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“I’m not crazy.”  The boy folded his arms over his chest, defiant.  “I know that’s what you think.”

“I–”

“But they moved.  The dolphin dove down and the octupus–”  The boy jutted forward, pointing.  “Look, look!”

Coralie glanced down.  The mermaid was peeking behind the dolphin, hiding behind her mass of pink hair.  “See?” The boy said triumphantly.  “So how did you do that?”

Coralie looked up, her mouth open but silent.  As the octupus reached up, toying with the boy’s shoelaces, the dolphin dove down in the shadows from the shattered basketball hoop.

And as a seagull streamed underneath her toes, the bell rang.  Whispering a thankful prayer, Coralie grabbed the chalk, shoving it roughly in the cardboard box.

“Hey, wait!”  The boy stepped closer as she slid the box in her bag.  “You didn’t even tell me your name!  Please!  I have to know how you did that!”

Coralie had no intention of telling him anything, particularly when she had no idea how she had done it.  Whirling around, she darted towards the locker room, her backpack slapping against her shoulder blades.

His footsteps pounded behind her before she heard a loud thump and groan.  Hesitating, she lingered behind the brick wall.  If she was smart, she would dash toward the locker room, shimmy out of these unflattering clothes and run to history before the second bell rang and Mr. Urban had a chance to give her detention.

A second thump followed the first, followed by a long moan.  Sighing, she returned to the court.  The boy squirmed on the ground, picking at his shoelaces.

“The octopus tied my shoelaces together.”  He glared up at her.  “Did you tell him to do that?”

“No.”  It was the first time her tounge had worked around him.

“How did you get your drawings to move?”  He plucked at the knots, scowling.  Coralie bent down, reaching for his shoes.  “May I?”

He leaned back, watching as she deftly untied the knots with a single pluck.  “Are you magic or something?”

“Or something.”  Coralie glanced down at her watch and swore.  If she didn’t hurry, she would be forced to stay in her gym clothes the rest of the day.  And as far as she and any other self-respecting eighth grader was concerned, that was a fate worse than death.  “I have to go.”

“But wait–I want to talk to you!”  The boy’s voice rang out as she turned the corner, bolting around the wall and across the field.  “Where can I find you?”

His only answer was the slam of the door behind her.  Sliding into the locker room, her footsteps pounded down the thin aisles, dancing and weaving between half dressed girls liberally applying lip gloss and glittery eye shadow.

“Geez, Coralie.”  Mrs. Trunchell crossed her arms, furrowing her brow as Coralie jerked her locker open, tearing off her shirt at the same time.  “If I’d known you could move this fast, I’d have made you run.”

“I can’t run,” Coralie panted, jerking off the unflattering shorts and wadding them into a ball.  She pulled on her sundress, batting back her damp hair.  “I can only perform under pressure.”  She slammed her locker door shut.

“And what pressure are you under, pray tell?”  Mrs. Trunchell’s lips twitched.  Coralie grabbed her backpack, her shoulders deflating as the second bell rang. She wiped her chalk-stained hands on her skirt, her red chest heaving.

“Who’s the teacher?”  Mrs. Trunchell ignored the other straggling girls, stepping closer to Coralie.

“Mr. Urban.”  Coralie’s head drooped further as the third bell rang.  “He’ll give me detention now.”

Mrs. Trunchell inspected the small girl, pursing her lips.  “I’ll make you a deal.  You try the rope next time, I’ll write you a note.  Deal?”

Coralie looked up, hope blooming across her pink cheeks.  “Really?”

“Really.”

She nodded, smiling.  “I’ll try.”

She always did.

***

After a miserable history class that was barely helped by Mrs. Trunchell’s note, Coralie plopped down at a stone table in the courtyard.  As eighth graders, they had the privilege of eating outside the lunch room.  A loose privilege, of course, being that there were more hall monitors than flies and no shade over the chipped limestone tables growing from the cement patio like forgotten mushrooms.  But Coralie and Aurora didn’t care about the heat and sun; the bugs and bug-eyed moniters.

For the stone table was the perfect place to work on stories.

Dropping her self-packed sacked lunch on the table, Coralie plopped down on the bench.  She unscrewed the top of her water when a lank dark haired girl paused by the table, her arms full of books.

“Hey, Coralie, right?”  Without waiting for Coralie to respond, she continued, “Aurora is in my computer class.  She had to stay after a few minutes.  She asked me to tell you.”

“Thanks,” Coralie murmured to the girl’s back, already disappearing through the library doors.  Rather than reach for her turkey sandwich, Coralie chewed on her lip.  Glancing around, she reached into her backpack and pulled out the chalk she had bought from the small boy.

“It had to be a fluke,” she murmured, pulling out a long blue piece.  “Sunstroke or heatstroke…mass hysteria.”

She wasn’t sure how two people could have mass hysteria, but she was sure it was possible.

Soon, she was lost in another world.  Hummingbirds fluttered around a garden inhabited by a deer and her baby, a rabbit and a shy fox.  She was shading the pink roses when she suddenly paused.

The gentle buzz was not a far-off bell or a bumblebee.  It was the intense fluttering of the hummingbird’s wings.  The deer raised her head, her baby peering curiously at the rabbit.  Coralie dropped her chalk and jumped back, ignoring the hurt look on the fox’s face.

“You did it again, didn’t you?”  Whirling around, she saw the boy from the gym.  “I knew it!  I knew I’d find you!”

“Coralie?”  Aurora walked up, clutching her lunch bag.  She gave the boy a suspicious look.  “What’s going on?”

This time, Coralie had a very convenient excuse.

She fainted.

Stay tuned, Invisible Friends!  We have a week of whimsy coming up!

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