Page 83 of Avelina

I heard Ellis talking to Aaron, but I couldn’t make it out. Aaron responded, “Absorption fatigue” and then something about reliving bad memories.

Great. Thanks for the heads-up.

Chapter Twenty-four

Linorra left Syndeth perched on the lowest bough of an ironwood tree at the edge of the forest, looking out upon Queen Mortier’s dark castle. The witch’s directions had been true, and she found the secret entrance to the dungeon without incident, then crept down as quickly and silently as she could, nearly slipping on the wet stairs. There were no torches to light the black walkway or cells. She held the glowing sword out in front of her as a light, gripping it tightly. Her hands shook with fright.

When I was a kid, we lived in Eureka, California, close to the Sequoia Park Zoo. It was an older neighborhood with beautiful mature redwood trees and small, well-maintained homes. Back then, it was still safe. I used to walk to and from school every day by myself.

One day, when I was nine, I walked home behind a group of three girls, all a couple of years older than me. I didn’t want to join their group. Being alone was so much easier back then. I just trailed at a safe distance, pretending not to see them.

One of the girls turned around to stare at me, then giggled at the other two girls. There was something about my pink Powerpuff Girls shirt that they thought was funny. After a minute, that same girl turned around, looked at me again, then stopped to wait. The other two girls followed suit.

Ugh. They’re going to say something mean and I’m going to cry again.

“Lina!” the girl called. She knew my name somehow, but I didn’t know hers. She was taller than the other two girls and had short, mousy brown hair. She wasn’t particularly pretty. I mean, she wasn’t ugly, but both of her friends were definitely prettier than her, and I’m thinking that didn’t sit well.

“I like your shirt,” she said. The other two girls smirked. I’m not always great with social cues, but even I knew she was making fun of me.

“Thanks,” I said, then sped up and passed the girls.

As I passed, Mousehead said, “And your backpack!” Then they all tittered. My backpack was purple and had Xena: Warrior Princess on it. Okay, maybe the shirt was a little babyish, but my backpack was badass. I turned around and gave her a look like she was crazy.

“Thanks,” I said again, obviously sarcastic this time.

“No,” said Mousehead. “I really like it. Can I see it?”

“I can’t. I gotta get home,” I said, then sped up to a jog. This was turning into a bad situation.

“Don’t be a baby. Just let me see it,” she called after me. She jogged to catch up to me and grabbed the loop on my bag, forcing me to a sudden stop and pulling me onto the ground. One of the other girls came up behind her, helping her rip the bag off me. I sat on the ground staring up at them in disbelief.

“Give it back!” I yelled. Then I remembered that my art project was in there. It was a little clay bowl I’d shaped and painted with a pink heart on the bottom. It was nothing special, but I’d planned to give it to my mom. I cried, of course. After all, I am the girl who cries and falls down.

“Why are you crying, little baby?” Mousehead taunted. “It’s not like I hurt you.”

“Give me my backpack, you stupid mouse head!” I yelled. It wasn’t the smartest idea, I’ll admit, but I was a pissed-off nine-year-old. I had no sense of diplomacy back then. Or ever.

Mousehead glared like she was about to kick me, but I heard a car coming down the road. She looked up, standing back from me. “You want it back?” she asked. “Go get it.”

Then, just as the car drove by, she threw the bag into the road under the tires. The car screeched to a halt just after its front tire crunched over the bag. I screamed, tears running down my face, but there was nothing to be done.

It wasn’t until then that I heard my mom’s shar-pei, Molly, barking furiously from the back seat and noticed that it was my dad’s car. A surge of vengeful hope filled me. Mousehead would get it now. My dad looked over at us calmly, then got out of his car and ambled over. I still sat on the ground, crying. He knew exactly what had happened, he told me later, but he pretended to be confused.

“What is going on?” he asked in his adorable accent. “Someone attacked me and Molly with a purple missile.”

Mousehead pointed at me while the other two girls just kept their heads down. It seemed to me that their expressions of guilt should have been obvious to anyone.

“I see,” he said. “Well, let’s see what we can do.” He walked over to the car and bent down to retrieve the backpack from behind the right front tire. My dad pulled the bag out and brushed it off. It was dirty, but it seemed okay.

“It had my present in it,” I said, then cried even harder.

“Oh, no!” he said, opening the bag to peek inside. I knew what he saw in there. It was crushed, like my little heart.

My dad eyed the girls one by one, then said, “Girls, go on home.” Mousehead smirked, knowing she had gotten away with her evil crime, and they continued down the street.

I stared after them incredulously, then up at my dad.

“Get in the car, Lina,” he said.

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