The Quirks, Welcome to Normal (7 page)

Grandpa Quill grinned. “Sounds like a day worth repeating.” Bree shot him a warning glance. When he was younger, Grandpa Quill had been known to rewind the same full-day event three,
four, or even five times in a row. Supposedly, he had rewound his wedding day seven whole times. But lately, he was pooped after one big do-over, so trying to repeat a whole day now would make a
serious mess.

Molly noticed that the longer they sat at the table with Mr. Intihar, the more relaxed her sister got. Everything about the dinner felt so warm and easy and perfect that Molly let herself
imagine what it would be like if they really did get to stay in Normal. They could have family meals with Mr. Intihar, she would make friends to hang out with at Normal Night, and maybe she could
even join the summer soccer league.

Molly was so busy imagining her perfect new life, she scarcely noticed that more than an hour had passed. The sound of her brother fake-snoring pulled her out of her trance.

“Tell me, Mr. Intihar,” Bree Quirk said, trying to cover up Finn’s snorts. She was leaning her chin on the heels of her hands, her elbows propped up on the table. Dinner was
long gone, and each type of pie had been tested. “Is there anything . . . out of the ordinary in Normal? Anything other than Normal Night? Anyone a little . . . different?”

Bree gazed at Mr. Intihar, her lips pursed into a pretty pout. Molly and Penelope exchanged a look, realizing that their mom had obviously charmed their teacher. His own chin was pressed against
the palms of his hands, his elbows on the table. Maybe it was a side effect of her Quirk, but for some reason, people found Bree utterly charming and often copied her movements after spending time
in her company. It was almost as though their minds began to work together.

Mr. Intihar smiled. “Well, now, every town has its secrets,” he said in a hush. “Normal is no exception.”

Grandpa Quill’s ears perked up at this news. He was always a sucker for scandal. “Do tell!” he yelped gleefully.

“No, no,” Mr. Intihar said, waving his hand. “People’s secrets are their own. If someone wants to hide something, let them hide it.” He paused. “But I always
say there’s no sense hiding who you are. Differences are what make people interesting, don’t you think?”

Penelope began to giggle. If only Mr. Intihar realized just
how
different the Quirks were, surely he wouldn’t say that.

“I agree with you one hundred percent, Mr. Intihar,” Bree said, and winked at him. “I think you’re a smart man.”

“I think you should call me George,” Mr. Intihar said back.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” Finn muttered from under the table.

Mr. Intihar’s head twisted back and forth, trying to locate the voice he’d just heard. “Did you . . .?”

“That was nothing,” Bree informed him. Mr. Intihar—George—nodded. He was convinced.

“Not nothing,” Finn whispered. If you didn’t know he was there, you’d think you were going crazy. Mr. Intihar looked very confused. He shook his head, sure he had heard a
tiny voice coming out of nowhere. “It was me.” Finn giggled quietly.

Molly dropped her pie fork on the floor and climbed under the table to retrieve it. Finn had spent most of the night sitting in the space under the booth, twisted between everyone’s legs,
eating everything edible that came near him. “You need to hush,” Molly whispered, worried that their perfect night with their teacher would be ruined. “You know people can hear
you.”

“I’m bored,” Finn whined quietly. “I’m hungry.”

“You’ve eaten enough to feed a farm! I slipped you three cookies and a full piece of pudding pie.” She paused and studied the space around her brother. “Did you eat those
mashed potatoes off the floor? You’re acting like an animal,” Molly whispered. She could hear the adults talking and laughing above them. Bree’s voice was raised, probably trying
to mask the sound of the conversation under the table. Even so, Molly figured Mr. Intihar could hear her, and most likely thought she was talking to herself.

“You’re not supposed to call me names,” Finn whispered, looking hurt.

“I didn’t call you a name,” Molly said, trying to be patient even though she was frustrated. “What name do you think I called you?”

“You called me a farm animal,” Finn said quietly. He jutted out his chin and Molly saw that he’d drawn a beard out of chocolate pudding onto his face. “A pig.”

“I didn’t,” Molly whispered urgently. “I said you act like an animal, not that you
are
an animal.” She shook her head. “Whatever. Please just try to
stay quiet. We’ll go home soon.”

“If we don’t leave soon, I’m going to start coloring this guy’s leg hair.” Finn pointed to Mr. Intihar’s exposed calves under the table. His pants were a few
inches too short for his long frame and had crept up when he sat down. “He’s hairy! But the hair is all so pale and shiny. It’s not at all like Grandpa Quill’s.”
Grandpa’s legs were especially dark and furry, except for a few bald spots on the backs of his calves. Finn reached his arm around his grandpa’s leg under the table and pulled it toward
Mr. Intihar’s for comparison. “I have a blue marker. If I colored the hair blue, then your teacher’s leg hair would match his shoes.”

Molly groaned and returned to her seat at the table. “Mom?” She cleared her throat. “I’m feeling tired . . .”

“And kind of bluuuuuue,” Finn singsonged quietly, under the table.

Molly coughed, trying to cover up the sound of her pesty little brother. “I think we ought to get home.”

T
h
e
b
e
g
i
n
ning of the year flew by in a rush, and the
Quirk girls had started to make friends . . . sort of. The kids in school were friendly, and Molly really liked some of the girls in their class. She thought Normal was nice, plain and simple.

But Penelope was still shy and distant, finding it scary to step outside the safety of their twin-ish circle. Her magic continued to flare up, especially when the classroom was full of
commotion. She often tried closing her eyes, but Nolan Paulson noticed, and teased her about it. Once, he even dared the whole class to copy Pen and close their eyes while Mr. Intihar reviewed the
week’s spelling list—which made Penelope flush crimson. Other times, Molly would sing a song in her sister’s ear to help her focus on something other than her own thoughts. But
Molly wasn’t always nearby, so that didn’t always work.

Both Quirk girls loved Mr. Intihar and his crazy lessons and zany personality. But his teaching style was a little chaotic, so the classroom was often a flurry of activity. The fourth graders
zipped from science experiments to spelling bees, performed skits, and played math games where they jumped and shouted in silly hats.

The girls began to realize there was something about noise that made it hard for Penelope to keep her mind in check. One morning, during an especially rowdy game of Math Wars, the fish in the
classroom tank all changed color—something that often happened to the roses on the Quirks’ front porch. Another afternoon, on the bus ride home, Penelope whispered to Molly, “My
body went weightless today!”

Molly, who had been listening to Izzy and Amelia joke around in the seat beside them, asked, “What?”

“Weightless,” Penelope said again, with a secretive smile. “I didn’t mean to, but that’s how I was able to do five full pull-ups in gym. Pretty cool,
huh?”

One day after lunch, a few weeks into the school year, Mr. Intihar handed everyone in the classroom a piece of chalk and led them outside. “Today,” he said with a flourish,
“we’re going to compose sidewalk poetry. All of you: haiku!”

“Hi-who?” Raade Gears asked, scratching his head.

“Hi to you, too,” Mr. Intihar replied. No one in the class laughed, but Mr. Intihar’s giggles made Molly wonder if he’d told some sort of joke. He shook his head.
“Never mind. Haiku is a traditional form of Japanese poetry,” he explained. “It has three lines. The first and last lines have five syllables each. The middle line has seven.
Five, seven, five. Simple. Today, I’d like you all to write your own haiku on the pavement for the rest of the school to enjoy.”

Izzy whispered something to Amelia, then they settled in on the concrete to start writing. They waved Molly over, and she happily joined them. Meanwhile, Nolan and Raade
tried—loudly—to figure out how many words rhymed with fart.

“It’s not about rhyming,” Mr. Intihar said, patiently shushing Nolan and Raade. “These aren’t rhyming poems. They should be visual and free flowing. Let your minds
wander!”

Molly glanced at Penelope, who was still standing alone at the edge of the crowd, shaking her head. “I can’t do it,” she whispered when Molly sidled over. “My mind
doesn’t behave when I let it wander.”

Mr. Intihar came striding over on his long legs and said, “Penelope Quirk! Did I hear you say you
can’t
?”

Pen shook her head more violently. “Nope.” She squinted at him and fiddled with something in her pocket.

Mr. Intihar nodded and squinted back. “Good.” He turned back to the rest of the class. “Perhaps we need to work on a few examples as a group. Let’s try some ‘Who Am
I?’ haikus.”

“Who am I?” Molly wondered aloud.

“I’ll tell you who I am,” Nolan said boastfully. “The best-looking soccer player in Normal.” He pushed his hand through his hair and looked around, waiting for
people to agree. Molly glanced at Penelope, who had just that morning been telling Molly how much Nolan Paulson’s bragginess bugged her.

But Penelope just stood there, staring off into space, like she hadn’t heard Nolan. Sometimes Molly wondered if Pen had figured out a way to turn off her ears, so she wouldn’t hear
everything that was going on around her.

It was almost as though she had tucked herself away in her own little world. Her head bopped back and forth, like a silent soundtrack was playing through her mind. Molly nudged her to get her to
focus on their teacher. Penelope scowled.

Mr. Intihar swept his arm to the side and bowed, ignoring Nolan. “For example . . .” Their teacher cleared his throat, then began:

“Shorter than the grass,

Among hills of dirt I march,

I am but a speck.”

No one said anything. “So?” he asked after a few seconds of silence. Molly’s eyes widened. Mr. Intihar’s skin seemed to be getting darker . . . and were his eyes getting
bigger? It looked like his long body was bulging in some places, and squeezing in others. Something strange was happening. Luckily most of their classmates were distracted. Molly glanced at her
sister.

“Yoo-hoo! Who am I?” Mr. Intihar asked. Molly was pretty sure his arms looked shorter and were sort of wiggling when he gestured.

Nolan shrugged. “A speck, obviously.” Everyone looked at him and laughed, which is exactly what Nolan wanted.

Suddenly, Penelope squeezed her eyes closed and squeaked, “An ant?” The whole class turned to stare at her. When they did, Molly watched as Mr. Intihar’s body slipped back to
normal.

Pen’s eyes were still closed tight. Molly nudged her again, but Penelope refused to open them. Molly sighed. She felt bad for thinking it, but she worried that Penelope would never fit in
. . . magic or not.

“That’s right!” Mr. Intihar said. “It’s like a riddle, isn’t it? Now, I’d like all of you to come up with your own haikus.”