Jenah wrinkled her nose.
“Now look. I have an idea about what to do with the phoenix power,” I said. “So it doesn’t explode and cause fire and destruction and hells knows what else. But I can’t do it without you.”
“Okay,” said Jenah dubiously. “I can’t control an elemental, if that’s what you mean. I just see auras.”
I shook my head. “The demon will do that part of it,” I said. “But look.” I breathed deep and handed her the keys to Moonfire’s garage. “Can you get the dragon up here?”
Jenah looked down at the keys, and I think in that moment she saw how much I did trust her. I mean, not just letting her into my life, but I was giving her the keys to something that represented all the ways I was different from everybody else. How metaphorical was that? It was the sort of thing you wrote five-paragraph English essays on.
Jenah took the keys from me. “I will.”
“I’m not ruining your evening by asking, am I?”
“God, no,” said Jenah. “Real witches instead of an-excuse-to-wear-a-miniskirt witches? I’m all in.” Jenah herself was in a black-and-white-striped miniskirt, tights, and shirt, with a painted-on broken neck (“I’m a crosswalk,” she explained later), but as she always dressed in miniskirts, she was allowed.
“Good,” I said. I checked my phone: 8:05. “You have thirty-five minutes.” That was assuming we found the phoenix, of course. “Um, if you see the school explode, don’t come back.”
I checked my phone yet again and saw the message light blinking. Creepy unicorn guy had returned my Phone Call of Last Resort. I nerved myself and listened to his message. It said he would love to supply me with goat’s blood, and in exchange all he would ask was for me to pose with one of his unicorns for the calendar he was working on. In something schoolgirly, like those cute Japanese girls wear. He started describing the potential outfit in more detail, but I hit “delete” as fast as possible.
So that was now my only option for goat’s blood, and if I had to trade something besides cash for blood, obviously I would’ve picked dance-with-Kelvin in a heartbeat, not that I had that option anymore. I wasn’t in love with Kelvin, but Kelvin was not creepy. If I had crushed on Kelvin, maybe that would’ve made everything go more smoothly.
But could I crush on Kelvin? I didn’t think so.
I pondered what Kelvin would be like as a boyfriend, rather than dialing that phone number, as I knew I was going to have to do. But I was just putting off the inevitable.
I picked up my phone.
And then a tall guy with a wide pale face strode stiffly into the room. He was wrapped in aluminum foil from head to toe, with occasional green ruffles.
Kelvin.
I was sure he wouldn’t want to talk to me any more than I wanted to talk to him right now, so I turned toward the stage where Blue Crush (minus Devon) was setting up. I looked down at my call log to find Creepy Guy’s number. Maybe Kelvin and I could pretend we hadn’t seen each other.
But a crinkling sound proclaimed that he now stood next to me.
“Um. Hi,” I said. “What are you?”
“Leftovers,” Kelvin said. “Specifically, a leftover six-foot sub. Feast your eyes on the lettuce sticking out. I made the lettuce out of an old dust ruffle. I made the foil out of foil.”
“Clever,” I said. “I’m afraid I’m just me. Maybe I could be leftover me. The me after I’ve had a very long week.”
There was silence except for the crinkling of his aluminum. The dance lights twinkled off his foil. His lettuce ruffles danced in the breeze from the heating vent.
Then Kelvin said: “I lied before. You know what about.”
“About the pig flu. About liking me. About how to multiply exponents. About the fertilization of chicken eggs. About the earth being flat. About the goat’s blood?”
“It was cow’s blood,” he said. “The goats were being grouchy and my mother didn’t think it would matter. I didn’t want to be the one who messed up your experiment, so … I used my acting skills on you to pretend I hadn’t. It’s a violation of theater ethics and 4-H ethics. I’m sorry. I know deep down you already knew all this and that’s why you despised me.”
“Kelvin. I do not despise you. I just like someone else and I can’t help that.” I put on my best robot voice: “Love is strange and nonmechanical. Does not compute.”
For once, Kelvin smiled.
Then he held out a cooler. “No payment due,” he said.
Relief, brilliant bold relief. Kissing Kelvin’s cheek would be a bad idea, but I hugged his arm. “Thank goodness,” I said. “Ooh, I crinkled your foil.”
He looked down at me. “It’s more authentic now,” he said.
“Right,” I said. Awkwardly. “Look, I’ll see you later, okay? I’ve got an experiment to get going.”
He nodded and lurched off to talk to a boy in a sparkly dragon T-shirt, not saying good-bye.