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Authors: Tish Cohen
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stuck in your lip…”
Susannah stands up and climbs off of the bench. “I’m going to get another drink.”
Just then Sylvia returns from LameWizardland, still sputtering. Uh-oh. There’s a clientzilla look in her eyes that makes me grab my sandwich and start chewing. I’ve seen this look before in disgruntled clients. From my early Lama days, I’ve tried hard to keep looks like this to a minimum. I swallow, then offer a shaky smile. “Hey, Sylvia. Feeling better?”
The look goes from howling mad to boiling fury. Her nostrils flare into tiny sharp triangles. “No!” She coughs again. “And do you want to know why?”
I’m petrified to hear the answer. Like a brave little soldier, I ask, “Why?”
I can see now that her wings are trembling. “BecauseBrandon said no. Actually, he said, ‘No chance!’ Brandon has always shared his milk with me—every single time I choked on my mother’s rice cakes. And not just because he’s lactose intolerant either. I could always sense there was something more between us. Something that goes way deeper than one percent with Omega Three Essential Oils. But not this time. This time he looked at me like he hoped I would just go away.” She squints down at me. “Do you know what it feels like to be looked at like that—by someone you care about?”
I swallow. “Sort of.”
“Your whole plan backfired! And now I’ll never know where my love for him might have gone, what possibilities might have lain ahead for two innocent…”
Okay. I don’t yet have a rule about this, but, even in my horror, I feel one brewing. It’ll need some tweaking, but it’ll have an awful lot to do with banning gingerbreadwith-icing language that would make a unicorn want to hack off his own horn with a plastic spoon.
“Sylvia, everything is unfolding exactly as planned. First he gets hurt, then he brews for a while, then he thinks he should make a bigger effort with you. It’s how Brandon operates. Believe me, it’s the only way to get a guy like thatinto an airless auditorium to watch girls in tartan skirts kicking their overdeveloped calves to bagpipe music. You have to trust me.”
She doesn’t say anything at first. Just blinks. “I don’t know. It doesn’t feel right.”
I pat her wing. “Believe in the system. Did I or did I not get Mr. Renzetti’s wife to come back from the hunting cabin after he got those hair plugs?”
She thinks about this. “You did, I guess. The bell’s going to ring soon. I better get in line for the water fountain.”
“Atta girl,” I call after her. I turn around and smile at Laurel. “She’s going to be all right, that kid.” I sigh. Laurel pats my hand in true #2 BFIS support.
“Uh-oh,” says Smartin, chewing on an apple core.
“What?” we ask.
“I think I swallowed my braces.”
The end-of-lunch bell rings, signaling us all to get out of the cafeteria and get outside or else we’ll get detention. Smartin tears out, leaving the evidence of his Frankenstein dental surgery all over the table. I sweep the staples onto my tray and wipe up his puddle of milk.
Susannah rushes back into the cafeteria. She’s out of breath by the time she reaches us. “Zoë. Red alert!”
“I thought we agreed to make all red alerts blue alerts,” wails Laurel.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“I just came back from the water fountain. Guess who was getting a drink?”
“Sylvia. She needed to clear her throat…”
Susannah shakes her head. “She was drinking all right. Devon was holding the water fountain on for her and she told Sylvia to take an ‘extra long drink.’ Even though there was a hu-uge lineup waiting.”
I squeeze my mouth into an angry little ball.
“It gets worse. When Sylvia had nowhere to wipe her dripping mouth…” Susannah looks around before leaning in real close, “Devon offered up the pretty green scarf her father made.”
We look at each other as the horribleness of the situation settles over us like
Susannah stands up and climbs off of the bench. “I’m going to get another drink.”
Just then Sylvia returns from LameWizardland, still sputtering. Uh-oh. There’s a clientzilla look in her eyes that makes me grab my sandwich and start chewing. I’ve seen this look before in disgruntled clients. From my early Lama days, I’ve tried hard to keep looks like this to a minimum. I swallow, then offer a shaky smile. “Hey, Sylvia. Feeling better?”
The look goes from howling mad to boiling fury. Her nostrils flare into tiny sharp triangles. “No!” She coughs again. “And do you want to know why?”
I’m petrified to hear the answer. Like a brave little soldier, I ask, “Why?”
I can see now that her wings are trembling. “BecauseBrandon said no. Actually, he said, ‘No chance!’ Brandon has always shared his milk with me—every single time I choked on my mother’s rice cakes. And not just because he’s lactose intolerant either. I could always sense there was something more between us. Something that goes way deeper than one percent with Omega Three Essential Oils. But not this time. This time he looked at me like he hoped I would just go away.” She squints down at me. “Do you know what it feels like to be looked at like that—by someone you care about?”
I swallow. “Sort of.”
“Your whole plan backfired! And now I’ll never know where my love for him might have gone, what possibilities might have lain ahead for two innocent…”
Okay. I don’t yet have a rule about this, but, even in my horror, I feel one brewing. It’ll need some tweaking, but it’ll have an awful lot to do with banning gingerbreadwith-icing language that would make a unicorn want to hack off his own horn with a plastic spoon.
“Sylvia, everything is unfolding exactly as planned. First he gets hurt, then he brews for a while, then he thinks he should make a bigger effort with you. It’s how Brandon operates. Believe me, it’s the only way to get a guy like thatinto an airless auditorium to watch girls in tartan skirts kicking their overdeveloped calves to bagpipe music. You have to trust me.”
She doesn’t say anything at first. Just blinks. “I don’t know. It doesn’t feel right.”
I pat her wing. “Believe in the system. Did I or did I not get Mr. Renzetti’s wife to come back from the hunting cabin after he got those hair plugs?”
She thinks about this. “You did, I guess. The bell’s going to ring soon. I better get in line for the water fountain.”
“Atta girl,” I call after her. I turn around and smile at Laurel. “She’s going to be all right, that kid.” I sigh. Laurel pats my hand in true #2 BFIS support.
“Uh-oh,” says Smartin, chewing on an apple core.
“What?” we ask.
“I think I swallowed my braces.”
The end-of-lunch bell rings, signaling us all to get out of the cafeteria and get outside or else we’ll get detention. Smartin tears out, leaving the evidence of his Frankenstein dental surgery all over the table. I sweep the staples onto my tray and wipe up his puddle of milk.
Susannah rushes back into the cafeteria. She’s out of breath by the time she reaches us. “Zoë. Red alert!”
“I thought we agreed to make all red alerts blue alerts,” wails Laurel.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“I just came back from the water fountain. Guess who was getting a drink?”
“Sylvia. She needed to clear her throat…”
Susannah shakes her head. “She was drinking all right. Devon was holding the water fountain on for her and she told Sylvia to take an ‘extra long drink.’ Even though there was a hu-uge lineup waiting.”
I squeeze my mouth into an angry little ball.
“It gets worse. When Sylvia had nowhere to wipe her dripping mouth…” Susannah looks around before leaning in real close, “Devon offered up the pretty green scarf her father made.”
We look at each other as the horribleness of the situation settles over us like
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