Part 8 (1/2)
I start to feel light-headed with all these smells mixing together. How the h.e.l.l can Kurt stand this all the time?
Ms. Pippen stands right in front of Kurt. Her peach mouth is pursed curiously, and a tiny part of me is annoyed that she never looks at me like that. When Wonder Ryan has finished, she says, ”I wonder if our visiting Canadian gentleman would do us the honor?”
”Yes,” Kurt says. He flips open to a page in the beginning and leans against the desk with his forearms. I try to picture him with his tutors, learning whatever merfolk learn-how to catch dinner, how to avoid human nets, how to fight a pirate? He'd have no one to pa.s.s notes to, no one to throw him a ball in between cla.s.ses. But he reads like a pro, enunciating everything as though he's up on stage and this is his own soliloquy.
”'Ozymandias' by Percy Bysshe Sh.e.l.ley.”
I met a traveller from an antique land Who said: ”Two vast and trunkless legs of stone Stand in the desert...Near them, on the sand, Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown, And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command, Tell that its sculptor well those pa.s.sions read Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things, The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed; And on the pedestal, these words appear: 'My name is Ozymandias, king of kings: Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!'
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare The lone and level sands stretch far away.”
There's a silence in the room that has a lot to do with everyone staring at him. The scent of burnt sugar is so strong that it makes my stomach turn. Whatever. He's just reading. It's not that impressive.
”That was wonderful,” Ms. Pippen says. She looks out the window, like she's trying to remember. Or maybe there's something she wishes to forget. Either way, she gives a small sigh and crosses the span of the room to the window. She cracks it open to let in the cool fog. ”I believe it's your turn, Mr. Hart.”
I look down at the book. I hate reading in front of people. I always stumble over the words. I'm great at making my own stuff up, but have me read Romeo's lines aloud and I fumble.
Kurt hands me the anthology, and the pads of my fingers flip through the pages, hoping to land on something written at least in the twentieth century. Then the bell rings.
”You can start us off tomorrow,” Ms. Pippen says, stepping around her desk and sitting on the edge like an owl as she watches us leave her cla.s.sroom.
I'm the first one out of the cla.s.sroom and into the hall.
The lights flicker, poltergeist-style.
”That has nothing to do with you, does it?”
Kurt shakes his head. ”Not unless I decided to play with electricity.”
”This smell thing isn't getting much better.”
”That's because we're not meant to live among humans for too long, especially in such close quarters. It's making me rather land-sick, to be honest.” He leans in to whisper. ”Like I told you. It's a predatory scent. It's different when you sense something underwater.”
”Like a shark?”
”Oh! Like a typhon eel in the reefs,” Thalia answers. ”Oh! Or those nasty little Buccas near the British Isles. Or those giant electric jellyfish that are hard to see. But you can steer clear of them if you can sniff them out.” She taps her little nose.
I hook him and Thalia with my arms. ”I know we're in New York and all, but we're trying to keep this incognito.” I change the subject. ”Ms. Pippen was even weirder today than usual.”
”I think she might be a seer,” Kurt blurts out.
”A what?”
”A seer. She can see things that exist in other planes. There are all kinds of seers. Some can see the future, some only see the past, and some can only read your soul. In Ms. Pippen's case, I think she's a very rare kind that I've only heard about. She can see the future, but only when she's entranced in the words of others. For instance, when she had us read those poems, she was probably seeing at the same time. Either that or she gets extremely bored listening to you all butcher the poetic form.”
”There's no way. She's, like, psychic? How-”
”Hey, guys! Wait up.” Ryan jogs ahead of us and slows down to a backward trot. ”You guys sure do walk fast.”
I've got to give it to Ryan. As annoying as he is, he's persistent as h.e.l.l.
Kurt nods. I push the cafeteria double doors and am thankful for the smell of sloppy joes and curly fries mixing with whatever my sixth sense is picking up.
”He has a good heart,” Kurt says, nodding slightly toward where Ryan talks to Thalia. Ryan's eyes are lit up so that they're almost as blue as mine. He runs his hand through his hair with a kind of confidence I've only seen him give his science-fair projects and election videos for student council. I wonder if I should warn him he'll never be president if he has to keep his wife in a fish tank.
”Is that a mer-thing she's giving off?”
Kurt considers this for a moment. ”No, I believe it is just his pure heart.”
I grab a tray and hand it to him while we wait in line. ”Pure heart?”
”As in all of his intentions are pure, and that radiates off him. In other times he would have been the queen's right-hand knight, a just leader, an honest politician.”
Figures. ”But she's definitely glamoured?”
Kurt nods once. ”Our kind is naturally alluring to humans, since humans have weak minds. Her beauty, his pure heart-they're like magnets.”
”Is that supposed to be like magic?”
”It's not magic, per se. It's a trace of it. Our father had true magic. Some have more. In the old days, we were more part of the sea than human. Our powers are rooted in the elements. My father could summon fires that melted sand into gla.s.s. He was one of the main architects who rebuilt Gla.s.s Castle after a battle with some nasty fey.”
”So what do you do for fire now?”
”Barter with witches. Trade with dragons, the Chinese, not the Hungarian ones, of course-” He presses against the Styrofoam tray so hard that it cracks on either side and we have to get another one. ”Sometimes pirates, but they're s.h.i.+fty.”
Pirates! The eight-year-old boy in me is jumping for joy. Okay, the thirteen-year-old. ”You and Thalia don't have any powers?”
”Thalia can speak to her sea horse, Atticus. Our father could do that too. Thalia and I can completely s.h.i.+ft into fish form. We get it from our mother. It's temporary but useful when you need to get into tight s.p.a.ces. I believe because of that, we are most valuable to the king-”
”Like in the bathtub?” I stick out my tray, and Lunch Lady Lourdes ladles a mess of chili onto my plate. ”Which I'll never forgive you for, by the way.”
Kurt smiles at me and then at the extra curly fries Lourdes gives him, along with her fake-eyelashed wink. I grab two apple juices from the cooler and a water bottle. He grabs an orange juice and two water bottles. Lourdes winks at him and gives him an extra ticket for dessert.
”You know,” I tell him as we make our way to where Ryan and Thalia have found the rest of the swim team, ”you're going to be bad for my image.”
We walk into Jerry leaning too hard against Thalia. ”I bet Italy was off the hook. Angelo went one time, and he came back with hickeys everywhere.”
”I'm pretty sure you're confusing hickeys with bruises,” Ryan corrects.
They laugh and it makes me feel easy again. Bertie leans closer to Thalia and goes, ”You like it here best, though, right? I mean, it's Brooklyn, baby.”
Thalia licks the sloppy joe off her wide smile. It has the same effect on all the boys, a deep sigh I don't think they're even aware of. ”It's my favorite place,” she tells him.
”Really?” Kurt says. His mouth is full of fries and chili sauce, and his violet eyes glint mischievously in the cafeteria light. ”I always enjoyed the Galapagos Isles.”
”What's in the Galapagos?”
Her voice sends a jolt right down my center. Layla pulls up a chair beside me. The suddenness of her voice makes me jump, and I squeeze the packet of ketchup outward. A big red blob lands on a girl at the next table.