The Somebodies Read Online Free Page A

she’d heard of last night: dead books, the Blue Queen, Merton Gretel, and The Art of Being Anybody knowing that she would battle the Blue Queen. Why hadn’t it said that she would defeat the Blue Queen? She’d have been more comfortable with that heading. Was it true? Was it about to be historical fact?
    This was the moment when Lucess Brine reachedunder Fern’s hooded sweatshirt and pinched Fern in the back. Fern could often squelch a yelp, muffle it, but Lucess was a talented and stealthy pincher. This time she’d twisted the skin just so and Fern had already been in a frightened state of mind. She had to yelp.
    The yelp startled Mrs. Fluggery, who turned, with her large, purple-tinged hair and her bulky sweater sleeves, and glared. Mrs. Fluggery clutched her chest. You see, she had a medical condition called angina, and she claimed that sudden disturbances stirred it up.
    Lucess Brine said, “Mrs. Fluggery, Fern keeps making noise and it’s hard for me to concentrate!”
    Lucess had shiny hair that cupped her face. Today was rainy, and she was wearing very expensive galoshes. She’d told everyone that they were the most expensive galoshes her mother could find. Mrs. Fluggery liked Lucess. She said, “When Mrs. F-luggery was a girl, she was much like you, Lucess.” And although Lucess would flinch at the comment, she’d quickly change the flinch to a sweet smile as if this were the best thing she’d ever heard.
    “Why do you keep bugging me?” Fern whispered. “What did I do to you?” If Fern could tell anyone in the world that she was really royalty, she would pick Lucess Brine, just to see her shocked expression. But, of course, she couldn’t, and she knew she should be above wanting to. She knew she should ignore Lucess, not get so upsetabout her or Mrs. Fluggery. She tried to remain calm.
    Lucess whispered quickly, “I’m trying to see what gets to you, what really wears you down.”
    Fern wanted to ask Lucess why she would want to find out what got to her, why she wanted to wear her down. But Mrs. Fluggery was there. She said, “Mrs. F-”—her face ballooned momentarily—“luggery hopes that you, doily-brain, have just finished the final equation, number one hundred, and that you were so happy, you had to give a little cheer. True or false?”
    Fern was supposed to have been doing a worksheet of complex long division, not searching Mrs. Fluggery’s hair for a pony. Unfortunately, she was only halfway through number seventeen. She looked at her hands as if she might find the answer there, but she only saw her own handwriting on her palm: Merton Gretel. Could she ask her grandmother about her dead brother? Why hadn’t she ever mentioned him before? All these thoughts—all out of place and thrown together—raced through her mind. She stammered a little, closed her hand, and stared down at her nearly vacant paper, dusted with red eraser crumbs.
    Mrs. Fluggery said, “Mrs. F-luggery wants the answer to the final question—right now, before Mrs. F-luggery excuses herself to take her heart medication. Do you understand, Little Miss Hampsterhead?”
    Howard raised his hand. His hair was freshlytrimmed in the style of a middle-aged accountant. He wore a short-sleeved button-down shirt with a fat collar sticking up over a navy sweater vest—in the style of a middle-aged accountant. He often popped breath mints from a tin on his desk, chewing nervously, checking his wristwatch—in the style of a middle-aged accountant. (No need to mention the briefcase.) Howard’s eagerly raised hand annoyed Fern a little. Howard always knew the answers, but she also realized that he was trying to come to Fern’s rescue. He didn’t like to draw attention to himself, especially not Mrs. Fluggery’s attention. He wagged his hand over his head in order to cause a distraction. He was a good soul, that Howard.
    “Not now, Howard,” Mrs. Fluggery said. “Not now!” Mrs. Fluggery walked on her little legs—those