Alice in Wonderland High (21 page)

“All I've ever wanted is to feed some animals.” I glanced over my shoulder so I didn't accidentally crash into a fence as I walked.

“Maybe you should aim higher with your goals.” He tapped his bucket, and a tinny sound reverberated in the air. He stopped short. “Hey, where are your friends?”

They stood against the gate, coaxing pigs toward them with outstretched palms.

He placed two fingers in his mouth and whistled. “Get away!”

Whitney and Chess shuffled their feet and chatted way too animatedly with each other. The noise from the nearby quad drifted in.

The guy shook his head and set down his bucket. He hustled toward them, muttering to himself. I followed, not sure what else to do. Chess raked his hands through his hair and Whitney grabbed the guy's bicep. “So you really take care of all these animals?” She giggled.

He shrugged her off. “I feed them.”

“Like a zookeeper. That's amazing. What's your name?” She tugged his arm in a direction away from the farm. “And more importantly, are you single?”

I had to stifle my laugh. Watching Whitney try to play an innocent flirt was like watching an army sergeant take dance lessons.

“I'd rather hear your name.”

“Mary Ann,” Whitney said out of nowhere. She tried to bat her eyelashes at him, but it looked like she had something stuck in her eye.

“Well, Mary Ann, you need to get out of here before I—”

“The tour!” I yelled. “We have to get back to the tour.”

Whitney glared at me because I was clearly ruining her flirting attempt. I guess she hadn't figured out it wasn't working.

“We don't want them to miss us,” I said, my voice forceful.

Catching on, Whitney shrugged nonchalantly. As she did, her backpack slipped off one arm and Chess grabbed it.

“Which way did the tour go again?” Whitney asked.

As soon as the student pointed, Whitney sprinted in the opposite direction. She headed for the sheep at the far end of the farm. The zookeeper glanced at us, then at her, and sighed before racing after her. Whitney must have aced her Presidential Fitness test because she reached the sheep before he did. She unhooked the gate.

You could count on sheep to help out with both insomnia and sheepwalking.

Whitney only waited for the first animal to break free before she headed to another part of the farm. The sheep scattered in various directions, some pausing to chew the surrounding grass, while others merged with the crowd of students walking to their next classes. Screams rang out, and a frenzy of frantic running became the latest campus trend.

The zookeeper dove for one of the grazing sheep. It let out a loud noise and escaped to the quad. He rushed after it, yelling dog commands.

Chess opened the pigs' gate and shut it behind him. My fingers clutched the fence so hard, I was afraid I'd break off a chunk of the wood.

“Come here.” He patted his knees with his palms.

The pigs stopped and lifted their heads from the water bucket.

“It's okay, I won't hurt you.” He took a tentative step forward.

The movement set the pigs on alert. Before he could get close, they squealed and raced around the pen, smacking into the fence with ungraceful, sharp turns.

Sweat gathered on the back of my neck. I checked behind me for Whitney, expecting security to show up any second. Where was she?

Chess dove for one, landing with a splat and missing his target by a good foot. Mud shot up and sprayed all over his face. The pigs traced zigzags in the mud, squealing and snorting.

“Guess I shouldn't have passed on those rodeo lessons at summer camp,” Chess said, straining a forced laugh, his brow furrowed in frustration.

“Think of it as a free spa mud treatment.”

We had to figure out something quickly before that zookeeper—or security—came back. I glanced around, not even sure what I was looking for. Maybe Whitney. My eyes fell on the silver bucket the zookeeper had set down, glinting in the sun near an adjacent pen. Maybe I could coax the pigs with food.

I ran toward the bucket and snatched it off the ground. The feed inside shifted while I hustled back to the pen. Mud clung to every surface of Chess's body, looking like an art project gone wrong. The whole place smelled like dirty gym shoes.

“Good call,” Chess said when he saw me.

I opened the pen and carried the feed over to a long, wooden trough that looked like a planter. Chess took the bucket from my hands and spread it around. Something bumped my knees, knocking my leg into the side.

A pig squeezed into the space next to me and ducked his head into the feed, standing on his hind legs to reach. The rest of the pigs soon followed.

“Take the stuff out of the backpack and put some of the feed into it,” Chess said, inching toward the smallest pig with his hands stretched out, ready to grab him.

I picked up the backpack and emptied the contents, staring skeptically at a white . . . baby's bonnet? And a plush, pink blanket. “Hey, what are these for?” I scooped feed into the sack until it felt heavy.

When I approached Chess with the items, a pig writhed in his arms, desperately trying to break free. He held the pig out to me. “Quick—Put the bonnet on her head.”

“What?” I'd heard of dressing up dogs, but pigs?

“People might notice us carrying around a pig . . . ”

But they might ignore us carrying a baby. Nodding, I approached the pig tentatively. Sweat dripped from my forehead even in the frigid fall air. Her head flailed about. I snapped my hand back.

“Here, hold her.”

He laid the pig in my arms. She kicked at my stomach and thrashed around. I gripped her tighter, wrapping my arms through her legs to keep her stable. “How do I calm her down?”

Chess gently stroked her head, stopping her spastic movements. He smiled down at her as he tied the bonnet around her head. “It's okay, Runty,” he cooed. “You're safe now.” He met my eyes and smiled. “Thanks.”

I stared at him, the way he so lovingly cared for the pig. “She's yours. The pig.”

Chess's hands froze, mid-tie.

The world started spinning. “And the farm. That was yours, too. The job your dad lost?”

He turned his head away and grabbed the blanket from the ground. “Yeah.”

“I thought you told me everything.”

“I'm sorry.” He wrapped the pig in the blanket like an hors d'oeuvre. “I wanted to tell you. I did. But Whitney said—” He sighed. “I was trying to protect you. The less you knew—”

“Hey!” a voice yelled from a distance.

We both snapped our heads up. If Chess's hands hadn't been there, I would've dropped the pig.

“What are you doing?” A security guard ran toward us.

“Run!” Chess pulled my elbow, leading me out of the pen.

The pigs squealed behind us, charging for the open door. The pig in my arms shifted wildly, opening her mouth in a wide squeal. Chess grabbed her out of my arms, and we kept going. The frigid wind blinded my eyes. We had no idea where Whitney was. I couldn't tell which way was up, which way was down, only that we were stealing a pig from its rightful owner. My criminal record was going to be fuller than my transcript soon.

As I dodged a passing sheep, my feet caught on something, and I careened forward, landing on the ground. Chess stopped running and doubled back for me, shifting the pig to one arm and lending me his other hand. The pig went wild.

“Don't wait for me, just go!” I said.

He waited. With shaking limbs, I managed to push myself off the ground. Once I stood upright, he jogged beside me, slowed by my pace.

I could only hope that security had decided to herd the stray pigs instead of following us.

My feet slapped against something hard and it took me a second to realize the soft padding of the grass was gone. We had reached the parking lot. The car sat there, waiting for us like an obedient puppy tied up outside a store.

“Get my keys. They're in the front pocket.”

I hesitated. We hadn't exactly reached the below-the-belt level of hooking up yet, so I felt a little more than awkward digging my hands down his pants. A blast of wind sent my pigtails slapping against my face, and my teeth chattered.

He laughed to himself, then grinned at me. “Man, this is a perfect opportunity for you to make a joke about are those your keys or are you just happy to see me.”

I laughed, too, tension easing with our smiles. I stuck my hand inside the scratchy denim, fumbling awkwardly until I gripped the keys. My cheeks heated. I felt disoriented, so busy trying to shake off my fear that I missed the keyhole on two attempts. Once I strapped myself into the passenger seat, Chess set the pig on my lap. “You okay?” he asked, face concerned.

“Yeah.” The word came out scratchy. I cleared my throat. “In fact, let's go back for the rest of the animals. My stress levels aren't high enough to cause serious damage yet.”

He stroked my cheek. “I really appreciate what you did for me today.” He circled to the driver's side and started the car.

“Wait, what about Whitney?” The pig trampled on my lap.

“We have to leave her.” He set the gear in reverse.

I brushed sweaty hair out of my face with one palm. “No, she'll get in trouble!”

“It's cool. We all agreed. If one of us gets caught or stuck at the mission . . . we leave them.” Before I could argue further, he backed the car out of the parking lot.

I thought of her there, trying to cover for us. I gnawed on my lip. Could she talk her way out of it if she got caught? My guess was police officers wouldn't be so tolerant of her riddles.

The pig continued her desperate escape attempts. I tried to pet her, but I was shaking too much to make contact. “How do I keep her calm?”

“She's just responding to your nerves. If you're calm, she's calm.”

I jammed my eyes shut, breathing so hard it came out more like Lamaze than Zen or yoga-soothing. The pig squealed louder, and a panicked eye rolled back to peer at me.

I screamed.

“Here, if I talk, will that help?”

I met his eyes. “Only if you tell me the truth.”

He turned to me, his eyes honest. “That one time you asked me to help with the farmers' market? And I told you no?”

“Yeah, that was nonsensical.” I stilled my fingers enough to stroke the pig's back through the blanket, trying to calm down both her and myself. Chess swung the wheel onto a deserted road, trees encasing us. We'd taken the highway here, but I guessed now we were going the more inconspicuous way. The road less traveled.

“If a farmers' market gets erected before I get my farm back . . . there won't be any need for a farm in town. They could get produce from however far away, especially if the farmers volunteer—which they would. They need the extra money.”

The pig's erratic movements calmed under my hands, and my heartbeat drifted away from my ears.

“The battle for a farmers' market has gone on for years without any progress. But this—what we do—this is making the township pay attention. If I can just get my farm back, it will solve everything. I'll gladly start up a farmers' market myself.” He eased on the break to take a sharp turn with less speed. “That's why I didn't tell you. I was afraid you wouldn't agree.”

Without a local farm in the area, a farmers' market did seem pointless. It was supposed to benefit the community, sure, but the other point was to preserve farms and save them from fates like Chess's. Now, all the farms were too far away to really provide consistent produce for a market. Still, I could argue that the creation of a farmers' market could reignite the need for a local farm.

Chess's story must have worked, because I calmed down. So calm, in fact, my shoulders relaxed as I sank into the seat. Without realizing it, I must have loosened my grip on the pig.

A split second later, she leapt from my arms and jumped into Chess's lap. He lifted his hands from the wheel, an involuntary reaction to the pig's ramming her snout into his chest. The wheel spun, taking the car with it.

Flashes popped in my mind, not of images, but of the terror my parents must have felt when this happened to them. My heart squeezed and my lips frantically took up religion, forming a desperate prayer.

The scenery blurred by us: the green of the trees, the black interior of the car, the pink of the blanket. Directions switched, disorienting me. My head tingled, and my stomach swirled as violently as the car.

I heard the sounds of the crash before I felt the impact. Something hard knocked the wind out of me, crushing me against the back of the seat. My teeth slammed together. I was being backed into a brick wall, all sides closing in on me and squashing the air from my lungs. Steam billowed somewhere, and an eerie hiss rang out. Everything went white.

Turned out the white wasn't death but the airbag that cushioned my crash. It deflated, and my lungs gasped for all the air they could take. Sounds leaked back into the silence. The pig's squealing drowned out the hissing car. Remind me never to go “parking” with a guy again.

“Alice! Alice! Are you all right?” Chess shook my shoulder.

If he was asking, it meant he was all right, too. I let out a relieved breath and turned my head toward him, all movements slow and exaggerated. I squinted at his blurry form, and my head pounded like construction workers were renovating it. But that was the only thing that ached, a good sign. Optimism tended to be the result of a near-death experience. “Yeah. I feel . . . like I could . . . run a marathon.”

Chess laughed. “I guess gym class has really made an impression on you.” He propped open his door and slid out. I pushed my own door open, stumbling for a moment like a newborn calf taking her first wobbly steps. The world spun around me even though I stood on solid ground, so I gripped the side of the car and shut my eyes until my equilibrium returned.