“Poor baby,” she croons to Joshua, addressing me. “You torment him so, dear. Why not give him a chance? I bet he’s delicious.”
I don’t respond. Longing pats Joshua’s cheek, grins at me one more time, and disappears. She’s also left Susie, so there are no other Emotions in the room at the moment. Only their influence.
“Zombie.” Sophia holds the handout in front of my face. She waves back and forth, fanning my face. “Hello, anyone in there?” I reach to take it from her, but Sophia jerks it away from my grasp, disgust etched in the lines of her face. “You’re such a freak,” she snaps. “What’s wrong with you? Huh? Answer me.”
“Nothing I say will satisfy you,” I say, glancing at Mrs. Farmer, who’s staring at the clock now. Her glasses are crooked on her nose. I look at Sophia again. “Can I have the paper, please?” I know it’s fruitless, but I try because it’s what she expects, and what the kids around me listening expect. Sophia waves it in my face again.
“What are you going to do?” she hisses. “Try to take it from me. Come on, Elizabeth. Take it from me.”
She holds it in front of my nose again, prepared to snatch it away. I don’t move as I calculate. Mrs. Farmer hasn’t noticed us yet, but if I defend myself it could get me in trouble with the office, and thus in trouble with Tim. Sophia laughs at me, and a couple other kids do too, thinking I’m frozen because of Fear. But for once, he’s far from here.
“I’ll take it from you.” Joshua moves so quickly that Sophia doesn’t realize that the paper has slipped from her fingers until it’s too late. She glares up at Joshua.
“N-nobody asked you to get involved,” she says to him, her narrow face pinched with fury. She wants him to like her so badly, but she can’t bring herself to be kind to me.
Joshua grins, a lazy, insolent curve of the lips. “’Course nobody asked. That’s what makes it fun.” He gives me the assignment, his eyes saying more than his words ever could. Joy and Courage stand by him, both touching his shoulders. Joshua’s face is a mask of mischief, but the presence of the Emotions shows me the truth.
“Thank you,” I tell him.
Sophia has turned around in her seat, but her stiff shoulders and Anger beside her are hints of future pain I can look forward to. Anger ignores my presence—he’s never liked me, for some reason.
Mrs. Farmer has begun to talk again, so I pretend to pay attention to her.
“You’re welcome,” I hear Joshua say, which pulls my eyes back to him. Playing the part of the casual troublemaker, he grins at me, touches his temple as if to tip an invisible hat, and goes back to his desk. Joy has gone, but I know she’s still with him from the spring in his step. Courage stays by me—one of the few Emotions I haven’t met. I don’t know how I recognize him, but I do.
The bell rings and suddenly the classroom is alive. Kids shoot to their feet and speed-walk to the door like their lives depend on it. Joshua gives me a last, lingering look as he leaves. “Make sure to pick your partners by tomorrow!” Mrs. Farmer raises her voice to be heard. She’s following the throng into the hallway. Pretty soon I’m alone with Courage, who remains even though everyone is gone.
I stand and gather my books. “You’re not as beautiful as your opposite,” I inform him. “But you’re not so restless.”
Courage—brother and eternal enemy of Fear—looks down at me. He has a long nose, noble-looking, and his hair lodges against the back of his neck in tight black curls. “Of course not. I’m everything he isn’t.”
It’s true. As dark as his brother is pale, Courage studies me. He’s a formidable presence in the small, insignificant classroom. “You’re an interesting one,” he states, and there is a note of curiosity in his voice. “I had heard the stories of a mortal that we’re unable to touch, but I hadn’t given them much thought. Truly interesting. I can see why Fear is so captivated.”
“He hates what he can’t understand,” I say.
Courage takes this in with a thoughtful expression. “You are very young to know so much. And knowledge in our world is dangerous. Remember that.”
“You would encourage ignorance, then?” My tone is polite. His answer could be beneficial; it may aid in my survival.
The Emotion tilts his head, obviously distracted. Someone in the world is in need of a touch of bravery, no doubt. His body twitches and shimmers just the tiniest bit, an indication that he’s answering the summons by sending another copy of himself to the source. “What is that phrase you humans use?” he murmurs after a moment, focusing on me again. “Ah. Ignorance is bliss. Yes?”
Any second now he’ll vanish. I release him from the discussion by saying, “I’ll keep that in mind.” When Courage doesn’t move, I add, “Was there something else?”
He stands so close to me that I feel his heat, and it’s an unusual sensation because Fear is so cold. Courage’s voice is the slow smolder of lava as he tells me, “You should be kind to the boy who defended you.”
“The other plane doesn’t usually worry about human affairs,” I observe.
Courage walks away. He’s different from others; he’s not flashy and quick to disappear. In the doorway he pauses, but he doesn’t look at me again. “The other plane is changing. We’re learning more about what it means to be mortal. Be kind to him,” the Emotion repeats. “There is more than one among us who watches you; someone believes you will need that boy in the end.”
Before I can ask any of the questions that this new development brings—the end of what? Who watches? Why would I need Joshua?—he leaves. I let him go. After all, even if he is different, he’s still an Emotion, and they do love their riddles.
Five
The moment I slide out of the cab of my truck, gravel crunching beneath my tennis shoes, I know something is wrong. There’s a heavy silence hanging in the air, a bad omen. The cows haven’t been brought in for the milking. Dad’s pickup is gone.
I walk toward the house, shouldering my bag. The quiet rings in my ears. I let the screen door slam shut behind me, to announce my presence as usual, but Mom isn’t in the kitchen. Dropping my bag on the floor next to the table, I poke my head into every room, still sensing something … off. I climb the stairs, and just as I pass the bathroom a sob shatters the hovering gloom—Mom.
I recognize the situation immediately. My first instinct is to turn right around and hide, for the sake of self-preservation.
My second instinct is stronger: play the part. A normal person—a normal daughter—wouldn’t just walk away. On swift feet I go back down to the kitchen, grab a washcloth from the sink, wet it, and ascend the stairs again. Mom has locked the door. I run my fingers along the doorframe, looking for the small pick, and when I find it I stick it in the lock. Soon the knob twists in my hand.
“Go away,” Mom cries when she sees that it’s me coming in. Her mascara runs down her cheeks in black rivers, and there’s blood flowing from a cut in her lip.
“Are you all right?” I ask, knowing she won’t answer. And she doesn’t. She clutches her knees and rocks back and forth. The back of her head keeps knocking against the wall, and I reach out to grasp her arm, stopping her. She cringes at my touch.