Chapter 4

Luster

Fern's bad morning began with her mother, as her bad mornings so often did. Certainly, her mother must have thought her question was a perfectly fine and innocent one. That was the problem, though, was it not? Her mother thought of Fern as a doll in a dollhouse, something to be moved around from room to room, from place to place, rather than a person with thoughts and feelings, wants and wishes, and her question had been a prime example of that mentality.

Friday night had been a late one as Fern worked on Danger Girl at her desktop in the dark. She sat as still as she could, tapping the keys as lightly as possible, so her mother would not be able to detect any noise should she be awake and roaming the upstairs hallway. The adjustments slowed her down, but she had nonetheless been productive. More than that, she had been in the moment. It had pained her when, upon glimpsing the clock in the lower right corner of her screen and seeing that it was well past three in the morning, she realized it was time to peel herself away from her story, to disentangle herself from her protagonist and the mystery she was unravelling. And she had just gotten to the good part, in which Kelly was reluctantly revisiting an abandoned warehouse on a stormy night, the exact spot where her boyfriend had gone missing, only to discover a wet boot print and realize she was not alone.

Now she sat at the breakfast table, lazily eating her sausage and frozen Belgian waffle, which had been heated in the toaster oven and slathered with peanut butter. She waded through the sleepy fog that lingered in her head and tried to remember exactly where she had left off in her story, when her mother asked her out of nowhere.

"You know, Fernie," she said as she stood at the coffee maker, pouring herself a cup slowly so as not to splash any on her beige pantsuit, "if you don't want to go to the Autumn Ball alone, I think I know of someone who would be a perfect little companion for you."

What?

Was this really happening? When she had asked George to the Autumn Ball, it had been out of necessity, part of selling the act. She needed a date to make her compliance as believable as possible, but she also needed someone agreeable. George was sweet and accommodating, and he was most likely to forgive her when she left him alone at the ball for a while, because she would be leaving, no question. And he was her friend; she could trust him not to tell. Only the tiniest part of her believed her mother might try to select a date for her, but it had not been a huge concern. But here she was, actually meddling.

"Caroline Philips has a son," her mother continued. "Bentley. Or maybe it's Brody… Anyway, he's a sixth-grader at Mighty Mountain. Quite a handsome boy, and…"

She doesn't even know the kid's name. And a sixth-grader? Really?

Fern's fingernails dug into her knee under the table. She wanted to stand up and tell her mother to leave her alone, but she could not.

It's going to be fine. Remember your motivation: You've been beaten and, not only are you going with the flow, you're actually beginning to come around to the idea of attending the Autumn Ball. Perhaps you were just being a silly sourpuss, not wanting to attend the grand event of the semester. You really can be a dolt sometimes.

At least, that was what her mother had to believe. She left for the realtor expo next weekend, and Fern wanted to send her off with complete confidence that her daughter just might have the time of her life between being dropped off outside the MCM gymnasium and being picked up at the end of the afternoon. Arguing over something pointless like Bentley or Brody would not help convince her.

Besides, that particular base is covered, so just wait for her to shut up and tell her what she wants to hear.

"Of course, I'll have to check with Caroline first, but I don't think it should be a problem. What do you think?"

"Thanks, but I already have a date."

"You do?"

Well, don't sound so shocked. "Yes. George asked me Thursday."

Telling her George asked her to the ball instead of the other way around made Fern seem more desirable, which her mother was sure to appreciate.

"Since I'm already going, I thought 'why not?'"

"Ingrid Lundgren's son…" her mother said softly, sounding impressed.

"George is big on dancing. In fact, there's a long-running debate among the school whether he's a better dancer than Binky Barnes."

"Oh?"

Another hit. It would thrill her mother to know that, not only did her daughter have a date, but her date was exceptional in some way. A social merit badge she could sew onto her imaginary sash. Now, to be more conversational…

"I suppose it's a good thing I've been running a lot lately," Fern said. "I need to stay prepared for all the legwork I'll be doing next Saturday. But even then, I'm sure I'll look incompetent next to someone as good as George."

She would be doing a lot of legwork, but it would have nothing to do with dancing. Her mother gave her a fleeting sympathetic frown.

"Oh, now don't say that. After all, if you couldn't dance, you wouldn't have gotten the lead in a musical that required so much of it, now would you?"

Given that Coach Sorrell had chosen her for the lead over Francine, who not only wanted the role but was a better singer and gave a better audition, Fern had to wonder if dancing prowess mattered that much either. Before she could think of a response to her mother's challenge, her father had entered the kitchen, glossy red travel mug in hand, and Fern was grateful for the interruption.

"Back for round two," he said jovially as he waggled the mug, but his weak eyes and thin smile betrayed his weariness.

Her father had returned home on a red-eye Thursday morning after a long trade show week in Las Vegas, and he still looked beat. He had insisted on taking her to rehearsal this morning, even though he probably should not have left bed. As he refilled the travel mug, her mother rose to tiptoe and gave him a peck on the cheek.

"You're sure you're up for this?" she asked him, looking doubtful.

"Absolutely," he said. He tightened the screw-on cap as he made his way over to Fern. "I've gone a whole week without seeing my Fern, and we've got some catching up to do. Ready to go, honey?"

He was ruffling her hair, smiling fondly at her, and Fern wished he were the parent who was home most often. The fact that he was not sent a small, aching ripple through her chest.

"I am. Just a sec—" Fern told him before shoving the last forkful of waffle into her mouth.

She stood and reached for her gray bag, which was in the chair next to hers, and her heart stopped when she nearly dropped it. She recovered the straps quickly and acted natural as she shouldered the bag, trying not to think about what might have happened if it had upended. Her parents might have been curious to know why she had a pair of thick boot socks, fingerless gloves, and scissors with her. Her plan to escape the Autumn Ball was already in motion, but it required careful, tiny steps—a pair of socks and some scissors here, a length of ribbon and her newly-curated lockpick kit there—day by day. By the time she left her hiking boots behind in her dressing room next Friday and wore her gym sneakers home instead, everything she needed would be smuggled into MCM, waiting for her on Saturday. In an instant, in one false move, she had nearly ruined everything. It was funny how sometimes that was all it took to bring everything crashing down. Thankfully, she lived to fight another day.

Several students were running late for rehearsal this morning, which was not unexpected for an extracurricular weekend event. The auditorium buzzed with Saturday energy as the cast and crew, by and large, were unable to stay still. Coach Sorrell, who had dressed casually today but still maintained her classic black style in leggings and a slouchy off-the-shoulder sweatshirt, took turns between glancing over her roll sheet and checking her watch.

Sue Ellen had sat in the house seats with Fern and chatted for a few minutes before excusing herself and leaving to talk to a confused-looking Francine, who was setting up her station in the back row, where she would be able to conduct interviews for her Frensky Star piece in a quieter environment during breaks. Fern was not in today's lineup. She would be one of the last cast members to be interviewed next week, which was curious. Buster, the other lead, had been Francine's third interview. Fern held onto her script, a formality at this point since she knew her lines verbatim. As she pondered what sort of questions Francine might ask her, Fern's eyes glazed over the lines of dialogue until the letters became blurry. A pair of slim, blue-jeaned legs and a bright pink shirttail came into view behind the pages, disrupting her thoughts, and she looked up to see Buster.

"Yo, what up?" he said as he took the seat next to her.

He looked happy, but it was strange to see him without Ladonna glued to his hip. She was among the ones running late, and Buster looked practically naked without her. Not unlike certain celebrity couples, there was even a mashup nickname for the two of them going around school: "Luster". Fern had no idea who started it, but if she were to bet money, she would put it on Muffy. It gave her cold chills every time she heard someone utter it. There was about as much luster to those two as there was to a muddy elephant's skin.

"Good morning," Fern said politely.

She had to be polite. The last time she had given Buster the cold shoulder, he had hounded her for ages, wanting to know why. Never mind the fact that, had he just figured it out for himself, Luster might not even exist. Had he figured it out, the student body might be talking about Bern instead. Now she genuinely wanted little to do with him instead of merely pretending.

"So, have you thought about it?" he said in a low voice.

"About what?"

What had been the subject of their last conversation? Fern struggled to remember. They talked so little these days.

"About Raccoon Hill? You never told me when you wanted to go."

Buster still wanted to go? That was news to Fern. She figured he was so lost in Ladonna Land that he had forgotten all about Van Houten Farms even if she, Fern, had not.

"Oh… I don't know, Buster," she lied, "but I probably won't be going anytime soon."

"Really? You sounded anxious to go there."

"'Eager', you mean," she said. "The more I thought about it, the more I decided that it's getting too cold. It would probably be best to wait until spring, if I go at all."

Buster looked as if he were thinking it over and ultimately disagreed with her.

"Oh, okay. It's just…everything is dying off right now. Plants and stuff. I would've thought it would be easier to travel now instead of when it starts growing back. But I guess you know what you're doing."

Yes, she did, which is why she would be travelling to Van Houten Farms Saturday afternoon, while Buster, Ladonna, and everyone else danced to Chris Brown songs and sipped punch at the Autumn Ball. But Buster did not need to know that. No one did. If she had it her way, no one would.

"Just hit me up when you decide you do want to go, okay?"

"Buster, you don't have to go with me."

"I want to," he insisted. "I'm kind of hyped about it. Plus, it's probably safer if you travel with a buddy. You never know what's out there. It could be dangerous."

"Yeah, but—"

"Just say you will. You've done so much for me—I'd like to help you out with a project. Thanks to you, my parents are…well, I wish I had more time to explain…"

Distracted, Buster looked toward the back of the house. Fern turned in her seat and saw Ladonna waving at Buster as she trotted down the aisle.

"I owe you everything, Fern," he said before dashing off to meet Ladonna halfway.

Fern stared after him.

You couldn't possibly mean that.

To be continued…