as he poked one with his finger. I edged inside the room, too startled to make a peep. Something was sticking out of each nub.
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Something that looked like ... a feather? For a second, I thought I might be sick again. My brother had feathers growing out of his back? What the hell?
Was somebody poisoning him, too?
Casey caught a glimpse of me in the mirror. He whirled around, eyes frantic.
"Shit! Jenna. Get out!"
"No." I stood firm, his phone clutched in my hand.
"I'm serious!" he hollered. "I don't have a shirt on."
Like I hadn't seen that before? I walked to his bed, tossed the phone on his pillow, and picked up his T-shirt. "Here," I said, waving it in his face.
"Problem solved."
His back was to the mirror now. My pulse quickened. "What is on your back?" I asked point-blank.
Casey snatched the shirt from me and started yanking (or trying to yank) it over his head. His hands were shaking. "Go back to your room," he growled, his voice muffled by the fabric. Screw it . I changed my mind midstream. I whipped the shirt off him before he could get his arms through the sleeves.
"Jesus!" my brother yelped. "What are you doing?"
I pointed to the feathers. That's what they were for sure. Feathers.
"So what did you do?" I said. "Get those at Spencer's? Did Bryce convince you to go there again?"
Casey's voice sounded sort of strangled. "No," he managed. "Shit. Jenna.
You should sit down. I need to tell you something. About me. About Amber, too. Just give me the goddamned shirt, okay?"
More weirdness. (As in, weirdness inside.) Because as I handed him the shirt and sat on the bed, I felt woozy, not relieved. If I'd been scared before, then I was terrified now. For the first time, Casey himself looked stricken. He angled in
94
the mirror again, eyeballing the nubs. "They're really there, aren't they?" he whispered.
"What's it got to do with Amber? You didn't get her pregnant or something did you?" Granted, that was the first time this thought had occurred to me, but I figured I needed to toss it out there. Maybe he'd done it with her. Maybe the thing on his back was some kind of sex disease. It wasn't like Ima Hogg went out of its way to educate us impressionable eighth grade youth about STDs. Maybe back feathers were common.
"No!" Casey gave a short laugh. "Is that what you think?"
"Is that what you did?" His laptop was open on the bedspread beside me and powered up. Desperate times , I thought. I pulled up Google. Typed in Amber Velasco.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
"I'm going to prove that she is up to no good. Someone has to know something about her. It has to be somewhere on the Internet."
He sighed. "She's not there. Believe me, I've looked." He moved from the mirror, rubbing at his left shoulder blade with his right hand. "There's three Amber Velascos but none of 'em are her. Trust me on that. I guess they wipe you clean if ..."
I stood up. Before he could flinch or jerk away, I pressed one of the nubs. It felt hard and smooth. Spencer's made some quality products. Right? So why did I stil feel scared? Because he didn't even blink?
"I need to try something," Casey said. "Stay there. Keep looking at my back, okay? Please, Jenna."
He squeezed his arms against his sides and made a grunting noise.
Honestly, it sounded like he was trying to poop.
95
Against my better judgment, I stood still. The dark little nubs pushed forward from Casey's back. The feathers fanned out. Into tiny little damp wings. Like the kind of wings you see when a bird first hatches.
"You and Bryce need to stop wasting your money on all that comic book and video game crap," I said. My voice sounded funny in my ears, like I was listening to someone else talk. My gaze kept flickering over the feathers, hunting for any hint that they were fake. I'd never seen feathers so real, except on a bird. (Specifically on the pigeons that loitered outside the Ima Hogg dumpsters.) That sheen. It could be a flat monotone one moment, the glimpse
93
Something that looked like ... a feather? For a second, I thought I might be sick again. My brother had feathers growing out of his back? What the hell?
Was somebody poisoning him, too?
Casey caught a glimpse of me in the mirror. He whirled around, eyes frantic.
"Shit! Jenna. Get out!"
"No." I stood firm, his phone clutched in my hand.
"I'm serious!" he hollered. "I don't have a shirt on."
Like I hadn't seen that before? I walked to his bed, tossed the phone on his pillow, and picked up his T-shirt. "Here," I said, waving it in his face.
"Problem solved."
His back was to the mirror now. My pulse quickened. "What is on your back?" I asked point-blank.
Casey snatched the shirt from me and started yanking (or trying to yank) it over his head. His hands were shaking. "Go back to your room," he growled, his voice muffled by the fabric. Screw it . I changed my mind midstream. I whipped the shirt off him before he could get his arms through the sleeves.
"Jesus!" my brother yelped. "What are you doing?"
I pointed to the feathers. That's what they were for sure. Feathers.
"So what did you do?" I said. "Get those at Spencer's? Did Bryce convince you to go there again?"
Casey's voice sounded sort of strangled. "No," he managed. "Shit. Jenna.
You should sit down. I need to tell you something. About me. About Amber, too. Just give me the goddamned shirt, okay?"
More weirdness. (As in, weirdness inside.) Because as I handed him the shirt and sat on the bed, I felt woozy, not relieved. If I'd been scared before, then I was terrified now. For the first time, Casey himself looked stricken. He angled in
94
the mirror again, eyeballing the nubs. "They're really there, aren't they?" he whispered.
"What's it got to do with Amber? You didn't get her pregnant or something did you?" Granted, that was the first time this thought had occurred to me, but I figured I needed to toss it out there. Maybe he'd done it with her. Maybe the thing on his back was some kind of sex disease. It wasn't like Ima Hogg went out of its way to educate us impressionable eighth grade youth about STDs. Maybe back feathers were common.
"No!" Casey gave a short laugh. "Is that what you think?"
"Is that what you did?" His laptop was open on the bedspread beside me and powered up. Desperate times , I thought. I pulled up Google. Typed in Amber Velasco.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
"I'm going to prove that she is up to no good. Someone has to know something about her. It has to be somewhere on the Internet."
He sighed. "She's not there. Believe me, I've looked." He moved from the mirror, rubbing at his left shoulder blade with his right hand. "There's three Amber Velascos but none of 'em are her. Trust me on that. I guess they wipe you clean if ..."
I stood up. Before he could flinch or jerk away, I pressed one of the nubs. It felt hard and smooth. Spencer's made some quality products. Right? So why did I stil feel scared? Because he didn't even blink?
"I need to try something," Casey said. "Stay there. Keep looking at my back, okay? Please, Jenna."
He squeezed his arms against his sides and made a grunting noise.
Honestly, it sounded like he was trying to poop.
95
Against my better judgment, I stood still. The dark little nubs pushed forward from Casey's back. The feathers fanned out. Into tiny little damp wings. Like the kind of wings you see when a bird first hatches.
"You and Bryce need to stop wasting your money on all that comic book and video game crap," I said. My voice sounded funny in my ears, like I was listening to someone else talk. My gaze kept flickering over the feathers, hunting for any hint that they were fake. I'd never seen feathers so real, except on a bird. (Specifically on the pigeons that loitered outside the Ima Hogg dumpsters.) That sheen. It could be a flat monotone one moment, the glimpse
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