Flock Page 10

  “A friend,” Jinky said, stealthing her way into the room. She grabbed a clean cotton rag. “Who’s asking?”

  “Katla can give me a ride to school now,” Marik said, whisking a pile of dirt into the dustpan.

  “I thought Abby drove you,” Jinky said.

  “Not necessary anymore.” Marik rested the broom against the counter. “This is so much fun. What’s next?”

  The three of us — Jack, Jinky, and I — scrunched our brows in unison. Marik’s enthusiasm for football games and downtown Walden were one thing, but grunt work?

  “What?” Marik asked, picking up on our vibe. “Am I doing a bad job?”

  “Oh, no, you’re doing a fine job,” Jack said. “So fine, in fact, I could just sit back and watch you. All day.”

  Jinky pursed her lips in an attempt to override a smile. I lifted my eyes quickly at Jack.

  “Really?” Marik puffed up with pride. Pretty scary on a guy who was probably already an XXL. “That good?”

  With a groan, the moving van pulled up front. I was glad for the distraction. Marik’s zeal for even the most mundane of life’s chores was odd. And soon someone besides me was bound to comment. Ask questions. Except that smart people, like Jack, Penny, and Ms. Bryant, seemed to find him sincere, if a bit of a goober. That kind of exuberance wasn’t an easy act to pull off without coming across as an annoying cross between Ned Flanders and Forrest Gump. But Marik managed somehow.

  Even Marik’s spring-to-it-ness went down a notch once my mom arrived. She was in full drill-sergeant mode. And despite most of the workers being volunteers, she kept one and all busy hauling, heaving, and deboxing.

  By early evening, we were sufficiently unpacked to eat takeout Chinese on plates — real, from-the-cabinet chinaware — while seated at the dining-room table. With the discarded to-go boxes pushed to the center of the table, I passed out our cookie-spun fortunes. The doorbell rang, and Stanley, the eager new man of the house, sprang up to answer it.

  “Mine says, ‘Adventure is around the bend,’” I said, ripping the paper in half.

  “What does yours say, Marik?” my mom asked.

  “‘One’s happiness spells another’s discontent,’” Marik said.

  “I think it’s safe to assume Abby will be the happy one, even with losing her chauffeur job. She gets what she wants, I hear,” Jinky said.

  “Am I interrupting?”

  I looked up to discover Penny standing with Stanley under the archway to the dining room. She looked hurt and embarrassed, with her eyes downcast and her arms clutching a foil-covered plate to her chest.

  I looked quickly at the scene. For all appearances, it was a party she had not been invited to. I felt awful and popped to a stand.

  “Of course not,” I said. “Marik and Jinky saw the truck pull up earlier and just fell in step with the work crew.”

  “I made cookies as a housewarming gift, but I see you’ve already had dessert,” Penny said, eyeing the cookie wrappers scattered across the table.

  She had to have heard what Jinky said about Abby getting what she wants: Marik, in this case. Penny’s colorless cheeks and halting tone hinted at as much. Crap. Why had Jinky said that? The strength of feeling was on Abby’s side. To Marik, we were all a source of curiosity and entertainment, I guessed, one as interchangeable as the next.

  “So, I told you about my new room, right?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” Penny said, her voice still faltering.

  “Let me show you. It’s the best thing about this place.”

  Behind me on the stairs, I could hear the fwomp fwomp of her Keds, as if they too had had the air let out of them.

  Once we were up in the space, my space, I finally sensed a slight shift in her mood.

  “So this is cool,” she said, looking around.

  Even with a bare mattress, no curtains, and a jumble of boxes, the space oozed potential.

  I didn’t believe in letting things fester; my approach, like stain removal, was to treat immediately. “You’re not mad, are you?”

  “No. I guess not. It just kind of looked like a party.”

  “Party? Hardly. I scrubbed toilets, and Jack went after some serious cobwebs in the basement. And Jinky and Marik coming over was entirely spontaneous. I mean, seriously, why they even volunteered is beyond me.”

  “I would have helped if you’d asked,” Penny said.

  “Is that what this is really about? About missing out on washing windows and sweeping floors? Or was it the company?”

  Exhaling, Penny’s head dropped forward. “I’m pathetic, aren’t I?”

  “No. Of course not.”

  “It’s useless, anyway. I heard what Jinky said. It wasn’t a complete surprise, I mean, it’s obvious that Abby has her hooks in him. And she pretty much does get what she wants. And no big secret whose name she’ll be feeding to the Asking Fire.”

  The Asking Fire. Ugh. A local tradition that took place the Saturday prior to Homecoming. Girls fed the name of their hoped-for date to a supposedly mystical bonfire. OK, so it had kind of worked for Jack and me last year, but I didn’t believe there was enough magic in all the realms to transform Marik into the right guy for Penny.

  “He’s an exchange student,” I said. “Temporary. So maybe it’s best.”

  “I know, but I can’t help it. I really like the guy.”

  Footsteps on the stairs brought the conversation to an end.

  “Your mom sent me up with a load,” Jinky said, entering with a laundry basket full of my sheets and blankets. She set the linens on my mattress, all the while surveying Penny oddly.

  “I should read your runes,” she said finally.

  “My what?” Penny asked.

  “Your runes,” Jinky said. “I mentioned them briefly during our project summary. They’re an ancient system of divination. In the right hands, they have magical properties: fortune-telling and psychic knowledge.”

  “Uh. No, thanks,” Penny said with the kind of hesitation that would indicate that she saw this on par with drawing pentagrams on the floor or beheading a chicken. She was probably also still smarting from having the project topic snatched away from her like a cat toy on a string.

  “Don’t worry; it doesn’t hurt a bit,” Jinky said. “And I won’t charge you, because I sense an important turning point in your life, one you should be prepared for. Kat, do you have your runes?”

  Penny looked at me like Jinky had just asked me for my wand and spell book.

  “They’re a bag of stones I got from Jack’s grandmother,” I said to Penny by way of explanation. I turned to Jinky. “As if I could find them in this mess.”

  “Next time I’ll bring my own,” Jinky said, running her thumb along her bottom lip. “This could be very interesting.”

  Again Penny’s eyes flared wide. The sound of my mom calling from the first-floor landing brought all talk of fortune-telling to an end, but I couldn’t help but notice that Penny lingered, following behind me and Jinky as if taking an opportunity to view us with fresh eyes.

  There were times when my mom’s work ethic was tolerable, beneficial even. Sunday after the move was not one of those occasions. She was in full manic mode with a goal of being “out of boxes” by sundown.

  I was relieved to have a shift at the store as a hall pass on another day of labor and even a little sorry for Stanley, who gave me a small help-me bulging of his eyes as I headed out the door.

  I opened up as scheduled but was surprised when, a half hour later, a slightly listing Afi came through the door.

  “Sorry I’m late,” he said.

  “You’re not,” I replied. “You’re a day early, actually. You had today off. Remember?”

  Afi scratched at his chin. “Nope.”

  “You wanted to get the leaves raked up in your yard.”

  “Damn things,” Afi said. “It’s like this every . . .”

  “Fall,” I finished for him when he appeared to have lost his train of thought.
/>   “Just a small one,” Afi said. “Someone moved my ottoman again.”

  I blinked my eyes. At this rate, we’d need orange cones and a traffic cop for all the detours this conversation was taking.

  “You fell?”

  Afi backhanded the air in front of him. “Pshaw. And don’t go blabbing to that mother of yours. She’ll make a fuss, and I don’t want it or need it.” A hacking cough punctuated his spirited remarks.

  I might have pursued the topic except a beat-up green truck rolled to a stop in one of the parking spots out front. Jack.

  I bounced out the front door, meeting him as he planted his old work boots on the pavement. “This is a surprise,” I said. “I thought you had to work today.”

  “I do. And am.” He pecked me on the cheek. Afi’s presence at the window was surely the reason for such a chaste greeting. “I’m out on deliveries.”

  I followed him to the rear of his truck, where he lowered the back gate.

  “That’s no fun,” I said. And judging by the load in the back of his cab, he’d be at it for a long time.

  “It never is.” He grabbed a bushel by the handles and started for the store. I scurried ahead and opened the door.

  “Good morning,” Jack said, dipping his head to Afi.

  “Working on it,” Afi said, snatching an apple off the top of Jack’s delivery and cracking into it with a loud crunch. “Yep. Best darn apples in the county.”

  The compliment made Jack smile, sparking the blue in his eyes and tautening the ropy muscles in his neck. “Thank you. My dad never tires of hearing it.”

  “Tell you what I’m tired of,” Afi said. “That yappy dog next door barking all hours of the day.” He took off for the front of the store, muttering something about a muzzle.

  “Afi’s in rare form today,” Jack said.

  “Tell me about it. He wasn’t even scheduled to work. I think he has his days confused. And apparently he fell over that footstool in front of his chair. Should I be worried?”

  “Nah,” Jack said. “It’s clear what his problem is.”

  “What?”

  “He hadn’t had his apple-a-day.”

  I gave him a look. “Says the apple peddler.”

  “True. And I’ll be peddling these things until at least three. What time do you get off?”

  “Three, as it just so happens.”

  “I have homework but could get away for an hour or two,” he said, closing the space between us.

  “About two hours is all it should take,” Afi said, startling us both and reversing Jack’s course.

  “What should take?” I asked.

  “Raking up leaves at my place. I sure do appreciate the offer.” Afi clutched at the small of his back. “After that fall, I’m not sure I’m up to all that bending.” His eyes, I noticed, were particularly glassy at that moment.

  “Of course,” Jack said. “You shouldn’t be out there. We’d be happy to help.” With his “we,” Jack gave me a small roll of his shoulders.

  “Thank you kindly,” Afi said, taking another chomp of the apple and heading back up front.

  Passing me, he lifted his eyebrows. Had Jack and I just been conned? If so, I had to hand it to the old codger; he’d managed to turn yesterday’s dupers into dupees. Or just maybe there was something to that old apple-a-day wives’ tale, after all. Either way, Afi looked a little more sure-footed as he walked off.

  I wasn’t too put out. A couple hours in Jack’s company on a gorgeous fall day sure beat returning to the sweatshop my mom was currently running. The afternoon had potential. But I still didn’t know if I should worry about Afi, scold him, or thank him.

  “We have a breaking story,” Penny said, getting our Monday lunchtime journalism meeting under way. “It seems that our school board and Pinewood’s are voting tonight on the consolidation proposal. If the measure is passed by both boards, it goes to voters in November.”

  The room erupted in chatter and cries of surprise. Although Abby’s speech on the first day of school had hinted that the topic was still hot, I’d hoped that my father’s factory and the new businesses along Main Street had brought enough jobs to the area. While there had been a dozen or so new kids last winter, even I knew it obviously wasn’t enough to offset the two schools merging.

  “So what does that mean for us?” someone asked.

  “It’s not good news,” Penny said. “The two districts hired a consulting firm whose newly released report favored retaining Pinewood’s high-school building and closing ours.”

  Jeers and boos ensued. I had always known it was an unpopular topic but was still surprised by the level of animosity.

  “We need to cover this,” Penny said, quieting everyone down with waves of her arms. “Plus, it will look good to fill the seats with supporters of Norse Falls. Let’s get out there on Facebook and Twitter to spread the word on the meeting. And then tomorrow we’ll get to work on a special issue. I expect to see you all tonight. Seven p.m.”

  As the fashion columnist, I hardly thought my presence was required. Plus, I was a senior; the earliest the actual merge could take place was next fall. “You mean those who do news stories, right?” I interjected.

  “Everyone,” Penny said with an odd glint in her eye. “We’re going to attack this from a variety of angles. And if it means touting our cheerleader uniforms over theirs, we’ll do it. Mark my words: If there’s going to be a building put out of service, it isn’t going to be ours.”

  Jinky coughed, a big, hacky bark stripper.

  The bell rang, and I gathered my things, turning a shoulder on Penny. She’d been a little harsh on me. She, of all people, knew I wasn’t a hard-boiled gonzo journalist like her. She’d been the one to drag me into it, after all.

  Jinky waited until the room had emptied, leaving only Penny, me, and her. “So now I have to read your runes more than ever.”

  “What? Why?” Penny asked.

  “You finished with a prophecy,” Jinky said.

  “Hardly a prophecy,” Penny said. “More marching orders. If we get our community rallied, we get more voters to the polls. It’s not too late to turn the tide on this thing.”

  “I don’t know,” Jinky said, tugging on her eyebrow ring; the effect looked like a caterpillar inching across her face. A skewered caterpillar, that is. “I can’t put my finger on it, but there’s an interesting aura about you.”

  I knew I had to slash the tires on this runaway conversation. After Jinky read my runes, I ended up slapping on a selkie suit and facing down the Snow Queen and her Frost Giant henchmen.

  “You want me to pick you up for the school-board meeting?” I asked Penny in a deliberate subject-changing ploy.

  “Sure,” she said.

  “What time should I be ready?” Jinky asked.

  I pursed my lips, exhaling through my nose.

  “We need to get there early,” Penny said. “I want seats up front and I want Jinky getting arrival shots of the crowd. You guys pick me up at six-thirty.”

  “I’ll be ready,” Jinky said. She moved to leave, but then pivoted. “Your runes or mine, Katla?”

  “Neither,” I said. “We’ll be too busy tonight.”

  “Another time, then,” she said, hitching her bag over her shoulder.

  Not if I can help it, I thought.

  “Do you think Marik would want to come?” Penny asked, catching up with me as I headed out the classroom door.

  “I wouldn’t think so,” I said. “He’s an exchange student. Local politics are hardly his business.” Besides, until I figured out what Frigg had to do with it all, what that shriek was, and how to get out of my pact with Safira before Brigid enlisted her, I was trying to keep Marik at bay, not worming into every little facet of my world.

  “You’re probably right,” Penny said, her eyes focusing on the ground. “I just thought it might be something interesting for him to see, you know, from a visitor’s perspective. It wouldn’t hurt to ask him, would it?”


  I didn’t answer, hoping she’d drop it. I’d be busy enough coming up with my own angle on the developing story and keeping Jinky’s runes in her pocket without having to worry about Marik.

  When Marik scrambled into my car with Jinky, I knew, somehow, that the evening was going to be about more than school consolidations.

  Penny swallowed a smile as she gladly hopped out of the front seat and squeezed into the back with the titanic-size merman. She scooched back in the seat, pulling the seat belt across her white sweater, which made her boobs look big, bigger than I ever remembered them being.

  On the short drive to the high school — Norse Falls wasn’t large enough to support a separate administration building — Penny passed out index cards. “I did some research and put together a few questions for the board.”

  “Very impressive,” Marik said. “You’re quite the go-getter.”

  In the rearview mirror, I could see Penny squirm with pleasure.

  “I’m to ask if they were aware that one study shows that post-merge stress levels among both teachers and students approached PTSD levels,” Marik said. I could hear the flick of his finger against the card. “What’s PTSD?”

  “Post-traumatic stress disorder,” Penny said. “It’s the clinical name for anxiety following a highly stressful event.”

  “What an amazing concept,” Marik said. “Does that really happen? Are people truly so overcome with emotion that it has a lasting effect?”

  “Uh. Of course,” Penny said.

  “Incredible,” Marik replied.

  I took another peek in my rearview mirror. I expected to find Penny eyeing Marik like he was nuts. As usual, she — like everyone else — accepted his unabashed novelty for what should be both routine and obvious as a kind of Marikism.

  At a red light, I picked up my card from the center console. I was to ask about the impact longer commute times would have on farm families, given that many of these students had obligations before and after school. Of course she had picked a farm question for me, and I felt a stab of panic. Having worked two after-school hours at the store and whipped off a Spanish assignment, I’d neglected to return Jack’s text message from earlier.