A Pinstriped Finger's My Only Friend (21 page)

"She
knew
that was poison!" I tell him. "We
both
did! But she
wanted
you to drink it!"

Judd stares in disbelief at the red-pinstriped green pinky. "She says that's a lie," he whispers.

"Of
course
she does!" I snap out the words, trying to snap him back to reality. "That's what murderers
do
!"

Just then, T. Zara stomps over to the screen and points at Wayne's score, which is blinking. "All right, class. Here are the standings after the latest round."

(Why we can understand every word he says all of a sudden, I don't know.)

(But I'm not complaining!)

T. Zara taps the blinking number beside Wayne's name, which is now 1559. "Mr. Leary's excellent performance gives him a 381-point jump!" As T. Zara says it, the class cheers and whistles. "As for Mr. Ramsey..." T. Zara punches the remote and moves over to point at Judd's name in the next column. The number there is in the process of changing. "He
was
at
minus
150 before this round." Everyone boos and groans. "However, his
extreme
performance has brought him up somewhat." The numbers flicker and change so fast, I can't tell
what
they are anymore...until they suddenly stop. "His score now stands at...
25,362
!
"

The kids jump out of their seats...

(...even the Red Paint kid with the duck...)

...and cheer their lungs out. Everyone's grinning, hopping up and down, pumping their fists in the air.

Meanwhile, Wayne runs over and throws his arms around Judd, giving him a big bear hug that lifts him up off the floor. "Way to go, Judd! What an awesome score!"

(That's our Wayne, always a good sportsman.)

"Thanks, Wayne." Judd smiles, but I know his heart isn't in it. "You did great, too."

(It
literally
isn't, since he doesn't
have
one anymore...but
you
know what I mean.)

At that moment, T. Zara calls out over the raucous cheers and whistles. "Congratulations, Judd! You will be moving on to the next round of the Permanent Tournament!" Then, he pulls out his kazoo and rattles off a peppy, quacky number that makes the duck sit up and take notice.

(Just in case we thought Zara was all un-crazy now.)

The cheering intensifies, and the crowd rushes the front of the room. Judd pushes free of Wayne's bear hug and steps toward the door. He looks nervous, and I can't blame him.

(After all, the last time a crowd grabbed him, they tore him to pieces!)

But then, something unexpected happens. As the crowd of kids surges forward, there's a sudden flash of white light.

When the flash fades, I see the kids have changed. They all have white feathers, wings, beaks, and webbed feet like giant ducks.

As for the actual duck from before the flash, it looks like a little naked human teenage boy, about a foot tall, with curly black hair.

(Here we go again!)

For some reason, T. Zara's still the same as before, and so is Judd...right down to that murderous Finga still camped out on his left hand. His need to get away from the crowd hasn't changed, either.

As the duck-like kids converge, he grabs the doorknob, whips open the door, and shoots out into the hall. At that very instant, a blaring quack sounds through the corridor--the end-of-class signal, I guess, since the doors of every room fly open and hundreds of duck-people pour out in all directions.

Judd pushes through the crowd, ignoring the duck-kids as they wave, call his name, and offer wing-bumps. He isn't heading toward what ought to be his next class...

(...at least according to his schedule back home...)

...so I'm clueless about where we'll end up. Is he taking cues from Moldfinger again? I hope he's learned his lesson on
that
front, but who knows?

As Judd keeps working his way down the hall, I hear a familiar voice calling out in the distance.

(Well,
kind
of familiar...)

"Judd! Hey, Judd!" It's Kaela. "
Quack quack
." Kaela the
duck-person
, that is. "Over here, Judd!
Wak
. I'm over here!"

Judd doesn't stop for her. He breaks from the pack and scoots around the corner into another hallway, heading for a place where she can't follow.

The boys' bathroom.

Good thing no one's standing on the other side of the door, because Judd shoves it so hard, it slams against the wall. Then he charges toward the far stall and blasts open the door there the same way.

There's one duck-kid in the room, peeing at a urinal, but he minds his own business and gets the heck out. Doesn't even wash his wingtips along the way.

That leaves Judd on his own as he shuts and locks the stall door. And collapses against it, shaking.

*****

"I almost
poisoned
myself just now." Judd's voice is a trembling whisper in the bathroom stall. "I came
this close
." He pinches his left thumb and forefinger so close together, they almost touch.

I can feel the stress in his tense and shivering body. I know his breakdown is for real. "Deep breaths, dude. Try to relax."

"I feel like I'm starting to lose it. All the craziness is finally getting to me." He sucks in a breath that's way too deep and shaky and blows it right back out again. "Maybe I
have
gone crazy. Maybe I've been nuts since this whole thing
started
."

"You're no more nuts than
I
am," I tell him.

"Says the blue-striped pinky finger." Judd laughs nervously...
giggles
almost. "And then there's the
other
finger that tried to
kill
me just now! And don't forget my missing
heart
." He clamps his right hand over the left side of his chest, and I listen.

There's no more heartbeat under the ribs than before. It's like someone kicked his heart for a field goal and shoved a rock in there in its place.

When he pulls the hand away, I pat his palm. "You're not crazy."

"Take a look around!" hisses Judd. "All the kids are
duck people
! And that's just the
latest
!"

"Judd, calm down." I stroke his palm, trying to comfort him. "Getting all worked up won't do you any good. You've gotta keep your cool."

"My
cool
?" Judd almost-giggles again. "That's so long gone, I don't remember ever
having
it!"

Just then, the bathroom door crashes open, and I hear two duck-people waddle in, webbed feet slapping the tile floor. They're quacking and laughing and ruffling their feathers as they approach.

One tries the door of our stall, and Judd bellows at him. "
Get out!
Leave me
alone
!"

There's a flurry of quacking and flapping as the duck-people freak out. White feathers fly over the door and drift down around Judd like snowflakes.

It sounds like one of the duck-people knocks the metal paper towel dispenser right off the wall. It bangs to the floor and bounces, which seems to set them off more. They flap and quack and run around, and then they wrench the door open and charge into the hall.

"See what I
mean
?" Judd's voice has a desperate edge. "How is
any
of this
not crazy
? How is
any
of it possible outside my own crazy
mind
?"

The dude is slipping. "Listen." I try to sound firm. "Just because you're experiencing something crazy, that doesn't mean
you're
crazy. There are
lots
of things in life, in normal life, that no one can explain."

"Not like
this
!" He shouts the words, then catches himself and dials the volume back down. "
Never
like
this
."

I pause and consider what to say next. Got to be careful, don't want to push him over the cliff. "There are still other possibilities, right? Like, this could be a very vivid dream. Or it could be staged by a higher power of some kind. Maybe someone or something is putting you through your paces to test you or teach you a lesson or play a game. It's like something out of a science fiction TV show, isn't it?"

Judd snorts and wags his head. "Oh, sure,
that's
likely.
I'll
buy
that
."

I give his palm a quick jab. "But you can't say it
isn't
possible, can you? You don't have any
proof
it isn't true, do you?"

He lets out a long, shuddering sigh and shuts his eyes. "Crap like this doesn't happen in real life. It's gotta be
me
. It's gotta be
my
craziness."

Quickly, I shift tracks. "And so what if it is? What then? Does that change anything?"

Judd tips his head back against the stall door and doesn't answer.

I jab him again. "You still have to keep fighting, don't you? You can't just give up." Another jab. "Maybe, if you win the tournament and get the Living Cup, you'll get
through
this. If you
are
crazy, maybe that's what it'll take to snap you
out
of it."

Judd's silent for a long moment. "Finga doesn't agree with you. She says there's only one thing that'll snap me out of this." He pauses. "
Death
."

(Damn that Finga! Hasn't she done
enough
?)

"Judd, no." I flick from side to side. "Don't listen to her! She's
evil
, dude!"

"She claims that's why she tried to get me to drink the mercury," says Judd. "She thinks if I die here, I'll wake up back in the real world."

(Boy, do I wish I could jump over to Judd's left hand and
strangle
that troublemaking so-and-so!)

"
Or
, you might just
die
," I tell him. "
For good
. You don't want
that
to happen, do you?"

Judd takes a while to come up with an answer. "No, but..." He takes a while longer. "What kind of
life
is this? The constant
insanity
." He reaches up with his left hand to rub his eyes. "If I'm not crazy yet, how long will it be until I really
am
?"

(Holy crap. Dude's in worse shape than I thought.)

"So you're going to listen to some rogue finger and just
give up
?" I pat his palm. "Doesn't sound like the Judd
I
know. Doesn't sound like the captain of the West Beach Marauders, state basketball champs two years in a
row
, soon to be
three
."

Judd doesn't say a word.

So I keep on pushing. "The Judd
I
know doesn't
give up
when the
chips
are down. He fights to the
end
, and he
wins
."

The dude slumps. "I don't know if that Judd even exists anymore, Pinkerton."

I don't bother reminding him my name's Killdigit or Oogachucka. I'm too busy feeling like my heart's breaking.

When did I start letting him down? Back when we were separated and I got my taste of freedom? I didn't want to come back to him, did I? Maybe my heart wasn't in it after that. Maybe I forgot, a little.

Forgot what best friends are for. Because that's what we are and always have been.

I only hope it's not too late to make a difference for him. "Listen, dude." I rest myself against his palm. "We'll get through this, okay? We'll do it
together
."

Judd sighs. "But what if this is it, Pinkerton? What if this is my
life
from now on?"

"And what if it
isn't
?" I ask him.

He's not seeing things my way. "What if it's just one crazy change after another
forever
?" he says.

"Or, maybe," I tell him, "the
next
change will get us back home. Maybe you just need to hang in there and tough it out a little longer."

Judd stares at me. I start thinking maybe I've gotten through to him after all. He glances at Finga...

(...she must be running her
yap
again, the wicked thing...)

...but then he looks at me and shakes his head. "You know what I think? You're
both
wrong."

(Wuh-oh!)

I scrunch up the skin on my tip in a full-on finger-frown. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Judd gathers himself up and pushes away from the stall door. "I don't think dying will get me home. And I don't think toughing it out will work, either."

(Where the fudge is he going with this...?)

"There's one thing I haven't tried yet." Judd opens the door and steps out of the stall. "It's what I probably should've been doing all along."

(His voice sounds
way
too calm after the mini-meltdown. I don't like this one bit.)

Judd walks through the cast-off feathers from the duck people, steps over the metal paper towel dispenser they knocked off the wall, and opens the bathroom door. As he steps out, three duck-types waddle past, white tails swaying as they quack at each other

Then, suddenly, there's a flash of white light.

When the light dies away, an ankle-deep bank of mist clings to the floor, and the duck-types are gone...replaced by what look like robotic pogo-sticks topped with pulsating cop car lights dipped in chunky pink ooze. As the pogo-bots pass, making a loud
ker-
sproing
sound with each bounce, the cop car cherry tops rotate, flashing red-blue-red through the chunky ooze.

"Maybe I just need to let myself go," says Judd. "Instead of fighting the craziness, maybe I should just go with the flow."

"You mean give in to the craziness?" I ask. "I don't think that's such a good idea, dude."

(I'm getting a bad feeling about this.)

"It's worth a try, isn't it?" Judd shrugs. "What do I have to loose?"

"Seriously, dude." I jab his palm. "Crazy is
not
the way to go here."

"Why the heck not?" says Judd. "I'm probably crazy already! Isn't it crazier to try to pretend I'm
not
?"

"You're
not
crazy!" I jab him again. "But if you start
acting
like you are, you might get that way
permanently
."

"Or I might get the fudge
outta
here." Judd holds up both pinkies and gives us an angry glare. "Now
shut up
,
both
of you."

(I guess Moldfinger's been saying her piece, too.)

(That nasty little murderess!)

"When in
Rome
," says Judd, "do like the
Romans
do." He bounces us up and down and crosses his eyes. "You want crazy? I'll give you crazy!"

Just then, another trio of pogo-bots
ker-sproing
through the mist with cherry tops flashing red-blue-red-blue-red. As they pass, Judd joins them, hopping along on one foot, calling out "
Ker-sproing
" each time he bounces.

The pogo-bots aim their turning lights at him, illuminating his face in a muddle of reds and blues. His grin in the beams of the cherry tops is something I haven't seen before, at least not on him. He looks different...changed, but not by outside forces reshaping his form and his world. Changed from within.

I have to admit, dude looks a little nuts.

"I can do crazy!" Judd tips his head back and shouts upward. "Do you
hear
me? I'll show
you
who's crazy!"

"Dude?" I tap his palm when I say it. "Who exactly are you
talking
to, dude?"

He's too busy laughing like an idiot and yelling "Ker-sproing" to answer me.

*****