The Zodiac Collector Page 3

  “Got ’em.” He holds up four tickets.

  “Four? Who else is coming?” Mary asks.

  “Evan.” William tips his head and focuses his gaze behind us.

  On cue, Evan Wu jogs up to us. “What’s up?” He’s taller than Mary and me by four inches—two of which are made up by his spiked hair. His navy polo shirt is the exact same shade as his dark-wash jeans and Converse sneakers. Navy hipster glasses round out his monochrome look. Evan has a pair of glasses to match every outfit. On anybody else, it’d be totally weird, but it works for him.

  And it works for Mary. She drives her toe into the floor and fidgets with her hair, twisting a curl so tight it folds in on itself.

  I raise an eyebrow at her.

  She glares back at me and lowers her hand. “Let’s go.”

  We take the escalator up to the theaters and make a pit stop at the concession stand. Chatter from families, groups of friends, and kids surge around us. It’s a lively Friday night crowd. I bet most of them are heading to the same flick we are.

  I yank on the hem of William’s T-shirt. “Why don’t you get the snacks while Mary and I save some seats?”

  He gives me two tickets. “Good idea. What do you want?”

  I fork over a twenty. “Nachos and a blueberry Slushee.”

  “Junior Mints, please,” Mary squeaks. She’s still positioning herself as far away from Evan as possible—making sure William and I are between them—regardless of the constraints of the folks pressing behind us.

  He folds the money and pins it between his index and middle finger. “You got it, but it’s my treat, okay?” He holds the bill out to me.

  I flip back to Mission Sharp Excitement and accept the Andrew Jackson, flashing him a broad smile. “We’ll try for the upper level, first row.” I scoot out of line and rush to the theater with Mary in tow.

  Since we’re early—yes, I managed to get my hair done with time to spare, much to Mary’s surprise—we get the seats we want.

  “Where should we put the guys?” I ask.

  “William should sit next to you and Evan can sit on the other side.” Mary’s leg is shaking so hard I can feel the tremors in my butt.

  “What’s wrong with you?” I extend my legs and prop my feet on the bar in front of us.

  “What do you mean? Nothing.” She slouches down and folds her hands across her belly, staring straight ahead.

  “You’re acting totally weird around Evan.”

  “You should talk, the way you flirt with William.”

  “I’m not flirting with him.”

  “You totally are.”

  “Whatever.” It’s my turn to study the expansive white screen. Dark red curtains frame the thing and line the walls. Speakers and dim, rectangular sconces hang every few feet.

  “William’s a good guy,” Mary says softly.

  “So’s Evan,” I counter.

  She goes back to futzing with her hair.

  “You should talk to him.”

  “Don’t push me.”

  I roll my eyes.

  The boys arrive, arms laden with popcorn, nachos, drinks, and candy.

  William sits next to me and Evan takes the open seat next to him, just like Mary wanted. Avoid, avoid, avoid. She’ll go to her grave avoiding things. Doesn’t make her any safer.

  “You bought enough to feed the whole theater.” I take my nachos and hand Mary her Junior Mints.

  “I’m hungry.” He shrugs and sets my Slushee in the cup holder between us.

  Evan tears into a package of Twizzlers with his teeth and chomps on three at a time. Mary steals glances at him while delicately opening her candy.

  The theater goes dark and the previews start. I focus on my nachos. Crunch, crunch, crunch. So cheesy, salty,yummy.

  I lick my fingers clean and reach for my Slushee. My fingers circle around…

  …another hand.

  “Eek!” I let go and nearly toss my food.

  William starts laughing. “Sorry,” he snorts, “forgot that was yours.”

  “Y-yeah, it’s okay.” I pick up the drink and suck on the straw until my mouth fills up with sugary ice. While the opening credits roll, I replay the moment in my mind. All I can think about is how slippery my fingers are and how disgusting it is that I slimed his hand with my spit.

  I shudder. It’s hard to tell if it’s from the Slushee expanding in my stomach or the panic rising from my spine. Did I gross him out? No. He laughed. If he’d been turned off by it, he’d have yelled, or something.

  Searing pain stabs my eyes. “Dang!” I spit out the straw and pinch the bridge of my nose.

  Mary elbows me. “What’s going on?”

  “Brain freeze.” I lean forward and plop the cup on the floor. Pinching the top of my nose, I pray for the agony to subside. Instead, it intensifies. “Ow, ow, ow.”

  “Hey, you all right?” William’s breath tickles my ear.

  My leg kicks out in reflex, lobbing the Slushee under the railing and to the footpath below. “Crap!” I groan, squeezing my eyes shut.

  “You should try out for the soccer team.”

  “Shut up,” I whine.

  He laughs, rubbing circles on my back with his palm.

  I wish I could savor the sweetness of it, but the jabbing in my head is ridiculously distracting. I open my mouth and breathe out, hoping to funnel warm air to my palate.

  William is there the whole time, rubbing and leaning with me.

  Finally, my nerves settle and my brain thaws. I sit up straight.

  He removes his hand. “Better?”

  “Yeah,” I sigh, relieved the pain is gone and bummed that William’s no longer touching me.

  A huge explosion bursts on the movie screen. Typical action flick. Blow up something important and let the big hunk lead a mission to set things right.

  I can’t pay attention no matter how hard I try. Every so often, I rub the sweat off my palms onto my jeans and remind myself to breathe.

  After the movie ends, we wander out of the theater and hang around the food court. A few other kids from school do the same. We acknowledge each other briefly, like different species meeting at a watering hole, then huddle in groups around the larger tables. The goths are like stuck-up zebras, the nerds are nervous gazelles, and the jocks are hyenas—ready to crack up when the outcast giraffes trip over their own feet.

  I sit on top of a table. “Did you like the movie?”

  “Yeah, you?” William turns a chair around and sits on it backward. At least he’s facing me this time.

  “Yep.” I glance at Evan. “What’d you think?”

  He leans back into his chair and runs a hand over his spiky hair. “I’ve seen better, but the CGI was pretty good.”

  “The dialogue was kind of lame, though,” Mary adds.

  Evan chuckles. “Totally.”

  She smiles.

  “‘I’m not just taking you down, I’m taking you down to your graves”’ he mimics the main character’s deep, meathead voice.

  William snorts. “That was so lame.”

  “And what about, ‘They didn’t destroy our Capitol, they destroyed our heart’”. I fake-stab myself in the chest with a fist.

  We all laugh.

  “Guess we should call Dad.” Mary pulls out her cell and dials home.

  “I’ll walk you outside and wait with you.” William hops up and tucks his chair under the table.

  Evan pops from his seat. “Yeah, uh, me, too.”

  He and Mary walk ahead of William and me. She glances back at me once, her eyes wide.

  I grin at her, the best nudge I can give under the circumstances. I want to say, “Go on, talk to him. He totally likes you,” but I can’t.

  She bites her lip and settles in next to him. Evan chats about the special effects in the film, how they’re made, and what the director could’ve improved on, and Mary nods emphatically, hanging on every word.

  William and I don’t talk. Ordinarily, it’d be a comfor
table silence, but ever since his wicked awesome gift…well, let’s just say both sides—Operation Fuzzy Confusion and Mission Sharp Excitement—are on full offensive strike. A good friend would give him something equally as cool. A more-than-a-friend would…would…crap. Operation Fuzzy Confusion is winning this round. I can’t think of anything super fantastic enough to give him.

  On the ride home, Mission SE launches another campaign.

  I’ve got Gamma’s spellbook. There must be something I can use inside those worn, yellowed pages. Inspiration climbs from its hidey-hole deep in my spine to the battlefield in my brain.

  Gamma doesn’t want me to chant, but if it’s for a good reason then it should be okay. Besides, how much damage can one teensy-tiny spell do?

  Advantage: Mission SE.

  Operation FC raises the white flag of surrender for this round.

  Chapter Four

  By the pale yellow glow of my clip-on book light, I open the Zodiac spellbook and dive into its mysterious depths. A brightly colored Zodiac wheel marks the first page. Red for the fire signs, yellow for air, green for earth, and blue for water. In the center is a five-pointed star. The next ring shows the constellations, with an image of the corresponding sign superimposed on top. The final ring depicts the symbol of each.

  Gemini is yellow. The constellation looks like two stick figures with the stars Castor and Pollux making up the head of each twin. On top of the outline is a drawing of longhaired boys dressed in tunics standing next to one another with their temples touching. The symbol in the outer ring looks like the Roman numeral two.

  I trace my fingers along the image. This is my sign. Where I get my magickal energy from. All I have to do is figure out how to call on the stars.

  “Castor and Pollux, are you listening?” I whisper. I hold my breath and listen really hard, as if expecting an answer.

  “Who are you talking to?” Mary asks.

  I yelp. “I thought you were sleeping.”

  Mary fluffs her pillow. “Nope. Grandmother said to be careful with that.”

  “She also told me to study it.”

  She purses her lips.

  I blow a raspberry at her.

  The dogs think I’m playing a game. They rush out of their doggie beds and hop on top of me, yipping for pets.

  “Guys, easy. Go back to bed.” I lift the book so they can’t scratch at the pages.

  “Pollux, come here.” Mary snaps her fingers and the little Papillon scrambles to her bed.

  Without competition, Castor can relax. He settles onto my lap, rolls over, and waits patiently for a belly rub. “You’re such a ham.”

  His tail wags like crazy.

  “If you’re going to study something, why don’t you prepare for the SAT?” Mary prods.

  “Hey, you played with your camera. I’m playing with my present.”

  “Want me to snap your photo now? I’ll use the flash,” she snarks.

  I huff. “I want to look at the spells.”

  “You need to wait for Grandmother.”

  “Yeah, you said that already. Message received.”

  She rolls her eyes. I dip my nose toward the spellbook and ignore her. Her mattress creaks. I glance in her direction. She’s facing the wall. Good. I can immerse myself in the book’s beauty, wonder, and mystique in peace.

  I ease Castor to the end of my bed and balance the book on my lap, ready for another swim in the deep pool of magick Gamma presented me with. To test the parchment waters, I dip my toes in the front index. Each sign draws me in by degrees. Then I wade through page after page of spells for good luck, healing, sweet dreams, protection, truth, peace, even air fresheners. Some pages are islands of potions for rejuvenation, love, and warding off evil energies. Toward the back is a treasure chest of chants calling on spirits, invoking the Zodiac signs, and phasing into astral projection. I surf the swirly script, float on the star and curlicue designs in the corners, and navigate the key on the bottom of each page outlining the matching signs.

  When I come up for air, sandy grains in my eyes force me to stop exploring and pull me toward sleep. I click the light off and huddle under the sheets, holding the book in my arms.

  * * *

  It’s so lame being at the library on Saturday morning, surrounded by towers of crowded bookshelves instead of trees and frayed carpets instead of soft grass. Mary and I should be hanging out at the faire grounds, spying on the early-bird vendors. I should be fighting off asthma attacks triggered by pollen rather than dust. But no, we have the SAT coming up.

  Mary diligently studies biology while I stare blankly at my math textbook and tap my pencil against my notebook so fast it blurs. Taptaptaptaptaptap… My leg bobs up and down in rhythm.

  There’s no way I’m focusing. Besides, whatever I study today will be withdrawn from my crappy memory bank, leaving me with a negative balance by the time our exam comes around.

  My gaze shifts to my backpack. Inside is the cool waters of the spellbook. Its refreshing aura tempts me. Pick me up, it says. Quench your thirst.

  “Shh,” Mary glares at me.

  I drop my pencil, tearing my gaze from my backpack to raise my eyebrows at her. “What?”

  “That tapping is annoying.”

  I shrug. “Nobody’s here.”

  “I’m here, and you’re bothering me.”

  “Sorry.” I bite my lip and resist the spellbook’s siren call. My eyes close like an unfurling sail. I take a deep breath. My heart pounds with want and my fingers tingle with need.

  Mary clears her throat.

  My eyes fly open.

  She jabs my textbook with a finger and goes back to studying.

  I sigh and make a valiant attempt at making sense of letters with exponentials and equal signs and brackets and—oh my!—X’s. My eyes cross by the time I get halfway down a page.

  I “grrr” under my breath and slam the book shut.

  “Anne.”

  “What now?”

  “Never mind.” Mary juts out her chin and slides to the other end of the table.

  The spellbook pulls at me like an anchor. I tumble after it, snatch it out of my backpack, and lay it on the table over my textbook. The pages greet me with friendly crinkles and swishes as I turn them, like secrets whispered between best friends.

  Mary’s finger slides under my nose and shakes back and forth in a no-no motion.

  “Geez!” I gasp and jerk back.

  “What are you doing?” She uses the same voice she scolds Pollux with.

  “I’m taking a break. You?” I yank the book toward me.

  She slaps a palm over the spell I’m reading. “You’re supposed to be studying for the SAT.”

  “I don’t need you telling me what to do.”

  Her lips thin. “Why do you have to be so stubborn?”

  “Why do you have to be so controlling?”

  “Anne.” She leans over the table.

  “Mary.” I meet her in the middle until our noses almost touch.

  She growls and retreats to her biology book. A few minutes later, she says, “I’m not trying to fight with you.” Her eyes remind me of a neglected puppy, hollow and ripe with pain.

  My guts writhe like a mass of worms and heat flares into my cheeks. I know she’s trying to help and I have no right to snap at her. “Sorry for being such an ass.”

  She smiles, glowing from the nourishment of my apology. “Sorry for being so controlling.”

  “I would never pass the SAT if you didn’t keep me on track.” It’s true. Mary can pull off an A+ GPA like it’s as easy as breathing. My brain, like my lungs, betrays me and I have to eke out every percentile bit by bit. The only reason I placed in the same class as her this past year was because she stayed up half the night quizzing me. She’s a blessing I don’t deserve.

  “How can we be twins and yet be so different?” A cloud of puzzlement darkens her face.

  “Maybe we’re like Yin and Yang.”

  “More like Frick and F
rack.” She scrunches her nose.

  I close the spellbook and point to Gemini. “Maybe it’s our Zodiac sign.”

  “What do you mean?”

  I flip to the index and read. “Special power is granted to twins born under Gemini. Their astrological ancestors, brothers Castor and Pollux, were the closest of friends, until Castor was killed in battle. The distraught and grieving Pollux beseeched the gods for immortality and his wish was granted. The twins were transformed into stars and reunited once more in the night sky.”

  “That’s a great story, but what does it have to do with us?”

  “There’s more. Some Gemini twins are unaware of the bond they share and are fractured, likely to bicker, and risk losing one another. Because of this, it’s the only Zodiac sign prone to division. However, Gemini twins who embrace their power and join together can become some of the most powerful magicians in the world.”

  She eyes the book warily, full of mistrust and suspicion, sort of like how the dogs react to a thermometer—like they know nothing good will come of it. “That has nothing to do with genetics.”

  “But it has everything to do with our sign. You can’t deny how accurate horoscopes can be.”

  “Those things are so vague they fit everybody.”

  “Just because you can’t scientifically quantify something doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.”

  “I’m just saying, you don’t really know what you’re playing with.”

  “So you do believe.”

  She props her elbows on the table and drops her face in her hands. “No. I don’t.”

  I grin. “Yes, you do, or you wouldn’t be so worried about it.”

  She huffs. “Whatever. Can we get back to studying?”

  I pout. “I don’t wanna.”

  Mary peers between her fingers and giggles. “You look like Castor when he’s about to puke.”

  Slipping the spellbook into my backpack, I reply, “Math makes me nauseous.”

  “Okay, Gemini twin, why don’t we work together? We can review equations, logs, and exponents. After that, we can do a few practice questions, then take a break.”

  Things go better when she coaches me, that’s for sure. On the other hand, I know she’d prefer working on biology—it’s what she had scheduled for the morning. I give her a sideways glance. “What’s the catch?”