The Modern Fae's Guide to Surviving Humanity (13 page)

Did she? She remembered the last scene in her house. The conversation she'd heard, the broken pot on the floor, the strange look in her parents' eyes as they approached her like some sort of wild animal.
And they don't even know what I've
really
done yet.
What would they think of her when they knew that she'd … she'd… .

She choked back a sob, hiding her face in her hands. She practically jumped when a hand came down on her shoulder, patting it awkwardly.

“Hey, it's okay. If you just want to go home… .”

She leapt up, rounding on James. Her small hands fisted with fear, fury, and frustration at her sides. “I told you, I
can't
go home!”

James stared up at her, his expression saying it all. She must look crazy.

Taking a deep breath, she worked hard to unfurl her hands, wrapping them around her tumbling tummy instead.
She glanced around, up at the sky. Noon. “You, uh, said you could help?”

James stood, brushing off the seat of his jean shorts. “Yeah. I know a place you can hide out. Best of all, no one ever goes there.”

James “knew” a place?

“Oh. OK. Good. That sounds … good,” she replied. Though to her own ears, it sounded anything but.

The moment she saw the place that James suggested she hide, she knew he was right. No one would go here—because no one would want to. Down at the far end of an alley, behind an abandoned building and tucked in the corner of a crackled and pothole ridden parking lot, sat an overturned garbage dumpster. It had been tipped over and wedged against the building behind it, thereby making the only way in or out via the one side of the “top” that wasn't crushed up against the crumbling wall. It would have been a vagrant's dream, except for two things: the rusted-out delivery truck that sat behind it was obviously not going anywhere, which meant you couldn't move it to make the slim opening bigger,
and
it stunk worse than a skunk.

Autumn stood. Transfixed. No …
horrified
as she stared at her new home. She couldn't live in that. She was used to fresh air and fragrant flowers. Not stinky, rotten-garbage skunk smells.

She tried breathing through her mouth—ugh, she could taste the stench. She didn't even notice that James had run ahead of her until he called.

“Come on!” James motioned with his hand in a come-hither gesture, urging her on. “I've brought a few things here. Got the inside set up kind of cool.”

His eagerness did nothing to alleviate the weight
crushing down on her chest, squeezing her lungs. She dragged her feet, but followed him across the parking lot. With a numb sort of detachment she watched as he wiggled his body inside the slim crack between building and dumpster. A moment later a light flickered on and a beam shone back to illuminate the opening better.

As if this could get any better.

James twisted the light, the glow casting his face in an eerie kind of scary-movie shadow. “Come on, Autumn. It's not that bad once you get inside. Even got an air-freshener in here.”

Cautiously, Autumn poked her head in, and immediately drew back. Stink aside (clean-mountain-mist did nothing in the face of that kind of smell), she couldn't get over what she was doing.

She shouldn't be here. She didn't want to live in this hot, stuffy metal box that smelled of rotted garbage. Just thinking about it made her skin crawl, her spine tingle, and her feet twitch. The thought of trying to sleep in that thing when she could be at home in her canopy bed, her babbling water-fountain bowl on the dresser soothing her to sleep, formed a funny twisty knot feeling in her chest. And of course, thinking of her bed got her thinking about her mother and how sweet her voice sounded when she sang to her at night. And Daddy—her lip trembled—if she stayed here she'd never hear another one of his fantastical stories. He'd never tuck her in again, either, pulling the covers to her chin as he told her how it was his way of hugging her all night long.

This place, this dumpster, was not home. She couldn't sleep here. Couldn't even force herself to squeeze her body in there.

Couldn't do it. Wouldn't.

“I want to go home!” she blurted, feeling childish, no babyish, in the face of James' obvious worldliness, but yet … yet … not really caring.

The light switched off. A moment later James squeezed back through the opening, his gaze steady as he looked her over from head to toe. Then he nodded and said, “I thought you might.” As if her desire to go home had been a given, as if he'd known all along that that is what she'd do.

Autumn wondered how he could possibly have concluded that when even she hadn't known until now. An hour ago, no, two
minutes
ago, running had seemed the only option. But now?

Daddy
can
fix anything.

She believed it. Had to believe it. Because the alternative was unthinkable. Besides, her parents loved her. She knew they did. How many times had they both told her that no matter what she ever did or said that nothing could change that? True, she suspected they hadn't been thinking about something as awful of what she'd … what she'd … what she'd… .

“What's wrong, Autumn?”

Autumn sucked in a deep breath, the brown spots receding from her gaze. She tipped her head up to meet James' worried gaze and swallowed. “I don't know how I can go home. I don't know how to tell them about what I did.”

There. It was out. Her worst fear was realized. Admitting she'd done something so horribly wrong. Admitting she hadn't lived up to their expectations. That she'd shamed herself.

James waved his hand. “Ah, that's easy.”

She leaned in, gripping his arm eagerly. “You know how?”

“Sure. Just spit it out. Like a loogey.”

Ugh. She dropped her hand. He was such a
boy
. That wasn't an answer. It was stupid and simple and … might work.

Running her tongue over her top lip she considered it. Tried to envision just blurting it out.
“Mommy, daddy, you know how you told me I should always try and act normal? How I should tell you if I ever had an itch?”
No. That wasn't quite right.
“Mom, dad. I was up on the roof and my head felt all tingly and then I saw this big cloud …”
Better, but not quite.

“Ah, jeez. You're thinking again, aren't you?”

She bristled, planting her hands on her hips. “Is there something wrong with thinking?”

“Only when you overdo it.”

Autumn started to open her mouth to retort but he shushed her, his gaze rising meaningfully at the sky.

It was getting dark. And far past time to get home.

She looked around, tried to remember how they'd gotten there, and realized she had no idea.

“James? I don't remember how to—”

“No worries. I'll show you the way.”

And he did. The two of them half-walked, half-ran through the streets. Autumn suspected he went so fast so that he could be rid of her as soon as possible. Or maybe he was just doing it so she couldn't slow down and “overthink” things again, but she didn't care. The closer and closer she got to home the less and less worried she became and the less and less she could even recall how angry her daddy had sounded when he'd tripped over
her backpack in the stairs. She still feared what their reaction might be to what she'd … what she'd… .

She drew a deep breath through her nose, tried again. What she'd
done
when she'd “scratched the itch.”

There, she'd thought it. Next step was just to come right out and say it. Which she knew now that she would, because she also knew that even if her daddy was as angry with her as he'd seemed to be with the “idiot” who'd chased away the storm, he wouldn't stop loving her. So knowing that, it was on feet of anxiousness and not anxiety that she finally flew through the front doors of her apartment building.

She was halfway through the front lobby when she skidded to a stop. Unable to go on. Something was wrong. Something was… .

“James!” She spun around, saw that he'd stopped at the door and was about to take the steps down out of the lobby.

“Yeah?” He took a hesitant step forward, his head tipped questioningly.

This was the problem. Somehow things with James didn't feel finished. She wasn't sure how to fix it, but… .

She raced back to him, reaching out to grab his arm. “James?”

“Yeah?” He sounded more annoyed now than curious.

Her cheeks heated and she dug her toe into the runner in the lobby, ruffling the oriental design. “Thanks for, um, bringing me home.”

She took a peek up at him. He dropped his obvious annoyance long enough to give her his own pink-cheeked smile. “You're welcome.”

She hurried on; afraid he'd leave before she could
finish that something that needed finishing. Whatever it was. “And thanks for offering your hiding place. It was really nice, even if I didn't end up needing it.”

“No problem.” He jerked his shoulders up and down. “And don't worry about not digging my hide-out. I don't think any normal girl would.”

And there it was. What she had to tell him. She straightened, bracing herself for the revelation, sure it was going to be a real shocker. “James?”

“Yeah?” he asked, hesitantly this time.

“I'm not a normal girl.”

His face twisted into a scrunch, his gaze seeming to measure her words, and then his mouth split in a big grin, and he nodded. “Good.”

“Good?”

“Yeah,” he shrugged. “Good. Who would want to be normal anyway?” And with that he turned and bolted out the door.

Autumn stood, watching the swing of the closing door to the street. All of a sudden a smile took over her face and she spun about, her feet skipping as she raced up the stairs for home.
Who would want to be normal anyway?
She'd never thought of it that way.

Kristine Smith

“W
here the hell have you been?”

I looked up from my laptop to find Jerry Pope standing in the classroom doorway. “What?”

“Oh, Lee, no—I didn't mean—” Jerry swore under his breath, his moonface the same beet red as his polo shirt and shiny with sweat. “I thought you were Sheryl. You've both got that blonde short kinda—” He mimed fluffing his hair and tucking it behind his ears. “You know.”

“Yeah.” I stood, cracked my back, took a swig from my water bottle. “And I'm wearing jeans and a turtleneck and she's wearing a corduroy dress and is about six inches taller and three sizes smaller than I am. Other than that, we look exactly alike.”

“Look, I'm sorry, OK. Have you seen her or not?”

“Not since lunch.”

Jerry waved to someone down the hall. “Lee hasn't seen her either.” He threw his hands in the air. “We're
presenting our case study in a half hour, and she has the slide deck.”

Oh boy.
Now I knew why Jerry's sharp edges were on full display. “That's Derivatives with Ashford?”

“Yeah, that bitch. We're first out of the box, and if we're late, she docks us half a grade like we're in goddamn kindergarten.” Jerry paced a tight circle. “We were supposed to meet Sheryl downstairs to do a run-through, but we've searched every room in this damn building and there's no sign of her.” He bounced on the balls of his feet like a sprinter warming up, then took off, deck shoes squeaking on the linoleum.

“Good luck.” I stepped out into the corridor, and waited until he vanished around the corner. “You'll need it.” I refilled my water bottle from the fountain across the hall. Returned to the classroom and my desk by the window, and looked out in time to see Jerry hustle across the street, Lorne and Pat on his heels. Three balding thirty-somethings in polo shirts and khakis talking, or in Jerry's case, yelling, on their smartphones.
Desperately seeking Sheryl.
I watched them trot up the narrow street, then make a hard right at the corner and head in the direction of the library.

I had never taken a class with Ashford—she taught finance track and I studied management—but I had heard stories. “Are you late to your meetings in the real world, Mister Pope?” I took a stab at the woman's nasal singsong. “Then I expect you to arrive in time for mine.” Poor Jerry. He really should have known better. Sheryl Quade had earned a reputation for dependability over the past year—you could depend on her to let you down. She missed assignments, skipped classes, and never pulled her weight in group projects. During one Saturday
night get-together, she admitted that she had only enrolled in an MBA program to meet people. At the time, no one had believed her.

“We do now.” I rested my forehead against the window, and felt the soft heat of the early fall sun through the glass. Looked out over the short street lined with red brick buildings, copper roofs gone antacid green with age, as the sales pitch from that never-quite-forgotten television commercial drifted through my head.
Tired of your job? Stuck in a rut? Come build a new future at the Old Campus of Monckton College.

And so we came, the bored and the ambitious and the confused, in search of that crumb of knowledge, that secret handshake, that would turn our lives around. Monckton went out of its way to make it easy for us, their older students. Online classes were the rule, with only one weekend a month spent on a quiet, wooded campus that looked like something out of an old movie.

Get the degree, Lee,
my ever-helpful managers told me.
Can't get anywhere these days without it.

Maybe you'll meet someone,
my ever-helpful friends told me.
It's been two years, girl. It's time.
I touched my left hand, still weighted down by a gold band that was no longer there. Tried to recall details of projects that had consumed me only twenty-four hours before, and realized that I couldn't even remember my network passwords.