Buzz kicked the empty soda can and watched it skitter across the deserted lane, its crushed sides scraping against the ground. It was probably the only kicking he’d get to do for days. He still had no idea if Coach Saunders would let him play tomorrow—Sam said he’d do his best to convince him, but they both knew Coach could be stubborn.
He kicked the can again, enjoying the loud crunch as his foot connected with the aluminum. Unfortunately, the sound of his soggy phone sloshing in his pocket was louder.
Yep, just another Friday the thirteenth, Buzz thought. Full of ritual humiliation, pain, and disappointment.
“Friggatriskaidekaphobia,” a familiar American accent said from up above him. “That’s what you’ve got.”
Buzz stopped and looked up. He had no idea where the girl from the cafeteria was hiding, and for a moment he wondered if she was actually invisible.
He narrowed his eyes as he spotted a pair of battered purple Converse poking through the foliage of the tall oak that hung over the lane.
“Friggatriksa—” Buzz gave up. He wasn’t even going to try and get his mouth around that word. “What?”
“Friggatriskaidekaphobia,” the voice repeated. “It’s a phobia of Friday the thirteenth.”
“Listen, I don’t have a phobia of Friday the—” Buzz broke off. “Hey, how’d you know what I was thinking about in the first place?”
The oak leaves rustled, and then the girl in the cobweb leggings suddenly dropped onto a lower branch of the tree.
She grinned. “That’s not important. Surely, what’s far more interesting is how Friggatriskaidekaphobia got its name.” She began to shimmy along the branch. “Although that Theo boy said your dad is a professor of mythology, so I’m guessing you already know.”
“You guessed wrong,” Buzz replied. The girl’s smile became even wider, and he could tell that she was really desperate to tell him. “Okay, how’d it get its name?”
“Well, the first part of the word Friggatriskaidekaphobia is derived from the name Frigga.” The girl slid a bit farther along the branch until she was directly above his head. It bent alarmingly. “You know who Frigga was, of course.”
Buzz was distracted. That branch really doesn’t look very safe, he thought, although he’d be the first to admit that heights weren’t his thing and so he wasn’t great at climbing trees. “Don’t you think you should come down?” he asked. “What are you doing up there anyway?”
“I was waiting for you,” the girl replied. “Plus, I’m really good at climbing trees, so I thought I’d make my own entertainment.”
“You were waiting for me?” Buzz repeated, wondering why he wasn’t more creeped out. “Why? And how’d you know I’d even come this way?”
The girl wrinkled her nose, pushing up the glasses that perched precariously at the end of it. “You seemed nice, and your sister told me what route you’d walk home.”
“How very helpful of her.” Buzz shook his head, wondering why Tia was so determined for him to be friends with this girl.
“So, where were we?” the girl asked. “Ah, yes, Frigga. So obviously you know who she is.”
Buzz scratched his head, curly tendrils snagging his fingers. The name did actually sound kind of familiar. The Prof must have mentioned the name to Tia at some point. But, as Buzz usually tuned out when his father was talking about mythology, it was no surprise he couldn’t remember anything specific about the name. He shook his head.
“Frigga was the Norse goddess of the harvest and the family, and wife of the chief of the gods, Odin,” the girl explained. “In English, the day Friday is named after her. Frigga’s day.”
“Oh, yeah, that’s right,” Buzz said. “All the days of the week are named after Norse gods, right?”
“Wrong.” The girl sniffed. “All but one—Saturday. That one is named after the Roman god Saturn, but some say that Saturday once belonged to the Norse god Loki.” She edged a bit farther along the branch, and it bent even more alarmingly. “Saturday was Loki’s day. A day of mischief.”
Despite himself, despite the fact that it had something to do with mythology, which was all a load of made-up hogwash, Buzz felt his interest spark. “Really? What happened? Why’d this Loki guy lose his day?” He heard the branch give a protesting creak. “Hey, will you get down from there?”
“Okay, okay.” The girl dropped down from the tree in a swift, graceful movement and gave a little bow. “Happier now that I’m on the ground?”
Buzz nodded. “Much. Tell me more about Loki, then.”
“Actually, Loki brings us to the second part of the name for your phobia.”
“I don’t have a phobi—”
“Triskaideka means the number thirteen.” The girl leaned back against the trunk of the tree. “And it’s thanks to Loki that many think the number thirteen is unlucky.”
“Go on.” The Prof didn’t speak much about the legends of the Norse gods—his specialty was in the mythology of lost civilizations—but Buzz wanted to know more about this Loki guy.
“There was a feast,” said the girl, her voice low, “where all the Norse gods were gathered. It was at this feast that Frigga and Odin’s beloved son, Balder, was killed. His death was caused by the thirteenth guest at the feast. It was caused by Loki.”
“Why did Loki want Frigga’s son dead?”
“Why did Loki do anything?” The girl sat down under the tree and beckoned for Buzz to do the same. “He did it because he could. Because he was a trickster and mischief was what he was best at. This time, he did not go unpunished. Loki was chained to a rock deep underground. A snake was created to guard him, to drip burning venom on his head until the Ragnarok.”
“Ragnarok?” Buzz echoed. It sounds like a kind of disease.
“It means the end of the world,” the girl explained. “It was prophesized that Loki would one day escape his bonds and try and destroy the earth. The Norse gods would be waiting for him to have their final battle.”
Buzz let out a low whistle. “That sounds totally epic.”
“It does, doesn’t it?” The girl adjusted her glasses, which had slipped down her nose again.
“How do you know so much about this kind of stuff?” he asked.
“I know a lot about a lot of things. I’m pretty smart.” She stuck out her legs and crossed them at the ankles. “But I don’t know why Friday the thirteenth is making you so miserable. It’s only a day.”
“Oh, really?” Buzz said. “The Friday the thirteenth before last, I lost the one hundred meter race at our town’s annual swim meet because I . . . I . . .” He faltered. “I had some technical difficulties.”
The memory rose to the surface just like his swimming trunks had.
The girl shrugged. “So you lost your swimming trunks. I bet it made you more aerodynamic in the long run.”
Buzz felt his cheeks get hot. “I didn’t say that’s what happened.”
“You didn’t need to. I guessed. I told you, I’m really smart.”
“And modest,” Buzz replied, surprised at how easy he found it talking to this girl. He just felt bad that he hadn’t worked that out in the cafeteria. “The Friday the thirteenth before that, I broke my ankle after trying to surf in a shopping trolley,” he continued.
“That was just dumb,” the girl replied. “It has nothing to do with the date. You’re going to have to do better.”
“Fine. Last Friday the thirteenth, my mum went missing, and I don’t think she’s ever coming home.”