Chapter 5 - Trail Mix
The cafeteria is abuzz with the usual pre-teen chatter: homework, what they did last night, who they think is cute, homework, what they're going to do tonight, homework, who they don't like very much and, of course, homework.
A girl walks through the crowd, a tray in her hands. She has a plaid skirt, a white shirt, a black vest and glasses. She has braces on her teeth and her dark hair is in pigtails. The oddest thing about the ensemble, however, is the way it hangs on the girl: it's a little too tight on her and she seems pretty tall for the clothes. To compensate for this, she is hunched over, as if to appear shorter. She walks by holding a lunch tray containing the usual...something and occasionally steals glances at the more sociable students, wishing she were one of them.
Such is the life of Trixie Tang.
As she takes a breath, a painted hand comes out of nowhere and touches her shoulder. "Hey, Trixie!"
The brunette stops and coughs on her breath. She looks behind at the source of the exclamation:
"Veronica?" One would think that Trixie wouldn't be surprised by this. After all, the blonde has always been a little too bubbly for her own good. But Trixie does express surprise...and confusion. The look on her face suggests that she barely recognizes the girl at her side, and they've been friends ever since they could walk around each other's luxurious houses.
The two of them walk side by side. "So, what happened to you? I left, like, fifty messages on your machine last night." Which, of course, is down from the usual seventy-five. In spite of the overkill, Veronica sounds genuinely concerned.
"Well, I was looking for an outfit to wear today, and the time just got away from me." Her voice sounds suspiciously more nasal than it ever did.
Veronica sits down at a table. Trixie takes a couple of steps past it. It takes the blonde clearing her throat to alert the brunette. She pats a seat next to her. Veronica looks at Trixie incredulously as she sits down.
"And after all those hours spent looking, you give up and raid your Sunday School pile?" The blonde's hands are on her hips...at least, as best as possible in a sitting position.
"What do you mean? This outfit is truly 'me'."
"Would that be the 'me' that never gets invited to parties and ends up staying at home, crocheting?"
Trixie rubs her chin, like she's giving the latter option serious consideration. For the first time, Veronica notices that her friend has a tray in front of her. Her bright blue eyes goggle. "And why are you eating a school lunch?"
"Because I'm hungry?" It seems the most natural thing in the world to Trixie: if you're in school and it's lunchtime, a school lunch is logically, the way to go.
Veronica grimaces as the brunette dips her fork into the mini mound of...stuff. "Well, I'm not." The utensil full of food is merely inches away from her mouth.
Trixie gazes at the other end of the cafeteria. "Oh, my gosh!" She waves her hands, unsure of what to do.
"What is it? What's wrong?" All Trixie can offer is a gleeful expression. Veronica joins her gaze and her jaw drops.
At a table residing at the far end sits a handsome young man. He seems to be one grade above the awe-struck girls from the sight of him. Judging from his winning smile, sensitive eyes and non-threatening good looks, he seems to have a bright future ahead of him. His letter jacket (on loan from his equally celebrated brother) seems to confirm this. "Oh, Terry Tyler! He is something special."
"What? No, not him!" Trixie points to the table across from the one with the bright future. The population tops out at one:
"Timmy Turner!" Everyone breaks away from their own business to stare at Veronica, who is understandably shocked at Trixie's taste. Given the current situation, shock will have to wait; mortification is the order of the day.
The blonde lets out a nervous giggle and darts her eyes around; she needs a way out of this. She turns toward the young man. "Hey, Timmy Turner! Yoo-hoo!"
The boy doesn't react. He rests his head on his open palm. A sigh escapes his mouth.
The people return to their affairs, almost like the outburst never happened. Veronica turns to Trixie. "How can you be staring at Timmy Turner?", she demands in a whispered yell.
"He's so cute."
"He's a dork!"
"Well, that's your opinion." Trixie sighs as she stares at Timmy. However, he is staring at someone a couple of tables in front of him.
In no time at all, it seems that the girl at the table has gathered a number of followers. They would do her homework, carry her books and, as they're doing right now, sit around admiring her. She buffs her fingernails on her beautiful sweater. There's no doubt about it: Ginnie Flanagan is having the time of her life.
XxXxXxXxX
Timmy trudges down the sidewalk, a sullen look on his face. The only thing he can think about is Ginnie. It had been this way all day. Thanks to her posse, he couldn't get within five feet of her. The boy has never been much for crying, but he is very much on the verge. He stares at the ground as he moves, but it's like he's detached from his surroundings. Sure, his feet are doing battle with a piece of newspaper rolled into a ball, but he doesn't really notice it.
Speaking of things he doesn't really notice, a beautiful woman wearing a halter top, running shorts and a headband jogs past him. Her long, flowing blonde hair bounces behind her, as do...other things, elsewhere. She is already reasonably thin, but one does have to keep one's body in shape...especially when the body is being borrowed/occupied by a teenage slacker who wished to wake up to it. Timmy sniffs a little, not so much out of sadness, but to notice the blonde's liberally applied perfume. It does nothing to end his funk; strawberries and vanilla usually work.
Timmy stops at a street corner, watching as a couple of cars pass him. His gaze meets the electronic sign across the way. He taps his foot waiting for the red right hand to be replaced by the funny little man. A group of sparrows wings past Timmy's head, but they do not faze him. Coming at him is a red-haired woman running jerkily. Her hands are closed like paws and she rushes around the boy. Again, he is disaffected. The woman returns to Timmy and starts pawing him. She mewls as she rushes off.
He makes his way across the street. In the distance, some kids are rushing toward him. They're laughing, cheering happy kids. What's more, they're all in clothes too big and too traditional for them, as if they were playing dress-up with their grandparents' wardrobe. One would even think that the expression, "If only we could have as much energy as these kids today." would come into play.
Timmy doesn't pay any attention to the kids that swarm around him, nor to the fact that they are running from the Dimmsdale Back in My Day...Give it a Rest Home for Wayward Seniors. A strange and unwieldy name, to be sure, but the contractor needed a name for it upon its inception forty years ago and he happened to catch an argument between one of its first inhabitants and his irritated son.
The twelve-year-old continues down the sidewalk. The bus was his usual mode of transportation, but his current attitude makes him insufferable to other people. Out of the corner of his left eye, he notices something glowing behind the brush. He moves the grass aside and finds a lock of hair. The follicles seem to be in the shape of a four-leaf clover. With a humorless smile, he picks up the lock and puts it in his pocket.
"Man, do I need some luck."
XxXxXxXxX
"I'm home!" Ginnie strides through the front door of her house. No one answers her. She walks up the stairs and to her bedroom. Her hand reaches out to turn the knob.
The door to Vicky's room slams open. "You! Me! Now!" The older girl has a fire in her eyes to match the color of her hair. Ginnie turns around, her arms folded.
"Yes, is there something you need: grace, a boyfriend..." Vicky is only centimeters from Ginnie's face. "...a mint?" The brunette waves her hand in front of her nose.
"I don't know who you think you are, but you'd better remember your place! Sooner or later, you'll pay for your attitude!"
"My attitude?" Ginnie starts to chuckle. Vicky watches as her chuckle becomes a loud laugh. "I'm not the one with a king-sized chip on their shoulder for who-knows-what. Things don't go your way? Well, that's too bad, sis. That's what's known as life. And another thing, little miss defense mechanism, it's my attitude that's gotten me loads of admirers. Your attitude, on the other hand..." The red-haired girl's lip starts to quiver. Her eyes fill with liquid.
"I..."
The younger girl gives a half-smile. "Well, this has been nice, but I have people to call." Ginnie turns around for her room. Vicky wipes her eyes and rushes to her dwelling.
XxXxXxXxX
Vicky sighs as she glances at her reflection in her full length mirror. The sadness in her eyes is all too apparent. For much of her life, she has been angry at the world. When you have a particular outlook on things, one that not a lot of people agree with, it's not much of a mystery. Adding to her misery is the fact that her sister earned more love attention than she did. The gestures that prove this were seldom overt, but she could just tell: the way that Ginnie's good grades in school were greeted with more celebration than hers, for one thing. One might argue that one problem was caused by the other.
Another issue was her lack of a social life. Babysitting kids isn't exactly a magnet for guys. While not a knockout, she is in no way unattractive. She considered it unusual that her body would be so...unimpressive. There are eighteen-year-olds stalking runways of Milan and Prague. Why would they be so gifted and not her? Her soft expression twists at this.
Vicky growls as she throws her shirt off. She adjusts the strap of her bra. "Why couldn't I have a killer figure?"
A shadow of a wand waving reflects on Vicky's wall as she heads to her dresser.
XxXxXxXxX
Timmy enters his room, tossing his backpack aside. His goldfish perk up and assume their true forms of Cosmo and Wanda.
"Hey, there, sport. How was school?"
"Horrible. I tried to talk to Ginnie, but she just ignored me." He plops down on his bed. "You were right, Wanda. I was moving too fast."
"Oh, Timmy, don't feel too bad. You're still young."
"Yeah. You'll have plenty of chances to fall in love, and have your heart bro..." A glare from his wife cuts off the green-haired fairy. He chuckles nervously.
"Did you happen to spot anything out of the ordinary today? That rogue's still out there."
The boy shrugs. "No. Nothing too strange." Timmy isn't exactly lying. He was too down in the dumps to really notice the weirdness he encountered on his way home. "I did, however, find this clover." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the lock. "Maybe I can find a leprechaun...or stop one. I don't know."
The pink-haired fairy stares at the piece of hair. "Timmy, do you know what this means?"
"That one of those pesky leprechauns found his way over here from Ireland? We had a deal!"
Wanda sighs. "No. That's not a clover. It's a lock of hair."
"Huh. I should've guessed it wasn't a clover. It was glowing, for one thing."
"A glowing lock of hair. I think we may have something." She waves her wand and the file on the rogue fairy appears before them. The black-and-white shot on the cover is now a color picture. The scowl on the ne'er-do-well's face remains, however. Wanda pays close attention to his dark green hair. She looks to the 'clover' and back to the picture. "It's a perfect match."
"If only we had some way to track this fairy down."
Cosmo waves his wand. The puff of smoke disappears. Wanda's hair is now long and red, accentuated with a headband. Her outfit is now a purple dress with green trim. Timmy has a green shirt and brown pants. His hair is shaggier than it once was. Cosmo is now a Great Dane, his wand in his mouth.
"And how is this supposed to help us out?" Wanda has a hand on her hip.
Cosmo drops the wand from his mouth. "I ran rack it rown."
"Like, wouldn't we need a bloodhound to track stuff down?" Timmy's voice now has a high rasp to it.
"Ro?
"You're a Great Dane."
"Roops." He shrugs and puts up his paws.
Wanda waves her wand, causing another puff of smoke. The three are back to normal.
Timmy gets up from his bed. "Maybe if we had a tracking device for fairies. I wish I had one of those."
Another wave of Wanda's wand. An electronic device materializes in Timmy's hands. He searches the item for an 'on' switch of some kind. He finds it on the back and turns it on. The monitor starts to beep. "I'm picking up a signal." As Timmy turns around, the beeps come quicker.
Timmy stops on a figure. He takes the machine from his face, revealing...Cosmo. "Hi, Timmy!"
The boy sighs. "Well, at least we know it works. Where did you get this?"
XxXxXxXxX
With its open books, papers tousled every which way and blueprints, this is very much the bedroom of someone of considerable intelligence, if not someone who takes the time to be organized.
The door flies open. "Mother!"
"Yes, sweetie?", the woman sing-songs in a worn high voice.
A spindly geek of a man rifles through his bookshelves and loose papers. "Have you seen my fairy finder, patent pending?" The last part is stated quietly, like an afterthought or a commercial.
"Sorry, honey. No, I haven't."
"Great." The word is growled out. He continues to search his room. "Fairies are behind this. I just know it." Among the things that Denzil Crocker really despises: fairies, being mocked and, at this moment in time...irony.
XxXxXxXxX
Timmy looks into the monitor of the finder. "I just need to find a way to feed the hair sample into this thing." The boy feels around the bottom and finds a slot. He pulls it out, revealing a little Petri dish. Wanda hands him the lock and Timmy plucks a strand from it. It goes into the device and...nothing happens.
After a couple of seconds, it starts to beep. "We got something."
"Timmy!"
The finder in hand, Timmy runs from his bedroom. He peers over the banister. A woman meets his gaze.
"Mom. You're home early."
"Yes. It was a pretty good day at work." She puts down her briefcase. "You'll never guess who I saw outside."
"Who?"
"A girl from your school. She said she really wanted to see you."
Timmy smiles as he rushes down the stairs. The girl walks in. He stops halfway down the steps as he sees her.
It's Trixie Tang, and yet, it's not. It's her in the sense that it's still who she is, but she doesn't look like the girl that sets boys hearts aflutter.
"Hi, Timmy." She waves at him and giggles. A snort works its way in, as well. He eyes her strangely, like he's almost afraid of her.
She slowly approaches him. "I really wanted to see you."
He backs up the stairs, not taking his eyes off of her. "Oh, that's nice."
"I think we should be together."
Timmy loses his footing and falls down. "But I have so much homework to do. So, so much." She licks her lips and leaps at him. He dodges her, crawling backward on his hands and feet.
He picks himself up and makes a frantic dash for his bedroom. He shuts and locks the door behind him.
Wanda floats toward the shaken boy. "What's wrong, Timmy?"
His breathing is labored as he looks to the pink-haired fairy. "Girl trouble."