Twenty-One

The Science Fair

The day of the science fair dawned bright and early.

Mostly because Fin hadn’t slept much.

Fin sat up, the worn old quilt falling from her shoulders. She didn’t know what had woken her. Then she heard the tapping at the window.

She glanced to her left, breath quickening, and saw the form sitting outside the glass. For a moment, she thought it might be Teafin.

It was a raven. The raven, eyeing her beadily through the dirty glass. Fin pushed the window open; there wasn’t a screen, and Fin found herself face-to-face with the bird. The raven chittered a greeting and Fin said, “Hi,” a little awkwardly. She still wasn’t sure how a person was supposed to talk with a raven. She slipped out of bed and went to her backpack for the bag of trail mix she’d taken to school on Friday. She pulled it free and dug out a few nuts, setting them on the windowsill.

The raven began gobbling up the food. For Fin, it was a momentary distraction from her unease.

The science fair loomed before her. She would have thought an evil tea twin would distract her from public speaking, but now that the fair was hours away, it was the only thing she could think about.

She closed her eyes and tried to breathe deeply. But the spaces between each breath seemed too open, too easily filled with fear.

The tea had worn off. Perhaps she hadn’t chosen a big enough memory—or maybe all of the chaos of the last few days had burned out the magic faster than usual. Fin no longer felt brave or strong or even remotely calm.

She knew it was irrational—that was the worst part. The science fair was just a school thing, something that in a few months she probably wouldn’t even remember . . . unless she said something wrong, in which case the memory would haunt her for years. She remembered when she’d accidentally called her first-grade teacher by the wrong name, when she’d made a joke to a new friend in the third grade that the other girl hadn’t gotten, and the times when even Eddie, her best friend in the world, didn’t understand why she was afraid.

Fin always found herself biting back words, considering every reply, trying to figure out how other people spoke, how they held their hands, their arms, themselves. She’d tried to emulate other people for so long, she felt more like a mimic than a real person.

The only way to fit in was to saw off pieces of herself.

It had become habit.

Maybe this was why Teafin was so angry. Because she was a mimic of a mimic.

Fin slid her legs over the side of the bed and tried the deep breaths again. She would handle all of this—the science fair and Teafin. She had a poster to read off of if she forgot what to say. She had the matchbox if Teafin showed up. She had Eddie. And she had Cedar—

The raven made a burbling sound.

She also had a rather strange raven that seemed to have adopted her. Well, Fin thought, there were worse things to have.

Mom was waiting when Fin descended from the loft.

Fin’s breath hitched a little, her heartbeat stumbling. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to see her mom, but the thought of another argument now made her want to turn around and go back up that ladder.

“Hey,” said Mom, smiling.

Fin’s return smile was more uncertain, faltering at the edges. “Morning.”

“I figured you and Eddie would be practicing most of the day,” said Mom. She pushed a paper bag—ALDERMERE GROCERY & TACKLE printed across it—across the small table. “So I put together a few snacks for you both.”

Fin took it, glancing inside. Sliced apple, some crackers, and chocolate chip cookies, the inn’s logo on the bag. “The inn’s selling cookies now?” asked Fin.

“Ben put together a proposal about offering guests some fresh dessert item when they check in,” said Mom, with a small laugh. “Got the idea from some other hotel company. It probably won’t stick, but Mr. Madeira said he’d try it for a few weeks. Not like we have that many guests to cook for at the moment.”

Fin took a cookie, sniffed it. It smelled warm, freshly baked. “Thanks.”

Mom’s smile faded. “Listen, sweetheart. I just—”

Fin drew in a breath.

“—wanted you to know that I’m very proud of you,” said Mom. “You and Eddie have worked hard on this, and I’m sure you’re going to do great.” She leaned forward in the chair. “But even if everything goes wrong—if the lizards escape and run rampant or if someone’s papier-mâché volcano explodes—it doesn’t matter. I’m still proud of you.”

All of the tension in Fin’s body gathered in her throat. It was too tight; she could barely speak. “Thanks,” Fin managed to say again.

Mom rose from the chair, then leaned down and kissed the top of Fin’s head. “Love you. Everything’s going to be fine.”

Fin nodded and hugged her mom tightly for a moment before going into the bathroom to shower.

For once Eddie was as keyed up as Fin.

He was checking and double-checking the lizards—moving a few rocks around in their terrarium, adding fresh leaves, murmuring quiet reassurances to the lizards. He wasn’t nervous, Fin knew, so much as he was determined. He wanted to beat River at this science fair more than she’d seen him want anything in a long time.

“All right, guys,” said Eddie quietly, into the glass. “We’ve practiced this. When the judges come by, I’ll give you the signal and . . .”

He snapped his fingers.

The lizards stared at him.

“What are they supposed to do?” Fin asked. “Dance?”

“Come on,” groaned Eddie, leaning his forehead against the glass. “Guys.”

One lizard licked its eyeball. Another blinked.

“You didn’t train them to sabotage River’s project, did you?” said Fin.

“No, of course not,” said Eddie. “That idea’s way better. I should’ve done that. I’ve been training them to eat crickets on command. It’s like at the zoo when the animals actually do stuff—it makes people excited. I thought if the lizards did more than sit there, it would up our chances.” He lifted his head; there was a smudge against the glass, and he hastily wiped at it with his sleeve.

Aunt Myrtle was trundling about the kitchen. Mom had gone to the inn, preparing for the science fair. If this had been any other event, any other day, Fin might have gone there with her to help fold linens and set out chairs. But now all Fin could do was stand beside their poster board and try to remember exactly which lizards were native to California and why Eddie thought they preferred one type of bug to another.

Finally Fin and Eddie hauled their science project to the inn. “I’ll see you two soon,” Aunt Myrtle called cheerily as Eddie hefted the terrarium into the small wooden wagon that Aunt Myrtle used to get her table to the Foragers’ Market. The lizards looked rather indignant about the move, and Eddie murmured quiet reassurances. Fin carried the poster.

The walk up to the inn was shorter than normal. The world moved too quickly and too slowly, all at once. They were walking past the Ack, then striding past Mrs. Brackenbury’s home, then Brewed Awakening, and then the inn loomed before them, looking more intimidating than Fin could ever remember.

The front door was closed, and Fin had to push it open with her foot and stand there so Eddie could angle himself through with the wagon and terrarium. Ben saw them from the front counter and took a few steps closer.

“Those are shut in, right?” asked Ben, squinting at the lizards with a worried line etched across his forehead. “They’re not going to escape?”

“They won’t escape,” said Eddie with confidence. “Not unless lizards suddenly figure out how to unlatch things.”

“Well, this is Aldermere,” said Fin, speaking without thinking.

Ben threw her a startled glance, and she couldn’t tell if it was because she sounded more dour than normal or if he truly was worried about a Great Lizard Escape. “Is the room ready for projects?” she asked him.

Ben nodded. “Just finished it up an hour ago—tables ready to go. We’ll put out juices and water before it starts.” He rubbed his hands together.

Eddie went on ahead, pulling the wagon down the hallway. Ben watched him go, still looking wary. “I liked your cookie idea,” said Fin. She offered the words like an apology, since she couldn’t utter a real one. He hadn’t deserved to have his shed set on fire, but it wasn’t like she could tell him she knew who’d done it.

Ben glanced at her before stepping back behind the counter. “Oh, your mom told you?”

Fin nodded. “You think cookies will make more guests stay here?”

Ben reached for one of the brochure displays, straightening the lines of crisp paper. “I don’t know,” he said. “We need something. With the wildfires lately, we’re getting fewer and fewer tourists every year. Only a few weeks ago, I heard your mom talking on the phone with the owners about layoffs during the winter season.” He touched a hand to his forehead, rubbing as if he had a headache. “Sorry, I shouldn’t even be telling you this.”

“It’s fine,” said Fin, and meant it. She liked it when people talked to her like she wasn’t just a clueless kid. “Would you stay in Aldermere, if you couldn’t work here?”

“I don’t have anywhere else to go,” he said, sounding tired. “I used my college fund to pay for my mom’s medical bills. Can’t afford to move. Can barely afford to stay here.”

Fin winced with sympathy. “Sorry.”

“Not your fault.” He nodded in the direction of the conference room. “You two break a leg. Or—whatever people say before science fairs.”

“Good luck?” Fin suggested.

“Good luck,” he replied.

Fin took a better grip on the poster and walked toward the conference room. It had been set up with long folding tables and white linens, and there were numbered spaces. The room wasn’t empty.

A boy with sandy-blond hair and pale hazel eyes stood beside what looked like a tiny wind turbine made out of Popsicle sticks. Wires were twined out the bottom, connected to what looked like a small electric hotplate. The turbine was spinning because the boy had also set up a fan, making a tiny wind stream.

“River,” said Eddie, sounding as disgusted as the time she and Eddie had cleaned mold out of the bottom of the fridge.

“Edward,” said River, with a cool glance at Fin and Eddie. Eddie bristled visibly; he didn’t like anyone using his full name without permission. “I see you decided to go with animals again? Pity it won’t get you first place. I thought you’d have figured that out by now.” He cast a cold look at Fin. “Good idea getting someone with legible handwriting, though. At least the judges will be able to read your disappointing project this year.”

Fin blinked at him. She’d never talked to River before; she had seen him at last year’s science fair, but her grade hadn’t been required to participate, so she’d stood at the back of the room. And they didn’t hang out with the same people, so he’d never spoken directly to her. He reminded her a little of a villain in a mystery book. One of the bad ones, with the flimsy plot that Fin could usually figure out by the fifth page.

“Your windmill going to last the night?” said Eddie, with a chin nod at River’s table. “It looks kind of flimsy.”

“It’s a wind turbine, not a windmill,” said River coldly.

“Still looks like it might fall apart,” said Eddie. “Come on, Fin.” He turned on his heel and strode to the front of the room, where they would be easily seen. Fin’s stomach squirmed uncomfortably, but she followed.

“So that’s River’s windmill,” Fin said, once they were out of earshot. She set the poster down, making sure none of the attached samples had come free.

“Yeah,” said Eddie, glowering across the room. “He thinks he’s so special because he can make electricity.”

“Technically, he’s using electricity,” Fin said. “He needs a fan to get the windmill-thing to run.”

“I hadn’t thought of that. Maybe it’ll count against him.” His mood brightening, Eddie began carefully straightening the terrarium. Fin set up the poster beside it, then glanced about the room. A few other people were beginning to trickle in—kids from school with their parents in tow, carrying papier-mâché volcanoes, model airplanes. . . . One girl had a weird globe with holes poked in it. Fin watched as they set up.

The fair would officially start at five: speeches would commence, the kids would present their projects, and then awards would be given out at seven. Fin checked the clock above the door—there was enough time to visit the bathroom. She didn’t need to use it, but she also didn’t want to stand beside her table, feeling awkward.

“I’m going to walk around a little,” she said to Eddie.

He was barely listening; he was staring daggers at River, who had set a kettle of water on the small hot plate. “He’s going to serve them hot chocolate or something,” said Eddie under his breath. “He’s going to bribe the judges with wind-powered beverages.”

Fin gave up on trying to talk to him. Eddie was too consumed to notice her restlessness. She left their table and strolled down another row of projects. The room was beginning to bustle with students and parents, the noise level rising to a steady thrum. A boy was setting up a row of paper airplanes, complete with a chart on how he’d folded each one and how far they would fly; another girl had a poster that smelled strongly of fish and had pieces of seaweed taped to it. Fin hastened past that table.

There was no sign of Mom or Aunt Myrtle yet—Aunt Myrtle would arrive around five to watch the presentations, and Mom would be in a frenzy, trying to make sure the refreshments stayed fresh and no student accidentally spilled something dire onto one of the good linens.

Cedar was by herself at one of the tables, near an exit door that had been propped open to allow for air flow. She had several thermoses labeled with temperatures and a poster with pictures of green coffee beans and a map of where they’d been grown. “Hey,” said Fin, glad to see a friendly face.

Cedar looked up, startled, then broke into a grin. “Hey, Fin. You all set up?”

Fin nodded. “Eddie’s at our table. I think he’s giving our lizards a pep talk.”

Cedar pressed a hand to her mouth to hide a smile. “You never know. If anyone could get those lizards to do tricks or start talking, it’d be Eddie.” Her hand fell away, her expression steadying. “How are you?”

The question carried more weight than it usually did.

“I’m fine,” said Fin, after a moment’s hesitation. If she said it enough, maybe it would be true.

“Any sign of . . . ?” Cedar made an odd movement with her shoulders, one that Fin interpreted to mean your evil twin.

Fin shook her head. “I heard some weird noises the other night, but she never showed.”

“That’s scary,” said Cedar. “You think she’s out there? Watching us?”

Fin’s gaze fell on a wrinkled corner of the tablecloth. It was something to look at, other than Cedar. “I don’t know what she wants. I’ve got . . . I think I might have a way to defeat her, if she shows again.” She reached into her pocket and withdrew the small matchbox. She flashed the label toward Cedar, who blinked in surprise.

“Where’d you get matches?” she asked, voice quiet.

“Mrs. Brackenbury had them,” said Fin, surprising herself with an honest answer. “They were in her junk drawer. I didn’t think she’d miss them.”

Cedar appeared impressed by Fin’s theft. “Wow. So you’re just going to set her on fire if she shows again?”

“I think so,” said Fin. “But part of me hopes that she will fade away or something. Like the magic of the tea does.”

Cedar fidgeted with one of the thermoses. “Is that what it’s like?”

“You know,” said Fin. “The magic doesn’t last forever.”

Cedar set the thermos down, lacing her fingers together as if wanted something else to do with her hands. “I don’t know. Before they took over Brewed Awakening, my parents didn’t know about Talia’s place. No one told them—or me. And by the time people trusted us enough to let us know, Mom and Dad had given up the whole cryptozoology business.”

“You never went to the tea shop?” asked Fin.

Cedar shook her head, eyes downcast. “I . . . No. I never went there.” Something in her voice made Fin think that Cedar had gone elsewhere, but before Fin could ask, Cedar looked up. “Can I ask what was it like? When the tea worked normally, I mean.”

Fin thought of those times in the tea shop when Talia had been there—when the shop had been a haven, rather than a source of fear. Those redwood-paneled walls, the smell of incense and tea, the vintage furniture and old paperback romances arranged on a bookcase. Fin found herself relaxing, the memory a comforting one. “My mom told me not to go, so I never told her about it. But Talia was always really nice—and she’d put the tea in this mortar made of rose quartz. That’s where the magic was, actually. I found that out later. It wasn’t the tea at all. I’d whisper a memory into the mortar, and then the tea would . . . make me feel normal. Not anxious. For a few weeks, I wouldn’t . . .” She searched for the right words. “You’ve seen those videos of big snakes squeezing their prey, right? It’s kind of like that.” She waited for Cedar to look confused—or worse, pitying. But Cedar nodded.

“Yeah,” said Cedar softly. “I get that. I mean—everyone’s got different issues, I know. But I get how it feels to be invisible.” She looked both sad and a little wistful. “You ever thought about . . . I don’t know. Talking to your mom about it?”

The familiar panic squirmed low in Fin’s belly. Instinctively, she drew her arms tight around herself, as though shielding herself from accusations and attention. She wanted to be normal, but even more than that, she wanted other people to think she was normal.

Before she could answer, something clattered behind them. Fin and Cedar whirled around, gazes drawn to the emergency exit door. It had been propped open, a foot-wide gap allowing the damp autumn air to swirl into the heat of the conference room. Fin had barely taken notice of that door. Now all she could think was how easily someone could be hiding behind it.

Or something.

Fin and Cedar shared a glance, and Fin knew they were thinking the same thing. Fin’s hand delved into her pocket, fingers closing around the matchbox. She took a step around the table, then another.

Her heart pounded hard, but she forced herself to reach for the door, to step into that open space and peer outside.

The back of the inn faced the redwood forest, and the overhead trees were so thick that even now the sunlight was beginning to dim. It took a few seconds for Fin’s eyes to adjust. Then she saw a familiar figure. Ben was emptying a blue recycling bin into one of the larger dumpsters. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Fin through the doorway. He waved with his free hand.

Well, that was a relief. Fin took a step back. “It’s just Ben taking out the trash.”

“Bellhop Ben,” Cedar said, and Fin nodded.

An electronic shriek of feedback made them both wince. The sound system was being turned on, and two of the science teachers stood at the front of the room, beaming at everyone. The room was bustling now, filled up when Fin hadn’t been paying attention. For those few minutes she was talking with Cedar, Fin had forgotten to be nervous. She’d forgotten where she was, what she had to do. Now it all came rushing back.

“You should go to your table,” Cedar said quietly as the science teacher began to speak, his booming voice welcoming everyone to the annual fall science fair.

Fin’s feet moved without her say-so, back toward her table. She could see Aunt Myrtle, her hand on Eddie’s shoulder. Mom was nowhere to be seen. Maybe it was better that way—one less pair of eyes on Fin.

All she had to do was give a quick speech about the names of the plants and what purpose they had in the wild. Eddie would talk about the lizards and how their eating patterns played in to the ecosystem. As she moved through the crowd, Fin caught a glimpse of something. A flash of black clothing and unruly hair. Fin halted in place, scanning the students and parents. Her heart throbbed without her truly knowing why.

Then she saw it a second time—and her pounding heart sank into her belly.

It was Teafin.

Teafin was at the science fair.

She moved through the crowds with a liquid grace, a prowling step that made Fin want to recoil. Teafin strode toward the main exit, something tucked under her arm.

It looked like part of a windmill.

Fin’s mouth moved silently, forming Teafin’s name. Her fingers tightened around the matchbox in her pocket, and a flare of panic and anger churned within her. She shouldn’t have to deal with this now—she had her presentation to worry about. But Teafin was here, and it looked like she’d sabotaged River’s science fair project. Maybe River had seen, maybe he hadn’t, but either way, Fin needed to make this right.

She glanced up at the podium, at the teacher reading aloud the local businesses that sponsored this event every year.

Fin had ten minutes before the presentations began.

It would have to be enough time.