Free Seriously Wicked by Tina Connolly

muttered.
    “No cryptic utterances,” Jenah said firmly, “Or else—”
    “Our galactic jump rope gets in a knot. I know. You don’t really need me for Sparkle, do you?”
    Jenah suddenly stopped. “Ooh, isn’t that him? What on earth happened?”
    A tall, weary boy was slodging through the crowds milling around the front door.
    It was the weirdest thing, but when I looked at him the first time, it looked as though his hair was completely black.
    But it must’ve been the way the shadows and backpacks moved, because when he looked up and saw us, he was his normal blond boy-band self, except very, very tired-looking.
    His face cleared at the sight of me. “Cam,” he said, and then stopped. He blinked and swayed on his feet, like he was too tired to think of words after that. His jeans were muddy and his T-shirt sleeve was torn. He was carrying a cardboard box, also muddy, with little bits of stalks and grass stuck into the mud. A leggy lump on the top looked like a squished water bug.
    “What happened to you?” I said.
    For an answer, he lifted the flap of the box about a half inch. I peered in, and through the light from the airholes punched in the top, I saw a hoppy mass. For a moment I thought they were frogs, but then I saw that the little green blobs had wings. Sparkly green wings that winked in and out of sight like lightning bug bellies.
    Pixies.
    “Wow,” I said. “One hundred?”
    “One hundred,” said Devon.
    “One hundred…?” said Jenah.
    “Frogs,” I lied. “One hundred frogs.”
    Devon nodded to Jenah over the box and lifted dirty fingers. “I’m Devon,” he said. “I’m new.”
    “True but not very explanatory,” she said. “I’m Jenah; I’m in your algebra and your American history, so I already know some-things about you but not the most important question: Why do you have a box of frogs?”
    “Science project,” I said.
    Jenah looked thoughtful. “None of the science classes are currently doing projects.”
    “Extra credit?” suggested Devon.
    “Catching up from his old school,” I said simultaneously.
    Jenah shook her head at us, lips pursed like she was buying none of it. She pointed a finger at me. “Thirty seconds,” she said, and then collared a passing Mohawked boy to catch up on the latest news from the punk world.
    Devon smiled shyly at me.
    “How are you, um, doing with you-know-who?” I said.
    “I tried to go to sleep last night but he dragged me down to the creek behind my house,” he said. “We caught four pix—er, frogs there. Then down the creek to where it goes in the sewer pipe. Another two frogs inside the sewer. Then he marched my legs overland till we found where the creek starts up again. Like, half a mile. Another three frogs. The creek widened until it hit a lake. All around the lake were enormous houses with motion detectors that went off if I chased the frogs in the wrong direction. By then it was after midnight…”
    “Gah,” I said.
    “I just found number one hundred in a culvert three miles from here,” he said. “I found a bus stop, but the driver wouldn’t let me on with a box of pix—frogs. I don’t mean to complain.” He yawned. “I’m just dead.”
    “What’s he doing now?” I said. “You know. Him .”
    “Catching up on sleep,” Devon said in a low voice. “And now I have to figure out how to save these frogs. I had to fight to put airholes in the box, and a bowl of water. His reflexes are better than mine, so I tried to encourage him to catch some flies for the box. I don’t even know if they eat flies.”
    I nodded. “Flies, spiders, and dew that still has dawn reflected in it.”
    “I couldn’t see them at first till he rubbed my eyes around with his fingers,” said Devon. “ My fingers. Whatever. Now my eyes feel like they’re full of Vaseline.” He shrugged his shoulders, swaying again. “I could crumble up an energy bar for the frogs. Do you think they’d eat it?”
    “Doubtful,” I said.