The Curse of Arkady (13 page)

“Oh. Really.” Henry looked slightly baffled again, then brightened slightly. “Jason and Trent had the cabin across from me, right?”

“That's it!”

Ting took a piece of paper and wrote down the e-mail addresses for both Jason and Trent, and passed it to Henry. The owlish Henry had to grab it quickly before his sister squealed and captured it instead. A tiny piece of paper hung from the corner of her mouth already, the same color as one of the dance flyers someone had been passing out earlier.

Henry flushed slightly. “Abbie likes to eat paper,” he explained.

“Don't we all?” Bailey grinned at him, and they laughed.

He bounced the toddler in his arms. “I'm just watching her for my mom . . . she's around here somewhere.”

“Playing big brother, huh?”

“Trying to. It's not always much fun, but she's being good today. I guess the paper tastes great.” Henry grinned then, like the old Henry who'd gone to camp with them and had a crystal and had done wondrous things. Not like the Henry who'd taken the Draft of Forgetfulness and forgotten all about having been a Magicker.

“Henry! Henry?”

He turned. “That's Mom. Gotta go. Thanks for the addresses. I'll try to write 'em, if I don't forget.” Waving, he moved off across the crowd and disappeared.

Ting let out a sad sigh.

“I know,” said Bailey. “I know.” They finished their lunch in silence, then each sat alone as the other took a break and came back. Selling the charms didn't seem nearly as neat as it had earlier. The day wore on.

A girl came toward them across the hall, as if homing in on a beacon, letting nothing in her way slow her down. She reached them, and gripped the counter with both hands.

“I need a love charm.”

“Well, we have friendship charms,” answered Ting slowly, pointing out the tray.

“Noooo. No. I was told you had love charms.” The girl was older, like their friend Jennifer, probably fifteen or so. She was pretty in a natural kind of way, but her eyes looked a little red as if she might have been crying.

Ting gave her a troubled glance.

“Not exactly. I mean . . .” Bailey shifted from one foot to the other.

“You
have
to. You don't understand. She's trying to steal him from me, and . . . and . . .” The girl's voice broke. She had a tissue wrapped around the fingers of her left hand, and it looked like it couldn't take too much more damage as she brought it up to her nose.

Ting got out a pink pendant and pressed it into the girl's hand. “It's only luck. Like a reminder. That's all.”

“But . . . but . . . they said . . . you said . . .” Her face began to crumple.

Ting squeezed her hand closed around the pendant. “It's just a crystal. But it'll like, absorb your feelings, and when you give it to him, he'll think of you.” She smiled hopefully.

“It'll help, then?” Their customer sniffled.

“Couldn't hurt. But in the end, you're the important one. He either likes you or he doesn't. Do you see?”

“Well. All right, then.”

Ting patted her hand. “Good luck,” she said. A moment of concentration passed over her face, and Bailey knew instantly that she was putting extra into the crystal before it left her hand entirely.

She waited until the girl wandered off, her hands clutched together.

“That was nice of you.”

Ting shook her head. “Someday,” she answered, “you and I might be like that.”

“I hope not!” Bailey stared across the hall in a brief moment of terror. They leaned against each other. There were days when growing up looked like it might be unbearable.

All in all, they sold out early and had time to sit and enjoy some fresh handspun cotton candy before Bailey's mom showed up to get them. She came into the hall in a crisp shirt and blue jean shorts and running shoes, looking ever so much like an adult version of Bailey that Ting was amused. She found them after just a moment of looking over the milling crowd at all the booths.

“There you are!” She waved and trotted over. “How did it go?”

“Fine,” answered Ting as Bailey cried out, “Wonderful! They've already asked us back for the Spring Fling.”

“Really? That's quite a compliment. Maybe you two have a future as custom jewelers.” She checked her watch. “We can just make the last matinee. Ready to go?”

There was a moment of silence in the great hall, as if everyone had stopped talking. Rare, but it happens. And into that moment stumbled their desperate customer followed by a tall, rather ordinary looking boy, a silver chain dangling from his hand. It caught both Ting's and Bailey's attention, and it seemed, everyone else's.

“Caroline Wright, I adore you!”

She put her tissue up to her nose. “What were you doing in his locker? You weren't even supposed to
touch
that!” She cast her glance around, as if searching urgently for someone. Both Ting and Bailey ducked.

“I had to get Brian's books for him. But what does Brian matter? I'm the one whose heart you've captured!” The youth stopped, and pressed his hand to his chest, totally unaware of the attention he was gathering.

“Oh . . . oh . . . go away!” Caroline blew her nose on her tattered tissue. “Now, Franklin. Now!”

He looked at the floor. “As you wish.” He began to move away, through the crowd, dejected. Then he thrust his fist into the air, their charm grasped tightly in it. “But I'll not give up! Not until you see me as the one who cannot stop thinking of you!”

“Right pew,” Bailey muttered. “Wrong church.”

Caroline let out an annoyed shriek as he turned and left the hall, still crying out, “I adore Caroline Wright!”

Bailey bolted to her feet. “Now,” she said firmly, tugging on her mom's arm, “is a really good time to go.”

She and Ting beat her out to the parking lot, still looking over their shoulders fearfully for Miss Wright who seemed stuck with Mr. Wrong.

“It'll wear off,” Ting repeated several times. “It'll wear off.”

Bailey's mother looked at her in concern as they piled into the car. “Are you all right, dear? What will wear off?”

“Calories,” answered Bailey firmly for Ting, who seemed in a bit of shock as they buckled their seat belts. “From the cotton candy. Just . . . calories.”

“In that case,” Bailey's mom said thoughtfully, “we'll get our popcorn unbuttered.” She started the car and off they went.

R
ICH looked at his friend with grudging admiration. “All suited up? Ready to go?”

Stef grunted, his helmet dangling from one hand. His uniform, which his mother had worked very hard on to launder away grass stains from the last game, sparkled, and his shoulders bulked so high with his new pads and gear that his neck nearly disappeared. He shifted from one foot to the other as the locker room cleared and everyone ran out to the field, metal door clanging shut after them. He could hear the dim sound from the bleachers, the roar of students from schools all over the city here for this game. And he was going to be in it! Varsity. Not bad for his second year in middle school. He'd worked hard for this, though, eating right, training, memorizing the playbook, waiting for his third game.

Rich pounded and tugged on his pads a little, making sure they sat exactly right. His red hair stood out under his baseball cap in unruly shocks. “Now,” he repeated. “Don't be drinking the red gatorade if it's out there. It gives you headaches, all right? Just head for the water cooler.”

“Right.” Stef shifted his weight uneasily. “I gotta go, Rich. My parents are in the stands and everything.” He could feel the heat through his buzz cut, even with his helmet off. The backs of his ears felt itchy.

“Okay, okay.” His friend stood a moment. Stef was keenly aware that Rich had tried out for football, too. He hadn't even made the lowest team, his body too thin and wiry and a little clumsy. But sharp. Rich could think circles around him. Rich pounded him into place one last time. “Okay!” He turned away and trotted out of the locker room. Stef moved to follow, then stopped, dizzy.

The feeling of something wrong swept him. Everything felt tight. His shoes hurt. Stef stared down and then gave a low groan. Oh, no. Not now. Not
now!
He patted his tight football pants down. Nothing. Nothing at all . . . his crystal was in the locker. Letting out a yell for Rich, he kicked off his athletic shoes and shuffled toward his locker. Hands going thick and clumsy, he managed to paw it open. He grabbed his crystal between his palms and held it tightly, reciting the words Tomaz had taught him, which always seemed to help.

Nothing.

He mumbled the words again, trying to focus. All he could think about was his stomach rumbling. He was hungry!

Stef threw the crystal back into the locker and began to shed his uniform as quickly as he could before it was ruined. His football dreams, his whole life, fell to the floor around him and he lifted his head and let out a bawl. It echoed through the empty locker room. A heavy metal door opened and closed.

“Hey, Stef! Coach is waiting and he's mad.”

Stefan-bear dropped to all fours and bawled again, frightened and very unhappy. Rich came around the corner of the lockers and stopped dead in his tracks.

“Oh, boy,” he said. Then added, “Oh, bear,” unable to think of anything else.

The young bear sat down miserably on his haunches and looked at him, pawing at his nose unhappily.

Bending over, Rich quickly gathered up all the gear and thrust it back into Stef's locker which gaped open, stuff falling out of it as if it had burst. He looked at the crystal on the top shelf. Stef must have been trying to get it. Too late for that now. Too late for anything except to figure out what to do with one overgrown cub. How was he going to sneak Stef-bear out of the area without being seen? He stared at the ceiling in exasperation where the great golden bear of the school's seal stared back.

No. It couldn't be that easy . . . could it?

Rich pivoted on his heel. In the trainer's stall, extra jerseys hung. He grabbed one with a great double zero on the front and tugged it over the bear cub's head. Stef-bear licked him, long pink tongue raspy and harsh. “Cut that out. You've gotta wear this. And mind me. Really, really focus, Stef, okay?”

The bear cub stared at him, nose wrinkling. It pawed at the football jersey.

“Stef! I mean it! Listen to me. This is bad stuff. You want to be thrown in a zoo or something worse? Like a . . . a . . . a lab? So people could poke at you and try to figure out what happens? No way! Now you just focus on me and try to do what I tell you to!”

The bear cub let out a bawl, just like a frightened toddler. Rich sighed and threw his arm around the burly animal's neck.

“I won't let 'em get you. And if they do, I'm going, too. You won't be alone, okay? But I can get us out of this . . . I think. Just keep that jersey on.” Rich hugged the bear cub tightly. “And . . . ermmm . . . take a bath sometime soon when this is all done. You stink.” His face squinched together at the odor of the furry beast who was clumsily trying to hug him back. He pushed the cub away. “Jeez. That's enough of that.”

The metal door clanged open. “Olson! Hawkins! Get out here!” The assistant coach filled the doorway as he bellowed.

Rich put both hands around the bear cub's muzzle, muffling the surprised noise from the animal. It came out like a throaty retch, sounding just awful. He called back. “That's Olson, sir! Just nervous about the game. He's ralphing. I'll have him out when he's done!”

The coach grumbled, then the door slammed shut. Rich let go as Stef-bear pulled his lips back from white teeth and shook his head uncomfortably. He made a bleating sound of protest, curled up, and went to sleep.

“Oh, man.” Rich sat down on the bench. Sometimes Stef changed in his sleep. If that happened, they'd both be out of trouble. But if it didn't . . . muffled shouts from the football arena drifted to them. Rich sighed and pulled out a worn-out paperback novel and began to read. He'd wait it out . . . for now.

 

After fifty very long minutes, the cub rolled over and sat up, bawling, pawing at his eyes, and making hungry noises. Rich groaned and looked at him.

“Don't look at me like that.” Rich straightened. “Okay, here's the plan . . . we go out to the old softball field and—”

The bear reared back on his haunches, both paws waving frantically.

“Nnnno, no, no, no. Don't worry. You're the mascot, see? If anyone sees us, which they won't, but just in case.” Rich tugged the football jersey back into place, and pulled Stef's duffel out of the locker. “I've got your clothes and stuff in here . . . jeez, Stef, get some clean socks, will ya? Anyway, when you change back, you're all set. We just duck in the bushes and wait for you to return. Got that?”

The bear cub mournfully shook his head.

“Don't worry. I'll repeat it later. Follow me.” He couldn't be positive, but he was pretty sure the bear cub was nearsighted with a real knack for falling into prickly bushes and scratchy stuff. Luckily, there wasn't too much of that around the school athletic fields. He tugged on the cub's thick neck, pulling the shapechanger after him. He grunted as he hauled the animal's stubborn weight behind him. He stopped and looked the bear right in the eyes. “This is the only way. Just stay calm. They're not looking at us, everyone will be looking at the game!”

Stef-bear rolled beady brown eyes, then began to lumber toward the locker room door. He stopped at the end of the locker row, and swung his head about, nose sniffing vigorously. Rich patted his shoulder. “Come on, come on!”