Everton Miles Is Stranger Than Me Page 12

  “Thanks for my card, Martin, that was nice.” Nice? Embarrassing, really, but I can’t say that now, can I? It was the right thing to say, though, because he smiles and there’s no doubt about it. Those cheeks aren’t red because of the cold. He clearly can’t think of a thing to say, so I help him out.

  “Collecting bottles for the garden?”

  He shakes his head. “No, while he’s sick I’m carrying on what Mr. McGillies did every Saturday.”

  “What did he do?”

  “He collected bottles then cashed them in and donated the money to the men’s homeless shelter. You didn’t know that?” I must look completely astonished. How did I not know that about Mr. McGillies? He’s an artist, a champion chess player, and now I find out he’s a doer of good deeds?

  “I honestly thought he just hoarded all those bottles.” I say this weakly, and frankly I’m now ashamed of myself. Clueless.

  “Well, most of the time he did hoard them, except the bottles he collected on Saturdays. Do you want to help?” Martin asks brightly. “Of course I want to help,” I say just as brightly, and we walk into the bakery together then back out with two more bags of donated bottles. We spend all afternoon collecting bottles up and down the main street, and by the time we cash the bottles in at the grocery store, we’ve earned $9.25. Martin takes me to the men’s shelter, another place I’ve never been, and we hand the money to the man at the front desk.

  “Thanks, Martin, see you next week!” the man calls.

  Then Martin and I go to a movie. It’s NOT a date, just two friends out to watch a movie together. When I call Jez, days later to tell her, she agrees it’s just a friendly movie, because there are no x’s involved.

  Martin asked once, but I said no.

  Thirty-Three

  Winter term starts, and life really does return to normal. Everton is back, and it’s great to see him. He stops me in the hall every time he sees me, and we chat. I have a popular older friend, a first for me. I’ve never been remotely popular.

  For the first few weeks back at school, my life is pretty much taken up by trying a little harder at everything and taking care of C2.

  Mom is really busy at work, and I have to pick them up every day after school, and get them fed and doing their homework. Once Adam’s office opens again, I have to take them to therapy. It’s fine, though. I just sit on the uncomfortable plastic chairs and do my homework for the hour.

  Once in a while, the noise in Adam’s office gets so loud and hilarious that the other people in the waiting room look a little worried, and I just smile. That’s C2 in there, dancing to loud drum music, squealing, thumping, or basically being hooligans. And Dr. Adam Parks goes right along with them.

  There are quiet periods too, though, where I think Adam gets them to draw or paint or build stuff. We already have a raft of pretty interesting art on the fridge. There are so many sheets under each magnet that they flutter to the floor if you slam the door too hard. There aren’t any more pictures of Christine flying, I notice.

  One day late in February while I’m waiting for them, the office outer door opens and a teenager walks in muffled in a coat and hat and then takes a seat across from me. When the hat comes off, I sneak a peek and gasp.

  It’s Shelley Norman.

  I tense up. I’m shocked. But it occurs to me that if I was here doing two sessions for protecting myself, then she might have to do even more for actually starting a fight. Plus, there’s the whole group home/foster care angle. We lock eyes, and I honestly want to bolt for the door. No one else is around, and even the receptionist isn’t at her seat. I must look terrified.

  Shelley curls her lip, but she doesn’t lash out at me. Instead she says, “Don’t worry, Golden. Adam wouldn’t like us fighting in here.”

  “No, he wouldn’t.” I notice she has a healed cut on her lip.

  “Sorry about your lip. Did I do that?” I actually am sorry, although I’m not sure if I’m responsible.

  Shelley looks me in the eye. “That was months ago. What do you think?” Then she closes into herself and picks up a magazine. I listen to her breathing and don’t say another word, but I’m thinking that if I didn’t put that cut on Shelley’s lip, then who did? Was it a last wallop from her father before she left for good?

  Thankfully, a few moments later the door opens and my brother and sister burn out of Adam’s office at a run. Then, like a one-minded creature, they both swerve back and give him a big hug, one on each side. Then they race past me and I have to run to catch them. I manage a backward, “Thank you, see you next week!”

  “Today’s their last session,” Adam says.

  “Oh! Okay … thank you?” I sincerely hope my mother will eventually come and say thank you more thoroughly. I hope it’s not another responsibility of hers I have to take on.

  Who should thank a therapist for straightening out her children? A mother, not a fourteen-year-old sibling, I’m pretty sure. “I’ll let my mother know?” I say with another question. I have to go, because C2 are marauding down the snowy street.

  Adam says, “I’ll phone her, don’t worry. Bye, Gwendolyn.”

  As I leave, I hear Adam say, “Come on in, Shelley.” Then he and Shelley disappear into his office.

  As I run down the stairs, I realize that’s my last visit to his office. Shelley never appeared in the office waiting room at the same time as me before, and a part of me wonders if Adam had us meet this one last time on purpose.

  But what would be the point of that?

  A few more weeks of school go by, and my life settles into a normal rhythm, at least normal enough for me. Martin tutors me once a week, and on weekends Martin, Jez, and I hang out at The Float Boat. Most of the time Everton joins us, too, or we go find him and sit at the table with the candles at the front window of Miles Motors and talk until it’s late and Emerson drives everyone home.

  When spring break comes, the four of us spend it entirely in each other’s company, talking, skating, watching movies. We collect bottles all one day and give almost twenty dollars to the men’s shelter. Martin, Everton, and Jez go to see Mr. McGillies in the men’s shelter one day, but I find a reason not to go.

  And once in a while, Everton and I bundle up and fly to the bottle garden late at night with a flask of hot chocolate, and Celestine and another Spirit Flyer always join us.

  Bass Creek has been Rogue-free for a while.

  Thirty-Four

  Spring comes to Bass Creek all of a sudden. In a flood of gentler weather, the snow starts to melt, and we all discover that last spring’s coats and jackets don’t fit.

  C2 and I walk home one gorgeous spring day, except we don’t walk so much as dawdle. For some reason, I feel light and bouncy, like a feather.

  We wander into The Float Boat, just because I feel like giving C2 a treat. They’re sweet, funny, lovable little kids who haven’t beaten anyone up or spat at anyone since the first week of school. They’re little individuals who also happen to be twins, and I love them.

  They run up to Mrs. Forest and she hands them a candy bag each, and they start picking out jelly beans. As always Christopher grabs the first flavours he comes to, and Christine moves on to the flavour that is next in line in the carefully organized lines of jars. She’s stuck with “caramel delight” today, which isn’t making her happy. She hates caramel, but she has to take some. That’s her rule.

  Mrs. Forest helps some kids at a booth and then comes back to the counter.

  “Gwendolyn! You see Martin and Everton?”

  I shake my head. “Nope.”

  We look over fondly at the squealing twins, who are buried wrist-deep in jelly bean jars. They’re using the candy scoops, though. They do follow the rules better these days, I have to admit.

  “Oh! They were in here looking for you earlier. They want me to pass a message along. They have a surprise for you out a
t the cabin.” I sigh. Today is my mother’s day to have the phone.

  What earthly use is ONE phone per family?

  “Okay, thanks, Mrs. Forest. I’ll see what they want.”

  I pay for the candy and we leave. I drag us past Miles Motors, but the shop’s closed so I can’t ask Emerson if he knows where his little brother is. There’s also no way I’ll ever call Martin’s house, not after his mother phoned the police on me last year, and I don’t remember his own number yet.

  I’ll go out to the cabin with Celestine when Mom gets home and see what they want.

  Thirty-Five

  I fly above the muddy, frozen spring fields.

  Somewhere high above me, Celestine shimmers.

  When I called her softly outside my window, she was there in an instant. When I told her I wanted to visit the bottle garden, she agreed.

  The Rogue has been silent, little golden sister. My brothers and sisters believe he is in a far distant world. Let us go.

  I float over the darkening fallow fields and stop. I’m anchored to the spot where my father found Mr. McGillies. A few barren, leftover stalks rattle in the chilly breeze. I touch down on the muddy road wet from melting snow and walk to the cabin. All dark.

  “Everton!” I call. “Martin!” There’s no answer.

  The cabin’s front door bangs in the breeze. It’s a lonely sound. I see a new piece of art in the garden. It’s a gorgeous bottle tree, bigger than all the bushes. The deepening twilight makes the shapes leap and shrink all around me. I move a little closer to hear the bottles ring. This must be what they wanted to show me.

  “Everton! Martin!” I call again. There’s no answer, which is weird.

  I know he’s there before he says anything.

  Gwendolyn.

  The Rogue stands in the empty cornfield. He’s not darkly feathered and gold-eyed; he’s just a man with odd green eyes.

  I knew you’d come back.

  He smiles.

  “Where are Martin and Everton?” I have no time to be afraid for myself, but suddenly I feel chilled to the heart for my friends. I’m sure he’s done something with them.

  I sent them into the woods with Celestine. Never fear, they’re fine.

  “What did you do with my friends, Abilith?” My voice gets low, and I feel such a sudden hatred for the Rogue that I can barely speak. I will tear him limb from limb if he’s hurt them.

  They are fine, really. You worry a great deal. But if you must know, I tricked them to look for Celestine, and I tricked her to look for them. So they’re all searching the woods together, in a merry goose chase.

  “Celestine!” I call loudly. But there is no Celestine shimmering in the sky above me.

  “What did you do to her? To Everton and Martin?” I take a step closer to the Rogue, my fists balled in fury.

  I have told you before that the Spirit Flyer Celestine is not overly bright, Gwendolyn Golden. She’s easily deceived and thinks that your friends are in mortal danger. They are not.

  The door of Mr. McGillies’s cabin bangs in the wind and I shiver. I stand in muddy spring snow, facing the Rogue all alone. He slowly walks up to me. There’s a heat from him, a radiating fire that brushes against my skin. He stops at arm’s length, and the sickly sweet smell I remember from the beach reaches me.

  It’s just us for now.

  “Abilith, I will never come with you.”

  I think you will, Gwendolyn.

  “No, I won’t.”

  He stands right next to me. The first shaft of pale moonlight shines on the garden that glints and shimmers like a fairy world. But there are no good fairies here. I stick my chin out.

  “My father died right here, being brave. And I’m brave now. I’m not going with you. I’m not Mirandel.”

  It’s all about the way you say things, I’m discovering. There’s something in my tone that reaches Abilith, and he stops smiling. He takes a step back, and slowly, like a crane raising mighty wings, he turns into the feathered Rogue. The deep golden eyes blaze at me, and the blackness of his figure and his great wings across his shoulders strike fear in me. He’s tall in this form, and he towers above the empty cornfield, glaring down at me.

  I try not to cower. I think of the girl in Misfortunes of the Night Flying Monster, 1447, and I try to be brave. I look up fearfully.

  I grow tired of your games, Gwendolyn Golden. And DO NOT mention Mirandel to me again. You have sent the entire Spirit Flyer community out to catch me, after all I did for you.

  “What did you do for me, Abilith?”

  I showed you the truth about your father. After that, I would expect some gratitude. But no.

  “I’m not afraid of you.” What a liar. He stands over me, and I think if I keep talking, Everton and Martin and Celestine will show up any second. I crouch at his feet and look up into the fiery golden eyes.

  “You had no right to show me my father’s death, Abilith. I didn’t ask you to. That was something Mr. McGillies or Mrs. Forest could have told me, when I was older. When I was ready. If it’s my story, my truth, what gives you the right to tell me?” A cold wind sweeps across the field, and my teeth chatter. “Celestine and my f-f-friends will s-s-save me,” I say, but my voice isn’t convincing, not even to me.

  Really? I don’t see any juvenile humans or incompetent Spirit Flyers around, do you?

  The menace wraps around me like a tight arm. But I think NO! There’s a fire in me somewhere, despite the teeth-chattering cold. My father’s feather burns into my chest, and I don’t even need to grasp it to get strength from it.

  “You’re nothing. You’re an outcast. I’d never go with you.”

  I’m incredibly stupid. I’ve gone too far. The feathered creature narrows his golden eyes.

  We’ll see about that, Gwendolyn Golden!

  With that he raises his hand and a shriek comes from the woods.

  Everton and Martin burst from the trees and run toward us, shouting my name.

  I have released them. Now let us have some fun.

  I leap at him, but Abilith steps away. Martin is suddenly between us. He grabs me and drags me into the cornfield, where we land in the snow and mud.

  “Where’s Everton!” I gasp, but Abilith sends a shower of sparks into the air, and I can’t see a thing. I struggle to stand up but Martin has a vice grip on me. Hot sparks fill the sky and land on the old cabin roof. In a second, there’s a lick of flame … and fire.

  “Everton!” I scream. I yell again, then I see him.

  Everton creeps toward the Rogue. He coils then springs in slow motion, and I know exactly what’s going to happen next. Martin holds me tight, but I tear myself free and run across the barren, muddy earth.

  The Miles boy? Shall I take him instead of you, Gwendolyn Golden?

  “NO!” I shriek. In the corner of my eye I see Celestine land in the cornfield beside Martin, then she is upon Abilith in a twist of white feathers. The two creatures struggle, but Abilith overpowers his sister and pins her with a stream of fire against the cabin. The old building is really on fire now.

  Abilith is angry. Furious. He looks for something else to destroy … and his Rogue eye falls upon my friend. I launch myself between Abilith and Everton, but the wicked creature laughs.

  Both of you, Gwendolyn Golden? So be it!

  Then in a burst of flame and starlight, Everton, the Rogue, and I disappear.

  Thirty-Six

  It’s hot.

  I’m thirsty.

  These two thoughts enter my head at the same time. I am hot. And I’m really thirsty. I slowly open my eyes.

  I don’t like what I see at all.

  The world is red. Red sand. Red sky. There’s a red lake with red water nearby. It’s hot, and the water of the red lake bubbles gently. It smells too, like an outhouse. Sulphurous.

  My
vision clears, and I sense someone nearby.

  Everton?

  I turn my head, but it seems huge, much too big to be my normal head. Something is very wrong here. I start to panic, but I tell myself to stay calm.

  There’s someone near me, though. I can hear murmurs. I turn my enormous head a little further to the right, and there he is. Everton. He looks okay. He’s wearing his regular black T-shirt and jeans, and he’s curled up on the red sand. He’s in a cage, a very real cage with thick black bars. It’s not a very big cage, though. I doubt he could stand up in it.

  Everton, I whisper.

  But what comes out of me is not my voice. It’s a kind of snort bordering on a roar.

  I shake my head in disbelief and try again.

  Everton! I say a little louder. There’s no mistake this time. I let out a distinctly un-Gwendolyn sound. A roar. A puff of smoke curls up over my nose.

  What?

  Everton wakes up and rolls over. His eyes focus on me then grow wide with horror. He slides to the back of his cage, and he looks truly terrified. I try to stay perfectly still.

  I have no idea what’s going on here, but two things are clear enough.

  One, Everton is in a cage.

  Two, I’m a monster.

  I let out a soothing shhh, but it sounds like a giant snake hiss, which sends Everton cowering even further to the back of his cage. There’s nothing I can do to help him, so I walk away. I might as well try to figure out where we are. But as soon as I take a step, I see my foot move in the sand far below me.

  It’s very hard not to scream.

  My foot is a talon, a leathery, clawed thing a long way down. I take another step, and there’s my other talon, huge and heavy and clawed. I gulp, and the smoke rises from my nostrils. I’m getting the picture here.

  I’m not just a monster — I’m a dragon.

  I twist my enormous head over one shoulder and take a quick peek.