Mind over Monsters, page 10
Everyone stood up. Owen gulped.
“One, two, three—Worriers, run!”
* * *
The Worriers didn’t get far before the noise began. The new noise made the previous saw-slide sound seem like a lullaby. It was a roar this time rather than a screech. A roar with a huge amount of gargled phlegm rumbling around inside it.
The Worriers froze. They couldn’t help it. The creature was standing against the wall where they had left it. Its mouth was wide open, the tangled tongue extended. Finally the dreadful sound ended, and the creature pulled in its tongue and bared its teeth. At them.
“What are all those sharp teeth doing there?” Catherine whispered. “And those claws?”
“Sorry,” said Sam.
“Why would you put sharp teeth and claws on your fear of public speaking?” Tom asked, sounding genuinely curious.
“I always start with a generic monster base when I’m imagining my fears.”
“Picturing your fears isn’t… building with LEGO!” Sofie hissed.
“Can we get back to the running away?” Ava asked.
The roar began again as soon as they moved, and then the creature was chasing them. Its shaking knees and klutzy stride slowed it, but it was seven feet tall now, at least, so it easily caught up to Owen. It grabbed him by the back of the shirt, and he yelped.
As Catherine launched herself at the two of them, Owen twisted out of the thing’s grasp, kicking and punching at it. He landed a good kick on a shin, and the creature howled and dropped its microphone. But Owen’s attack was only getting started. He leaned in closer than Lena would have dared—and vomited spectacularly directly on the creature.
Whatever Owen had eaten for dinner last night, it was red and he’d had seconds. The creature was drenched. It let go of Owen, clawing uselessly at the chunky splatter on its front. Then it backed away, groaning and retching. Catherine grabbed Owen and hugged him.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“No,” said Owen. He wiped his mouth. “But I feel better.”
“How do you not have puke all over yourself?” Ava asked him.
Owen shrugged one shoulder. “Practice.”
“He can aim,” Catherine said proudly.
“Hey,” said Sofie. “It’s backing toward the closet. Anyone want to try yesterday’s plan and lock it in there?”
“But won’t it squish under the door like the other one?” Sam asked.
“It’s not like the other one,” said Owen. “It’s solid.”
“But we don’t have lacrosse sticks,” said Lena. She glanced around the small gym, hoping the lacrosse sticks were lying in a heap in a corner and she somehow hadn’t noticed them. But the only thing she spied was the folding chair Call Me Barb had been sitting on.
“We’ve got to get it contained somehow,” said Tom. “I’m surprised no one’s heard it and come in here already.”
“Maybe it would be helpful if they did,” said Ava.
“Do you want to explain the underpants?” Sam asked.
“The chair,” said Lena. “If the thing is solid, we can push it with the chair.”
“What are we, lion tamers?” Sam said.
“You’re very oppositional for someone trapped in a gym by his own fear of public speaking,” said Sofie. “It’s worth a try. And from my studies of battle strategy—”
“One night’s worth,” muttered Sam.
“Same as your expertise in mass hallucinations,” Sofie said. “I’m thinking pointer formation,” she went on. “Our strongest fighter in front with the chair, the others fanning out behind. Catherine and Owen on door opening and closing. Especially closing.”
“Tom’s the tallest and probably the strongest,” said Lena. “Not being sexist or anything…”
“I have volleyball arms,” Tom protested, “not swimming arms.”
“Or lion-tamer arms,” said Sam.
“But okay,” said Tom. “I’ll take point.” He walked, slowly and quietly so as not to alarm the creature, which was still dry heaving, over to the chair and brought it back. He held the chair’s legs toward the creature. Then he turned it around. “We’re trying to shove it, not poke it, right?” he said.
Going by height, they formed up, with Ava and Sam behind Tom, and Sofie and Lena behind them. Catherine and Owen tiptoed to the closet, opened the doors, and stood to either side.
“Everyone ready?” Lena whispered. They were. “Worriers, shove!”
For some reason everyone yelled as they charged the creature. It felt primal to Lena—seeing a fear and attacking it head-on. Even with a folding chair. It felt powerful, almost glorious.
Until the chair smacked into the creature’s underpants, and it bellowed and doubled over. That wasn’t glorious. But it worked. The creature was so shocked by their attack that it allowed itself to be shoved into the equipment closet, and once it was all the way inside, including the trailing toilet paper, Catherine and Owen slammed the doors.
Tom braced the chair under the doors’ handles, taking care not to touch the part that had come into contact with the underpants.
They paused long enough to hear muffled bellowing and knocking around of sports equipment inside the closet.
“It seems busy,” said Sam. “I say we leave it. We’re only a couple minutes late for class.”
If someone had asked, Lena would have sworn the encounter had lasted an hour at least. But a mere ten minutes had gone by.
Their mats and backpacks lay scattered where they’d left them. There were puke spatters on the floor. The creature’s sweat trails shone in the fluorescent light.
“Putting this on the record,” said Sam. “We did not imagine that thing.”
“Our fears came to life,” said Lena. “How can that happen? We live in a boring suburb.”
“Not so boring anymore,” said Ava. “I liked it better the old way.”
“We’ve got to go,” said Tom. “But we also have to figure this out. Today after school? We can meet here and… uh… check on our prisoner.”
It was agreed. They picked up their backpacks and rolled their mats and stacked them in a corner. Lena noticed the creature’s microphone on the floor. She put it in the front pocket of her backpack to examine later.
It was only as they were leaving that she remembered something important. “Hey!” she said to the Worriers. “We forgot to thank it.”
CHAPTER 25
Lena was drained and shaky all morning, which meant she was unprepared to do battle again at lunch. The battle was nonviolent this time. But that didn’t make it any easier, because she had to fight this one alone. And this battle wasn’t against a simple, if disgusting, fear. It was against her best friend.
Last night’s text argument with Regina had completely left Lena’s mind by lunchtime, washed away in a rush of adrenaline, sweat, and puke. When she arrived at the table, everyone was chattering about… outfits? Yes. They were planning outfits and hairstyles.
At first Lena thought they were talking about Finding and Facing next week. Who cared about what they wore when they meditated? But it turned out they were discussing picture day, which was also on Monday. Lena had never seen boys excited about picture day. Spike, for example, was wearing an actual pajama top in his seventh-grade photo. The chatter faded as she edged into a seat between Kenni-with-an-i and the symbiotic organism that was Regina and Jared.
“Hey, Lisa,” said Kenni.
“Hey, Kenni. Hey, Regina.”
Regina didn’t even turn her head. Lena knew she had heard. Regina had bat-like hearing.
“Regina?” Lena repeated. “Are you okay?”
Regina turned to Lena with elaborate slowness, like a queen deigning to gaze upon a peasant who had croaked her name. “I’m fine,” she said in a tone that signaled her utter lack of fineness. “I’m just surprised you’re willing to deal with me after I bothered you so much last night.”
Lena still hadn’t caught on. “What do you mean?”
Regina put her fork down. “Did you actually forget we were in a fight?”
Lena remembered now, of course. “I’m sorry. I’ve had a lot—”
Regina’s jaw was jutting out in a way that had meant danger since preschool. “Let me get this straight,” she said. “You were too busy traipsing around with your new eighth-grade buddies to remember a fight with me? Your supposed best friend?”
The whole table was silent. A couple of the Joshes didn’t seem one hundred percent sure what traipsing was, but they definitely got the gist. They chewed and watched.
“That’s not it at all!” said Lena. “And maybe you were too busy traipsing around with your party friends to notice that I’ve got a lot on my mind and can’t be dealing with stupid stuff like shoe shopping at a moment’s notice.” The “stupid” here was uncalled-for, and if Lena hadn’t spent homeroom period corralling a fear into a closet, she wouldn’t have said it.
“So my stuff is stupid,” said Regina. “And yours is so important. What is it this time, Lena? Did you discover something else you’re afraid of? Maybe shoe shopping, is that it?”
This was a low blow, worse than “stupid,” and everyone at the table knew it as soon as it left Regina’s mouth. All chewing ceased.
Lena wasn’t afraid of shoe shopping. But she was afraid of crying in the cafeteria. She stood up and, leaving her untouched lunch where it was, hurried out the door.
She’d made it partway down the hall toward the girls’ room when she heard footsteps behind her, running to catch up. She slowed but didn’t turn around. She had no idea if she wanted to hug Regina or punch her in the nose.
But it wasn’t Regina. It was Kenni.
Kenni caught up and put a hand on Lena’s forearm, just for moment. “Are you okay?” she asked. Kenni’s face was so full of sympathy that the tears Lena had been willing away filled her eyes.
“Not really.”
“Come with me,” said Kenni. She led Lena down two halls and through a door to the backstage of the auditorium. “No one comes here,” Kenni said. “It’s a good place to cry.”
“I’m not crying,” said Lena, though she was. Partly because Regina had been so awful, but mostly because Kenni, who didn’t even know her real name, was being so nice.
“You’re not crying, I’m crying,” Kenni said. “That was a joke,” she added.
“I know,” said Lena. She sniffled. “It was funny.”
“I can see that from the way you’re laughing,” said Kenni. She rummaged around in her backpack until she came up with a small packet of tissues. “Here.”
“Thanks.” Lena wiped her eyes and nose. “You didn’t have to do this. I would have been okay in the girls’ room.”
“I hold my pee all day so I don’t have to use the girls’ room,” said Kenni.
“Me too,” said Lena.
“So why would you go somewhere to cry that you wouldn’t even pee in?”
“You have a point,” Lena admitted.
They stood in silence for a while, the heavy stage curtain cocooning them.
“So—” both began together.
“You first,” both said together.
“Seriously, you first,” said Kenni.
“Um,” said Lena, “do you really spell your name with an i?” Maybe Regina was wrong. Maybe it had been a typo. This girl was too sensible to spell her name with an i, wasn’t she?
Kenni laughed. “That’s what you want to know at this particular moment?”
Lena shrugged.
“Yes, it’s spelled with an i,” said Kenni. “It was passed down to me by my mother, Randi-with-an-i. Her full name is Miranda. Mine’s Kendra. It would break her heart for me to refuse the sacred family tradition.”
“Speaking of hearts…,” said Lena.
“No,” said Kenni quickly. “Neither of us puts a little heart over the i.”
They both laughed. Lena blew her nose.
“And your name,” said Kenni, pointing at Lena, “is Lena. Not Lisa. Didn’t you tell me it was Lisa?”
“I might have,” said Lena. “I’ve been going through some stuff.”
Kenni nodded sympathetically. “She didn’t mean it,” she said. “Regina. She was just upset.”
“I guess so,” said Lena. “So… did she find some shoes for the party?”
“Nah,” said Kenni. “She had all these ridiculous shoes with heels picked out for a party in someone’s basement. Why would you spend money and be uncomfortable all night to stand around on a moldy carpet?”
“Maybe she was planning to sit on the moldy couch,” said Lena.
“Or the moldy beanbag chair,” said Kenni.
There was another moment of silence.
“Those boys really seem to care about what their hair looks like on picture day,” Lena observed finally.
“And striped versus plaid shirts,” said Kenni. “There was a lot of talk about shirts, too. I blame social media.”
“That could be it.” Lena didn’t have the energy to care about the whys of Josh behavior.
“Hey—do you want your apple? I rescued it from your lunch tray.”
“Uh, thanks,” said Lena.
“Kidding!” said Kenni. “Ha! The look on your face! I rescued the blondie.”
CHAPTER 26
The fight with Regina wasn’t the only thing Lena had forgotten. She had also forgotten that her mother was picking her up after school for ceramics. It wasn’t until the last bell had rung and she’d retrieved her phone from her locker that Lena remembered. And that was only because there was a text from her mother awaiting her.
I’m right outside the front door, it said.
Lena sighed so loudly the boy at the next locker turned and stared.
“Long day,” she said.
“Tell me about it.”
He didn’t mean it, of course. He went straight back to his locker without waiting for Lena to tell him about her long day.
Lena couldn’t go to ceramics. She needed to meet the other Worriers in the small gym and see if their fear of public speaking was still lurching around in the closet. Texting with her mother was a long and tedious process, made worse by her mother’s insistence on using full sentences and punctuation. Lena backed into an alcove next to the bank of lockers and called instead.
“Lena?” her mother answered, though who else would have been calling from Lena’s phone?
“Hi, Mom. I can’t go to ceramics. I—”
“What do mean, you can’t go? I’m live-parked in front. Other parents are giving me the stink eye out here.” Her mother sounded frazzled, but she couldn’t possibly be as frazzled as Lena was. “I took time off work to drive you. Please don’t tell me you’re quitting this, too. I can’t keep throwing good money after bad every time you drop out of something.”
Good money after bad? What was good money? What was bad money? All money was the same. Except for those grimy old dollars that felt like cloth and seemed like they’d been in someone’s pocket for years. Those were kind of bad.
“Lena? What’s going on?”
“I’m not quitting,” said Lena. “I just can’t go this afternoon. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I can’t use my phone during the day.”
“Lena, you can’t keep signing up for activities and then deciding you don’t like them. You need to follow through on your commitments. Especially when those commitments cost money.”
“Mom, I’m not quitting ceramics,” Lena repeated. Although, to be honest, she’d been thinking about it. None of her bowls were ever symmetrical, and two had flown off the wheel entirely and splodged on the floor.
“We’ll talk about this when you get home. Love you.”
“Love you too. Bye.”
Lena sank downward in the alcove until she was sitting on the floor. Why was everyone spoiling for a fight today? A normal mother would have asked why she couldn’t go to ceramics, not launched into a tirade about Lena’s history of quitting activities. Which, admittedly, was long and complicated.
It had started with gymnastics, which lasted five weeks. But it hadn’t ended there.
Fencing had lasted one class. Despite the face coverings, she’d been convinced she was going to get an eye poked out or, worse, poke someone else’s eye out. Silversmithing had lasted two weeks. Lena had refused to use the blowtorch because she was terrified she was going to burn her eyelashes off. At least ceramics wasn’t dangerous. Unless she got hit by one of her own flying pots…
“Lena? What are you doing in there?” Ava stood above her, peering into the alcove.
“Oh, uh, nothing. Talking to my mom.” Lena rolled her eyes and stood up.
Ava returned the standard mom-related eye roll and said, “Ready to go face our fear?”
“Sure,” said Lena. “Why not? This day can’t get much worse.”
* * *
Ava and Lena arrived at the small gym first. When the rest of the Worriers got there, they shut the gym door and stood in a huddle as far as possible from the closet.
“Anyone hear anything from inside?” Tom asked when they’d huddled for a while without speaking.
“Nope,” said Sam. “But that might be because we’re way over here, and it’s way over there.”
They moved their huddle halfway across the room and stopped to listen.
There was silence from the closet. Peaceful silence or ominous silence? The difference was always clear in movies, but in real life, without a soundtrack, Lena couldn’t tell.
“I don’t hear anything,” said Sam. “And I have super-good hearing, let’s not forget.”
“So we know there are no monks in the closet?” Sofie asked.
The huddle ventured closer.
“This is ridiculous,” said Sam. “I’m going over. Tell my parents I love them if I’m captured and dragged into…”
“An alternate dimension,” Owen supplied.
He must have meant this as a joke, but Lena didn’t appreciate the mention of alternate dimensions. Because that creature had to have come from somewhere. Somewhere it might want to go back to. Maybe it had spent all day constructing a portal out of orange cones and volleyball nets in the closet. The kind of portal it could drag people through.
