It's a Love Thing (4 page)

Now this was much better. This kind of
delusion I didn’t mind. Cute girl—sitting in my room, keeping me
company—while I studied. I hoped this delusion lasted.

My stomach growled. I reached into the
nearly empty Spongy Crèmes box on my nightstand to grab some
breakfast.

“
Oh! You want to know why
your pants don’t fit? There’s your answer, pal.” She flew over
toward me and zapped my breakfast with her wand. It
disappeared.

“
Hey, cut that out! I’m
hungry!”

“
Do you have any idea
what’s in those things? They’re poison. Pure. Poison. Not to
mention fattening.” She rattled off the ingredients to me. I
blocked her out. I’d heard it from my sister way too many
times.

Now closer to me than
before, and I got a really good look at her. She had the prettiest
dark auburn hair I’d ever seen. It fell in long delicate strands
down her back. How had I not noticed that
?
Maybe because she was constantly
zapped me with that stupid wand of hers
.
Mesmerized, I reached out and
touched the coppery tresses, expecting them to disappear. After
all, you can’t touch a delusion. Can you?

My fingers began to stroke the silky
strands. And sadly, she didn’t disappear. She did shoot three feet
in the air though.

“
You are not allowed to
touch the faery, mister!” She zapped me again, and my hands began
burning.

“
Ouch! Stop that!” Oh, man!
I’m one sick puppy. I needed help.

“
Peter, come down here,
please.” My father. He must have come home for lunch. I jumped out
of bed and ran down the stairs, cradling my bright red
hand.

I studied my dad. He seemed normal.
Same thin face, same blond hair, same toothy grin. I turned him
around–no wings. He still stood five-foot-seven-and-a-half. The
half was very important to him.

“
What’s the matter, son?”
He pressed his palm to my forehead like mom always did when she
checked me for a fever.

“
Nothing,” I lied. How
could I tell him he had a crazy child for a son? Crazy, as in
certifiable. It’d crush him. All my life he’d been there for me, at
my side, guiding me along. Never once had he spanked me. My mother
had, but that was another story. My dad never did, nor had he
screamed mean, hateful things at me when I so deserved it. He was
the best father in the world. He taught me how to ride a bike and
shoot a basketball. When he taught me about the dangers of drugs, I
actually listened.

And I paid him back by going insane!
Great!

“
I love you, Dad.” I
launched myself at him, smothering him in a bear hug. Since he
stood three inches shorter than me, it was pretty easy to
do.

“
Pete, what’s wrong? Did
something happen to your mother? Are you sure you’re not sick? Did
you break something?”

“
No, Dad. I just—” I
brushed away the tears that stung my eyes and grimaced. The fake
burn still hurt. I grumbled an “Ouch,” before I could stop
myself.

“
Did you hurt yourself?” He
reached for my hand and tugged it toward him.

“
Good heavens, Peter? How
did you burn your hand?”

“
Y-you can see the burn?”
And I’m not crazy?

“
Of course I can. Do you
think I’m blind?” Dad led me to the bathroom and rubbed first aid
cream on the burn. The sting left immediately.

“
How did you do this?” he
asked, replacing the cream in the medicine cabinet.

Should I admit to having a six-inch
faery in my room? I could show him the faery, unless she'd
disappeared. Then he would have me committed without a doubt, even
though I now knew I was sane. I think.

I lied. Better safe than sorry. If she
was still around, I’d tell my parents later. “I made pancakes for
breakfast and touched the side of the pan.”

“
Well, be more—you were
cooking?”

He looked at me strangely. I tried not
to be offended. “I’m not completely inept. I can cook, ya know.” I
raised my chest proudly.

“
Yes, I never doubted you
could. It’s just that I’ve never actually seen you cook, is all.
You’re sort of a Spongy Crèmes kind of guy.”

“
If that’s how you feel,
I’ll never let it happen again,” I said indignantly.

My father laughed. “Okay. I apologize.
Listen, I came home to get my black suit. Mom said you picked it up
from the cleaners for her yesterday.”

Oops! “I was supposed to, but I
forgot. Sorry, Dad.”

“
That’s better. This is the
son I know and love,” he teased. “I’ll pick it up on my way to the
Sunny Hill cemetery. We have a service later today and I need to
make sure everything is set.” He headed for the door, then stopped
and turned back, his face now sober.

“
Two more things, son. One,
I love you, too. And two, maybe you should stick to Spongy Crèmes
until the hand heals,” he said with a wink.

I ran up the stairs before the car
pulled out of the driveway. There was a six-inch faery in my room,
and I wanted some answers.

*****

“
Alright, Tinker Bell.
Explain again why exactly you’re here, and cut the crap about not
knowing the whole reason. You and I both know that's a
lie.”

She flew off my dresser, her notebook
and feather pen clattered to the floor. Out came the wand and she
pointed it directly at my stomach. Well, I hoped it was my stomach.
“I said DON’T CALL—”

“
Sorry.” I didn’t want to
be zapped again. “I forgot. But in all seriousness, I can’t call
you Tinkle either. Do you know what that means to humans?” I
quickly explained the whole toilet thing and she
cringed.

“
Fine, but Tinkanova-Marie
is a mouthful, just so you know.”

“
Yeah, too much of a
mouthful. How about something simple, like Faery?”

“
Would you like it if I
called you Human?” she sneered. Good grief, the girl had a serious
attitude problem.

I thought for a minute,
coming up with an idea. “How about …” I hesitated, afraid she would
freak out and zap me again. “How about Tink, just plain Tink, as
in
Tink
anella-Mary,” I said, emphasizing the first four letters of
her name.

“
Tinkanova-Marie,” she
corrected. “I guess that would work.” She sounded tentative, but I
didn't get zapped.

“
Good.” I dropped onto the
bed before beginning my interrogation. “Why exactly are you here?
And I want an honest answer, please.”

“
Your mother w . . ." She
trailed off softly and I couldn't hear her.

"Sorry. What did my mother do?" I
leaned in closer.

She took a deep breath, closed her
eyes, and blurted, "She wished on a star that . . . that you'd no
longer be a geek."

"Geek! I'm not a geek." My own mother
thought I was a geek?

My answer set her off. She flew wildly
around the room, spinning and flipping in little circles, laughing.
I folded my arms over my chest and waited for her little fit to
end.

After several minutes, she looked at
me and stopped mid-flip. “Oh, I’m sorry. But you can’t be serious.
I mean, look at you.” She waved her hand up and down my length as
if it were obvious. I looked at my clothes. Maybe she had a point
with the gray sweats, but the t-shirt was good. Okay, so there were
two small ketchup stains on it, but they blended in with Naruto’s
orange and blue jumpsuit. And the pea size hole sat clear at the
bottom. Seriously, who looks at the bottom of a shirt
anyway?

“
The thing is faded!” she
said indignantly. “And there’s a cartoon on the front. Aren’t you a
little old for cartoon shirts?”

“
This is a vintage Naruto
shirt," I said, appalled by her ignorance. "It dates back to 2007,
the first year he appeared in the Anime series. I’m lucky he’s not
completely faded away.” These faeries lead a very sheltered life, I
decided.

“
What is an Amine?” She had
the audacity to look disgusted. The stinking faery didn’t even know
who or what Naruto was, and she was disgusted? Now who’s the
narrow-minded troll?

“
It’s Anime, not amine.
He’s from the Japanese manga series.” She shook her head, still
looking confused. I marched over to the corner of my room, shuffled
through one of the thigh-high piles of manga until I found the
latest issue with Naruto. “This is manga.” I opened the magazine
and flipped through several pages showing her.

“
A comic book? You have
two, three-foot stacks of comic books?”

“Graphic novels. Comic books are for
children,” I said uncomfortably.

“And that,” she said, pointing to my
manga, “is one of the reasons your mother is worried about you.
Seriously, Pete, you can’t stay a boy forever. It’s time to grow
up”

Did she just call my manga childish?
“What do you mean 'one of the reasons'?”

“What sports do you play?”

“
Sports? So only jocks
aren’t geeks in your book?”

“Sorry, poor choice of words. What do
you do for fun?” Before I could answer, she added, “Besides video
games?”

“You are a very rude little faery.”
She didn’t even blink at my insult. Rude and nervy. “Would you mind
telling me what exactly is wrong with video games?”

“
In moderation? Nothing.
Eight hours a day? Everything.”

“
You’ve been spying on me?”
I was outraged.

“
Not spying, doing
research.”

“
Spying.” I looked at her,
cocking an eyebrow, daring her to deny it. She didn’t. “There is
nothing wrong with indulging in a good video game. It’s been proven
to increase eye-hand coordination. It also improves with
multi-tasking and helps build strategy skills. Anyway, it’s not
like it’s going to kill me.”

“
That philosophy is wrong
on so many levels I don’t know where to begin. In 2005, a
twenty-eight year old man in South Korea collapsed and died after
playing a video game for nearly fifty hours. In 1981, a
nineteen-year-old died of a massive heart attack after excessive
gaming, and the following year—"

"Okay, it can kill, I get it. But
those were people who spent a lot more time than me playing
games."

"Yes, but none of them started out
playing that long, Pete. They worked their way up to it. Excessive
gaming also leads to social isolation. When’s the last time you
hung out with friends?”

It took me a minute to remember. “Two
weeks ago, my friend Bryan and I played an online game together.”
He was at his house and I was at mine, I didn’t tell her that part.
Besides, we text each other several times that day.

She rolled her eyes. “You played here
and he was at his house.”

“
How did . . . can you read
minds?” I cringed, remembering all the thoughts I had about how hot
she was.

“
No. I told you, we've been
monitoring you. Pete, video games limit your imaginative skills,
they reward aggressive behavior, and they lead to obesity." I waved
off her ridiculous statements.

“
Let’s dumb this down a
little for you. What do you do besides play video games?” she
asked.

I had her there. “It just so happens
I’m an avid reader.” How do you like that, Tinker Bell?

“
Manga doesn’t
count.”

“
Says you!” I disliked the
little gnat more and more with each passing second.

“
Says everyone!" She shook
her head. The movement sent ripples through her hair, making it
shimmer. "Okay, fine. What besides manga do you read?”

“
I’m reading Cricket on the
Hearth.” I grinned triumphantly.

“
That’s great." The little
imp smiled. "I’m sorry for my manga remark. So, what do you do for
exercise?”

I had to think about that one. True, I
didn’t play sports. I never liked them, preferring more solitary
physical activities. Mostly because the other kids made fun of the
way I played, not being very coordinated and all.

I did, however, have an outdoor sports
video game I was great at. But since I knew what she thought of
video games, I decided a broader reply would be best. “I’m good at
kayaking, and bowling. I’m also pretty good at
repelling.”

“
Oh, my mistake. Sorry.
That’s wonderful. It gives us something to build on.”

“
Build on? Wait. You
haven’t proven I’m a geek."

"Well, true," she said, trying not to
laugh. "But your mother did make the wish, so let's just go with
it, for her sake. Sound good?"

No. I'm not a geek. I'm a good
looking, intelligent, high scoring video phenom, and an all-around
cool guy. "Okay, fine."

"Wonderful. This is going to be so
much fun. First, we'll get you a mani-pedi, then—"

"What's a mani . . . whatever you
said?" I did not like the sound of that.

She giggled. "Mani-pedi. It's a
manicure and a pedicure. Just look at your hands, they're a mess,
probably from all the gaming you do. And we won't even talk about
those toes. Yuck!" She had the nerve to shudder.