smallest sliver of light — POP! out flew the Sun.

"Oh, Nina!" I cried. "The Sun? How could it be the Sun? If the Sun was locked up in a room, there wouldn't be any Sun in the sky! It would be night all the time!"

Nina guffawed. "Maybe this was back in the days *before* the Sun was in the sky."

I sighed. "There never was such a time," I told her.

"Just go on!" she said, tapping the open page. "Let's see what the mother does. Do you think she'll forgive him?"

I supposed she would, but I read on anyway.

Well, this time when the foster-mother returned, she was truly downcast, and when the laddie saw her face, he realized what an awful thing he'd done.

"You have cut me to the heart, my son," she said, and a tear ran down her face. "I have no more grace to give you. This time you must truly go. You cannot stay a moment longer."

The boy understood that now she would not bend, but still he wept and pleaded. He apologized, but it did no good. And promise? He could not: there was nothing left to promise; there were no more doors to open; he'd done all the wrong he could possibly do.

"Though it hurts me to do so, I must punish you as I send you away!" his foster-mother told him, "And yet, because I love you, you may choose your punishment yourself: you can either be the loveliest woman on earth, and not able to speak, or keep your speech and be the ugliest of men. Whichever fate you choose, away from me you must go."

The lad said, "Well, I'm sure I don't want to be ugly!" So he turned at once into a wondrously beautiful girl, but from that day onward, she was mute as a stone.

The girl left the house and went walking and wandering, and soon she came to a path through a forest. The farther she went along the path, the more distant the end seemed to be.

At last evening came, and in the darkness she climbed a tree, which grew over a spring, and arranged herself in a way that she could sleep without falling.

Close by the spring stood a castle, and each morning from that castle came a maid to draw water to make the Prince's tea. The maid came just below the tree in which the girl was sleeping.

When she bent to draw the water, the maid saw the girl's lovely face reflected and thought it was her own. She tossed away the pitcher and ran home, saying, "If I'm that pretty, I'm far too good to be fetching water!"

So another maid had to go, but the same thing happened to her: She, too, came back without the pitcher, saying, "I didn't know I was such a ravishing treasure! I'm far too beautiful to be fetching water!"

"Nina, come on!" I protested. "These girls are too stupid! Nobody could believe they'd never seen their reflection before! If there was a monkey in the tree–"

"Okay, okay!" she said. "You always stop there, anyway."

© 2008 by Kaleigh Way

[OTHER STORIES]

"All the girls had odd names... Dutch names. They were odd for Americans, but maybe quite normal for Dutch girls."

Nina nodded. "Did they all have blond hair and wooden shoes?"

---

 

11. Princess Marcelline
 

"I always stop there?" I asked.

"Yes," she said. "I don't know how the rest of the story goes."

"I'm sorry," I said, turning back to the story. "I'll finish it. There wasn't much left anyway."

"No," she said. "Why don't you read your favorite story?"

"Which one is that?"

"See if you can guess," she said, and smiled.

I closed the book and was about to turn to the table of contents, when I looked again at the cover: Princess Marcelline. I remembered that Cassie had called me that name earlier, and I smiled. Nina smiled as well, and I knew that I'd hit the right one. It was the first story in the book.

"Ready?" I asked Nina.

"Ready," she agreed, but then stopped me. "I have a question. You know that girl on the plane?"

"What plane?"

"When you were going to Hawaii?" I nodded. "Why did you call her Piggy?"

"I didn't call her Piggy. Her friends called her Wiggy."

"Why? Did she wear a wig?"

"No." I smiled. I had liked Wiggy, and I wish I'd gotten to know her better. Now it would never happen. I wouldn't even get to meet her. "It was short for Hedwig."

"Head-wig?" Nina repeated in disbelief. "Like a wig for your head?"

"No," I said. "It's kind of an old-fashioned name. Actually, all the girls had odd names... Dutch names. They were odd for Americans, but maybe quite normal for Dutch girls."

Nina nodded. "Did they all have blond hair and wooden shoes?"

"Yes to the blond hair, but no to the wooden shoes. They were cheerleaders."

"Hmmph."

"They all had terrible nicknames, like Donkey and Ding-Dong... I forget the others."

Nina smiled but didn't laugh. "Okay, I'm ready for the story now."

There was once a king and queen who had only one child, a daughter. She was a beautiful, brave, and lively girl, and her name was Marcelline. Each day when she woke, she was given a lovely new dress, sometimes silk, sometimes gold brocade, sometimes velvet or satin, but all her fine clothes never made her vain or haughty. She spent her mornings with her tutors, and her afternoons were spent helping and working near her mother the Queen, who loved her dearly. At lunch time there were always bowls overflowing with sweets and more than twenty kinds of jam.

Certainly, she was the happiest princess in all the world.

At the same time, at that same court, there was a very rich old maid, the Duchess Grognon, who lived a life of torment. But not because she was ill or helpless or ugly. She was none of those things. Her health was good, her will was strong. Her home was a large, imposing castle. She possessed all manner of riches in abundance: gold, silver, jewels, art, furniture, and clothes. She wanted for nothing, but she was never happy, because her heart was full of jealousy. And since her heart was full to the brim with jealousy, envy, and greed, there was no room for love or joy or simple happiness.

In addition, the Duchess Grognon was sensitive to a fault: she was quick to feel offended, slow to forgive, and boundless in her hate.

In times past, the Duchess was greatly admired and praised for her beauty, but in recent years the meanness in her heart began to show upon her face. Many noblemen had come to woo her, but quit as soon as they glimpsed her hard, ungracious character.

As the Duchess grew to be more and more of a monster in her heart, she came to hate the Princess Marcelline with a deep and deadly hatred. She left the court because she was tired of hearing Marcelline's praises sung, and kept to her own castle, just a little way off. When anyone paid her a visit, if they made the mistake of mentioning the Princess' charms, the Duchess would fly into a rage shouting, "It's a lie! It's all one great lie! The girl is neither pretty nor clever nor good! Why, I have more charm in the smallest toe of my left foot than she has in her whole foolish body!"

And then it happened that the Queen fell ill and died.

"Do you know what I think?" Nina interjected. "I think the Duchess Grow-non poisoned the Queen."

"Maybe," I said. "But the book doesn't say."

Princess Marcelline felt as if she, too, might die of grief at having lost so good a mother. The King himself fell into deep distress for the loss of such a wife. For nearly a year he kept to the palace until he was so thin, distracted, and pale that his doctors began to fear for his health. They ordered him to go outside, to get some air, and find a way to amuse himself. So one day he mounted his horse and went riding.

He had not ridden far, but the day was intensely hot, so when he spied a great castle nearby, he entered its courtyard to rest in its shade.

The castle belonged to none other than the Duchess Grognon, and as soon as she heard of the King's arrival, she came down herself to receive him.

She told the King that the coolest place in the castle was in her great arched cellar. It was very clean, and she begged him to accompany her.

"Oooh! She's going to lock the King in the cellar!"

"Why would she do that?"

"Because she's evil!"

"People don't just lock people up for no reason," I said.

"Maybe she doesn't like boys," Nina offered.

"The story doesn't say that," I said again. "Let's go on."

The King went along, and everything was just as she had said. While they took some refreshment in the cool cellar, the King couldn't help but notice the many barrels, stacked one above another. He quickly calculated that there must be 200 in all.

"Is all that wine for you, my lady?" he jested, but she replied, "Yes, my lord, for myself alone. But I would be delighted to share it with you. Which wine do you prefer? Saint Laurent, Hermitage, Pouilly Fuisse, Champagne..."

"Since you offer me the choice," the King answered, "I must say that there is nothing I enjoy so much as a glass of Champagne."

"Now she's going to poison him!" Nina said, all big-eyed.

"Wait and see," I said.

Grognon took a little hammer and tip-tapped on the barrel. Out fell a bushel of golden coins!

"How strange!" she said, with a little smile. "I'd better try another!"

She went to a second barrel, and tip-tap! out flowed a stream of pearls.

"Extraordinary!" she murmured with a larger smile, "I can't understand this at all!"

On she passed to a third barrel, and this time her tip-tap brought forth so many diamonds, in all sizes and colors, that they covered her feet.

"Your majesty!" she cried, "I'm completely mystified. Someone must have made off with all my wine and left these knicknacks in its place!"

"Knicknacks?" the King echoed in astonishment.

"Trifles, then?"

"Trifles?" he repeated, "Madam, you call these trifles? With these, could you buy all of Paris, ten times over!" He raised his eyes and looked around him. "And these other barrels..." he scarcely dared finish the thought.

"My lord," she confessed, "all of these barrels are packed to the brim with gold and jewels. If you like them, you may have them all, if only you will marry me."

"Ha!" cried Nina. "Marry her? No way!"

As much as I liked Nina, I was getting a little irritated at her constant interruptions. This time I didn't reply. I just went on reading.

"Marry you, madam!" cried the King, "I will do so with the greatest pleasure! Tomorrow, if you like!" For the King loved nothing more than money.

"There is one other thing," Grognan told him. "If I marry you, you must promise me that I'll have full authority over your daughter, as if she were my own child. She must look to me for everything. You must leave all control of her to me."

"She will be entirely under your authority," the King promised, as he looked around at the barrels loaded with jewels. "So I promise, and so I vow. Here is my hand, and with it, my heart."

She put her hand in his, and when they left the room of treasures, Grognon locked it and handed him the key.

When he returned to his palace, Marcelline ran to meet him, and asked if he had good luck in the hunt.

"I daresay!" he replied. "I caught a dove, alive, in my bare hands!"

"Did you?" she replied, astonished. "Give it to me, then, and I shall feed it."

"I can't do that," he laughed. "What I really meant, is that I'm getting married, to none other than the Duchess Grognon!"

"Grognon!?" the Princess cried, and without thinking said, "You call her a dove? I'd call her an old bat!"

Nina laughed loudly.

"Hold your tongue!" the King told her in an angry tone. "She will be my wife and my queen, and I want you to love and respect her, as if she were your own mother. Go now and get dressed, for I wish to visit her with all the court in train, this very day."

The Princess obediently returned to her room, but she wept the entire way.

When her nurse saw the girl's distress, she asked what ever could be wrong.

"Oh, nurse, I've tried, but I cannot stop crying. The King my father, has decided to marry. Now I will have a step-mother, and that alone is hard enough to bear. What makes it worse is this: the creature he has chosen is my worst enemy, the hideous Grognon. How can I see a monster like her occupy the place where my mother has been? How can I show any affection for a woman who, I'm sure, would rejoice to see me dead?"

"Princess," the nurse replied, "you must understand that your high birth requires you to set a high example. As your father must often sacrifice his own will for the good of his people, so you must sacrifice yourself to please your father. You must maintain your dignity, and not let Grognon see how much this marriage dismays you."

The Princess didn't like this idea at all, but in the end the nurse convinced her, and she resolved to put a good face on the matter. Then she dressed in a golden gown and green robe. She left her hair free to fall softly on her shoulders, and on her head she wore a crown of roses and jasmines. When she was ready, she looked so fair you would never guess how great a sadness lay in her heart.

Nina sighed heavily.

"Nina," I said. "I've read this story to you before, haven't I?"

"Yes," she replied, "but I don't exactly remember what happens. It's kind of complicated and long."

Long? I echoed mentally. Then I glanced ahead and saw that it *was* a long story.

"We probably won't read it all today," Nina informed me.

"Okay," I said. "Let's see how far we can get."

Grognon, too, was preparing herself: she dyed her hair to make it blacker, and powdered her face to make it whiter. She put on a lovely dress of amaranth satin lined with blue and trimmed with violet ribbons. She decided to ride out to receive the King on horseback, for she'd heard the queens of Spain always did so.

Marcelline, once she was ready, found that the King was still busy preparing. She had nothing else to do but wait, so she went by herself into the garden. She found a lonely spot where she could sit down unobserved, and there she began to weep. She sighed and sobbed until she could cry no more.

When at last she began to calm herself, she looked up and saw a page coming toward her. He was dressed in green, and wore white feathers in his cap. Best of all, he had the most handsome face in the entire world. Kneeling before her, he said, "Princess, the King awaits you."

Her heart trembled at his voice, and she asked, "How long have you been one of the King's pages?"

"I am no page of his," the young man answered. "I am yours, and desire no other service."

"Mine?" she answered, astonished. "But I have never seen you before this moment."

"Oh, Princess!" he cried—

"He wants to get all kissy-face with her," Nina put in.

"Yes, I'm sure he does," I replied. "But he's only a page, so he can't."

"Could she have his head cut off?"

"Yes, I suppose...," I answered, and I began to think what *I* might do, if I were the Princess Marcelline, and had a handsome page in my service...

"Earth to Marcie!" Nina called. "Hello-oh! What about the story?"

"Oh, Princess!" he declared, "I had not dared until now to make myself known to you, but this coming marriage threatens to bring great evil upon you, and so I had to act! I had hoped that my constancy and devotion in service would reveal my love to you, but—"

"What!" cried the Princess. "A page declares his love to me! Such audacity! I am not yet reduced to such an extremity!"

"Fear not, fair Marcelline," the young man replied in a tone of great respect and tenderness. "I am Percinet, a prince well known for his wealth and accomplishments. I have loved you for a long time, and would have approached you earlier, but could not while you mourned your mother, the Queen.

"I thought to enter your service as a page, and win your affections and your heart. It was a bold and, yes, audacious plan, but now, I believe I can be of real help to you. The coming of Grognon puts you in real danger, and I will do all that I can to protect you from her schemes. I shall stand by your side today in this livery, and hope I may be of use to you. Now that you know who I am, please do not send me away."

As he spoke, Marcelline was both charmed and embarrassed. She had seen and admired Percinet's portrait, but now she knew it had not done him justice.

She replied, "So... you are Percinet. I have longed to meet you, for I've heard marvellous things told about you. Please do stay, and be the guardian of my safety."

"Hmm," I said, suspiciously.

"What's wrong?" Nina asked.

"This guy wants to hang around her, and she lets him, just like that!"

"He's a prince!"

"Still, she doesn't know him. And, he might wonder... does she really like him, or is he just handy, in case Grognon tries to hurt her?"

Nina said, "I don't think he'll mind being handy."

"No, I suppose not."

They returned to the palace, where Percinet had already prepared a fine horse for the Princess to mount. The horse was a little spirited, so her page — the brave Percinet — took it by the bridle and led it.

When the King and his court met Grognon on the road, the Duchess quickly observed that while her own horse was very fine, Princess Marcelline's horse was even finer. The King, who had many things to think about, didn't notice, but the eyes of everyone were on Marcelline and her handsome page.

Grognon greeted the King, saying, "Why should that girl have a horse so much better than mine? Am I truly to be Queen? I'm sure that I'd be better off turning back to my own castle, rather than allow you to treat me with such disdain."

The King immediately told Marcelline to dismount, and begged Grognon to take the better horse. The King's gentlemen came forward, and lifted her from one horse to other, but still she was not pleased, and muttered under her breath. The King asked what was the matter.

"As I shall be mistress of you all," she replied, "I will have the page in green come forward and hold the bridle of my horse, as he did when the girl was riding it."

Percinet looked at the Princess, and she looked at him, but neither said a word. Percinet obeyed, and walked before Grognon's horse, holding the bridle. The Duchess was enormously pleased to be the center of attention, and she told herself, "Certainly that silly Princess is choking with envy of me now."

Then, just when all seemed peaceful, and decorum had been restored, the beautiful horse began to rear and to buck. Percinet did all he could to keep the horse in check, but the horse managed to strike him in the chest, and the poor Prince fell to the ground.

Once the bridle fell free from the Prince's hand, the horse ran off, with the frightened Grognon still on his back. She clung to the saddle and the mane as well as she could, and cried for help at the top of her lungs. At last she fell, but her foot caught in the stirrup, and before it came free, the horse dragged her through mud and bushes and even over stones. When at long last they found her, she was bruised in every part, and had scratches all over her. She had a great lump on her head, and her arm was broken in two places. Her hat was deep inside a hedge, and her shoes were on the other side of a great ditch. She looked like a bundle of sticks and dirty rags, and nothing like a bride.

They carried her as gently as they could to the castle, and the best doctors were sent for.

And yet and still, though she barely had the strength to speak, she never stopped complaining. "This is one of Marcelline's tricks!" she said. "She brought that vicious horse on purpose, first to show me up, then to make me jealous, and finally to have it kill me. A great wrong has been done to me. To me, a harmless and generous woman! If the King does not set this right, I shall return to my castle! He shall never see me again!"

"The King should just let her go," Nina said.

"I don't think he will," I told her. "He wants her money."

She shook her head. "But that lady is so bad! He should put her in the dungeon. Then he could still have all her money, but he wouldn't have to marry her."

I wanted to point out how wrong that would be, but at the moment I couldn't think why.

When the King heard what Grognon said, his heart went out to the barrels packed with jewels and gold. As he thought about what had happened that day, he convinced himself that Grognon was correct, and that his daughter had done a great wrong. He ran to Grognon's bedside and begged her to stay. He swore that the moment she named a fitting punishment for the offense Marcelline had committed, he would have it carried out immediately.

Grognon replied, "That is not enough. I will deal with the girl myself. But do not worry. I'll treat the girl with both justice and mercy."

The King thanked her and made many promises. The moment he left, Grognon sent for Marcelline. The Princess grew pale and trembled with a mortal fear. She looked everywhere for Percinet, but as he was injured, he could not come, and so she sadly made her way to Grognon's chamber, alone.

"If I was that Princess, I'd jump out a window and run away!" Nina told me. "What would you do, Marcie?"

I looked at Nina, considering, as I rubbed the page between forefinger and thumb, getting ready to turn.

© 2008 by Kaleigh Way

[OTHER STORIES]

"All of your life, even when you were a child, I've heard people say how brave and clever you are. Well! I've never believed it, and I don't believe it now! I've never seen any proof! All I see is a spoiled little, vain little, empty-headed girl. Still, now's the test! Now we'll see whether I am right or you are wrong."

"Isn't that the same thing?" Nina asked.

---

 

12. Dilly-Dilly
 

"If I was that princess," I said, "I would go to Grognon and see what she wanted."

Nina was appalled. "She'd want to kill you, that's what she'd want!"

"Maybe," I replied.

"Oh, Marcie!" Nina said. "You would do that, and you'd think it was brave, but it wouldn't be!"

"No?"

"No, it would be stupid!"

I smiled at Nina and said, "Well, let's see what Princess Marcelline will do."

Nina gave me a look of concern. "She's going to do something brave and dumb, just like you would do."

My shoulders slumped. "So you *do* know this story!"

She hedged and squirmed in an I-don't-know-maybe way, saying, "I don't remember everything..."

"Okay," I said. "Let's go on." *I* wanted to find out what the Princess was going to do.

The moment Marcelline entered Grognon's chamber, the door was shut and four of Grognon's women threw themselves upon her. As quickly as it takes to say it, they had the poor Princess trussed up, good and tight: she was bound and gagged, unable to move or to cry out.

"Now, Princess," Grognon sneered from her bed, "All of your life, even when you were a child, I've heard people say how brave and clever you are. Well! I've never believed it, and I don't believe it now! I've never seen any proof! All I see is a spoiled little, vain little, empty-headed girl. Still, now's the test! Now we'll see whether I am right or you are wrong."

"Isn't that the same thing?" Nina asked.

"Yes it is," I agreed.

"Come, my friend," Grognon called, "I have need of thee," and soon there appeared a fairy, who looked upon Grognon's wounds and wept with compassion.

"Who has done this to you?" the fairy demanded. "Tell me, and I shall turn them into a toad or a pig, or any loathsome thing you like!"

"No," Grognon protested, with great insincerity. "That would be harsh and unforgiving. I have an idea that is much more suitable and noble."

The fairy paused, and looked behind her, only to see Marcelline pleading with her eyes.

"Who is this girl?" the fairy asked. "And why is she—"

"She is the author of my misery," Grognon told her. "My greatest enemy. Consumed by her jealousy of me, she bewitches men with her supposed beauty, and drives them to do me harm."

The fairy's eyes flashed fire, and poor Marcelline feared that the next moment would be her last.

"I've thought of a fitting punishment," Grognon went on. "Nothing that will harm her. On the contrary, it might help her learn the error of her ways."

"What a great heart you have!" the deceived fairy cried.

"Strip her of her riches, of her title, of her name, and most of all, strip her of her feminine wiles. Let her be a peasant boy, who must labor for his bread."

The fairy was delighted at the apparent justice of Grognon's request.

"Simple work shall teach her honesty," Grognon explained, "and a humble station will teach her humility."

"I shall do as you ask, my good friend," the fairy replied, "and I shall do more: I shall carry the girl so far from here that she will never find her way back."

"Thank you, my friend," the hypocritcal Grognon said. "And now, you must excuse me... my strength is failing, and I must rest."

"I shall take this miscreant away at once," the fairy told her. "And carry out your noble request."

"Thank you," Grognon said. "There remains only one thing to tell: A word of caution. Do not listen to a word she says. The girl is full of lies, and is an artful deceiver."

The fairy laughed. "Never fear!" she replied, and with a wave of her wand, she and Marcelline were gone.

In the next instant, Marcelline found herself in the middle of a great forest. The cloths that stopped her mouth and bound her hands and feet where gone. The fairy stood before her.

Marcelline tried to speak, to protest her treatment and to tell the fairy the truth of what happened between herself and Grognon. But when she opened her pretty mouth, no sound came out.

The fairy spoke to her. "I have placed a charm upon you so that you cannot speak in my presence. You are fortunate that the Duchess Grognon is so merciful and kind, for I am not. I would gladly lay the worst of punishments upon you. Instead, you have been given the chance to redeem yourself. I hope you will use your new life wisely, though I doubt you will."

With a wave of the fairy's wand, Marcelline's tresses fell away, along with her soft and lovely clothes. In their place came boots, pants, shirt, coat, and hat — all rough, coarse, sturdy stuff. In place of the bright colors she was used to wearing, her new clothes were dull brown and faded white. They were old and worn, but they were clean.

They were the clothes of a man.

The fairy held up a small mirror so Marcelline could see herself. In the reflection Marcelline beheld a handsome young man, dressed as a laborer. When her face showed astonishment and dismay, so did the young man's face.

"I could have made you ugly," the fairy said, "but for a vain thing like yourself that might have been too much to bear. Farewell!"

And with that, the fairy vanished, leaving behind the hand-mirror and a much-distraught young man.

I paused, and sat there thinking. Nina waited, then said, "Hey, the story doesn't end there. Why aren't you reading?"

"I was thinking," I said.

"Are you thinking what the princess will do next?"

"No, I was thinking what *I* was going to do next," I replied. "I need to talk to Cassie."

"Hmmph. Maybe you should stick the book into the back of your pants, in case she swats you."

"I don't think she will," I said, smiling.

"You never do," Nina laughed.

"Hmmph," I said. "Listen, I'll be back soon. Okay?"
 

I walked up the stairs slowly. Something was coming together in my mind: a realization was forming, but it wasn't quite clear yet. Back when I was Marcie Donner, I was interested in girly things: I read Cosmo, I made friends with Ida so I could learn about clothes and shoes and makeup. My bedroom was a teenage girl's dream, with its cool colors and furniture, and I always tried to make the best choice of what to wear.

Now, as Marcie Auburn, I seemed to be very different: my room had no color. It was very spartan, and at the same time it was a mess. As far as I could tell, I wore the same clothes, over and over, until they fell apart or someone else threw them away. I didn't wear makeup, and I played sports.

It didn't make sense.

I went to the door of Cassie's room, which was open, and knocked. Her room was a stark contrast to mine: the walls were a very light color somewhere between lavender and blue, and the furniture was light, natural wood. It was elegant; it was together; it worked. I knew that she'd done it all herself, made all the choices, and that the room perfectly reflected who she was: a intelligent, organized, young woman with taste. Cassie didn't look up. She was sitting on the edge of her bed, looking intently at a list that she held in her hand.

For some reason I found myself saying, "Dilly-dilly."

Cassie rolled her eyes. "Of all the things to remember, you have to remember that?"

I shrugged. "What does it mean?"

She gestured toward the walls. "The color is Lavender Blue. You know the song?"

"Oh, oh, I get it now." I laughed. Mom used to sing it to us when we were small.

"That would be a good thing to forget," she told me. "So what's up?"

"Can you help me with something?" I asked.

She hesitated. "It depends on what it is. I'm sorry, but I don't have a lot of time to tell you the stuff you don't remember. Trust me, it will all come back to you."

"No, it isn't that...," I said.

Cassie looked at me. She was obviously biting her tongue, trying to be patient. She knew I had a problem, but she was busy with something of her own.

"I don't dress very well do I?"

"No," was her curt reply.

"I wear the same junk over and over?"

"Yeah. So?"

"I want to change. I want to dress better. Will you help me pick my clothes for a while? Until I get it?"

She didn't answer right away. Her eyes moved around as she thought. At last she said, "I don't know. Maybe. I can't help you now, though, because I have to get ready for my trip."

"What trip?"

She looked irritated at my not knowing, then said, "I got accepted to Princeton, and I'm going to New Jersey tomorrow for a visit," she said. "I'm going to be there over New Years, and part of next week."

"Oh, yeah," I said, remembering. "Jerry told me. Congratulations."

She stiffened. "You need to remember to not say things like that."

"Okay. I'm sorry."

Cassie scratched her nose. "Listen: After Mom is done with your room, why don't you ask your friend Eden to come over? She knows how to dress, and she'd probably love to help you go through your things and shop with you. Plus, she'd be more patient than I ever would."

"And she won't smack my ass," I interjected.

Cassie laughed. "Yeah, that too. Anyway, one word of advice: DON'T ask Mom for help. She'll have you dressing like Nina, and everyone will laugh at you."

"Okay, thanks," I said.

She smiled. "I won't be here much longer. Around September, I'll go away to college, and then you'll be the big sister here at home. In the meantime, I'll try not to pick on you any more. I've got to grow up, and I want you to have some good memories of me before I go."

I smiled back at her. "But I do have good memories of you, already."

She laughed. "Wait until you start remembering," she said. "I think I'll sleep with my door locked until I'm sure you've calmed down."

I frowned. "Okay," I said. "I don't think it will be that way, though."

She chuckled and stood up, stretching her arms. "You used to be an only child," she said. "Only-childs are weak." As she talked, I was aware that she was getting into position to give me a swat, so I backed into the hallway. "See?" she said. "You're learning. Come here and give me a hug." She held her arms open, and I was torn between suspicion and wanting a hug.

Suspicion won out. "No, thanks," I told her. "I'm good."

"Smart girl," she commented. "Now go. I gotta pack."
 

---

 

I went to my own bedroom door, which was shut. I could hear Mom still working in there, and some half-remembered sense warned me it was better to stay away until she was done.

After using the bathroom in the master bedroom (my parents' room, I told myself, trying to get used to saying the words), I noticed that it was only three in the afternoon. It surprised me, because it seemed like an incredibly long day so far!

I went back downstairs, expecting to get back to Princess Marcelline, but on the way down I heard the theme song to Hannah Montana. I realized I'd have to wait to find out about the Princess, and decided that it was a good time to call Eden.

I didn't feel entirely ready for the call, since there was so much I didn't yet remember. Still, I reflected, unless Eden had drastically changed, it wouldn't be a problem.

Things were starting to come back to me, but I wasn't really remembering them. For instance, I wanted the phone, and found myself walking into the kitchen, turning right, and picking it off the wall. Just as I'd done countless times before in my life. And Eden's number, well, I knew that anyway, but my finger punched it out just like it does every day.

Eden's mother answered, which surprised me, because I thought she'd still be at work. (See? I remembered that, too!) So, when Eden got on the line, I asked why her mother was home.

"She took the week off," she said. "I told you."

Well, I guess I don't remember everything.

"So, hey: guess what?" I asked her.

"Um, let's see... your mother is painting your bedroom?"

"How did you know?"

"Your mother was SO excited that you finally let her do it, that she called my mother." She giggled. "So you decided that pink is your color?"

I sighed. "She *says* it's not pink. It's Peach Puff."

"And that kind of looks like... something like... pink, right?"

"Yeah," I sighed.

"Face it, Marcie," Eden said. "I have bad news for you: You might be turning into a girly girl."

A girly girl? There it was again. "Actually, Eden, that's the reason I'm calling. Do you think you could help me with my clothes?"

"Help you? With clothes?" she repeated as it registered. Then she shrieked, "Are you kidding!? I'd LOVE to! Do you mean, like go through your stuff... and—" here she sounded cautious "—and, like, throw some things away..."

"Yes," I said. "We have to throw away all the old, crappy stuff, and figure out what works and what I need."

"Oh, my God!" Eden said. "What happened to you!? Are you sure I'm talking to Marcie Auburn? The girl who wears the same old clothes every day?"

"I don't wear the same thing every day!" I protested. "And they're not old, they're just comfortable..." I trailed off. Obviously this was a well-worn track in my brain. One that I had to let go of. "Yes, Eden, I have to reform. I realized that I live like a... like a..."

"Like a BOY," Eden said. "You live like a boy! You know you do! You have a messy room, you don't care about your clothes..."

"Okay, okay," I said. "Don't push it. I want to change, and I want your help. But don't lecture me, okay?"

"Alright," she agreed. "So when can we start?"

I looked up at the ceiling, as if I could see my mother singing to herself as she ran the paint roller.

The pink paint roller.

"As soon as the paint dries," I said.

© 2008 by Kaleigh Way

[OTHER STORIES]

"Yeah, but," Eden countered, "— and not that I want to talk you out of it or anything — you know that you don't have to do girly stuff to be a girl. You of all people should know that."

---

 

13. Easy As Falling Off A Bike
 

[Thanks to Angharad for letting me borrow her title!]
 

I knocked on my bedroom door.

Mom answered from inside, "Don't open the door! I'm right behind it with a tray full of paint!"

"Okay," I replied. "How's it going?"

"It looks really nice, Marcie! I think you're going to like it!"

I figured a deliberate lie was the best way to go: "I think so too, Mom."

I listened to the rhythmic back-and-forth sound of the paint roller. "Mom, do you mind if I go to Eden's house? Or I could stay here and help, if you want."

The roller stopped. "No, no. Why don't you go to Eden's? That's a good idea. If you want to stay over, that's fine, too."

"You really want to get rid of me, don't you?" I joked.

At that, I heard some scrabbling noises, and the door jerked open. Mrs. Auburn's face — I mean, Mom's face — had a dash of pink — I mean, Peach Puff — on her nose. She wore a baseball cap backward on her head and an anxious look on her face.

"Mom, with that hat, you look like a rapper!" I joked, trying not to look at the pinkness behind her.

"Marcie," she said, "I don't want to get rid of you. You're my daughter, and I love you. I just want you to go away until I'm done."

I laughed, but there was still enough Marcie Donner in me to see that she was right. If I stayed and kept looking at that little-girl pink, I'd start flipping out. Then I had a sudden thought: Would I start yelling? That was followed by another thought: Why would I ever think that?

So I asked, "Mom, do I ever yell?"

She took a deep breath and considered her words carefully. "Sometimes you do get a bit out of control." She bit her lip. "I think those sports, and hanging around with Carla Richio, brings out your aggression."

"Oh," I said. My eyes kept drifting over her shoulder toward the pink glow, so she looked back at the walls she'd already done.

"It really is pink, isn't it?" she said, finally owning up to it.

For some reason, I felt myself getting a little angry, but I managed to smile and say, "No, it's Peach Puff."

Mom looked into my face. "Maybe I should have picked something calming, like green."

"No," I countered. "Maybe I need a little pink in my life. But, Mom? The curtains don't have any ruffles or frills, do they?"

"No," she said in a cautious tone, "They're just plain white curtains. I showed them to once, don't you remember?"

"Oh, yeah," I said, although I didn't remember at all.

She laughed. "You have no idea which curtains I'm talking about, do you?"

"No."

"Go to Eden's," she said. "Have fun."

"You, too," I said. "Oh, can I get in there and get a sweater?"

"I can hand you one," she said. "There isn't a lot of room to move around here."

"Could you pass me a skirt, too?" I asked.

"A skirt?" she repeated, as if she wasn't sure she'd heard right. Then, in a hopeful tone she added, "Something nice?"

"Surprise me," I said.

"Okay," she agreed. "You're sure surprising *me*."
 

---

 

As I walked toward Eden's house, I pondered the "girly" thing: There seemed to be a very big difference between Marcie Auburn and Marcie Donner.

The biggest difference between the two Marcies, the anatomical difference, I didn't mind at all. In fact, I loved it!

But the rest of me, the personality, the orientation toward life, the... I don't know what to call it... was confusing.

When I was Mark Donner, I was a nice guy, but fairly colorless... almost non-existent. At least that's how other people described me: as just there.

As Marcie Donner, I was a whole 'nother thing entirely. I had friends, adventures... but most of all, I loved being a girl. The clothes, the shoes, Cosmo... and boys.

Now it seemed that I was somebody else all over again. Marcie Auburn was, well, a jock. She played sports. Okay, I could live with that. But apparently she didn't care about clothes — and, by the way, I was NOT thrilled about her hair.

Plus, she was messy... my God, that room! And why didn't she paint it? White walls, that badly needed a fresh coat, at least a coat of that colorless white, if not a real color. Didn't she have any taste?

It was hard to put together. Marcie Auburn was supposed to be me, wasn't she?

Maybe I was just contrary. If I was a boy, instead of being active and strong, I was passive and dull. When I was a T-girl, I was super-active and girly. Now that I was born a girl, I acted like a boy.

"Almost full circle," I said aloud. "What a revolting development!"

As I spoke, I heard a bicycle coming up behind me in the street. The boy who was riding gave a ring-ring! with his bell to make me look his way. He turned his head to glance at me, turned back forward, did a double take, spazzed out and fell off his bike!

I ran over to help him. His legs were tangled up in the bike frame, and he was moving awkwardly so at first I couldn't see whether he was hurt. He needed to separate himself from the bike, but I couldn't help there: I wasn't sure where to take hold of the bike. It was sort of chain-upward, and I didn't want to get any oil or dirt on me. "Are you okay?" I asked.

Instead of answering, he gaped at me, eyes opened wide in surprise, his mouth hanging open. He stopped struggling, and now that I was standing close to him, I saw two things right away: one, that he wasn't hurt, and two... he was looking right up my skirt.

"Okay, John," I said. "I think you got the picture. That's enough." Because guess who it was: John Martin.

"Sorry," he replied awkwardly. "It's just that you don't usually wear a skirt."

"Maybe this is why," I told him. "Will you please get up off the ground!?" I backed over to the sidewalk, to change his viewing angle. Now he couldn't see any higher than my knees.

He extricated himself from the bike, stood up, and leaned the thing against a tree.

"I'm sorry, Marcie...," he began.

"It's okay," I said, smiling. "I'm sorry I made you fall off your bike."

"Yeah. Next time you wear a skirt, you ought to send out a bulletin... a warning, I mean," he joked.

"I think you're the only one I need to warn," I countered. His face brightened up at that, and I remembered what Cassie had said about the way I keep him dangling. So I thought Why not? He's a good looking guy, and as far as I remembered he was pretty nice... and he really did like me...

"So, John Martin," I continued, poking him in the chest lightly with my forefinger, "I'm warning you: I'm going to be wearing skirts more often. A lot more often. So watch out."

"I'll stay off my bike," he grinned.

"Just stay off the ground," I countered. We both laughed, and he walked with me to Eden's house. I asked about his Christmas, and kept him talking about himself. It was nice to listen to him, and it seemed to make him happy. Above all, I felt his sense of relief: he finally felt that I liked him, that he had a chance.

At one point, he nervously asked whether I'd see a movie with him tomorrow, and I said yes. He tried to stay cool, but I saw his excitement build inside him like a head of steam.

When we got to Eden's house, I touched his hand and said, "See you tomorrow, John."

The look on his face was priceless. That tiny touch seemed to make him so happy! Oh, you poor schmuck, you've got it bad, I thought as I walked to the door.

NOT that I think he's a schmuck! He's a nice guy; I like him. But I'd never been with someone who was so head-over-heels for me.

Eden smirked as she closed her front door behind me. "So...," she said, in an insinuating tone, glad to be on the very cusp of a bit of juicy news, "you've finally succumbed to John Martin's charms, have you?"

"I guess," I said coyly.

"So, spill!" she cried. "How did it happen?"

"Let her take her coat off, Eden," her mother said, as she came down the hall toward us. "Then I'll make some hot chocolate for the two of you... with whipped cream."

I glanced at Eden, and she knew what I knew, which was this: Mrs. Hensel wanted to listen in. Then, once she was sure she had the whole story, she'd call my mother with it.

"Well, you know," Eden told me once, in her mother's defense, "she's new to the neighborhood. She wants to make friends, too." And that was true: the Hensels had only moved here last September, about the time that Jerry moved in with his Aunt Jane.

Pretty soon we were in the kitchen, and I had the two of them laughing about John's fall from his bike.

"You know, what John said is true," Mrs. Hensel commented, "You never do wear skirts. What prompted you to wear one today?"

"Hmm," I said, looking at Eden to bring her into the joke, "I guess was inspired when I saw the way Mom was painting my room."

Eden hid her smirk pretty well, but Mrs. Hensel didn't buy it. "Just because I'm not a teenager doesn't make me stupid," she told me with a grin. "I know you don't like pink, and watching someone paint always makes *me* want to put on my oldest clothes."

"Okay," I said, more honestly this time. "It's kind of like this: I woke up this morning not feeling quite myself, and I figured it was a chance to try to do things differently."

"Hmmph," she said, nodding. Then, figuring she had a full enough load of gossip, she told us, "Alright, girls, I have to go upstairs and do a few things in my room. See you in a bit."

She's calling your mother, Eden mouthed when her mother's back was turned. I rolled my eyes and smiled.

"Tell my Mom I said hi," I called after her.

"Okay, I wi—" Mrs. Hensel stopped and turned back to look at me. "You girls!" she said. "Who ever said I was calling your mother?"

We giggled and she left.

"So, really," Eden asked, after her mother was out of earshot. "What's the deal? Why do you want to wear skirts and all that? It's not for John, is it?"

I shrugged. "I figure, if I can't do girly stuff, what's the point of being a girl?"

"Yeah, but," Eden countered, "— and not that I want to talk you out of it or anything — but you don't have to do girly stuff to be a girl. You of all people should know that."

"I know," I said, "but I feel like... the way I've been living, I might as well be a boy."

"Jerry Donner didn't feel that way," she teased, and I turned a ripe-apple red. "Wow! You know, I was really worried about you when he was here."

"Why?" I asked.

"It was too intense," she said with a frown. "I told you this before. You just lost all sense of proportion! It was like you wanted to spend every minute with him, like nothing else mattered but him, and... oh! Let me put it this way: you were crazier about him than John Martin is about you. Maybe ten times crazier. Maybe more."

"No," I said. "It was different. Jerry was crazy about me too. Wasn't he?"

"I guess. But I thought you were going to get carried away..."

"I know, I know... you thought I'd do something stupid. Well, I didn't. But anyway... enough about me! What about you and Cory? How's that going?"

Eden frowned a little. "It's okay. He's okay. Things are good, but I think I'm ready for a new boyfriend."

"Why?"

"Because... he's nice and everything, but he sweats like crazy, even when it's cold out! And he's really affectionate, but, you know, I started thinking I should carry a bath towel with me so he can dry off before he touches me."

"Oh, yick, Eden!"

"Yeah, I know. The thing is, I like him, and he likes me... really, the only problem is the perspiration." She sighed loudly. "Man!"

"Maybe he should carry a towel," I suggested.

"Yeah, maybe that would do it," she said, but she didn't sound convinced.
 

---

 

While I was walking home, I thought some more about Marcie Auburn's life. One big way that it was different is that it was so ordinary. Apparently, crazy things didn't happen to her. At least, not so far. And yeah, okay — aside from the time-travel business, which I still don't believe. Although, without it, I was at a loss to explain my physical change.

I still suspected that this whole experience was a dream or hallucination. A sudden thought hit me, and I stopped dead in my tracks: What if, when I was on the plane... when I had that feeling that I was sinking and falling, well... what if the plane had crashed? I could be a coma, in a hospital bed someplace, and dreaming this whole thing. Maybe that's why it all seemed so real, because I wasn't just asleep. I was way, way down, deeper than just plain sleep.

Still, I believed in what was happening enough to not do anything crazy. I wasn't going to step in front of a train or jump off a building, just to see if it would wake me up. Chances are, I would simply die or be badly hurt. It was a crazy risk that I wouldn't take.

Instead, I was going to do the only thing that I could do. I was going to live this Marcie Auburn life, and make it my own. I didn't really feel like I was Marcie Auburn, though. It was more like I'd been *dropped* into her life. Well, Marcie Auburn, I told her in my mind, move over, because I'm taking over, and I'm making some changes.

When I got home, I'd start writing a list. For now, I could keep it in my head: so far I only had a few changes, and they were pretty obvious:

1. I had to pay more attention to my appearance: specifically, my clothes and my hair
2. I had to make sure I had a good relationship with my new mother. She seemed pretty worried about me, and I had to find out what that was all about.
3. I wanted to see how things went with John Martin. I blushed as I thought of him, which I guess was a good sign.

Three things: it was enough of a list for now.

I went back to thinking about the metaphysical nature of my new life. Was it real? I had to act as if it was. If it wasn't real, was it going to stay the way it was now?

Then I had a thought that stopped me dead in my tracks: If all this wasn't real, what would happen when I fell asleep tonight? Would it all disappear, or change?

I took a deep breath and started walking again. For a moment, I thought I might try to stay awake as along as possible, to prolong this experience. Then I realized that it was a crazy idea. I'd just have to go to bed and hope I woke up in the same place as I am now.

© 2008 by Kaleigh Way

[OTHER STORIES]

"I always thought you liked me."

She scoffed. "It isn't about like or not-like. It's about how things are supposed to be. I'm afraid that if you *think* you're Marcie Donner you're going to start to *act* like Marcie Donner."

---

 

14. What Older Sisters Do
 

When I got home, we had dinner. Mr. Auburn — Dad — was very happy and affectionate... to all of us, but to me in particular. Mom insisted that I stay out of my bedroom until tomorrow.

"I have the window open in there, cold as it is outside. The paint needs to try, and all those fumes have to go out. And keep in mind," she informed me, "the color will look different when it's dry." I bit my tongue and nodded, smiling.

Nina was very quiet for some reason. So was Cassie, but I knew what was happening there. She was nervous about her trip tomorrow. Dad had taken the day off so he could drive her to the airport.

"Are we all going?" I asked.

"Yes," Mom said. "This is a big day for your sister. It's not every day that someone from our sleepy little town goes to Princeton!"

"Good," I said, "I was hoping we would." Somehow I knew that Marcie Auburn wouldn't want to go, so I wanted to make it clear that *I* did. Cassie — miracle of miracles! — gave me a small thank-you smile, and I felt good. It was nice to be part of this family.

Was it nicer than being Marcie Donner?

Well, yes, I was certainly beginning to think so.
 

After dinner, I helped my mother clear the table and load the dishwasher. "Marcie," she said cautiously, "I put some of your things in Nina's room: a nightgown — a new nightgown, now that the, um, old one of yours is finally gone — and some clothes for tomorrow. I thought it would be nice if we all got a little dressed up when we see your sister off."

"It *would* be nice," I said, "thanks, Mom." And I went on pre-rinsing a pot.

She came up behind me and gave me a hug. "I don't know what's happened to you, Marcie Auburn, but I really like it! Today you've just been so... agreeable, and it's such a welcome change!"

Whoa! I was beginning to get the idea that Marcie Auburn was a bit of a jerk. So, without turning, still rinsing the pot, I said, "Mom, I'm sorry I've been so difficult. I'm trying to make some changes."

"I love you just the way you are, dear," she said. "It's just that you're so different from your sisters."

Then she added, "Change is good, though. Change is good."
 

---

 

Nina continued to keep to herself, doing her own little things. I was curious to know what was going to happen to Princess Marcelline, and had expected to finish reading Nina the story. But it didn't happen.

She remained distant all the way up to bedtime. When she went to bed, I climbed in with her, even though it was early. I was pretty tired.

Nina has a queen-sized bed, and she was all the way over on the other side of it, as far from me as she could get.

"Nina, what's wrong?" I asked.

"I don't want to talk about it," she said.

"Do you not want me to be here?"

"Yes," she said. "I want you to be here."

"Are you mad at me? Is it because I went out before I finished reading you that story?"

"No, it's not that."

I looked at her serious little face. She kept her eyes steadfastly on the ceiling, so all I could see was her profile, with her cute little nose and tiny chin. She really was an adorable child.

As I looked at the way she lay, with her arms across her chest, it suddenly came to me. "Nina, are you afraid of me?"

She shot a glance at me, then returned her gaze to the ceiling.

"Why, Nina? How you could ever be afraid of me? I've never hurt you, have I?"

"No," she said. "But I'm afraid..." — here she began to cry softly — "... that when Cassie leaves... that you..." — but she couldn't go on.

"Come here," I said, trying to take her in my arms, but she shook her head no, so I backed off. "When Cassie leaves..." I repeated, puzzled. "What's going to happen when Cassie leaves?"

Then, my butt's visceral memory understood. "Nina, are you afraid that when Cassie leaves, that I'm going to start picking on you?"

Tearfully, she nodded.

"Like swatting you on the butt and being bossy?"

Again, she nodded.

"I'm not going to do any of that!" I told her.

"But you always say that that's what older sisters do!" she told me, tears flowing down her cheeks. "Cassie and Mom say so, too!"

"Oh, you little thing!" I told her. "It's not like a rule or anything! Cassie does that because she's Cassie. I'm the middle sister, so I'm different. I will *never* be mean to you the way Cassie is to me."

"You won't?"

"No, of course not! How could I be mean to you?"

"Do you promise?" She turned her big puppy-dog eyes to me, and I had to struggle to keep from smiling. She's just so cute!

"Yes," I said in the most serious voice I could manage. "I promise."

At last, Nina smiled.

"Now do you want to put your head on my shoulder?" I asked her.

She nodded, still smiling, and slid right up next to me, and that's where she stayed all night.
 

---

 

I woke up before Nina. She was still glued to me. My right arm was asleep, and her little hand gripped my left arm. After carefully prying myself loose, I quietly made my way out of the room. I desperately need to pee!

Cassie's room is right across from Nina's, and her door was open. Cassie stood there, barefoot, but otherwise fully dressed. I had the distinct impression that she was waiting for me.

She didn't say anything. She just watched me, as if she was waiting for something.

I gave her a tentative smile and asked, "Can I use your bathroom?"

"Sure," she said, and stepped aside to let me enter.

I made my way past her, watching to be sure she didn't swat me (which she didn't), and trying to read her mood (which I couldn't).

When I came out of the little room, she was still waiting for me, watching me, still with that unreadable face.

"What's up?" I asked her.

In an impassive voice, she announced, "I'm going to cancel my trip. I have to."

"Why?" I asked.

"How can I leave when you're like this?" she replied. "I can see you still think you're Marcie Donner."

"No, I don't," I lied. "I'm remembering all kinds of stuff, all the time. I know who I am."

Her eyes roamed over my face, I knew she saw Marcie Donner written everywhere.

"Cassie, please don't cancel your trip. And especially don't do it because of *me*."

"I have to. I don't have a choice."

No choice? what was *that* supposed to mean? "Sure you do. Listen: I've forgotten who I am before—"

"Yeah, but this time is different. This time, for some reason, I'm afraid that you're going to be stuck like this."

"Stuck like what?"

"Stuck thinking you're Marcie Donner."

"But — what difference does it make? Aren't we the same person? Marcie Auburn, Marcie Donner: We're both the same Marcie, right?"

"No," she replied immediately. "You're not. The big difference is that you are not an only child. You had a big sister to watch out for you, and to learn from."

"I guess," I said, with a shrug.

"I know," she said. "I'm older: I had to work everything out for myself. You had it easy."

"Because I had you," I said, finishing her sentence.

"Right," she replied, ignoring my light sarcasm.

I was silent for a moment, then said, "So... let's say — for the sake of argument — that I don't forget that I'm Marcie Donner. What's so bad about that? I always thought you liked me."

She scoffed. "It isn't about like or not-like. It's about how things are supposed to be. I'm afraid that if you *think* you're Marcie Donner you're going to start to *act* like Marcie Donner."

"And would that be a bad thing?"

"Yes!" her eyes flashed fire. "You're a member of this family. You are my little sister, and you can't behave like... you have to behave like..." — she searched for the right words — "you have to behave in a appropriate way."

"What!?" I cried. "What are you saying? When have I ever been 'inappropriate'?" When she didn't reply, I asked, "Are you afraid that I'm going to embarrass you?"

"Yes," she said quietly. "Marcie Donner was always doing crazy things, dangerous things. That was fine when you were just Jerry's girlfriend, but now that you're in this family, it won't fly. I won't have it."

"Oh! I don't believe this!" I fumed. "You won't have it? Look: I'm trying to be a good sister to you. I'm trying to fit in. I'm even trying to be more like you! What in the world do you want? Do you want me to go on being the messy, sporty one?"

She shrugged. "That's up to you. But it has worked so far."

I was angry, but my brain was still churning. "And that stuff about canceling your trip: were you serious? What are you going to stay home to do?"

"Keep an eye on you."

I gaped at her, astonished. "That's ridiculous! Who do you think you are?"

"It's not ridiculous. It's my job."

"What about our parents?" I countered. "I always thought it was *their* job."

"Mom doesn't know about you, and Dad's a man. He doesn't always understand."

I growled in frustration. "I'm not your responsibility!" I told her.

"Yes, you are! I'm the oldest! That *makes* you my responsibility, whether I want you to be or not! I have to see you through to the other side of this thing."

"Okay. Then tell me this: How am I different from Marcie Auburn? Aside from that benefit-of-your-experience stuff?"

"Don't minimize that!" she said with a scowl. "It made you a better person. Marcie Donner grew up wild, practically without supervision. Like I said, you had the benefit of my guidance."

"Oh, brother!"

"You did! Who do you think suggested finding ways around your heroics? I'm the one who told you you could *prevent* things from happening. *I* gave you that idea."

"You did?" I asked. "I don't believe it!"

"Yes, I did!" she nearly shouted. "And did you ever say thank you?"

"I don't know! Did I? Was I supposed to?"

"No! You NEVER said it. Not once! And, yes, you were supposed to! All this time, I've been holding everything together, making everything work. Now, when we're just about to start the new part of our lives, the part that we don't know, who comes back to haunt us, but Marcie Freakin' Donner!"

I didn't know what to say. I was upset, and I felt that Cassie wasn't being straight with me.

While I stood in confused silence, Cassie changed tactics. She sat on the edge of her bed and, gently taking my arm, had me sit next to her. In a soft voice, she said, "Listen to me: you are *not* Marcie Donner. You have to get that into your head. She was a different person."

She was a hero, a voice inside me said.

"She did dangerous, reckless things," Cassie went on.

She helped people, the voice told me.

"And do you know what Marcie Donner wanted, but never had?" Cassie asked.

"No. What?"

"She wanted to keep a low profile."

"Oh!" I said in surprise. It was true: I'd always talked about it, but it never happened.

"Now, Marcie, you finally have a low profile. You have a quiet life, in a good family that loves you."

The little voice in my head didn't have an answer. Cassie was right.

"You like being Marcie Auburn, don't you?" she asked.

I nodded.

"You don't need to have adventures, do you?"

"I guess not."

"No, you don't," she said, with a smile, and smoothed my hair with her hand. "Maybe I can go on my trip after all." She took my hands in hers. "I *can* go, if I know that you're not going to do anything crazy."

I laughed. "I won't," I promised.

"No wall-climbing? No jumping on cars?"

I shook my head smiling. "No and no."

"No shooting people in the foot?"

Shooting people in the foot...

When she said that last phrase, my jaw fell open. Until that moment, she had me. I was convinced. But that single phrase unlocked a series of memories that painfully unwound in my head.

The events of the last few weeks went spinning backward in my brain: I saw myself stumbling from the cabin, dirty, trembling, and cold. I saw the two brothers, lying on the ground... I felt my fingers squeezing the trigger, and the pain in my shoulder as the recoil bounced me against the wall. I saw Ida's frightened face as the van door closed... and felt the impact of Maisie throwing my books to the ground...

It was the last time I ever saw her... and she was running away from me.

"What's wrong?" Cassie asked, with some impatience. "What is that look?"

"Oh my God, Cassie! Oh, my God!" I breathed, in a frozen panic. "What happened to Maisie?"

"Maisie?" Cassie asked. Then she paled as well. "The rich kid?" She knew exactly what I was talking about.

I began to feel frantic. "This time, they must have taken her! Oh, no! Oh, no! Oh, no!" Why hadn't I thought of this earlier? It must have already happened!

"Calm down, Marcie," Cassie said. "It couldn't have happened this time. It would have been on the news."

My mind was racing. I'd been so caught up in figuring out what was happening to me... I'd forgotten what was going on in the life I left.

The kidnappers had taken me by mistake because Maisie and I had done the Mom-swap. This time, Maisie would be with her mother! This time, Maisie would be the one taken, and she wouldn't have Misty — or anyone else — to help her.

"Marcie... Marcie! Listen to me," Cassie said. She was holding me by the shoulders. "Focus. We can look on the web and see. I'm telling you, I don't think it happened."

"Why wouldn't it happen?" I asked.

Cassie looked around the room. After murmuring, "I already packed it, but... whatever...," she proceeded to unpack and set up her laptop. She was silent while the machine slowly booted. I was in agony.

Cassie typed "maisie beale kidnap" into the search engine, and got no results. She also tried "maisie beale" and "flickerbridge" but found nothing. She even tried "margaret beale." Still nothing. We tried a few other searches, but didn't find anything like the events I'd lived through before.

"I can't believe that nobody thought about this," I said.

"Not everything is the same," Cassie told me. "Maybe it won't happen."

"Could it happen later?" I asked. "Later than it happened the first time?"

"I suppose," she admitted.

"Then I have to call her!"

"Call her? And tell her what?" Cassie demanded. "You can't call her! Think about it: what exactly are you going to say? What kind of warning are you going to give? What can you tell her that she'd believe?"

I sat down at the computer and typed "robert strange" but got nothing.

"You know what else?" Cassie continued. "She doesn't know you! She has NO IDEA who you are! You two never met!"

"Damn!" I said. Tears of desperate frustration sprang to my eyes. "I don't know what to do!"

"You can't do anything," Cassie told me.

"I wish I could talk to Susan," I said. "She'd know what to do."

"Susan?"

"She was friends with me and Maisie in—"

Cassie cut me off. "You don't know her, either!"

I tried to think. Was anyone here in Tierson who could help?

Cassie was probably the only person who could help, but she was determined not to.

Then I thought of Aunt Jane... I mean, Jane Donner, Jerry's aunt. She was clever. She'd probably have an idea. Plus, she was crazy enough to listen to me.

"Oh, no!" Cassie said. "I know that look!" She growled in frustration. "And this has to happen right when I'm going away!"

She blew out a big breath and set her teeth. "Listen to me, and listen to me good: YOU CAN'T DO ANYTHING. You can't! If you try, people are going to think you're nuts, and you won't be able to help! Do you understand? You will get yourself in all kinds of trouble! This is *exactly* what I was talking about!"

I looked at her with fierce determination. There was no way on earth I could let this go. "I have to do something, and you have to help me," I told her. "You're the only one who can."

"No, I'm not," she countered. "There's Dad, and I'm going to tell him. Somebody's got to keep an eye on you while I'm away. Somebody has to keep you from doing something crazy."
 

---

 

There wasn't a whole lot of time before we had to leave for the airport, but while Mom helped Nina get ready, Dad heard me out. Cassie sat quietly by. I could see she was nervous. I knew she was nervous about her trip, but I was sure — in spite of what she said — that she was also concerned about Maisie. AND, she was worried that I was going to do something stupid.

"Okay," Dad said when I'd finished. "There is somebody else who might be able to do something—"

"Mr. Donner!" Cassie cried, getting it.

"Yes," Dad said. "Mr. Donner. He's in a much better position to help. I'm going to call him right now." Turning to me, he said, "And you, young lady: don't do anything without me, okay? I mean that: don't do anything at all. We'll take care of this, but we'll take care of it together. Alright?"

"Oh, thank God!" Cassie said, greatly relieved, after Dad left the room.

I frowned at Cassie. She was really bugging me. A lot. She'd been bugging me ever since this problem began, but up to now, my attention was focused on Maisie. Now that Dad was trying to deal with the problem, I could try to deal with Cassie. I looked at her, but she wasn't looking at me.

"You don't have to keep an eye on me," I told her.

She sighed, as if I'd said the stupidest thing in the world. "Yes, I do," she said in a flat tone, as if she was stating a simple, obvious fact. "I *do* have to keep an eye on you."

"I'm not your responsibility," I informed her.

"We went over this before," she reminded me. "This is the natural order of things. I'm the oldest. You're my little sister, and that makes me responsible for you. I have to make sure you don't embarrass me or the family, or even yourself."

I opened my mouth. I felt the steam building up inside, getting ready to power whatever I was going to say. What was I going to say? I didn't know, but I was pretty sure that all I had to do was open my mouth, and the words would take care of themselves. Marcie Auburn must have had this conversation many, many times with her controlling older sister. But whatever it was she would have said, I didn't get to say it.

Mom, who had heard the last few shots in our exchange, swiftly came into the room. She said, "Stop right there, the both of you. Stop right now! Not another word. Not another word! This is a special day, and I will *not* have the two of you fighting!"

"I wasn't fi—" Cassie began, but Mom hushed her with a gesture.

"She thinks that SHE—" I started to explain, but Mom stopped me.

"Not another word, I said! Marcie, why don't you get dressed and go downstairs? You can read to Nina while you wait. Cassie, you stay here. I want a little mother-daughter time—"

"—with your favorite daughter?" Cassie finished, and gave me a provoking look.

"With my oldest daughter," Mom corrected, and shooed me out of the room.
 

---

 

As I came down the stairs, I saw that someone had lit the Christmas tree — probably Mom. Nina was sitting on the couch. I smiled and sat next to her.

"Is something bad happening?" she asked.

"No," I said. "Believe it or not, Cassie is actually helping me with something."

"Huh."

"We have a nice family, don't we?" I said.

"Yes," she replied, and snuggled up close to me. I put my arm around her.

It was a curious sensation. There are different kinds of hugs and embraces. When Mom hugged me yesterday, it was affection: a mother's love for her daughter. It was affection, yes, but at the same time, there was an element of caution, of reserve, because... well, the whole mother-daughter thing is complicated, and even a simple hug can have all sorts of issues tucked inside it.

Here, with Nina, it was something else entirely. Her closeness to me was simple trust and acceptance. There was no caution or reserve.

You couldn't use words like openness or vulnerability. I mean, she *was* those things, but to describe her that way, to use those words, puts an spin on something that's pristine, uncorrupted, not mixed with anything. Using one of those words to describe a state like that, makes it sound intentional rather than... well, rather than the essence of being a child.

While I sat on that couch, surprised and touched by the depth of Nina's trust and confidence in me, I felt a pain in my soul that reached out through everything — through the roof and the sky, arching like a prayer right through heaven itself, and touching back down in Flickerbridge, to a skinny, friendless girl in mortal peril.

There was nothing I could do to save her. Nothing I could do but wait.

© 2008 by Kaleigh Way

[OTHER STORIES]

When I'd told her the basic story, I asked, "Do you believe me?"

"Well, no," she said. "It's impossible."

---

 

15. Marcie Whoever-You-Are
 

Nina and I sat on the couch, sitting as close as two people can sit. We both needed reassurance: me, because of Maisie's danger, and Nina, because her big sister was going away for the first time.

"You know she'll only be gone a few days, don't you?" I told her.

"Yes," she said, "but Mom says that after the summer, Cassie will go away to college and she won't live here any more."

I wasn't sure what to say. So I tried asking, "Will you miss her?"

Nina shrugged. Then she smiled at me. "She won't be whacking your butt anymore!"

"No," I agreed. "Thank goodness for that. There'll be no more butt-whacking in this house!"

Nina laughed.

"Do you want me to read to you?" I asked.

"No, thank you."

So we sat in silence until Dad returned with Cassie in tow. "Nina, honey," he said, "I need Marcie for a minute. Can you spare her?"

He drew Cassie and me into the kitchen. "Okay," he said. "I just talked to Art Donner. He's going to call me later when he's able to talk freely, but he did let me know that he's dealing with the problem. He found a way to warn Maisie's mother. In fact, Maisie is with her father now, which—"

I broke down in a visible display of relief. "So, she's safe," I said.

"Yes," he agreed. "We're going to talk again about the rest of it... whether the threat still exists, and all that."

"Do you know whether that policeman is still on the force?" I asked.

"I couldn't ask. He couldn't talk."

"Okay, good," Cassie said, breathing a sigh of relief as she looked at me. "One less thing to worry about."

I knew she meant me, but I bit my tongue and said nothing.

"Can I call him?" I asked. I didn't even mean to ask. The question just popped out of me.

Cassie's eyes grew as large as saucers.

"Call who?" Dad asked. "Do you mean, can you call Mr. Donner?"

"You might get his wife," Cassie smirked.

"Would that be a problem?" I asked. Cassie guffawed in response.

"Well," Dad replied, obviously trying to be diplomatic, "As much as she loved you when you were her daughter, right now... well, let's just say that you are *not* her favorite person."

I frowned, not understanding.

Cassie grinning, took a different tack: "Now, you're the crazy girl that used to date her son! The son she had to fly all the way to California to save!" she cackled.

"To save?" I repeated. "To save from what?"

"From you!" Cassie laughed.

"Alright," Dad put in. "That's enough."

"Was I really that bad?" I asked.

"Why don't you give Mrs. Donner a call and find out?" Cassie teased.

"Don't call the Donners," Dad told me. "It's a bad idea. A really bad idea. Wait a couple of days, and if you still want to talk to him, I'll call and set up a time when he can call you. Okay?"

"Alright," I agreed.

"Oh, and don't call Jerry, either," he cautioned. "Or his mother will start World War Three."
 

---

 

When Dad and Cassie left the room, I sank down on a kitchen chair. So... I said to myself, life — or what seems like life — goes on.

Everything was better now, I guess, but my nerves were still jangling. Maisie was safe; that was the main thing.

That business about my parents — I mean, the Donners — was pretty disturbing, though. I still didn't remember dating Jerry Donner. If his mother had come to Tierson to "save" him from me, I must have had some interactions with her, too, which I didn't yet remember.

Oh, well. One thing at a time.

Feeling at loose ends, I took Mom's kitchen notepad and a pen. After scribbling aimlessly for a minute, I tore off a clean sheet. I was suddenly inspired to make a list.

I made a list of all possible explanations for this "Marcie Auburn" experience:

• A dream (I was still on the plane to Hawaii, asleep and dreaming.)
• A coma (The plane had crashed, and I was in a hospital somewhere.)
• A reality show (This was all an elaborate trick, with cameras and microphones hidden everywhere.)
• Hallucination (I've lost my mind, or am hypnotized.)
• Fake memories (I never was Marcie Donner; those memories are fake.)
• Science fiction (There really is a time machine, and everything is real.)

I re-read the list, and crossed off the reality-show explanation. It didn't account for my anatomical changes.

I *almost* crossed off the dream explanation. The problem with that one, is that everything makes too much sense. There's none of the bizarre, alogical quality that dreams have. It just keeps going on and on in the same way — but dreams tend to change, don't they?

And another thing: I've fallen asleep and woken up in this dream! In fact, it started off with me waking up. I've always heard that you can't die in your dreams, but can you fall asleep in your dream? Can you dream in a dream?

Plus, pinching myself wouldn't work. If *that* would wake me, Cassie's swats would have woken me right away. Unless...

What if I was asleep or in a coma, and something was happening in the real world, but it turns into something else in my dream? What if somebody is trying to wake me up... or something in my bed is pinching me... and whatever it is, the dream turns it into Cassie giving me a crack on the backside.

No... that didn't make any sense.

Nothing did, really.

When it was time to leave for the airport, I folded up the list and stuck it in my bag.
 

---

 

As I watched the uninspiring scenery go past, I tried to think about my list, but there was nothing left for me to think.

I wished for the umpteenth time that I could talk to Susan about it.

And then I thought: Maybe I *can* talk to Susan! I do know her number, after all.

But... would her parents let me talk to her? They didn't usually let her use the phone.

And if I could talk to her, what would I say?

I could tell her that I heard how smart she is, and lay out the problem for her. Or something. But then again, it probably didn't matter how I began... Susan was absolutely unflappable. She was never surprised by anything...

If I could talk to her, I was sure she'd listen.

Right now, though, we were in a car on the way to the airport. Cassie had to catch her plane.

Well, I could wait a couple of hours. After I got back home, as soon as I possibly could, I'd call Susan and find out what she thought.

Once I made that decision, I saw Cassie looking at me with disapproval. I gave her a mind your own business face and resolved in my heart NOT to give in, not to be denied a chance to figure this whole mess out.

She turned her head away and looked out the window. Good. One big sister, out of the picture. At least temporarily.
 

---

 

The phone rang twice before someone picked it up. "Hello?" It was Susan!

"Hello, is this Susan Ash?" I asked, knowing full well it was her.

"Yes. Who's speaking?"

"Hi, my name is Marcie uh-Auburn, and I'm calling from California."

"What are you calling about?"

I sighed. "I have a problem, and I think that you're the only person who can help me."

Unbelievably, she listened to my whole story, interrupting only to clarify a point here and there.

When I got to the end, I asked her, "Do you believe me?"

"Well, no," she said. "It's impossible."

"Well, I have to find some kind of explanation," I told her, with some desperation. "Have I lost my mind?"

"I can't tell you that," she replied, "but just based on this one phone call, you don't sound crazy. The story you tell is crazy, but at least it holds together."

"So what do you think happened to me?"

"I think that you are Marcie Auburn, and that you've always been Marcie Auburn. Your memories of Marcie Donner aren't real. That's the simplest, most likely explanation."

"Then how come my sisters have those same memories?"

"You've probably told them the same stories in the past."

That stopped me. I hadn't thought of that. But... "Yes, but, Susan, how do I know your phone number?"

"You could have looked it up. You said your old boyfriend is here in Flickerbridge. Maybe you're looking for a way to stay connected with him."

I fell silent, looking for another question to pull her to my side, to validate the whole Marcie Donner business, but I drew a blank.

"Look," she said. "I don't know you, and I don't want to hurt your feelings. I'm not a psychologist or a scientist. I'm just a fourteen-year-old girl."

"I know," I said, "but you're the smartest person I know!"

"Oh!" she said, quite surprised.

Then something came to me. "Hey," I said. "Did you figure out the business with Misty Sabatino yet?"

"Misty what-now?"

"Misty Sabatino. Mrs. Wix and Ms. Overmore went to BYHS together. They were really good friends–"

"No way!"

"–until Mrs. Wix's twin sister, Misty died. You figured out how she died, and that Ms. Overmore blamed Mrs. Wix."

"Whoa! Whoa!" she said. "This is too creepy! I'm sorry, but now you're just getting weird. I think I'd better hang up!"

"No, no, wait, wait!" I said. "At least, tell me what you think about what I said! Please? Tell me honestly. Don't hold back."

She took a deep breath and let it out. "Okay. But remember: I'm not a doctor or a psychologist or anything like that. I'm just a kid, so I could easily be completely wrong. But this is how it sounds to me: I don't think your family is telling you everything. I think that you have some kind of condition that makes you lose your memory."

"Condition?" I repeated.

"But, um... there's one thing you said that doesn't fit. They told you that you forget less and less, right?"

"Yes, why?"

"I don't understand that part," she said. "I'd expect it to happen more and more. You should ask about that."

I blanched. "Why?"

"Because... because... never mind. Just listen: Maybe I'm wrong about the medical condition. In fact, there's another possibility. Now that I think about it, it's a lot more likely. I think that you have a highly developed imagination — more than most people — and that you built an very elaborate — and really remarkable — fantasy about being Marcie Donner.

"Maybe your should think about being a writer? You could write stories about this Marcie Donner."

"No," I said, feeling tired.

"Anyway, your family said that the forgetfulness will fade. Maybe, in the meantime, they're just humoring you with that wacky time-machine story, and–"

"But if they're humoring me, why are they using such a stupid, unbelievable story? Couldn't they come up with something better, if it's just a lie?"

"Maybe they didn't come up with it," she replied.

"What do you mean?"

"Maybe you came up with it," she suggested. "It sounds like they're repeating back to you, stories that you've told them."

"Oh," I said. It felt like I was collapsing, like a balloon with the air let out.

After a bit of silence, Susan asked, "Are you going to be alright, Marcie?"

"Yes, I guess so," I replied.

"Well, it was nice talking to you," she said. "I hope it helped. But I'd better go now. My parents will be home soon, and they don't like me using the phone."

I knew that, but I didn't say so.

"Thanks, Susan," I said. "Can I just ask you one more thing? Have I ever called you before?"

"No," she said. "First time, ever."

"Okay," I said. "Well, thanks so much."
 

---

 

I sat on the floor for a while, hugging my knees, and thinking. It still wasn't right. I still didn't have the answer. Even Susan's explanations didn't fit.

Even if I somehow looked up her phone number, how would I know she went to BYHS? She seemed to know the names Wix and Overmore, and she was friends with Maisie. Also, I *had* known how smart she is. How can you explain that?

As I went over the conversation in my mind, one thing stuck out: the one thing Susan said she didn't understand. She thought I should be losing my memory more often, not less often. AND she said that my family wasn't telling me the whole truth.

I swallowed hard and tried to keep from feeling overwhelmed. If you looked up the word lost in the dictionary, would you see a little picture of me, next to the definition, hunkered on the floor in my worn-out jeans?

Time to get a grip, I told myself, Marcie Whoever-You-Are. There had to be something else I could do; someone else I could talk to.

And then it came to me: there *was* someone I could talk to.

I got up and made my way downstairs. Mom was in the kitchen, with her glasses on, flipping through an issue of Martha Stewart Living.

"Mom?" I asked, and chewed my lip.

She pulled off her glasses and looked at me. "What's wrong, honey?"

"You know how I used to forget who I was, when I was little?"

She went white for a moment. "It's not happening again, is it?"

"No," I lied. "But what I want to know is: did you ever find out why?"

"No, we didn't," she said. "In the end, everyone concluded — I mean the doctors and specialists concluded — that you have an very active imagination." She smiled. "More than one person suggested that you become a writer."

"Oh," I sighed, crumbling a little. *Again* with the "writer" business! As if I was making it all up...

"Come here," Mom said gently, pulling a kitchen stool in front of her own, and patting the seat. I sat down before her. She took my hands in hers.

"Tell me what's bothering you," she said.

"Is something wrong with me?" I asked, and tears came rolling down my face. "Is something wrong in my head?"

"No, honey, nothing's wrong with you! I just told you that!"

"Are you sure?" I demanded. "Would you tell me if there was?"

"Listen to me," she said, "We had so many tests run... so many doctors, tests, scans, machines... your father used every connection he has in the world of science and medicine to find out what made you forget, but no one ever found the least little thing wrong with you. No one. Every doctor, every specialist said you were a perfectly healthy young girl.

"And yes, I would tell you. Now, I would tell you."

"Now?" I echoed. "Why now?"

In answer, her eyes welled up with tears.

"Oh, I get it," I breathed. "Aunt Julia."

She nodded, and lost herself in a flood of tears. Automatically, I stood up and went to her, wrapping my arms around her. She clutched me the way that Maisie had, so long ago, and cried with the desperation of the lost. My own eyes and face were wet, but she was the one in need right now.

She needed me, so I was there. As I held her, I knew that I'd be okay. I *knew* that. I'm Marcie Whoever-The-Hell-I-Am, I told myself. I can take it. I can deal with it. Holding on her, letting her cry, somehow made me feel... I don't know. It made me feel like who I am. It made me feel like I was in the right place, helping.

When she came back to herself, when she'd collected herself, Mom sniffed and looked for tissues. I grabbed the box and put it near her.

"Thanks, hon," she said. "You've always been such a strong girl."

I didn't answer. I just took a tissue myself. I wasn't surprised to see that I was trembling, and so I took a few deep breaths.

"You know," she said, "When you were a little girl, and you'd forget who you were, you would always say that your name was Marcie Donner." She shook her head. "It was the darndest thing: Marcie Donner, Marcie Donner, every single time. I never knew where you ever heard that name! I just figured you made it up. And then, last September, when that Donner boy showed up, and you... latched onto him... well! I thought you really were going to end up being Marcie Donner." She sniffed, gave a weak smile, and chuckled to herself. "That was so strange. It was my little Twilight Zone moment."

"Hmmph," I said, in a noncommittal tone.

She blew her nose and looked at the floor for a few beats. "Listen," she told me in a very quiet voice. "Your aunt is in the hospital."

"When did this happen?" I asked.

"Yesterday morning," she said. "When I was on the phone with her, she was calling me from the hospital. She was already there when we were getting ready for the picture yesterday. She was there for some tests, and they decided to admit her right away."

"So she's really sick," I said.

"Yes," Mom replied in a whisper. "I didn't say anything because Cassie was about to leave... I didn't want her to put off her trip."

"I understand," I said.

"Would you like to come to the hospital with me now?" she asked. "I'd like it if you'd come with me."

"What about Nina?" I asked. "You don't want to bring her, do you?"

"She's having a play day at Jackie's house. It's just you and me."

"Sure, I'll come with you," I told her.

"Thanks," Mom said, and gave me a hug.

"But first," I said, "can we get out of these wet clothes?"

She laughed and wiped her eyes.

© 2008 by Kaleigh Way

[OTHER STORIES]

"Do you know why you're my favorite niece? It's because you're the one who's awake. You're the one who sees every situation as though it's new. You can take something ordinary and find what's extraordinary in it, and you can fall into the strangest, most unexpected situations, and act as though you know what's going on."

---

 

16. Lambing Is Like Down
 

As we approached the hospital bed, I had the strangest feeling... a sort of surreal vertigo... not that the world was spinning, just reality itself.

The reason? The woman in the hospital bed looked exactly like the woman walking next to me. It was an uncanny mirror-like effect.

I knew they were twins, identical twins, but I'd never seen them together before — at least, not that I could recall.

"Hi, Aunt Julia," I said shyly.

"Marcie!" she said with a smile. "My favorite niece!"

"You shouldn't say that," Mom gently chided, but Julia pshawed the objection aside. When I got close to the bed, Julia took my hand and held it while she and my mother talked.

They talked about family members I either didn't know or couldn't remember. They talked about their mother, and "what she had." They reminded each other of the medical history of various female members of the Branch family... because, if I haven't mentioned it, my mother's maiden name is Branch. My aunt never married, so her name still is Julia Branch.

During this whole conversation, Julia's eyes never left my mother's face, but she held my hand firmly, and she caressed the back of my hand with her thumb.

I used the time to study the two faces, to listen to the two voices, to notice the two sets of mannerisms. I'd never been with a pair with twins before; I'd never watched twins interact. Identical is a strange word to use about two people, because they were and they weren't. Right away I noticed the physical differences, and knew that I'd never mix them up. Juliette's face was wider, while Julia had a sharper, more aggressively intelligent look. Juliette's hands looked softer and gentler, while Julia's were bonier and — I don't know why this word came to mind, but — more searching. I felt as though she could read my mood through her thumb as it rode across the back of my hand.

After they'd talked for a bit and agreed on the high points of the family medical history, my mother straightened up and tried to unobtrusively wipe away a tear. She said, "Alright. I'm going to go talk with your doctor. Marcie, you can stay and keep your aunt company for a bit. Will you?"

"Sure," I said.

"She'll be fine," my aunt told her, and Mom, smiling uncertainly, left the room, nearly colliding with the door frame as she exited.

"Poor thing," Julia said. "She's worried to death."

"Aren't you worried?" I asked Julia, with some surprise.

"No," she said smiling. "I'm not. Maybe because it's happening to me. I know how it's going to play out." With her eyes, she indicated a chair behind me. "Pull that chair over, will you? Sit with me for a spell. I want to talk with you."

After I got settled, she looked into my eyes and said, "Don't tell anyone, Marcie, but this is it for me. This is the end."

"Did the doctors tell you that?"

"No. It isn't something the doctors did or didn't say. It's something that I know. Can you understand that?"

"I don't know," I told her.

"Okay," she replied. "Then just listen. Sometimes, it isn't hard to be the one who goes. It's much harder to be the one who's left behind. Do you know what I mean?"

"You're talking about Mom," I said.

"Right," she said. "She's going to feel so alone soon, and I want you to help her. I want you watch over her, take care of her."

"Why me?" I asked. I didn't mean to ask it. Really I didn't. It just came out. But honestly, Why me? I was the middle child, I was the stranger. I was the one who popped into this family out of nowhere.

And, if that crazy time-machine story was true, I could disappear tomorrow, or the day after. Who'd take care of Mom then?

And if the time-machine story wasn't true, then something was wrong with me. How could I take care of someone else if I had to be cared for myself?

"Why you?" she echoed. "Because you're the best suited. Cassie is smart and caring, but she's all wrapped up in her own life, and she's about to blast off into college life. Nina's too little. Your father... well, he's a man, and he won't always understand...

"Do you know why you're my favorite niece?" She smiled a proud, affectionate smile at me.

"No," I said, and thought to myself, Lady, I barely know who you *are*.

"It's because you're the one who's awake. You're the one who sees every situation as though it's new. You can take something ordinary and find what's extraordinary in it, and you can fall into the strangest, most unexpected situations, and act like you know exactly what's going on."

I sighed.

"You know it's true," she continued. "Everyone else is asleep! Everyone is locked into their habits... habits of seeing, habits of believing... they do the same things every day, and they think that it's real. It's not. It's all just a game; rules and conventions that people more or less agree upon..."

She stopped abruptly. I waited a few moments, but she didn't continue.

"Are you alright, Aunt Julia?" I asked her. "Are you tired?"

"Tired? No," she replied. As she spoke, a small, square light began to blink behind her, in the wall console, above the head of her bed.

"Aunt Julia?" I asked. "What's that red blinking light for?"

She turned her head to look. "Oh, that's just a warning."

"A warning? For what?" I asked, as I stood to get a better look. The light was flashing red once a second, and as I moved my head closer, I realized that it had the image of a tiny open hand. "It looks like the DON'T WALK signal at a crosswalk," I said, puzzled. "What could it mean?"

"It means, don't walk," Julia laughed. "What else could it mean?"

I frowned and looked into her face. "No, seriously," I said. "What does it mean? Do you know? Is is something bad?"

"Yes, I know what it means, and no, it's nothing bad, but it might be a problem for *you*."

"For me? Why would it be a problem for me?"

She grinned as if it were the greatest joke. "Because, now that that light is flashing, you won't be able to go to the bathroom until you leave the hospital."

I was flabbergasted. "Aunt Julia, admit it: you don't know what that light is for."

She began giggling, and put her hand on my shoulder. "Listen to me, Marcie. I have to tell you something important. It's about lambing."

"Lambing?" I asked. I'd never heard the word before. "Is that like, making lambs?"

She found this almost hysterically funny. "No," she replied. "Lambing is like down."

"Down?" I repeated.

"Down," she said. "You know what down means, don't you?"

"Sure," I said. "You get down off a duck."

Aunt Julia convulsed with laughter at my response, and as she laughed, she pushed my shoulder gently back and forth. "Ha-ha," she said, between her giggles. "Boo-boo. Ha-ha, boo-boo!"

Oh, man! What in the world was going on? "Aunt Julia, please talk normally," I said. "I don't know what the joke is, but you're beginning to make me feel like I'm going crazy." I began to wonder whether she had a brain tumor, and it was affecting her... well, her brain!

At that moment, I heard the sound of a vacuum cleaner — a VERY LOUD vacuum cleaner — in the hall outside. It got even louder when a cleaning lady walked into the room, dragging the vacuum behind her. It was an enormous thing, the size of an oil drum.

"Could you do that later?" I asked, over the din.

"It's all right," Aunt Julia said. "She has to do that. Marcie, look! Ha-ha, boo-boo!" Julia pointed to the TV, which had the sound turned off. On the screen was the face of a clown, a close-up of his white-mouthed face, orange wig, and red nose. He was saying something. The words appeared on the left of the screen in big letters as he spoke, one syllable at a time:

HA
HA
BOO
BOO

The cleaning lady looked up, too. "Yes," she said, as if she knew the program well. "Ha-ha, boo-boo."

"Oh, is that what you were talking about?" I asked Aunt Julia. "I don't know this show. Is this something you watch?"

The cleaning lady gave my aunt a very severe look. "If she wants to use the bathroom," she said, referring to me, "She'll have to wait until she leaves the hospital."

"I'm trying to tell her," my aunt said.

"Is there something wrong with the bathrooms here?" I asked.

"No," the cleaning lady said. "Of course not. You just can't use them."

"That's what I'm trying to tell you, Marcie," my aunt replied. "It's for the lambing."

"Lambing?" I repeated. "I've never heard of lambing! There's no such thing! And there is nothing on a lamb that's anything like a duck! I'm sorry, but I'm getting really frustrated here. If this is a joke, I wish you'd stop, because it isn't funny."

The cleaning lady gave me a look of great disapproval, which I returned with interest. Who was *she*, to look at me like that?

"Do you mind?" I asked her, "Could you either shut off that vacuum cleaner, or take it out of the room?" After all, she was just standing still, glaring at me, not cleaning at all.

Aunt Julia was nearly overcome with laughter. "Oh, Marcie, you're killing me," she gasped.

When she caught her breath, she shook my shoulder and said, "Wear lambing and ha-ha, boo-boo. Wear lambing!"

But when she spoke, her voice was strange. It had a squeaky, quirky quality that I'd heard before... I knew that voice. It reminded me of the voice of the Wicked Witch in The Wizard of Oz, but without the wickedness. It sounded...

It sounded like Wiggy! Wiggy Wetherwax!

"Wear lambing soon," she repeated, and I as I turned my head to look at her, I somehow opened my eyes, and there was Wiggy, giggling like an idiot. A flight attendant stood behind her, looking very annoyed.

"If she's going to use the bathroom, she's going to have to go right now. Otherwise, she'll have to wait until she gets into the terminal."

"I know," Wiggy said, "I think she's finally awake."

"Awake?" I repeated.

"Yes, Marcie, we're landing in Honolulu," and she burst into giggles. "Or ha-ha boo-boo, to you!" She nearly lost herself in a fit of giggles.

"You slept through the whole flight," she explained, "but they're going to start the landing sequence soon. If you need to go to the bathroom, you have to go right now."

"Yeah, yeah, I do have to go," I said, utterly disoriented, but very aware of my bladder. I began to struggle into a standing position, but something was holding me back.

"Oops!" Wiggy told me, "Careful! You need to undo your seat belt first!"

"Oh, yeah, I'm on it," I told her.

"Okay," she said, scratching her head and fighting back a smile, "Do you need a hand?"

"No, I'm good," I replied, and stumbled down the aisle toward the toilet.
 

---

 

Marcie Donner, I thought, as I sat on the funky plastic seat. I'm Marcie Donner again. Marcie Donner, Marcie Donner. I felt terrible, as though I hadn't bathed for a week, and the smell of the airplane bathroom didn't help.

Someone knocked on the door and said, "You've got to come out now. The captain's turned on the FASTEN SEATBELTS sign, and you have to return to your seat."

"Coming," I mumbled, but I guess she didn't hear because she knocked again and repeated the message.

I made myself presentable and opened the door. As soon as I did, the flight attendant repeated the message a *third* time, walked me back to my seat, and stayed with me until I fastened my seatbelt.

"Wow, she really likes me, doesn't she?" I remarked to Wiggy, who giggled.

"Do you know what happened?" she replied. "She was trying to be nice. Because you slept through the entire flight, she knew you'd need to pee. So when it was almost time to make everybody stay in their seats, she came by to wake you up."

"Oh," I said. "That was nice."

Wiggy giggled some more. "But it was impossible to wake you up! Everything we said or did, you answered in your sleep. You told her—" she couldn't talk for laughing "—you told her—" she wiped her eyes "— you told her to shut off her vacuum cleaner. Whew!" She sniffed and snorted, trying to smother her giggles. "You said, DO YOU MIND?" The man sitting in front of her sighed loudly and shifted noisily in his seat.

"Oh, yeah," I said. "I dreamt she was a cleaning lady with this huge vacuum cleaner." Then I realized. "Oh! The vacuum cleaner was the sound of the plane."

"And you said something about getting down off a truck."

"No, off a duck. You get down off a duck. I thought you were talking about lambing. You said that lambing is like down."

Wiggy smiled. I think she was pretty much laughed out, and I didn't think it was all so funny.

"The best of all was when you said ha-ha boo-boo." Wiggy abrupted snorted with laughter. The man in front of us turned and gave us a very irritated look.

"Sorry," we both said.

"And hey," I said to Wiggy, "speaking of sorry, I'm sorry I was such bad company. But I was just exhausted. And I had the weirdest dream!"

"It sounded like it," she said.

"What do you mean?"

"You were tossing and turning a lot. And every now and then, you said a few things."

"Like what?"

She blew out a breath. "Let's see. At one point you said Pink!? and another time you said, News Flash: It just got old! A few times you said ow!, like something stuck you, and near the end you cried a little bit."

"Oh," I said, shaking my head.

"I'm not surprised," Wiggy said. "After all you've been through? It would be odd if you didn't have strange dreams for a while."

Then she thought for a moment. "Oh, there was one thing you said that I wanted to ask you about. You said, These girls are so stupid!"

"Did I?"

"Yes, and I wanted to ask you: were you talking about the Amazons?"

"The Amazons?" I repeated, as the blonde cheerleaders came back into my memory. "Oh, no, it wasn't them at all. It was these girls in a fairy tale..."

© 2008 by Kaleigh Way

[OTHER STORIES]

As I shuffled along behind the gloriously beautiful Amazons, I said to myself, I need a bath and I look awful. And *that* means I'm awake. I stink; therefore, I am.

---

 

17. Put Her Down!
 

During the landing sequence I told Wiggy my dream, and she remarked on the places when I'd said something out loud.

Obviously, I had to leave out the rather essential part about changing sexes, which became difficult once Wiggy began asking questions.

"So in this dream," she said, "Your mother — I mean your mother in real life — didn't like you because of the way you were all over Jerry."

"Right," I said.

"And your dream mother, Mrs. Auburn, thought about putting you on the pill?"

"Right again."

"So," Wiggy said, bringing her eyebrows into an inquisitive frown, "How come that didn't happen in real life?"

"What?" I blurted out.

"I mean, if you two were so hot for each other, how come your real-life mother didn't want to put you on the pill, and all the other stuff?"

"Uh," I said, caught at a loss. I was about to point out that my mother *had* flown to California and *did* put me in an all-girls school, but...

Seeing my discomfort, Wiggy immediately backed off. "Hey, I'm sorry, Marcie! I didn't mean to get so personal... just forget I asked. It's no big deal."

"Thanks," I said, and added, "I'm still waking up. My brain's a little addled."

She smiled sympathetically. "Not sure who you are yet?"

"No, for sure," I said, and gave a weak laugh.

She immediately changed gears, and told me the plot of the in-flight movie, which I'd missed.
 

---

 

As we left the plane and entered the terminal, I was still disoriented. I couldn't seem to wake myself up; I walked, I hugged my carry-on to my chest, as if it were a baby, but I felt as if I were still wrapped in my bedclothes. It felt like the middle of the night. I'd slept nearly fourteen hours, but I still felt groggy... ready for bed.

I haven't traveled much, and time zones... forget it! I had enough trouble with the three-hour difference between California and New Jersey. Now, it was just after three in the morning in Honolulu, which meant it was nine in the morning in Flickerbridge, New Jersey. I'd slept "all night" — so why did I feel so out of it?

The Marcie Auburn experience had something to do with it, I'm sure. It really marked me... like I said before, it didn't just seem real, it was real... at least, at the time.

In comparison, I could see that reality — real reality, waking reality — is different. Right now, ironically, it was fuzzier and more confusing than the dream had been. In some ways it was more unpleasant: My mouth was dry and had a bad taste; I was achy and stiff, and my shoes were really tight for some reason. Plus, I suspected that my hair didn't look quite the way it was supposed to.

As I shuffled along behind the gloriously beautiful Amazons, I said to myself, I need a bath and I look awful. And *that* means I'm awake. I stink; therefore, I am.

After that thought came another: I don't *really* stink, do I? I judicious and discretely sniffed at myself and decided that I was fine. I smelled like any other teenage girl.

I raised my head and looked outside the big terminal windows. It was dark, dark, dark. Still night time. The world was asleep, and here I was shuffling through a airport. I should be asleep, too.

If I was an adult, I'd be wishing for a cup of coffee.

My brain was functioning at a minimal level, just enough to allow me to move my legs and not fall over. As far as awareness of my surroundings... well, like I had said, it was minimal: I just kept dragging myself behind the pack of blonde heads, and that worked well enough for me.

Until...

A slim man in a suit slammed into me with his hard, bony shoulder, and jolted me out of my dull, mindless shuffle. I swear, I never knew that a shoulder could be so bony, hard, and hurtful!

"Ouch!" I cried. I wanted to say more, but my brain wasn't quite up to it yet. It happened so unexpectedly! I turned to look at the culprit, but he didn't stop. He just kept on moving, in a hurry to get... well, probably to catch a flight.

Then, one of the Amazons, Donkey, appeared out of nowhere and slammed the man with *her* shoulder at least as hard as he'd slammed me.

It not only broke his stride, it knocked him sideways a few steps. He stumbled, but recovered, and he kept on going. He didn't even turn! Donkey called something after him — something uncomplimentary, I'm sure, and then she ran up alongside me.

"Are you alright there, Marcie? Did that jerk hurt you?"

"No, I don't think so," I said, "it was more of a surprise than anything else."

"Oh, good," she said. "Anyway, I tried to give at least as good as you got."

"I appreciate it," I said, smiling. "It was nice of you."

"Hey," she said, putting her arm around my shoulders, "We take care of our own. When Mirina saw how out of it you are, she asked me to shadow you, to make sure nothing happened."

I was astonished and touched. "That was really nice!" I said. "I have to thank her. And thank YOU, too!"

"No," she said. "Don't say anything. Mirina likes to think of herself as the godfather type, you know? Behind the scenes, pulling the strings? She only comes out front when she has to. At least, that's what she thinks she does."

"Okay," I said. "Well, anyway, thanks again."

Donkey smiled and gave me a hug. She stayed at my side until we reached the spot where the Amazons had gathered.

As we approached, Wiggy was pulling a second folder from her bag. I figured it held the tickets for the second flight.

"Okay," she squeaked. "Listen up! We're going to check in for the second flight. If anyone has to go to the bathroom, now's the time to go. We'll wait for you." No one moved. "Okay, then: all you need to do right now is get out your passport and hang onto it. I'll call you up, one at a time, once we get to the counter."

Obediently, all the girls and the two teachers dug into their bags. I took a breath to rouse myself from my mental fog, and opened my own handbag, which oddly seemed half-open already.

I reached for my wallet. It was a big one, big enough to fit my passport... but it was gone!

Quickly, jerkily, I shot my hand into every corner of my bag, but my wallet wasn't there!

Immediately, I recalled the impact of the slim man's shoulder, and knew what happened. I lifted my head, and looked into Wiggy's eyes.

The look on my face must have startled her, because she looked a bit frightened.

"That man," I said, "the man who bumped into me — he stole my passport!"

Donkey's jaw fell.

By some strange instinct, I turned and spotted him across the terminal. He was so far away, he looked about four inches tall. "Call Security," I told Wiggy, and set off running.

I realized I was still clutching my carry-on bag to my chest, but it was too late to drop it now.

The thief was easy to see. He was walking slowly. I figured he was looking for a new prey, and I was right. As soon as he spotted his next victim, he changed direction and headed directly toward her. It was easy to see who he'd chosen and why. This woman looked distracted, as I must have done: She was staring at something while she walked.

By now, I was much closer, and when the thief picked up his pace, so did I.

I knew what he was going to do. Once he built up to ramming speed, he was going to hit the woman with his shoulder, and lift her wallet right out of her purse.

The woman he'd chosen was a well-dressed, dark-haired woman in her early thirties. She continued to stare upward at something... maybe she was a little lost, but in any case she didn't see the man bearing down on her.

But more important than that, he didn't see *me*.

I kicked into high gear, and came round the woman on the other side. I wanted to catch the thief after the snatch.

And that's just what happened.

He was so intent on lifting her wallet that he was completely unaware of me. He was moving fast, but I was moving faster.

When he plowed into the woman with his shoulder, I saw his hand slip into her handbag, and slide out clutching her billfold.

"Ooof!" she cried in surprise.

As he'd done with me, he didn't turn his head. He acted as if he wasn't aware of the impact.

In an inspired moment, I took my carry-on bag in my fists and threw it on the floor in front of him.

He tried to step over it, but his left foot caught in the handle, and he stumbled. If he hadn't been moving so fast, he could have kept on going, but his momentum carried him forward. He couldn't free his foot, and so he fell. He came down hard, with a thump!, and his chest and chin hit the stone floor. I ran up and planted my foot on his left upper arm, just below the shoulder, so he couldn't get up. I leaned into him with all my weight.

I glanced over my shoulder and saw Donkey running toward me, but she was still a long way off.

The dark-haired woman turned to face me, shocked and frightened at what I had done.

"This man just stole your purse," I told her. "This man just stole your purse!"

She didn't or couldn't understand me. She looked at me with utter incomprehension, paralyzed by the sudden violence.

I looked over my shoulder again at Donkey, who suddenly stopped running and pointed behind me.

As she did, a pair of strong hands grabbed my upper arms and lifted me off the thief. "That's enough of that, young lady," a strong masculine voice said from behind me. "I saw what you did! I saw it, and you're in trouble now!"

Donkey came trotting up. The man on the ground twisted his head and looked up at me. "That little tramp!" he hissed, "Did you see what she did? She attacked me! She made me fall! I hope you're going to arrest her! She better not make me miss my plane! I'm telling you: someone is going to have a big lawsuit on their hands!"

In spite of knowing that I was right, what he said frightened me. I had to hope that the truth of the situation would save me.

Then I noticed that while he spoke, he was shifting the woman's billfold into a pocket inside his jacket. He'd stayed on the ground so that his body would cover what he was doing.

But I guess it didn't work as well he thought.

Once he'd tucked the newly-stolen wallet away, the man on the ground began to gather himself so he could stand. But before he could, the woman he'd robbed stepped up and planted her foot on the thief's right shoulder, and leaned into it hard, pinning him to the ground once again.

"Put that girl down!" she told the security guard in a commanding tone. "This man stole my wallet, and that girl tried to *stop* him! Put her down, I said! PUT HER DOWN!"

Slowly, uncertainly, the security guard lowered my feet to the floor, and — a little at a time — loosened his grip on my arms. I guess he wanted to see whether I was going to run away.

Donkey, grinning, and glad to get into the act, came up and put her foot on the poor thief's other shoulder. His head was turned in her direction, and he glanced up at her in alarm.

"It's a good thing I'm wearing jeans," she informed him. "Otherwise, I'd have to poke your eyes out."

In the midst of all this, a little girl's voice broke through. She said, "Look, Mommy! It's the girl from TV! It's the girl from TV!" The mother dragged the struggling girl off, but the damage had been done.

The woman who'd been robbed stared at me. Then the light went on. Her mouth fell open, and she cried out, "Oh, my God! You're the girl who was kidnapped, aren't you! You're... Mar... Mar... you're Marcie Donner, aren't you!"

"Oh, boy!" I said.

"This is victor-charlie-niner," the security guard said into his walkie-talkie, "I need backup near the north escalator in terminal C, do you copy?"

A crowd began to gather. Some were there to see the man on the floor, and some were there to see "the girl from TV" — me, although it was obvious from their comments (like, "Which one is she?") that most of them had no clear idea who I was. And *that* was a good thing.

Once the other security guards arrived, we were escorted into an ugly, windowless office. Donkey followed at a safe distance with my carry-on bag. She didn't want to be "escorted" as well.

As the office door closed, she called to me, "Don't worry, Marcie! We have a couple hours before the flight. Wiggy will take care of everything!"

One of the guards stood at the door, to make sure no one could leave. A man in a suit sat behind a desk and asked for an explanation.

The thief leapt to his feet and launched a tirade of accusations against me, against the woman he'd robbed, and at "that rude blonde girl, who seems to have conveniently disappeared."

The man behind the desk let him carry on for a bit, then indicated that he'd heard enough. He asked me for my story, which I told as quickly and as simply as possible. The thief kept interrupting with exclamations such as "What a lie!" and "Why, I've never seen this girl before in my life!"

Next, he asked the woman for her story, and I realized that he saved her for last. Now that I had a chance to really look at her, I understood why.

First of all, she was a good-looking woman. She had a vague resemblance to Jennifer Garner, and she was dressed like a business executive, in a white blouse and a black suit. Her skirt came to her knees. Even dressed as she was, you could see she had a great figure and nice legs, and the man behind the desk understood all that and yet was fairly discrete in his appreciation of those facts.

Her hair, on the other hand, was nothing to write home about — it was short and needed some help, but... nobody's perfect, and she was traveling, and anyway we weren't here about that.

Second of all, she had more credibility than either me or the thief. She was obviously a victim. No one accused her of anything.

While she spoke, the thief didn't dare interrupt her, and in the end, he was forced to empty his pockets and his bag. In all, he had were seven wallets from seven women.

After a bit of paperwork, I emerged from the office with *my* wallet and all its contents, and was greeted by a series of flashes from a half-dozen cameras, professional and otherwise. A reporter button-holed me and started asking questions.

I wanted to cry. I needed to go to the bathroom. I didn't know what to say.

Wiggy sidled up next to me and gently wrapped her hands around my arm. "We can get you out of this," she whispered.

I looked at her with pleading eyes. "You can?"

"Yes," she replied softly. "Just tell the reporter that you're here with the Amazons, and make him look at Mirina." She smiled a crafty smile and with an almost imperceptible nod pointed to Mirina with her chin.

I turned back to face the reporter, and saw Mirina standing behind him. She looked absolutely stunning, literally head-turningly lovely, and the rest of the Amazons were lined up a few yards behind her.

"So what brings you to Honolulu?" the reporter asked me again.

"Um, I'm here with the Amazons," I told him, and gestured to Mirina.

He turned to glance at Mirina, then turned back to me — but only for a moment. He did a double take. Mirina smiled at him, and he completely turned his back to me. His entire manner changed. She began to talk, and he was all ears. In just a few seconds, he forgot all about me.

Amused, surprised, and relieved, I turned to Wiggy, who was laughing silently. She gestured with her head to say Let's get while the gettin's good! and the two of us slipped off.

Wiggy led me away to a safe distance, still holding my arm, and we turned back to see Mirina leading the reporter and his photographer to the group of Amazons.

"Thank God!" I said. "That's amazing!"

"Hey," Wiggy said, "Sometimes NOT being blonde and gorgeous is the best talent you can have."

"Yeah," I said. "And you know what else? I really need to find a bathroom, quick!"

Wiggy chuckled and pointed, and we zoomed off, arm in arm.

© 2008 by Kaleigh Way

[OTHER STORIES]

In any case... I had a bigger shock waiting for me.

---

 

18. The Stowaway Princess
 

We settled into our seats. Once again, Wiggy and I were together, and once again she'd given me the window.

"Are you going to sleep through this flight, too?" she asked. "You still look kind of sleepy."

"No," I replied. "It's a short flight anyway, right?"

"Compared to the last one, yeah. It's five and a half hours. And the sun is up."

I looked out the window. We were flying over the ocean. There was nothing to see but water. "For some reason I'm still sleepy," I agreed, "but I don't think I could fall asleep; I'm a little afraid to."

She laughed. "Afraid you might end up back in California, with that girl smacking your butt?"

"Maybe," I said.

Her eyes twinkled as she looked at me. Then she said, "That dream really shook you up, didn't it?"

"Yes," I said.

"It didn't sound so bad, though," she said. "It sounded like a lot of it was wish-fulfillment, you know? Like, you said you wished you were a part of that family, and you liked living back there in California, and all that."

"Yeah, but Jerry wasn't there," I objected. "He was the big reason I liked that family."

"Right," Wiggy agreed, "BUT, if he had been there, he would have been your brother, which would make the whole, um, romantic thing impossible."

"Yuck!"

"Yep," she agreed. "And you REALLY wanted and needed to get away from Frickenitch..."

"Flickerbridge," I corrected.

"Sorry! Flickerbridge... so in your dream you got as geographically far from New Jersey as you could get."

I listened to the whine of the jet, and said, "But I'm doing that in real life, now. I'm going farther... Wiggy!" I said in a melodramatic voice, "I'm going farther than I ever dreamed of!"

She rolled her eyes and smiled.

"You know, Wiggy, the problem with the dream wasn't what it was about. That's not what upset me. The reason it shook me up was because it was so real."

She shrugged. "Dreams can be that way," she said. "But they alway fade away."

"So what did you do while I was asleep?" I asked.

"I read Lord Of The Flies," she replied. "We have to read it for school. Have you read it?" I shook my head. "No? Well, don't. What an awful book! It isn't even written well!"

"I think I might have seen the movie," I told her.

She nodded. "It's one of those cases where the movie is better than the book. You know, they make high-school students read that thing, but there's NOTHING TO LEARN in it! I'm convinced that the only reason they make us read it is because it's short."

Not having read it, I couldn't really comment.

Wiggy went on, "What else did I do? I slept some. A little. There was a meal, a movie, another movie, another meal..." She shrugged.

"So, now that you read that book, are you out of stuff to read? Because I have some magazines that I brought..."

"Let's see what you've got," she said.

I reached down and pulled my bag from under the seat. Once it was between my feet, I tugged the zipper open, and found...

"What is that?" Wiggy asked. "A present? Who is it for?"

It sure looked like one: gift-wrapped, with a ribbon and a bow... and a card addressed to me.

Wiggy spotted the name on the card. "Oh, it's for you!"

In a flash of memory, I saw my mother fiddling with my bag while I was on the phone with Dad. Until now, I hadn't had a chance to see what she'd done.

"Oh, yeah, my mother must have stuck this in," I told Wiggy.

"Ooh!" she said in an excited voice, like a little girl. "Open it! Open it! I LOVE presents!"

"Okay," I said, smiling at her child-like enthusiasm. "Do *you* want to open it?"

Her eyes goggled. "Can I?" she asked in breathless disbelief. "Can I really?"

"Sure," I shrugged, and as I handed her the packet I said, "It feels like a book. Maybe it's something you'd like to read."

She gave a quiet squeal of excitement, and looked at it lying in her lap. Her hands were poised in the air as if she hardly dared touch it. The wrapping paper was gold-colored, with the words Merry Christmas! printed all over it. The ribbon was red, tied in shoelace bow.

First, she pulled off the card, opened it, and read it aloud. Luckily, I was the only one who could hear her.

"Dear Marcie," she read, "I meant this to be a Christmas present, but it didn't arrive in time. Now, it's your bon voyage gift. I hope you enjoy reading about other girls like you! Love, Mom."

My jaw dropped, and I froze like a statue. "Other girls like you"? Mom! How could you!? I thought. Are you trying to out me to all the girls on the trip?

"Girls like you?" Wiggy repeated, wondering what it could possibly signify, but she didn't look at me as she said it. Her eyes were on the book, which still lay wrapped in her lap. She was one of those people who take forever to unwrap a gift.

I wanted to grab it away from her and stuff it into my bag. Once we landed, I could toss it, unopened, into the first trash can we came across.

On the other hand, I could just ask Wiggy to give it back, to not open it. I'm sure if I told her that it was something personal and embarrassing, she'd understand.

Somehow, I didn't do either of those things. I could have, but I didn't.

Maybe I let her open it because I was still tired and disoriented. Maybe I let her open it because I'd been thinking so much and so hard about being outed on national TV. It hadn't happened, of course, but it probably would. And so... I don't know. Somehow it seemed connected.

Maybe I was curious to see how Wiggy would react.

Please understand: I didn't want her to know. At the same time, I could have stopped her. But I didn't.

In any case... I had a bigger shock waiting for me.

With an excited smile on her cute little face, Wiggy tore the paper off.

And what did she find, but a brand new copy of Princess Marcelline!
 

---

 

"So you're transgendered?" Wiggy asked, in the quietest, most discrete voice imaginable.

I nodded.

"You don't want to be a boy, do you?" she asked, her brow wrinkling in incomprehension.

"No!" I said. "No way!"

"Oh," she said, the light dawning, "You used to be a boy?"

"Yeah," I admitted, in the quietest possible voice.

She nodded, and I could almost hear the gears whirring inside her head as all the recalibrations took place.

"So...," she said, almost to herself, as her mental data shifted and realigned, "That explains the dream..."

"Wiggy," I said, "If you don't want me to be your roommate, I—"

"No!" she said, with sudden force. She gripped my arm. "No, I want you to be my roommate! I need you to be my roommate." Her eyes searched my face. "You still want to be my roommate, don't you?"

"Yes," I said, "I just thought—"

"To me," she said, "everything is the same as before." She looked at the book, which was still in her lap, resting in the nest of ripped wrapping paper. "I like you. You just have an... um... interesting... uh, history."

Then she looked up and smiled at me. "I can't believe your mother would send this with you on the trip, though! Was she trying to out you to all of us?"

I blushed. "I wondered the same thing," I replied, "but I don't think so. Sometimes she just doesn't think."

Wiggy nodded, and said, "Mothers," as if that explained everything. And I guess it did. "Well, I won't tell the other girls," she confided. "As far as I'm concerned, it's *your* business."

"Thanks," I said.

Her eyes returned to the book. "Do you mind if I look at this for a bit?"

"No, go ahead," I said. "But can I tell you something weird? In my dream, I had that book already. But I swear I've never seen it or heard of it before."

She gave me a look full of doubt. "You must have. You must have. You might have seen it from the corner of your eye. You weren't aware of it, but your brain registered it. Your subconscious probably made all kinds of elaborate connections, and figured out that this is what your mother stuck in the bag."

"Yeah, but, in my dream I read two of the stories in that book. What if in real life the stories are the same?"

She looked at me and frowned for a moment. "I don't know," she replied. "But Let's see if the stories are even in here."

"Okay, well the first one was called The Puir Laddie And His Godmother."

She gave me a glance that said, Are you for real?. Aloud she said, "I doubt there's any such story... with a crazy name like that? 'Puir' isn't even a word."

I didn't reply. She opened to the table of contents. "Nope," she announced. "No godmothers, no laddies, no puir anything. See?"

I looked, and she was right. "Weird," I commented.

"No," she replied. "NOT weird. It would have been weird if the story *was* here."

"I guess," I said.

"What was the other story?"

"Princess Marcelline," I said.

"Well, duh," she replied. "That's the title. You know that one's there."

"Let me see how the story goes," I said, grabbing the book. I quickly scanned the pages, up to the point where I'd stopped reading to Nina. "It's the same!" I said, dumbfounded. "It's the same story I read in my dream!"

"So?" Wiggy retorted. "That doesn't mean anything."

"It doesn't?" I asked in astonishment. It sure meant something to me!

"No," she insisted. "Look." She took the book from me, closed it, and pointed to the cover. "See this word? Retold. That means that this lady took some fairy tale that already exists and changed it around a little. You probably heard it or read it, but you forgot."

"No," I said. "The story was so bizarre! How could I forget something so bizarre?"

"We forget all kinds of things," Wiggy replied. "Otherwise we'd go crazy from having too much stuff in our heads."

"No way," I retorted.

"Yes, way," she replied. "Did you ever hear of Remembrance Of Things Past? It's a novel. Well, it's seven books long, and it's full of stuff that this guy forgot about completely."

"If he forgot it, how did he write about it?" I asked.

"Ah!" she laughed. "He dips this... kind of cookie called a madeleine into some tea, and the smell makes him remember it all."

"Oh, brother!" I scoffed. "Like that could happen!"

Wiggy chuckled.
 

---

 

After the steward had distributed the snacks, I noticed that Wiggy was staring at something as she munched her peanuts. So I asked her what she was looking at.

"It's Cakey and Ding-Dong," she said. "They're sitting together, and they're talking."

"Is that bad?"

She twisted up her mouth. "I don't know. I guess if you can't *hear* them, it's not bad."

"Can you hear them?"

"No, but I can *see* them, so I know what they're up to...

"Oh, hey!" she exclaimed, interrupting herself. "I didn't tell you! Cakey and Ding-Dong are *not* natural blondes. Isn't that scandalous?" She giggled.

"They're not?"

"No! And everyone knows. Not just the Amazons, but the whole school. But... everybody pretends that they are. Somehow, the entire school has forgotten... and if their roots get dark for a few days, every month or so... well, it's just one of the mysteries of nature."

I chuckled.

"So," she quipped, "they're actually on our side of the hair-color divide. The traitors!

"Anyway, what was I saying? Oh, yeah! Cakey, I have to warn you, is a HUGE practical joker. She can drive people right up the wall, and she's made Mirina loose her cool in a big way more than once. One of her favorite things to do is to get Ding-Dong talking, and that's what she's doing now."

"Is that a bad thing?"

Wiggy made a face like you don't want to know!. "The bad thing is that — especially if she has no idea what in the world she's talking about — she will go on forever. And I mean, forever. It's like she's reading an imaginary encyclopedia where all the facts are completely wrong." Wiggy shook her head. "One thing Cakey loves to do — and I'm sure she'll try it on you — is that she sits down with you and Ding-Dong, and says something to set Ding-Dong off. You know, something Ding-Dong doesn't understand. Then, once Ding-Dong gets going, Cakey gets up and walks away, leaving you holding the bag, so to speak."

"Ah," I said.

"One day, after we talked about Jackie Onassis in class, Cakey and Ding-Dong sat down at lunch with me. That alone should have made me suspicious, but then Cakey wondered whether, when Jackie O. was First Lady, whether the taxpayers paid for all her clothes."

"Did they?" I asked.

"Who knows?" she replied hotly, "Who cares? The point is, that Ding-Dong went on for fifty minutes on the subject. First she explained why the taxpayers must have paid for them, then she changed her mind and went on about why they couldn't have paid for them. Then she ran through some other daffy things that, even if I *wanted* to listen to, I couldn't, because my brain went into overload and shut off for the rest of the day.

"The thing to do," Wiggy said, "if you see it coming, is to leave before Cakey does. Then she'll be the one stuck listening to Ding-Dong."

"I'll try to watch for that," I said. "Hey, you don't want to look at that book any more, do you?"

"Uh, no," she said, handing me Princess Marcelline. I began to shove it roughly back into my carry-on, so Wiggy said, "Oh, I thought you asked for it because you wanted to *read* it."

"No," I replied. "I want to BURY the Princess in the bottom of my suitcase. She can stay there until I get home."

Wiggy popped another peanut into her mouth.

"Maybe I can throw her overboard while we're on the boat," I groused, as I settled the book on the very bottom of the bag.

"Oh!" she said. "That reminds me! The trip! I haven't told you our itinerary."

"That's right!" I agreed. "You said something about an island?"

"Yup! So, we land in Bora Bora around lunchtime today, which is Friday, in case you forgot. Then we get on the boat, which is a big sailing ship, and we'll spend three nights onboard. Monday, which is New Years Day, we'll land on this little island where we'll stay for three days and three nights. Then, back on the boat for a day and a half, and on Friday after lunch we take the flight back to Honolulu. We'll be back home on Saturday evening."

"And then we have one day to recover before school starts on Monday."

"Unfortunately, yes."

"That's a lot," I said. "It doesn't sound like it will all fit in the time we have."

"Oh, it does," she said, and showed me a calendar. "See? One day plane, three days boat, three days island, two days boat, one day plane. More or less."

I had to agree. It all worked, at least on paper.

"What if there's a storm or something?" I asked.

"Or if the boat gets a flat tire?" she joked.

"No, really."

"Well, as far as we can plan, everything ought to work. If there are unforeseen difficulties, we'll just have to deal with them. I mean, it's not hurricane season. The boat makes this trip a lot, and they're used to having passengers who don't know anything about sailing, so... you know, everything should be fine. And if it's not, we'll deal with it."

"Okay," I said. "I just don't want to get stranded on Gilligan's Island, you know?"

"Well," she quipped with an impish grin, "Let's see what the sailors look like before we rule that out!"

"Good point, Wiggy! Good point!"

© 2008 by Kaleigh Way

[OTHER STORIES]

"Journey To The Center Of The Earth," I read aloud. "Ding-Dong, you know that book is science fiction, don't you?"

"Well, sure," she replied. "But don't you know that science fiction becomes science fact?"

---

 

19. Bora Bora, Bora Bora
 

I didn't sleep at all on the second flight. We did take off while it was still dark, but technically it was already morning. They served us breakfast, and everybody else was awake, so how could I sleep? Instead, I had a good time, looking out the window (once the sun came up), searching for boats below, and chatting with Wiggy.

Plus, I was finally awake. No more fuzzy-headed confusion! And — after my long, death-like sleep — I felt pretty good.

The Amazons, on the other hand, were going stir-crazy. The fourteen-hour flight from Newark to Honolulu was long, but it was doable. On that flight, the girls who could sleep, slept. The others watched the movies, amused themselves, or *tried* to sleep.

Now, we had another flight to endure, from Honolulu to Papeete — five and a half hours. And after that, one last flight, from Papeete to Bora Bora — only about a half hour. Paradoxically, even though each flight was shorter than the one before, each flight was harder to take.

In the middle of the Honolulu-Papeete flight, Mirina organized an exercise and stretching session: she and Knickers cleared the floor in front of their seats, and Boogers and Donkey put their seat backs straight up so that there was space, and we each took turns doing the bicycle. You know, shoulders on the floor, legs in the air, pedalling air and all that. She also had us do in-seat stretches. As hokey as it sounds, I actually liked it, and it made me feel good.

Wiggy told me that on the earlier flight Mirina had the girls stretching and exercising every three hours, if they were awake. At odd intervals, she had Graffy and Grooty remind everyone to hydrate.

As much as I dislike bossy people, I appreciated what she did. It wasn't fun, and Mirina didn't insult our intelligence by trying to make it seem like fun. With her no-nonsense, businesslike manner, Mirina overcame my unwillingness, and afterward I was glad she did. What Wiggy had said of her was true: Mirina is a natural leader. It's easy for her to get people to do things.

And she herself did everything she asked the others to do. When Graffy or Grooty said to hydrate, she drank some water. When it was her turn to bicycle, she got down on the floor and bicycled.

I had a great time with Wiggy. She and I got along as if we were old friends, but even so, at one point we got so bored and talked out, that she pulled out my fairy-tale book and buried herself in the window seat to read it. Occasionally she'd laugh or chuckle, but I didn't bother to ask why. I didn't feel like talking about transgendered-ness. The Amazons were roving the aisles, and the chance of being overheard was very high.

Wiggy was very discrete. She had the seat reclined, and her knees up. The way she held the book in her lap, her legs and her blanket hid the cover entirely. And since we (once again) were sitting in the last row (of first class!), no one could look over her shoulder.

While Wiggy explored the world of fairy-tale transformations, I flipped through the pages of Cosmo, looking for fashion enlightenment.
 

Every so often Ding-Dong came dancing up the aisle with a fresh bit of misinformation, courtesy of Cakey.

"Hey, did you know that Bora Bora has a national anthem?" she asked me.

"No, I didn't."

"You've probably heard it — that's the funny thing!" And she began to softly sing,

Bora Bora, Bora Bora
It's an island in the ocean.
Independent, something-something
And they call it Bora Bora.

"You've heard it, right?" Ding-Dong asked, with a child-like smile.

I struggled not to laugh, but Wiggy said, without looking up, "Ding-Dong, that's the Yale fight song."

"Really?" she said, astonished. "Yale uses that song? I have to go tell Cakey!" and she was gone.

"Oh, my God!" Wiggy sighed. "I hope you realize: this is only the beginning."

"It's kind of cute," I said.

"Yeah," she said. "One time is cute. The second time you still smile... but you have to realize that Cakey is behind each one of these trips, and she'll keep sending Ding-Dong over, until she drives us out of our freakin' minds."

I laughed.

"At least she knows that Yale is a school, and not a lock company," Wiggy commented. "At least, I hope she knows."

The next time Ding-Dong came back she had a book in her hand, with her forefinger inserted as a bookmark.

"Hey, Wiggy," she said, "The center of the Earth: hot... or not?"

"Hot," Wiggy said. "Some scientists think it's hotter than the Sun."

Ding-Dong laughed. "That's ridiculous!" she said. "If the center of the Earth was hotter than the Sun, we wouldn't be able to live here! There wouldn't be any water! The whole planet would look like a burned-up tennis ball!"

Wiggy looked at Ding-Dong in silence for a moment, weighing her options. This time she said, "Okay, then, it's cold."

"Well," Ding-Dong replied, "It can't actually be cold, but it's not hot."

"How do you know this?" I asked her.

"I'm reading this book," she said, and showed me the spine.

"Journey To The Center Of The Earth?" I read aloud. "Jules Verne? Ding-Dong, you know that book is science fiction, don't you?"

"Well, sure," she replied. "But don't you know that science fiction becomes science fact?"

Wiggy opened and closed her mouth three times, but she didn't say anything.

I said, "Thank you for sharing that with us, Ding-Dong," and she skipped happily back to Cakey.

Every so often the girl would return to share some other amazing gem from her reading, or to ask for clarification of something she didn't understand.

"Did you know that underground, everything is lit by electricity?" she asked me.

"Well, sure, it would have to be," I joked. "Otherwise, it would be dark."

"So you think that it's real, then?" she asked.

"Well, sure," I said. "How could it be otherwise? If you didn't have electric light, you'd have to have candles or gas lamps..."

"Which could cause an explosion," she put in.

"Yeah, I guess so," I replied.

"Thanks!" she said, and ran off again.

"What was that about?" I asked Wiggy, who shrugged.
 

---

 

At long last, all three flights were over. By then, we ALL felt crappy, unglamorous, and achy, but all our discomforts were forgotten when we looked out the windows of the plane.

I expected Bora Bora Airport to be pretty much like any airport. Maybe a little smaller, but an airport nonetheless.

Instead, it was a tiny island. And it was HOT. As soon as they opened the door of the plane, the tropical air came rushing in. Once we got outside, though, the ocean breeze cooled us off quite nicely.

It was just after lunch, so the sun was high in the sky. Everything was bright; there were no shadows. There was literally not a single cloud in the blue, endless sky.

I have to admit that I haven't traveled much, but I figured airports would be pretty much the same everywhere: You know, the airplane rolls up to the gate, an accordian-like thing comes out, and you walk through it, directly into the air-conditioned building.

Well, in Bora Bora, it wasn't anything like that. When we landed, the stewardess just popped open the door and unfolded a set of stairs. When we exited the plane, we just walked down directly to the runway! We stood right on the ground, right next to the plane! And just a few steps away, some men were opening the belly of the plane and unloading the luggage, right before our eyes.

That was my first surprise. I never in my life expected to stand on an airport runway. People only do that in adventure films.

My second — much bigger surprise — was the airport itself. It was beautiful! Up till now, I thought that Sacramento Airport in California was the nicest, cleanest airport in the world. But Bora Bora had Sacramento beat to sticks.

Do you know why? It's because it's a tiny island! And not only that, it's a tiny island in the South Pacific! You can see the whole thing, almost without turning your head.

The runway was bordered with white sand, palm trees, and deep-green bushes with bright red flowers.

AND, instead of busses and taxis waiting to carry the passengers away, there was a boat! It was a kind of water taxi.

"Is that our boat?" Ding-Dong asked.

"No," Wiggy said, "Ours is the wooden one, behind it."

"Oh!" Ding-Dong cried, with obvious disappointment. "Is that the boat we're spending our vacation in?"

"No, Ding-Dong. Remember: you've seen pictures. Our boat is over 100 feet long. It's too big to tie up to this tiny, little dock. We have to take that boat, which is a longboat, out to our ship."

"You say it's a long boat," Ding-Dong countered, "but *I* don't think it's very long. There isn't enough room for all of us to sit — or even stand — and there's no room for our luggage. Unless that boat has, like, an underwater compartment."

Wiggy regarded Ding-Dong for a moment. "An underwater compartment? You mean like a luggage area underwater?"

"Yes."

"Well, it doesn't have one. All the boat is right there. It's what you see. There's no hidden underwater basement."

"Don't worry," Cakey told her. "Wiggy will work it out."

In fact, Wiggy, after looking over the situation, went over to the men unloading the plane and spoke to them briefly. Then she walked to the dock and waved to the sailor in the longboat, who waved back. At that point, the man in charge of the water taxi began to ask her questions while gesturing at the rest of us.

"I wonder what they're saying," I said, but I didn't really wonder. It was just something to say.

"If you were over there, you could hear them," Mirina pointed out. "Why don't you go keep Wiggy company? Give her your support."

"Uh, oh, yeah," I said stupidly, and went to join Wiggy on the dock.

She smiled and said, "Hi. I'm glad you came over. I was beginning to feel alone."

I gave her a grin of encouragement. Again Wiggy had that look: the look of a slightly overwhelmed little girl. It was amazing the way this group of people, including two adults, expected Wiggy to handle everything for them. They acted as though she was the only adult.

"We'll be off in a minute, miss!" the water-taxi man called.

"Thanks!" Wiggy called back. Then to me she said, "As soon as they go, our boat can pull up."

A light breeze kicked up, flowing gently over my hair and clothes and skin. I could feel the sun all over me, even through my clothes.

"Isn't it wonderful here?" Wiggy sighed. "This is the nicest place I've ever been, and we haven't even left the airport yet!"

I laughed, but my laugh was covered by the bark of the water-taxi's horn. It made me and Wiggy jump. The taxi's motor revved up, the ropes were cast off, and after some preliminary chugging, the taxi moved off with a rhythmic a-puttputtputt-putt a-puttputtputt-putt.

Behind us, the airport men rolled up a big cart. They blocked the wheels and began unloading our luggage onto the dock.

As they piled up the bags, the longboat glided in.

"Ahoy there," called one of the women from the boat.

"Ahoy yourself," Wiggy called back, smiling. "Are you from the Seward?"

"That we are," the redhead replied.

"They're both women," I whispered to Wiggy.

"I noticed," she whispered back.

The second woman, the one who hadn't spoken, had gathered some rope in her hands. Wiggy opened her hands, and the woman tossed it to her. Wiggy immediately and deftly wound the rope around some hooks, and pulled it fast.

"Well done!" the woman complimented. Wiggy smiled and moved to tie off the rope at the other end of the boat.

"Looks like we have a sailor in our midst," the redhead said, stepping from the boat. "My name's Flannery and that one's Riley. What's yours?"

"I'm Wiggy and this is Marcie," Wiggy replied, shaking hands.

"Wiggy?" Flannery repeated.

"It's short for Hedwig," she explained. "I'm Hedwig Wetherwax."

"Ah," Flannery observed. "That name sure is a mouthful. Wiggy it is, then!"

"I should tell you," Wiggy went on, "that all the girls — except Marcie here — have strange nicknames."

Flannery shrugged. Riley grinned and asked, "Do the teachers have nicknames, too?"

Wiggy gave a cute conspiratorial smile and said, "Of course! But they don't know. Ms. Popken is Poppy, and Ms. Takkebos is Bossy."

"Oh, dear," Flannery laughed. "Poppy and Bossy, are they? It's going to be hard to call 'em by their real names now."

"So how are we going to do this?" Wiggy asked. "Those are the passengers and these are the bags."

"That pack of blondes, eh?" Flannery asked. "And I suppose them two are the chaperones?" She indicated the two teachers, who stood a bit apart.

Wiggy nodded. "Do you think you can take all eight cheerleaders at once?"

"Oh, they're cheerleaders, are they?" Flannery laughed. "Well, lar-dee-dar!"

Riley chuckled.

"Don't underestimate them," Wiggy said in a quiet voice.

Flannery stopped laughing.

"Sorry," she said. "No offense meant." She considered a moment, looking at the girls, the luggage, the boat, and finally, at Riley.

"What we can do is this," she proposed. "I could take the eight of them, and one teacher. Riley can stay here with you two, the other teacher, and the luggage. Then, I'll come back for you two, the teacher, the luggage and Riley. How's that sound?"

Riley shrugged, and Wiggy agreed. She signalled the Amazons to come, and they trooped over to hear the plan.

"It's going to take two trips to get all of us and our luggage to the Seward," Wiggy explained. "Flannery's going to take the Amazons and one of the teachers first, then come for the rest of us and the luggage."

The girls and teachers all nodded.

"Amazons, are you?" Flannery asked, musing.

"Is that a problem?" Mirina asked.

"Oh, no! Heaven forbid!" Flannery replied. "It's just that our Captain fancies herself an Amazon. Does the name Blackett mean anything to yous?"

Everyone shook their heads in the negative, which Flannery found surprising, but she left the topic there.

"Any questions?" Wiggy asked.

Ding-Dong raised her hand. "Did you say she was taking us to the sewer?" she asked cautiously. "Because, if you did, I'm not sure that I want to go."

Wiggy's jaw worked for a moment, and Flannery fought down a laugh, but when Wiggy said, "Yes, Ding-Dong, I did say that. We're going to the sewer." Flannery succumbed to a coughing fit, and Ding-Dong's jaw fell open in horror.
 

---

 

Soon enough, the eight girls and one of the teachers were safely aboard. Cakey managed to convince Ding-Dong that she could at least come and see, before she made up her mind.

Wiggy and I cast off the ropes, and the longboat's motor carried it away.

"This is going to be one interesting trip," Riley commented, and Wiggy and I laughed in agreement.

"Oh!" Wiggy said. "I — uh, we — were wondering: are there any handsome sailors on board?"

"I was wondering that myself!" Ms. Popken, the teacher, agreed with a broad smile.

Riley grinned. "I think we're *all* handsome," she replied.

"You know what I mean," Wiggy countered. "I'm talking about the men! Or boys! Or anything in-between."

"Didn't you know?" Riley asked, with some surprise. "There are no men on board. The crew is all women, and so are you. There aren't going to be any men at all on this trip!"

"Are you kidding me?" Wiggy cried.

"No, I'm not kidding," the woman replied. "No men. Nary a one."

Ms. Popken swore heavily in her disappointment, which made Wiggy and me bust up in hysterics.

Poppy, mightily embarrassed, said nothing at first, but when we couldn't stop giggling, she said, "Come on now, girls, it wasn't *that* funny!"

"Yep," Riley said. "It's going to be an in-ter-est-ing trip!"

© 2008 by Kaleigh Way

[OTHER STORIES]

"Well, then, Ding-Dong Belle Dubois," the Captain replied, "In answer to your question, a boat is just a little thing. You can play with a boat in your bathtub. The Seward is a SHIP, and don't you forget it!"

---

 

20. Our Boat Turns Out To Be A Ship
 

Ms. Popken gave Wiggy and me a look. "Now, girls, please don't take this question in the wrong way, though I'm sure you will." Turning to Riley, she asked, "If there aren't any men, is there at least any alcohol on board?"

A slow smile spread over Riley's face. "You know, it's funny that you ask. Usually we'd stock up before a trip, but this time, since nearly all the passengers are underage, we only have a few bottles of wine... enough for a glass or two a day for each adult, and no more. The Captain's set a strict limit."

"How is that funny?" Poppy asked, a little annoyed.

"It's funny because until yesterday we had cases and cases of Scotch."

"Whisky?"

Riley nodded. "Whisky and haggis."

"Haggis?" Poppy asked. "What sort of drink is that? Is it a liqueur?"

Riley began laughing.

"No, it's a kind of exotic Scottish sausage. See, we had this group who wanted to have a Burns Night later in the month, and they had Scotch and haggis sent on ahead. But then there were some... problems —" she broke off, laughing again.

"What happened?" Wiggy asked.

"Oh, I can't tell you," she said. "Can't tell other clients' business. Well, okay... since you've twisted my arm, I'll tell you. They argued with the Captain... about the price — after the deal was closed — and about sword dancing."

"Sword dancing?" I asked.

Grinning, Riley waved her arms as if she had a sword in each hand, and cocking her legs, danced a little jig. "They wanted to have a girl who danced with a pair of swords, but the Captain wouldn't have it. It's traditional — but, as the Captain said, it's not traditional on a sailing ship.

"Anyway, I suspect there was more to it than all that, but in the end we had to send back all the whisky. They told us we could keep the haggis. We couldn't ship it to the United States anyway. It's illegal."

Miss Popken looked profoundly disappointed, disinterested, and maybe even disgusted.

"Why is it illegal?" Wiggy asked.

Riley shrugged. "Fear of the unknown, I suppose."

"Can we try it?" I asked.

"You can all try it," Riley promised. "Some of the crew like it, but it's a bit too, uh, flavorful for me."
 

When we were done talking about haggis, Wiggy began to pepper Riley with questions about the longboat.

"I saw you have a motor on the longboat," she asked. "Do you ever row it?"

"No," Riley said. "We don't bother. Some passengers have tried, but it takes too many people... and they have to know how to row together. Usually they start smacking each other's oars, and quit. Although we did have one group that was able to make it go for a bit."

"Is it a lot of work?" I asked.

"No, it's just that have to know how to work together."

"So if one or two people need to run ashore, they couldn't just row..." she seemed disappointed.

"If somebody really wanted to row," Riley interrupted, "They could take the dory."

"You have a dory?" Wiggy squeaked in excitement.

"What's a dory?" I asked.

"It's a little rowboat," Wiggy replied. "I have a dory back home! One of my father's friends made it for me!"

"What kind?" Riley asked.

"Swampscott," Wiggy replied.

Poppy and I looked at each other and shrugged. I guess there were two of us who didn't know boats — thank goodness!

"Do you think I could try the dory a bit?" Wiggy asked. "I've won some rowing contests."

"Have you really?" Riley said. "When we get to the island you can do a bit of rowing, but the Captain wants to get underway as soon as possible." Wiggy nodded, and Riley continued, "So where did you do your rowing?"

"Every summer we go to Port Hatchapee, down the shore*," Wiggy replied.

They talked distances and rowing speeds for a bit, and when the sea talk went beyond incomprehensible and verged on boring, Poppy and I tuned it out.

We walked to the end of the dock together and jumped down to the beach. At the same moment, we both knelt and took a handful the supernaturally fine sand.

"I've never felt sand this soft," Poppy said in a subdued voice.

"And it's so incredibly white," I added.

All around us fell the hushed rumble and hiss of the surf.

We looked up at the sky and at the sea. Mom was right: the sea was blue here. And the sky was not the same sky I saw at home, not even in California. It was a different blue.

"It's a tropical blue," Poppy said, reminding me of the color Mom and Maisie had chosen for my bedroom walls.

"Yes, it is," I agreed. Now, my bedroom would always remind me of this place. Echoing what Wiggy said earlier, I said, "So far in my life, the most beautiful place I've been is Bora Bora Airport!"

The wind gave us a soft lick, and Poppy said, "Yes, Marcie, it is beautiful, isn't it? I still can't believe I'm really here!"

"I'm so glad to be warm after all that snow," I commented, and she sighed happily in agreement.

Just then the longboat pulled into view.

Wiggy and Riley tied it to the dock, and the five of us formed a line to pass the luggage up to Flannery, who arranged them in the boat.

By the time we got underway, we were all very red and very hot.

"Hope you girls brought your sunblock and your hats," Flannery commented. She yanked the ripcord and brought the motor to life. The boat slid away from the dock. The land fell away behind us.

Now we were starting our adventure at sea. Wiggy squeezed my arm in silent excitement.
 

The moment we emerged from the airport's cove, the ship came into view.

"Whoa!" I exclaimed in amazement. "It's like a pirate ship!"

"Somebody always says that," Flannery commented. "What was that girl's name? Ding-Dong? She said it on the first trip out."

I blushed at the comparison, and Riley laughed.

"Don't let Flannery bother you," Riley told me. "You're right: it does look like a pirate ship. That sort of ship is called a brigantine, because it's got two masts and it's square rigged."

"Square rigged?" I repeated.

"It means the sails are square," Riley replied.

"That's not what it means," Flannery contradicted.

Riley shrugged. "It's close enough."

Flannery spat into the water, which shocked me. I'd never seen a woman spit before. I wasn't sure what to make of Flannery. She seemed friendly enough, but maybe she was touchy about nautical terms? I guessed I might have a better idea in a few days.

As we got closer, we came around the tail-end of the ship and saw its name written in large script across the stern: Seward's Folly. Wiggy read it aloud and began to laugh.

"Why is that funny?" Flannery asked. "Every so often somebody laughs, but I never get the joke."

"It's what people used to call Alaska," Wiggy told her. "A man named Seward bought Alaska from Russia. At the time, people thought it was worthless, so they called it Seward's Folly."

"And this Seward fellow had the money to do that?" Flannery asked.

"No," replied Wiggy, "He was Secretary of State."

"Hmmph," Flannery grunted.

"I guess your Mr. Seward figured it would be a funny name," I put in.

"I guess," Flannery agreed. "Looky here: what we're going to do is get you passengers aboard and then Riley and me'll work the luggage up."

And that's what we did. We had to climb a ladder fixed to the side of the boat. Riley helped from below, and two sailors (both women, of course) helped from above. They didn't really need to. It wasn't hard. Even Poppy made it up without a problem.

"Good," one of the sailors commented when the three of us were aboard. "The Captain's been itching to give her welcome-aboard speech. Mind you don't laugh unless you're good and sure that she's joking."

We sat on the deck next to Graffy and Grooty, and the instant our butts touched down, Captain Blackett launched into her speech, and this is what she said:

"In the first place, I've heard some of you talking, and you've been calling this old tub a boat.

"When I heard that, I shut my eyes so I wouldn't see the culprit, because nothing makes my blood boil like hearing this lovely lady called a boat." She pronounced the word boat as if it were something dirty.

"If it's not a boat, what is it?" Ding-Dong asked in a puzzled tone.

The Captain stared at Ding-Dong as if she was amazed. Captain Blackett was a good-looking woman with sunbleached red hair, and freckled pale skin. In spite of her lack of tan, you could see she was always in the sun. She was an outdoorsy type of woman, with a loose red shirt, large plaid shorts, and sandals on her feet. Her eyebrows and the hair on her arms were bleached blonde by the sun. She wore a very faded sky-blue baseball cap on her head.

And she obviously wasn't used to being interrupted. "What's your name, girl?" she asked.

"Ding-Dong Dubois," came the perky reply.

"Ding-Dong Dubois!" the captain repeated in an incredulous tone. "Did your parents give you that name?"

"No," Ding-Dong laughed. "My real name is Belle."

"Well, then, Ding-Dong Belle Dubois," the captain replied, "In answer to your question, a boat is just a little thing. You can play with a boat in your bathtub. The Seward is a SHIP, and don't you forget it!

"If I hear ANYONE call this ship a boat, I'll throw that person to the sharks. I'll tie you to a rope and drag you in our wake for a day, just to teach you!"

At that, Cakey couldn't help it: I don't know what she was thinking, but she cracked a little smile. The Captain saw it.

"You, girl, what's your name?"

"Cakey Keese."

"Cakey Keese," the captain repeated cautiously. "And your real name?"

"Katrien."

"Katrien Cakey Keese," the captain said, as if she was memorizing it. "I can see you're a mischief-maker, aren't you, Katrien Cakey Keese?"

Cakey's eyebrows went up, but she didn't reply.

"Don't joke with me, girls," the captain told us all. "This isn't the place for practical jokes. Rule number one: don't pretend to be in danger if you're not. And for God's sake, don't shout 'Man overboard' unless somebody's actually fallen overboard. Life on board is a good life, but there are times — and I hope to God we won't have any of those times — but there are times when the only difference between living and dying will be doing what I say.

"Which brings me to rule number two: if I give you an order, girls, I want you to hop to it and not ask me why. If a member of the crew asks you something, as they tell you it's Captain's Orders, I want you to do it. If you don't like it, if you wonder why, you can ask questions later, but when you hear an order, you do what you're asked, then and there.

"Can you promise me, girls? Will you do that for me?"

We sat in silence, glancing at each other, so the Captain bellowed, "WILL YOU DO THAT FOR ME, GIRLS?"

"Yes!" we responded as one.

"That's great," she said in an unconvinced tone. "Just because of that, and to show you that we're all friends, I'm going to let you all call me by my first name." She smiled to herself, and looked down at Ding-Dong. "Can you guess what my first name is, Ding-Dong Belle Dubois?"

"Captain?" Ding-Dong offered meekly.

"That's right!" the Captain roared. "It's Captain! When you speak to me, no matter who you are, no matter what's afoot, you'll address me as Captain, or you won't speak to me at all. It's my name, it's my title, it's my function, all rolled up into one.

"So, welcome aboard, girls! Now, I'm going back to the business of running this ship. We've got to get underway, so I'm turning you over to Shaylen, my first officer. She's going to run through some safety instructions, and if you don't listen up and pay close attention, you'll be hearing from me.

"Before I go, are there any questions?"

Ding-Dong was the only one to raise her hand. The captain waited, but no one else put their hand up, so she nodded to the girl.

"Will we be sailing around Cape Horn?" Ding-Dong asked.

"Good lord!" exclaimed the Captain. "We'd better not! Anything else?"

There were no more questions, so the Captain strode off, and Shaylen came forward. She was a dark young woman, with a dark tan, and dark brown hair tied in a pony tail. She was likeable and friendly, and seemed to know our names already. Shaylen ran through the safety protocols, pointed out the emergency equipment, and told us what to do if anyone was hurt or fell overboard...

She quizzed us a bit, and when she was satisfied, she nodded to another sailor, saying, "Tell the Captain we're ready to get underway."

The other girl turned her head and bellowed, "Ready to get underway!" Someone further along repeated the cry, and so did a third.

"Now," Shaylen told us, "your bags are over there. However, I strongly suggest that first you go below and choose your rooms, and then come back for your luggage. There's not a lot of room to maneuver down there, so the picking will go a lot easier if you're not holding your bags.

"After that, you're free to wander about, and if we're still hauling up the sails, you could give us a hand. When all that's done, we'll meet me back here, and I'll show you where lunch can be found. All right? All right!" We stood looking at her a moment, so she said, "Go now, shoo! Pick your rooms, stow your bags!"

We made our way downstairs — I mean, below. The room choice wasn't hard. Everyone except me had already studied the ship's layout, and knew where they were headed. The eight Amazons took the two four-bed cabins, which were in the middle of the ship. The two teachers each took a room in the back, or aft, and Wiggy and I took the foremost cabin. It wasn't very big, so we stored a lot of our belongings in the room across the hall. The outer wall curved out so that the ceiling was slightly bigger than the floor.

The beds were bunks, one above the other, and because of the curve of the wall, the higher bed was set further back than the lower. That meant that Wiggy, who took the upper bunk, could look down at me just by turning her head.

"It's not bad, is it?" Wiggy asked, a bit anxiously. I think she was still afraid I'd want my own room.

"It's fine," I said, and to reassure her I added, "I think we'll be quite comfy here."

At that, she gave a relieved smile.

"Once I get used to this rocking," I added.

Wiggy laughed. "Oh, yeah. Soon you'll hardly notice. But I'll tell you one thing, it makes it a lot easier to sleep!"

"Oh, good," I replied, as the left side of the room rose and fell in a steady rhythm.

"Let's go up on deck and help them haul out the sheets!" Wiggy enthused.

"And change the beds?" I asked, tongue in cheek.

Wiggy paused, unsure whether I was serious.

"I'm joking!" I laughed. "Let's get this old tub sailing!"

---

* Down the shore: A New-Jersey-ism. The southeast coast of New Jersey is all beach, and since north is up and south is down, when you go to the beach, you go "down the shore."

© 2008 by Kaleigh Way

[OTHER STORIES]

Donkey put in, "What is the poop deck, anyway? I mean, really?"

---

 

21. Ding-Dong On The Poop Deck
 

Wiggy and I were back on deck before any of the Amazons, and we helped the crew raise the sails. It wasn't hard. We just stood where they told us, and pulled down a rope hand over hand until it stopped. Then we'd move to another spot, pull down another rope, and so on.

After we'd repeated the process a couple times, there were no more sails to raise.

"How many sails are there?" I asked Flannery.

"Twelve sails. 7000 square feet of total sail area," she replied, without looking at me.

Once all the sails were up, the ship began moving quickly. Most of the sails were tight and full of wind, but every so often one of them would let out a loud crack! as the wind whipped it.

"Hey, Riley," I asked, "How come I can feel the breeze, when the wind is pushing the boat?"

She gave me a quizzical look before replying. "Two things," she said. "One, the wind blows in different directions, and it changes a lot. Two, we're not going *faster* than the wind. Even after it pushes the ship, it still has enough left over to mess up your hair."

Embarrassed, I thanked her and went off to join Shaylen and the others behind the main mast.

When I got to the little group, I found that everyone was silently watching Ding-Dong do a funny little shuffling dance.

Shaylen, amused, asked, "Do you have a little problem, Belle?"

"It's Ding-Dong," she corrected, "and yes, I do. I have to go to the poop deck! Bad!"

Shaylen told Ding-Dong (and the rest of us) where the various facilities were found onboard, and Ding-Dong quickly disappeared below.

Mirina, in a suspicious tone, asked, "Cakey, did you tell her to say that?"

Cakey gave her best "innocent" look, and asked, "Moi?"

Donkey put in, "What is the poop deck, anyway? I mean, really?"

Shaylen pointed behind us. "It's that raised deck in the stern. It's the roof for the cabins on this level, which — on this ship — includes the dining room, where there's food waiting for us. You can have a late lunch if you're hungry, or a snack if you're not. But let's wait until Ding-Dong gets back.

"In the meantime, are there any other questions about the ship, or nautical terms that I can explain?"

"Yes," said Donkey. "This fore and aft stuff. Why don't you just say front and back?"

Shaylen shrugged. "Tradition, I guess. But I think if I did say front and back, it would mix people up."

"I mix up fore and aft," said Donkey. "And stern, too."

"Think of before and after," Shaylen suggested. "And imagine the Captain on the poop deck, looking stern."

Donkey grinned. "Got it."

"What about Avast, ye landlubbers!" Graffy asked.

"And Belay that!" Grooty added.

"You know what landlubbers are, right?" Shaylen asked.

"We're landlubbers," Boogers replied.

Shaylen nodded. "Avast means stop. Belay means to fasten a rope without tying it."

"How do you do that?" Grooty queried.

"You wrap the rope in a certain way. You don't want to tie a knot — they take forever to undo. Because of that, sailors have found ways to securely bind and unbind ropes quickly. Just like your friend Wiggy did, when she tied up the boat at the dock."

Wiggy blushed as everyone looked at her.

At that point, Ding-Dong emerged from below, smiling. "I don't know why you call it a poop deck," she said. "A deck is a whole floor. The poop deck is just a little room." She shook her head, amused at what she took to be silly nautical slang.

Shaylen opened her mouth to speak, but decided to let it go. Instead she took us to dining room, where we had a light lunch.

We chatted and laughed. The entire time we ate, the ship was gently rocking. I felt myself relaxing into the rhythm. "I'm so glad I came," I told Wiggy. "I'm so glad you let me come."

When nearly everyone was done eating, Riley came in to get herself a drink.

"We're well underway," she said. "We've got a strong wind, and it looks like we'll make good time."

There was a question I wanted to ask, so I swallowed my half-chewed mouthful, and forced it down with a few gulps of water. "Why was the captain so anxious to get underway?"

Riley and Shaylen glanced at each other, and the way they did brought all the Amazons, Ding-Dong included, to attention.

"Well, part of the reason is that we're heading east," Riley said. "The prevailing winds are westerly. So the trip out is a little longer and a bit trickier than the trip back." She looked at Shaylen the whole time she was speaking.

"You can tell them," Shaylen said. "Captain's just being prudent, that's all."

Riley shrugged.

"See, there's a big storm up north of us," Shaylen explained, "There's a very small chance it could come this way. It isn't likely, but the Captain doesn't like to take chances, even small chances, so she wants to run to the island as soon as possible."

"Are we in any danger?" Cakey asked.

"No," Shaylen said. "You can all see the sky and the sea. If a storm was coming, you'd see and feel it. We're always listening to the weather service, and even if the storm did decide to blow down this way, we'd make straight for the nearest port and wait it out in safety. We don't take chances with our passengers. We don't take chances with ourselves, and we don't take chances with the Seward."

Cakey asked, "Can't tropical storms come up quickly? Faster than we could get to port?"

"Cakey!" Mirina scolded, "Don't ask for misfortune!"

I didn't understand what Mirina meant, so I gave Wiggy a quizzical look. She muttered, "I'll explain later," so I nodded.

Cakey shot a glance at Mirina, and in a soft voice to Shaylen asked, "Can they?"

Mirina looked quite angry at Cakey for repeating her question.

I could see Shaylen was puzzled by Mirina's reaction as well. To Cakey she said, "In the old days, before radar, radio, and good weather forecasting, a storm *could* break on a ship with very little warning. Back then, almost any ship asail would be hard pressed to outrun a real tropical storm."

"It would be all batten down the hatches! and tie yourself to the mast!" Ding-Dong enthused.

Shaylen stared at her. "Hopefully, it would never come to that!

"As I was saying: Nowadays, we know about storms from far off. The weather service tracks tropical storms as they form, and they have a pretty accurate idea of where they're going. Also, along our route, we're never far from an island, and if it's prudent to take shelter, we'll take shelter, regardless of our schedule.

"Our top priority is getting you girls home safe. Every decision is made with that in mind.

"AND the storm is heading this way" — she swept her left hand up and off to the right — "and we're heading this way." She swept her other hand down and left. "Okay?"

Everybody nodded, and Shaylen smiled. After all, the sun was shining, the sky was blue, the sea was calm, and the wind was steady. The boat was moving quickly, and gently rocking as she went. We had nothing to worry about.
 

---

 

When we left the dining room, Wiggy said to me, "Let's go up on the poop deck."

Giggling about "poop," the two of us climbed the ladder-like stairs together. The normal way to climb would be for one to go first and the other to follow. After all, the stairs were narrow. But we each took hold of a rope rail, Wiggy on the left, me on the right, and scaled the stairs as if we were scaling a mountain, side by side.

At first we thought that the small deck in the stern was empty, but what did we find?

"Look," Wiggy whispered, "It's the Captain, looking stern." In fact, it *was* the Captain, and she *was* looking stern — that is, rearward. She had her back to us, but turned in surprise when I giggled at Wiggy's remark.

"Sorry, Captain!" we said together, and started back down the ladder/stairs.

She beckoned and said, "Come ahead, girls, come ahead." She smiled, and leaned against the rail. "Believe it or not, I was just thinking of you two."

"Us? Why?" I asked, as we went over to join her.

"Because I've met all the others but you. So, one of you is Hedwig Wetherwax—"

"That's me," Wiggy said. "Call me Wiggy."

"Wiggy? Alright then: Hedwig Wiggy Wetherwax." The Captain really *was* memorizing names. To me, he said, "Then that makes you Romy Wubbels. Do you have a nickname, too?"

"Romy?" I repeated, confused.

"Bubbles," Wiggy said to me, by way of explanation.

"Romy Bubbles Wubbels," the Captain said, shaking her head. "You girls are the worst bunch for nicknames that I've ever met. Bubbles Wubbels?"

I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out. I can't say I was thinking, but something inside me hesitated. I guess I was tempted for a moment by the possibility of being someone else. Only for a moment, though...

Wiggy glanced at me, expecting me to correct the Captain's mistake and introduce myself.

"Let's sit down," the Captain said. She bent her legs and settled on the deck. We followed suit. "I also wanted to meet you two because I was curious," she continued. "You two are different from the others. You're the only ones who aren't blonde and tall, and I suspect — all blonde jokes aside — that you two represent the brains of the bunch."

"Mirina's smart, too," Wiggy said, "but—"

"She's the leader, isn't she?" the Captain interrupted. "Captain of the squad?"

Wiggy nodded. "Yes, but—"

"Being leader doesn't make her smart," the Captain said. "I'm not Captain because I'm the smartest of the crew. I'm Captain because I make decisions when they need to be made and make sure my orders are carried out."

"Mirina's that way," Wiggy affirmed. "But—"

"And I've got a particular skill set," the Captain added. "So, you two: where do you fit in this hootenanny?"

"I'm the manager for the Amazons," Wiggy told her. "I take care of the schedules, the equipment, the books, and so on."

"The purser," the Captain said. Wiggy shrugged.

"And you?" the Captain asked me.

"The girls asked me to come along because one of the Amazons got sick at the last minute."

"Ah. You're not one of the Amazons? But your name was on the list they sent."

"I sent that list," Wiggy answered, "but she isn't Bubbles — uh, Romy. She's Marcie Donner."

"Marcie Donner," the Captain repeated. "And your nickname would be..."

"Marcie *is* a nickname," I told her, "for Marcella."

"Bubbles got sick," Wiggy said, "And she had the idea that Marcie could go in her place."

"That was nice of her. But why Marcie? I mean, no offense, but they could have chosen any girl in school, right? Why did they choose you?"

Wiggy and I briefly told her about the kidnapping, the media attention, and how Bubbles had gotten the idea that I needed a break.

The Captain was quite surprised. "I don't follow the news," she said. "I follow the weather. That's usually all the news I need. So I had no idea. I'm sorry that all that had to happen to you, Marcie, but I'm sure that Bubbles was right: a trip at sea will put you right, like nothing else can. You can't be sad at sea; you can't be down when you're under sail."

I didn't know what to say, except to thank her, which I did. But the Captain's expression belied what she said: She didn't look exactly sad, but she didn't look very happy, either. Maybe a bit worried? I was sure that she'd come up on the poop deck to be alone.

After a chatting a little bit more, she excused herself, and left.

"Hey, Marcie," Wiggy laughed, "Now we have the poop deck all to ourselves."

"That'll be convenient when we need to poop," I said, but neither of us laughed. I guess the poop jokes had already gotten old.

"Oh!" I said, suddenly remembering, "What was that thing Mirina said, when Cakey asked about the storm coming? Something about 'asking for misfortune'?"

"Oh, yeah. That is Mirina's one superstition. She thinks that bad things happen to people because they have bad thoughts. So if lightning strikes your house, it's because you were thinking and talking about lightning."

"Oh, brother!" I scoffed. "So, it's like I was kidnapped because I thought about being kidnapped?"

Wiggy shrugged. "That's what Mirina would think."

"That's crazy! I'm absolutely, positively sure that I didn't think about kidnapping, talk about kidnapping, or even DREAM about kidnapping!"

"Yeah, well, it doesn't make any difference. She believes it. So if she hears anybody talking about trouble or misfortune or sickness or anything like that, she comes down hard and makes them stop."

I thought about it for a minute, then asked, "And what does she say when bad things happen to her?"

Wiggy thought for a minute, too. "I don't know," she replied. "I can't remember the last time something bad happened to her." She thought some more. "And I don't remember her ever being sick."

"Hmmph," I said. I shifted a bit and lay down on my back in the sun. I slid over so that one of the sails shaded my face.

"I told you before," Wiggy said, as she lay down next to me and moved her face into the shadow. "Everybody has their quirks. Even me, even you. Even Captain Blackett."

"Aye, matey," I growled in agreement in my best pirate voice. "Even the coal-black heart of Cap'n Blackett! Arr!"

© 2008 by Kaleigh Way

[OTHER STORIES]

Ding-Dong cried out in alarm, and shouted, "Captain! Captain! Look! It's a shark! There's a shark following the boat!"

---

 

22. Amazons At Sea
 

Although we soon quit giggling every time the poop deck was mentioned, we all followed Ding-Dong's lead in calling the bathroom "the poop deck" — much to the crew's annoyance.

So what did we call the real poop deck? We called it "the real poop deck."

There wasn't a lot to do onboard other than shower, walk around in bathing suits, sun ourselves, read... but no one was bored. We could all feel ourselves ratcheting down to the slower, more natural way of life. I found that I went for long spells, completely unaware of the constant rocking of the boat. I mean, ship. When I did feel it, I found that I liked it, especially when it was time to sleep.

There was plenty of food, especially fruit, and the meals were very good. After each meal we went to compliment Tipper, the cook, who was quite pleased by our appreciation for her efforts. The kitchen (I mean, galley) was absolutely the hottest room, so that Tipper, even when she wasn't cooking, had the reddest cheeks of anyone. "Over time, those cheeks have been boiled permanently red like a lobster's tail," the Captain remarked.

Mirina organized stretching and exercise sessions twice a day: one just before dawn, and the second, just after sunset. Wiggy and I, the two teachers, and some of the sailors, joined in the stretches, but none of us could keep up with the Amazons once the more aerobic exercises began.

Riley was the only non-Amazon who lasted for the whole morning session, but she was too sore to even watch in the evening.

The first day was the most incredibly peaceful and relaxing day I've had. Maybe the most peaceful and relaxing day of my entire life!

"I told you," the Captain said, smiling. "Nothing can set you right the way the sea can. She's the mother of all life, and when you're at sea, you're lying in her arms."

Only two things that happened that day were worthy of remark.

The first came in mid-afternoon. Ding-Dong cried out in alarm, and shouted, "Captain! Captain! Look! It's a shark! There's a shark following the boat!"

"In the first place," Flannery said, prying Ding-Dong's fingers off her arm, "I'm not the Captain, and it's a lucky thing for you I'm not! This tub's a ship, not a boat! Get it through your head, girl! If the Captain heard you say that, she'd throw you to that fish down there — which, by the way, is NOT a shark. That there's a marlin."

"A what?" asked Ding-Dong. "Is a marlin a kind of shark? I thought a marlin was an old-time actor."

Flannery shook her head. "Don't talk crazy, girl. That fish is a marlin."

"So a marlin is a kind of shark?" Ding-Dong repeated. "Are they more or less dangerous than a regular shark?"

Flannery was not in the least amused. "Listen to me, girl: A marlin is a marlin; a shark is a shark. And never the twain shall meet! End of story!"

"How do you know?" Ding-Dong persisted, but Flannery had had enough. She turned and walked away.

Riley leaned over the side. "She's right, Ding-Dong. No sharks today. It's a just a friendly marlin."

Mirina saw and heard it all. "Ding-Dong," she scolded, "Don't court misfortune. If you start imagining bad things, bad things are going to happen."

"Sorry," Ding-Dong said, red-faced.
 

The second thing happened at about nine o'clock that night. It would have been dark out, but a quarter moon lit the surface of the sea.

Wiggy and I were sitting on deck with Graffy and Grooty, leaning against the side and looking at the stars. Grooty wanted to find the Southern Cross, but we hadn't been able to pick it out it yet.

Shaylen suddenly ran to us in a state of excitement.

"Come on quick, girls! Some dolphins are racing alongside the ship!"

The four of us ran to the starboard side and leaned over the rail.

There were three of them, swimming just a few yards from the side of the ship. We were going fast — I don't know how fast, but the dophins easily matched our speed.

"Wow!" I shouted. "That's amazing! I've never even SEEN dolphins before!"

"Quiet," Shaylen told me in a soft voice. "Stay quiet or you'll scare them off."

It was hard to see how the dolphins were moving. I mean, I know they wave their tails and use their bodies, but I couldn't see any of that. All I could see was their backs, the outlines of their noses, and the blowhole. It seemed impossible that they could keep up with us without making any apparent effort.

We watched in silence for about fifteen or twenty minutes, until the dophins disappeared. One moment they were there; the next moment they were gone. They didn't come back.

"You girls are lucky," Shaylen told us. "You don't always get to see dolphins."

"Could we maybe see a whale?" Ding-Dong asked in a shy tone.

"Maybe," Shaylen said. "We might see one or two tomorrow, if we're lucky. It's actually easier to see them than to see dolphins. A captain on another ship spotted some yesterday, and we'll be passing that point in the morning."

Most of us went to bed soon after, and we all slept deeply and well.
 

---

 

We woke in the morning to the ship's familiar gentle rocking, but something was different: it was gentler than usual.

"We're not moving," Wiggy observed, so the two of us went up to the deck barefoot, in our pajamas, to find out what was going on.

"Pajamas, is it?" said the Captain. "I don't mind you walking around in bathing suits, but I draw the line at nightwear." She was smiling, so I wasn't sure whether she was joking.

"We were just curious..." I began.

"The ship's not moving," Wiggy said, finishing the thought.

"No, it's not," the Captain said. "We're way ahead of schedule, so I thought we could stop here a bit. Let you girls have a deep-ocean swim."

"Oh!" Wiggy cried, delighted. Her face lit up and she asked, "Could I row the dory for a bit? Just around the ship?"

"That sounds more like punishment than fun," the Captain laughed. She was in a very good mood this morning.

"No, I love rowing!" Wiggy declared. "I've won some contests."

"Contests?" the Captain asked. "What, like races?"

"Long-distance rowing," Wiggy said. "Races that last an entire day."

"Are you kidding me?" the Captain responded. "A little slip of a girl like you, rowing all day?"

"You take breaks," Wiggy said, "and there are safety precautions... people following and all that."

The Captain nodded, impressed. "Well, sure you can take the dory, but there are conditions. One, you can't go alone. Two, you stay near the ship, and three, make sure one of my sailors checks that you've tied it up right when you're done."

"Great! It's a deal!" Wiggy enthused.
 

Over breakfast, Shaylen explained to us and to the Amazons that we were well ahead of schedule. "We're very close to the island," she said. "We've made excellent time. If you like, we can press on. We'd arrive before nightfall, and you could sleep on the island — if that's what you want.

"OR," she continued, with a great big smile, "We could goof around here until you're tired of swimming, and then go look for whales. After that we could find a nice spot to stop and swim some more. Then we'd sail all night and land at the island in the morning!"

Everyone liked the second idea better, and soon we were all in bathing suits, jumping and diving off every part of the ship possible. Graffy and Grooty, after doing some amazing dives off the side of the ship, wanted to climb the mast and dive from there. The Captain immediately squelched that idea.

"NOBODY climbs the mast," she said with great finality. "Unless I specifically order it, NOBODY goes aloft."

"But why?" Graffy demanded. "It would be the coolest thing!"

"Because, for one thing, it's dangerous. You could fall. Remember that the ship's not standing still. You could aim to dive in the sea, and find yourself diving deep into the deck, or the railing. For another thing, you can't because I say you can't. I'm the Captain; what I say goes. If you don't like it, you can stay below for the rest of the trip, and I'm not fooling.

"For once and for all: NOBODY goes aloft. Nobody climbs the masts or the halyards or the jibs. Nobody."

Sulkily, Graffy turned away. Grooty whispered something to her, and after a glance at the water, the pair launched themselves from the deck into the air, over the rail and down, head first, into the ocean.

I ran to the rail, but there was nothing to see at first but the rings of bubbles where they'd entered the water. They must have gone deeply down, because it was a long time before they emerged, shaking back their long, blonde hair. They turned their backs to the ship and swam away with powerful, easy strokes. We all watched as they got smaller and smaller in the distance. I'd never seen anyone swim so far.

The Captain looked concerned. Mirina said, "Graffy and Grooty are the best swimmers of us all. If our school had a swim team..."

Flannery interrupted, "You want me to call them back, Captain?"

"No," she said. "Keep an eye on 'em. A close eye. I don't want any blonde heads disappearing."

"I could go after them in the dory," Wiggy offered.

"No," the Captain said. "That might push them farther off. Give them a little time. Let's see if they don't come back by themselves."

It was easy to see that the Captain was nervous and trying not to show it.

A few moments passed, and Flannery announced, "Cap'n, they're coming back."

"Good," she sighed. "Will you continue to keep an eye on them, Flannery? And all the girls? You, Shaylen, will you use your people skills, the ones that I don't have, and ask that pair to keep close to the ship from now on?"

"Aye-aye, Cap'n," Shaylen replied.

"Well done," the Captain said, and walked away.
 

---

 

Wiggy finally got a chance to row the dory, and she asked me to come along.

"Okay," I said, "but I don't know how to row."

"You don't need to," Wiggy replied. "I need you to be my passenger, and I want you to be with me. I like rowing, but I don't like being alone."

"Okay," I agreed. "So how do we get in? Do we jump into the dory from the side into the boat? I mean, ship?"

Wiggy giggled. "You're kidding, right?"

"Since you put it that way," I said, "Yes, I was kidding." (But I wasn't.)

After Wiggy explained what we were going to do, the two of us jumped off the side, feet first, into the water. Then we swam around behind the boat. There was a platform there, just above water level, and Wiggy climbed up. I pushed the dory over to her, and held it against the platform as she undid the knot. Then she fastened the loose end to the ship, and held the dory as I climbed in. It wasn't easy, and in between my second and third tries Wiggy said, "You *can* come up on the platform here and just step in."

"No, I've got it," I said, and heaved myself inside the little boat. Once I settled myself at one end, Wiggy stepped inside and sat down facing me.

She pushed off from the platform and worked the oars into the oarlocks.

I looked back at the ship and said, "We were lucky that little platform was at water level just when we wanted to go."

Wiggy glanced at the platform, then back at me, but she didn't say anything. She didn't need to. I reddened and said, "That platform's always at water level, right?"

"That's right, Ding-Dong," she laughed.

"Ooh! That's mean!" I cried, and as she laughed, I added, "Doubly mean!"

Wiggy moved the oars back and forth, making the dory shift a little bit. She suddenly seemed quite at home, as if she belonged exactly there, in a little dory on the water. The dory and the oars seemed to be a part of her. She gave a gentle pull on the oars, easily and efficiently, and we moved quite a bit each time she pulled.

"Why is it *doubly* mean?" Wiggy asked.

"Because it's mean to me and mean to Ding-Dong," I replied.

"Huh," she responded. "I guess you're right. Do you think I'm mean to Ding-Dong?"

"Um... no. But I don't think you're very patient with her."

"Yeah," she agreed, "but I've known her a lot longer than you have, and she has driven me up the wall and over it more times than I can count."

"But a lot of that is Cakey's fault, isn't it?"

"Probably. Maybe Ding-Dong wouldn't be such a pest if Cakey didn't always set her up."

We'd already gone half the length of the ship. "How come you have to row backwards?" I asked.

"It's easier to pull than to push," Wiggy explained. "But watch this: this is one of the cool things about dories like this one." With a few movements of the oars, we came about. Now *I* had my back to the sun, and Wiggy began pushing on the oars. "See? Not all boats can go so easily in both directions, but this one can. It's useful in awkward places, but even so..." She repeated the movements she'd made a few moments ago, and we came about again. Wiggy had her back to the sun, and she returned to pulling on the oars. "Pulling always beats pushing."

Now we came under the prow of the ship. It was interesting to see it from this angle, and I looked up at the... ah...

"What's that long stick called?" I asked Wiggy. "The cowcatcher?"

"That's the bowsprit," Wiggy said. "It's just there to hold the sails. It's not for jabbing things or for pushing things out of the way."

When we came round the ship to the shady side, we saw several of the Amazons and sailors in the water. One of the teachers, Bossy, was also in the water, doggy paddling with a serious expression on her face. Several sailors watched from the side, and when they saw Wiggy's performance, they began to call to her.

"Hey, did the Captain make you do that for punishment? What did you do?"

"Look at that girl go! Hey, hey! Go, Wiggy!"

"When we get underway, you can race the Seward! What do you say?"

"Watch your heads, Amazons!" Wiggy called in warning, but she steered clear of the swimmers, and asked me to warn her if anyone got in front of us. "Watch the sides, too," she said. "I don't want to whack somebody in the head with an oar."

Graffy and Grooty swam up, one on each side of us, and began rocking the dory to try and tip us over.

"Good luck with that," Wiggy laughed, and in fact, they couldn't tip us. "Dorys are hard to tip," she explained.

But while we were tipping and shaking, Cakey snuck in and made off with one of the oars. Wiggy didn't find it at all funny, and shouted at Cakey to bring it back.

"Don't worry, Wiggsy," Graffy (or Grooty?) told her. "We'll get it back for you." The pair swiftly overtook the laughing Cakey. She knew she couldn't get away from the stronger swimmers, so she did her best to keep the oar from them. She wrapped her arms and legs around it, but not for long.

Graffy and Grooty didn't go for subtle means: Cakey was wearing a tie-side bikini, so they untied it, and would have pulled it away from her, but it turned out not to be necessary.

Red-faced and angry, Cakey gave up the oar and clutched at her swimsuit. She turned her back to us, and (with some difficulty) straightened out her bathing suit while treading water. A few times her head went under, and she came up spluttering. If she had more breath, I'm sure she would have been swearing.

"Wow, you don't fool around, do you?" I observed, when one of the pair handed Wiggy the oar.

"You wanted the oar back, didn't you?" she said. "Cakey would have kept it going as long as she could."

"I'll be careful not cross you two," I told them. I said it as a joke, but thankfully, my two swimsuits were both one-piecers.

The pair of blondes laughed and swam away.

Wiggy took a few more turns around the ship. Then she tied it up, and the two of us swam for a bit. I'm not much of a swimmer, but I was surprised to see that Wiggy wasn't either. She was more comfortable *in* a boat than out of it.

Riley dove from the side, and went to check the dory.

"Did I tie it up alright?" Wiggy asked, when Riley returned.

"You know you did," smiled Riley, and she climbed onto the ladder.

"Hey, Riley," I called, "you were right!"

"About what?" she asked, pausing on the ladder.

"You *are* a handsome sailor!" I laughed.

Riley waggled her butt, grinning. Then she licked her forefinger and touched herself ouch! as if she were sizzling.

© 2008 by Kaleigh Way

[OTHER STORIES]

"It's not a joke," Cakey said, and there was enough alarm in her tone that Wiggy and I ran to the rail to see. I could see Cakey's entire body under the water, but no sign of Ding-Dong. Cakey looked scared. "She's been under a long time. She said she wanted to touch the bottom."

---

 

23. Ding-Dong Touches Bottom
 

At lunch time, we all climbed aboard. The sails were raised, and off the boat flew, in search of whales.

Wiggy and I served ourselves some cold rice salad and cheese. Our hair, like our bathing suits, was still wet, but rapidly drying. Everyone was laughing, and for once I wasn't the only one packing the food away.

Cakey, with a sullen look, sat down opposite us. I noticed that her swimsuit was dry.

"Hey, Cakey, nice suit!" I complimented. She stuck out her tongue at me.

"What?" I asked.

"Notice that her new bathing suit has no ties?" Wiggy observed in a wicked tone.

"Ohhh!" I said, getting it.

"I'm not getting caught *that* way twice!" Cakey declared.

"Good for you!" Wiggy replied in a saucy voice, and I busted up laughing.

Cakey frowned. "It was just a stupid oar," she said. "You guys can't take a joke. I don't know why you got so upset over it."

"We weren't upset," I told her. "Graffy and Grooty volunteered to get the oar back. We didn't even ask them."

"Hmmph!" Cakey said.

Wiggy shrugged. "It's not a big deal, Cakey. We're all girls here."

"Oh, yeah? How would you like it if it happened to you?"

"Um," Wiggy replied feebly, reddening. I remembered her "privacy issues" — we'd been taking turns leaving the room when the other had to change clothes. I also turned a little red. I wouldn't want to be caught that way, either.

"Not to change the subject," I said, "but look over there: Shaylen's talking to Graffy and Grooty."

Wiggy and Cakey glanced over. Graffy and Grooty looked embarrassed and penitent.

"Good," Cakey said. "It looks like they're getting in trouble. What did they do?"

"They swam way out from the ship, 'cause they were mad at the Captain," I replied, and told her the story. Cakey listened without comment.

As she sat there, her brown eyes darted everywhere, and I had my first chance to get a good look at the girl. In many ways she didn't look like the other Amazons. In the first place, her blonde hair didn't look natural. I could easily imagine her as a brunette, and thought she'd look much prettier that way. Also, at least at that moment, her posture wasn't so good. Her shoulders were slumped forward, so her upper back was rounded. When she saw that I was looking at her, she straightened up. In that moment she suddenly reminded me of someone... an actress. Then it hit me: "Famke Janssen." I said aloud.

"Huh?" Cakey said.

"You look like Famke Janssen. You know, the woman who played Jean Grey in X-Men?"

"Didn't see it," Cakey replied.

"Except that you're a lot younger," I told her.

"And Janssen's a brunette," Wiggy added in an innocent tone.

Cakey regarded the two of us for a moment. "I think I must have sat at the wrong table," she said at last.

"Give me a break," Wiggy groaned. "We're just teasing you!"

At that moment, Ding-Dong arrived with a plate full of food. When she asked, "Is this the brunette table?" I wondered just how much she'd heard.

Cakey turned her eyes toward Ding-Dong in silent rebuke, but when their eyes met, Ding-Dong burst into laughter. Cakey, unwillingly at first, began to smile, and then she laughed, too.

After she sat down, Ding-Dong leaned forward, and told me in a stage whisper, "Marcie, I have to let you in on a deep, *dark* secret: Cakey and I aren't natural blondes!"

"No way!" I cried, feigning ignorance, but Wiggy, Cakey, and I exchanged a three-way glance, and we all fell to laughing.

"We're not natural blondes, either," I told Ding-Dong, while gesturing at me and Wiggy.

"You are all such idiots!" Cakey said, at once angry, laughing, and affectionate.

"Nobody cares!" Wiggy declared. "It's, like, part of the cheerleader uniform."

Cakey shrugged. "I have to find a better color, though, or give it up. This stuff burns the heck out of my hair. Conditioners and hair treatments don't repair it. They can't."

From there, we launched into a discussion of hair products. I wished aloud I had a copy of Allure with me.

"Why?" Ding-Dong asked.

"Because they have lists of best products and recommendations," I said, "and they always show the affordable ones."

That started a discussion, mainly between me and Ding-Dong, comparing women's magazines.

"Oh, God, Wiggy," Cakey said, "There's two of them now. I don't know if I can take it."

Ding-Dong and I looked at each other, face to face, eyes to eyes, and for a few strange moments, I felt as if I were looking in a mirror. Not that I look anything like Ding-Dong — not at all! And of course I'm not as naive and clueless as she is. What it *was* was the feeling of a kindred spirit: someone with the same interests, the same outlook on the world, the same attitudes. If we were six years old, I would have said, "Do you want to be my best friend?" and she would have said, "Yes."

But we weren't six years old. Still, I wanted to say something, so out came the first thing that popped into my head. I said, "Ding-Dong, do you want to be my best friend?"

And she said, "Yes."
 

---

 

As Wiggy and I emerged from the dining room onto the deck, I began with "You know... what I said to Ding-Dong there..." and Wiggy cut in, "No, it's alright. I understand."

"No, wait," I said. "Let me talk. I don't want to get things all messed up so early in the trip. I want to be your friend. I like you a lot. I hope we can be friends forever."

"Really?" Wiggy said, lifting her eyes to meet mine. I saw a cloud reflected in the right lens of her wire-rimmed glasses. She squinted at me and smiled.

"Of course I do! You're absolutely the coolest person I know! I don't ever want to lose touch with you, and I want to hang out with you the whole trip!"

"Good," she said. "Great! I feel that way too. I thought we clicked pretty quickly."

"We did. We do."

"Good," she said. "Can I give you a hug?" We hugged quickly, then she cleared her throat and said, "I understand about Ding-Dong. It seems like you share some interests, and I guess — except for her being such a dimwit — you two are pretty similar. You both have that same mercilessly positive what-do-you-call-it outlook on life."

"We're optimists?" I suggested.

"No, that's not it," she replied. "What is the word? Oh, I know! Pollyanna! You two are both such Pollyannas! That's what makes you similar!" She actually guffawed after she said it!

"Pollyanna!?" I cried. "I am so NOT a Pollyanna! Take it back!"

"No," she squealed, giggling, and I chased her all over the deck. She kept shouting, "Pollyanna!" and I kept saying, "Take it back!" If I had a pillow, I would have walloped her with it.

We kept it up until Flannery grabbed each of us around the waist and hauled us into a corner. "That's enough," she said, and she wasn't smiling. At all. "We don't have time for horseplay. The pair of you just sit there until you cool off. No running, no shouting. No getting in the way."

"What's the problem?" Wiggy said. "We were just running around."

"We could go for a swim," I suggested. "Then we'd be out of the way."

"No swimming," Flannery said. "We have to get underway, and quick."

"Why?" Wiggy asked.

Flannery grimaced. "A storm's coming. So sit there until I tell you. We need to do a head count." She went to the side and called, "Everybody, out of the water! Out of the water, Captain's orders! Now, girls, now!"

We heard Cakey's voice reply, "Ding-Dong just went underwater. I have to wait for her."

"I don't see her," Flannery said. "Remember what the Captain said: no jokes, no tricks. Come on up out of there."

"It's not a joke," Cakey said, and there was enough alarm in her tone that Wiggy and I jumped up and ran to the rail to see. I looked as well as I could. I could see Cakey's entire body under the water, but I didn't see any sign of Ding-Dong. Cakey looked scared. "She's been under a long time. She said she wanted to touch the bottom."

Flannery's face spasmed in disbelief. "Is that girl a complete idiot?" she cried. "It's at least 2000, maybe 3000 feet right here. There's no way—"

But Cakey wasn't listening. Suddenly her head gave a jerk and she said, "I see her! She's coming back up! Here she comes!"

Sure enough, a shadow appeared deep below the surface, and quickly grew. Soon we could make out the blonde head, and see the arms and legs churning and flailing. She was coming up as fast as she could possibly go.

At last, Ding-Dong's head broke the surface, and she gave the loudest gasp I've ever heard. It sounded like a backward shriek, as she sucked all the air possible through her mouth, down into her lungs. Cakey helped her stay afloat, but not very well.

Graffy and Grooty flew through the air in a pair of graceful dives and came up on both sides of the girls. "We got her," one of them told Cakey. "It's okay. You're going to be alright, Ding-Dong."

Ding-Dong was still gasping. The twin blondes turned her face away from the ship, and towed her back to the ladder. By this time, Flannery was in the water, too, and several sailors were perched on the ladder. They made a human chain and somehow managed to pass Ding-Dong up the ladder and onto the deck. Soon, she was wrapped in a blanket, shivering and smiling.

Flannery relaxed for a moment, and gave Ding-Dong's head a playful push. "You silly thing!" she said. "Do you have a turnip for a brain? How could you ever think you could possibly touch bottom in this much water?"

"Oh, I always do that, wherever I swim," the girl replied. "I tried it this morning, but I didn't do a good enough jump, so I had to come back up."

"And today?" Flannery prompted, smiling in spite of herself.

"I touched bottom," Ding-Dong replied, as if the answer was obvious.

"No," Flannery countered.

"Yes," Ding-Dong said. "I jumped feet first, with my body perfectly stiff, so I went down, down, down. I went down so far, it began to get dark. And then, my feet landed on something solid. I looked up at the surface, and it was far, far away. Then I pushed off with my feet and came back up."

"It must have been a fish," one of the sailors commented.

"That's your theory," Ding-Dong told her.

Flannery straightened up. "Okay, that's enough. We need to do a head count."

"They're all here," Riley told her.

"Good," Flannery said. "Everybody needs to stay on board now. No more swimming, rowing, nothing, until further notice. Captain's orders. We've got to get underway, and fast. There's a storm we've been tracking, and it's decided to turn down and head in this direction. It's pretty far off, but the Captain's being prudent. She wants to make a run for the island.

"I suggest that you all take your showers as quickly as you can. We might have some rough sailing, and if we do, you don't want to get tossed around inside the head."

"The head?" Ding-Dong queried.

"She means the poop deck," Cakey explained, and bit her lip so she wouldn't laugh.

Flannery ignored it. "One more thing: as you know, tonight is New Years. If we can, we'll celebrate at midnight. But if things get busy, we'll have to put off the celebration until tomorrow. That's all. Any questions?"

There were no questions, not even from Ding-Dong, who was still busy shivering inside the blanket. We all went below, and as we stood in the crowded hallway, Mirina assigned shower times.

We continued to stand there, one wet mess, just looking at each other. No one seemed to want to move.

"So!" Donkey said, to break the silence, "No whales today!"

"Maybe Ding-Dong landed on a whale," someone offered.

Ding-Dong's eyes lit up. "Oh, Wiggy!" she cried. "Do you think that's possible? Could I have landed on a whale when I thought I touched bottom?"

"I don't know," Wiggy replied. "Anything's possible."

© 2008 by Kaleigh Way

[OTHER STORIES]

We didn't have any reason to worry... until just before sundown, when the barometer dropped like a rock. This is how it happened.

---

 

24. The Barometer Falls
 

In spite of the crew's obvious nervousness, none of us girls took the threat of the storm seriously.

For one thing, the sky was clear. There were one or two small clouds, but they were fluffy, white, and harmless as lambs.

For another, the sea was calm. There were little whitecaps everywhere — but whitecaps aren't waves, they're little would-be waves.

And lastly, the Captain and the crew had told us many times before not to worry. They had stressed that our safety was their main concern; that if there was even a hint of danger, we'd make straight for port.

So we took the bustle and seriousness of the crew as a reaction to the Captain's excessive caution.

We didn't have any reason to worry... until just before sundown, when the barometer dropped like a rock. This is how it happened:

We were all on deck, lazing around, trying to stay out of the way. It was hard, though, because every place we sat or lay down, someone told us to move so they could do some urgent work. In the end, all of us passengers (the ten girls and two teachers) gathered on the poop deck, because it was the only place where we could be outside and out of the way.

Ding-Dong had just said, "Does it seem like every ten minutes one of the sailors comes to check on us?" when boom! everything changed.

Well, it wasn't actually a boom. It was the opposite of boom, whatever that is. Everybody felt it. It was like something suddenly went away — you know? The way things change just before a thunderstorm?

One of the deckhands, a girl named Brina, happened to be nearby, and I said, "Wow! What just happened?"

She gave me a serious look and said, "The barometer fell. Storm's coming. You girls might think about getting below." Then she quickly descended the stairs.

Even Ding-Dong knew what "the barometer fell" meant. Heck, even *I* knew what it meant. Nobody laughed or joked, but still we weren't worried. We knew the island wasn't far off; we would be there by nightfall, and night was falling soon.

Then the clouds came gliding in: heavy, black, wide sheets — no, not sheets — They were blankets: big, thick, heavy blankets. You could see they were loaded with rain, and carrying a heavy charge of lightning and thunder. They were ready to let it all go and dump it down on us.

I've never seen clouds move so quickly. It was like those films where they speed up natural processes: where you can watch a flower blossom in less than a minute, or crowds of people sweep through Grand Central Station in seconds, as if they were an army of ants jazzed up on caffeine.

One moment, there were no clouds. The next moment, they swept up from the horizon at a hundred miles an hour. They came over us, they kept on going, and more clouds flowed in their wake. Soon the whole sky was full and black, getting blacker by the minute.

Cakey said, "I'm going downstairs," and Ding-Dong said, "I'm with you."

Before either of them had a chance to move, a huge rain drop fell from the sky. We saw it come sailing down until it hit the center of the poop deck with a resounding SMACK! The message was unmistakable: the gauntlet had been thrown down. What was our response? We screamed like a pack of girls and got the hell on out of there.
 

---

 

Luckily no one was hurt in the rush from the poop deck. We did manage to just get inside just as the floodgates opened and water came ripping down. Well, most of us managed to get in. Donkey and Boogers were at the rear of the pack, and the two them were absolutely drenched in a matter of seconds. There wasn't a dry spot on them! They had to change every piece of clothing, down to their underwear, and their hair was wet and scraggly.

After they changed, the two of them sat in a corner brushing their hair.

We all gathered — the ten girls and the two teachers — in the dining room. It was the biggest place we could all be together.

"Think good thoughts, girls," Mirina instructed.

In spite of her admonition, we all chattered about our situation. We speculated about how far we were from the island, and whether we'd be safe once we got there. Every one of us dredged up the tiniest scrap of nautical science the sailors had told us, and tried to piece together some sort of coherent assessment. We discussed what the Captain might be thinking or doing, whether another port was nearby, and how quickly the storm would blow over.

We played board games and card games. From the darkness outside, you'd think it was ten or eleven at night, but it was only 5:15. Wiggy, Cakey, Ding-Dong and me made ourselves some hot cocoa and sat around a table, telling each other the stories of our lives.

It was scary and exciting, but scary the way a roller-coaster is scary: no matter how frightened you feel, you know that the ride will end and you'll be fine. You'll emerge exhilarated, with your hair thrown every which way, but happy, safe, unscathed. Our mood was a lot like it would have been if we were telling ghost stories around a fire. Spooky, but fun.

At about seven o'clock Shaylen came in to talk with us. She took off her rain hat and slipped out of her slicker. Her shirt was wet all around her neck and shoulders. "Do you want something to drink?" I asked her. It was the first time I'd ever seen Shaylen without a smile on her face.

"Hot tea would be nice. Thanks, Marcie." There was a hot water tap at the bar, so in a few moments I handed a steaming cup to her. She sat on a table where she could see all our faces and we could all see her.

"All right, then. Everybody here?" She counted silently and nodded. "Good. I came in to give you an update. You can see we've got a storm blowing, and it's a bad one, but I've seen worse. We've got a good ship, a good crew, and a good captain, and we're going to get through all right."

Cakey said, "I thought you told us that if things looked bad, we'd make for the nearest port."

"I did say that." Shaylen admitted. "And right now the nearest port is Muktaphala."

"That's our island, right?" Wiggy asked.

"Right."

"So...," I ventured, "is that a good thing, or a bad thing?"

"It's a good thing," Shaylen said, "because we're still on course. We're about three hours from Muktaphala, considering present conditions. The problem is, once get get to the island, we'd have a hard time securing the ship."

"Why?" Cakey asked.

"Because Muktaphala is a coral island. There's a reef around it. With the the wind and the sea as rough as they are, we'd risk running against up the reef, and damaging both the reef and the hull. We're better off sailing out the storm, even if it means overshooting the island. The storm will let up by morning. Then we can come about and sail to the island easy."

There was silence for a spell. Then Mirina spoke. "It sounds like you've got things well in hand, Shaylen."

"Thanks, Mirina, I think we do." Shaylen looked down for a moment, and puffed up her cheeks while she ran through her thoughts: had she covered everything?

"Oh, there is one more thing. I just have to warn you, girls, it's going to be a bumpy ride tonight. When the wind kicks up, or if the sea goes one way and the wind goes another, you're all going to feel it." As if to illustrate her point, the ship lurched beneath us. There were a few shrieks of surprise, and two drinks went over, but we all laughed afterward. Shaylen smiled.

"I'm glad you're laughing," she told us. "You're one of the best groups we've had aboard. I know tonight is New Years, and we were going to celebrate, but we'll hold off until tomorrow. If you want to stay up tonight, you're welcome to stay here. Tipper's going to make sure we don't starve tonight: we'll have plenty to eat or to snack on. If you want to rest, you can either keep to the lower bunks, or rig up the nets to keep you from falling. All right? Any questions?"

She waited. "No one? All right, then. I've got to get back to work."

"Thank you, Shaylen," Mirina said, speaking for us all.

After the sailor donned her slicker and left, Knickers said, "I don't know about you, but I'm going to stay up all night! I've always wanted to, and now's the perfect chance. Besides, it's New Years!"

"Yeah, I've never stayed up all night either!" Graffy (or Grooty) agreed. There was a general chorus of agreement.

Ding-Dong asked, "Should we put our pajamas on?"

"No, why?" Knickers asked.

Ding-Dong shrugged.

"It's not a sleepover," Knickers said, laughing. "It's a— it's a— it's the opposite of a sleepover... it's a stay-up-a-thon!"

"We could drink coffee," Cakey proposed.

"We could prop our eyelids open with toothpicks, like that mouse in the cartoon," Ding-Dong put in.

"Does anybody know how to make coffee?" Donkey asked.

"We could go ask Tipper," Cakey proposed, and off we trooped — all ten of us — to the tiny galley, where we were surprised to find Tipper hard at work. She was preparing food for the crew, and she seemed relieved to see us. Since she was so obviously overwhelmed, we set to work to help. Most of us, that is. The teachers returned to the dining room, but the rest of us fit in where we could.

Tipper had a lot to do. She was making an enormous quantity of stew, and was trying to make sandwiches at the same time. "That way, if the crew — or you girls — want something hot, it's ready. Or if they want something quick, they can grab a sandwich and some fruit."

Mirina quickly took over. She moved the sandwich preparation and the chopping and peeling operations to the dining room. Graffy, Grooty, and Donkey carried things back and forth, and Wiggy and I washed pots and trays and knives and things.

"Ooh, girls," Donkey told us, "soon you'll have rosy red-apple cheeks like Tipper!" I was pretty sure she was right. The dishwasher, which was a little steaming box of steel, soon had the pair of us dripping with sweat and steam.

Occasionally the boat would abruptly lurch. Usually it was just a surprise, but one of the lurches made me bump my head, and Donkey very nearly lost a tray loaded with chopped onions.

When we were done preparing the food and wrapping the sandwiches, we ate some cold rice salad Tipper had prepared earlier. Then she showed us how to make coffee. We each did our best to swallow a cup — more as a dare than anything else.

We all expected the coffee to magically keep us awake all night, but it didn't. One by one we put our heads on the tables and fell asleep.
 

---

 

I don't know how long we slept, but we we were shaken rudely awake. Nobody fell, but we all woke up a little confused. It was still dark outside, still raining, but it felt like a giant hand had taken hold of the ship and was shaking it like a toy. Not a gentle, rythmic shake, either: it was a random, jerky shake, and it wasn't pleasant.

By some kind of instinct, we all gripped the tables at once, and it was a good thing we did. The entire room heaved to one side and we felt the boat being pounded on the stern.

It was as if the giant hand had turned the boat on its side and was smacking it on the butt.

Finally there was a loud CRACK, followed by a few smaller ones. They sounded like explosions, or claps of thunder. A few moments later, the boat righted itself.

I looked at the clock. It was just about midnight. New Years! My head was so foggy, I couldn't think! Explosions... New Years... was that what it was?

We were all sort of groaning — mostly in protest at having been awakened. All the girls were in a fog, a scary fog. The boat was still shaking, but not as badly as before.

About five minutes later, Captain Blackett stepped into the room, rain streaming off her rain gear. She shut the door behind her. Her expression was grim.

"Girls! Wake up!" she shouted. "I need your complete attention! Something serious has happened: we've lost the rudder."

"Where did you last see it?" a sleepy Ding-Dong asked.

© 2008 by Kaleigh Way

[OTHER STORIES]

"Remember, girls, what I told you when you first came onboard. If we're all going to get through this, we've got to stick together, help one another, and you've got do what you're told. If you want to ask questions or discuss things, or if think you've got a better idea, leave it till tomorrow. We've got to move fast."

---

 

25. One Light, Two Girls
 

The Captain stared at Ding-Dong, who was rubbing her eyes. I can still remember the look on the Captain's face. She blinked, and a drop of water fell from her eyelash while another fell from her nose. She wasn't angry with Ding-Dong or impatient. She looked tired, and the worried look I'd seen before was there in full force.

Then it hit me: I knew why she was worried. She was responsible for a boatload of teenagers! That would have been stress enough already, but now things had taken a nasty turn.

"Ding-Dong," she said gently, "without the rudder, we can't steer the ship."

"But don't you have a steering wheel?" the girl countered.

It was a bad moment to be naive. Captain Blackett drew a deep breath, but before she could speak, Cakey said, "Belle, keep quiet."

Ding-Dong glanced at her, understood, and fell silent.

"Without the rudder," the Captain continued, "we're at the mercy of the weather. Between the wind and the waves — and I'm not trying to scare you, girls — but without the rudder, the ship could be torn apart."

Her eyes scanned our faces, and she saw we understood.

"The good news is that the storm has blown us near Muktaphala, our destination. So what we're going to do is put you passengers ashore, and then we'll do our best to anchor the ship and make her fast. Then we'll join you.

"The rain's let up a bit, so we've got to move quickly. I'm glad you're all dressed, because you've got to come now, just as you are. We'll bring some slickers and life jackets in here and suit you up. Flannery's going to take you girls ashore first, the ten of you, and show you where to shelter. Then she'll be back for your teachers and some of the rest of us. In three trips, we'll all be ashore."

"I could row some people ashore in the dory," Wiggy offered.

"I can't risk losing you," the captain said. "You'll sit in the longboat with the others.

"I'm going back on deck. Shaylen is on her way with the slickers. Remember, girls, what I told you when you first came aboard. If we're going to get through this, we've got to stick together, help one another, and you've got to do what you're told. If you want to ask questions or discuss things, or think you've got a better idea, leave it till tomorrow. We've got to move quickly."

The Captain left after holding the door open for Shaylen and Brina, who entered carrying a load of slickers.

They handed them out, and we put them on in silence. I looked at Bossy and Poppy, the teachers. They were plainly frightened at being left behind.

Speaking for myself, the whole business had an air of unreality. I did what I was told: slipped my arms into the slicker, fastened it in front, pulled up the hood, and made it tight. Shaylen did a head count, then led us to the ladder. Brina brought up the rear.

We made our way down the ladder and into the longboat. Flannery sat in the end, near the motor. I supposed it was Flannery; I couldn't see her face in the darkness and rain. Two other sailors perched at the bottom of the ladder to help us into the boat.

Once the ten of us were packed in, Flannery took off. The longboat rose and fell in a sickening motion through the choppy waves. She cut across the rear of the Seward, and though I looked, I couldn't see any damage. It was pretty dark, though.

We continued to climb and drop through the darkness. I wondered how Flannery could possibly know where she was going at all. She had a searchlight, which she seemed to aim at random.

After what seemed like a half an hour (but was nowhere near that long, as Wiggy told me later), we pulled up to a dock. Wiggy jumped out and quickly tied up the boat. We all climbed onto the dock.

I don't know whether I can communicate exactly what I felt in that moment. All that I could see was whatever Flannery happened to light with her beam. Outside of that was total darkness. I had no idea where we were or whether we were safe. We could have been on the backside of the Moon, for all I knew. But I had to believe we'd be all right.

Flannery led us to a cave not far from shore. Yes, a cave! But there was a big wooden table by the door, and in one of its drawers she found three flashlights, the kind with a handle you pump to make electricity.

"I don't have time to show you around, girls," she said. "I've got to go back and bring the others. Take your slickers off and hang 'em in there" — she gestured to a dark, empty doorway — "and if you need the head, it's out here." She stepped back into the rain and pointed with her light at a latrine-like structure a few yards away.

"Stay in the cave until we come," she commanded. "If anybody needs the toilet, somebody go with them. Stick together, stay inside, wait for us. Clear?"

"Clear," we all repeated.

Flannery did another head count and walked back to the longboat.
 

---

 

As we slipped out of our life jackets, Mirina announced, "If anyone needs to go to the bathroom, now would be a good time, before we take our slickers off."

Not everyone needed to go, but we all trooped out together and checked out the latrine. There were three little booths, and they weren't as stinky as we expected. Since we had three lights, only two girls could go at a time, while the third light stayed outside. I was one of the last to pee, and it was definitely not the high point of my life. There was rain water everywhere and no room to move with the bulky slicker on. I'd wondered why all the girls ahead of me took so long, but now I understood: there was barely enough room to turn around! And of course there was no paper. Not that it would have helped, in that sodden place.

We returned to the cave and hung up our life jackets and slickers in the place Flannery showed us. It turned out to be a room cut out of the rock: an actual cloakroom, and there was no shortage of hooks. We found a pair of boots on the floor and some jackets were already hanging there. We also found a fourth flashlight, which Knickers quickly pumped up.

"That's pretty weird," I commented. "A cloakroom in a cave? It looks like somebody cut this room out of the rock. It's a lot of trouble to go to, unless..."

"... unless you're living in the cave," Wiggy said, finishing the thought. "I guess most of the time you could live outdoors, so this is probably an emergency shelter, don't you think?"

"Let's see how big it is, then," Cakey proposed, and the ten of us shuffled our way deeper into the darkness. We made a very compact group.

The first thing we discovered was that the cave, as big as it was, was only an entryway. At the back, in the far right corner, was a door: a metal door, like you might find in any ordinary building. It wasn't locked, so we pushed it open and went inside. We found ourselves in another large room with two sets of tables and chairs and a small bookcase crammed full of books. It was very dry and fairly clean, and — to our surprise — not at all stuffy.

Mirina sniffed. "The air smells pretty fresh in here."

"I see you've still got that cat," Cakey crowed, imitating an old TV commercial. "And George hasn't given up those nasty cigars."

"Hopefully it won't get stuffy later," Wiggy added. "Still, it's only one night. I hope."

There was also a very large pantry toward the front of the room, which had a cage-like door. It also wasn't locked, so we took a look inside. Right away, we found a fifth flashlight, which Donkey grabbed and started pumping.

The pantry was full of cans and containers of emergency food, two huge barrels of water (which we found to be drinkable), wool blankets, a large first aid kit, and other supplies, including a number of cigarette lighters and short fat candles.

We put a candle on each of the tables and lit them. Then we came to the end of the cave: two large dormitory rooms, filled with beds, ten in each room. There were no mattresses, sheets, or pillows, but the bed itself was of a hammocky canvas, and wasn't too uncomfortable. I noticed a slight draft: fresh air was coming from somewhere in each of the dorm rooms.

"Twenty beds," Wiggy said. "Ten girls, two teachers, thirteen crew: we're five beds short."

"It's just for one night," Mirina told her. "We'll make do."

Wiggy shrugged.

We each ate an energy bar and drank a glass of water. Then we settled around the tables, or sat on the floor and waited.

"It's been a half hour already," Wiggy observed, looking at her watch. "I want to go the mouth of the cave and see if I can see anything."

"Marcie, go with her," Mirina commanded.

"I was going to anyway," I told her, a little miffed at being told.

"Nobody goes anywhere alone," Mirina announced to everyone. "Go at least in pairs. One light, two girls."

"We're coming, too," Cakey said, and she and Ding-Dong stood up together. The four of us returned to the cave's entryway.

"I don't see a thing," Ding-Dong declared.

"Let's turn off the flashlights for a moment," Wiggy suggested, "and see whether we can see the ship's lights." She snapped her flashlight off, and Cakey followed suit. The four of us gazed into the black rain. The roar of the water falling from the sky was so loud that we couldn't hear the sea.

None of us spoke; there wasn't any need. We didn't see a light. We couldn't see anything. Cakey snapped her light back on. "Let's go to the dock," she proposed, so we put on our slickers and went.

It was probably a bad idea, because we had a hard time finding it at first. We followed the shoreline too far one way, then turned back. I was a little afraid that we wouldn't be able to find the cave, either, but at last we found the dock. It was empty, so from there we followed the path back to the cave.

"Anybody need the bathroom?" Wiggy asked. We all shook our heads.

While we hung our slickers in the cloakroom, Wiggy examined the items that were already there when we'd first arrived.

"These are man's clothes," she said, shining her light on the large pair of boots and a huge coat.

"A big man," Ding-Dong said.

"A cave man," Cakey quipped, and we all laughed.

"Don't tell Mirina that!" I laughed, "or when a real cave man comes, she'll say it's our fault!"

The girls smiled but didn't laugh.

"What do you think happened, Wiggy?" Cakey asked.

"I don't know," Wiggy replied.

"Why was the Captain so upset about the rudder?" Ding-Dong asked. "The boat will just float around, right? Why should it break?"

"Because if the wind's blowing one way and the current's going another, it can damage the ship," Wiggy replied. "If you've got a rudder you can point the ship in the right direction so you're not caught between the two forces."

"Sounds tricky," I said.

"What if Flannery's boat went over?" Cakey asked. "Then the adults would be stuck on the ship."

"Not really," Wiggy said. "They have the dory and there are the emergency rafts, remember?"

"Could they get to shore in those?" Cakey wondered.

Wiggy shrugged. "I think so. I hope so."

I shivered.

"Cold?" Ding-Dong asked.

"No," I said. "It was just a... a shiver. I'm fine."

She smiled at me.

"Maybe we'd better get back inside," Wiggy said. "We've been gone 40 minutes. They've got to be wondering. Oh, I'm going to leave my light out here so they can find it when they come." She opened the first drawer of the rough wooden table, and put it inside.
 

Marina and Knickers were waiting up for us. The others had gone to bed. We told them what little we knew, and even Mirina paled at the realization that the adults might not make it ashore.

"I've got to sleep now," Wiggy said. "I'm exhausted."

Ding-Dong, Cakey, and I echoed the sentiment, and Mirina said, "That's a good idea. We'll wake up if they come anyway."

Leaving one candle burning, we settled into the empty bunks, and fell deeply, soundly asleep.

© 2008 by Kaleigh Way

[OTHER STORIES]

Wiggy growled in anger and frustration, "Arrgh! ARRGH! I am going to KILL Belle Dubois! I'm going to kill her! I swear!"

---

 

26. Soap!
 

The next day we all slept late, waking up just before noon. The darkness and quiet of our cave dormitory played a big part, I'm sure. Boogers discovered that many of the emergency foods were self-heating, so we had a hot breakfast of styrofoam eggs, chewy sausage, and leathery toast, washed down with powdered orange juice.

Cakey quickly discovered that the "orange juice" was more palatable if you dumped the powder in your mouth first and chewed, and drank a glass of water as a chaser.

"Tomorrow we can try the oatmeal," Boogers declared.

"Whoo boy!" Donkey sneered.

"At least it's food," Knickers chided. "We won't starve before we're rescued."

And that was the extent of our public discussion of the situation. Given Mirina's phobia for mentioning bad news, we could only say that the adults were safe and sound "somewhere" and that they were no doubt working out our salvation.

After breakfast, Cakey, Ding-Dong, Wiggy, and I went to sit at the cave mouth. Wiggy retrieved her flashlight, and the four of us sat with our backs to the wall. It was still dark outside, as dark as night, even though it was only an hour past midday. The rain still fell heavily.

"It's like a tropical rain," Ding-Dong observed, without the slightest trace of irony.

"Damn it!" Wiggy said. "We can't even see if the ship's still there! I wish this rain would stop!"

"It can't rain forever," Cakey offered.

"No, but it can rain for days," Wiggy replied.

"I wish we could build a fire," Ding-Dong sighed. "It would make it seem more homey."

"In this heat?" Wiggy said. "We'd be roasted and boiled at the same time!"

"I wish I had my luggage," Ding-Dong went on, as if Wiggy hadn't spoken. "There are two things in there that I really want."

A long silence followed, and when at last I realized that Ding-Dong was finished speaking, I demanded, "Ding-Dong! What are the two things?"

"What two things?"

"The two things that you want from your luggage!"

"Oh! Well, the first thing is my book: Journey To The Center Of The Earth. I didn't get to finish it, so please don't tell me how it ends."

"Have no fear," I told her. "I haven't read it."

"Me, neither," Cakey and Wiggy added.

Another silence followed.

"Ding-Dong," I called.

"Who's there?" she replied, with a giggle.

"What's the second thing?"

"What's the second thing who?" she replied, as if it were a knock-knock joke.

I groaned, and to my astonishment, another silence followed.

"Ding-Dong, what's the second thing?" I asked, and to forestall the inevitable question, I added, "I mean, the second thing you want from your luggage?" I was beginning to understand Wiggy's impatience.

"Oh, well... the first thing is my book..."

"We know that!"

"And the second thing is my cell phone."

Cakey rolled her eyes. "Ding-Dong, you're not going to get a signal out here."

"How do you know?"

Wiggy sighed. "Because your cell phone is a regular, plain old cell phone. You have to be a near a tower for it to work. You'd have a chance if you had a satellite phone, but you don't."

"How do you know I don't have a satellite phone?"

Wiggy replied, "Do you know if you have a satellite phone?"

"No, but—"

"Then you don't. If you had a satellite phone, you'd know it."

"Hmmph," Ding-Dong said. "You don't need to be such a smarty-pants, Hedwig Wetherwax. If I had my cell phone, I would give it a try. And until I do, I'm going to keep thinking about it."

"You do that," Wiggy replied.

"I will," Ding-Dong told her, "and if we get rescued because of my cell phone, you will owe me a big apology."

"If we're rescued because of your cell phone," Wiggy declared, "I will kiss your feet and bleach your hair for you."

When she heard that, Ding-Dong's mouth fell open. "Oh, my God! I just thought! Cakey, if we're here long enough, you and I will turn brunette!"

Cakey smiled ruefully.

I said, "I don't think we'd be here that long. The ship must have sent a distress signal, right?"

Wiggy shrugged. "It should have. Nobody's going to find us — or the adults — in this rain, though."

We fell silent once more, this time at the thought of the adults adrift at sea in a little raft.
 

---

 

When we returned to the Great Room (which was how we dubbed the room with the tables and chairs), we found the other girls playing games. Graffy and Grooty were playing backgammon, and the other four were playing a card game. I noticed they weren't using all the cards in the deck, so I asked what they were playing.

"Klaverjassen," Donkey replied, "Do you know how to play?"

"No," I said, "I never heard of it."

"Ah," Donkey observed, as she fixed her gaze pointedly on Boogers, who was sitting across from her. "So you're not the ONLY ONE who doesn't know how to play!"

"Hey!" Boogers protested. "I know how to play!"

"Then why do you ignore my signals?"

"Maybe you don't know how to signal! I said we should play Bonking, but you wouldn't!"

Donkey let out a soft raspberry, and Knickers said, "Let's just play, shall we?"

In the meanwhile, Cakey had begun unloading the bookcase. "Why are you doing that?" I asked her.

"It's a mess, and there's all kinds of papers and things stuffed in here," she replied. "It looks like a lot of it is trash, but they did find the cards and the backgammon set in here."

The four of us sat down and sorted through it all. We found another deck of cards and a tiny chess set, but the rest (apart from the books) was all trash, so we added it to the bag of breakfast remains.

"We'll have to figure out a system of trash disposal," Ding-Dong observed. "We don't want it to smell up the place, but at the same time we don't want to attract bears or raccoons."

"Yes, those tropical bears have a nasty bite," Wiggy observed, tongue in cheek. "Once the weather clears up we'll explore the island. I don't think it's very big."

"Oh, look!" I cried. "Here's one of your two things, Ding-Dong!" With that, I handed her a copy of Jules Verne's Journey To The Center Of The Earth.

"Thank you, Marcie!" she said, and gave me a hug. "Wishes do come true! Now let's see about the cell phone!"
 

---

 

We managed to occupy ourselves the rest of the day. We had lunch, we had a snack, we had dinner. Boogers informed us that there were 24 different kinds of emergency meals (not counting the breakfast varieties), so each of us tried a different one at lunch and dinner. They weren't horrible; no one complained. The meals that weren't self-heating required boiling water. For that, we carried a little propane stove to the entryway and boiled two pots of water for the meals and for tea.

Boogers began, "I figured how many days we can last, just living off this emergency stuff—" but Mirina cut her off.

"Boogers, don't court misfortune! All will be well: we're going to be rescued."

Boogers fell silent, and after a few moments Knickers changed the subject.

Mirina continued with the morning and evening stretching and exercise sessions. Wiggy and I joined in, and lasted for about a quarter of the aerobic part. I got pretty sweaty, and everyone was pretty stinky after the second session.

"We could wash in the rain," Ding-Dong proposed. "There are small bars of castile soap in the pantry. It's good for your skin, and — even if it's not great for your hair, it's mild enough to use as shampoo."

"That's a good idea," Donkey agreed, "but then we'd have to put the same stinky clothes back on."

"We could go naked," Ding-Dong offered with a shrug. "We're all girls here."

Cakey turned a deep red. "I'm sure the sailors will love that when they come to our rescue."

Donkey gave Cakey an impatient look. "Get over yourself, Cakey! We've all seen you in the shower. You have a nice body; you have nothing to be ashamed of!"

Cakey frowned. "I don't like people seeing me naked."

"Me neither," I put in.

"So? You two can keep your clothes on, then!" Donkey replied. "Be stinky if you want!"

"Girls!" Mirina said. "Cakey is right. Help is on the way. There's no need to go native. We'll be rescued as soon as the weather clears."

"Could we just jump fully clothed into the ocean?" I asked. "Then our bodies and clothes will get clean together."

"No," Wiggy said, "we'd be all salty. Our clothes will get stiff, and chafe us."

"We could wash in the ocean with that soap," I offered.

"No," Ding-Dong said. "Soap doesn't work in salty water."

"That's crazy," I scoffed. "How could it not?"

"She's right," Wiggy admitted. "Soap doesn't foam in salty water; you can't clean anything with soap and sea water. If there was some detergent, we could use that, but not soap."

"There's no detergent," Boogers announced. "I did a very thorough inventory."

Ding-Dong put her finger on her chin as a signal that she was thinking. After a few moments, she said, "Here's an idea: it's warm outside, even in the rain, and it's light and dark at the same time."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Wiggy demanded impatiently.

"I mean," Ding-Dong explained patiently, "that it's light enough that we don't need flashlights, but it's dark enough that no one could see us, even through a telescope."

"So?"

"So," Ding-Dong continued, "anyone who wants to get clean can take a bar of soap, go out in the rain, take a shower and wash your clothes. All you have to do is find a clean place to hang your stuff. Once everything's clean, we can carry it back here to dry, or put it back on, if we have privacy issues." At that last phrase, she looked at Cakey, Wiggy, and me.

"That's actually a good idea," Wiggy admitted.

"The are two things to add," Mirina said. "One is, keep together. The other is, keep in sight of the cave. We don't anyone getting lost."

Cakey slid on her butt over to Wiggy and me. "Can we three go together? We can change with our backs to each other, so we'll have privacy and not be alone at the same time."

"Works for me," Wiggy said with a shrug, and the two girls looked to me. I could see from Wiggy's expression that she understood my issue and my danger, and somehow she worked an it'll be fine into the way she raised her left eyebrow.

I nodded. "Works for me, too," I said. "But no peeking!" They laughed, as if I was joking, but I sensed that in some way the three of us were in the same boat.
 

---

 

We each took a bar of soap and stepped into the entryway, where all our shoes stood neatly lined up at the far wall. Outside, the rain was still falling heavily. A few seconds out there would be equal to an hour under a normal shower.

Ding-Dong brought along one of the wool blankets. She folded it into a long, narrow rectangle, which she set on the floor to the far left of the cave opening, at the very edge between wet and dry. "Don't step on this," she warned everyone.

"What's it for?" Cakey asked.

"Here's how it will work," Ding-Dong explained. "First, we walk fully clothed into the rain, so we and our clothes get soaked. Then we come inside, soap up the clothes and take them off. Then we soap up our bodies and heads, walk back into the rain and rinse off. We come back in, work the soap into our clothes, take them outside and rinse them off."

"That's a little complicated," Donkey observed, blinking.

"Just follow me," Ding-Dong replied.

"And the blanket?" Cakey prompted.

"Oh! Once we're all washed, we can sit on that and wash our feet."

Everyone nodded in approval. Mirina said, "I think we'll have to do this in two or three shifts."

"How did you figure all this out?" Wiggy asked Ding-Dong in an amazed tone.

"You're not the only one who's had outdoor adventures, Hedwig Wetherwax," Ding-Dong replied, with a smug smile.

"I have to say, I'm impressed," Wiggy admitted.

"Yeah, way to go, Ding-Dong," I added.

Cakey announced, "Wiggy, Marcie, and I are going to find a more private place to clean up."

"Don't forget to wash your feet before you come back in," Mirina cautioned.

"You know we will," Cakey replied in an irritated tone.

Wiggy, Cakey, and I made our way out of the cave. We were utterly soaked, through and through, the instant we set foot in the rain. Wiggy turned left, following a path that sloped gently upward. Soon we came to a cleared area where there were picnic tables. We gathered under a tree, out of the rain.

"How are we going to work this?" I asked.

"We can do a modified Ding-Dong method," Wiggy proposed. "Let's soap up our clothes now. We can strip to our underwear, work the soap into the clothes, and lay them out on the tables. We're all okay with underwear, right?"

Cakey and I nodded hesitantly.

It seemed like the stupidest thing to do, rub the bar of soap all over our tops and shorts, but we did it, and soon our clothes were lying in the rain on the picnic tables. Cakey and I stood in the shelter of the tree as Wiggy took her shower first. We heard her fumbling quickly and swearing lightly as she soaped. Then, when she stepped into the rain to rinse off, she growled in anger and frustration, "Arrgh! ARRGH! I am going to KILL Belle Dubois! I'm going to kill her! I swear!"

"What's wrong?" Cakey called.

"Can we turn?" I asked.

"Wait!" Wiggy said. A moment later, she added, "Wait." Then at last she said, "Okay, look. Look at my hair!"

We turned, and Wiggy, dressed only in her underwear, pointed to her head. Her hair looked like a wet rat's nest. "Castile soap," she explained. "It's still SOAP! Do you know why you don't wash your hair with soap?"

"No, why?" I asked.

"Oh!" she growled. "Look, Ding-Dong Two, look! This is why! It ties your hair up in knots." Then, relenting a bit, she told me, "Sorry. I'm sorry I called you Ding-Dong... again. I'm just so MAD at her!"

"Yeah, but Wiggy," Cakey said. "We're all going to have hair like that, and it's going to be worse for the girls with really long hair, like Boogers and Mirina."

I pictured Boogers — who was beyond doubt the prettiest of the Amazons — her perfect, shiny hair turned into a single unmanageable knot. "Whoa!" I breathed.

"Besides," Cakey continued, "it's better than being stinky."

That stopped Wiggy cold. "Oh, did I stink?" she asked shyly.

"Do you want to smell mine?" Cakey offered, lifting a tress toward Wiggy.

"No thanks!"

It had been difficult to take off our wet clothes, but it was much worse putting them back on. Instead of sliding smoothly up our legs or down our backs, they clung and bunched and felt icky and wrong. Still, no one complained: we were all doing the same icky thing.

"Man!" Wiggy said, "I don't know if I'll be able to deal with this for days or weeks or months."

"Or years," Cakey threw in. We all glanced at each other.

"So you don't think we'll be rescued soon, either?" Wiggy asked her.

"No, but I think I have that feeling because I read that stupid book for school on the plane..."

"Lord Of The Flies," they said together, disgustedly.

"What a crappy book," Cakey commented.

"A total waste," Wiggy agreed.

"And you know what else?" Cakey asked.

"What?"

"If we *do* get stuck on this island, Mirina will say it's our fault, because we read that stupid book!"

© 2008 by Kaleigh Way

[OTHER STORIES]

"I'm not going to put cooking oil on my head," Donkey said. "I'll break out in a thousand zits and smell like french fries."

"The boys will love that," Ding-Dong joked. "They'll all be sniffing after you."

---

 

27. The Beauty Parlor
 

We spent the evening picking the knots out of each other's hair. As with everything else the Amazons did, they did it in an organized way.

Mirina perched on a table, and pulled a chair in front of her. She motioned Knickers to sit down, and began working her way silently from the ends of Knickers' long hair, gently untangling and untying.

Boogers, following Mirina's example, sat on the table and began working on Boogers. Graffy and Grooty paired up in the same way.

"I have an idea," said Ding-Dong. "What if we gang up on each other? Three of us can work on one, and it will go faster."

"It will be the same amount of ti—" Wiggy began, but Cakey and I both shot her a look, so she stopped.

"Why don't you go first, Ding-Dong?" I offered. "You have the longest hair."

Cakey sat on the table behind her, and Wiggy and I each took a side.

"Work from the ends to the scalp," Boogers said. "Otherwise you make the knots and snarls bigger."

We worked in silence for about twenty seconds, and then the chatter began.

"I can't believe that nobody — not even one girl — has a brush or a comb!" Knickers declared.

"What — does that mean we're not feminine or something?" Graffy countered.

"No, it's just that we all have long hair — except Marcie and Wiggy. It's normal to carry a brush."

"None of us has a cell phone, either," Ding-Dong pointed out.

"A lot of good a cell phone would do us here," Graffy countered.

Ding-Dong turned her head toward Graffy and was about to reply, when Cakey said, "Ding-Dong, quit moving your head!"

After a pause, Boogers called out, "You know, there is oil in the pantry, if anyone wants to use it."

Cakey frowned. "What are you saying, Boogers? To put the oil on our hair?"

"Cooking oil?" Donkey cried. "Yuck-o!"

"Oil is good for your hair! What do you think is in those detangling sprays? Magic water? It's oil. People pay good money for hot-oil treatments on their hair. We could heat it up on the little stove."

"We could deep-fry our hair," Cakey put in. "Make it crispy on the outside—"

"—and moist and meaty inside," Ding-Dong finished.

"You girls don't know what you're talking about," Boogers replied. "Sometimes at home I put olive oil on my hair."

"And then you wash it out, right?"

"No. I leave it in."

"You do have really nice hair," I admitted.

"Thanks," Boogers said. "The oil makes it soft, too!"

"I'm not going to put cooking oil on my head," Donkey said. "I'll break out in a thousand zits and smell like french fries."

"The boys will love that," Ding-Dong joked. "They'll all be sniffing after you."

"Oh, yeah," Cakey laughed. She pretended to sniff and sniff at Ding-Dong's hair, and said in a her best boy voice, "Hey, honey, ooh! You smell so—" sniff! sniff! "—Mmmm... makes me hungry! You smell... You smell so SEXY, baby!"

Everybody broke up laughing, repeating the joke. When it finally died down, Boogers said — a little sadly — "So I guess no one is trying the oil," which it set us off laughing again.

"Are *you* going to put the cooking oil on your head?" Donkey challenged.

"Well, no..." Boogers said, shyly. "I just thought someone else might..."

A chorus of NOs closed the discussion.
 

---

 

Although everyone did their best to put a good face on our situation, we didn't need to talk to know how each other felt. The cave was dry and well-appointed, "as far as caves go," as Ding-Dong put it, but at the same time it was creepy. The sense of being underground was a bit oppressive. Thank goodness the ceilings were high, or else I think we'd all have gone a bit claustrophobic.

I wasn't wearing a watch, and I was trying to not ask the time every five minutes, but I couldn't help glancing at Wiggy's watch when most of us went to lie down for bed. It was only 8:30. There wasn't anything else to do but go to sleep.

When Ding-Dong said, "Going to bed early will make the morning come faster," I thought, She really *is* a Pollyanna, isn't she? but at the same time, I knew I would have said it if she hadn't.

Since we were still in our underwear, Wiggy, Cakey, and I slept in the other dorm room, which was slightly cooler. Ding-Dong slept with us for solidarity.
 

Wiggy woke me at six the next morning, and handed me my clothes. They were stiff, but dry. I slipped them on and quietly joined Wiggy, Cakey, and Ding-Dong in the Great Room. They were already dressed and waiting. The rest of the Amazons were still asleep. Wiggy put a finger to her lips and pointed to the door. I nodded, and the four of us slipped outside without making a sound.

The air was fresh and clean. It was still dark outside, but I could tell from the silence that the rain had finally stopped. Wiggy led us from the cave and said, "It's a hour before sunrise. Pretty soon we should be able to see what's what."

I looked up into the dark, starry sky. It was a relief to be able to look up without flinching; to feel fresh air on my skin, rather than water. "Thank God the rain stopped!"

"You said it," Cakey agreed.

"Why did we get up so early?" I asked.

"I couldn't sleep," Wiggy replied tersely. "Listen: if we follow that path over there, and keep to the right, it will take us to the top of a hill. From there, we can see the ocean to the east, and see if the boat is there."

"How do you know all that?" I asked.

"Know what?" Wiggy asked, stiffening slightly. "That the boat's to the east? I heard Flannery say that we had to keep due west to get through the coral and land on the island."

"No," I said. "About the path and the hill."

"Oh," she said. I wished it was light enough to see her face. She was silent for a few moments, then answered, "I saw a map of the island before we left. I have a good memory for maps."

I didn't pursue it, but it didn't sound quite right. Maybe it was something she'd tell me later, when Cakey and Ding-Dong weren't around, so I mentally filed it away.

Wiggy went back inside the cave's entryway and took two flashlights from the drawer in the table. She handed one to Cakey, and started pumping the handle to charge hers.

"I think we only need one," Cakey said. "The sun's coming up soon."

"They're not heavy," Wiggy told her, "and it's not far. Maybe the last girl in line would like a light."

"I'll take it," Ding-Dong said. "I can be the last girl in line."

We quietly and slowly made our way through the tropical darkness and near-total silence.

"Not even the birds are awake yet," Ding-Dong commented, in a low voice.

After five or ten minutes, Wiggy said, "This must be it." She and Ding-Dong shined their lights around at the trees and rocks.

"Maybe we should sit down," I suggested. "That looks like the edge of the hill."

"We'll just be careful not to step over the edge," Wiggy replied. "Besides, I'm not sure I want to sit on the ground in the dark."

"We should have waited," Cakey said. "We can't see a thing, and there won't be any light for another twenty minutes."

"We wait down there, we wait up here," Wiggy replied. "What's the difference?"

"It's clean down there, and we know what we're sitting on. We could even light a candle."

"We're here now," Wiggy told her. "If you want, you have enough time to go down and come back again, for all the good it'll do you, but I'm staying here. I'm going crazy not knowing! I don't understand why the adults didn't come ashore. Even if they had to abandon ship, they had the dory and the life rafts, and — except for Bossy and Poppy — they're all sailors. They could have rowed ashore."

"What if the boat went over and they didn't have a compass?" Ding-Dong asked. "Then they wouldn't know which way to go."

Wiggy searched in silence for an answer, but found none.

"Could they have GPS?" Cakey offered.

"I don't know," Wiggy sighed. "I suppose. I guess they'd have to, but then... if they do, why aren't they here?"

We were silent for a bit. The thought of the adults lost at sea — or worse, dead — was a little too somber for the four of us in the still-dark morning. I moved closer to the others. Cakey put her arm around my shoulders.

At last, Wiggy said, "The Captain would have known which way the wind was blowing. She'd know the directions, so she'd know which way to go."

No one replied. I voiced the silent wish, Dear God, I hope so! and tried to stifle the scenarios that jumped into my mind... scenarios in which the boat got blown so far, or the wind changed, or a dozen other things that could happen to leave the adults adrift at sea with no clue as to which way to go.

"At least now the storm is over," Ding-Dong said. "Help is on the way. They'll find us and they'll find the adults."
 

After that, we tried to make conversation until the world began to light up and the birds began to chatter. The instant there was a bit of light, Wiggy cried out, "Look! The boat is there!"

I didn't see it at first, but soon we all did. "HEY! WE'RE HERE!" we cried, shouting and waving.

"It's so far away," I said, "I can't make out whether anyone's on deck."

"Me neither," said Ding-Dong, "and I have really sharp eyes."

"Let's go back and tell Mirina," Cakey proposed.
 

---

 

The others were awake, and unwillingly eating gummy oatmeal and flappy, chewy french toast when we entered. No one had a problem leaving the unappetizing food behind, and soon the ten of us were crowded on the hill.

Mirina said, "Am I wrong, or do I see the longboat tied up behind?"

Wiggy strained to see. "Maybe."

"Yes, it is!" Ding-Dong confirmed. "Is that a good thing?"

"We need to get it," Mirina said, "and see whether the adults are still on the ship."

I thought it was odd that she put the two things in the order she did. It sounded like Mirina didn't think the adults were onboard. It sure didn't look as if they were.

"How are going to do that?" Cakey asked. "Wiggy's the only one who knows anything about boats."

"And I can't swim that far," Wiggy put in.

"No, *you* can't, but Graffy and Grooty can," Mirina replied. Then, looking to the pair for confirmation, "Can you swim that far, and tow Wiggy in a life jacket?"

"Oh, no!" Wiggy protested, but Graffy and Grooty said, "Sure," and "Piece of cake."

"You have to go, Wiggy," Mirina said. "You know you do. Bring that boat back here, and show Cakey how to run it."

Why? I thought, but I didn't ask out loud. It turned out (just so you don't wonder) that Mirina, in spite of her prohibition about thinking bad thoughts, had had quite a few bad thoughts of her own. She'd already figured out that the ship had been abandoned, and that the adults were gone.

We returned to the beach, near the dock, and Mirina took Graffy, Grooty, and Wiggy aside for a private conversation before they left for the ship.

Graffy and Grooty were calm, almost business-like. They didn't have any qualms or fears about what they were about to do. I couldn't imagine anyone swimming that far.

Knickers brought a life jacket for poor Wiggy, who looked scared to death. "Put your glasses in your pocket, Wiggy," Mirina instructed. "You don't want to lose them."

Fumbling and sniffing, Wiggy took off her glasses and clumsily closed them up. She put them into her shirt pocket, and buttoned it closed. Knickers helped her into the life jacket, and made sure it wasn't pressing on the glasses.

Graffy and Grooty threw off their clothes. "Take your shoes off and come into the water, Wiggy," one of them said, and they led the poor girl backwards into the cove. The water soaked her shorts, then her shirt, and then the twin blondes towed her out to sea.

© 2008 by Kaleigh Way

[OTHER STORIES]

We waited... and waited... and waited. Then, at nearly the same moment, the longboat appeared at the end of the cove, and a red flare shot up into the sky from behind the hill.

"What does that mean?" Cakey asked.

---

 

28. Back On Board
 

We all watched as Graffy and Grooty swam off, towing Wiggy between them. It seemed so effortless on the swimmers' part, and so frightening for Wiggy. She told me afterward that it was made worse by the fact that she couldn't see anything. I waved and waved to her until she was out of sight, but she hadn't seen me at all.

Once the swimmers disappeared around the hill, Cakey said, "Ding-Dong, let's run to the top of hill and watch them!"

"No," Mirina said. "Everybody stays here." And she fixed her eyes on the sky.

"Why?" Cakey demanded. "Are you watching for something?"

"Yes," Mirina told her. "There's a flare gun in the emergency supplies. I'm watching for Graffy's signal."

We waited... and waited... and waited. Nobody spoke. Nobody moved.

Then, at nearly the same moment, the longboat appeared at the end of the cove, and a red flare shot up into the sky from behind the hill.

"What does that mean?" Cakey asked.

"It means that the adults are gone," Mirina replied. "There was no one left on board." Turning to face us, she clapped her hands for attention.

"Listen, girls!" she said. "There are no adults on board. I'm sure we'll find out more details soon, but that's all we know for now. Right now, we need to unload the ship. First of all, we need our own luggage."

There was a general murmur of agreement. "When Wiggy gets here, she'll show Cakey how to run the motorboat, and she'll take all you girls back, except for me and Knickers."

"Why?" Cakey asked.

"Cakey, you're going to be running back and forth with piles of stuff. You don't want to unload it yourself, do you? Knickers and I will unload and carry stuff up to the cave.

"So! First priority: ALL our luggage. Pack up everything that belongs to us and bring it ashore. Second: whatever's useful. Boogers, I want you to evaluate the food situation. Wiggy will decide the rest. She knows boats; she knows what we'll need. Ding-Dong, I want you to help Wiggy — but don't drive her crazy."

Ding-Dong nodded. "Okay."

"Now," Mirina continued, "Life jackets, everyone! Marcie, will you bring one for Cakey?"

I nodded. As I ran off, Mirina spoke very seriously with Cakey, who nodded as she listened.

When we returned to the dock with our life jackets, we found Cakey sitting in the stern of the longboat, her hand on the tiller. Wiggy was explaining things to her, pointing to various parts of the engine. I tossed Cakey's life jacket into the boat.

Mirina caught me by the arm. "Marcie, as soon as you get to the ship, will you pack up all of your things and Wiggy's, and bring the bags up on deck? Then stay with Wiggy and help her. Try to keep Ding-Dong's feet on the ground. Okay?"

"Okay," I agreed, and Mirina gave me a smile. It was funny, but that little moment made me feel important, like I was a key part of what was going on. Wiggy was right about Mirina: she knew how to make people do things. At the same time, I didn't feel like she was bossy or taking advantage of me. I knew that she'd be back here, unloading and hauling everything that we loaded on the other side.

I was the one of the last to get into the longboat, so I had to sit near the front. Donkey was the very last, and as she stepped in, Wiggy called to her from the other end. "Donkey, can you cast off that end? Try to look at way it's tied up, and see if you can make it fast the same way when we get to the ship. Okay?"

"Okay!"

After we cast off, Cakey had to pull the ripcord three times to get the engine started. Red-faced, she steered us away from the dock and into the center of the cove. Occasionally Wiggy would say something to her or point to something, and Cakey would nod. When we left the cove, Wiggy had her come about twice so she could be sure Cakey knew where to enter the cove on the way back. If she came in at the wrong place, she'd run up on the reef, and the hull could be damaged.

When we pulled up to the side of the Seward, Donkey tied off one end of the boat, and Wiggy showed Cakey how to tie off the other end.

"Marcie," she called to me, as the other girls climbed the ladder. "Will you pack my bag and yours and bring them on deck?"

"I was going to," I said. "Then Mirina told me to stick with you."

"Oh, good!" she said, with a relieved smile.

Graffy and Grooty were waiting on deck. "We found them, Wiggy!" They told her, as they waggled some walkie-talkies.

"How many are there?" she asked.

"Four, so far."

"Okay," Wiggy told them. "You two keep one, give me one, and give Cakey two. Tell her the second one is for Her Manliness."

It had been a long time since I'd heard Mirina's nickname — I had to think for a moment who it was. Wiggy gave me a what are you still doing here? glance. I took off below deck to pack our bags.
 

It didn't take long to pack. The hard part was lugging the heavier bags up the steep, narrow stairs.

Ding-Dong and I finished in the same moment, and together we went to find Wiggy, leaving the other girls to load the luggage into the longboat.

We found her in the wheelhouse, looking at the instruments. Suddenly, her walkie-talkie crackled. "Wiggy, this is Grooty. We found the soap."

"Wiggy here. How much did you find?"

"A case and a half. It's all little bottles."

"Bring it all on deck. We're taking it. Did you find any fuel yet?"

"Negative."

"Keep looking. It's the most important thing. Wiggy out."

"Very efficient," I commented.

"We have to be," Wiggy said, without looking up. "We need the fuel for the longboat's motor, so if you happen to see any, tell me."

"Maybe they didn't keep any," Ding-Dong suggested. Wiggy lifted her head, and looked ready to blast Ding-Dong with her anger. Ding-Dong threw up her hands defensively. "All I mean is, they might take it out of the Seward's tank when they need it. The Seward has a motor too, right?"

"Oh," Wiggy said, relenting. "I hadn't thought of that."

Wiggy picked up her walkie-talkie and began talking to Grooty.

"How did you come up with that?" I whispered to Ding-Dong.

She glanced at Wiggy and whispered back, "It's what my Dad does with the lawnmower. He doesn't want to store the gas in a can, so he siphons it from his car when he needs to cut the grass."

Wiggy said into her walkie-talkie, "Well, come up here and I'll *tell* you what a siphon looks like, then! We need to find one. Wiggy out."

"Why is it so important?" I asked.

"Cause the longboat's motor's gonna run out soon, that's why," Wiggy said, a bit exasperated. "Okay. Here's the next important thing: the radios." She indicated each instrument with a tap of her hand as she named it: "Radio, radio, GPS. Radar. Fax machine. Radio, radio."

"They have four radios?" I asked.

"Yes, and none of them work! None of the electronic stuff will even turn on! There's a laptop over there... it's dead, too."

"Okay," Ding-Dong said. "One step at a time: is there power?" She pointed up to a light in the ceiling, which was on. "Yes. We should check that the instruments are plugged in."

"You can try that with the laptop," Wiggy replied, "but the instruments don't have plugs; they're wired in. They're hooked up."

"Maybe we ought to follow the wires?" I suggested. "Could they have a different power supply from the lights?"

Wiggy, pale-faced, looked at the two of us. "Do either of you know anything about electronics or electricity?"

"What's the difference?" Ding-Dong asked.

I glanced at her and quickly replied, "No, we don't."

The walkie-talkie crackled. "Cakey here. Donkey and I are taking the first load back."

Wiggy replied, "No. Donkey has to stay. Cakey, do you or Donkey know anything about electricity and electronics?"

"Me, no," Cakey replied. "Hang on." After a few moments, she added, "Donkey says don't use a hairdrier in the shower. That's all she knows. But Wiggy—"

"What?"

"I'm afraid to go back by myself. What if something goes wrong?"

"Okay, Donkey can go, but bring Knickers and The Manley One back when you come, okay?"

"Will do. We're going now."

We could hear the sound of the longboat's motor start up, then grow fainter as Cakey rode away.

Now that the conversation with Cakey was over, Wiggy stood stock still, looking at the floor. Ding-Dong and I glanced at each other, but before either of us spoke, Graffy and Grooty came into the wheelhouse, grinning broadly.

"So, Wiggy," Grooty said, "What's this siphon thing look like?"

"Hang on," Wiggy said. "Ding-Dong can tell you in a minute. Do either of you know anything about electricity?"

The blonde pair shook their heads.

Wiggy sighed. "Okay. After Ding-Dong tells you about the siphon, go see how Boogers is doing, and ask her if she knows about electricity."

"Why is that important?"

"I'll tell you later," Wiggy replied, biting her lip. "Right now you have to look for fuel, a siphon, a gas can. And if you can find any kind of communication device: walkie-talkies, radios, satellite phones, whatever, bring it to me. And tools. Any kind of tool." Then she turned away to look at the instruments.

After Ding-Dong finished explaining what a siphon was and what it might look like, Graffy and Grooty left. Ding-Dong walked to one of the radios. She grabbed a little black knob, turned it, and pulled it off.

"This fuse is blown," she observed, holding it up to the light. "Maybe all we need is new fuses."

We found that some of the other instruments also had fuses, and that they, too, had blown. We began searching for replacements.

"The other fuses are probably hidden, like behind," Ding-Dong said. "Could there be a panel, so one of us could get back there?"

While Wiggy and I searched for fuses, Ding-Dong found a sliding panel. She opened it and looked inside. "Is there a flashlight?" she asked. "I can't see anything in there."

"I don't know," Wiggy said. "We'll look."

"Wiggy," I said, "I know we're in a bad spot, but why are you so frantic?"

She gulped and said, "Am I frantic? I thought I was being surprisingly calm."

Ding-Dong looked up from where she was sitting on the floor. "Yeah, Wigs, it seems like you're in a big rush."

"Okay," Wiggy said, explaining. "All the instruments and the radios are dead. We don't know why."

"Maybe they were struck by lightning," Ding-Dong offered.

Wiggy looked at her in silence for a moment. Then at long last she said, "Maybe. In any case, we can't call for help, and we don't know whether the Captain did."

"All right," I said. "But people know where we are, right?"

"I guess so," Wiggy said. "But no one is going to miss us before Friday, when we're supposed to get on the plane. I figure that Saturday's the earliest we could be rescued."

"Okay," I said, "So that's only... what day is today?"

"Tuesday," Wiggy said nervously.

"So it's four days—"

"Five, counting today," Wiggy quickly contradicted. "And if they don't come until Sunday, it's six."

"All right," I said. "But in the meantime, we have food, a place to sleep..."

"Castile soap," Ding-Dong offered, with a smile, but Wiggy didn't react.

I'd seen Wiggy with her lost-little-girl look before, but right now her expression when way beyond lost. She looked really, seriously frightened. Terrorized.

Then I had a thought: maybe this was an extension of her fear of sleeping alone?

"Wiggy," I said, "We're all here. We're all in this together."

"We could even stay on the boat, if you'd feel safer," Ding-Dong suggested.

"No, we can't stay on the ship," Wiggy countered. "We have to get off this thing as soon as we can."

"Why?" I demanded. Her irrationality was beginning to try my patience. "Are you afraid the storm will come back?"

"No," she said. "I'm afraid that the tide will come in. The ship's hung up on the coral reef. The hull has a great big hole, and I'm afraid that high tide could lift the ship loose and sink it."

© 2008 by Kaleigh Way

[OTHER STORIES]

"What would Captain Janeway do?" Ding-Dong asked.

"Oh, Ding-Dong," Wiggy sighed.

"No, seriously. She'd increase hull integrity. Can we do that?"

---

 

29. Prudence?
 

"Mirina saw the damage from the hill," Wiggy explained nervously. "That's why she wants to unload the ship."

"All right," I said. "When's high tide?"

"I don't know," Wiggy said. "It changes, but it ought to be around noon."

"And right now it's what?"

She glanced at her watch. "Nine." She gulped and trembled slightly.

"It's going to be okay, Wiggy," I said. "If the ship starts moving, we'll get into the longboat."

Wiggy, her face as white as a sheet, looked at me and said nothing.

Ding-Dong said, "Okay, girls, let's concentrate on the task at hand. We only have a little time, so let's do all we came to do!" When Wiggy didn't move, she reached forward tentatively and took Wiggy's walkie-talkie.

She didn't talk into it. She just held it as if it somehow gave her authority. "Look," Ding-Dong said. "We could spend our whole time trying to figure the radios out. What we ought to do is *first* get everything off the boat we need, and *then* try to fix a radio in the time we have left. Maybe we can pull one out of this dashboard-thingy.

"But first, we need to unload. We ought to get out one of the rafts, if there still is one, and blow it up."

"Why?" Wiggy asked.

"Because Cakey can tow it behind the motorboat. With all that extra storage, we might only need one more trip back with the stuff."

"Good idea," Wiggy and I admitted.

"AND we three ought to go over the boat from bottom to top, and search super-well and super-carefully because we know what we're looking for, and the other girls don't."

"Right," I said, though I wasn't so sure *I* knew what we really needed.

"Okay," Wiggy said. "But it's a ship, not a boat."

We went up on deck, and Wiggy took a quick look at the things the girls were piling up to bring ashore. Then we went down, down to the lowest deck where there was water. Wiggy showed us where the hull was smashed in. It didn't look so bad to me.

"What would Captain Janeway do?" Ding-Dong asked.

"Oh, Ding-Dong," Wiggy sighed.

"No, seriously. She'd increase hull integrity. Can we do that?"

"Who's Captain Janeway?" I asked.

"Star Trek: Voyager," Ding-Dong replied. "So can we?"

"No," Wiggy said, rubbing her face. "We'd have to be outside and we'd have to have something to patch it with. Plus, it's stuck on the coral, so we'd have no room to work. If it comes off the coral, it'll take on water and start to sink. And I don't know whether we can stand on the coral."

"We might be able to patch it faster than it can sink."

"Ding-Dong," Wiggy said, "we have to keep moving. We'll keep what you said in mind, but I don't think it's feasible."

The three of us went through every inch of the ship. We piled the things we found (tools, lights, emergency equipment, compass, binoculars) on the steps, and Graffy and Grooty carried them up on deck. We never found a gas can or a siphon, even though we searched every cupboard and opened every door.

When Mirina came on board she examined the hull damage. She took Wiggy aside, talked to her for a bit, and somehow calmed her down. She worked and searched and carried and made everyone else do the same. By ten thirty we'd stripped the ship of everything we thought could be useful to us.

At one point the two of us were standing on deck together. The wind gently tousled our hair and clothes. I said, "Mirina, why are we taking everything? I mean, we have to be rescued by Sunday at the latest, right?"

"We're just being prudent, Marcie," she replied. "Because you never know." After a moment she said, "Ding-Dong told me about the radios. Can you show me where they are?"

We went into the wheelhouse. I pointed the four radios out and explained about the fuses. Her eyes ran around the room, and at last she got on hands and knees and crept into a corner under a table. After a few grunts and bangs, she emerged with a small plastic tackle box. "I guess you didn't look in here, right?" she said. She opened the box and lo and behold there were fuses of various sizes, along with wires and connectors and assorted tools.

Wiggy and Ding-Dong came in at that point. "We're ready to go back," Wiggy announced. "Cakey's here and there's nothing else to bring ashore." You could see she was anxious to get off the ship.

Mirina nodded. She was thinking. "Wiggy," she said. "Can the four of us fit in the dory?"

Wiggy's eyes opened a bit. "Easily."

Mirina thought some more. "Okay. This is what we'll do. Cakey and the others will return to shore. We'll get the dory and bring it round to the ladder. The four of us will do one last, quick, thorough look over the ship, to make sure we didn't miss anything. Then we'll take the radios out and bring them ashore."

"They won't work without power," Wiggy pointed out.

"I saw some big batteries, like car batteries, down below. We can take one of them in a plastic bag."

"It might not be the right voltage," Wiggy said, "or amps or something."

"WIGGY!" Mirina shouted. "Stop! Okay, chances are it won't work, but what if it does? What if we have one chance in a million, and hit it? We have to try!"

Wiggy's eyes welled up with tears. They spilled down her cheeks. First came one sob, and then another. Soon she was crying openly, like a little girl who wanted her mother.

Mirina looked at Ding-Dong. "Send the other girls ashore," she told her. To Wiggy she said, "Come here, you silly goose! Come here, zusje."

The taller girl swept her hair behind her shoulders and wrapped her arms around the crying girl. Ding-Dong left, and I stood there not knowing what to do with myself. Wiggy cried on and on, while Mirina clucked and cooed like a mother bird.

"I can't do it!" Wiggy cried.

"Yes, you can," Mirina said soothingly. "We'll all help."

"I'm afraid!" Wiggy wailed.

"It'll be alright," Mirina told her in a soft voice.

"What if it isn't?" Wiggy demanded, still sobbing. "What if nobody knows where we are?"

Mirina didn't respond. She glanced at me, almost as if to see whether I'd heard. Then she lowered her eyes again and held Wiggy for a time in silence.

At long last, she put her hands on Wiggy's shoulders and stepped back, so they could look each other in the face. "Wiggy, listen. I know it's hard. I know it's especially hard for you, but you know things, you can do things, that the other girls can't do. You know this."

Wiggy sniffed. She wasn't crying any more. I saw a box of tissues on the table, so I handed her a few. She drew a ragged breath and blew her nose.

"I'm sorry, Mirina," she said. "Sometimes it's just too much..." and she started crying again.

"Okay, Wiggy, okay," Mirina said. I could see her patience was nearing an end. "Come on, my little pet, my petje."

Wiggy giggled a little in spite of herself.

"Wiggy, come on," I said. "If we get the radios out, we can go ashore."

Wiggy gave one or two more sniffs, grabbed two more tissues, and let out a huge groan of a sigh. "Okay," she said. "Has Cakey gone yet?"

As if in answer, we heard the motor start up.

"First of all, let's get the dory ready," she said. "If the ship starts moving, we want to be ready."
 

---

 

Forty minutes later, we were still struggling with the radios. We'd tried popping in new fuses, but they didn't change anything. The radios were still dead. Ding-Dong did her best to bring them to life, but nothing seemed to work.

"There are, like, a gazillion wires here," I said from inside the crawl space. "How can a thing have so many wires? It's just a radio."

"Don't worry about that," Mirina said. "Just follow each wire, one at a time."

I could see that Mirina and Wiggy were both on edge. It was probably the pressure of being in charge, of having to be the adults, so to speak. They both seemed at their limits. In spite of the sun we'd all gotten, their faces looked pale. They seemed shocked, overwhelmed. As far as getting the radios out, I was doing most of the work, and it wasn't going well. We'd sent nearly all the tools ashore, and there wasn't even a screwdriver to undo the screws holding the radios in.

"Look," I began. I was going to tell them we needed to give it up, when the ship suddenly, but very gently, rocked.

Wiggy swore. "Let's go," she said. "It's moving."

Mirina didn't argue. The four of us made way for the ladder. Just as we exited the wheelhouse, the walkie-talkie crackled to life.

"Wiggy? Mirina? This is Cakey. We're out of gas."

"Hang on," Mirina replied. "We have to abandon ship. It's moving. I'll call you right back."

In a matter of moments, we were down the ladder, in the dory, casting off. Wiggy gave a few pulls on the oars, and we were well away from the ship. It was visibly rocking. I had nothing to compare the sea level to, but obviously the tide was coming in.

"Is the anchor down?" I asked.

"Yes," Wiggy replied. "You can see the chain right there." She pointed.

"Hang on," Mirina interrupted. "Cakey, Mirina here. How far are you from shore?"

"Uh, too far to walk," Cakey replied. "I don't know. Far, not far. Graffy and Grooty tried to tow us in, but they couldn't."

"All right," Mirina replied. "Any girls who can swim ashore should do so. Cakey, you stay in the boat. We're on our way. Mirina out."

To Wiggy she said, "Do you think you can tow the motorboat with this dory?"

"And the raft?" Wiggy said. "I don't know. I do have an idea, though. It depends on how far they are from shore. We'll see. If I can't tow them, maybe we can run a rope from the boat to the shore and pull them in."

"So, wait a minute," I said. "About the ship: If the anchor is down, the boat — the ship — will stay where it is."

"Yeah," Wiggy replied. "Maybe forever. But we're not going back on board. It's too dangerous."

While Wiggy talked, she pulled at the oars. Again, I was amazed to see how natural she seemed in a boat. She rowed as if it was no effort at all. She seemed calmer, too, as if being in the rowboat, out on the water, made everything right with the world.

Still, she shook her head, and in her small squeaky voice, said, "Mirina, what are we going to do?"

Mirina, whose eyes were scanning the ocean in every direction, said, "We don't lose heart."

"And then?"

"We put our stuff away in the cave, and then we explore the island."

"Mirina, you know what I mean!"

"I do know what you mean, Wiggy. None of us know how long we'll be on the island, so we have to get organized. But the adults, they might be on the island. If they are, we have to find them. Maybe they came ashore on a different part."

"But Flannery told me that the reef is only open at this one point, at the cove."

As Wiggy spoke, we rounded the hill and came in sight of the cove. The longboat, with the raft behind, was sitting in the middle of the water. Cakey, alone in the boat, waved to us. I waved back.

"Wiggy," Mirina said in a low, serious voice, "listen to me. Do you know anything about coral reefs?"

"No," she admitted.

"Neither do I. We can imagine all sorts of things. Maybe they could walk across it. Maybe a wave could carry them over and leave them ashore. Maybe when the tide is high, they could simply row above it. We don't know."

Wiggy didn't answer.

Mirina went on. "We have to do what we can. The next step is to explore the island. We need to know where we are. We need to see if the adults are here with us."

"Okay," Wiggy agreed.

There was something in the way they talked that bothered me. There was something that they weren't telling. I had to get Wiggy alone and find out what it was. There wasn't any reason to think we'd be on the island, even in the worst case, for more than a week. But the two of them talked as if we could be here much longer. Mirina was obviously preparing for what could be a long haul. It wasn't just "prudence."

And another thing: She'd seen the hull damage from the hill, but hadn't told anyone but Wiggy. A chill ran through me. That was why Wiggy was so scared, when Graffy and Grooty towed her out to sea! But Graffy and Grooty had no idea of the danger that they'd been in — we'd *all* been in. None of us had!

So: lesson learned? Mirina didn't always tell the truth. I mean, the whole truth. It was easier to get us aboard when we thought it was just a lark. If the girls had known the danger, they probably would have gone anyway. I know I would have. But then, it would have been our own choice, not Mirina's.

As Wiggy pulled us up next to Cakey, I thought, I have to keep an eye on the Manley One. I've got to get Wiggy to tell me what's going on.

© 2008 by Kaleigh Way

[OTHER STORIES]

"They have to look for us," I said. "Once they miss us, once we're not on the flight, people will start looking."

"Somewhere in the South Pacific," Wiggy said.

---

 

30. Seated Victory
 

"Hey, I'm stuck," Cakey said, smiling. "I got a flat tire. At least we got the big loads ashore before we ran out of gas."

"Yes, good work," Mirina said. "It was lucky Ding-Dong had the idea of the raft."

Wiggy frowned in disapproval. "I could have brought it all in the dory. These boats are made for stuff like this."

"Can you tow me, Wiggsy?" Cakey asked.

"Maybe," Wiggy said, "let's have a go." She switched places with Mirina so she could get in the tail-end of the boat, and took the end of the rope from Cakey.

"Do you need me, Hedwig?" Mirina said. "I'm thinking I could make the boat lighter by swimming ashore. Make your job easier."

"Go ahead," Wiggy replied, and Mirina slipped into the water. I expected the boat to tip a lot, but it hardly moved at all.

Wiggy tied up the boats, and got back to the oars. "I can swim to shore, too, if you like," Cakey offered. Wiggy shrugged, and Cakey dove in.

"Do you want me to go, too?" I asked.

"No," she said. "Please stay. I don't want to be alone." She moved back to the middle of the boat. "Can you sit there, so I can see you?" she asked.

I got into the back of the boat, and she picked up the oars.

"You and Mirina aren't telling everything, are you?" I asked.

"No, we're not," Wiggy admitted readily in a low voice, "but can I tell you later? Voices carry on the water."

I nodded.

"Don't worry," she said, "I'll tell you everything. I'll go crazy if I can't talk to somebody about it."

"Maybe we can be one of the search teams," I suggested.

She nodded, and pulled at the oars.

"Is it hard?" I asked. "I mean towing the boat."

"It's not so bad," she said. "I think it would be easier if the whole load was in here, but it's okay."

"Why didn't they try to row the longboat ashore?" I asked.

"We couldn't find the oars," she said. "Now it's completely useless, unless by some miracle we find gasoline on the island."

"Maybe we could make a sail for it," I suggested.

Wiggy's face grew dark. "You're starting to sound like Ding-Dong," she said.

I didn't answer at first. I just looked at her. When she didn't look up, I said, "I wish you wouldn't do that."

At that, her head jerked up. She was startled and embarrassed. "Sorry!" she squeaked. "I don't mean it."

"Ding-Dong actually had a lot of smart ideas back there."

"I know."

"She helped a lot."

"I know." Wiggy was very embarrassed now. "I'm sorry. It's just the pressure. I feel like it's all on me."
 

---

 

An hour later we were all moving again. We formed four teams, each with a walkie-talkie. Mirina, Graffy, and Grooty were one team. Knickers, Cakey, and Ding-Dong were the second. They each took one of the paths leading away from the cave. Wiggy and I took the dory so we could circle the island. Mirina gave me a pair of binoculars, and cautioned me to never take the cord off my neck.

"If you hand them to Wiggy," the Manley One instructed, "make sure you don't hold them over the water. Hold them over the boat, in case they drop."

"Okay," I agreed, more than a little irritated. I wanted to tell her that I'm not a child, but I bit my tongue and kept quiet.

Boogers had brought the food ashore, and decided to cook the haggis. Apparently the meal was going to be elaborate (by camp standards) so she stayed behind to prepare it. Donkey stayed with her, mainly so she wouldn't be alone, but also to help gather wood for the fire and haul water.

One of the first things that we found, even before the exploring began, was a fresh-water spring. I say "we" found it, but it was actually Ding-Dong. She wondered how the barrels of water in the cave's pantry got filled. "They're too heavy to move," she kept saying, and at last, after some crawling and wiggling and nearly losing one of the flashlights, she discovered that there was a water faucet behind the barrels. A hose was attached to it.

Thinking that the faucet had to be fed by a spring or a water tank, she took Cakey with her to look at the hill above the cave. Pretty quickly they heard water falling, and lo and behold there was a fresh-water pool with a spring bubbling above it. The runoff from the pool ran down the stony hill and disappeared in the shubbery.

"The spring has to be capped somewhere above the pool," Ding-Dong said, pointing. "Or maybe there are two springs."

"Can we swim in it?" Graffy asked.

"I think we might want to use it for washing," Wiggy said.

"We can do both!" Ding-Dong proposed. "If we dam up the water over there, it will make a second pool."

Everyone groaned at the impracticality of it, and Mirina said, "Girls, we have to start searching. We have to find the adults, if they're on the island."

"How would they have gotten ashore?" Cakey asked. "We have the longboat."

"One of the rafts was missing," Mirina said. "You know that."

"Why would they get in a raft, when they could use a motorboat?" Cakey asked.

Mirina turned to Wiggy for an explanation.

Wiggy shrugged. "I have no idea. If it was me, I'd have put everyone in the dory."

"Oh! You think that silly dory is magical!" Boogers scoffed.

"It's made for ocean rowing," Wiggy retorted. "It's almost impossible to tip over!"

"Okay," Mirina interrupted, putting up her hands. "We're wasting time. We're wasting sunlight. Does anyone know when the sun sets?"

"About six," Wiggy replied.

"That gives us four or five hours of exploring. Less, really, because we have to get back to camp before dark. Each team, take a flashlight. And watch the time. Make sure you leave enough time to get back to camp before the sun goes down."
 

---

 

"So...," I began, as Wiggy gently pulled at the oars, "Do you really have no idea why the adults would take a raft?"

"No. No idea."

"Maybe they had to abandon ship while Flannery was bringing us ashore..."

"But then what happened to Flannery?"

"She climbed in the raft with them?"

"No. That doesn't make sense. She could have towed them ashore. But instead, she tied up the longboat..."

"So she must have got back onboard."

"Maybe she got back on the ship, and then they hit the reef. Then they all got in a raft."

"No," Wiggy insisted. "They would have gotten in the longboat."

"Maybe somebody came and took them away?" I suggested.

"Like who? A flying saucer?" Wiggy's eyes scanned the shore, reminding me to do the same. "Besides," she continued, "If somebody took them, why is the raft missing?"

"Maybe they got in the raft and someone picked them up?"

"They why wouldn't they come for us?"

We were silent for a while. Then I said, "Maybe they got in the raft and the raft went down. Or they were lost at sea."

Wiggy didn't answer. Nervously, I covered my eyes with the binoculars, and looked at the island. "There's a volcano," I observed. "Or a mountain, at least."

"It's a volcano," Wiggy said.

"Do you think we're in danger?" I asked. "I see smoke, like steam, coming out around the base and partway up the side."

"I don't know," she replied.

She rowed in silence. At last, I asked her, "Wiggy, what aren't you telling me? Is there some kind of secret here?"

Wiggy stopped rowing. She pulled the oars inside the boat and let go of them. Then she crumpled up into a ball, burying her face into her hands. She drove her elbows down between her knees. She cried, her whole body shaking. I moved closer, kneeling on the hard, uncomfortable floor, and tried to put my arms around her.

"Wiggy, what's wrong? Wiggy, tell me... Come on, Wiggy, get a hold of yourself. Tell me what's wrong."

At any other time, I would have let her cry. I would have just held her and waited. This time, I couldn't wait. To the truth, I was more than a little scared. Here we were, two girls in the middle of the ocean in a little boat. I don't know how to row. I could swim to some extent. I wasn't sure I could swim all the way to shore. I didn't know whether even Graffy and Grooty could swim this far.

And while Wiggy cried, the current was moving the boat. Not quickly, and not a lot, but it was moving. I didn't want Wiggy to cry for very long.

"Wiggy, please," I begged. "Tell me what's wrong."

Gasping for breath, she said, "Okay." She snivelled, and wiped her nose with the back of her hand, which she cleaned by waving it in the water. She rubbed her face and gulped a few backward sobs.

"The thing is," she said, "I don't know whether anyone knows where we are."

"Didn't you plan this trip?" I asked.

"No, not really. I had to go through Mirina's father's secretary, and she's great and everything, but she has a million things to do. So, she booked the tickets, and signed up the Seward, but I don't know how many details she had.

"When she told me we were going to be on an island, I asked her, Which island? and she said, Does it matter?

"Each time I talked to her, I tried to insist, but she said she didn't know."

"She didn't know!?" I repeated.

"Yeah," Wiggy replied. "I'm hoping that it was just an adult brushing off a child, you know? And that she DOES know and has it written down somewhere."

"Somebody in the company that runs the ship must know."

Wiggy scoffed. "I think we've met everyone in that company."

"No," I countered. "Somebody has to run the office, take phone calls and stuff."

"Yeah, somebody," she said. "Does that somebody know where we went?"

"Don't they have to?" I replied.

"I don't know," she countered. "Do they?"

I blew out a big breath. "So, potentially nobody knows where we are."

Wiggy nodded. "Except the adults, who are now missing."

"They have to look for us," I said. "Once they miss us, once we're not on the flight, people will start looking."

"Somewhere in the South Pacific," Wiggy said, and gestured with her chin at the vast empty ocean. "We could be anywhere. They never found Emilia Earheart."

She sighed and took up the oars again.

Something began wiggling around in my memory... something was bothering me. There was something else I meant to ask Wiggy... what was it?

"Oh!" It came back to me. "Wiggy, remember when we went up on the hill to look at the ship? You told me that you'd seen a map of the island before we left. How could you do that if you didn't know where we were going?"

She turned red and bit her lip. "Oh, yeah," she said softly. "Okay, look: I have a secret. I was going to tell you anyway, just... I was going to tell you later on.

"But listen to me, Marcie — this is a real secret. This is a big secret. You can't tell ANYBODY. You can't even hint at it. In fact, it's so serious that if you tell, then..." she hesitated a moment, weighing what she was about to say "... if you tell, then I'll tell your secret." She glanced at my crotch, as if her meaning wasn't obvious enough already.

I went white. I was stunned. "Wiggy!" I exclaimed. "You wouldn't!"

She looked uncomfortable. "I know," she said. "I wouldn't... so don't make me! I can't have anybody know!"

I couldn't speak, I was so upset. If I could have jumped out of the boat and swam ashore, I would have. I thought about doing it anyway. Maybe with the life jacket I was wearing, I could make it. Could I? Would I? Before I made up my mind, my eye fell on Wiggy, who looked miserable.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" she said. "You *know* I won't tell! I'm just desperate!"

"Oh, Wiggy," I said. "Sometimes you're more than a little mean!"

"I don't mean to be!"

"You don't mean to be mean?"

"Don't be mad at me!" she pleaded. "Look: this is my secret. The first morning we were here, while it was still raining, I found a map of the island in the table, near the cave entrance. It was in a long plastic tube that hangs on the back of the table."

"So why didn't you tell anybody?"

She tapped her foot and looked uncertain. She opened her mouth twice before she actually began to speak. "Because I found a second map that shows where we are."

"You did? So where are we?"

"I don't know exactly, but there are some bigger islands, not far away. I'm pretty sure I can row to the closest one, and if I understand the map correctly, there should be people on it."

My eyes nearly popped out of my head. "So why won't you tell anybody?"

"Because I'm sure they wouldn't let me go."

"How far is it?"

Wiggy looked cagey. "I'm not going to say."

"You're not going to say? Well, how long would it take to row there?"

Again she gave me that cagey look. "I'm not going to say that, either."

"Why not? You told me everything else! Didn't you?"

"Yes, I did. But I know about rowing a dory in the open ocean. I've been in three long-distance contests. So I know what I can do. But you don't, and neither does anybody else."

"So?"

"So if I tell you how far it is, or how long it would take to get there, you'll start making calculations based on... based on nothing, and you'll try to second-guess me."

"Maybe that's a good thing," I offered.

"No," she said. "It's not. I can do it. If I talk about it, you and the others will stop me."

I looked at Wiggy's determined face. She set her jaw the way a little girl does when she's ready to dig her heels in. Whatever I said next, I had to be very careful.

"Wiggy, will you just promise me one thing?"

"What?" she asked in a cautious tone.

"Take me with you when you go?"

She shrieked with joy. She did a little seated victory dance, stamping her feet, wiggling her butt, and waggling the oars.

"Stop, Wiggy, stop!" I laughed. "You're getting me all wet!"

© 2008 by Kaleigh Way

[OTHER STORIES]

"I'm starving!" Donkey shouted. "Boogers, what does this haggis stuff taste like, anyway?"

"I don't know," the cook replied, "but we'll find out soon!"

---

 

31. Haggis And The Volcano
 

"So you didn't tell anybody about the map of the island? Not even Her Manliness."

"No," Wiggy said. "But after I hid the big map, I put the map of the island back. Somebody else can find it. You can find it if you want."

"It would be handy," I said. I looked at the walkie-talkie. "I wish I could tell them about it now. It would help with the search."

"Yeah," Wiggy agreed. "But one thing I *do* know from the map is that the island really is surrounded by a coral reef. The only way to land is through the cove."
 

We completed our circuit around the island, but didn't see anyone, not even the Amazon search teams. Occasionally there'd be messages on the walkie-talkie, but nothing really important. Mirina suggested we keep their use to a minimum to conserve batteries.

Wiggy had been rowing pretty steadily, but by the time we got three-quarters of the way round the island, the sun dipped low in the sky. Wiggy started pulling harder. We didn't want to be out there in the dark.

"I underestimated," Wiggy told me, looking a little fearful. "I didn't take into account how far out we'd have to go to avoid the coral reef."

We reached the mouth of the cove as the sun was about to drop below the horizon. All the other girls were already in the camp. Ding-Dong and Cakey were waiting for us on the dock.

"You had us worried, girls!" Ding-Dong said.

"What did you do?" Cakey asked, half-joking. "Try to row to Hawaii?"

"No, just to Bora-Bora," Wiggy quipped, which set Ding-Dong off singing, Bora Bora, Bora Bora, it's an island in the ocean...
 

In spite of the heat, two fires were burning under two huge pots. Boogers had been busy. "One's for the haggis," she explained, pointing to one of the wildly boiling pots, "and the other's for the tubers."

"Tubers?" I repeated.

"Potatoes and turnips," she explained. "I found the directions for the haggis dinner. There's two things missing, though: cock-a-leekie soup and whisky."

Cakey stuck her tongue out in a gesture of disgust. "I won't miss them," she said.

Boogers was drenched with sweat from standing near the fires. "Whoo!" she cried as she mopped her face with a cloth. "Whatever we eat tomorrow, it's got to be something COLD!"

Just then, the darkness fell. It was instantly night. "Oh, my God!" Donkey shouted. "Who turned out the lights?"

It was something we had to get used to: once the sun set, it became dark instantly. There wasn't any fadeout; it was as though a switch had been thrown.

"We have to keep this in mind, girls," Mirina said. "We have to make sure everyone can reach camp before the sun sets. No one wants to be caught out in the dark."

"So did anybody find anything?" I asked.

"We're going to have dinner first, then each team will report," Mirina said. "Everyone needs full attention, and we'll be more relaxed if we've eaten."

"And I'm starving!" Donkey shouted. "Boogers, what does this haggis stuff taste like, anyway?"

"I don't know," the cook replied, "but we'll find out soon!"

Everyone joined in the remaining preparations. First, we had to fish out the little haggis sacks from the boiling water. We each took turns, because it was an infernally hot job, dipping strainers and sieves into the pot. The heat of the fire had a brutal intensity against our bare, sunburnt legs, and the steam up above threatened to parboil our faces.

We repeated the hellish fishing process with the tubers, separating the turnips from the potatoes.

Then came the hand-burning work of peeling the potatoes and turnips.

"Ouch!" I cried. "Boogers, how come you didn't peel them first, before you boiled them?"

"They have more flavor when you cook them in skins," she explained, blushing.

"We could feed these peels to the cute little piggies," Ding-Dong said.

"What piggies?" I asked.

"We'll talk about it later," she said, smiling at me and glancing at the Manley One.

The peeled tubers got tossed back into two empty pots where Boogers mashed them, mixing butter into the turnips and butter and milk into the potatoes.

"Anyone who likes milk ought to take a drink now," Boogers said. "It's warm already, so it's not going to stay good for long."

"I guess anyone who likes butter ought to take a bite now, too, huh?" Cakey joked.

"Anyone who likes butter thrown at their heads and mashed into their hair should speak up now," Boogers threatened, hefting the huge yellow chunk and looking directly at Cakey.

Cakey wisely didn't answer, but I could see she wanted to.

When at last it was time to serve up the plates, we were all ravenous. Each plate got a generous serving of turnips and potatoes. Then Boogers sliced open the little sacks that haggis comes in, and dumped the contents onto the plates.

"Woof!" Knickers cried in disappointment, holding her nose. "It smells like liver! Is it liver? Oh, God, it smells like liver!"

"I guess there's liver in it," Boogers admitted. "But liver's good for you."

"I like liver," I said, but my visceral memory gave a twinge. My mind shot back to the last time I had liver: those horrible, gray gobbets that Ida prepared. I shivered at the memory.

"If you like it, why did you shudder?" Knickers challenged.

"Come on, everybody," Boogers pleaded. "I've been working hard for hours. I've burnt myself everywhere and boiled myself alive. Give it a chance, please!"

"No more criticism," Mirina declared. "Next critic will be tomorrow's cook!"

"You put that milk on your mush and you eat it! Baah!" Cakey muttered, imitating an old Little Rascals episode.

"Cakey, what did you say?" Mirina asked.

"I'm just agreeing with you," Cakey replied. Ding-Dong tilted her head down so her hair hid her laughing smile.
 

The response to the dinner was divided. Everyone was grateful to Boogers for having spent so much time and effort cooking, and the mashed potatoes were highly praised.

A few of the girls, myself included, liked the haggis. It was pretty unusual, and "highly flavored" as Ding-Dong put it. No one complained, at least verbally.

"Is there supposed to be some kind of sauce for this?" Knickers asked. Her face was a picture. She hated it. It was clear. But she was trying to be brave and eat it all. "My parents always told me to leave a clean plate," she told me later. "But, oh! I don't think they knew there was such a... such a... food-thing in the world when they said it!"

"Sauce?" Cakey began, smiling a wicked smile, but Ding-Dong gave her a cautionary look that silenced her.

"According to the recipe, the only sauce for haggis is whisky," Boogers said. "But we're too young, and there wasn't any anyway."

As far as I could tell, Graffy, Grooty, Ding-Dong, Boogers, and me liked the haggis. Mirina and Donkey ate it, but without enthusiasm or comment. Knickers and Wiggy ate it as though it was punishment. I couldn't tell whether Cakey liked it. She seemed to take it as a comic platform, making all sorts of goofy faces and elaborate mimes when Mirina wasn't looking. It was hard to not giggle.

Everyone thanked Boogers for her efforts, and then Mirina, after throwing some more wood on the fire, took the floor.

"Okay, girls," she said, once again clapping her hands for attention. "Before we talk about what we saw today, there are a couple of topics I want to cover.

"The first is, we didn't explore the whole island. We know that. But we don't know exactly how big the island is—"

"Sure we do," Cakey interrupted. "Wiggy and Marcie went around it. They know."

"You're right," Mirina admitted. "But we have to work out... we have to figure out how our... how our walking relates to their rowing. You know what I mean."

"It's too bad we don't have a map," Ding-Dong said.

"Yes, it's true," Mirina agreed. "It would be extremely helpful. I guess we'll have to make our own map. But not right now. The thing is, without a map, we won't know how much of the island we've covered until we've seen it all."

I glanced at Wiggy, but she just looked back at me, expressionless. She wasn't going to say anything, and *I* wasn't going to say anything. I wasn't going to test her. I didn't need to find out how serious she was about outing me.

"Okay," Mirina continued. "Nobody, including Wiggy and Marcie, saw any sign of the adults."

"Do you think there'd be some sign where they went ashore?" Knickers asked. "I mean, something Wiggy and Marcie would have seen?"

"I guess so, but I don't know," Mirina said. "The fact is, none of us have seen any sign of them yet. So we have to keep looking until there's no place left to look."

"What could have happened to them?" Cakey asked. "We know they all got into one of the rafts, but we don't know why. Why didn't they come here? And shouldn't they be looking for us?"

"There are many questions," Mirina said. "There's a lot that we don't know. We can talk about those things, but for right now, we need to talk about some facts. Some things we know. The next topic I want to discuss is the volcano."

"Yes, there's steam coming up in different places," Graffy said. "Do you think the volcano could blow?"

"No," said Mirina and Ding-Dong together.

"Why not?" Grooty asked.

"Because—" Mirina and Ding-Dong began together. Ding-Dong deferred to Her Manliness.

Mirina said, "They wouldn't have brought us to an island with a live volcano."

"But they landed us here in a storm," Graffy retorted. "They didn't mean to put us here."

"No," Mirina contradicted. "They did mean to put us here. This was our planned destination."

"Oh, right," Graffy said, remembering. Turning to Ding-Dong, she asked, "Where you going to say something else?"

"Yes. We're not in any danger from the volcano. And we can be sure we're not in any danger because of the steam."

"What kind of sense does that make?" Wiggy challenged.

"It makes sense because of pressure," Ding-Dong replied. "The steam is seeping up gently, in a floaty way. If the volcano was going to blow, the lava would be pushing up, and that create more pressure. More pressure would make the steam come out in jets, like from a tea kettle or stronger. As long as it's coming up gently, it means there's no danger. No pressure, no danger."

Wiggy was stunned into silence.

"That makes sense," Graffy acknowledged, and the other girls nodded.

"How did you figure that out?" I whispered to Ding-Dong, who was sitting next to me.

"It's all in Jules Verne," she replied, "Journey to the Center of the Earth."

"Oh, jeez!" I exclaimed softly. "Don't tell Wiggy! Tell her you figured it out on your own, or that you saw it on the Discovery Channel or something."

"Okay," she replied brightly, with a shrug. Then she raised her hand, as if we were in school.

"What is it, Ding-Dong?" Mirina asked.

"Can we talk about the piggies?" she asked.

"What piggies?" someone asked.

Mirina frowned. "For a couple of minutes," she said. "But seriously, make it brief. I still have two important points to cover."

"Okay," Ding-Dong said. "When Cakey and Knickers and me were exploring, we heard all this noise. At first we thought it was wild monkeys or rats or something, but all of a sudden we found a whole bunch of tiny pigs! Piglets!"

The girls erupted in chatter.

"Like in Winnie-The-Pooh?"

"Like in Lord of the Flies?"

"How little?"

"Were they babies? How big were they?"

"No, they aren't babies!" Ding-Dong replied. "Well, some of them are babies, but they're all so SO cute! The littlest ones are like this—" She held her hands to show about eight inches of length "—and the biggest ones are like this—" She moved her hands to about fourteen inches. "I think they would make great pets! They scurry around like puppies, and they make the cutest little oinks and squealy noises!"

Wiggy burst into derisive laughter. The other girls threw questions at Ding-Dong in a flurry of excitement and happiness. I couldn't share either Wiggy's scorn or the other girls' enthusiasm. Little piglets? Pets? Had they forgotten our situation? That we needed to be rescued? That we had so many unanswered questions?

Wiggy wasn't talking. She shook her head and looked out to sea. I knew she was nervous and frightened, perhaps more than any of the other girls, and that was why she was getting to be so mean and irritable.

I sighed and looked into the mouth of the cave. If I squinted and tipped my head just the right way, I could see the end of the table and the black plastic tube hanging off the back of it. That was where Wiggy had found the maps. The map of the island, the map we all needed, was hidden in there now. I had to think of a way to tell someone, or to make someone else find it.

I never liked secrets. They make me uncomfortable. Of course, I have a secret of my own, but I wish I didn't. I wish I could be just like the other girls here, laughing and giggling over the piglets... not having to worry about being found out... not being the odd man out.

"Marcie," Mirina said in a low voice. Then just a wee bit louder, "Marcie?"

I nearly jumped out of my skin. While I was lost in my musings, Mirina had come over and crouched down in front of me on hands and knees. The other girls were still giggling around Ding-Dong, who described in great detail the antics of the wild piglets. Mirina continued, "What are you looking at, Marcie?"

"I, um, the table..." I said.

"What about the table?"

"Do you see that black thing on the back of it?" I felt like such a scum for lying to her, but at least she'd have the map. "I just noticed... there's like a black shadow, and I was wondering what it was."

Mirina's eyes focused like twin lasers on the map tube. I suddenly remembered what sharp eyes she has. Her mouth fell slightly open. "Oh, my G— that looks like a—" She gave me a quick pat on the leg. "Marcie, you're a genius!"

The next moment she was on her feet, running. I got up and ran after, and a few moments later the other girls followed suit.

Mirina was fast, and by the time I reached her, she was already pulling the map out of the tube. "It's a map!" she said. "Hey, quit blocking the light! It's a map of— a map of an island... oh, please let it..." across the top was written the name MUKTAPHALA "It is! Oh, my God! It's Muktaphala! This is a map of our island!"

Amidst the cries of amazement and celebration came Cakey's question. "How in the world did you find it, Mirina? Has that black tube been there all along?"

"Of course!" Mirina replied. "It had to be. I guess none of us had a reason to look behind the table, so none of us saw the tube. All these days, and nobody noticed. Then Marcie happened to be looking this way. She saw it and wondered what it was. And now, we have a map of the island! We can figure out what we've seen and... and... make better plans! This could help us find the adults and use the island better, until we're rescued!"

"That's great," Wiggy commented. "Good find, Marcie." She smiled at me in a smug we've got a secret smile, and for the first time I really wanted to smack her.

"Thanks, Wiggy," I replied drily. Cakey and Ding-Dong noticed the undercurrent, and their eyes darted back and forth between Wiggy and me, but they didn't say anything. We walked back to the fire. Mirina studied the map as she walked.

"We'll have to look this over in the morning, when it's light," she said. "But at this point..." — her eyes rapidly scanned the map — "I'm guessing that we've only seen a third of the island. Over here is where Knickers and the others were blocked by the volcano, and this is where me, Graffy and Grooty reached the other shore. There's another path here that we haven't seen..."

The girls crowded around her. Wiggy and I were too short to see through.

"Nice save," Wiggy said to me. "I felt bad about hiding it."

"Yeah!" I replied. "From now on, no more secrets!"

She froze for a minute, then looked me in the eyes. "We both have secrets, Marcie. You and me. Mirina, too. But it's important that nobody knows. Just we three."

I shivered for a moment.

Wiggy frowned at me. "Marcie, you don't think I'm being mean or weird do you?"

"No," I said, but I wasn't sure if I meant it. "I just hate secrets."

Wiggy shrugged and smiled, and in that moment I saw the old Wiggy. I smiled back, and she gave me a hug.

After the hug, as she let go, I said to her, "Wiggy! Are you going to tell me Mirina's secret?"

© 2008 by Kaleigh Way

[OTHER STORIES]

---

Thanks to Gabi for answering my many haggis-related questions,
to Annette for help with tropical islands,
and a belated thanks to Geoff for clarifying some nautical terms.
Any errors are of course my own.

"There might be a man on the island," Mirina said quietly.

"A good-looking man?" Cakey laughed.

---

 

32. Talking Wiggy Down
 

"You already know Mirina's secret," Wiggy told me. "It's our secret, too. You know."

"No, I don't know."

Wiggy put her hand on my upper arm and her mouth near my ear. "That nobody knows where we are."

While Wiggy was whispering to me, Mirina had rolled up the map and asked the girls to sit. Now that only three of us were standing, the whole group of girls saw me and Wiggy standing close, her head next to mine.

Mirina smiled. "I'm glad you two are friends again. It seemed like there was some... tension there earlier."

"Oh, yeah," I said, blushing.

Wiggy, equally embarrassed, took a step back. "I was just telling her something," she lamely explained.

"Did you tell her, I love you, Marcie, let's get kissy-wissy?" Knickers teased, and the other girls hooted and chuckled.

My face was burning red. I didn't want to look at Wiggy, but couldn't help but glance at her. Her cheeks were burning, too.

Mirina clapped her hands twice. "Come on, now girls! We're happy that Marcie and Wiggy made up, but let's sit down and have order. I still have two topics to cover."

Wiggy and I sat down next to each other between Cakey and Ding-Dong on one side and Graffy and Grooty on the other. We had to sit together; there was nowhere else to sit. Eight pairs of eyes watched our every move, as me and Wiggy, still blushing, sat down, crossed our legs, and awkward bumped each other with our knees. The silence and attention was embarrassing, and there really wasn't any reason for it. Wiggy is my friend: my best friend here. There's nothing more between us. We not girlfriends; we're just girls who are friends.

I knew that the Amazons knew that. They only wanted to tease us a little. So I gave Wiggy a nudge with my elbow, and she nudged me back. That was enough to break the spell.

"All right!" Mirina began. "The plan for tomorrow is this: in the morning, we relax." A cheer went up. "We swim, we eat, we sleep, whatever. Just remember: no girl goes anywhere alone. No girl does anything alone."

"Except in the bathroom!" Boogers put in, and everyone laughed.

"Even then," Mirina said, "her buddy has to wait for her."

"But not... we don't... we don't have to stand right outside those toilet... latrine... things, do we?"

"Of course not. The point is, someone must always know where you are. Someone must always see where you are. We can't afford to lose any one."

"Why would we lose anyone?"

Mirina's face twitched a bit. Once again I saw that look that she and Wiggy get from time to time, the look of a little girl trying bravely to act as the adult, but not quite feeling up to it.

"There might be a man on the island," she said quietly.

"A good-looking man?" Cakey laughed.

"I'm not joking," Mirina said. "We all saw the coat and the boots in the cave. Those are man's clothes, and they've obviously been used — used, worn by a man."

"Mirina," Wiggy cut in, "We all saw the coat and boots, yeah, but I also noticed that those clothes are old. They could have been hanging there for years!"

"Yes, and it was raining when we saw them," Ding-Dong added.

"And what the hell difference does that make?" Wiggy shot back in an irritated tone.

"Wiggy!" Mirina said, in a tone of caution.

Ding-Dong didn't speak. She looked mortally offended, and was clearly trying to keep her composure. I knew, just as everyone knew — except Wiggy — that Ding-Dong had had enough of Wiggy's condescension and distain. This time was the last straw.

Cakey understood what Ding-Dong was getting at, so she explained. "It makes a difference because if there *is* a man on the island, he would have wanted to wear his rain gear in the rain, not leave it hanging in the cave." She raised an eyebrow in Wiggy's direction. "That makes sense, doesn't it?" When Wiggy didn't answer, Cakey pressed the point. "What Belle said does make sense, doesn't it, Wiggy?"

"Yes," Wiggy grudgingly admitted.

"Look," Cakey said, speaking gently, as if walking on eggs. "Everybody knows that you're smart... and responsible. You plan everything... you do everything for us. We're all grateful. And we know that Belle irritates you sometimes." Ding-Dong glanced at Cakey and bristled a little, but she didn't say anything. Cakey turned to her friend and said, "I know a lot of that is my fault... I set you up sometimes... So, I'm sorry, too."

She turned back to Wiggy. "But you know that Ding-Dong has really come through, many times, since we got dumped on this island. She found the spring. She had the idea to use the raft to carry stuff. We wouldn't have gotten everything off the boat if it wasn't for her."

"Ship," Wiggy corrected.

"What?" Cakey asked. She wasn't sure she heard right.

"Ship," Wiggy repeated. "The Seward is a ship. Was a ship."

Silence descended on the group. Cakey took it in, fighting with her indignation, and shouted, "Fine! Ship! Ship! SHIP! Whatever! Just quit picking on Ding-Dong, will you? Leave Belle alone!"

Wiggy looked down, to hide her face. Then she shuffled awkwardly to her feet, hiding her tears with one hand. We all watched her in silence, unsure what she was about to do. Was she going to say something? Confess her own fears? Apologize to Ding-Dong? Cry out in anger and frustration?

It was none of that. She didn't say anything at all. Instead, Wiggy turned and abruptly ran off, into the night.

Mirina's jaw fell. Her face went white. Her arms shook uselessly for a moment, then she looked around her, as if searching for something. She found it. Bending down, she grabbed a flashlight and tossed it at me. "Marcie! Quick! Follow her! Two other girls with flashlights, follow Marcie! I don't want to lose anyone tonight!"

I jumped up and headed for the path Wiggy had taken, pumping the flashlight as I ran. As soon as I left the firelight, I came up against an apparent wall of darkness. I stopped and pumped the handle until the light came on. Then I kept on pumping for a bit to bring the charge up. As I did, Graffy and Grooty came running up to join me.

"Hi," I said gratefully.

"Come on," Graffy told me. "We'll all go find her together."

I hesitated, knowing what a fragile state Wiggy was in. "Um, listen... can you guys kind of follow me at a distance? I think it'll make it easier to talk to Wiggy. I'll stay on this path."

Grooty shined her light in my face. The twins glanced at each other, then gave silent shrugs of agreement.

"Thanks," I said. "Look: here's two signals. If I wave my light up and down like this, it means come join me. If I wave it back and forth like this, it means I found her and you can go back. Okay?"

Graffy frowned. "What do you mean, 'go back'? We're supposed to watch you."

"If I find Wiggy, you don't need to watch me. There'll be two of us, and we'll follow the path back to camp. I might need to talk to her for a bit."

The girls grudgingly agreed.

I turned away from them and took a few steps. It was like walking into a closet. The trees made a canopy above me, and darkness hung from the canopy, covering everything. The jungle had swallowed me up. There were plants on every side of me, brushing my legs and arms and dangling in my face. It was pretty unnerving. I caught myself taking shallow, claustrophobic breaths.

So I turned around.

In that direction I could see Graffy and Grooty, looking at me with puzzled expressions, and beyond them, in the clearing, the other girls gathered near the fire.

It was like night and day.

In the clearing were the fire and the girls, and behind them, the beach. Waves were breaking, wave upon wave. They must have been rolling in on all sides of the island, because even when I didn't see a wave breaking, I could hear the soft, constant rumble.

I turned around again, and faced the path. After fortifying myself with a deep breath, I stepped forward and found myself in a dark, silent world. Well, it would have been silent, if it weren't for the surf rolling and hissing in the background, like a massive white-noise machine.

I guess I expected crickets chirping or insects buzzing or owls hooting or something. Instead, there was nothing... except the eternal muffled thunder of surf in every direction. I kept walking, shining my light everywhere, pumping the handle every couple of steps. I didn't want it to cut out and leave me in the dark.

"Wiggy?" I called softly. The silence overawed me. It was hard to call her name. The foliage swallowed my calls like a heavy curtain. I licked my lips, cleared my throat, and shouted, "Wiggy! Wiggy, where are you?" and kept putting one foot in front of another.

She couldn't have stepped off the path, I told myself. The foliage is too thick. Plus, I thought — thinking for a moment the way Ding-Dong would have thought — there was no sign of breakage: if she pushed off the path, I'd see damage to the plants. Good thinking, Ding-Dong, I said, as though it was *her* idea.

I tried not to think, not to be afraid, not to feel alone. I reminded myself: I'm Marcie Donner. I've done harder things than this. I'm Marcie freakin' Donner.

"I'm Marcie Donner!" I shouted. And another voice inside me answered, Yes, right: I'm Marcie Donner, but what happened to me? Why have I become so passive! I've been just one of the girls, along for the ride. But was that a bad thing? Wiggy and Mirina and even Ding-Dong were doing more than me. Wasn't I supposed to be some sort of heroette? That's what Ms. Gifford had called me: a "teenage action heroette" — and she was a district attorney. She must know something about it.

So I squared my shoulders, and kept walking. "Wiggy! It's Marcie! Come on, I need to find you! Where are you, Wiggy?"

I walked for several minutes, putting one foot in front of the other, and forcing myself not to look back.

At last the path opened up and I saw her. She was sitting on a picnic table, under a tree. I recognized the place: it was where she and Cakey and I had taken our rain-shower together. Wiggy was perched on the table, her feet on the seat. She was hugging her knees and looked very scared. You could see she'd been crying — hard — but she wasn't crying now.

"Wiggy," I said, "Are you alright?"

"No," she said. "I'm not alright."

"Hang on a minute," I said, and turned back to face the way I'd come. Graffy and Grooty's light was visible down the path. They must have been fairly close. Otherwise, the plants would have hidden their light.

So now, what was the signal? I had to think for a minute: up and down meant "join me"; back and forth meant "Go away; I found her." I moved the light back and forth until they repeated the signal. Their light was obscured for a moment as they turned, and soon it went out.

"Who was that?" Wiggy asked.

"Graffy and Grooty. They were my backup."

Somehow I knew that Wiggy didn't want to be touched, and — as scared as she was in the dark — she wasn't ready to go back.

"Can I sit next to you, Wiggy?" I asked.

"Yes."

I sat down on the table with her, leaving about a foot of space between us.

"What are you thinking, Wiggy?"

"I'm such a failure, Marcie. I'm such a failure! I did SO MANY THINGS wrong!"

"What are you talking about?"

"I let everybody down, including you! *I* should have planned this trip. *I* should have handled the details! *I* would have made a real itinerary, and every parent would have had a copy. That's what I always do." She sniffed and wiped her nose. "Instead, I let somebody else do everything."

"An adult," I said. "You let an adult do it."

"An adult," she scoffed. "Do you know what an adult is? An adult is just a big kid. Being 'adult' doesn't mean anything! You take you or me or any of the girls here, or take any kid you know. Add a couple years, and poof! you have an adult. That's all. They'll still be the same inside. They could even be worse. Growing up doesn't automatically make you wise or responsible. Being older doesn't guarantee anything."

I was silent. I didn't know what to say, so I pumped the flashlight for a bit.

"*I* knew better. I did! I asked her What's the name of the island? Where is it? I needed to know; I should have insisted."

"Wiggy, it's not your fault. It isn't your responsibility."

"It is my responsibility! This is what I do! That's why I'm with the Amazons! It's not just so I can score a cool computer and take trips! I have a job to do!"

"Okay," I said, "Okay."

"It's not okay, Marcie. It's not. It's all wrong, and I have to fix it."

"What do you mean?" I asked, but I already knew what she meant.

"I have to get in the dory and go. I have to go get help. Otherwise, we will never be rescued."

"You don't know that, Wiggy."

"I *do* know that."

"You don't." I insisted. "You don't. You suspect. You think. But you don't know. None of us do."

"So what would it take for us to know? If we're still here next year, will we know then?"

"You don't have to be sarcastic, Wiggy. I'm on your side."

The sneer fell from her face. In a softer voice she said, "Sorry."

"Yeah, and you have to watch it with Ding-Dong—"

"I know, I know," she said, cutting me off. "It's just a habit. A bad habit. When we go back, I'll apologize. I'll work on it. I'll stop. I promise."

"Okay," I said. That was one thing settled. Now we had to deal with the other. I had to get a handle on Wiggy's idea of rowing away. For sure I couldn't make her give up the idea. As long we had the dory and were stuck on the island, she'd keep thinking about it, wanting to do it. I needed some way to keep her crazy feeling on a leash.

"Wiggy, about rowing away in the dory..." I felt her stiffen up, so I paused. I suddenly felt like one of those negotiators, you know? The people who talk somebody down off a ledge, or try to keep them from jumping off a bridge? I had to be really, really careful in what I said next, or I could lose her. If I lost her, if she didn't think she could trust me, she'd just get up early one morning — probably tomorrow morning — and leave without me. If she did that, I might never see her alive again.

So I said, "You will take me with you, right? Do you promise?" Even in the darkness, I could feel her relax.

"Yes, yes!" she said, and slid up close to give me a tight, breath-taking hug. "Yes, I'll take you with me! It'll be great! I've already drawn up a list of what we need... in my head, of course..."

"Of course, of course," I said. "In your head. But when do we leave? That's the question."

"Tomorrow," she replied. "First light."

"But, Wiggy," I said. "Suppose we *do* get rescued. Suppose somebody comes while you and me are out at sea. Then they'll have to do two rescues, and we'll kind of look like idiots."

Wiggy took it in. "Yeah, I guess," she admitted. "So what are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking this: if anybody does know where we are, they'll be here on Saturday, or Sunday at the latest. Right?"

"Right," she agreed. "If they know where we went, Sunday at the latest."

"So we go Monday... or Tuesday."

Wiggy took the flashlight from my hands and lit up my face with it. She looked at me in silence for a few moments. "You're not trying to slow me down, are you?" she asked.

"No, no, of course not!" I protested. Then, to sound more believable, I added, "Well, yes. Of course I'm trying to slow you down. We have to give some time, in case we get rescued. By Monday... or Tuesday... we'll know for sure if anyone knows where we are. *Then* we can go."

She looked at my face in the torchlight for a few silent moments. I waited in agony, trying desperately to keep my face from betraying the anxiety I felt.

"Okay," Wiggy agreed. "Monday. Monday morning."

"Or Tuesday," I added. "Tuesday's good, too."

© 2008 by Kaleigh Way

[OTHER STORIES]

---

Thanks to Annette for help with the tropical background.
 

"We don't know," Mirina countered weakly.

"This is like your mystery man," Grooty told her, and Mirina's cheeks reddened. "You find a coat and boots, and woo! a scary bad man is on the island! He's coming to get you!"

---

 

33. A Visit From The Tooth Fairy
 

Nobody could sleep late the next day, in spite of having the morning "off." Out came the bathing suits, the sunblock, the beach towels, and the sunglasses.

"All that we're missing are beach boys," Cakey commented.

Graffy added, "Cute little waiter-guys to bring us drinks," and Grooty continued, "and to rub sunblock on our backs and legs!"

Cakey lowered her voice so Mirina couldn't overhear. "Maybe we could get Mirina's mystery man to do it."

"Oh, Cakey!" Knickers cautioned. "He might be real! He might be dangerous!"

"Danger is my middle name," Cakey quipped.

Donkey said, "Katrien Danger Keese. It does have a ring to it."

"Seriously, girls," Knickers said, "Until we know we're the only ones here, we should be careful."

Cakey scoffed. "There is no man! It's only a pair of boots and a coat! There's no man!"

I turned to Wiggy, who was lying on her stomach. Squinting into the sun, she told me, "They can go on like this for days... and they probably will."

"In that case," I replied, "I'm going in the water."

The cove was shallow for a long way before it dropped off. As I waded out in the knee-depth water, I looked off to the end of the cove, where Graffy and Grooty were... treading water, or whatever they were doing. They weren't swimming. Their tiny blonde heads bobbed in the distance. How could they manage it? They were hanging out, chatting, with who knows how many feet of water below them. I'd never seen anyone so at ease in the water! Staying afloat is a constant effort for me; for those two it seems completely unconscious... as easy and simple as sitting in a chair.

As I watched, the twins turned and swam out of sight.

"I think they went to see what state the ship is in," Ding-Dong told me.

"What are you doing?" I asked her. She was kneeling in the water, sometimes on hands and knees. If she wasn't in the water, I'd think she was searching for a dropped contact lens.

"I'm looking for coral," she said. "I haven't found any though. You'd think with a reef all around, there'd be bits and pieces everywhere. There are a lot of pretty shells, but I'm leaving them where I find them."

"Maybe you need to look closer to the reef," I said. "If they're heavy, they're just going to drop straight down, right?"

"I guess," she agreed, straightening up. "Still, it helps pass the time."

I sat in the shallow water and splashed water on myself. "Can you imagine being able to swim the way Graffy and Grooty do?" I asked. "I can't believe they just go like that, not caring how deep it is. I'd be so afraid of sinking! Before they took off, the two of them were out there, just talking! Like they were sitting at a table on dry land — they didn't give a thought to how much ocean there is beneath them!"

"Yeah," Ding-Dong agreed. "They are pretty amazing. If you ask them, they could probably teach you while we're here. It will help pass the time, and it will make a great story after. You can tell people, Oh, yes, I learned how to swim when I was marooned on a desert island."

"With a pack of Amazons," I added. "Do you think this is this a desert island?"

"Oh, sure! Absolutely!" Ding-Dong answered. "If it isn't, it will be when I tell it!"

I laughed.

"Do you have any brothers or sisters?" Ding-Dong asked me.

"No. You?"

"No. You know, I feel like you could be my sister. I think you feel that way too."

"I do," I told her.

"Wiggy is your best friend, but I'm your sister," she said.

"Yeah," I agreed. "I like that."

Ding-Dong smiled, and dug her hand into the soft sand. "Ooh!" she said, startled. "What did I just find?" She felt her way around, wiggling her fingers, feeling out the edges of... whatever it was. Then she pulled it up. It appeared to be some kind of shell. She brushed it off at first, then washed the sand off in the water. Blinking in the sunlight, she studied the piece as she hobbled on her knees toward me. "Look at this," she said. "What do you think it is?"

"Some funny kind of shell," I guessed.

"What kind of shell could it be?" she wondered. It was triangular, a little less than an inch long, and very rough and irregular at the bottom. "I don't think it's a shell," she told me. "There's no place for something to live inside it." She dropped the thing in my hand, and shoved her hands back under the soft, wet sand. I turned it over and studied it from every side.

"For some reason it makes me think of dinosaurs," I said. "Maybe it's a dinosaur tooth."

Ding-Dong gave a little cry of excitement. "Hey, there's a whole bunch of them! Look!" She pulled up more of the triangular shapes. Some were smaller, but none where bigger than the first one she'd found. Their color varied: some were bone white, others gray, and some had yellow or golden patches encrusted on them. The rough base of the triangle was bigger on some, and some of the triangles had a slight curve.

"These aren't teeth," Ding-Dong said. "I think they're scales."

"Scales?" I repeated. "What kind of animal would have scales like that?"

"A turtle— a tortoise! A sea-tortoise. I think these are scales that fell off its, uh, shell!"

"No," I said.

Wiggy was too far away to hear what we were saying, but she must have known we were talking. She rolled on her back and sat up. Since she wasn't wearing her glasses, she squinted at me and Ding-Dong. Then she stood up and came splashing over, stooping a bit because she couldn't see.

"What are you girls arguing about?"

"We're not arguing," I said.

"I found all these," Ding-Dong said, proudly spreading some of her prizes across Wiggy's palm. "Marcie thinks they're dinosaur teeth." Wiggy picked one up and held it close to her eyes as Ding-Dong continued, "But *I* say they're tortoise scales. Sea-tortoise scales."

Wiggy snorted dismissively.

"Be nice, Wiggy," I cautioned.

"What are they?" Ding-Dong asked. "Do you know what they are?"

Wiggy bit her lip and fought off the smirk that was trying to come over her face. She held a few of the other samples very close to her eyes and looked them over carefully. "You can't guess what these are?" she asked. "It should be obvious."

"Obvious to you," I said.

"Okay, in the first place, they are teeth, but they aren't dinosaur teeth..."

"Why not?"

"What would they be doing in the sand? In the shallow sand? Do you think a T-Rex passed through here yesterday to visit his dentist?"

"Be nice," I reminded her.

She rolled her eyes. "I am being nice. In the second place, they can't be tortoise scales, because there's no such thing. Tortoises don't have scales."

"So what are they, Miss Hedwig Smarty-Pants Wetherwax?" Ding-Dong asked.

"They're shark teeth, hello!" Wiggy laughed. "You can find them on beaches all over the world. I never saw them in New Jersey, but my dad has some he got in California..."

"Shark teeth!?" Ding-Dong and I cried out together, and leaped from the water as if it was boiling.

"Calm down," Wiggy said. She was still standing in the shallows, not excited in the least. "Just because there are sharks' teeth doesn't mean there are sharks nearby. I don't think they could swim in this shallow water anyway."

"But Graffy and Grooty are out there!" Ding-Dong cried.

"Out where?" Wiggy asked.

"They swam out to the ship!"

"Oh, the idiots!" Wiggy said.

"What 'idiots'?" I asked her. "They didn't know."

Wiggy fell silent. Mirina came walking over, looking as if she'd stepped off the cover of a teen fashion magazine. Her bikini was a brilliant lime-green, and her blonde hair floated and flowed behind her. "What's going on?" she asked.

We quickly filled her in. Mirina gave an exclamation of dismay and covered her cheeks with her hands. "Oh, who is the fastest runner?" she asked, glancing around. "Cakey, oh, Cakey," Mirina called, "Get up, get up! You must run to the top of the hill and signal Graffy and Grooty to come back now! They swam to the ship, but there are sharks in the water!"

"There might be sharks," Wiggy added, in a low voice. Everyone ignored it. In any case, by the time she'd finished speaking, Cakey was gone. Her long legs carried her up the hill as her blonde ponytail bounced behind her.

"She could have been on the track team," Ding-Dong said.

"Someone should go after her," Mirina said, so I started running, too.

By the time I reached the top of the hill, panting and out of breath, Cakey was dangling over the precipice, clutching a tree limb with one arm as she strained to get a better view. "They were already on the way back," she told me. "They wouldn't have seen me anyway. As soon as they enter the cove, I'm going back down."

"Hokay," I huffed.

"I don't see any sharks, though," she said. "Who saw them?"

I held up a finger to signal that I needed a minute.

"Straighten up," Cakey said. "You'll get your breath back faster if you stand up straight."
 

---

 

"This is ridiculous!" Graffy protested. "We're on a tropical island and we can't swim? Isn't this supposed to be a vacation? What's the point of being here, then?"

"The point?" Mirina echoed. "The point is staying alive!"

"Och!" scoffed Grooty. "If we see a shark, we come out of the water! It's as simple as that!"

"Nobody actually saw a shark," Graffy pointed out. She grabbed a shark tooth from Ding-Dong's hand and pretended it was attacking her. "Help! Help! Shark-tooth attack! Shark-tooth attack!"

"It's not funny," Mirina told her.

"No, it's not!" Graffy said. "It's stupid! That's what it is! It's idiotic! And I'm tell you, we will go swimming! Every day!"

"If we see a shark, we'll get out," Grooty repeated.

"You can't outswim a shark," Mirina stated, and looked to Wiggy for confirmation.

Instead, Wiggy shrugged. "We haven't seen any sharks," she said.

"Thank you, Wiggy!" Grooty said.

"Look at these teeth!" Graffy continued. "They could be thousands of years old! They probably came from a *dead* shark."

"We don't know," Mirina countered weakly.

"This is like your mystery man," Grooty told her, and Mirina's cheeks reddened. "You find a coat and boots, and woo! a scary bad man is on the island! He's coming to get you!"

"We don't know," Mirina lamely repeated. "It could be."

"*I* haven't seen a shark," Graffy declared. "And I've been out there."

"Me, too," Grooty agreed. "Not a one!"

Mirina looked at them in silence. I hadn't seen her authority challenged before, and wondered what she would do.

What could she do? She stood there, at a loss. She had no power. She had no authority, other than her personality. Her position as Head Cheerleader... well, it meant *something*, but not enough for this situation. She had no way to stop them from swimming, no way to compel them or punish them.

So, she didn't try to dominate. In a small voice, like the voice of reason, she told them, "I just want to keep us safe. I want us all to get home alive and in one piece."

The twins looked at their feet and kicked a bit of sand. Mirina glanced at Wiggy, who thought for a moment.

"We could post a lookout when we swim," Wiggy proposed. The twins brightened up at that, and Mirina relaxed a little.

"We could make a big pool up by the spring," Ding-Dong offered. "It wouldn't be hard. All we have to do is move a few rocks and some sand. We could set up a shower, too."

That stopped everything. We all looked at each other, until Boogers asked, "Could we really? A shower?"
 

---

 

Ding-Dong had figured it out while she was up there before: there wasn't a lot of water coming out of the spring, but it collected in the pool. "So we already have a reservoir," she said.

Moving to the edge of the hill, she pointed to a dry area about ten feet below us. "That spot is dry right now, but it's a great big natural basin. What we need to do is direct the water this way," she walked to show us where it would go. "It doesn't need to be a lot of water, or have any pressure at all. Time will fill the basin. The water will run all night and all day.

"And that rock down there is the same soft rock as the cave, so it won't cut our feet. Once the water fills it up, we'll have a swimming pool."

"A kiddy pool," Grooty scoffed, but the others looked interested.

"So why isn't it full right now?" Knickers asked. "The rain should have filled it."

"Because there's a crack over there," Ding-Dong explained. "See it? We need to fill that crack... patch it, and then it will hold water."

"But look, Ding-Dong: the water runs that way," Boogers objected, pointing to runoff that disappeared into the shrubbery.

"It's no big deal to redirect it," Ding-Dong told her. "We do it up here, by the pool. We block that outlet, and unblock the way we want the water to go."

She made it all sound so simple and reasonable. Everyone, even Wiggy, nodded or voiced their approval.

"And the shower?" Boogers reminded her.

"Oh, yeah, right! The shower!" Ding-Dong enthused. "Come on down below, you have to see!"

Nimbly picking her way along the rocky slope, Ding-Dong led us down and around the back of the hill. "Look it!" she exclaimed. "Isn't it perfect? You can put your clothes over here. And for those girls who need their privacy, once you pass this rock, no one can see you, not even the man in the jungle."

Mirina cleared her throat.

"And here," she said, with the air of a real-estate agent selling a home, "is this tiny niche. It's the perfect place to set your soap! Your shampoo and conditioner, your razor and what-have-you can all go down here." She spread her palms as if to say, And that's it! then mimed taking a shower and shaving her legs.

"Where is the water supposed to come from?" Graffy asked.

"Up there," Ding-Dong said, pointing straight up to a pair of rocks that jutted out like a spout. "We only need to guide the water by making a little channel."

Ding-Dong brought us up back to the pool and showed us what work needed to be done. "If we don't take too much water for the swimming pool, we should have plenty of pressure for the shower. We can close off one or the other as needed, just by setting a rock in the proper channel, here or here!"

"It doesn't look so hard," Mirina commented. "Good thinking, Ding-Dong. We can work on this tomorrow. Today we still have some exploring that we must do."

"Wow, Ding-Dong!" Cakey said, "I'm seriously impressed! On this trip you've turned into a combination Robinson Crusoe and McGuyver!"

The other girls began to murmur their assent when Boogers let out a startled shriek.

"Ooh!" she shrieked, her eyes wide. "I accidentally stepped in the pool! The water's like ice!"

"I guess it's going to be a cold shower," Graffy smirked.

"I have an idea about that, too," Ding-Dong countered.

"I'm *so* sure!" Graffy scoffed.

"Give her a chance," Wiggy said. "She's been right on the money so far."

"Oh, Wiggy, you should talk!" Grooty countered. "When have you ever given Belle a chance?"

Wiggy reddened and didn't reply. Mirina clapped her hands and said, "Come on now, girls! Let's hear Ding-Dong's idea."

"We brought some black garbage bags from the ship," Ding-Dong said. "We can line the bottom of this pool with the bags."

"That's ridiculous," Graffy said. "What good will that do?"

"The black will absorb heat from the sun," Wiggy said. "It will heat up the water. Some, anyway. It's a good idea."

"We can line the channels with the bags, too," Ding-Dong continued. "It might make the work of redirecting easier, too."

Graffy and Grooty looked around, frowning, searching for a problem to point out or something to criticize. They didn't find any. Ding-Dong mouthed a silent thank you to Wiggy for her support. Wiggy smiled and shrugged.

"I guess that's it," Ding-Dong said.

"Maybe we should go have lunch," Boogers suggested.

"Before we go, girls, listen up!" Mirina called, craning her neck a bit so she could see everyone's faces. "We're all going to have our moments before this little adventure is over, when we get cranky or testy or irritable."

"Oh, no!" Knickers moaned. "I didn't think about that!"

Mirina glanced at her. "I'm just talking about the stress of being here and the difficulty of waiting to be rescued. The thing is, we have to stick together. Our biggest asset is each other, so we can't afford to snipe at each other and find fault. We all need to help, to do our part. Okay? So let's go to lunch!" She turned and led the way back down to the beach.

"I'm still going to swim," Graffy declared. "I don't care."

"Me, too," Grooty agreed. "What's the point of being shipwrecked if you can't eat coconuts and swim in a blue lagoon?"

© 2008 by Kaleigh Way

[OTHER STORIES]

---

Once again, thanks to Annette for help with the tropical background.

"You know," Wiggy told me, "the way Robinson Crusoe realized he wasn't alone was that he found a footprint in the sand."

"That's kind of creepy," I said, looking around us.

---

 

34. Aim For The Soft Parts
 

On Wednesday and Thursday, with the help of the map, we finished exploring the island. In order to speed things up, we split into five teams of two. Wiggy and I were one of the teams.

"You know," Wiggy told me as we made our way along the northern edge of the island, "Robinson Crusoe realized he wasn't alone when he found a footprint in the sand."

"That's kind of creepy," I said, looking around us.

She laughed. "Don't worry! There's nobody here but us chickens!"

We trudged along the beaten path, occasionally pushing a frond or branch out of the way. "Hey, Wiggy," I said, "doesn't it seem like somebody maintains these paths? I mean, there used to be a walking path in the woods behind my uncle's house. Every so often he'd to go along with a pair of clippers to keep it clear. But the summer when he died, the path closed up pretty quickly. A year later you couldn't tell that there'd ever been a path there."

"Huh," she commented. After a bit of thought she said, "I think the crew or somebody must have fixed things up before we came. You know, checked the supplies in the cave, cleared the brush off the paths, etc., etc."

"Makes sense," I said.

As we walked, the ever-present roar of the surf rose and fell gently all around us. Aside from that and the occasional chirp of the tree-frogs, there was nothing else to hear. The air was warm and clean, and even if it was hot — especially in direct sunlight — there was a constant cooling breeze.

"It's like paradise here," I said.

"Paradise Prison," Wiggy replied.

"Oh, come on," I protested.

"I can't stop thinking that I should just get in the dory and leave," she said. "I need to go for help."

"You promised you'd wait," I reminded her.

"Yeah," she agreed.

"AND you promised you'd take me with you," I added.

"I will," she said, almost sullenly. "Look, I will, okay? I will! I'll wait. I want to take you with me. I really need to take you with me, 'cause it isn't smart to go alone. Even if I do all the rowing, it will still be easier with two. So don't worry: I won't leave without you."

"Wiggy?"

"What?"

"If the other island is so close, how come we can't see it?"

She stopped walking. "You don't know which direction to look," she replied. "I've seen it. Even though I knew which way to look, it took me a while to pick it out."

"Can you show me?"

Her eyes narrowed. "I think I want to keep that part secret, too. It's important that you don't start second-guessing me."

I sighed. She was so difficult on this topic! The problem was, that she was right: I *was* second-guessing her. I didn't want her to go at all. As smart as she was, and however experienced she might be in a rowboat, she'd still only be a little girl in a rowboat, somewhere in the biggest ocean in the world.

For sure, she wouldn't be any safer with me along, in spite of what she said. What kind of backup would I be? What if the boat tipped over? What if we lost an oar? What if we lost both oars?

There were too many unknowns; too many things we couldn't know for sure. What if Wiggy had read the map wrong? What if the other island wasn't even there, or wasn't inhabited? What if the current was against us, or we lost our way?

The worse part was, if we made a mistake, we weren't likely to get a second try.

So far, I'd gotten her to wait until Monday. Maybe I could push her to Tuesday. In the meantime, I had to find a way to make her wait even longer. I needed to find reasons to make her stay.

What I really needed was help, I thought, and it suddenly occurred to me that I could take Cakey into my confidence. Cakey was clever and tricky: she might come up with a dozen ways to slow Wiggy down without giving the game away. In fact, that sounded like a really good idea.

"You're awfully quiet," Wiggy said. "What are you thinking about?"

"Rowing away from here," I told her truthfully. "Hey, how will we carry water to drink in the dory?"

Wiggy's face brightened. "I've thought about that! And I have a great solution! Listen—"

I did listen, and I heard something that pricked my ears up. I stopped stock still and grabbed Wiggy's arm. "Shh, Wiggy! Do you hear that?" The sound was still soft and maybe far-off, but in the near-silence of the island I could hear it. It was a strange, quick, pattering sound. It had to be an animal, or a person. Whatever it was, it was running.

"I don't—" she began, but I cut her off.

"There's something coming this way!" I hissed. "It's some kind of animal, heading straight for us! Whatever it is, it's really fast!"

Very quickly the sound had gotten louder, and now Wiggy heard it as well. It rose from a distant patter to a rumble, and the rumble grew into a roar as it grew closer. By the sound of it, it wasn't alone. It could have been a herd of... some kind of animal... or maybe a group of men, running barefoot through the heavy plant growth around us. Because of the bushes and leaves and plants, we couldn't see very far. Whatever it was would right on top of us before we'd get any visual warning. Besides that, the sound was so muffled and dampened by the thick bushes and trees, it was hard to tell exactly which direction the thing or things were coming from, and how close or far they were.

"What on earth is it?" Wiggy asked, wild-eyed.

I looked around for something to defend us with, and found nothing better than an old broken stick, and a sharp rock. I grabbed one in each hand, and got ready.

"Whatever it is," I said, "We have to hit it hard as soon as it comes out. We have to make sure *we* hurt it first, before it hits us. Remember, Wiggy: Aim for the soft parts!"

Wiggy nodded, and picked up a stick and stone for herself. I stepped a little ahead of her, to make sure I had a clean shot at it.

As the monster — or whatever it was — approached closer and closer, making more and more noise, our minds filled with all sorts of images: gigantic animals, headhunters, wild boars, buffalo, rhinos... who knew what! My heart kicked up a few notches. I raised my head. I felt incredibly alert, as scared and as ready as I could be. But one thing was for sure: whatever it was, I was going to leave my mark on it.

Soon we heard branches snapping, and a huge crash! among the bushes, followed quickly by another. We both jumped, startled. Wiggy fumbled and dropped her makeshift weapons. She squeaked in terror, and scrambled to pick them up again. I squeezed both hands to get a better grip on my own rock and stick. By now I was sure that the animal, whatever it was, was *big*. It was leaping and bounding toward us, overcoming every obstacle with its powerful, violent strength.

"MAR-CEEEEE!" screamed Wiggy, "I'm scared! I'm scared! We're going to die! We're going to DIE! What is it? What is it?"

With a final boom! the shrubbery parted, and an enormous rock came crashing through. It crossed the path a few feet ahead of us, covered us with the dust that followed in its wake, and bounded down the hill into the sea.

At first, the two of us gaped like idiots, astounded, shocked, dusty, and speechless.

Then Wiggy began to laugh. She laughed and laughed until the tears ran from her eyes and she had to pull off her glasses. "A rock!" she cried. "All that noise, and it was only a rock!"

I laughed too: but only a little bit. I gave a relieved hah!, glad that we hadn't been torn apart by a ravenous beast. My adrenaline rush had left me a little shaky; I was still a bit unnerved by the experience, and had to ramp back down to normal.

"Aim for the soft parts!" Wiggy repeated, chuckling and clutching her sides. "Oof! I almost wet myself when that thing rolled out of the bushes! I thought we were going to get eaten alive!"

"It's lucky the rock didn't hit us," I told her. "It would have been as good as being eaten alive. Or being hit by a car."

"Whew!" she said, getting a grip on herself.

"We have to warn the others," I said.

"Watch for falling rocks," Wiggy said. "Look both ways before crossing the street!" and she burst out laughing again.

"I'm glad you're so tickled by our brush with death," I told her, picking up the walkie-talkie.

"Oh, Marcie!" she laughed. "I'll show you 'tickled'" and she stuck her wiggling fingers into my armpit.

"Ooh, stop!" I said, jumping back a step. "No, really! Stop! I'm not ticklish, Wiggy, I'm not! Quit it! I'm— Eeee!"

"I'm just aiming for your soft parts," Wiggy teased. "Tickle, tickle, tickle!"
 

---

 

By Thursday evening, we knew for certain that the adults hadn't made it to the island. We'd covered every inch, followed every path, and looked in every corner. (As much as islands have corners!)

Now, we not only knew that they weren't on the island, we also knew that they hadn't been rescued either. The proof of that was the fact that we were still stuck on our island. If Captain Blackett or anyone in her crew had reached safety and civilization, the first thing they would have done was send someone to pick us up. Since that hadn't happened, we knew that the adults were still lost.

We had to hope that they'd found their way to one of the many islands that dotted the South Pacific. Hopefully, they'd find food and water. Maybe not piled neatly in a cave as we'd found, but we had to believe that those resourceful women would find a way to survive.

Wiggy and I never said so, but neither of us expected to find the adults on our island. After the two of us had circled the island in the dory, I felt sure that we were alone. I expected that once the Amazons reached the same realization, that they'd be depressed and sad.

But I was wrong. Oddly enough, everyone (including me) was quite excited — and even happy — once we were sure.

Maybe it was because at least one question had been settled. Maybe it was because we could quit waiting for an adult to come and take charge: we knew at last that *we* were in charge; that we had to plan and carry out everything.

Until we were rescued, anyway.
 

Ding-Dong spent Thursday morning attempting to re-route the water from the spring's pool. It was much harder than she expected. Cakey, Wiggy, and I helped, carrying rocks and moving dirt and sand. With the few tools we'd brought from the ship we tried to dig water channels in the rock.

Unfortunately, it didn't work.

We were able to get the water running toward the shower-shelf, but the flow was so strong that the water overshot the shelf and flew into the jungle below. Ding-Dong tried to enlarge the channel or make it deeper, but that only made it worse. With all her fiddling, a rock came loose, opening a gap that was impossible to close.

Impossible, at least, for four girls without the proper tools and materials.

Water poured down the side of the hill and broke into a dozen useless rills and dribbles. The water in our original pool — our reservoir — dropped rapidly to about half it's former level.

"Don't give up, Belle," Cakey told her. "It's a good idea. You just need to think it out a little more."

"Eh, it doesn't matter," Ding-Dong said, brushing off her disappointment. "We're getting rescued in a day or two anyway. Right?"

"Right!" we all answered, although Wiggy's answer was an unconvinced grunt.

In any case, the question of bathing got answered in a completely different and quite novel way. Graffy and Grooty, while exploring a rocky cliff on the western side of the island, found a set of waterspouts.

On a plateau overlooking the ocean, they found some small holes in the ground. When Grooty got down on hands and knees to look inside, jets of water unexpectedly struck her in the stomach and face. She fell over, stunned, and lost one of the walkie-talkies and a flashlight down the holes.

Graffy had been quite frightened, thinking her twin was badly hurt, but after lying on the ground panting for several minutes, Grooty was fine.

"It just knocked the wind out of me," the girl told us later.

It didn't take long to understand the phenomenon: there were fissures and tunnels that ran through the rock cliff. Any time a wave struck the face of the cliff, water filled the empty spaces and shot out the waterspouts.

Once you understood the principle, it was easy to know when a spout was going to blow. All you had to do was watch for the waves or listen for the gurgles that came from the holes.

Two of the spouts, it turned out, regularly shot enough water in the air to completely drench a body.

And so, on Friday morning, we all made our way to the spouts, and took our showers.

One of the things we'd taken from the ship was soap: a special soap that works in salt water. With it, we were able to clean our hair and bodies, and rinse quite conveniently as the jets fell to earth. The soap left our skin — and even our hair! — soft and clean, and no horrible tangles.

Cakey, Wiggy, and I bathed last, not looking at each other, and not removing our underwear.

It was weird, I admit, but I was grateful for Cakey and Wiggy's modesty or insecurity or whatever it was. At least I wasn't alone in not wanting to be seen naked. Their pudor gave me a perfect cover.

Looking back on the whole experience, Friday was our most peaceful, fun, relaxing day of all the time we spent on the island. By then, we'd explored it all. We knew we were alone there. Today was the day we'd be missed; today we were expected on the flight from Bora Bora. Tomorrow we'd be rescued. All we needed to do was wait.

But the waiting... well, that didn't start until tomorrow, Saturday. Today, if it hadn't been for the shipwreck, we would have been at sea, returning to Bora Bora.

"What time was our flight today?" I asked Wiggy as we returned from the waterspouts.

She glanced at her watch. "It was a little after lunch... 12:20. We still have a couple of hours to make it," she joked.

I almost wanted to ask Wiggy how soon she thought we'd be rescued. It was everyone else's favorite topic of discussion. However, I knew it would set her off, so I didn't say it.
 

In the afternoon we gathered coconuts and piled them near the cave. We went with Ding-Dong to find the pigs. They were even smaller and cuter than she'd said. We oohed and cooed over them, giving them names, watching from a distance, but when we moved closer to see if we could pet one, they all ran off, squealing and oinking in a terrifying explosion of porcine terror. It was a little funny to see those tiny bodies falling over each other, rushing to get away, but the noise was deafening and left us speechless.

After that, we couldn't find the pigs again.

Some of the girls put on their bathing suits and went to play under the waterspouts. At first, Graffy and Grooty were in a snit because they couldn't swim, but Wiggy managed to convince Mirina that we could take turns on Shark Watch. One or two girls could watch the entrance to the cove, and bang on a pot with a stick if a shark was seen.

After about a half an hour the watch was discontinued, and anyone who wanted to swim, swam. In spite of their bravado, Graffy and Grooty stayed in the cove, and didn't venture out to the open sea.

Before sunset, we all trooped up to the waterspouts to take our evening showers, and everyone without exception went to bed as soon as it got dark.

We were tired, sure, but we also wanted to get up as early as possible.

After all, tomorrow was Saturday, and Saturday we might get rescued.

© 2008 by Kaleigh Way

[OTHER STORIES]

"Hey, you two," Mirina said. "What are you conspiring about, this early in the morning? Wiggy, you're not about to sail off in your magical dinghy, are you?"

---

 

35. Coconuts, Maybe
 

The next day, Saturday, was the first day we could be rescued. We all got up early and took another shower. Then we all got dressed and waited.

Nobody left the camp except that every so often a couple of girls would go to the top of the hill to see whether there was anything to be seen.

There was nothing. No boat, no plane, no helicopter. Nothing.

The day passed slowly, but no one lost heart. Wiggy was a bit tense, but not more than usual.

"One more day," she whispered to me as we got ready for bed. "Tomorrow I'll gather all the supplies so we can be ready for first light Monday."

"Okay," I answered, and lay down on my bunk. We were still sleeping inside the cave. One reason was that it was so comfortable. There were beds, cool air, and it was clean. The other reason was that Mirina never got over the feeling that a man was wandering around the island, and she felt safer with all of us together in the cave.

Sunday passed in the same way, although we all began feeling restless. Since everyone wanted to be there when help arrived, no one left the camp. As a result, we were immensely bored.

We took turns trying to open the coconuts we'd gathered. Donkey smashed one violently against a pointed rock. The green skin crumpled and the white insides showed.

"What did you do that for?" Boogers demanded.

"I thought coconuts were supposed to be hard," Donkey replied. "I thought it would crack open, not smash like a pumpkin! And aren't coconuts supposed to be brown? Are the ones you see in stores toasted or dried or something?"

Nobody knew.

"I mean," Donkey went on, "these things are green. Doesn't that mean they aren't ripe yet?"

"Maybe they aren't coconuts," Ding-Dong offered.

"No," Boogers contradicted. "They came from the coconut trees, so they MUST be coconuts."

"Those are palm trees," Ding-Ding said. "Right? Do coconuts grow on palm trees? Why do they call them palm trees then?"

"Dates grow on palm trees, too," Cakey threw in, with a mischievous grin.

"Oh, you girls!" Boogers exclaimed in exasperation. "Let me see one of those things. I just thought it would be fun to try to open them. I didn't expect it to turn into a big federal case!"

Boogers selected one of the coconuts and balanced it atop one of the picnic tables. Then she took the biggest kitchen knife we had, and asked Donkey, "Will you hold this coconut still for me?"

At first she tried to slice it the way you'd slice an apple. Then she tried to cut it as if it was a loaf of bread. Athough she succeeded in making cuts into the skin, the knife kept slipping away from her. I could hardly bear to watch.

"Oh, Boogers, be careful!" I cried. "The way you two are standing, you could stab Donkey in the stomach!"

Boogers stopped and said, "This stupid knife isn't going to do it anyway. Stand back, Donkey, I'm going to try something different." She put down the knife and picked up a heavy meat cleaver. Twice she buried the cleaver deep in the fruit and needed Donkey's help to pull it out, but at last she managed to separate the coconut into two halves. All the coconut milk was lost as it flowed through the table onto the ground.

"Och!" Mirina cried out in an irritated voice. "You girls are making a mess! All that sticky sweet stuff is going to attract bugs!"

"We're leaving tomorrow anyway," Knickers retorted. "Nature will clean it up."

"No, I'll do it!" Mirina replied, and jumped to her feet. She took a small pot, dipped it in the ocean, and poured the salty water all over the table.

"It's not working," Knickers pointed out, putting her tongue in her cheek.

Mirina touched her hand to the mixture. She sighed. "It's too oily," she declared. "I need some..." She hesitated... "some cleaner..." She huffed distractedly. "... and something to wipe with..." Then at last she said, "Whatever! Just leave it!" and went to wash her hands with soap.

Boogers, undeterred, took a selection of knives and another coconut. With a great deal of difficulty, she managed to peel the green skin off half a coconut. Then she carefully carved away at the white meat until she created a tiny opening to the hollow center. "Aha!" she exclaimed, and put the opening to her lips.

After a few deep sips, she set it down. Her face was wet with the oily liquid. "It's good, girls! It's very good! It's like lemonade!"

Soon we were all at work, each girl with her coconut, carving, whittling, and at long last drinking.

I liked it, but it was so rich I couldn't drink much.
 

In the evening a light rain came up, so we retired early.
 

---

 

Wiggy shook me awake and beckoned me to follow. I heard the rain before we reached the mouth of the cave.

"It's still raining," she said.

I looked out, and (still half asleep) said, "It's not so bad. I think I see light over there. It's probably going to clear up." Then I kicked myself. Wiggy clearly didn't want to go in the rain. So what was I doing? Talking her into going? I wondered whether I could take back what I'd said. Turned out, I didn't need to.

"Yeah," Wiggy said, "it probably is clearing up, but there's no point in taking unnecessary chances. We're not going today. We'll go first thing tomorrow, weather permitting."

As quiet as we'd been, our exit had woken Mirina, and she emerged, still dressed in her pajamas. She joined us at the cave mouth. In an unexpectedly affectionate moment, she gathered Wiggy and me to her, putting her arms on our shoulders.

"Hey, you two," she said. "What are you conspiring about, this early in the morning? Wiggy, you're not about to sail off in your magical dinghy, are you?"

Wiggy stiffened for a moment, and I thought (gratefully) that the game was up, but Mirina was only joking. She never thought for a moment that Wiggy would be mad enough to take such a tiny boat into the world's largest sea.

"It's a dory, not a dinghy," Wiggy told her, "and I'd be rowing, not sailing."

"Oh, Hedwig, I'm only teasing you. Lighten up. Listen. The girls need us to be calm." Her eyes drifted to me. "You too, Miss Action Hero. Today, especially if it rains, we'll all be bouncing off the walls. The three of us need to keep a lid on things." When Mirina finished speaking, a shudder ran through her, and she let go of us, taking a few steps back.

"What is it?" I asked.

"Oh," she said. "I had the weirdest dream last night. That's what woke me up, really. Otherwise I wouldn't have seen the two of you sneaking out." She drew one deep breath, then another. "It was really disturbing. And the worst part was that it seemed so real."

"Do you want to tell us about it?" I offered.

Before going on, Mirina looked around her, as if someone might be listening. Then she went to the table, took a flashlight and turned its beam outside, using it to look in every spot that we could see.

"Okay," she said. "In my dream, we were all here on island, all us girls. Except that Romy was here instead of you, Marcie." (Romy is the girl who gave up her place for me.)

"So what was the scary part?" Wiggy asked.

"There was a boy on the island," Mirina answered.

"A boy?" Wiggy echoed in a questioning tone. "Not the man..." she gestured to the cloakroom "... they guy who left his coat and boats here?"

"No, it was a boy, our age, and he was on the island too."

"Was he bad?" I asked.

"No, he just didn't belong here," she replied. When she said that, a chill ran through me.

"So what else happened?" I asked.

She shrugged. "Nothing, I guess."

"That doesn't sound scary at all," Wiggy scoffed. "A boy? And what — did he have cooties?" she laughed a little.

"You laugh, Hedwig, you laugh," Mirina said. "I can't explain why it was frightening; that's the way dreams are." She shook her head. "It was very disturbing." She closed her eyes for a moment. "Oh, girls, I'm so tired! I'm going back to bed. It's still too early."

"Good night," I said, and Wiggy wished her "Sweet dreams," with a smirk that Mirina didn't see.

After Her Manliness was gone, I said to Wiggy, "You didn't tell her, did you?"

"Tell her what?" she replied.

"About me!"

"About you?" She furrowed her brow, not understanding. Then she got it: "Oh! About you! About you being a boy? The boy of her dreams?" She cackled and grabbed my arm, gently waggling it. "Of course not! Why would I do that? Oh, Marcie! You're my best friend here! I could never do that!"

"Okay," I said.

She scoffed at me. "Your secret's safe. Nobody's going to guess, and I'm not going to tell!"

"You said you would, if I told about the dory..."

She scoffed again. "As if! I just wanted you to know how serious my secret was!"

"Okay," I said, not entirely reassured.

Wiggy looked into the light rain outside. "Let's go back to bed," she said. "Mirina's right: it is too early."
 

By breakfast time the rain had gone and the sky was clear. The air had a wonderful freshness. Ding-Dong made real coffee, and it was pretty good.

"I made it cowboy style," she explained. "You boil the water, dump in the coffee, return to a boil, then take it off the heat. When the grounds settle, it's ready to drink."

"I like it," I said. "I never thought I'd ever drink black coffee."

She smiled and sipped her own. As I sat next to Ding-Dong, I thought how much I'd miss them all, but particularly Ding-Dong, when this was all over.

"We can write," she said. "We can email and phone and chat."

"How did you know what I was thinking?" I asked, astonished.

"I was thinking it too," she replied, her eyes twinkling.
 

---

 

Of course, Monday passed and still we weren't rescued. The realization that we could be on the island for a very long time began to sink in.

Spontaneously the girls gathered an enormous quantity of wood, and once the sun went down, they lit a bonfire. No one said so, but it was obviously a signal. It probably would have been more effective if it were up on top of the hill, but I didn't say so. It seemed more of an emotional signal than a physical one.

We sat at a distance (it was a VERY hot fire) and discussed the rescue. Everyone kept dancing around the obvious conclusion — that no one knew where we were — but no one said it out loud. Not yet.

Maybe someone would come to rescue us tomorrow. But tomorrow Wiggy and I would be gone, off in the crazy dory, out on the open sea.

I wanted to go; I didn't want to go. But one thing was sure: I couldn't tell anyone. Still, what if it worked? You've done crazier things, Marcie, and you've always come through, I told myself. Could I trust in my uncanny luck? Did I have some sort of indestructible karma? Who knows? I thought about the kidnapping... being a prisoner... confronting Officer Strange... I came through all that. I didn't just survive, either. I got out.

That experience left a black, bitter mark on my soul, but at the same time it gave me courage. I knew I could come through again, and again. In some crazy way (and I knew it was crazy, even at the time) I knew I'd come through now. If I went with Wiggy, we'd come through. We'd get help, and we'd all be rescued.

Besides, I knew that Wiggy would go with or without me. If I made her go alone, I could never forgive myself. And if I told the others and stopped her from going, she'd never forgive me.

With all the back and forth inside my head, I knew I had to delay Wiggy as long as I could... my rational brain knew I had to keep her on the island.

But another part of me was ready to go. As insane, desperate, and frightening as her idea was — that two teenage girls could go to sea in a dory and find help on another island — somehow, in spite of all my mental reservations, I knew deep down inside of me... I *knew* it would work. I don't know why.

Probably I felt that way because of Wiggy herself. I knew she was half-crazed with the fear of being stuck here forever. Plus, she was riddled with guilt. She truly believed it was her fault that no one knew where were were.

At the same time, I'd seen Wiggy in action. I remembered how she parted the sea of journalists at my house, and the way she shepherded us through the journey here.

Of course, I'd seen her other side as well: the little lost girl. I'd seen her that way on the ship before it sank.

In fact, I saw that little lost girl the very first time I met her, right after she'd pushed back the journalists. She'd fallen down the icy steps, and I had to fight my way though the crowd to help her up.

Maybe that was a model or a metaphor for how things would go in the dory. She had the plan, the drive, the power. I was the one who could step up to protect the little lost girl in her. That much, I could handle. I couldn't help her with the boat, or the rowing, or with knowing the way. All I had to do — all that I could do — was hold her hand, bring her down to earth. If we worked together, we'd be fine.

I looked at the girls around the fire, and saw Wiggy sitting next to Mirina. I smiled at her and she smiled back. I guess she was comforted by knowing we were leaving the next day.
 

Since I was lost in my musings, I hadn't noticed when it began, but Ding-Dong was telling the story of Journey To The Center of the Earth. Surprisingly, the other girls seemed quite interested. She told the story from a peculiar angle, though. Right now she was spending a lot of time on the love story between a boy named Axel and a girl named Grauben.

"He didn't want to go on the expedition because he wanted to stay and marry Grauben," Ding-Dong was saying.

"Didn't Grauben go along?" Cakey asked.

"No," Ding-Dong replied. "She stayed behind. I think she had some job in another town or something."

"Are you sure her name was Grauben?" Donkey asked. "I thought her name was Gertrude."

"Gertrude was the duck!" Boogers replied. "Everybody knows that!"

"There was no duck," Ding-Dong contradicted. "And nobody in the book is named Gertrude."

Everyone began speaking at once, but in the end it was established that Gertrude the duck was a later addition to a cartoon version of the story.

Once that point was settled, Ding-Dong went on to describe the guide, a man named Hans. "He was tall and strong, and very still. He almost never spoke, but he had these dreamy sea-blue eyes, and long red hair that fell all the way down to his shoulders."

"Hmmph!" snorted Knickers. "Blue eyes and long red hair? I don't know whether I'd like that! Long red hair? On a boy?"

"On a *man*," Cakey corrected.

"Oh, but you would like it," Ding-Dong went on. "Hans was quiet, and masterful, and strong. He was always calm and tranquil, and he always knew what to do. Oh! And I almost forgot! He had broad shoulders."

I won't bore you with the whole of Ding-Dong's recitation. She concentrated heavily on the relationships between the characters and very little on the plot, yet in the end she managed to convey the basic idea: that the travelers went underground in Iceland and emerged in Italy.

Even though her narrative was emotionally biased, continually interrupted, and almost completely without a story line, it was pretty easy to understand. What I found difficult to understand was the attention that all the girls gave her. It was beyond polite; they seemed genuinely interested.

At last the clue came when Donkey asked, "But Ding-Dong, I don't understand how this helps us. We're not in Iceland."

"No," Ding-Dong replied, "but we have a volcano!"

And then I understood: Ding-Dong was proposing the volcano as a way off the island. In her book, there was a path underground that led from a dead volcano all the way to Sicily. She imagined that if we descended into the earth the same way the characters in her book had done, we would likewise come to a happy exit in some civilized country.

"Oh, no, Belle, no," Donkey objected. "You never said we'd have to go into the volcano."

Other objections followed. Ding-Dong tried to answer them all, but it was pretty clear that none of the girls were ready to climb underground for any reason. Ding-Dong rose to her feet to argue better, and I slipped over to Wiggy's side.

"I'm surprised you're not saying anything," I told her in a teasing tone.

"I don't need to," she answered. "We have our own way out."

"Right," I said. "Is everything ready?"

"Yes," she replied. There's just one thing we'll have to do on the water, and that's to rig a canopy so we don't get sunburnt. Still, that's not a big deal."

I nodded.

The girls were still arguing over Ding-Dong's radical plan. Boogers, rolling her eyes incredulously, separated herself and came over.

"Do you two want to open a couple of coconuts with me?" she asked.

Wiggy shook her head no, but I said, "Sure, let's do it."

© 2008 by Kaleigh Way

[OTHER STORIES]

---

Thanks once again to Annette MacGregor for help with the tropical background
(though we disagreed on the topic of coconuts!).
Any inaccuracies or impossibilities are the fault of the girls themselves.

I sat down with my back to the rock wall and put my hands on my belly.

"Oh, Lord," I said, "let this baby be a small one and make it come out easy." Then I drifted back to sleep.

---

 

36. Where's Wiggy?
 

In the middle of the night — I don't know when exactly — my stomach woke me with its pre-volcanic rumblings. Maybe it wasn't my stomach... it could have been some deeper part of my inner plumbing, but something wasn't right down there.

Everyone else was asleep, although how they could sleep with the noise I my guts were making, I don't know. I felt as though I was pregnant with twins... twin lizards or twin monkeys, or maybe a lizard and a monkey, or a dog and a bear, but whatever the two things were, they were fighting it out inside my belly, no holds barred.

It reminded me of nothing so much as the night I came from Ida's house after eating her awful dinner. That cheesecake... and the liver...

Oh! Don't remind me!

A noise came out of me like a low voice shouting boo wow! drawing the wow part out long, for emphasis. It made me jump, and I felt it coming. I glanced around at the other girls, but they were still sleeping. By the light of the candle in the next room I could make out their sleeping forms, and no one was moving. All there was to hear were the soft, gentle sounds of blonde cheerleaders sleeping. They even sounded girly in their sleep. It was all too cute.

Although I knew it wasn't cold, I wrapped myself in my blanket and made my way to the mouth of the cave. There, I'd be free to wimper and burp and possibly break wind without disturbing the other girls. And if I needed the bathroom, it would be closer at hand.

We'd left a candle burning in the entryway, in case our rescuers came by night. By its light I found one of the flashlights and pumped it up. Then I sat down with my back to the rock wall and put my hands on my belly.

"Oh, Lord," I said, "let this baby be a small one and make it come out easy." Then I drifted back to sleep.
 

---

 

After what seemed like months, or even years, had passed over the earth, I felt someone shaking me awake. It was Wiggy.

"Marcie!" she hissed, "What are you doing out here? I brought your clothes. They're in the boat; you can get changed there. Come on, now, everything's ready."

"Okay," I said. "Oooh!"

"What's the matter?"

"My stomach, my head. I don't feel so good."

Wiggy touched my forehead. She swore. "You've got a fever, Marcie! You're sick! Now I can't take you! Oh, no, oh no! I don't want to go alone!"

"Then don't go alone," I said. "Wait until I'm better. We might get rescued in the meantime."

She hesitated, but only for a moment. "No," she said. "We know that nobody's coming. Another day of waiting is another day wasted. I should have gone before."

"Then take me, Wiggy, take me," I said. "I'll be fine. It'll pass. Come on! I'll sleep a little more and it will pass."

She wrestled with herself in silence for a few moments. I added, "At the very worst, you won't be alone."

"Okay," she said, and helped me to my feet.

I hurried along as quickly as I could, feeling bloated and ill. It was like being pregnant with a full toxic load of fermented coconut juice. It sloshed and churned within me.

When we got halfway to the dock, a light snapped on behind us and caught us in its beam. Mirina's voice called out, "Where are you two going? Wiggy, Marcie, stop! Hey! I said STOP!"

"Oh, that's all we need," Wiggy said, stepping up the pace. "Look, Marcie, I..."

"Don't leave without me, Wiggy! Don't do it! I don't want you to go alone!"

"Move a little faster, or I'll have to!" she replied. "If I stop now, Mirina will make sure that I *never* go!"

I huffed and puffed, and tried to move faster without shaking the volatile mixture within me.

"Oh, hurry up, can't you?" Wiggy cried. We were still a few yards from the dock.

Behind us, I heard Mirina calling into the cave for help. Then she came running after us.

"I gotta go!" Wiggy said, in a fearful voice. "Sorry, Marcie!"

"No, no!" I cried, and then a sharp pain shot through the inside of me like a blade of white blazing fire. I couldn't speak or walk or even see. To make a long story short, I turned and vomited like a fire hose. Sorry to be disgusting, but once it started, it kept on coming. I had no control. I fell to my knees.

I felt Mirina's hand touch me on the shoulder. "I'll be back for you," she said, and then I heard her feet as she ran on the dock.

"Wiggy! Where on earth do you think you're going?"

"I'm going to get help," Wiggy answered. Her paddles softly splashed. "I left a note on the table. I found another map. There's an island nearby, Mirina. I can row there and get us help."

"Wiggy, you can't do it! Come back! It's crazy!"

"I can do it! I know I can!" Her paddling continued, and her voice grew fainter.

"Oh, Wiggy, don't," Mirina pleaded. "Don't. We have to stay together. I need you. The girls need you. Marcie needs you, too. I'm begging you, Wiggy. Don't do this. You could die!"

"I'm sorry, Mirina," Wiggy replied, "Read my note. I'm sure this is the only way. No one knows where we are. If I don't go and get some help, we could be stuck here forever."

"Not forever! Wiggy! Wiggy!" And then one last desperate wail: "WIGGY!"

At that point I fell to the ground. I curled up inside myself and faded to black.
 

---

 

I don't think I was tired. I actually felt pretty good when I'd gone to be the night before. Boogers had noticed that my coconut was a bit softer than the rest, and after I'd drunk all its milk she told me that it smelled bad.

"Why did you drink that, Marcie? Ooh! It smells like it's gone off."

"I couldn't find the expiration date," I joked.

Still, I hadn't noticed any smell. There was a slight tang in the taste, but what do I know about coconut milk?

And, there were no immediately side effects. Boogers figured that if I was going to get food poisoning, I'd get it in a half hour.

But she was wrong. It came several hours later, some time late in the night.

Now... I was still sick. Wiggy said I had a fever. Mirina said she'd come back for me. She wanted to stop Wiggy first, to talk some sense into her, but there was no stopping that girl. She must have jumped in the boat and started rowing. In the dark. I'm sure we would have waited for first light, but Mirina's arrival pushed Wiggy to start earlier.

Now she'd be alone, in the open Pacific. Dear God, I hope she knows what she's doing.

Then there came a whoosh! in my left ear, and suddenly I relaxed all over. I didn't feel sick any more. But I wasn't awake. I must have been asleep and dreaming, knowing I was dreaming. I looked at my hands, at my clothes... I was still wearing the same clothes.

This is how that Marcie Auburn business started, I told myself, so I quickly did an anatomical inventory. Yup: I was still Marcie Donner.

In my dream I was in a black space. There was nothing there, only me. I could see myself, but I *was* myself at the same time. I stood up and walked. I felt myself walking and saw myself walking at the same time.

There was nothing to see and nowhere to go. "This is a hell of a dream," I said out loud, and I sat down on the ground and waited. "I could do this awake!" I called, to whoever was in charge. What else could I do? Was there anything I could do? What would I do, if I could do something in this dream? I would get into someone else's dream, tell someone where we are, that we're on this island, and that Wiggy is out at sea in a tiny boat.

If I could only go home, or go anywhere just for a moment, I'd give the message, tell them we're on Muktaphala — hoping they'd remember the name was enough, and that the name would be enough.

Oh, and I'd have to tell them about the adults. They needed rescuing, too.

But how could I go anywhere?

Maybe in this dream world I could tell someone else, like my mother or father. Could they hear me in their dreams?

But how could I do that?

Maybe I could tell Brenda Earshon, the psychic. Could I call to her? Would she hear me?

For a while I shouted into the darkness, calling someone... anyone... but there was no one there. I could tell no one was listening.

In my dream I got tired, so I lay down on the ground. I lay down on the ground, and in my dream I slept.
 

---

 

Then it was day. I was lying on something soft and covered by a soft blanket. I heard a woman sigh.

My eyes didn't open yet. I just lay still, unmoving. I took inventory. There was no hurry. First of all, I was soaked in sweat. I was wearing my pajamas. I was lying in a bed, a real bed, not a camp bed. I was on dry land, not in a cave, not on a ship. I was in a room, and there was sunlight everywhere. It was morning, I think.

My fever had broken. That's why I was so sweaty. I felt better now. Weak, but no longer sick.

And I knew the sound of that sigh. It was my mother.

"Mom?" I asked, experimentally.

"I'm right here, honey," she replied.

"Oh, how did I get here?" I asked.

"Now, that's a story," she said, "but don't worry about that now."

"So we were rescued?" I asked. Stupid question. Of course we were rescued.

Mom laughed. "Rescued? I guess you could say that."

I sat up with a start. "Where's Wiggy?" I asked her.

"Right here, honey, right here, at home," Mom answered.

"Wiggy's here?" I asked. "Why isn't she at her house?"

"Marcie, what are you talking about?"

"What am I talking about? What do you think I'm talking about?" I demanded.

"I thought you asked Where are we?"

"No, I asked Where's Wiggy? Do you know? Is she alright?"

Mom furrowed her brow, not understanding. "Who's Wiggy?" she asked. "Is she one of your teddy bears?"

"No, Mom, no! Wiggy! Wiggy! You know, the short girl with glasses and the funny creaky voice? The one who made all the reporters get out of the way?"

My mother shrugged helplessly.

"Wiggy! You know her! She's the one who came to take me to the airport, for the flight to Hawaii!"

"Oh, that Wiggy!" Mom said, laughing.

"Finally! Now do you know who I'm talking about?"

"No, honey. I don't know any Wiggy. It must have been a dream you had."

"No," I said. "No. It wasn't a dream. Wiggy came here. You met her. We went to an island in the South Pacific with a bunch of cheerleaders — the Amazons — from the high school that Mrs. Means went to. St. Oda's. Oh, come on, Mom, you know this."

My mother, highly amused, shook her head.

"So was it Hawaii, or the South Pacific?" she asked.

"It was both. We flew from Newark to Hawaii, and from there to... uh, someplace that starts with Pa— Pa-something, and then to Bora Bora, and from there we took a sailing ship to Muktaphala."

"Honey, I don't even think Bora Bora is a real place," Mom said. "It's just a funny name they say on TV."

"I know it's real," I shot back, "because I've been there!"

"All right," Mom said, "all right. Calm down, now. Don't get all excited. You've been sick, and you still need to rest."

"I can't rest," I said. "I have to know about the other girls, that they're alright, too."

"It's okay," she said. "I'll call their mothers and let you know."

"Don't humor me, Mom. How can you call them if you don't believe they exist?"

I cast around for something to do... someone to call. Then it hit me: Rhonda Means! I had to call Rhonda Means, my father's boss! She would know Mirina's father, and through her I could find out everything.

"What are you thinking?" Mom asked cautiously. "I don't like that look on your face."

I looked behind her at my bedroom windows, the ones that overlook the front yard.

And in the front yard, there would be an army of reporters! They would know everything! They'd know I went away, they'd want details... I could tell them my story if they, in return, would tell me what happened with the girls and the crew.

I jumped out of bed and ran to the window. The front yard was empty.

"Where are the reporters?" I asked, astonished.

"You almost sound disappointed," Mom replied. "They all left yesterday. Mrs. Gifford called and told me why, but I didn't get it, it went in one ear and out the other."

"Mom!" I cried in disappointment. "How can you not know? Are they down at the courthouse?"

"No, I think they're gone from there, too. You could call Mrs. Gifford if you want to know why. Of course she wants to talk to you, and she was really put out when I told her you were sick."

"But... but..."

"Marcie, when she called, I had something urgent to do, and I couldn't listen. I was just so thankful that they left! I'm sure your father knows the reason."

"Is he here?"

"No, he's at work."

I sighed. It was just impossible. This was worse than being Marcie Auburn. At least there I had a half a dozen reasons to explain what was happening. Here it was all just a dream? That made no sense. No sense at all.

"Mom," I said. "I can't believe that all I experienced on that island was only a dream. It was too real."

"Sometimes dreams seem very real," she offered, while guiding me back to my bed.

I sat on the edge of the mattress. She sat in a chair, facing me. "But, Mom, I did things, I met people. I *learned* things and *experienced* things that I don't know anything about in real life. It had to have happened."

"Mmm," she said. "And how long were you on this island?"

I counted in my head. "Almost eight days."

She nodded. "Eight days. Did you get a tan while you were there? Did you get sunburned?"

I laughed. "Sure, we were outside all the time!"

She picked up my pale arm and said, "Oh, I see."

Stunned, I rolled up the leg of my pajamas, and saw smooth, pale skin. "What happened to it?" I asked. "Mom, how long was I asleep?"

"Well, you woke up a few times briefly yesterday, to go to the bathroom, but I don't think you were really there... you still had the fever..."

I waved my hands impatiently.

"All right, missy! Let's say you slept all day yesterday. So it's..." she looked at the ceiling while she calculated mentally "... you've been asleep for 30-something hours, give or take."

My mouth fell open. "Since I got back?"

"Since *we* got back."

"What do mean we?" I asked.

"I mean that since you and I got back from Ida's house, you've been sleeping. You were sick, you had a fever."

"No," I said.

"Yes," she replied.

"What day is today?"

"It's Friday."

"Friday? It can't be Friday! What's today's date?"

"December 29th."

"No, no, no! When Wiggy left the island, it was Monday, a week after New Years! And now it's Friday? How much school have I missed?"

My mother reached out to touch my forehead. "You haven't missed any school. New Year's is this Monday, and school starts a week after that."

"But Wiggy, Mom! Wiggy! Where is Wiggy?"

© 2008 by Kaleigh Way

[OTHER STORIES]

Mom froze. "Marcie Auburn?" she repeated cautiously. "Is there something you want to tell me, Marcie? You're not planning on eloping, are you? You're too young to get married... in fact, even if you were old enough, I don't think you could get married."

---

 

37. The Greatest Joke In The World
 

I gave Mom a quick overview of my experiences with the Amazons. She didn't buy it, and continued to insist that — in spite of the sense of reality and level of detail — my travels and adventures with Wiggy and the Amazons was nothing but a fever dream.

I couldn't accept it, and I didn't accept it.

"This is the whole Marcie Auburn thing all over again!" I exclaimed aloud.

Mom froze. "Marcie Auburn?" she repeated cautiously. "Is there something you want to tell me, Marcie? You're not planning on eloping, are you? You're too young to get married... even with parental consent — which you can count on NOT having, by the way. In fact, even if you were old enough, I don't think you could get married."

"Oh, Mom!" I groaned. "I'm not getting married! Jerry's going out with Eden, anyway. I had a dream that I was Marcie Auburn. That's what I was talking about."

"So in this dream, you were married to Jerry?"

"No." I looked at her, remembering a feeling from that dream. My own mother was willing to trade me for a child from another family. "He and I switched families. He was Jerry Donner and I was Marcie Auburn."

"Oh!" Mom said, surprised. Then, musing aloud she said, "Well, it might be nice to have a boy in the family."

I let out a long, slow breath. She caught my expression.

"Marcie, you know how I love you — and how I love the way you are! I could never give you up or trade you away! It's just that it would be nice to have a boy around as well."

"I guess," I said.

"Or do you think you'd rather have a sister?" she asked me.

"What? I don't know. A big sister or a little sister?"

"It would have to be a little sister, wouldn't it?"

A bit confused, I shook my head. "Are you trying to tell me something, Mom?"

"No," she said, but it sounded like yes.

I let out another huff of air. As if things weren't complicated enough!

"I guess you're used to being an only child..." Mom murmured.

But I wasn't listening. My mind was racing through everything that had happened: Talking to Mrs. Gifford... taking the secret tunnel out of the house...

"Hey, Mom!" I interrupted. "The secret tunnel is real, right? We *did* do that, didn't we?"

"What? Oh, yes. That's how we went to Ida's."

Next came the dinner at Ida's... I knew *that* was real. Then, getting sick... meeting Wiggy...

Suddenly a memory flashed into my mind: Just before I left the house with Wiggy, Mom was shoving that book of fairy tales into my bag. That stupid book! The book was there when I was on the plane with Wiggy. It was also in my dream of Marcie Auburn. Was there really such a book? Did my mother shove it into my bag? Did anything like that happen?

Again, I interrupted my mother: "Mom, did you buy me a book of fairy tales?"

"When? When you were little? I'm sure I did."

"No, I mean recently... now. As a Christmas present."

"No..." she answered, cautiously. "Did you *want* a book of fairy tales?"

"No," I answered crossly. "I just want to know whether you bought me one: a book of transgendered fairy tales."

Mom was thoroughly puzzled. "I don't even know if there IS such a thing, Marcie. Do you want me to find one for you?"

"No!" I exclaimed. "I only want to know if you bought me one already, and shoved it into my suitcase!"

She didn't answer right away. She looked at me, considering what to say. At last, she told me, "Marcie, I know that you've been sick. You've had a high fever and imagined all sorts of things... you think you've been away somewhere, but believe me, none of that happened. I'm going to go downstairs and get you some nice broth to drink and some dry toast to eat, and a big cup of tea. And while I do that, you can try to wake up and come to terms with the fact that we are living in the here and now. If you don't believe *me*, you can ask your father when he comes home."

With that, she turned and left, before I had a chance to say anything more.

Once she was gone, my eye fell on my computer. I ran to my desk and turned it on. "Come on, come on!" I urged, coaxing it through the boot process. At last, when I was logged in, I opened a web browser and googled PRINCESS MARCELLINE. Everything I found was about a Princess Marcelline Czartoryska. She was a friend and pupil of Chopin. That was all. There was nothing about a fairy tale by that name.

I tried to remember the name of the author. It was something weird... Kay... Kay-something... Then it came to me. I googled for KALEIGH WAY. A lot of irrelevant results came up, but the only "Kaleigh Way" I found was a road somewhere in Texas.

What did it mean? Did I imagine all of that? It just couldn't be possible.

I stood up, feeling slightly light-headed, and looked at my face in the mirror. Mom was right: I didn't have a sunburn, or even a tan. I looked pretty pale... weak and washed-out.

Downstairs, I heard the phone ring twice. Mom's voice was just barely audible as she spoke to whoever was calling. Probably Ida.

After putting on my slippers and picking up my robe, I went to the bathroom and then washed my face. Wrapping the robe around me, I went downstairs, leaning on the rail as I descended. There wasn't any reason I couldn't eat downstairs.

As I got closer to the kitchen, I could smell the chicken broth. It had a strong effect on my stomach, but still I thought I could eat it. I remembered the tang of that bad coconut milk, and put both hands on my stomach. How could I possibly remember an imaginary taste?

"Feeling any better?" Mom asked.

"Yes, a little." I dropped into a kitchen chair, crossed my arms on the table, and lay my head down, turning it sideways so I could watch my mother as she poured a huge mug of tea. "Isn't it early in the morning for broth?" I asked.

"Usually it would be, but you haven't had any food for more than a day," she replied, and arranged the mugs of soup and tea next to a plate of plain, cold toast.

I picked up one of the triangles and took a tiny bite off the corner. I chewed and chewed and chewed before I washed it down with a small sip of tea.

"Oh, dear," Mom said. "If only you could eat that way all the time! Instead of shoveling it in, like you usually do."

"Mmmph," I grunted.

"Well!" Mom began, with a big smile, "I just had an interesting phone call. You'll never guess who's coming to see you today!"

"Uh, Wiggy?"

"No," Mom said in a firm tone. "Wiggy is not a real person."

"Ms. Gifford?"

"No."

"Theresa?"

"Who?"

"Theresa Dandino, the police detective."

"No."

I sighed. "I give up."

Mom gave a satisified chuckle. "I knew you couldn't guess. Cassie Auburn just called. She's in New Jersey to look at Princeton, and while she's on this side of the country, she thought she'd look you up!"

"Oh, my God!" I cried, and for a moment, I tried to remember whether I *really* knew she was coming, or only dreamed that I knew. Then it came back to me: Jerry had told me. The last time he and I spoke, when he broke up with me, he said that Cassie might come.

"Wow," I said. "When will she be here?"

"Today," Mom replied. "I told you. She'll be here for lunch, and if you feel up to it, you could bundle up and take her for a walk." She felt my forehead and cheek with the back of her hand. "If you feel up to it. I don't want you catching a cold when you've just gotten over a fever."

"Mmm," I said. "I think it might be a good idea. I'll take a shower after I finish eating." I took a deep sip of the broth. It was good. A healthy glow from the broth went all through me, even down my arms and legs. "Mom, my compliments to the chef. This broth is really the right stuff."
 

---

 

When Cassie arrived, I was surprised to see that she looked pretty much the way she had in my dream. Then I remembered it was only a month or so since I'd last seen her: the day before Thanksgiving.

In contrast to my "Marcie Auburn" dream, Cassie was smiling and happy to see me. Before she even took her coat off, she opened her arms to give me a big hug. Although I had a strong instinct to protect my butt, I suppressed it and hugged her as warmly as she hugged me.

Mom made one lunch for me, and another for Cassie and herself. My meal was pretty bland: poached chicken, white rice with nothing on it, and more chicken broth with crackers.

She and Cassie ate a very elaborate chef salad and a leek and potato soup.

"I think this soup is too creamy for you," Mom told me. "Tomorrow you can have some if you like."

"Cock-a-leeky soup," I said, remembering Booger's discussion of the Burns Night dinner: haggis, potatoes, turnips... and cock-a-leeky soup.

"Oh, that's a Scottish dish, isn't it?" my mother asked. "What put that in your mind?"

"We were supposed to eat it one night," I said, and my voice trailed off.

Cassie gave me a puzzled look.

"Who was supposed to eat it?" Mom asked.

I bit my lower lip. "The Amazons," I said in a low voice.

"Ah," Mom said.

"Who are the Amazons?" Cassie asked, as she lifted her spoon to her lips.

"They're cheerleaders," I said.

"In a dream," my mother added.

I looked down and didn't say anything. Cassie gave my mother a questioning glance.

Mom explained about the dinner with Ida... the food poisoning... my fever... and finished up by saying, "And so, Marcie ended up having a very elaborate dream. It was so real to her that she got upset with me this morning because I hadn't bought her some book..."

"No, I didn't want you to buy the book," I said hotly. "In the dream... or whatever it was... you bought the book and stuck it in my luggage! That was the problem!"

"Well, I'm sure I'm sorry," my mother laughed, tongue in cheek. "I won't do it again! I promise!"

At Cassie's prompting, I told the story as briefly as I could. I left out a lot. I had to. I didn't say anything about the Marcie Auburn episode, and I didn't explain why the business with the book bothered me so.

"Wow!" Cassie exclaimed. "The way you tell it, it sounds like it really happened to you!"

"It did!" I replied.

"Honey..." Mom began, but I cut her off.

"I can't explain it," I said, "but I refuse to believe that it was all a dream! I learned things! I did things! I went places and met people!"

"Imaginary people," Mom put in.

"No!" I said. "Real people! As real as you and me!"

Mom didn't answer. She bit her tongue as I sat steaming. My heart was racing, and I felt a little feverish again. I took a few breaths to try to calm down, and then a few sips of broth. I sniffed and looked at them both.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell. I just can't understand... it wasn't a dream... I'm sure it wasn't."

Mom nodded and shrugged. I think she put my outburst down to my being sick.

Cassie tried to gloss over it by asking, "Marcie, your mother said you might feel up to taking a walk with me. You can show me the sights."

I thought for an instant about the reporters outside. Then I remembered that they'd all gone. I made a mental note to ask Ms. Gifford what had happened, why they'd gone. Or I could just wait and see if my father knew... But for right now, it would be good to get some air... to get out of the house.

"Yes," I said. "It would be nice. I need to get out and move a little bit. I'm kind of achy from spending all that time in bed."

"Okay, good," Cassie replied. She reached over and covered my hand with hers. "I'm really happy I could come up and see you."

"I'm happy to see you, too," I replied, feeling a bit bashful and awkward. I liked Cassie, but usually she was such an incredible tease. Now that she was being so nice, I felt a bit strange, as if the ground had shifted. Still, it was much better this way.

"You know, my brother was an idiot to let you go," she went on. "I liked having you in the family." She laughed and looked at my mother. "Maybe we should set up a trade: you Donners could take Jerry, and my family will take Marcie."

"Hmm," my mother said in a mock-serious tone. "I'll have to talk that over with my husband. Can I get back to you on that?"

"Why certainly," Cassie replied, and the two of them laughed as if it were the greatest joke in the world.

© 2008 by Kaleigh Way

[OTHER STORIES]

"How can it be more or less? She either did or she didn't."

"I think Mirina meant to do it, but when she actually did do it, she didn't mean to. It was an accident."

"Oh, Belle! What kind of sense does *that* make?"

---

 

38. Nobody Judges You
 

"So... how do you like New Jersey?" Cassie asked me, once we were out of sight of my house. "Do you have a new boyfriend yet?" Before I could answer she added, "Oh— do you *really* go to an all-girls school? That just seems so out-of-character for you."

"Um... it's been wild," I said, answering her first question.

"Oh, I know about all the crazy stuff," she said. "I read the news every day. It's amazing to see someone I know written up so much! You just go from one adventure to the next! Oh, hey! Is that Missy girl really super-rich?"

"Maisie," I corrected. "I guess so... She has a... trust fund. Her father is rich." This wasn't really something I wanted to talk about.

"Hmmph," Cassie said. "Look at all this snow! That's going to take some getting used to. There's NEVER snow in Tierson. So anyway, maybe I'll meet this Maisie girl, now that I'll be on this side of the country."

"Will you? Are you definitely going to Princeton?"

"Definitely. I'm going down there tonight." Cassie turned to me and smiled. Then she yawned, and as she did, she raised one of her hands behind her head. Instinctively I covered my butt with both hands. Cassie looked at me with a puzzled smile.

"Why did you do that?" she asked.

"I thought you were going to whack me on the butt," I confessed, feeling foolish and embarrassed.

"Why would I do that?" she retorted.

I sighed heavily. "It's another crazy story."

"Everything with you is a crazy story! So tell me! This ought to be a good one."

"First, can I ask you what your father does for a living?"

"What my father does? What does that— okay, okay: he's a research scientist. I can't tell you what he works on, because he can't tell us. It's all top-secret stuff."

"Oh," I said, disappointed.

"Why is that bad?" she asked.

"I was hoping you'd say he was a shoe salesman or something."

"What!? Why?"

I told her the story of my time as Marcie Auburn. She laughed a good deal, and her eyebrows bounced up in astonishment more than once. When I was finished, she said, "That's pretty weird. You had two dreams... in one night, or whatever... that seemed like they were real. That's pretty odd."

"No," I said. "They didn't seem like they were real. They were real." I sighed. "I mean, it was as real as this here, now. There was no way to tell it apart."

"Apart from what?"

"Apart from ordinary reality."

"Well," she said, "If it really had happened, I'd be one of the few people who'd know, right? But none of that stuff happened, ever. AND my mother isn't a twin. I don't have an Aunt Julia."

"Is your mother named Juliette?"

"Yes, but that's the *only* thing in your dream that was right. Like, the way you describe the bedrooms is all wrong. The only one you got right is Nina's. You make it sound like the second floor has all these rooms coming off a tiny hallway, but it isn't like that. And everything is in a different place than where you think. For instance, the laundry isn't in the basement, because we don't have a basement."

Cassie shifted so she could walk on the snow. It crunched softly beneath her boots. She went on talking. "And my bedroom... There is no bathroom off my bedroom, and the walls aren't lavender. They're cream. And what else? Oh, yeah! My mother is actually quite good at decorating and at choosing clothes, so that's wrong, too. If I tell her what you dreamt about her, she'd be SO offended!"

Then she gave me a funny glance. "And speaking of offended... Do you really think, if I was your older sister, that I would be so mean to you?"

I didn't look up. "It was just a dream," I said.

Cassie laughed. "I ought to whack your butt for thinking that I'd whack your butt."

I lifted my head, which suddenly seemed very heavy, so I could look at her. Her laughing expression quickly fell away and was replaced by a look of concern.

"I think we'd better head back," she said. "All of a sudden you don't look so good."

In fact, my energy was fading. I wanted to get back into bed. By the time we got to my house, I realized that I'd taken her arm at some point and was leaning heavily upon it.

Once we were inside Cassie passed me to my mother, who held me up by squeezing me to her with one arm. Cassie said a worried goodbye. She wanted to give me a hug, but Mom cautioned against it.

"You don't want to catch what she's got," Mom said. "And don't worry — she'll be fine."

"I'll be back sometime next summer," she said. "Bye, Marcie. Thanks for lunch, Mrs. Donner."

Mom closed the door and said to me, "Oh, little girl, you better get back upstairs and into bed! You look awful."

"I feel awful," I said.

"I shouldn't have pushed you to go out," Mom told me as she touched my cheek. "You're burning up again."

My legs felt like lead as I slowly climbed the stairs. Mom helped me undress, and I slid under the covers without putting my pajamas on. "I'll put them on later, when I have the energy," I said.

I closed my eyes and was out like a light.
 

---

 

The last time I fell asleep, back on the island... I didn't really fall asleep. I fainted, or lost consciousness or something. That time, I found myself in darkness and silence.

This time, in my dreamworld, there was no darkness and no silence. Instead, there was light: a fuzzy, diffuse yellow-white light. And there wasn't noise exactly: there was a sound. It was the sound of a female voice talking... talking and talking... like someone talking on the phone... or reading a story aloud... but I couldn't make out the words.

Ba ba bababa beeba, she was saying. Bee bee boh boh bu. Mmmmm machuchi cha.

"Where am I?" I muttered to myself. The voice seemed to hear and understand, because she answered me.

"Bay bay bay," she told me. "Nnnn kay kay. Mimph mee."

I understood the last two words: with me. I drew a deep breath, and fell into a heavy sleep.
 

---

 

Consciousness came back slowly. The air was dry and cool. I was lying on a camp bed covered by a rough blanket that chafed my breasts.

I was back on the island.

Mirina's voice asked, "Is ha— Did the fever break?"

A hand touched my forehead and cheek, and Ding-Dong answered, "Yes. I think she's waking up."

"She—" scoffed Mirina, but Ding-Dong shushed her.

When Mirina's footsteps exited the cave, I half-opened my eyes. "Where am I?" I murmured.

"You're in the cave, in the the cage," Ding-Dong said. "With me."

"Oh, okay," I said, and lifted my head enough to sip the water she offered. "What happened to my clothes?"

"Oh," Ding-Dong replied sadly, "It's yucky. You threw up and fell into your... your sick... uh, you know."

"Yuck," I breathed.

"So Mirina and Knickers took your clothes off, and that's when we found out..."

My eyes snapped open. "Oh, no," I said.

"It's okay," Ding-Dong said. "Nobody judges you."

"Really?" I asked. I propped myself up on one elbow and looked around. The two of us were inside the pantry, in the cave. The two barrels of water stood in the corner, and shelves full of supplies filled the walls. Metal bars separated us from the great room in the cave. "Do you think I could have some of my clothes? This blanket chafes like mad."

"Oh, sure," Ding-Dong replied. "Your bags are right here." She helped me slide my legs off the edge of the bed. Then she heaved me up to a sitting position. I carefully covered my lap and legs with the blanket.

"Whoo," I said. "I think I'm okay now." But when I bent to look in my bag, the room turned into a tilt-a-whirl. The floor became the ceiling, the walls shot beneath me, and everything — shelves, barrels, bars — spun all around me. I wasn't sure where I'd land if I fell.

"Whoa whoa whoa!" Ding-Dong exclaimed. She caught me by the arms and helped me lie back down.

"Sorry!" she said. "It looked like you were going to dive head-first into the floor!"

"The room started spinning," I gasped. I gripped the sides of the bed as it pitched and rolled beneath me. It felt as if were back on ship, in the storm. "Are we moving, Ding-Dong? Is it an earthquake or something?"

"No," she said. "Everything is standing still. Take some deep breaths, and maybe it'll pass."

Gritting my teeth, I took a few experimental breaths, and tried letting go of the bed. I opened my eyes, and gradually the movement stopped.

"If you tell me what you want from your bag I can get it for you," Ding-Dong offered.

"Pajamas," I whispered. A few moments later she helped me slip them on, being careful not to disturb the blanket covering me. She slid my pajama bottoms up as high as my knees, and I brought them up the rest of the way.

"Thanks," I told her. She dabbed at my face with a wet towel. As she did, I realized I was soaked with perspiration.

Exhausted, I let go and went falling down the well of darkness. In an instant, I was asleep again.
 

The next time I woke up, I asked, "Am I still on the island?"

"Yes," Ding-Dong replied. "We're not rescued yet."

"Is there any news of Wiggy?"

"No." She paused. "Marcie, you really should have told somebody."

"Yeah, I know," I admitted.

"Mirina is furious."

"I bet."

"She's scared, too. Scared for Wiggy."

"Yeah." I wasn't completely registering everything Ding-Dong said. I mean, I knew what she was saying, but I felt so physically awful that it was just a bunch of words to me... Until she said one thing that broke through.

"Wiggy could be dead, Marcie. Do you realize that?"

I didn't answer. I couldn't. A vivid mental picture came to me of Wiggy struggling in the middle of the ocean. It was like a scene from a movie: Wiggy, seen from above, fighting, splashing, reaching for something... try to grasp something solid, but finding only water. Nothing but her face and arms, and her face... terrified, desperate, losing...

Wiggy... dead? If she was, it was all my fault. I should have told someone... Cakey, Mirina, even Ding-Dong. I could have sabotaged the dory so she couldn't leave. I could have hacked some giant holes in the thing and blamed it on Mirina's mystery man.

After all, wasn't *I* Mirina's mystery man?

I groaned and struggled to get out of bed. It was difficult.

"What are you doing?" Ding-Dong asked.

"I'm trying to get up," I told her. "I need to go to the bathroom."

"Oh," Ding-Dong said, though it sounded more like oh, no. "Uh, Marcie, is it number one or number two?"

"What difference does it make?"

"It makes a big difference," she said with a sigh. "Well, either way, we have to put a plastic bag in that can in the corner and—"

"You're kidding me!" I protested. Shades of my kidnapping! "Why can't we just go out to the latrine, or the port-a-potty, or whatever you want to call it? If you help me a little I can make it."

"We can't go because we're locked in here," Ding-Dong said.

"What?"

"When Mirina found out that you're a... that you have the, um, boy thing down there, then... well, she was already mad about Wiggy taking off in the dory..."

"So she locked me in here?"

Ding-Dong shrugged. "More or less."

"How can it be more or less? She either did or she didn't."

"I think she meant to do it, but when she actually did do it, she didn't mean to. It was an accident."

"Oh, Belle! What kind of sense does *that* make?"

"I was in here, carrying your bags in, and Marina was fiddling with the latch. Then, all of a sudden, she broke it."

"She broke the lock?"

Belle nodded. "And now she can't get it open."

"So that's why you're in here with me."

"Right."

"And nobody can fix the lock."

"Mirina doesn't want anybody to. Yet, anyway."

I huffed, "I thought you said that no one judged me."

"Well... I know that *I* don't..."

I looked into her anxious face. How could I be angry with her? Mirina, the others, I'd have to see about later, once I felt better. For now, it was just me and Ding-Dong. "Thanks, Belle." I said, and she squeezed my hand.

After a moment of silence, I used the can while Belle stood facing the opposite corner with her hands over her ears. I tied the bag off and set it outside the bars. Then I lay back down on the bed and closed my eyes.

"Hey," Ding-Dong said softly. "I hope you don't mind, but I read your book. You were asleep for a long time, and I had nothing to do."

"Oh, the fairy tales? Did you like it?"

"It was pretty strange. All those boys turning into girls. It got to be a little repetitious."

"I didn't read it."

"Did they give that to you when you, you know, changed?" she asked.

They? "No, my mother bought it for me for Christmas."

We were silent again, and then a thought occurred to me. "Ding-Dong? Belle? You know the title story? Princess Marcellina? How does it come out? I read it up to the point where she becomes a boy."

"Oh!" she exclaimed. "That was the weirdest one! It was SO complicated! I don't even remember. If you want, I can read it to you."

"Okay," I agreed. "That might be nice."

"It will help pass the time," she said.

© 2008 by Kaleigh Way

[OTHER STORIES]

"Anyway, Percinet wants to marry her, but she won't because of her... problem, you know." Ding-Dong looked at me pointedly.

"I get it," I said.

---

 

39. The Boy-Princess
 

"Where did you leave off?" Ding-Dong asked. "I don't want to start from the beginning; the story is way too long."

"Where I left off, the fairy turned her into a boy, handed her a mirror, and disappeared."

Ding-Dong flipped through the pages until she found the place, and began reading.

The Princess sat on the ground beneath a tree and stayed there for a long time in stunned silence. She studied herself in the mirror. She looked at her arms, legs, and feet. She felt her chest and hips. Everything had changed. She was a boy, and nothing but a boy: a peasant boy, a sturdy farm-working boy — a good-looking boy, in fact — but a boy nonetheless.

"Oh, wicked Grognon!" she cried—

"Blah blah blah," Ding-Dong said, interrupting the story. "She complains for a long time. Skipping over..."

Until now, the Princess had lived a life of ease. "It's clear that another life awaits me," she said, "unless and until this enchantment can be broken! Oh, that I had Percinet to help me!"

Unfortunately, in her present state, it was unlikely that Percinet would ever recognize her. "... if he could even find me!" she wailed. She collapsed beneath the tree and wept, disconsolate.

At last, however, her hunger and thirst overcame her sadness and dismay, and the boy-princess stood and began to walk.

As she walked, she reasoned with herself. "First of all," she reckoned, "I will need a name: Marcel will do quite nicely. Then I shall need employment, so I can feed and clothe myself. Finally, I must find my way to my father's kingdom and tell him what has happened!"

She decided that the easiest way to accomplish all her goals at once was to find a job at sea. "If only I can find a ship, bound for my father's land!" But first, she must needs find the sea.
 

---

 

Back at the castle, Percinet lay on a bed, slowly recovering from his wounds. He was not hurt gravely, but as yet he could neither sit up nor walk. Since his bed lay in the servant's quarters, he could not send word to anyone for help. He spent most of his days alone, excepting the moments when a fellow servant brought him food and gossip.

The first news he heard was that Grognon was anxiously following the progress of his recovery. She had never been served by such a handsome page, and she was looking forward to having him by her side at every possible moment. It was fortunate for Percinet that Grognon, too, was confined to her bed: otherwise, she would have been at his side, nursing and nagging him back to health. Thank goodness for small favors!

The second bit of news he received was that Princess Marcelline had been locked in the dungeon as punishment for the trick she supposedly played on Grognon, of giving her the much-too-spirited horse to ride.

The third thing he was told was that Princess Marcelline was so overcome with despair and guilt that she hung herself in the dungeon and was dead, mourned, and buried.

As he lay in dejection, cast down by the death of his one true love, he heard one last piece of information. It was told to him in a whisper, but as a sure and certain fact: His gossip let him know that the Princess had not died at all, but only disappeared, and that a log had been placed in a casket and buried in her grave.

Percinet sighed with impatience and regret. He needed to get word to his mother, who was a fairy, and could surely help him find the lost princess. However, everyone thought the poor boy was simply a servant, so he could do nothing but wait until he had the strength to leave the castle and journey home himself.
 

---

 

Marcel, the boy-princess walked and walked for a great long way. She drank water from a stream not far from the path, and ate berries and mushrooms, but she was very hungry.

She slept for a night beneath a tree, cold and afraid. When at last the sun woke her, she began to walk again.

At length, she came upon a road. Not knowing which way to go, she sniffed the breeze. Because the air was dry and warm, and smelt nothing like the sea, she turned and kept the wind at her back.

"Snore!" Ding-Dong commented. "She walks for a long way. Skipping over... She meets an old lady and tells her that he's looking for work."

"He?" I asked.

"The Princess," Ding-Dong clarified, and resumed the reading.

"You can work for my husband," the old woman said. "He is an ogre, but you mustn't take account of that. He's a gentle soul, and you'll find he's fair to a good worker."

"I am a good worker," Marcel promised. "But I need to find work upon the sea."

"I wish you luck with that!" the old woman laughed. "The sea is farther than than you can dream, my lad! You might walk for the rest of your life before you found the sea."

The boy looked so downcast at this remark that the old woman felt compelled to add, "And yet, my husband might find a way. He may know the means... There may be travelers... traders... We shall see."

With that vague promise, the boy-princess agreed to the bargain, and off the two went together.

As it happened, not only did the ogre live far from the sea, he lived halfway up a mountain, where he pastured cows and tended flocks of goats on the high grassy plains.

As Marcel and the old woman climbed, they came upon a beautiful blue belt, lying on the ground near the path.

"Oh, how lovely!" the boy-princess cried, forgetting for a moment that he was no longer a girl.

"Don't touch it!" the old woman warned. "It's likely bewitched. Leave it be! Come away! Come away, I say!"

And so the boy-princess left the lovely belt lying by the wayside, but she carried its image away in her mind.

Soon, when the old woman's age bore down upon her and she wearied of the climb, the two travelers stopped and sat beneath a scrub oak.

Marcel bethought himself of the blue belt, and decided to run back and take it. He told the old woman, "I have some business in the bushes yon." Instead, he snuck off down the hill and found the lovely belt still lying where he'd first seen it. He took it up, admired its beauty and workmanship — for it really was a fine thing — and fastened it round his waist.

Lo and behold! The instant the belt was closed round his waist, a change came over the boy. The old woman was right: the belt was bewitched! And what did it do, but change the boy back to the form of the beautiful Princess Marcelline.
 

---

 

Percinet at long last found the strength to rise from his bed. In the dark early morning, he saddled his horse with great difficulty and rode with great pain to his mother's castle. Once there, he fell from the horse and was carried to his bed. His injuries were seen to, and his mother set a charm to speed his healing.

"But you must lie still," she cautioned, "and let the charm do its work."

Soon enough Percinet was up and about, still weak, but quite definitely on the mend. In the meanwhile, his mother had searched the world with her fairy mirror but found no trace of the lovely lost princess.

After she had done all that she could do alone, she left Percinet to wander impatiently through her garden while she went to confer with her fairy brethren.
 

---

 

Princess Marcelline, with the help of her small mirror, examined herself as thoroughly as she could. She was pleased to discover that she was in every way her old self once again, from the soles of her feet to the ends of her soft, shining hair. Her clothes, on the other hand, were those of a peasant girl. There was nothing of a princess there; her outfit better suited a milkmaid than a lady of the court.

Still, it was a great improvement, and filled with delight, she skipped her way up the path to join the old woman beneath the tree. Once there, she told the hag that she'd met a peasant boy, who was running down the hill. "He said he was afraid to work for an ogre," the princess said, "So I hoped I could go in his place."

The old lady was more than pleased! Even though her ogre of a husband needed a young man to help with his herds, he would no doubt be happy to welcome a young and pretty girl.

You see, what the old woman said was true: the ogre treated fairly (and even kindly) any young man who labored hard and well. On the other hand, regarding the fairer sex, he was a true ogre indeed. He had a large, special pot, just the right size for a young pretty lady, and he would cook the princess into stew at the very first opportunity.

Of course, the old woman kept this fact to herself. She simply told the Princess that a warm welcome awaited her.

The house in the mountains was not much farther, and the two women reached it just as the sun fell from the sky. As you can imagine, the ogre was very glad to see their guest, and he laid a feast before her, thinking to fatten her up.

The Princess, for all her fine manners and good breeding, fell upon the food, for she was famished. After the girl had eaten her fill, the old woman led her to a neat little bedroom with a clean little bed. Once the Princess found herself alone, she found that the belt was too uncomfortable to wear throughout the night. And so, with great reluctance she unfastened it. Instantly she found herself transformed once again into the form of the peasant boy.

With a heavy sigh, she lay the belt lengthwise in the bed and fell asleep upon it.

The ogre waited until he heard the slow, sleeping breaths of his young guest. He crept into the bedroom, ready to toss the girl into a bag and pop her into his stew. Already the carrots and onions were aboil; all that was lacking was the delightful guest.

Imagine the ogre's surprise and disappointment when he found — in the place of a young, pert maiden — a robust young man! He called his wife, who recognized the lad, but had no explanation of how he'd gotten in, or where the girl had gone.

They quietly withdrew and went to bed mightly confused.

"Oof!" Ding-Dong complained, working her jaw to the right and left. "My mouth muscles hurt from all this reading."

"Sorry," I offered.

"Let me skip ahead," Ding-Dong said. "She milks the cows, she milks the goats. She works hard, so the ogre and his wife like her, but every night when the ogre goes to cut her head off, he finds the boy instead."

"Is the story much longer?" I asked. "It seems like it will never end!"

"Oh, don't worry, it ends," she said. "But yes, it is much longer."

"Then skip," I said.

"All right: finally one night the old lady peeks through a crack when the Princess goes to bed. Then she understands about the blue belt, and she tells the ogre. But they still don't know what to do. The ogre is afraid that if he boils the girl, she might turn into the boy, and if he boils her with the belt, the enchantment might go into the stew."

"So he's afraid he might turn into a girl when he eats it?"

"I guess. Anyway... Percinet's mother goes to talk with the other fairies, and she finds out about the spell on Marcelline. Now that she knows, she locates the Princess. She and Percinet rescue the girl just before the ogre decides to cook her anyway."

"Oh, man!" I said, shaking my head. "It's like they took every complication they could think of, and threw it into this story!"

"You know what's really weird? It says in the notes that this story comes from a French fairy tale, and that most of the crazy stuff is in the original."

"I can't imagine what *that* story could possibly be like," I said.

"Anyway, Percinet wants to marry her, but she won't because of her... problem, you know." Ding-Dong looked at me pointedly.

"I get it," I said, giving her the same pointed look.

"Plus, she wants to see what's happening back home, so they use his mother's magic mirror. Marcelline sees her father crying because he misses her, so she insists that Percinet take her there — back to her father's castle. Percinet gets all mad and doesn't want to do it, but in the end she convinces him.

"At first the King is all happy to see her, but Grognon says she's an imposter, and throws her in the dungeon again. This time she doesn't want to kill her. She decides to torment her instead. Grognon calls her fairy friend, but this time they argue. The fairy can't understand how the Princess changed back. Grognon is angry with the fairy for having failed her."

Belle turned pages, searching. "And then what happens? I forget... Oh! There is this nice little bit with the little people..." She placed a finger on the page and began reading again.

Grognon told the fairy, "This time I will keep the girl under my hand. I wish to punish her, and to have each day a difficult piece of work, which she will never be able to finish, so that I may beat her as much as I like. Help me to find these difficult tasks."

The fairy soon returned with a coil as large as a person, made of thread so fine that it broke if you barely breathed upon it. In addition, the thread was so tangled and knotted that it you couldn't see where it ended or began. Grognon was delighted. She sent for the Princess and told her, "Now, my dear, this job may be difficult for a ham-fisted girl like yourself, but it must be done. I want you to wind this thread for me into a proper ball, but if you break the least little bit of it, I will flay you alive with my own hands. You may take your time and start whenever you like, as long as the work is done by sundown."

Then, cackling like the old witch she was, Grognon locked the door with a triple lock, set two guards outside the door, and two outside the window.

"Ummph!" Belle groaned, massaging her jaw. "This story is too long! Anyway, she calls Percinet, who magically appears, and he does it with his magic wand."

"So he's magical now?"

"I guess he always was, but he was saving it."

"Belle, is it worth going on?"

"Oh, there's a cute part coming up... and don't you want to know how it ends?"

"I don't know... do I?"

© 2008 by Kaleigh Way

[OTHER STORIES]

I sighed. "Does the story ever end?"

---

 

40. Wiggy's Night Light
 

"Skip to the cute part, then," I told her.

"Okay," Belle said, glancing over the page. "Well, he asks her to marry him. She says no. He's mad and sad and put off, so he leaves. The fairy comes back, Grognon's all angry with her. She wants another impossible task, so the fairy gives her a barrel full of bird feathers for Marcelline to sort."

"And she calls on Percinet and he does it."

"Right. Oh, I forgot! When Grognon saw that Marcelline had wound up all the thread, she was furious, so she slapped her face and called her names. Then when she saw the feathers sorted, she didn't know what to do. So... here comes the cute part... Grognon flips out on the fairy and treats her really badly." She stopped for a moment. "Oh, the cute part isn't that she tries to hurt the fairy. It's this part about the tiny people. Here it comes."

The poor fairy was dreadfully puzzled by the girl's ability to finish each task. She was anxious to please her friend Grognon, but felt more than a little hurt by Grognon's angry outburst.

The fairy had a moment of inspiration, and she created a beautiful box. It was a bit large and awkwardly shaped, so that a girl could just manage to carry it.

"Here you are," the fairy said to Grognon. "Tell your girl to deliver this box somewhere, but not to open it under any circumstance. Believe me, after carrying this awkward thing a ways, she won't be able to resist. Then you'll be satisfied."

Grognon called Marcelline and told her, "Carry this box to my castle, and set it on the table in the entryway. But I forbid you, under pain of death, to look inside. Remember: not even the tiniest peek, or I'll have your head!"

Marcelline put on an old woolen cloak over her peasant garb and went out. Even dressed as she was, everyone she passed along the way was struck by her marvellous beauty. None of them doubted that she was some goddess in disguise, but she did not stop to talk with anyone.

After a very short time the box became quite heavy, and Marcelline set it down to rest. She sat on the ground near it, and suddenly felt a strong desire to open the box. "How could she ever know?" the Princess asked herself. "It's not as though I'd take anything out. What could possibly happen? I'll just pop it open and see what's inside."

Without another thought, she lifted the ornate lid. Immediately a great number of teeny, tiny, little men and women, no taller than your smallest finger, came climbing out. They carried musical instruments, little tables and chairs, and other miniature pieces of furniture. Some were cooks, some were musicians, and others were dressed as little lords and ladies.

While some of the mannikins chatted amongst themselves, others got busy cooking, arranging chairs, or tuning their instruments. Soon, the violins struck up a tune, and so began the prettiest ball you ever saw! The lords and ladies bowed and curtsied to one another, and danced with the most admirable grace.

Others cut capers, leaping and bounding to make their companions laugh. There was eating and drinking, and Marcelline seemed to see flirting and romance among the tiny beings. All the while the sweetest music played.

At first Marcelline was delighted and amused at this extraordinary affair, but soon she had enough. "I've got to finish my errand," she said aloud, and began to place the tiny people back in the box. However, the little things didn't want to go: as soon as she put them in, they climbed back out again. They shook their fists and stuck out their tongues at her. The musicians seized their instruments; the cooks picked up the food, and all ran away, as fast as their little legs would carry them.

She chased them into the woods, but as soon as she caught up with them, they ran back into the meadow.

Soon she realized the bitter truth. "I've fallen into Grognon's trap!" she cried, weeping. "All on account of my reckless curiosity!"

"That *was* cute," I admitted. "It would be nice to see just that part in a movie, I think."

"Yeah, I thought so too," Belle agreed. "Anyway, she calls Percinet, who uses his magic wand to put them all back inside. Then he carries the box for her and helps her deliver it. He almost convinces her to marry him, but you know..."

"She still has the same problem, I know," I said.

"Yes. Every night she has to take the blue belt off. She goes back to her castle, like an idiot. Grognon locks her up again. The fairy comes, and Grognon is furious! She starts beating the fairy, scratching and hitting her. She even tries to strangle her! So the fairy flies away."

I sighed. "Does the story ever end?"

"Yes," she replied. "Grognon tricks Marcelline into falling in a deep hole and she puts a heavy stone over the top. Percinet rescues her, and she finally agrees to marry him. They have a big wedding. All the fairies come, even the one who was Grognon's friend. She fixes Marcelline so she's a girl all the time, and she turns Grognon into a toad and throws her down a well."

"And that's it?" I asked.

"That's it," she said.

I sighed. "That is one long story."

"And there's no payoff at the end," Belle agreed. "She marries the guy, they're happily ever after and all, but..." She shook her head.

We were silent for a spell, then we drank some water. Belle began to talk. She told me about her family and their camping trips. She told me about her cousin's wedding and her uncle's funeral and what her mother said about her aunt...

I must have dozed at points, but I'm pretty sure Belle kept right on talking. Each time I'd drift up to consciousness, I'd hear a piece of whatever she was saying, and then I'd drift back down again.

One of the times when I drifted upward, I heard her laughing as she said, "... and then my mother said — oh, my God, it's too funny! — she said, Belle, I'm going to make your father sleep in the doghouse, and she pointed out the window and there was a REAL doghouse there! Isn't that funny?"

Dear God, I thought. She must know I'm not listening, right? I mean, I'm practically moribund. Without opening my eyes, I reached for the cup of water I'd been drinking, but couldn't find it. Belle's voice went on and on. As much as I love her, she was starting to get on my nerves. Now I understood why Wiggy was so hard on her.

Wiggy! I sat bolt upright. Where was Wiggy? How long had she been gone?

"Belle," I said, interrupting her, "What time is it? What day is it?"

"Um, I don't have a watch, but it must be sometime in the afternoon on Thursday."

"Thursday!?"

"Well, yeah. You've been asleep a long time. You were sick, you know."

"Oh, man!" I groaned.

"You don't need to go to the bathroom again, I hope," Ding-Dong said in a concerned tone.

"No," I said crossly. "I'm worried about Wiggy!"

"Oh!" she said, a little cross herself. "She's my friend, too, you know! We're *all* worried about Wiggy."

"Sorry," I said. "I'm trying to figure out whether she got where she was going. Look: she left early Tuesday, right? And she's afraid of the dark, so I don't think she'd plan on padding through the night."

Belle thought for a moment and said, "Yes, but... she was going to take you with her, wasn't she?"

"Yeah, so? I don't know how to row."

"No, but maybe you were supposed to be her night light."

My mouth dropped open in surprise. "No, no!" I cried out in dismay, and collapsed on the bed. Tears came to my eyes, but they didn't fall. God, I was still so weak! I barely had the strength to cry, let alone sob. The truth of what Belle suggested broke through me like a rock smashing through eggs.

Wiggy's voice echoed in my mind: I really need to take you with me, she'd said. But I didn't understand... I'd wondered what good I could do... but now, the way she said it... it reminded me of the day I met Wiggy, when she practically begged me to be her roommate:

I know I'm a little neurotic, maybe, but... what I'm asking is, will you please room with me? I'll give you whatever space you need... it's just that at night, when we sleep, I want to know that somebody else is in the room with me. Will you? Please, please, please?

Wiggy's voice echoed in my brain. Please, please, please? and I really need to take you with me. Oh, Jesus! She thought that *she* had let everyone down, but she was wrong. I really HAD let her down. I let her down big time. I should have stopped her. I should have told Cakey at least, or Mirina. I should have sabotaged that stupid dory!

Or, I should have gone with her. Sick as I was, I should have gotten into the stupid boat. Then at least, poor Wiggy wouldn't die alone.

No: if I was there, Wiggy wouldn't die. But I wasn't there.

Belle's hand was on my shoulder, and for once she was silent. She knew better than to tell me it would be all right. She couldn't bring herself to say it would all work out. This wasn't some stupid story, after all. This was real life. I couldn't call on some Percinet to rescue me with his magic wand.

There we were, two Pollyannas, knowing for once that everything was broken, upside down, all messed up, and that it might never be right again.

After a long, deep spell of crying, I stopped. I lay there on my stomach, staring at the floor, and Belle began to brush my hair. It felt nice. She still hadn't said a word, which was also nice. I raised myself up so I was sitting on the bunk with my back to her, and she kept on brushing, slowly and gently.

"Thanks, Belle," I said. "I can brush yours, for you, after."

"No, that's okay. You're still sick. You can hardly sit up."

She brushed in silence, running her hand softly behind the brush as it moved through my hair.

"Look," I said with a heavy sigh. "We might be stuck in the place forever."

"This place?" she repeated, and laughed. "Do you mean here in the pantry, or on the island?"

"Well, both, I guess."

"Och!" she scoffed. "We'll get out of this cage. Cakey will bust us out."

"Like Papillon?" I half-joked.

"Pappy who?" Belle asked.

"It was a movie about two guys who escaped from a desert island prison."

"Oh, look," Belle said, "Mirina is embarrassed. She is... well... she did freak out when she found out about your—" she waved her hand at me "—about your... you know... condition... but she doesn't really want you locked up."

Then she added, "And *I* sure as heck don't want to stay in here."

"What's Cakey waiting for, then? Why doesn't she bust us out now?"

Ding-Dong shrugged. "Maybe she's waiting till the other girls are ready."

I thought about it. I wasn't in a rush to get out of the cage. For one thing, I could barely raise myself out of bed. More importantly, I wasn't sure if I was ready to face the Amazons, now that they knew my secret. I felt pretty sure that they'd snub me. At least, they'd be uncomfortable around me. They might make me live apart from them. Could they? Would they? Maybe I'd sleep in the second room of beds, alone. Or outside? For the first time I was going to face someone knowing my secret. I'd been outed, big time.

For some reason I thought about school, and how ironic it was, in a way, that I go to an all-girls school. No one there knew about me. Well, none of the girls, anyway. Now here I was on an all-girl island, and they ALL knew about me.

"Okay, Belle," I said. "We'll get out of this cage. But then what? We could still be stuck on this island forever."

"Yeah," she acknowledged. "We could. I don't think we will, but we could. If we do get stuck here, we'll just have to make the best of it."

I lay back down again, and oddly, my first thought was about laundry. It wasn't such a big deal, really. We had plenty of fresh water and castille soap. I wondered whether the clothes I was sick on were clean, and if they were, who had cleaned them. I wondered whether we could get Belle's shower working, and whether the girls would accept me, the way they did before. How would they treat me?

"What are you thinking about?" Belle asked.

"I'm wondering how the other girls will treat me," I said.

She looked me in the face as she considered the question. "I don't know," she said. "Mirina freaked out. Graffy and Grooty got pretty weird about it. I'm pretty sure Donkey and Cakey still like you, and I'm sure that *I* do. The others... I don't know. Boogers... I guess she's kind of neutral."

I nodded. I hadn't expected such a specific answer, but it made me feel better. I was glad if Cakey was still my friend. She and Wiggy and Belle were the girls that I liked best here.

"Uh, Belle? When they undressed me, did everybody see me naked?"

Belle didn't answer at first. Then she said, "No, not everybody." After a pause she added, "Well, that's not exactly true. Yes. Everybody saw you naked."

The news didn't bother me as much as I thought it might, but as I lay there digesting it, Belle let out a chuckle.

"Oh, hey, you know a funny thing about that? Well, I thought it was funny. Mirina wanted to hold up that man's boot to your foot — you know the one in the entryway? — she wanted to see if it fit you."

"Oh, brother!" I said in disgust. "That would be real Cinderella story, wouldn't it?"

© 2008 by Kaleigh Way

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