Free Extraordinary October by Diana Wagman Page A

bird had lips it would have been licking them. I could hear it saying, “Yes. Yes. I’ve got her. I’ve got her.” Of course that was my imagination, and anyway it was obvious it wanted me bad and thought it had me. But I had a better idea. I pretended I was tired, that my arms could barely hold up my stick.
    â€œI can’t do this much longer.” I lied.
    The bird was interested, puffing up its chest, getting ready for the attack.
    Walker believed me too. “Don’t stop now. A little longer!”
    â€œI can’t.”
    I slumped and rested my hands—with the stick—on my knees. The bird practically smiled. It came straight at me, wings like an airplane. Quick as I could, I straightened, pulled back, swung, and knocked that bird smack into a tree. It fell to the ground and lay there without moving. It was the most satisfying sporty kind of feeling I’d ever had. I actually understood why baseball players loved to hit that little white ball. I was ready to hit some more home runs.
    But I didn’t have to. With the leader out of commission the others stopped attacking. They flew over to the stunned—or I hoped, dead—crow lying on the ground and circled randomly like foreign tourists without a guide.
    Walker turned to me. I saw the scratch down his arm. It was bleeding.
    â€œYour arm,” I said.
    He ignored it and pulled me around behind a tree. “You were amazing,” he said. He inspected me all over, up and down, my face, my arms. He even turned me around, pushed my hair to one side and scrutinized my neck. His breath was warm. I leaned back into him.
    â€œYou’re really okay?” he asked.
    â€œI’m sorry about your arm.”
    â€œIt’s nothing.”
    He felt so good. He didn’t make me all jittery like Trevor did and I didn’t feel like doing crazy things. Did it mean I was a slut because I was thinking about two guys at once? I turned and he put his arms around me. I breathed in his sweet smell. He patted my back. Then he was kind of stroking. From comforting me, he was progressing toward something else. I was ready. I lifted my face for a kiss. An older guy would be good at it, perfect for my first. And Walker was perfect in so many ways.
    â€œNo.” He pushed me away. “We can’t do this.”
    â€œYou’re not that much older.”
    â€œIt’s not that.”
    â€œDo you have a girlfriend?”
    â€œC’mon.” He didn’t answer my question. He never answered my questions. “Before that crow wakes up.” He started pulling me toward the parking lot.
    â€œSchool’s that way,” I said.
    â€œCan’t go back to school.”
    â€œThose crows are done.”
    â€œIt’s not the crows I’m worried about.”
    As he said that, we both heard footsteps crunching in the gravel at the edge of the park. I turned. Through the brush I saw a figure. Two figures, then three and four. They walked upright, but they were blobby, brown and gray, their bodies and heads indistinct. People in some disturbing costume. One and then another bordered the park.
    I stumbled, pointing, backing toward Walker. He nodded. He had seen them too.
    â€œI didn’t want to do this,” he said. He grabbed my arm, turned abruptly and started running, pulling me, straight for the brick wall of the school building.
    I had to run with him or I would fall. “No!”
    â€œTrust me!”
    â€œNo!”
    He yanked me with him. I was sure we would do a face plant into the brick and I shut my eyes. Just as I steeled myself for serious pain, I fell forward and there was a warm liquid kind of feeling, but dry too, like I was falling through very fine, heated, sand. Walker wasn’t holding me anymore. I was swimming, circling my arms. I began to panic and the try to scream and the sand filled my mouth. I was choking. I couldn’t breathe. I was going to pass out when I landed