Take Me To Your Reader: An Otherworld Anthology by Amy A. Bartol, Tiffany King, Raine Thomas, Tammy Blackwell, Sarah M. Ross, Heather Hildenbrand, Amanda Havard, C.A. Kunz
Authors: Amy A. Bartol, Tiffany King, Raine Thomas, Tammy Blackwell, Sarah M. Ross, Heather Hildenbrand, Amanda Havard, C.A. Kunz
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while I cleaned, avoid the line of weirdly pretty people staring at her while she ate.) "Tell me this is a lamely detailed April Fools' joke."
" You don't believe me," I said.
" Of course I don't believe you, you insane little fool. But I see a flaw in your theory," she said.
I sighed, rolled my eyes. With air quotes, I said, "Aliens don't exist."
" No, not that. That you don't believe anymore. And it's subjective. I see an actual hole in your logic." She licked soft serve off the spoon. I idly wondered, if she'd been anyone else, would I have found that hot?
" I'm listening."
" It sounds like you're suggesting that they're playing some kind of mind voodoo on everyone. Like you think that's why no one cares what they're doing, or asks who they are. Right?"
" Right."
" Well, why isn't it working on you?" she said.
I hadn 't thought about it. I'd been awake too long and thinking too hard, and somehow, I hadn't figured out my own strength against them.
A corner of that obnoxious smile of hers turned up, and she started to laugh. "You don't have an answer for that one."
" Maybe it's because I saw them first. When Blonde Bombshell—"
" Are we still calling her that?" Dana huffed.
I ignored her. "When Blonde Bombshell came here that night. I was probably the first person they spoke to here."
" So, what, that made you immune? Wouldn't that, by logic, mean that you were the first infected? Wouldn't that mean you were the most under their spell?"
" It's not a spell," I said. "You're thinking of the wrong kind of—"
" Mythical creature." She cut me off again. "Look, Fenton. You've always been weird. And you've always been my friend. So I'm telling you, as your friend, to let this go."
I crossed my arms, and stared at her. "Then what's your explanation? Fifty new families. A hundred plus new kids at school. Sugar bust?"
She looked me dead in the eye and said, "I don't need one."
" You don't understand."
" Stop being such a freak," she said. She got to her feet, not even halfway done with her ice cream, and she left.
That night I walked home since Dana had left me to fend for myself. When I got to the house it was dark - save for the glow of a TV coming from the family room, where my mom was undoubtedly asleep in a recliner.
When I rounded the corner of the house to come in the kitchen door, like I always did, Blonde Bombshell was standing there. Stiffly.
"Whoa," I said out loud, before I could stop myself. She was dressed like a sexed-up superhero sidekick in a comic book movie. Maybe like Scarlett-Johansen-as-Black-Widow-in-The-Avengers. Black bodysuit sort of thing. The same thigh-high boots. Hair big and all over the place. Red lips, dark eyes.
" Fenton Marsh," she said. Stiffer than the Siri robo-speak. It was so odd to hear her talk. You so rarely heard their voices.
" Yeah . . .?"
" Pleasantries suggest you should greet me with one of the acceptable phrases. And you should call me by my name, like I called you by yours."
" I never got your name," I said, which was true.
" Clarice," she said. Silence of the Lambs, I thought. She tilted her head to the side, like she had the night we met. A jerky movement. A robotic function.
" Hello, Clarice. What are you doing here?" I asked. My palms were sweaty. My hair stuck to my forehead.
" Do you like your profession at the Dairy Queen?" she asked.
" I wouldn't exactly call it my profession," I said. Surely I'd break out of the damn Dairy Queen. Surely this was my high school job, not my maximum potential.
" You do it for work, do you not? Professional denotes payment for service, a job. Am I incorrect in my linguistic understanding of the word, 'profession'?" she asked.
" No, you're right, it's just that . . ."
" What is just what?" she asked.
" Why are you talking to me about Dairy Queen?"
" We like it. It is a good source of food for us. Perhaps you will be useful for us, when the time comes."
My heart was beating out of my chest. When the time
" You don't believe me," I said.
" Of course I don't believe you, you insane little fool. But I see a flaw in your theory," she said.
I sighed, rolled my eyes. With air quotes, I said, "Aliens don't exist."
" No, not that. That you don't believe anymore. And it's subjective. I see an actual hole in your logic." She licked soft serve off the spoon. I idly wondered, if she'd been anyone else, would I have found that hot?
" I'm listening."
" It sounds like you're suggesting that they're playing some kind of mind voodoo on everyone. Like you think that's why no one cares what they're doing, or asks who they are. Right?"
" Right."
" Well, why isn't it working on you?" she said.
I hadn 't thought about it. I'd been awake too long and thinking too hard, and somehow, I hadn't figured out my own strength against them.
A corner of that obnoxious smile of hers turned up, and she started to laugh. "You don't have an answer for that one."
" Maybe it's because I saw them first. When Blonde Bombshell—"
" Are we still calling her that?" Dana huffed.
I ignored her. "When Blonde Bombshell came here that night. I was probably the first person they spoke to here."
" So, what, that made you immune? Wouldn't that, by logic, mean that you were the first infected? Wouldn't that mean you were the most under their spell?"
" It's not a spell," I said. "You're thinking of the wrong kind of—"
" Mythical creature." She cut me off again. "Look, Fenton. You've always been weird. And you've always been my friend. So I'm telling you, as your friend, to let this go."
I crossed my arms, and stared at her. "Then what's your explanation? Fifty new families. A hundred plus new kids at school. Sugar bust?"
She looked me dead in the eye and said, "I don't need one."
" You don't understand."
" Stop being such a freak," she said. She got to her feet, not even halfway done with her ice cream, and she left.
That night I walked home since Dana had left me to fend for myself. When I got to the house it was dark - save for the glow of a TV coming from the family room, where my mom was undoubtedly asleep in a recliner.
When I rounded the corner of the house to come in the kitchen door, like I always did, Blonde Bombshell was standing there. Stiffly.
"Whoa," I said out loud, before I could stop myself. She was dressed like a sexed-up superhero sidekick in a comic book movie. Maybe like Scarlett-Johansen-as-Black-Widow-in-The-Avengers. Black bodysuit sort of thing. The same thigh-high boots. Hair big and all over the place. Red lips, dark eyes.
" Fenton Marsh," she said. Stiffer than the Siri robo-speak. It was so odd to hear her talk. You so rarely heard their voices.
" Yeah . . .?"
" Pleasantries suggest you should greet me with one of the acceptable phrases. And you should call me by my name, like I called you by yours."
" I never got your name," I said, which was true.
" Clarice," she said. Silence of the Lambs, I thought. She tilted her head to the side, like she had the night we met. A jerky movement. A robotic function.
" Hello, Clarice. What are you doing here?" I asked. My palms were sweaty. My hair stuck to my forehead.
" Do you like your profession at the Dairy Queen?" she asked.
" I wouldn't exactly call it my profession," I said. Surely I'd break out of the damn Dairy Queen. Surely this was my high school job, not my maximum potential.
" You do it for work, do you not? Professional denotes payment for service, a job. Am I incorrect in my linguistic understanding of the word, 'profession'?" she asked.
" No, you're right, it's just that . . ."
" What is just what?" she asked.
" Why are you talking to me about Dairy Queen?"
" We like it. It is a good source of food for us. Perhaps you will be useful for us, when the time comes."
My heart was beating out of my chest. When the time
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