The Rules and Regulations for Mediating Myths & Magic Page 2
Bridger jerked up so hard he banged the back of his head against the wall.
“Ow!” he said, bringing his hand up to touch the painful spot. He squinted at the person who had appeared out of nowhere. “Sneak up on people often? Crap, man, where did you come from?”
The guy pointed to the front door. “The front door.” He had a soft voice and a muddled accent that definitely wasn’t Midwestern. “Where did you come from?”
Bridger glanced at the door and then focused on the man. He was tall and thin, fine-boned and birdlike. His clothes had seen better days—worn plaid pants, a vintage shirt, a scarf, and a jacket with elbow patches—but Bridger couldn’t tell if that was on purpose or meant to be ironic. Black hair fell around his ears, curled down the back of his neck, and tickled the collar of his horrible jacket. His bright green eyes wrinkled at the corners as he stared at Bridger and waited.
“Did you come from that door?” the man asked when Bridger remained silent.
Bridger was too busy playing the part of a fish on land. “The… door?” he said, disbelieving. “Are you kidding me? It works?”
“Are you lost? Where’s Mindy?” He shouted up the stairs. “Mindy!”
Bridger shook his head and stood. “No, if I knew I could come through that door, then I wouldn’t have climbed up the back of this house. Also, I would love to find Mindy myself. She told me to come down here and wait, and I have been. I skipped school to answer this stupid ad,” Bridger said, pulling the crumpled paper from his pocket and waving it in the guy’s face. “But I have no idea what this place is or what I’m supposed to do—and who the hell are you anyway?”
The man nodded. “Ah,” he said, his lips curling up at the corners. “So you didn’t come in the front door.”
Bridger flailed. “No! You know what, I’m out. This has been an experience, but I think I’m going to head back to school. I’m sure there is a perfectly respectable coffee shop that needs a person to stand behind a counter and pretend to care about the correct temperature for a perfect cappuccino.”
Turning on his heel, Bridger headed to the door; he could at least leave from it.
“Stop right there, young man,” Mindy’s voice rang out from the top of the stairs. “Don’t move.”
Bridger sighed and turned.
Mindy waved an angry finger toward the guy. “And you weren’t even going to stop him. I am disappointed in you, sir.”
The man shrugged and put his hands in his pants pockets. He didn’t feign apologetic well.
Bridger blinked. “Sir?”
“You didn’t even introduce yourself?” Mindy clomped down the stairs.
Cheeks flushing, the guy ducked his head. “I didn’t know who he was.”
“Bullshit,” Mindy said. She tugged on her massive office chair; the feet screeched across the hardwood floor. She dropped into the chair, and a bobbleheaded squirrel fell over. “You,” she pointed at Bridger, “come here. And you—” She whipped around, purple-tipped finger now aiming at the guy. “—introduce yourself.”
He blew out a breath. “I’m Pavel Chudinov.”
“Is that supposed to mean something to me?”
“He’s your boss,” Mindy said, clipped.
Bridger’s stomach dropped. “Oh. Uh. No offense, but could she be my boss?”
“No,” Mindy answered. She waved a piece of paper and threw it on the desk. “Your contract. Three days a week after school. And on call hours as needed. A few weekends. Wage is one-and-a-half times minimum. Any questions?”
Bridger did the quick math in his head. One-and-a-half times minimum wage was more than he’d get slinging coffee beans. And three days a week wasn’t bad. It would still leave time for homework and the occasional social opportunity—social opportunity being riding in Astrid’s car to various geek locales.
“Yeah,” Bridger said, feeling a little like Faust as he scribbled his name on the line. “What exactly do you do here?”
Pavel eyed him. “I help others with their problems.”
“Like a therapist?”
“No, not those type of problems.”
Bridger’s eyebrows shot up. “Like a hit man?”
Pavel blinked, then grinned, slow and menacing.
Mindy huffed. “No. Don’t tease him, sir. We want this one to last.”
Bridger stiffened and dropped the pen on the desk; various headlines scrolled across his brain. “Last? What does that mean?”
Pavel cocked his head and gestured weakly. “Some people find the work to be disagreeable.”
“Hey, man, I’m not doing anything weird or illegal. Okay?”
“Illegal?” Pavel scoffed. “Of course not.” He paused, and Bridger waited, expectant. “Well, don’t you have school to get to?”
“Yeah,” Bridger responded, dragging out the vowels. “School. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He pointed over his shoulder. “Do I get to leave through the front door or do you want me to climb down the side of your house? I’m not exactly Peter Parker.”
Pavel chuckled. “No, no. You can use the front door. Now that you’ve been in the house, you can come in and out over the threshold.”
Yeah, that wasn’t strange at all. Bridger’s phone buzzed. He really did need to leave.
“Okay, see you tomorrow, after school.”
Bridger grasped the door knob. To his surprise, it turned easily, and the door swung inward, virtually soundless. As he walked out, he heard Pavel ask, “Who is Peter Parker?” and Mindy gustily sigh.
Okay, so his initial assessment was a little off. There were no tragic headlines in his near future. And he had a job. An actual job! Money. And not bad money. He might be able to save enough for his books and food for his freshman year. Despite how the whole adventure started and the absolute strangeness surrounding it, Bridger’s life was looking up. He may not be on the path he originally wanted, but hey, it wasn’t a bad path so far. That had to count for something. Right?
“Where were you?” Astrid slammed her locker shut. Backpack slung over one shoulder, physics book tucked in the crook of her arm, she leveled an intense gaze at Bridger. “You missed my turn as Ophelia.”
He leaned against the wall of lockers. “Oh, man, I bet you were breathtaking.”
“Naturally,” she said, fluttering her lashes. She flipped her crayon-red hair over her shoulder. “Was there any doubt?”
He laughed. “Of course not.”
Astrid was his best friend. They’d met in the horror show that was middle school and realized quickly that they were only going to survive together. They’d endured the awkwardness of puberty, the soul-rending ache of first crushes, comparisons of good acne cleansers, and even one ill-advised kiss in an equally ill-advised game of truth or dare. They had been attached at the hip, more or less, all through high school. Sure, they had other friends—okay she had other friends, while Bridger had vague acquaintances he’d grown up with but hadn’t socialized with since inviting the whole class to parties went out of style—but it was Astrid he texted on good days and bad ones, and he was the one at every single one of her themed birthday parties, even the ones that involved ponies and princesses. In fact, he looked pretty damn good in a tiara.
“Who played the Hamlet to your awesomeness?”
“Leo.”
Bridger groaned and resisted the urge to bang his head against the locker. Of course, he’d missed the one day he would’ve actually wanted to attend class.
“It was probably a good thing you weren’t there, because you would’ve done something embarrassing like moaning when he said ‘get thee to a nunnery.’”
“Why are we friends, again?”
“Because you would be completely lost without me.”
Bridger smiled. “More than likely.”
“Anyway, why did you skip? Totally not like you.”
Astrid shoved him hard. He bounced back into the lockers. “You did? Where? Please don’t tell me you bowed to the corporate gods and are working at the coffee conglomerate.”
Bridger rubbed his elbow where he’d banged it against his locker handle. “How are you so much stronger than me?”
“Field hockey. Anyway, answer the question.”
“It’s an indie therapy place or something. I’m not quite sure what they do, but the guy who runs it needed an assistant.”
“And what will you be doing? Lighting incense? Heating the massage oils?” She raised each eyebrow in quick succession and did her best cheesy leer. “Restocking the tissues.”
“You’ve been reading too much fanfiction. This is not a house of ill repute, but an actual business.” That wasn’t true. Bridger had no clue what the name of the place was, if they had a business license, if he was being paid under the table, or if taxes would obliterate his check. In hindsight, he should’ve asked more questions. At least he knew it wasn’t anything illegal. Maybe. “Be happy for me. This may mean I can send in my acceptance and in one short school year be on my way to warmer climes and happy times.”
“Yeah, sorry, no. You’re the only sane person around here, and I am not going to celebrate you leaving me behind to go gallivanting off into the sunset.”
“You could come with? Still time to apply for regular admission.”
“Uh, no. I got my early acceptance to the local, and that’s good enough for the parental units.”
Bridger crossed his arms and hunched his shoulders at the thought of Astrid being half the country away, but that was a bridge to cross in a year. He’d have to make their remaining months together extra special. Maybe he’d need tiaras and bubble wands.
The warning bell rang, and the chatter of the kids around them increased. Bridger checked the clock. Five minutes were left of lunch break before he had AP Government.
“Ugh, I hate that sound.” Astrid adjusted her shirt and looked at Bridger. “Do I look okay?”
“Your robot earring on your left ear is upside down, but otherwise you’re beautiful as always.”
The door at the end of the hallway swung open with a bang, and five guys sauntered in. If the letterman jackets and the football being tossed between them were any indication, they were football jocks. Loud jokes and laughter followed them down the hall, and the other students moved out of their way. The group shoved each other and catcalled the cheerleaders. What a cliché.
Astrid rolled her eyes.
Bridger straightened and tugged on his flannel shirt.
Leo was with them.
Leo—Bridger’s neighbor across the street, who had moved in right before the start of the school year and had been the catalyst for Bridger’s awkward awakening to feelings. Leo—the new senior with deep brown eyes, perfect brown skin, and dark hair that swooped up in unnatural ways. Leo—football star, tall, built and absolutely gorgeous. Leo—with artfully ripped jeans and a tight T-shirt that showed off his broad shoulders.
Bridger sucked in a sharp breath, choked on it when Astrid elbowed him hard, and shook his head to get his eyes unstuck.
Bridger had been embarrassed when he thought he’d been caught staring through the blinds of his house as Leo mowed the lawn. How mortifying would it be to get caught again? Bridger should sink through the floor. Maybe if he concentrated hard enough he could become one with the wall of lockers. Quick, go, invisibility, go!
“Hey.”
And, oh, that was Leo’s voice—his stupid perfect voice.
Astrid nailed Bridger in the ribs again with her unbelievably pointy elbow, and he snapped his head up. Leo stood in front of him, detached from the vaguely intimidating group of sports people, and smiled at them.
Did someone turn up the heat in this forsaken school?
“Hey,” Bridger replied, his voice entirely too high and sharp. Oh no, abort, abort. This is uncharted territory. Here be monsters.
“You weren’t in English class.”
“You were Hamlet,” Bridger blurted. Oh, crap. His cheeks burned. Why was there not a convenient hole in the floor he could dive into? “I mean, Astrid told me. Because she’s my friend.”
“Yeah,” Leo said. He tossed the football between his hands, his movements easy and fluid, as if the football was an extension of him. “I think I may have messed up some pronunciations.”
“No,” Astrid assured him. “You were great.”
Leo’s smile grew. The sheer brightness of it was like stepping out of a darkened movie theater into a sunlit day. Bridger resisted the urge to shade his eyes.
“No, you were great,” he said, turning the full wattage onto Astrid. “You should go into theater.”
She preened. She giggled. She flipped her hair.
Leo beamed.
Bridger’s heart thumped hard and then fell to the floor in a squishy lump. He swore he heard the splat.
Oh.
Of course.
“Anyway,” Leo continued. “I wanted to say hi since I didn’t see you. In class. I wanted to check on you… make sure you didn’t need the notes or anything.”
Great, now Leo was blushing. Could he get any cuter? Could he get any more unavailable?
“Thanks.” Bridger pointed to Astrid. “Best friend right here, so I’m good.” Lie. He was not good. He was deflated: the wind sucked right out of his sails, stuck in the doldrums, maybe even a little crushed. He forced a smile.
“Right. Well, cool. See you later.” Leo tossed the ball in the air and caught it once more for good measure before heading off to join the group of guys waiting for him.
Once he was out of earshot, Astrid nudged Bridger. “God, you’re awkward. It was a good thing I was here.”
“Yeah,” he said, voice flat. He rubbed his chest, hoping to quell the ache.
“Why the frowny face? Didn’t you hear what he said?” Astrid stage-whispered, as they walked toward their next class. “He wanted to check on you.”
Bridger scuffed his sneaker on the glossy hallway floor. “I am not frowning. I’m smiling. See?” He gave her his best cheesy grin.
“Nice try, jerk. Seriously, though, why aren’t you bouncing down the hallway?”
“I am. I’m doing it internally. Not all of us are extroverts, you know.”
“You’re being weird. And not just you-weird.”
How did he explain this to her? He couldn’t. He didn’t know what was going on himself.
“We’re going to be late,” he said, hoisting his backpack onto his shoulder. “I can’t skip and have a tardy on the same day.”
“Bridger…”
“Seriously. I’ll talk to you after school.”
Head down, Bridger fled, walking quickly through the corridor. The bell rang. Already late, he ducked into the restroom, glad it was empty. Dropping his bag on the floor, he gripped the sink and leaned over it. He turned on the tap and splashed water on his face.
“It’s not a big deal,” he said. “You’re leaving anyway. Get through the school year. Figure it out in college.” Figure it out in college had become his mantra over the last few weeks. Going to college far away from home was the only avenue he’d thought of thus far that would allow him to just… be.
He glanced in the mirror. His face was pale, but he didn’t look as if he was having a crisis. Maybe he’d been a little overzealous with the splashing; the tips of his blond hair darkened and stuck to the sharp edge of his cheekbones, and his green eyes seemed glassy. But he was okay.
He was okay; he now had a job, and he had a plan.
He only needed to get through this school day and the one after that and the one after that… just a year.
H
e could do that. One step at a time.
Bridger picked up his bag and slung it on his back. He straightened his shoulders and took a breath to steel himself. He walked out of the bathroom not at all ready to face whatever was waiting for him, but totally ready to fake it.
At the end of the day, Bridger let himself into the small house he and his mother shared. On the table he found a note from his mom reminding him of her schedule for the week. She worked the night shift at the hospital and also picked up shifts whenever she could, which left him home alone more often than not.
Proving once again that happy mediums were not his strong suit, he made a bad grilled cheese. He did his homework. He texted Astrid and confirmed that yes, they were ‘cool’ and he was in fact an alien in a Bridger-shaped suit. He watched Jeopardy and wrote down the answers he’d gotten incorrect so he could research them more later. He locked all the doors. He set his alarm.
He went to bed and pretended he wasn’t so unbearably lonely.
Chapter 2
Bridger’s first day at work was going about as well as his interview had.
Well, that wasn’t entirely true.
He was allowed to use the front door. But even that had been weird. A shiver had crept down his spine when he stepped over the threshold as though an electrical field had buzzed his skin. Even the hair on his arms stood up. His grandmother would say that bunnies had hopped over his grave, but Bridger didn’t want to think about graves or bunnies, especially in the creepy house that his employer used as his office. He hadn’t ruled out the possibility of a morbid newspaper article stemming from this job venture.
Bridger didn’t like the eerie sensation. He also didn’t like that he hadn’t been able to see his mom that morning before he left for school. She had texted that morning that she was late getting off work at the hospital and then hit traffic on the interstate because of a disturbance. She didn’t know he had a job yet, which was vital information.
Lastly, he didn’t like that Mindy had sent him into an adjoining room to sort books. Sorting books wouldn’t have been a problem. Bridger was certain he could sort books and be a rock star at it.