I thanked every lucky star in the sky that the bell rang, interrupting me. Method acting could only take a guy so far when his idea of “fashion” was sometimes wearing patterned socks under his uniform.
“Oh, Ethan?” Mr. Gupta called as I headed for the door. I was almost outside before Nell physically turned me back around with a pointed look.
Right. I was Ethan. Ethan was my name. Ethan, Ethan, Ethan.
“I know you’re only with us for a short time, but I’d still like for you to participate in the midterm project. I get the feeling that you might like mythology…?”
I hesitated a second, saying, “The thing is…I mean…I’m not very creative, you know?”
Mr. Gupta had asked the class to come up with some sort of project that spoke to the idea of storytelling in ancient Greek society, or reinvented the mythology in a modern way. If it had been Mr. Wickworth, he would have assigned us a twenty-page research paper and marked off points if we didn’t get the right punctuation in every footnote.
Do you not claim to be an artist? Alastor said. Do you not spend all of your secret time scratching at paper?
Do you have to say “secret time”? That sounds so creepy.
Not as “creepy” as the ponies, Maggot. You know the ones of which I speak.
The porcelain ponies. My grandmother gave me a new one every single year for Christmas because…well, I don’t know why. I guess that’s what she thinks guys want these days. Even though I pretended to hate them, I actually thought they were painted beautifully and kind of sweet. Nothing creepy about them. But that knowledge would die with me and the fiend.
“Ethan? Everything okay?”
“Oh yeah,” I said, quickly, reaching into my bag for my notebook. “I’m not—I’m not very good, you know, but I like to draw.” I opened my notebook to a sketch I’d done of the House of Seven Terrors during earth science. “So you can say no, but I was thinking…maybe I could, I don’t know, illustrate some of the stories? Like what you’d find in a book?”
Maggot. If a man desires respect, he must not frame his every sentence as a question. If you consider yourself to be an artist, then be that artist.
That was…surprisingly good advice from a creature likely born from a fiery pit.
You could reward my genius by feeding me, Maggot, Alastor hissed. Feed me!
“Well, hey, this is pretty great!” Mr. Gupta said as I tried not to die of embarrassment. My whole face felt like it had caught fire, even as excitement zipped through me. “I think illustrated retellings would be excellent, as long as they’re done in your own unique style. What elective did they assign you?”
“Just—” I ignored the feeling of hot sand rushing through my good arm again. “Just, uh, study hall.”
Feed me!
“Have you ever taken an art class before?”
What was Alastor doing? Why were my fingers twitching again?
FEED ME.
I looked up, remembering to shake my head. “N-no, I haven’t.”
“I’ll talk to the art teacher, see if she can’t let you sit in on a few of her classes—”
Without warning, without thinking, my hand shot out and snatched a small, palm-size pumpkin that Mr. Gupta had been using to decorate his desk. My arm jerked my hand up to my mouth and my jaw snapped down around the pumpkin. I bit into it hard, tearing a chunk away to chew and swallow.
Mr. Gupta stared up at me from his desk chair with wide eyes.
“I…mistook it…for an apple,” I said lamely, trying to hand it back to him.
“I think you’d better hang on to that,” Mr. Gupta said. “In case you need a snack for later.”
Coach Randall was all squeaking sneakers and whispery whistles. He wore a white Nike tracksuit with orange stripes and a matching baseball cap. Both were emblazoned with the school’s logo. Which, you guessed it, was a witch riding a broomstick across a crescent moon. From the look of him, I didn’t think he was the kind of person to let me off the hook for the day because I had an upset tummy—or because I hated physical exercise of any kind.
Fear is for the weak and meek. This is yet another opportunity to prove your excellence.
Yeah. That, or I needed to be on some form of asthma medicine.
I sucked it up and tugged on the sad gray gym uniform Nell handed me before I went into the boys’ locker room. We joined the rest of the class in the gymnasium for stretching. Then we had to do a few warm-up laps around the badminton nets.
I started out by trying to keep pace with Nell, but it became clear pretty fast that it wasn’t going to happen. Physical education in Redhood was learning to waltz or golf.
Nell left me behind wheezing, a look of pity on her face, her glasses bouncing on the bridge of her nose. If we were ever chased by a fiend, I now knew for certain she could and would outrun me, leaving me to be eaten.
Faster! Alastor commanded, like I was some kind of horse he was trying to steer. Have you no pride, man?
At that point, no. But what I did have was a crippling cramp in my right side and a desperate need for water.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw someone come up behind me, slowing down to match my labored pace.
Parker, of course.
He wasn’t even sweating as he lapped me, turning back with a shrug, as if to say, What are you going to do about it?
Do you not tire, Alastor began, of always trailing behind, staring forlornly at the back of others’ heads?
“Of course I do,” I snapped, ignoring the alarmed look Norton tossed my way as even he passed me.
It wasn’t until the start of my third lap, and everyone else’s fourth, that things below my neck started to go a little weird. That same prickling weight I had felt in my arm at lunch was back, only this time it was in my legs. It came on so fast that I stumbled, my toes catching on the polished wood court.
What are you doing? I demanded.
Batten down the hatches, knave! Alastor said. This ship is about to set sail!
To say that it’s disturbing to no longer be in control of your limbs is like saying it’s only a little weird to see someone dressed as a dinosaur eating frozen hot dogs on a bench made of pigeons.
I let out a sharp yelp as my legs began to move, clumsy at first, then faster and faster, and steadier when the malefactor finally got a better grip on them. The gym walls and championship banners hanging from them blurred into streaks of orange and black.
I didn’t ask for this! I told him. This isn’t a contract.
Of course not, you urchin-snouted miscreant. Were this a contract, you would have finished by now. Onward!
The surge of energy that pulsed through me was like sticking my finger in a power socket. But I didn’t feel any kind of pain. Actually, I felt great. The warmth spreading through my chest ate away at the tight ache. My breath came back in a rush. I pretended I was clinging to the back of a speeding car.
I came up behind Parker so fast he only had one chance to look over his shoulder before I passed him by. The next time I got close to him, he started running faster, trying to keep his thinning lead. His sneakers pounded the ground, his arms pumping wildly as he wove through the other students.