Michael, my stepdad, tracked me down not long after Hyde slumped away into the crowd.
“Way to go!” Michael said, clapping me on the back. “Did you make it?”
“16:33,” I said, trying to look like it didn’t bother me.
“Your chip time might be different though, right?” Michael asked. I appreciated him taking the time to learn my sport, but right now it felt like rubbing salt into the wound.
“Maybe, but probably not. I was right on the starting line when the race started.”
“You might be close enough,” Michael said.
“Maybe,” I said. But given Coach Kafburn’s tone, I wasn’t terribly optimistic.
Luckily, Michael didn’t push me. I dabbed my sweaty forehead with the towel, being careful not to use the part I’d used to clean off the first bird mess.
“Another seagull?” Michael asked, taking the towel and wiping my shoulder.
“Two seagulls,” I said.
“Hmmm,” Michael said, looking bewildered.
He changed the subject to his latest family bonding idea: fishing. Michael wanted to drag all of us out to the middle of nowhere to gouge some bugs with hooks so the hooks could then gouge some fish all while standing still in the middle of frigid water. I was still waiting for someone to tell me what part of that was supposed to be the fun part.
Then again, Michael was always asking me what was so fun about running and I didn’t have a good answer for him. But even if fishing turned out to be as bad as it sounded, it was cool that he was trying.
I let my stepdad do the talking as we walked the rest of the way home. We entered through the garage, which was overtaken by Michael’s outdoor toys. Kayaks, backpacks bigger than me, skis, snowboards, you name it. I think he might have felt antsy because he popped one of the bikes off the ceiling and left for a ride.
Home was unusually empty. Only Patch greeted me when I walked into the house, his wispy dachshund tail whipping behind him in a frenzy. I scratched behind his floppy ears. I assumed Mamá and Camila, my little sister, were out shopping. Hayden, my sophomore stepbrother, was at cheerleading practice. As for James, I could hear my “step-twin” belting out a song up in our bedroom.
“As a specimen, yes, I’m intimidating!” James sang out as I trudged upstairs.
I smiled, despite myself. A local youth theater was putting on Beauty and the Beast in a few months and my stepbrother was determined to land a starring role as . . . (drumroll) . . . you guessed it. Gaston. There were countdowns to audition day on every mirror, door, and magnetic surface in the house.
I pushed the door open as James sang along. “As you see, I’ve got biceps to spare. Not a bit of me’s scraggly or scrawny. That’s right! And every last inch of me’s covered with hair!”
My stepbrother dramatically tugged down his collar, revealing part of his chest and I couldn’t hold back a snort.
James jumped, realizing he had an audience. “No one asked you,” he said with a sniff.
Though James wasn’t as short as I was, it was hard to imagine him as Gaston. His biceps were about the size of grapes, he was definitely on the scrawny side of burly, and I estimated about 20 years before his first chest hair made its triumphal debut.
“You sounded great,” I said, swallowing back a smirk as James stopped the music.
“Of course I did,” James said cheerfully, his chest puffing out slightly. “You know, I think I’ve got a real chance at this part. I talked to Ashley again today. . . .” James called Ashley, the director, practically every day “. . . and she told me she doesn’t think anyone can pull off Gaston’s big ego quite like I can.”
“You’ve definitely got that down,” I said with a grin.
“How did the race go?” James asked.
My shoulders tensed. “It went great,” I said.
“You got 16:30?” James asked.
“16:33,” I said, tossing my hat on the doorknob.
“Oh.”
“He might still give me a chance,” I said, trying to keep my tone cheery.
“Any seagull action?”
“Twice.”
It was James’s turn to snort as he pulled out his Santiago Got Seagulled calendar and added a large 2 for today. This struck me as optimistic.
We were quiet for a few seconds before his phone alarm went off. “That’s my–”
“Singing lesson?” I finished for him.
“I can cancel if you want to do Super Smash or Fortnight or something. Nothing like recklessly wasting ridiculous amounts of time with your favorite step-twin.”
“Nah, it’s OK. Enjoy your lesson.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, thanks though.”
“OK. I’ll see you at the family barbecue.”
“Sounds good. See ya,” I said, fighting to keep my voice cheery.
James grabbed a notebook off the desk and made his exit.
I’d almost forgotten about the barbecue. Neither my papá nor my mamá had much family in the states, but my stepdad had a ton of relatives nearby. We were going to meet in a park in a couple hours, eat overdone burgers, and play awkward lawn games.
I pushed play again on James’s old iPod player to drown out the silence, too wiped to even shower. I plopped down in the chair and plastered my face to the desk for some good old-fashioned feeling sorry for myself.
I didn’t make varsity. I should have trained more or eaten more carbs last night.
I’d have to come up with a new plan for shedding my “freak” status. Maybe student government? I’d have to be popular enough to get elected. Besides, elections were at the end of the schoolyear.
The iPod player continued blasting “Gaston” on repeat.
And there was a creepy squeaking sound coming from the window.
I glanced toward the noise and a trick of the light almost convinced me the windowpane was sliding up on its own. I pried my face from the desk and stared at it. Had it been open before?
“Santiago Benjamin Huamán Pérez, we must converse,” said a scratchy voice right behind me.
I nearly fell out of my chair.
“GAH! What the– Who are– what are–,” I stuttered, whirling around to find the top hat lady standing behind me. “How the freaking heck did you get in here?!”
“That’s not important. What is that dreadful noise?” She glanced around until she saw James’s iPod player. She reached up to her necklace and started muttering something funny. There was a small exploding noise as the player caved in on itself, compressing to the size of a soda can. Also, the music stopped.
My breath caught in my throat. “That . . . that was–”
“A public nuisance,” the woman finished as though she’d done me an enormous favor.
“Who are you and why are you here? No wait, how did you get into my room?”
“You are Santiago Benjamin Huamán Perez.”
It wasn’t a question, just a statement.
“Yeeeeah,” I said hesitantly, wondering if it was OK to give your name to strangers who appear in your bedroom. “What are you doing in my room?”
“I have important business with you,” she said. “Listen closely, I hate repeating myself.”
My heartbeat seemed to slow as the initial shock of her appearance wore off.
“Be a gentleman and invite me to sit,” she said, pointing to the bunk bed behind her.
“Ummm, have a seat?” I said. I pulled out my phone and entered 911. Just in case.
She started to sit, but then frowned, a disgusted look on her face. She pulled her white top hat off her head, reached into it, and removed a bag and, oddly enough, a pair of tongs.
Wait a second. I must have missed something. There was no way a pair of tongs that long would have fit in that hat—she must have had them in her hands already.
With a look of revulsion on her face, she gingerly used the tongs to pull a pair of James’s boxers off the bedspread and dropped them into the bag. She tied the bag closed and tossed it onto James’s pillow.
And just when I thought the weirdness was over, she pulled a large white doily out of the hat, placed it neatly onto the bed, and sat on it.
“That’s better. Let’s get this over with. I’m Bess Belfry. You may have heard of me. I am the Seer of Flamingo Springs. What are you doing down here in the Underland?”
“What am I doing here? I live here,” I said.
Bess gave me a piercing look. “You live in the Underland?”
“What’s the Underland?” I asked.
“You’re not one of us?” Bess said, looking almost as bewildered as I felt. Seeing her confusion made me wonder if she’d wandered away from a care facility. But then, how did she know my name?
“One of who?” I asked.
“But fate would not have chosen an Underlander,” she said, apparently to herself. “Are you touched by fate?”
“What?!” I asked, beginning to think I wasn’t the one who was a bit touched here.
“Goodness, boy. Is your hearing as bad as your stench?” she asked, clearly annoyed. “Are you touched by fate? Do you have a lot of bizarre coincidences happen to you?”
I stiffened. “Coincidences . . . happen to everyone,” I hedged.
“Tell me about your coincidences,” she said.
“Why?”
“The sooner you tell me, the sooner I’ll be gone.”
Fair enough. I thought for a moment. “Well, on field day in Kindergarten, we were doing the 100-meter dash and I won every heat.”
“That’s nothing,” Bess said.
“But it had nothing to do with how fast I ran,” I hurriedly explained. “In one round, every single kid out there tripped while I ran past them. In another heat, a kid was about to overtake me, but ran smack into a flying bird. And in the final heat, I was in second place but the kid behind me fell knocking me forward ahead of the kid in front of me. I won.”
I smiled. I’d been a runner ever since.
Bess didn’t look convinced. “That could’ve been plain old luck.”
“Isn’t that what we’re talking about?”
“No, we are talking about fate. Destiny. Not luck.”
They sounded the same to me but I wasn’t about to argue with her.
“Give me another example.”
“Well, there was the time when I was in the school library looking for a book and every book I pulled off the shelves in the library had rain in the title and then it rained for three days straight. Then there was a break followed by another three days. It was crazy. James said I had a gift,” I paused but then hurriedly backtracked. “But yeah it was just a coincidence. Could happen to anyone.”
“Still could’ve been luck,” she said. “Who is James?”
“He’s my step-twin- I mean my step-brother.”
“Your step-twin?”
“That’s what we call each other.”
“Why?”
“Um, well . . . ten years ago, my family moved into this house. Another family moved in next door the same day. They had a son who was born an hour after I was. His name, James, is the English version of my name. We became friends right away even though he’s really. . . .”
Stuck up? Artsy? Something? I’m not sure what I wanted to say there but I hurried on.
“Anyway, we told everybody that we were twins. He’s my best friend. Our families became tight.”
She fixed her beady brown eyes on mine. “Tell me about what happened with your father,” she directed, using her cane to point to a picture on my desk that showed my papá, my mamá, Camila, and me. The last picture of all of us. There was one right next to it with my stepdad and my stepbrothers.
I shifted uncomfortably.
“What’s wrong? Pixie got your tongue?”
“I don’t see what that has to do with anything,” I said, my voice sounding harsher than I intended.
“I think you need to tell me.”
“Why?” I said. “You somehow know my name even though I’ve never seen you before, you broke into my house, you busted my brother’s dead mom’s iPod player, which he’s going to blame me for, by the way, you called me smelly, which I guess is probably true, and you expect me to just– just– tell you stuff?”
“I do.”
“Well, I’m sorry, but it’s not happening.”
Now Bess shifted uncomfortably. She reached up to her necklace once more and muttered something. My jaw dropped as I saw James’s music player fix itself, expanding out until it was its original shape. The iPod continued playing the Gaston song as if nothing had happened. I sucked in a breath, then reached over and hit pause.
Bess looked me straight in the eye. “You must share and you know it.”
And even though it made no sense, I knew instinctively that she was right. But still. . . .
“There wasn’t anything coincidental about it,” I said quickly, staring at the floor.
She didn’t respond. The silence stretched out for what felt like hours. I massaged my legs as Bess stared intently at me.
Out of nowhere, my door squeaked, and Patch shuffled into the bedroom, plodded up next to me, and slouched against my leg. The touch of his soft fur against me seemed to break whatever weird trance I’d been under, and I finally started talking again. “My parents and James’s parents went out to dinner together six years ago. On their way home, they got t-boned by a drunk driver.” I swallowed. “My papá and their mom didn’t, um, didn’t make it.” I swallowed, then hurried on. “Not a coincidence though. It happens all the time. 10,000 people a year die that way.”
I didn’t cry about it—not anymore—but once in a while there were these moments where it felt like a metal rake was scraping across the inside of my chest and I just wanted to bury my head under my pillow and pretend that night happened differently. I glanced around, not wanting to meet this strange woman in the eye.
“There’s something more to that story, isn’t there?” Bess asked gently.
“That’s it. That’s how they died,” I said, my hands clenching on my lap.
Bess looked like she was about to pry but then seemed to change her mind. “Alright. What happened next?”
“So um, my mamá and James’s dad, Michael, well, they were there for each other and a couple years later. . . .”
“They got married,” Bess finished for me. “So now your best friend is your step-twin.”
We sat quietly for a few moments. My breathing started to slow once more.
“Were you born outside, Santiago?” Bess asked.
Well, that was random.
“Uh yeah,” I said, scratching the back of my head. “How did you know?”
“Was it the full moon?”
“No idea,” I said, wondering if anybody actually knew the phase of the moon on their day of birth.
“It couldn’t be you if you weren’t one of us though,” Bess said.
“What couldn’t be me? What do you mean by ‘us?’”
“Hold out your hand,” she said, grabbing the water bottle I’d brought back from the race.
“My– my hand?”
“Yes, hold out your hand,” she said impatiently as she removed her necklace. The golden chain had a single orange stone attached to it.
I held out my hand uncertainly. All business, she took it and twisted it so my palm was up then dumped some water on it. This was getting weirder and weirder.
“Probably unnecessary,” she mumbled to herself. “You’re so sweaty.”
She looked slightly disgusted but touched the stone to my wet palm. I gave her my best I-think-you-might-be-crazy-but-I’m-too-polite-to-say-so look. Bess, however, stared intently at my hand. Realizing I wasn’t getting anywhere with my bewildered gaze, I looked down at my palm too.
For a moment, I thought that whatever it was she was trying to do wasn’t working.
Then I noticed something white in the middle of my brown skin. Bright white. In fact, it was literally emanating light. I instinctively tried to push my hand away from my body—which really doesn’t work very well, in case you were wondering. Bess managed to keep the stone pressed against my palm and the white spot grew larger, shaping itself into a large crescent.
“Those born when the moon is full and bright, have magic that ignites in the night,” Bess muttered, almost reverently.
“Huh?” I asked.
“You have the mark. You are a sorcerer. And my successor as Seer of Flamingo Springs.”
The way she said it, I think she expected me to kneel so she could knight me or something. Instead, I sat there in my star-spangled short shorts and sweat-soaked singlet, rubbing my sore thigh with my non-crescented hand.
“What is this Flamingo Springs place you keep talking about?”
Bess grunted. “It’s a city on an invisible flyland—flying island—above us.”
“There’s a flying island above us? Why hasn’t anyone seen it or flown a plane into it or something?”
“You think I know?”
“So am I, like, the chosen one or something?” I asked.
“Goodness me, no!” Bess said. She yanked the stone back. The white mark remained but stopped. “Where would you come up with a notion like that?”
“Never mind,” I said, trying not to look at the bookshelf full of fantasy novels.
“Think of it like a job. Every magical city has a seer that the people can go to for guidance.”
What kind of guidance could I give? The sorcerer part sounded promising though. Could I use this magic to change my luck?
“Can’t I just have the magic without all of that Seer stuff?” I asked. “You probably want somebody who knows more about your world anyway.”
“You have the potential for magic whether you accept the mantle of Seer or not,” Bess said. “But refusing the mantle would be stupid.”
That wasn’t really an answer to my question, but my brain had already worked up another reason that I wouldn’t be a good Seer.
“I’m 14. Why would anyone ask me for guidance?”
“You don’t realize the gift you’ve been given. Any sorcerer can work magic on objects, but you are touched by fate. It’s a higher form of magic. It gives you special insights into . . .”
“The future?” I suggested, scratching Patch behind the ears.
“It’s more than that. Seers peer into the past, the present, the future, into events, places, and people . . . Government officials will come to you for insights on decisions. Parents will ask you to peer into the futures of their children, couples will ask you if they should wed, rangers will ask you where to seek magical artifacts. Constables may consult you on crimes. I could go on all day.”
I squirmed, massaging my thighs some more. I didn’t like the idea of people coming to me—Santiago—for advice. But magic sounded useful. Maybe I could transform school lunch into something edible, magically help our pitiful football team get a touchdown next year or help the picked-on kids avoid bullies. I smiled as I envisioned conjuring a hundred seagulls above Hyde.
“Does it always . . . smell like this in here?” Bess asked, drawing me out of my thoughts.
I shrugged.
Bess shuddered, reaching into her hat and pulling a small bottle out of it. She spritzed the air near her face. I caught a strong whiff. Great. Now my room was going to smell like old flowers with a touch of funeral home.
I glanced at my arm where the crescent was slowly receding. Only a sliver was visible now. “Is this all for real or am I in a coma or something?”
Bess lifted up her cane and gave me a firm rap on the head, then asked, “What do you think?”
“Ow!” I said, rubbing my head. Harsh.
“Believe me now?”
“Yeah I guess, it’s just that–”
“Good griffins, boy, how many questions can one child have?”
Considering that my entire world had turned upside down within the past ten minutes. . . . “I have a lot,” I admitted.
“The time for questions is over,” she said, standing abruptly. “It’s time to go.”