Gabby Duran and the Unsittables (11 page)

“You can feel it when I tap the screen?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I can simply see the massive projectile of your finger hurling itself at me multitudinous times, and I assure you it’s quite off-putting.”

“I’m sorry,” Gabby said, “but you were telling me that no-face guy was going to kill me. I got a little anxious.”

“I said he would
likely
kill you,” Edwina clarified, “and only if he’s certain you’re working with alien life. And of course it won’t be him directly.
He has leagues of rabid followers and plenty of money to hire someone if he doesn’t choose to risk one of them.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Gabby asked shakily. “’Cause not so much.”

“Protect yourself. Be on the lookout for anyone unusual. Anyone you don’t normally see in the school. Anyone odd or out of place.”

As Edwina ticked off the traits, Gabby played back her day in her head. Everyone had been the same as always. Same students, same administrators, same teachers…

Not
the same teachers.

“Mr. Lau!” Gabby burst. “We had a substitute teacher in math. And he was weird. Really weird. And…he threw Wutt on the ground and pounded her with textbooks!”

Edwina raised a single brow. “And you allowed him to do this before you knew it wouldn’t harm the girl?”

“It’s complicated.” Gabby’s breath came in short gasps, and she paced as she put the pieces together. “It’s got to be him, though. He’s the one. He
figured it out. He knows Wutt’s an alien, he knew she was the book, and he was trying to kill her!”

“It’s a possibility,” Edwina admitted. For the first time, Gabby saw worry on the old woman’s face. “If so, he might think the job is done, which is good. Just be
careful. Keep away from this Lau. And keep Wutt out of book form, if that’s what he suspects she is. As for your own safety, Houghton wouldn’t dare have his people harm a human unless
he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that person was actively involved with alien life. As long as anything his other people see is within the realm of normal explanation, you should be
fine.”

“His…other people?” Gabby asked.

“There may well be others. Houghton often likes to tackle a problem from multiple angles. You’ll need to be very careful.”

“Wuuuuuttt!!!” the girl cried playfully. Gabby looked over to see Wutt had taken several of Gabby’s books out of the knapsack and arranged them like stepping-stones. She
giggled as she leaped from one to the other, her mass of red curls flying in the breeze with each jump. Gabby laughed out loud. Wutt was adorable, and all Gabby wanted was to spend the day with her
and keep her happy and safe, but after what Edwina had just said…

“Are you sure I should still sit for her?” Gabby asked, lowering her voice so Wutt couldn’t hear. “I mean, if Houghton thinks I work for you, then maybe Wutt
shouldn’t be around me. Maybe I shouldn’t be the Sitter for the Unsittables.”

Edwina’s entire face seemed to soften. Even the bun in her hair looked looser. “The very fact that you said that makes you the perfect Sitter for the Unsittables, Gabby.”

“But—”

“For as long as aliens have lived among us, there have been frightened, misguided people who would stop at nothing to get rid of them. When we give in to those people, we hand them power.
Better to continue doing what we know is right. Show vigilance and caution, of course, but remain steadfast. Do you agree?”

Gabby thought about it. It was the kind of statement she thought her father might have made. The kind of thing she saw in the letters he sent home to Alice when he was overseas. Maybe Gabby had
a little of her dad’s spirit in her. She sat taller on the piano bench. “I do.”

“Good,” Edwina said. “Then go about your day. I know how to find you if I need you.”

“Wait!” Gabby interjected. “What about if I need
you
?”

But the screen was blank. Gabby shook her phone and the picture returned, but it was just her regular home screen. Edwina was gone. Gabby scrolled across the icons—was there one there for
A.L.I.E.N.? Had Edwina installed an app that gave her access to Gabby’s phone?

If she had, Gabby didn’t see it.

She was on her own.

And her math teacher wanted to kill her—literally.

“We won’t let anyone scare us, Wutt,” Gabby said. “We’ll just be super-careful. Right?”

Wutt had moved Gabby’s textbooks. Instead of stepping-stones, they were now piled in a tower, and Wutt wobbled on top of them.

Then she fell.

So much for being super-careful.

Gabby lunged and caught Wutt before the girl hit the floor. Then she checked her watch. “Ten minutes till next period. We should probably head upstairs.”

“Wutt,” the girl grunted. She strained one arm toward a high spot on the wall and her nostril slits pulsed open and shut as she struggled. Whatever she wanted, she wanted it badly.
Gabby looked.

“Oh, that?” Gabby asked. “That’s a poster. It shows all the instruments in an orchestra. See? This is a piano. Like this one.”

She carried Wutt to the piano, set the girl on top of it, and plinked out the only keyboard tune she knew: “Chopsticks.”

Wutt loved it. She begged for more: “Wutt! Wutt!”

Gabby laughed and played it again. This time Wutt got to her feet and danced.

“Wutt!” she urged when Gabby finished. “Wutt-wutt-wutt!”

“That’s the only piano song I know,” Gabby said. “I should have brought my French horn. Then I could play you all kinds of things. And I wouldn’t have missed my
last chance to rehearse before orchestra period today. That’s when Maestro Jenkins will make Madison and me play one last time to try and get the solo.”

Wutt tilted her head, confused.

“Don’t worry about it,” Gabby said. “Rehearsal is good, but it’s way more important to be here with you and do stuff that makes you happy.”

“Wutt! Wutt! Wutt!” Wutt begged. She leaned down and her red curls cascaded over the piano keys as she tried to plink them out on her own. Then she lifted her head, and Gabby swore
her eyes were bigger than ever. “Wuuuuuuutt?” she pleaded.

“I would, I really would, but I only play the French horn,” Gabby insisted. “I’ll show you.” She walked back to the poster and pointed. “That’s a French
horn. And no matter what any tootley-toot flautist or string-loving violinist says, it’s the best instrument in the whole orchestra. I remember when I first started playing—”

A loud
thunk
interrupted Gabby’s thoughts and she froze.

Was it Mr. Lau? Had he found them?

“Wutt?” she asked with a trembling voice. “Did you hear that?”

Wutt didn’t answer. Gabby silently darted to the door and peered out the window, but no one was there.

Another loud
thunk
.

Gabby wheeled around. Wutt wasn’t on top of the piano anymore.

In fact, Wutt wasn’t anywhere in the room.

A French horn, however, was on the floor next to the piano. A French horn that hadn’t been there before.

Like all French horns, this one was shaped like a wheel…but a wheel with a giant megaphone of a horn—the “bell”—bursting out one end, and a mouthpiece sticking out the
other.

Unlike
most French horns, this one was standing vertically, and
thunk-thunk-thunk
ing up and down.

Gabby beamed. “That’s perfect, Wutt! That’s exactly what a French horn looks like!”

Thunk.
The horn jumped again, edging closer to Gabby.

“Yeah, I see you,” Gabby said. “You’re an amazing French horn.”

THUNK!
The horn jumped up and slammed against Gabby’s legs.

“Ow! Are you trying to tell me something?”

Gabby picked up the horn and looked it square in the bell.

“I’m not sure what you’re trying to say, but—”

In an instant, the horn flipped in Gabby’s hands and the mouthpiece plooked into her mouth.

Gabby sputtered. “Hey! You don’t actually
swallow
the mouthpiece!”

Twid-twid-twid-twid-twid
. The horn’s valves moved quickly up and down as if someone were pressing them, and the mouthpiece nudged back against Gabby’s mouth.

“I’m getting the sense you want me to play for you,” Gabby said.

SCRAAAAWNK!!!

Gabby winced away from the hideous squeak Wutt had forced out of the bell. “Okay,” she acquiesced. “I’ll do it. I just…I mean…I’ll give it a try.”

Gabby slid her right hand into the bell of the horn and tried very hard not to think about what orifice this might be on Wutt. She pressed her lips against the mouthpiece and placed her fingers
in position on the valves. She hesitated before starting. She’d taken up the French horn in second grade and hadn’t played an instrument that wasn’t her own in years. This one
felt different; a little lighter, with a slightly different balance.

Plus, it was actually a live alien child.

Yet all that faded when she began to play. The notes of the concerto flowed easily, and she instinctively shifted her hand in and out of the bell to muffle or accentuate just the right moments
along the way. Gabby had imagined that Wutt would try playing the song
with
her—that she would move her own valves or shift along Gabby’s right arm, with a result that was more
playful than melodic, a goofy version of her solo co-performed by an eager but untrained partner.

Instead, Wutt
accentuated
the solo. She didn’t manipulate the horn in any way, and yet Gabby could feel how much the little girl loved the music. The horn seemed to vibrate with
added emotion, and Wutt’s own voice seemed to ring in Gabby’s ears, humming in perfect unison with the song. Honestly, it seemed to Gabby that on Wutt, she gave the best performance of
her life.

Three minutes later, the last note lingered in the practice room. Wutt transformed back to herself and sat in Gabby’s cupped hands. Wutt’s liquidy black eyes were wider than ever,
and Gabby knew the wonder there shone in her own face as well.

“Thank you, Wutt,” Gabby said. “That was beautiful.”

Wutt opened her mouth to speak, but all that came out was a hooting sound, like a train whistle blowing. Wutt seemed shocked, and clamped her hands over her belly.

Gabby giggled. “Is that how your stomach growls? Are you hungry?”

Wutt nodded dramatically and filled her eyes with infinite sadness. Gabby laughed out loud. “You don’t have to give me the pitiful look. I promise I’ll feed you. I have lunch
this period. The question is…how do I get the food to you? You can’t eat if you’re a pillow or a French horn, and I can’t let anyone see you the way you really are.
Especially
when Mr. Lau’s out there.”

Wutt wriggled to go down. When Gabby placed her on the floor, she crawled into Gabby’s purple knapsack. She stuck out a blue hand and waved. “Wutt!”

“That’s good for lunch,” Gabby mused. “I’ll just keep the knapsack next to me and slip you food. But getting there will be tough. I don’t feel right about
zipping you in, but we’ll see so many people on the way…” Gabby thought a minute. “What if you turn into something I can carry? Something normal and inconspicuous.”

Wutt leaped into the air, turned into the math book, and slammed herself onto the floor.

“Definitely not that.” Gabby shuddered. “What else?”

Wutt quickly morphed into the small black throw pillow she’d been when Gabby met her in the limousine.

“Too weird,” Gabby said. “Why would I carry a pillow around?”

The room seemed to shrink, and Gabby backed all the way to the wall as Wutt expanded into a baby grand piano.

“Seriously?” Gabby asked.

The piano’s highest notes tinkled in what could only be a laugh.

“Come on, we’re already late,” Gabby said. “I need something easy. Something it makes sense for me to have out.” She nibbled the end of one of her curls as she
thought. “Oh! You can be a hat! Maybe a beret, so I can look artsy.”

Wutt seemed to understand. As the piano shrunk down, Gabby continued to offer suggestions.

“Or a bowler hat! You know those? Like Charlie Chaplin wore. Really cool. To me, at least. Oh! What about a baseball cap? Zee wears those sometimes and they look really good on her. She
doesn’t have poufy hair like mine, but maybe it would still—”

Gabby realized the piano had stopped shrinking. It was now a two-foot high furry hot-pink monstrosity of a fuzz bomb, with strands that poked out in all directions as if it had just survived a
botched electrocution.

It
was
a hat…but it was nothing Gabby would put on her head in a zillion years, and it certainly didn’t qualify as inconspicuous.

However, it was bouncing up and down, and Gabby got the sense that it was deliriously pleased with itself. Gabby picked it up and held it so she could look it in what she liked to imagine was
the eye.

“It’s perfect,” Gabby said. She put the hat on, then loaded her things back into her purple knapsack and took off for lunch.

F
or the first time ever, the cafeteria looked to Gabby like a den of potential enemies. She stood in the doorway for a moment, overwhelmed by the
sheer number of people inside. Any one of them—several, even—could be working for Houghton. Gabby might right now be looking at someone determined to find her and Wutt and destroy them
both.