How to Ditch Your Fairy (4 page)

Days walking: 61

Demerits: 5

Conversations with Steffi: 6

Doos clothing acquired: 0

J
ust salad?” Rochele said, peering at my lunch. She and Sandra were sitting at one of the tables overlooking the clay tennis courts.

Big metal rolers were being run over each court, operated by a groundie sitting in the umpire’s chair using a remote control. It looked like fun.

“That’s nowhere near enough protein,” Rochele continued. “Do you want another demerit?”

“It’s a
big
salad.” I pushed the lettuce aside with my fork. “See?

Tofu. A ful protein portion.”

“Heya, Charlie. You trying the vegetarian thing?” Steffi asked, putting his tray next to mine. “Okay if we join you?” he asked as Stupid- Name put her tray on his other side. She didn’t say helo.

“Sure,” I said. “Sandra? Ro? Meet Stefan.”

“We’re in Accounting together,” Rochele said, waving.

“Health,” Sandra said.

“You al know Fiorenze, right?” Steffi asked.

We nodded and resisted saying “unfortunately.” Fiorenze puled a book out of her bag, resting it open between her electrolyte drink and her lunch. She turned a page and commenced reading.

“Wel, yes, new boy,” Sandra said, glaring at Stupid-Name. “But only since kindergarten.”

Actualy, Rochele and I had only known her since middle school, which was long enough.

“Just you two,” Sandra said loudly. “None of your other admirers, Fiorenze. It’s crowded enough here.”

Fiorenze kept reading, absently putting a forkful of food into her mouth. The three boys hovering behind her walked elsewhere with their trays, which they should have done anyway, seeing as how you get a demerit for stalking Stupid- Name. I glanced around the room. Dozens of boys watching her longingly. When I looked back, Steffi was taking Fiorenze’s hand in his. She glanced down, but didn’t say anything.

“Thanks,” Steffi said, and smiled at me in a way that made me feel warm al over. How could he smile at me like that while holding her hand?

Sandra reached across and tapped Steffi’s tie. “It’s crooked.

You don’t want to get a demerit, do you?”

Steffi frowned and puled at his tie, making it more of a mess. He stil looked pulchy.

I itched to fix it.

“You get in trouble for not having your tie straight?” he asked.

“Yes,” Sandra said. “Haven’t you read the infractions list?”

Steffi did his West Coast hand- flicking thing. So doos! “I don’t know. Maybe. There were so many documents. I concentrated on the ones that’d get me up to speed on classes.”

Up to speed
. Sandra and I giggled. Though she was laughing at him, whereas I thought it was adorable. Sandra never found anything adorable. Steffi was stil holding Fiorenze’s hand. Not adorable.

“You’d know if you’d read it,” Sandra said. “It is vaster and wider than the ocean, ful of infractions beyond number.”

“I thought they were up to 811?” Rochele said.

Sandra teeth-sucked. “For your immediate education, Stefan-the-new-boy: the top ten infractions are—”

“Wait a second. What’s the difference between a demerit and an infraction?”

Sandra added an eye rol to her teeth suckage. “An infraction is the wrong thing you do; a demerit is what you get if you’re caught committing an infraction. Right now you’re committing an infraction

—your tie, if a teacher sees, it gets you a demerit. Once you have eight, you get a game suspension, which means you have to miss your next game. Once you have four more demerits—twelve altogether—you get another game suspension. Four more demerits brings you yet another. If you rack up five game suspensions they give you a school suspension. More than one of those and expulsion talk begins.”

“How’s anyone supposed to remember al of that? Plus—
harsh
,”

Steffi said. “Also—it doesn’t make sense. You get a game suspension every
four
demerits but a school suspension every
five
game suspensions?”

“Because that’s how it is,” Sandra said. “It’s not mathematics, it’s punishment. Besides, you don’t get a game suspension every four demerits until you’ve already gotten your first eight.”

“Okaaay,”
Steffi said, sounding like he thought Sandra was crazy. “Then how do you make your demerits go away?”

“If your schoolwork is outstanding or you put in an exceptional performance, teachers and coaches can knock off a demerit or two.”

Sadly, this had not happened to me since I took six wickets against Lower Devon a month ago.

“Or you can do public service,” Rochele said.

“So what are the top ten demerits?” Steffi asked.

“Infractions.”

“Sorry?”

“The top ten infractions are cheating, drinking, smoking, doing drugs—other than those prescribed by a doctor or on the okay list: aspirin, yes; flyers, no—accepting paid sponsorship, gambling—”

“Gambling? But gambling’s legal in New Avalon.”

“Oh, sure, but if a student from New Avalon Sports High was alowed to gamble, what would stop them from betting on their own team? Or worse,
against
their team and then doing something to make sure they lost?”

“Huh,” Steffi said.

“You need to read the list, Stefan,” Sandra told him.”It’s not just there to take up disk space.”

Rochele frowned, which meant she thought Sandra was being mean and it was time to change the subject. “How’re you finding it here?” she asked.

“Which
here
?” Steffi asked, his eyebrows going up in a way that made me tingle. But he was with Fiorenze, not me. Even though that was because of her fairy. My head hurt.

“The school?” Steffi continued. “Or New Avalon? More intense than I imagined. Stricter too. The day is
so
long. Ten hours! And only Sundays off. Last week was the longest of my life. I hardly ever see my folks or my sister anymore.”

“If you don’t like it,” Sandra said, “there’s an enormous line of kids who’l take your place.”

Steffi put his hands up, at long last letting go of Fiorenze. “I didn’t say I don’t like it. I’m just not used to it. There’s no downtime. At my old school there were assemblies and pep days where you could goof off. There’s nothing like that here.”

“We’re
goofing off
now, aren’t we?” Sandra said.

“Um,” Steffi said, “this is lunch.”

“So NA Sports is stricter,” Rochele said, in case Sandra was starting a fight. “What else is different?”

“I’ve never seen the principal. I don’t even know what she looks like.”

“No one knows what the principal looks like,” Sandra said. “Just how she is: velvet glove, iron fist. And if you find out what that means, you’re in epic trouble.”

“It’s weird,” Steffi said. “Aren’t principals supposed to be visible? Go to games? Cheer us on?”

“The principal’s not the public face of the school; that’s the job of the alumni Ours.”

“Alumni Ours?” Steffi asked.

“You know,” Rochele said. “Ex- students who are famous now.

Like Our Makhaya and Our Darnele. They do the fund-raising.

Giving back to the school and inspiring us al.”

“Weird,” Steffi said. Fiorenze was stil reading.

“How about your classes?” Rochele asked. “I’ve only seen you in Accounting and Bio. What are your electives?”

“Soccer B. I was kind of disappointed. I thought I’d make A-stream soccer.”

“The highest stream a first year can get into is B-stream,” I told him.

“Realy? I feel a lot better now. I’m also in Snooker C—”

“Fencing,” I said. “He’s in my fencing stream.” Unfortunately, so was Fiorenze.

Steffi nodded. “Van Dyck’s a great coach.”

“You don’t do any winter sports,” Sandra noted with approval.

“Winter sports are injured.”

“Yeah, what is luge anyhow?” I asked. “And how come they have one of the biggest gyms on campus? Nobody cares about luge.”

Steffi laughed. “What do you even cal someone who does luge?

A luger? Did you know—”

“So,” Sandra said, with the emphasis that meant she was going to ask a question you’re not supposed to, “are you and Fiorenze linked now, or what?”

I dropped my fork, then hastily retrieved it, hoping no one had noticed.

“Sandra!” Rochele exclaimed.

“Linked?” Steffi asked, though I could tel he knew what it meant.

He looked at Fiorenze, head buried in book, and then at me and smiled. I turned away. I liked Steffi, he seemed to like me, but then there was Fiorenze and her fairy.

“Are you and Fiorenze a couple now?” Sandra repeated.

Steffi blushed. Fiorenze turned a page and put another forkful of food into her mouth. I wished Sandra would shut up.

“We just met,” Steffi said at last. “This morning.”

“You were holding hands,” Sandra said as if she were accusing him of bal tampering.

“Wel, I guess we’re friends.” He looked at Fio again, smiled.

“She’s okay,” he said, emphasizing the word so it meant something more than “okay.”

“Yeah, yeah, al the boys like Fiorenze. Are you boyfriend-girlfriend friends or just friend friends?”

“We
just
met.” He sounded confused. Was he struggling with feeling something just because a fairy made him feel it? I hoped so.

Yesterday he’d liked
me
. If Sandra had seen, she’d’ve been asking Steffi these questions.

“Charlie,” said Danders Anders, the star of the A-stream water polo team, looming over my shoulder. When he was playing, his team did not lose a match. Not a single one. No one in the school’s history ever had such a record.

His fairy is a grip fairy. He has never lost his grip on a bal or anything else, for that matter. He’s taler than Rochele—another reason he’s such an ace water polo player is that he barely needs to tread water—and has a neck that’s wider than his head. Worse than the rugby majors even.

There was only one thing he could want: a parking spot. I’ve known Danders Anders since I was in fourth grade and he was in seventh. (I dubbed him that because at the time he was al dandruffy. He isn’t anymore, but the name stuck.) The only thing he has ever wanted from me is parking spots. He pays me, and (usualy) warns me when he’s going to need my services. But he doesn’t take kindly to my saying no. Not that he’s violent or anything; it’s more that he doesn’t understand the word

“no.”

Danders Anders is the most direct person alive. He doesn’t know how to do smal talk, he doesn’t listen to gossip. He’s the biggest buly in school, yet he doesn’t even know he is one. His Public Relations teachers have only alowed him to pass and become a senior because he is
such
a spectacular water polo player. Once he is an Our, his publicist wil do al the talking for him, and when he retires he wil
not
become a commentator.

Rochele is the only one I know who likes him. Not that anyone
dis
likes him. He is what he is. Rochele thinks he has a kind heart. I don’t think he has an
un
kind heart, but he can be a trial.

“Hi, Andrew,” I replied. (No one cals him Danders Anders to his face.) The last six weeks he’d not been driving on account of a broken arm, but since he’d gotten the al- clear, I’d been waiting for him.

“Tickets,” he said, waving blue tickets in my face.

“She’s not for rent anymore,” Sandra said, cutting him off.

“What?” Blank, dazed expression.

“Charlie doesn’t get in cars anymore.”

“What?”

“Let me,” I told Sandra, turning to face him. “It’s like this, Andrew. I don’t like my fairy. I don’t like cars. I don’t like parking.

So now I walk.”

“Everywhere?”

“Everywhere.”

He held the tickets in my face.
Monkey Knife Fight,
I read. I thought they’d broken up.

“Parking hard,” he said.

“Unless you can find me a doos fairy to replace the wholy injured one I have now, there’s nothing you’ve got, Andrew, that I want.”

“How long no cars?”

“Til the parking fairy goes away.”

“Huh.”

“See, Andrew,” Sandra said, “paying attention to gossip is useful.”

Danders looked down at the blue tickets in his hand. “Tickets.”

“Walking, Andrew. That’s al I do. Everywhere.”

Danders grunted and walked back to his table.

“I can’t believe that worked,” Sandra said.

“We don’t know if it has yet,” I said.

“That was rude,” Steffi said. “You two hardly let him talk at al.”

“Explain, Ro,” Sandra said.

Rochele had just put a large piece of steak into her mouth. We waited as she finished chewing and swalowing. “I know it seemed mean, Stefan. But Danders doesn’t think like we do. Did you notice the strange way he talks?”

Steffi nodded. “I just figured English was his second language.”

Sandra laughed.

“English
is
his second language,” Rochele explained, “but not the way you think. He was born here, and his parents. Probably their parents too. But he has his own language because he doesn’t think like everyone else.”

“And here was me thinking he was just stupid,” Sandra said.

Rochele ignored her. “Also Danders thinks communication is a tube. One person puts meaning in the tube and another person takes meaning out of the tube and it’s always the same thing.

Nothing’s changed.”

“Okay,” Steffi said,”now I’m realy confused.”

“We did it in PR. Wasn’t that last week?” Rochele looked at me.

“You know. Language not being tubes or hubs, but webs?”

“Can’t language be a hub too? Isn’t it
just
the tube that’s wrong?” Sandra asked.

“Stil confused,” Steffi said. “Also bewildered. What does any of this have to do with that big guy?”

“Danders thinks every statement has one meaning,”

Fiorenze said in a tone that made it clear that she thought we were al stupid. We turned to stare at her. “He doesn’t understand indirection or wordplay. To communicate with him you must be direct, which seems rude to us, but isn’t to him.”

It was the most I’d heard her say outside of class. And if I counted the word “wasp,” it meant she’d talked to me twice in one day. That was a record.