Not a Unicorn Page 3

  “Hop to, ladies,” Coach T. says, then blows his whistle in three short, sharp bursts.

  Mystic and I start running, if you can call it that. Carmen follows behind, even though she could go so much faster if she wanted to.

  Looking across the track, I catch sight of Emma running alongside Brooklyn. What would she think of me getting my horn taken off? Two years ago, she would have been the first one I told about Dr. Stein. She was the first one I told about everything.

  As she runs, her sandy hair bounces on her shoulders, and when Brooklyn says something that makes her laugh, I feel a pang.

  “So what happens next?” Mystic asks.

  “I don’t know,” I say. Which is the total truth. I don’t know what’s next. I don’t know if Dr. Stein can even do it. And then I’ve got my mom to deal with.

  Mystic elbows me. “Don’t worry so much. It’ll be okay.” She grins at me and I feel suddenly grateful to have landed on Team Mystic. She acts tough on the outside but she has a sweet and nougaty center.

  I nod back and try to settle myself into the run. There are too many unknowns right now. I’m ready for some answers. I’m ready for an email. Come to think of it, I’m ready for everything.

  Carmen

  The next morning, I’m at my locker waiting for Nicholas. I texted him earlier, but he hasn’t texted back, which means my phone is acting up (likely) or Nicholas overslept (equally likely). While I wait, I dig out a couple of old candy wrappers from the recesses of my locker while Carmen watches me from down the hall.

  Lately this is nonstop! I’m not looking at her, but I can feel her looking at me. I’m trying my best to ignore her when I feel a tug on my backpack. Swinging around, I say, “Where’ve you been?”

  But Nicholas isn’t there.

  A bunch of other people are though. Grinning. And not in a nice way.

  Tall Ethan is standing by the lockers across from me. Our eyes meet as Thomas Kelly yells, “Unicorn!” And if evil grins are going around, you can bet money that Thomas is involved. He lobs something through the air, which is caught by another boy, then tossed again. No, no, no, no! My hands fly to the bottom of my backpack. My little stuffed unicorn is gone.

  Horn first, I plow down the center of the hall. Thomas Kelly literally leaps out of the way, shouting, “Unicorn, coming through!” Others flee to the walls. As I pass Carmen, she falls in behind me.

  I’m hating every horrible kid in this school when I turn the corner and almost collide with Noah. It’s like a bad dream, a nightmare replaying my worst memory. I stop short, horrified. He’s the last person I want to run into. He’s the last person I want to make afraid. I’m about to apologize when . . . I see my unicorn squeezed into his hand.

  What is he doing? Is this some kind of payback?

  He backs away from me into a bank of lockers. I want to scream, Give it back! But I feel frozen. Kids, mostly boys, gather on both sides of us. “No-ah! No-ah!” I can’t believe they’re chanting for him.

  Noah doesn’t move. He seems frozen, too. His eyes are locked on mine—until they shift to something behind me.

  Just then, Thomas Kelly reappears and grabs the unicorn out of Noah’s hand. He flings it into the air and my unicorn disappears among the flailing arms and legs of all those boys. It’s as good as gone.

  I look back at Noah for one long miserable moment. “Thanks a lot,” I say, then walk away.

  Pushing through the crowd, I hear Nicholas calling out, but I don’t wait. Instead, I escape into an open hallway to find Mrs. Whatley heading toward me with a ready-to-accuse-me look on her face. So, horn down, I keep moving.

  “Jewel!” she calls out, but I storm past her. I can feel her scalding eyes tracking me. Focus, Jewel. I focus on my feet. I focus on the space they create between us.

  Air.

  I’ve never left school like this before. With each step I take away from that door, I realize my chances of detention are rising to suspension and more. Mom will blow a fuse. She’ll never understand.

  And how could she? I mean, it’s just a dumb little unicorn key chain, and I don’t even want to be a unicorn. But Emma gave it to me. Holding on to it was no doubt my way of holding on to her. It seems so stupid now.

  Tears burn my eyes, and I wipe my snotty nose with the back of my hand. I was starting to think that all my hopes were getting closer to possible. But now . . . how could things actually change when the list of what’s wrong in my life gets longer every day?

  My precious stuffed unicorn was stolen.

  I just almost gored Noah. Again!

  My best friend is no longer my best friend and won’t even talk to me anymore.

  My essay gets picked for this really big contest and of course I can’t go.

  Dr. Stein still hasn’t answered my last email.

  And all because of this STUPID horn.

  It’s so frustrating that I want to scream. But I don’t because I’m not alone.

  As I step off school property and onto the sidewalk that leads toward town, I realize Carmen is behind me. I would know that sound anywhere. Even as I hear her get closer, I don’t look back. I don’t encourage her. But she keeps coming.

  It doesn’t take long for her to be close enough to step on my heels. Not today, Carmen, okay? Just leave me alone. But Carmen doesn’t listen. She never listens.

  I’ve had it. I whip around. She jerks back and stops.

  Carmen stares into my eyes. We haven’t been this close in a while. “Go away, Carmen,” I say. But she doesn’t. So we just stand there, horn to horn, while she shakes her white mane, dirty and tangled with thorns. She stamps her massive gray hoof and lets out a defiant whinny.

  Stubborn unicorn.

  An old man wearing a beige hat with a brim approaches and notices me, with my horn and my teary cheeks and my snotty nose, and gives me a look that says he’s concerned yet surprised at the same time.

  “Are you all right, young lady?” he asks.

  I’m tempted to say, No, I’m not all right! Instead, I mumble, “I’m fine.”

  He cocks his head and says, “It won’t always be as bad as today. Things get better. They do. I’ve been around long enough to know.”

  It only takes a flick of Carmen’s tail to knock the hat off the old man’s head and send it skyward. As he grabs for the top of his bald dome, the hat floats like a glider down the sidewalk.

  “Did you feel that breeze?” he asks, clearly confused by the windless sky.

  I shake my head, knowing that he can’t see Carmen.

  “Remember what I said,” he says, and hurries after his hat.

  “Thanks,” I say to him, fighting a smile. Carmen is mischievous like that. When I used to let her in the apartment, she was always knocking things over or hiding things for fun. Her favorite person to prank is Nicholas though, and I don’t know why. She’s hidden sweatshirts from him, knocked over his books, and even brushed her tail across his face to see how he’d react. That last one sort of freaked him out.

  When I was little, I talked about Carmen all the time, but when I got older, I stopped. Everyone probably thought she was something I outgrew. But trust me, Carmen is not outgrowable.

  Carmen’s pawing at the sidewalk now, and I look into her eyes, feeling guilty. Everything changed between us after the Noah incident. Emma left me, and I left Carmen.

  But Carmen and I are different. When Emma abandoned me, I gave up. What was the point of trying to hang around with her if she didn’t want me there? Carmen, on the other hand, never gives up. She follows me almost everywhere, whether I want her there or not. I feel guilty whenever I see her, but I also feel angry and sad and regretful. Why am I like this? That’s the question that always hovers between us.

  “Go!” I say and point away from the sidewalk. Carmen shakes her big horse head and stares down at me fiercely. My eyes sting. I don’t like being mean to her, but it’s too much. She’s too much. Carmen is a constant reminder of what’s wrong with me. “Please,�
� I whisper. “You’ve got to stop following me everywhere.”

  Carmen whinnies back softly, and I sigh. Her eyes are so sad. She leans toward me and nudges me with her nose. And when our horns touch, I can’t help it—my eyes close. I feel it down to my toes. I feel like every cell of my body ignites. It feels like . . . like . . . Stop it, Jewel. It does not feel like home.

  A car horn blasts from the road and I open my eyes. Carmen is still there. I clear my throat and gather myself. I want to be normal, Carmen. Can’t you get that? I gaze into her huge eyes. If I were still a kid, I’d hug her neck now. But too much has happened. I can’t be doing that anymore. So I turn and walk away.

  Glancing back, I check to make sure she isn’t following me. She’s just staring, watching me go. Before, I never hid anything from Carmen. I told her all my secrets, all my fears . . . everything. I didn’t even have to say things out loud because somehow, she always knew. Now I wonder if she knows what I’m planning.

  What if Dr. Stein says yes? What happens to me and Carmen? Will she be mad? Will she still be my unicorn? So much I don’t know. And so much I’m willing to risk now.

  Leaving Carmen behind, I trudge toward the town square. Most people know me here, but I usually avoid the square when the leaves change in the fall, because that’s tourist season. As I turn the corner at Sisk’s Pharmacy, Mr. Sisk is sweeping the front steps of his store. “Hey there, Jewel!”

  “Hi, Mr. Sisk,” I mumble back, hoping he doesn’t realize I’m supposed to be in school right now. I speed up past Wendy’s Wine Shop, Antiques of the Mountains, and Caruso’s Restaurant.

  I’m almost to the square when I’m spotted. A little girl—it’s always a little girl—is coming out of Fudge Factory. She looks up at the horn, of course. I know it’s hard for a little kid not to point, and she promptly does. I mean, I’m the unexpected attraction.

  “What’s that?” she asks, innocent and inquisitive, like they always are. “Are you a unicorn?”

  I feel the NO gather in my stomach and start making its way to my lips when a hand reaches out and grabs hers.

  “Danielle, don’t be rude.” Danielle’s mom’s eyes shift from her daughter to me and . . . three, two, one . . . there it is. The look. Neither innocent nor inquisitive. It’s the special expression reserved for parents of small children who see me for the first time. She pulls Danielle away in a manner that suggests whatever I have might be contagious. As they step into the pedestrian crossing that leads to the other side of the square, Danielle turns her little head back to look at me. I wish I had an answer for you, kiddo.

  When I get to the gazebo, Nicholas is waiting for me. The gazebo is in the public garden on the far side of the square where no one ever seems to go but us. Nicholas lives down the street in one of the old white houses on Park Street. Usually when we hang out here after school, Nicholas’s dad drives me home.

  I stare at him with my hands on my slouching hips like a lazy Wonder Woman with a horn.

  “I took the back way,” he says, perched on the gazebo’s white rail and looking down at me, breathing slightly harder than normal. My backpack is propped up on the bench next to his feet.

  I thought I wanted to be alone, but I’m secretly pleased he cared enough to come after me.

  “I closed your locker,” he says. “And grabbed your backpack.”

  “Thanks,” I say, meaning it more than what it sounds like. “Don’t you have history?”

  Nicholas shrugs. “I did have history. But now it’s actual history. Get it?”

  He’s trying to make me smile, but I can’t. I put my hand over my eyes. “Mom is going to kill me.”

  “Yeah, probably. What happened?”

  “Stupid Thomas Kelly stole my unicorn! Then Noah ended up with it,” I say, picturing Noah’s face. “I think he thought I was going to hurt him again.”

  “You wouldn’t hurt him again,” Nicholas says. A breeze blows between us, and the leaves rattle in the trees.

  There’s a secret part of me that wonders what it would be like if the thing with Noah never happened. Mystic’s type is clearly Ethan. If I had a type, I think it would be Noah. Or . . . I thought it would be Noah. Maybe not so much after today.

  “There was a silver lining though,” Nicholas says, snapping my thoughts back to the here and now. “After you left, Whatley looked like her head might explode.”

  “Please tell me it did.”

  “Nah. But also—Noah was different.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  “He wasn’t his normal whiny self.”

  “Noah’s not whiny.”

  “Noah is whiny,” Nicholas says back. “But it was weird. When Whatley did her ‘poor Noah’ routine, ‘poor Noah’ yelled at her and pushed her away. All by himself. With his tiny whiny hands.”

  “No way!” I actually grin at that.

  “Yes way!” Nicholas says, nodding and grinning himself. “Wanna go back?”

  I shake my head. “Not really.”

  Nicholas’s grades are almost as good as mine, but he’s a friend before he’s a valedictorian. “Come on then. Let’s go.”

  As we walk down Park Street, Nicholas asks, “Hey, when were you going to tell me about winning the French thing?

  I look over at him, surprised.

  “What?” he says. “Did you think Mystic wasn’t going to blab?”

  It’s been almost two years of our threesome, and I’m always amazed at how easily Mystic and Nicholas share things with each other, and with me. Sometimes it reminds me of how things used to be with Emma.

  “I’m not going.”

  “Mystic says you’re like by far the best in the class. We’ll come with you.”

  “Aren’t you forgetting something?” I say sarcastically.

  “No. How could I forget that? It’s right in the middle of your head.”

  I spin toward him. “Dude!”

  “It’s not a bad thing. It’s just a thing. You’re the one who makes such a big deal about it.”

  “You would think that.”

  “It’s how I see it,” he says, putting his hand on his hip. “When you look at you, your horn is like ninety percent of what you see. When I look at you, it’s like ten percent. And an awesome ten.”

  “You big liar. You’re the one who said you made friends with me because of my horn.”

  “Okay, guilty. But I didn’t stay your friend because of your horn. How shallow do you think I am? To my complete shock and surprise, you turned out to have a whole lot more going on than just a horn.”

  “Really?” I say, fighting a grin.

  “Yes, really. Now don’t let it go to your horn . . . I mean head.”

  “Very funny,” I say, as we step onto his driveway. Nicholas’s house is like most of the houses on Park Street—white, wooden, and super old. It’s two stories and completely beautiful.

  His dad, Barry, works from home, and when he hears us walk in, he comes out of his office. Nicholas explains everything that happened at school, and I hang my head and play my part by basically looking exactly as miserable as I feel when I think about that stupid situation.

  “Can we take a mental-health day, Dad?” Nicholas asks.

  When Barry looks at you, you can just feel that he makes amazing oatmeal chocolate chip cookies. “Of course you can,” he says. “That sounds horrible, Jewel. I’m so sorry kids can be like that.”

  Yes, Barry is an actual, real, live dad, who actually, really says things like that. Imagine! When he calls my mom to tell her, I’m way relieved when he gets her voice mail. I’ll deal with the fallout later.

  We go upstairs to Nicholas’s room, with the double bed all to himself and the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. Miniature planets dangle from the ceiling replicating the solar system, and a telescope spies through the window that faces onto Park Street. Through it, I know I would see Carmen. I can sense that she’s in the front yard.

  On the wall next to Nicholas’s bed there’s a hug
e framed map of North America with little red flags pinned on specific towns and cities. There are thirty-four of them so far, spreading from Bathurst, New Brunswick, to Manhattan, Kansas, to San Luis, Baja California.

  “Ta-daa! Here’s the new one,” Nicholas says, holding up the latest issue of Highwaymen. Every month, Barry drives Nicholas the forty-five minutes it takes to pick up the new issue at the closest comic store. I can’t imagine my mom having that kind of time—or gas money.

  Nicholas grabs another red flag from his drawer.

  “You waited for me?” I ask.

  “It’s more fun when we do it together. Where does it go?”

  As he hands me the new issue, I arrange myself cross-legged on his bed, ignoring his question. Instead, I ask what I always ask him at the start of every issue. “Why is it called Highwaymen when the most kick-butt character in the whole thing is a woman?”

  “How many times do I have to tell you, it’s metaphorical,” Nicholas says. “And highwaymen are the bad guys. Instead of robbing stagecoaches, they go after magical creatures.”

  “I know,” I say. Because I do know. It’s just annoying, and somewhat patriarchal, and if it weren’t the coolest, most amazing graphic novel in the entire world, I might boycott it solely based on its name.

  But then I open to page one and enter the world of Hot Springs, New Mexico, circa 1888, and like always, my breath literally catches in my throat.

  The illustrations are so real, I feel like I could step onto Main Street and walk into the local watering hole (called the Watering Hole) and share a sarsaparilla with Esmeralda (the barmaid and most likely-to-kick-the-crap-out-of-you warrior woman of all time), Chet (the outlaw and most likely to show up late for a battle), and Beaumont (the sheriff and man of few words). Esmeralda would tell me all about the magical creatures they fought. Chet would reminisce about the ones they saved (because even though Chet is the outlaw, he’s much more soft-hearted than Esmeralda). And Beaumont would just tip the front of his charcoal cowboy hat, tap the silver star pinned to his vest, and say, “All in a day’s work, young lady. All in a day’s work.”