Generic #2 by Generic Magazine

GENRE FICTION

I S S U E N O. T WO

A magazine of short fiction for and by Emerson students

GENRE FICTION

GENERIC

“Fairies”

(p. 20)

Story by Robert O’Neil Illustration by Olivia Billbrough

Ge ne r ic , I s s ue # 2 , Fa l l 2 0 1 2 C opy right fo r all s to r ie s a nd i llus tr a tio ns be l o n g t o t h e i r cre a t o rs Ge ne r ic i s c o p yr ight o f Undergradua te S tude nts f o r P ubl is hi ng, Em e rs o n Co l l e g e De s ign by Li z a C o r tr ight This is s ue is se t in Gi ll S a ns , S tylo gr a p h, a nd Pa l a t i n o L i n o t y p e

Orig ina l ly p ubl is he d o nline a t is s u u . co m P r i nt e diti o ns p r inte d a t the Em e rso n P r i nt a nd C o p y C e nte r , Bo s t o n M A

table of contents for ew or d

So me K i nd of Norm a l

Janelle Caputo

Th e D r o p p e d C a ll

Fai r i e s

R un , Run , C hild re n

R e n e wa l

Ba t ti n g C le a nu p

Th e Re l uct a nt P rinc e s s

author bi o gra p h i e s

Alexandra Kowal

Robert Oâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;Neil

Ashley Alongi

Alexandra Kowal

Paige Sammartino

Jennifer Pisano

Generic Staff Editors-in-Chief: Liza Cortright and Ross Wagenhofer Editorial Staff: Caitlin Anders, Hillary Kody, Katy Rushlau, Elizabeth Venere Copyeditors: Hillary Kody and Marissa Koors Proofreader: Melinda Thompson

Dear Readers, Last year, Undergraduate Students for Publishing decided to start holding alternative writing workshops open to the Emerson community. These workshops were meant to provide a space for writers interested in genre fiction, and each workshop was dedicated to giving an overview on writing within a specific genre: romance, time travel, historical fiction, steampunk, fantasy, and others. We’ve continued these workshops and our outlet for them—this very literary journal you are reading—into this year. While the writing courses offered at Emerson help craft some truly excellent essays, stories, and poetry, writers with an interest in nonstandard literary forms often cannot find a space to help them craft work in their favored genres. The acceptance of genre fiction as just fiction is gaining popularity in mainstream literary circles. As part of our continuing support for this trend, Undergraduate Students for Publishing is very proud to present to you our second issue of Generic, a collection of stories that exist within and between genre forms, tales that utilize fantasy to make a point, employ the extraordinary to reveal a character, or use magic to just tell a good story. Whether or not this collection makes strides for genre fiction itself, we are certain you will enjoy it.

xoxo,

Pub Club

" Par an o r m al

Some Kind of Normal by Janelle Caputo

" You really can find anything at Costco.

When Dylan woke me from a drunken stupor at three in the morning, banging both fists on my front door, shouting, “We need stakes, some onions, holy water, the works,” I thought he might be kidding or crazy. “You have Mulder and Scully on speed dial?” I asked, rubbing the haze of one too many Miller Lites from my eyes as I let him inside. “Costco is open twenty four hours, right? C’mon dude, get some pants on, you’re driving,” he said, ushering me towards my back bedroom, grabbing the keys from the nightstand, and then standing at the end of the hallway dancing from foot to foot like he seriously had to pee. “No accidents in my car dude,” I slurred as I stumbled into the hall. I had barely zipped my fly before Dylan was shoving my keys into my hands. And that’s how I ended up driving him to Costco at three in the morning. That and even if he was going “Dylan, Interrupted” on me, in my drunken haze I still remembered that I’d run out of milk. So, here I am in the Weaponry & Armament aisle (an aisle I was 95 percent certain hadn’t existed when I’d been here yesterday to buy a month’s supply of toilet paper) veering more towards sober than I’d like to be, holding a gallon of holy water in one hand and a ream of silver bullets in the other. I’m still wondering how Costco can afford to sell silver casings for $3.99 a dozen when Dylan comes around the corner with my milk and a pack of Milk Duds.

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He pops a dud in his mouth and talks as he chews through the caramel. “Dude, we gotta—my place—like now.” “Yeah, okay, you get 1 percent?” I say, exchanging the holy water for the milk. “WE REALLY NEED TO GET BACK, MAN,” Dylan says, suddenly frantic as he pushes a hand through his hair. I roll my eyes and gesture to my day-old clothes. “Let me at least get some decent pants on before I have to see Donna.” “Naw, dude,” Dylan says, and there are at least a dozen Milk Duds in his teeth. He can barely speak but he spits, “Donna’s the one this is for,” before he lifts the holy water above his head like he’s the freaking pope. “Alright, man, whatever,” I say, patting him on the shoulder. Whatever Dylan’s been smoking I can’t say I want a hit of it. It’s got him speaking in riddles and buying crazy crap at three in the morning and eating caramel even when Donna’s got him on some crazy crash diet. “So your girlfriend’s a vampire, huh? When were you gonna tell me?” “Naw, Donna’s a werewolf, dude. She needs the holy water to take care of Stacy.” “Stacy. Your ex-girlfriend, Stacy?” I ask, “When she’d get back in town?” “Last night, full moon, she and Donna got into it.” “Uh-huh, so your girlfriends are trying to kill each other. Dude, you should’ve told me sooner we could have sold tickets,” I say as I scan my milk in the self-checkout line. The cashier a few aisles down is passed out at the cash register, drool spilling across the credit card scanner. It is almost five in the morning, and I would be asleep too if it wasn’t for Dylan and whatever’s got him high. I side glance Dylan as I scan my card, he’s shoving the last of the Milk Duds into his mouth and chewing loud like a camel on Animal Planet, definitely baked. Maybe its time to have an intervention, we’re almost twenty-three and man, drugs can kill. “Just found out myself,” Dylan says, stuffing the empty milk duds box in between copies of Today on the magazine rack. “We gotta get the job done tonight, Luke. Stacy’s already got Greg.” “Greg’s a vampire?” I say with a low whistle. “Some guys get all the luck.” “No, man, Greg’s bit it, but not—you know—bit it, literally. I’m talking figuratively.” Dylan waves his arms towards Costco’s automatic doors. “Wait until you see, it’s a fucking massacre.”

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It isn’t exactly a massacre. Greg is lying on Dylan’s lawn. Considering it’s a Friday night I shouldn’t have found this out of the ordinary. Dylan’s roommate is known for getting drunk and then crashing, usually under the porch or on the swing out back or in their neighbor’s car. If I hadn’t looked twice I’d have sworn he was sleeping as per usual. Tonight, however (as Dylan storms past me, taking the porch stairs two at a time and striding through the open front door before walking slowly out again and waiting for me by the welcome mat), I do look twice, and I notice that Greg isn’t breathing, he’s shirtless, and he’s covered in blood. “Dylan,” I call, looking up to see him shifting from foot to foot and glancing between his darkened apartment and me as fast as possible. “Yeah,” Dylan calls back, holding his sharpened stake to his chest with shaking fingers. “Greg’s dead,” I say, poking Greg with the sole of my shoe. “Yeah, what’d I tell you? Just leave him, Luke. C’mon,” Dylan complains, glancing inside for a prolonged moment. “Aren’t you a little concerned that there’s a dead, half-naked man on your front lawn?” I ask, straightening and walking towards the house. I try not to look back at Greg even as I trip over his long-dead foot. “I’m a little more concerned that my ex-girlfriend is going to kill my current girlfriend once the full moon sets,” Dylan says, pushing his greasy black hair from his face with a free hand. “Is this a LARP, are we LARPing?” I ask, standing at the bottom of the porch steps. “No, Luke, my ex-girlfriend is a vampire, my new one is a werewolf. We’ve been over this,” Dylan says, his voice testing the edge of patience. “Yeah, but I was mostly inebriated when you explained that part. How about we go over it one more time…” but I’m cut off by Dylan’s girlfriend, his current one, the supposed werewolf, as she comes hurtling out of the apartment; her mid-section smacks me in the face. I don’t think I’m confused anymore, thirty seconds later, when I’m lying on the ground spitting her fur from my teeth. “Oh my god,” I say and Dylan’s scurrying down the porch steps, throwing himself over his girlfriend and stepping on my foot in the process. “Oh my— Jesus fucking Christ, Dylan.”

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“Donna, are you okay?” Dylan asks, helping her to her feet. Donna is wearing a sports bra and knee-length yoga pants. Enough of her skin is left exposed for me to realize that what used to be chocolate brown flesh is now covered in inch-thick brown tufts of fur, like a dog. She has a hand— sorry, paw—to her forehead and her middle is bent like she might be sick. “Oh my god,” I say, again, and I’m still sprawled on the walkway, my legs spread, my hands holding me up, barely. My foot is throbbing like it might be broken, although I wouldn’t know because I’ve never had a broken appendage before. I’m starting to feel the hangover now, a steady pulsing behind my eyeballs that leaves my vision blurred as Donna turns to look at me. “What’s he doing here?” she says, but it comes out as more of a growl. There are large teeth stuffed into her little mouth and protruding over her lips, her nose is squished flat and wet. I try to pretend I can’t notice her fluffy ears flopping over her forehead or the fact that Dylan is looking at her as if he can’t see any of the obvious wolfish traits, like she’s just Donna. The same Donna that won Miss Georgia a few years back, the same Donna that tests skin products for Neutrogena, the same Donna who shaves her legs obsessively, every single day (don’t ask me how I know that). “I needed back up,” Dylan says, plopping a rough kiss on Donna’s furry forehead, “not all of us can lift cars over our heads with our pinky fingers.” “Yeah well, I don’t think I could lift a moped at the moment,” Donna says, staring at her fingertips where the fur is receding before our eyes. In the sky the moon is sinking below the trees. It’s almost dawn. “Well this is good, isn’t it?” I say and Donna and Dylan turn to look at me, their eyes wide as if they’re surprised my vocabulary stretches beyond ‘oh my god.’ “If Stacy is a vampire, she won’t be able to come out during the day. Aren’t vampires sunlight intolerant?” “Son of a bitch,” Donna growls and her teeth are almost normal-sized now so it’s less of a wolfish growl and more of an utterly annoyed growl. “Do you really believe everything you read on the Internet?” “Excuse me?” “The most sunlight can do to a Vampire is give them a bad sunburn, dorkwad. I bet you think they sleep in coffins too?” Donna says, pushing Dylan away as she manages to stand on her own. “The only one in trouble here is me, because I can only ‘go wolf’ during moonlight while Nosferatu in there is her vampiric self 24/7 if she so wishes.”

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“Oh,” I say, pushing myself to my feet. My face still feels like I got run over by a furry steam roller, but I’d rather be standing than be lying on the walkway baring my neck for Dylan’s pissed-off ex-girlfriend. “So what’s the plan?” “Plan?” Dylan asks, almost dropping his stake. “Yes, plan, we do have one right?” I say. There’s still holy water in the flask in my pocket and a stake in the belt loop of my jeans and a wreath of onions in the front seat of my car. I’m pretty sure if we’re going to do anything it should be here and now before the alcohol wears off or I lose my nerve or both. “We storm in there, tear that bitch’s head off and then burn her corpse,” Donna says. “What a wonderful way to begin my Saturday, and here I thought going for a morning run would be refreshing,” I say, hoping for a laugh, but Donna merely rolls her eyes and Dylan’s still shaking. I don’t even think he’s heard me. “Dylan?” He raises a terminally shaking finger towards the door of his apartment and there, standing on Dylan’s Star Wars welcome mat, the one that has Yoda saying ‘Welcome You Are’ (the same one Dylan and I had thought was so clever two years ago when we’d found it at Spencer’s), is Stacy. She has her teeth bared, sharp incisors hanging over her bottom lip. Long black hair is messily swept over a shoulder and her black evening gown is ripped up her right thigh far enough to see the lacy underwear she’s wearing. I avert my eyes, try to remember that Stacy is an evil blood-sucking spawn of Satan and not someone I should be considering throwing against a wall and kissing senseless. But then Stacy throws herself at Donna, hissing through her fangs. Her nails, now hideous claws and her pupils dilated to slits, made her seem like less of a prospect and more of a threat. Run, my brain says. “Run,” Dylan says, pushing me towards the car. “Run!” Donna screeches as she struggles to push Stacy off her. “I should...probably...” I murmur as I stand on the walkway and watch Stacy tear a chunk of Donna’s shoulder off with her teeth. Donna’s screaming, there’s blood everywhere and a stake in my belt loop. There’s a stake in my belt loop. I don’t know what I’m doing but suddenly I’m launching myself forward and tackling Stacy from Donna. Stacy’s underneath me, eyes wide for only a moment before she recognizes me, and suddenly she’s all teeth and claws and writhing in my hold like a rabid dog.

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“Luke, what the hell, man.” Dylan is screaming. I reach for my belt loop and grab the stake, moving to whip it out and shove it into Stacy’s chest like I’ve seen in the movies a thousand times. Only one problem: the stake is stuck. The blood drains from my cheeks as I spend nearly thirty seconds, using both hands in an attempt to wiggle the stake loose. “Just hold on a minute. Almost, almost got it. Man, never shopping at J. Crew ever again.” Stacy is probably too startled that I’m lying on top of her trying to loose a stake from my pants to react, but after she’s processed the situation she’s lunging forward. Her hands, relishing freedom, snake around my shoulders and squeeze. Then her fangs sink into my neck, and my blood spills down my arm and my chest. I’m screaming when suddenly the stake is free. I shove Stacy to the ground again, using the hold she already has on my neck and my shoulders as leverage. When she’s down I place the stake over her heart and lean on it. The effect is instantaneous. I can feel the wood splinter through her heart and the subtle ‘pop.’ A moment later Stacy’s skin is disintegrating into dust, and I’m lying on an empty walkway, covered in the ashes of Dylan’s ex-girlfriend. Donna leans beside me and turns me over. She’s staring at the blood on my neck before brushing my bangs from my eyes and staring at me as if she half expects me to burst into ashes next. “Luke,” Dylan says, kneeling on my other side, “Luke, you alive bud?” “‘m I ampire?” I say, but it’s more gargled than I imagined it might be, probably has something to do with the chunk missing from my neck. “What?” “‘m I am vampire,” I say, waving at the blood thats just about everywhere at this point. “Oh god, no you moron, you have to ingest Vampire blood to become a Vampire. Otherwise every yahoo who gets lost on the way home from Bingo night would have a pair of pearly fangs,” Donna says, fingering my neck. I hiss and the world spins and Dylan is yelling something about tacos but I’m too far gone. Maybe I’ll die on Dylan’s walkway and Donna and him will leave me here with half-naked Greg and Stacy’s ashes. If they do I swear I’ll haunt their asses, because if there are Werewolves and Vampires there sure as hell have to be Ghosts. Man, I’m beginning to regret going to Costco. I should have just bought my milk in the morning like a normal person.

" Sc ie n c e Fic tio n

The Dropped Call by Alexandra Kowal

He couldn’t believe that she was in his house, let alone his room. Well, not exactly her, he reminded himself, but close enough. “Stay here, okay?” he said, looking at her nervously. She nodded. He grabbed the wireless verifier off of his nightstand and rushed downstairs. The handheld device, which looked like a thin black rectangle with a red dot in the center, was created to pinpoint phone signals in the house and measure their strength. He didn’t use it much because the signals were usually equally strong in every room, but once in a while it was useful. Carter took a deep breath and spoke into the verifier. “Locate weakest phone signal,” he said. The device trembled in his shaky hands before a man’s booming voice emanated from it. “The phone signal is currently weakest in the living room. Coordinate three-three-zero-three.” Carter approached the living room, held the verifier up to the air, and watched as a blue light revealed many glowing orbs. They were basically in a straight line, apart from a strange disruption in the middle. Carter had never seen anything like it before. He stared at them, but didn’t dare get any closer. Yet, as he watched, the scattered orbs started shifting back into place. Good, at least it’s fixing itself, he thought. He backed away slowly, placing the verifier on a nearby hall table. He glanced at it quickly and then looked up the stairs. What just happened?

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" 13

Carter wanted to call DigiSence (the major wireless provider) to ask about the disruption, but he was at a complete loss of what to say. There was nothing he could think of that would warrant a dropped call—Carter’s family had always paid their bill on time, storms were no longer a problem, and human error was unlikely since they rigorously screened and trained DigiSence workers and had machines double check all the work. Plus, the technology was rumored to be at its peak quality and efficiency level. There had obviously been some mistake…unfortunately for him, it was waiting in his room for an explanation. But how could he explain any of this? It was all unheard of. He reluctantly headed back upstairs. Jenna—no no, not Jenna, not really— was sitting on the bed where he had left her. She turned to face him as he walked in the door. “Carter, what are you going to do?” she whispered. She looked like she was ready to cry. He bit his lip. What could he tell her? His first thought was to call the police, because he’d heard that was the procedure when software wasn’t working perfectly. Carter never imagined he’d have to deal with imperfect technology though, because of where he lived. Since DigiSence had their headquarters nearby, the neighborhood had always had really good reception. There had never been a problem before. Yet, Carter had heard horror stories of two-barquality reception in the less populated areas where DigiSence had less of an investment. He’d never heard of a dropped call, but now he knew it was at least a possibility. The network obviously wasn’t flawless like he’d always believed The girl on his bed was a testament to that. But DigiSence certainly fulfilled its promise of “a digital presence that’s just as good as the real thing!” She had Jenna’s looks, mannerisms, and memories. This wasn’t surprising because the “holograms” from phone calls were essentially copies of the caller. DigiSence managed to make these images more than mere holograms once data chip implants at birth had become the norm. The chips would send signals to a person’s brain to make it feel like the image was really there. Carter could see and hear the digital image generated from a phone call as if a real person were in the room. He wasn’t exactly sure how the technology worked; he’d just grown up with it. You would call someone, the pixels recreated him or her, there was the semblance of a physical experience, and then you hung up. Done. He wasn’t sure if that meant not-Jenna was real because he thought she was or because she had become flesh or what. He just didn’t know. He couldn’t see her insides; was there anything actually there? He could hear a heartbeat, but did she actually have a heart? Did not-Jenna have the

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same DNA as Jenna? Maybe that’d be a way to tell them apart. Maybe notJenna wouldn’t even have DNA and then he could definitively say she wasn’t human. In the back of his mind, he knew that he could check if they were able to touch. That would at least rule out her being a phone signal. If Carter came into contact with a mere signal, it would disappear and reappear on the opposite side of the room. He knew this from the two times he accidentally touched a digital presence—once, trying to find something under his bed, he bumped his friend’s foot, and another time, he tripped into his aunt’s presence in his hurry to say goodbye to her. The thought of purposeful physical contact made him sweaty and nauseous. It just wasn’t an option. For now, not-Jenna was a new Jenna as far as he was concerned. Almost like a clone. And she was still looking at him with a miserable expression. “Carter?” she prompted. “I don’t know what we’re gonna do yet, Jenna.” He winced as he said her name. “I mean, do you still want me to call you Jenna?” “Well, it’s my name. Or, at least, I thought it was. Does it make you uncomfortable? You can call me Jen if you like, or Jennifer, or—” “No, it’s okay. If it’s all right, I’ll just call you Jenna.” He knew he shouldn’t have because it would mess with his head, but she looked so real. If Carter was honest with himself, this was the main reason he didn’t want to turn her in to the police. They would probably terminate her if he did. After all, they were the ones who enforced the HHPP—Human Health and Population Policy. After the massive dieback of 2573, the human race began taking precautions to prevent another epidemic from ever having the chance to spread so easily. People became used to living indoors because of the global quarantine. At first, it was difficult for people to be happy away from each other. Then, digital presence companies started popping up. Once DigiSence perfected its hologram technology, the quarantine slowly transformed into a culture of voluntary isolation. People realized they could have the human interaction they craved without ever having to brave the germs of the outside. It was safe and convenient. People would do everything digitally—teaching themselves online, meeting people in chat rooms, shopping for goods, and more. The only thing momentous enough to warrant meeting someone in the flesh was marriage. After that, a couple was given a five-year time period during which to create a test tube baby. At eighteen, the child would move into its own Single-Home and the parents were left to live until the age of sixty before facing termination to make way for the next generation. It was the way of life.

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Carter remembered learning from History.com, his history class, about The Dark Days when families had more than one child each. He couldn’t imagine a society with such unrestricted population regulations. So he knew that no one would hesitate to get rid of this new Jenna, or whatever she was. She would throw everything off. She was an extra person, a spare—something to get rid of. Yet, for some reason, Carter still thought that reporting not-Jenna would give his real best friend a death sentence. The room suddenly emitted a loud beep. A soothing woman’s voice cut the silence. “Incoming call for Carter Green.” He snapped out of his thoughts and looked at not-Jenna sitting in plain sight on his bed. “Oh, shit! It’s probably Jenna calling back. The signal was almost done repairing itself when I looked at it before.” Not-Jenna pushed a strand of her hair back and looked down at the floor. Carter was unsure if he should give her a reassuring thumbs-up or tell her it’d be okay or something. He wanted to, but didn’t know if it was the right thing to do. He had never had to deal with anyone but his parents in the flesh. It unnerved him. “Would you like to answer the incoming call or decline?” the voice prompted. “Yeah, one sec, Tracy,” he said to the disembodied voice. “Um, can you just hold it for a minute?” “Affirmative.” Carter looked at not-Jenna apologetically. “Look, I’m gonna need you to hide in the closet or something for a second. Jenna can’t see you. She’d freak out.” “I understand,” not-Jenna said as she slowly got off the bed. She added, almost as an afterthought, “I mean, I’d probably freak out if I were her too.” He couldn’t tell what not-Jenna meant by the comment. Was she still trying to understand Jenna’s emotions now that she was severed from them? Or was she possibly justifying hiding in the closet? It didn’t occur to him that not-Jenna might actually be freaking out too. She opened his closet, stepped in, and shut the doors behind her. Carter gave the room a quick once-over to make sure there was no other trace of her, then answered his call. “Tracy, I’m ready.” “Connecting to Jenna Thompson mobile.” Carter saw a shimmering outline appear standing before him. Pixels flocked together like angry bees, creating an increasingly human-like figure as gaps quickly filled in and the colors became more vivid. Carter saw the face getting

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crafted with one eye, then another, followed by a nose, and ruby lips. Soon, the projection solidified so that it seemed like a beautiful blonde girl was standing before him. “Hi, Jenna,” he said. “What happened, Carter? Why’d you hang up on me?” his friend asked. She looked at him reprovingly before breaking into a smile and taking a seat on his bed. Carter wanted to tell her that he hadn’t hung up on her, but the truth was way more complicated. He imagined how crazy he’d sound if he tried to explain it. Well, you see, the phone signal actually broke and your digital copy became its own entity and she’s in the closet right now. “Yeah, sorry about that. I just remembered there was a Single-Home available in the area and I wanted to grab it before someone else did.” He wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans. He hated lying to Jenna. I mean, I have been meaning to look for one, he told himself. It’s almost time for me to leave the Family-Home. Jenna interrupted his thoughts, chirping, “Oh. Okay. Well, did you manage to get it?” “Nah, someone else got there before me. I’m really sorry about hanging up though.” “It’s all right. We can finish talking now, right?” Carter looked away and started scratching behind his ear. When he looked back, Jenna was still gazing at him with her bright blue eyes. It took all of Carter’s willpower to refuse her. “Actually, since I didn’t get that one, I have to look for another,” he said. “I’m really sorry. Is it okay if we just talk tomorrow?” She sighed and made a show of getting off the bed. “All right, Mister Almost-Eighteen,” she said, “Go and look for your SingleHome. I’m feeling a little off anyway.” She sighed, staring at the ground for a moment before resuming with a smile. “But you definitely owe me.” “Totally in debt,” Carter agreed and smiled. Jenna gave him a joking salute and disintegrated into pixels again. They faded into the air and she was gone. He stared for a second at the spot she’d just inhabited before striding towards the closet to let out not-Jenna, but she had already opened the door and was looking at him with her brows knit together. He wiped the smile he’d had off his face and said seriously, “Okay, so what are we going to do with you?”

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She ignored his question. “Carter, I’ve never noticed it before.” She stepped towards him. He took two steps back. “Noticed what?” “The way you look at me.” She advanced again and he retreated accordingly. “What do you mean?” “You look at me like… like you wish I were here more.” She paused. “More than phone calls. You know what I mean?” Carter did. Like her, he wasn’t sure how to express it, though. And he wasn’t sure he wanted to. “Look Jenna, I really don’t know what to do with you. I can’t tell my parents. I don’t want to call the police. And I mean, I don’t think your parents would know how to react to you. I don’t even know how to react to you! Why don’t you think of a way to fix this situation instead of talking about…I don’t even know, you and me?” Immediately, he felt bad for snapping at her. He could see tears starting to well up in her eyes. “Well, Carter, I’m not a phone signal anymore!” she reprimanded. “And I’m sorry you don’t know what to do with me, but I’m just as clueless as you. Everything’s so new.” Her voice started to get louder and pick up speed. “Don’t you realize that I’ve never even seen your room before? When we’re on a call, I see you in my room, which I guess makes the whole closet thing kind of pointless, but I can’t take chances, right? Because the signal malfunctioned already and if it did again and Jenna saw me… can you just imagine? She’d probably call the police or something! I just don’t know what to do with all this information, Carter, and I’m scared and I want to be back in my own room so that things go back to normal because now you’re not being as nice to me as you usually are and it’s all just—different!” She was crying uncontrollably by this point and sank onto the bed. He stared at her seated figure but said nothing. After what felt like an eternity, her sobbing quieted and the heaving of her shoulders slowed. She was starting to breath normally again so he cautiously took a seat on her side of the bed, a few feet away. “Jenna, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.” She turned her face towards him, eyes red and tears clinging to her cheeks. For some reason, he still thought she looked beautiful. “Carter, what am I supposed to do?” she said hoarsely. “I feel like I’m Jenna. But I’m also not her.” As she spoke, she slowly edged closer to him. He wasn’t sure if it was a conscious decision or she was just agitated, but the Jenna he knew always kept her distance. He started tapping his foot as she continued.

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“She’s over there, in my house, with my parents, and I’m here… with you…” Carter noticed how close they were actually sitting as she said this. She had made it from one side of the bed to a mere foot away from him. He contemplated standing up again since he was on the corner of the bed and could move no farther, but thought she might think he didn’t care about what she was saying. He settled on slightly leaning away from her so she would feel more comfortable, but she leaned in when he did so. “It’s weird how I’m learning so much about you by being here, isn’t it? Like, I thought I knew almost everything about you from your profile. And then we’ve been calling each other for a few years now.” She was dangerously close. “But I never even knew what posters you had on your wall. Or that you have way more clothes in your closet than I ever see you wear. And look, you have a teddy bear on your bed!” Her head darted around the room furiously, eyes soaking in all of the surroundings. “Why didn’t I know these things?” “I guess because we don’t really talk about them?” Carter said uncertainly. “Exactly!” Her enthusiasm startled him. She was far more animated than the Jenna he knew. Not-Jenna seemed to think differently too. Jenna liked just talking over the phone, but not-Jenna kept bringing up how different talking in person was. She seemed to like it. Carter wasn’t as convinced. Having her close made him anxious. “Look, the other Jenna never got a chance to experience any of this. She was never really here, you know?” Not-Jenna said. Carter had no reply. He was hoping if he stopped talking that not-Jenna would follow suit. She didn’t take the hint and pressed on. “Is it bad that I’m here, Carter? I mean, it’s kind of cool in a way. Being here with you, really here with you. It’s strange. But also fascinating. And it’s weird how Jenna will never be here with you. It’s different than anything she ever knew.” “Well, yeah, I suppose,” Carter said. “She definitely never sat this close to me. Or talked so much.” At this point, not-Jenna blushed and looked away. After a few seconds she looked back at him, and asked, “Is it scary, Carter… being so close?” “Well, I mean…yeah. Yeah. It’s terrifying.” “Oh,” she said. Carter could hear the heaviness in that one word, as she looked down and fiddled with her hands. He tried to backtrack. Her closeness did freak him out, but it had nothing to do with her. He had just never been in physical contact with someone his own age, especially a pretty girl.

“It’s not, like, a horrible terrifying. I… I don’t think it’s bad or anything. I mean, it’s kind of like a phone call, just longer, and a little… I guess, like you said, different.” “Uh-huh, definitely different,” she agreed, giving him a small smile. She shifted even closer and looked at him with those bright blue eyes. He hoped she didn’t notice that he was starting to sweat. “Carter,” she said, “there’s something I want to try before whatever happens to me happens.” She looked at his lips for a second and then met his gaze again. Carter’s heart was beating wildly but he wasn’t sure why. “I think the other Jenna wanted to do this, but never knew how to,” she said, inches away from him. He felt trapped as she slowly brought her face towards his. Why hadn’t he moved away when he had the chance? Instinctively, he leaned back a little to distance himself from her. But, contrary to all reason, she didn’t back away or stop. Then, her lips were pressed to his. His first thought was that maybe she would disappear and reappear across the room. She didn’t. For a second, he had no idea what was happening or what to do. Nothing in his life had prepared him for this moment. She was really kissing him and he forgot that she wasn’t Jenna, or that maybe he wanted her to be, or that this kind of thing didn’t happen, and kissed her back.

" Par an o r m al / S u s p e n s e

Fairies by Robert O’Neil

Anna sighed with relief when the last moving truck pulled away from her new home. It’s finally over, she thought. Of course, it wouldn’t actually be over for a while. The only things she had let the movers set up were the crib in the nursery, Zach’s bed, and the piano. Boxes still lined every hallway, stacked up to the ceiling, filled with items whose only purpose was to be put at the back of some dark shelf. “Maawwm. Can I play with my toys yet?” Zachary whined. Anna smoothed down her son’s black hair while stifling a yawn. “Sure, babe. Go find your toy box. I’ll be there in a minute to open it.” Then there was the matter of the house itself—it was definitely a fixer-upper. Ivy carpeted the walls on the outside while the inside atmosphere flooded her nostrils with a mildew stench. Wallpaper was peeling in some places, and doors and cupboards didn’t seem to always fit the holes they were covering, getting stuck whenever anyone tried to operate them. The rusty hinges didn’t help much either. “Maawm. I can’t open it.” Zachary was leaning with his shoulder against his bedroom door, trying to unjam it. “Let’s do it together,” Anna said, bracing her shoulder against the frame. “On 3. 1...2…3!” The house had potential. Anna remembered Michael saying that this was a house their “grandkids could come home to.” It was a large, two-story (four if you count the basement and attic) house with twice as many bedrooms as they needed. It had a large front yard that needed a gardener ASAP, but already had

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some nice (overgrown) rose bushes and a beautiful (broken) fountain. And the backyard, also expansive, bordered a huge lake. It also felt incredibly private, their next-door neighbors being separated by a wall of trees. “Mom, can I go play outside? Aqualad needs to swim in the water.” Anna hesitated. “Why don’t you play inside for today? Mommy has some unpacking to do and I don’t want you to play in the lake by yourself. Plus, I’ll need help watching Emily.” Zach perked up at the mention of his little sister. She was only a few months old so he rarely got a chance to play with her. Anna was afraid he wouldn’t be gentle. “Okay, mom!” Anna was worried about living so close to such a large body of water. She probably wouldn’t have let Michael buy the house if there hadn’t been a gate at the edge of the lake. Neither Anna nor Zachary knew how to swim, and Michael was usually gone on business. She wouldn’t know what to do if anything happened. By the end of the week, Anna hadn’t made as much progress as she’d hoped. She had spent an inordinate amount of time on the dining room, trying to decide how she wanted to organize her china in the cupboards. She had made it out of there, though, and was now unpacking the family room. Emily sat in her playpen in the corner chewing (or gumming) different color blocks, presumably to see if they tasted any different from each other. Zach walked in groaning. “Can I go outside yet? The house smells bad.” “I’m sorry, babe. You know the rules. I don’t want you playing outside without someone watching you.” Zach face-planted on the couch and groaned loudly into a pillow. “When is Dad coming home?” “When he sells the apartment in the city. He’s coming to visit next week though,” Anna said. “You know what would really impress your dad, though? If you finally learned ‘Chopsticks.’ Why don’t you go practice a little before dinner?” Anna glanced sideways at Zach and caught the look of disgust on the boy’s face. “No, I’m fine. I’ll just go explore the house more.” Anna was in the kitchen making dinner the next time she saw him. “Mom! I found stuff in the basement! Come check it out!” “I’m making dinner right now, sweetie. Can it wait?”

" R o be r t O ’Ne i l “No come nooow.” Anna glanced at the boiling pot. She could leave for a

quick minute. She followed Zach into the dimly lit basement, making a note to replace the bulb that was hanging from the ceiling. The mildew smell was especially strong here, and she made another note to call someone to inspect for mold. The only thing in the room was a box in the corner that Zach was now dragging her to. “Honey, is this going to take long? Mommy needs to make dinner.” “Just look for a second.” The box was unmarked. Zach opened the lid to reveal baby clothes. Anna frowned. She leaned down and started sorting through the box. The top layer seemed to just consist of onesies. Some even still had the tags on them. Underneath that there was a layer of other baby paraphernalia: pacifiers, baby bottles, and a teddy bear. Anna dug underneath that and felt baby shoes and something leathery at the bottom. She found the edges of the object, now discovered to be a book, with her fingers. She yanked it out and read the title aloud. “Fairy Tales: Stories of Mischievous Pixies and Fae Folk.” “What’s that?” Zach asked. “Looks like a book of stories,” Anna said as she inspected the book. There was no summary on the inside or back cover. There were instead detailed illustrations of fairies dancing on every free space. “No I mean THAT,” Zach said as he pointed out on of the creatures on the cover. “That’s a fairy. See? Fairy Tales.” “I know THAT,” Zach said with exasperation. “I mean, why does it look different from all the other fairies? Why do all the fairies all look different from each other?” He was right. There were fairies of all type on the cover. Fairies with green hair and dresses of flower petals. Fairies with snowflakes patterned into their outfits. Another seemed to have seaweed for hair and webbed fingers. “It looks like each of the fairies represents a different element or season,” Anna explained. Zach looked confused. “Think of it like this, babe. You know the tooth fairy? Well she’s the fairy of teeth. Her entire job is to take care of the teeth of the world. But there are other fairies who have other jobs. Some are in charge of freezing lakes in the winter, or putting morning dew on leaves in the morning. It all depends.”

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Anna gave the book the Zach and stood up. “I have to go finish cooking now. Go put that away and then wash your hands. Dinner will be ready soon.” That night Zach asked his mother to read to him from the book. “Aren’t you old enough to read it yourself?” Anna asked, tired from the long day of unpacking. She rocked Emily back and forth on her shoulder. “There are some words I don’t understand,” he said softly. He looked so small in his bed with his Aqualad toy. Anna sighed. She laid Emily carefully on the bed and opened the book. She chose a story about Naiads, or water fairies. It was a story about a man who desired one of the creatures but they were forever separated by the water. Driven mad with lust he dove into the water. The Naiad grabbed him and she, along with her sisters, dragged him deep into their watery world. He was never seen from again. Anna closed the book, unsettled. She was expecting this to be a children’s book. She could see why Zach had trouble with the words now; the font was tiny and the language was mature. Zach, meanwhile, sat wide-eyed at the edge of his bed—nowhere near sleepy. “That was so cool. Can we read another one?” Anna yawned dramatically. “It’s time for bed, Zachary,” She said. She placed the book on his nightstand, picked up a sleeping Emily, and went to the door. “Do you want me to turn off the…” She trailed off as soon as she turned and saw that Zachary had already retrieved the book and was nose deep in its pages. It wasn’t ideal subject matter, but Anna was too tired to be concerned. At least he was reading. The next day Anna let Zach play in the backyard. She was unpacking and organizing the kitchen and could see the backyard from the window. As long as he was in sight he was fine. She watched him as she talked to Michael on the phone. “…and then he just grabbed the book and kept reading,” she said with a laugh. “Who knew it would be a fairy tale book that got the little guy reading?” Michael’s voice boomed from the speaker phone. “So he’s adjusting alright to the move? I was afraid that this, plus the new baby, would be a lot for him to handle.” “He seems to be fine.” Anna looked out the window to see Zach crouched down by the gate that separates their property and the lake. He was clutching his Aqualad action figure in one hand and had his back turned to the house. The book was at his feet. “I think he might be lonely. There aren’t a lot of kids his age around.” “Hmm. I might have an idea,” Michael said. He explained it to Anna.

" R o be r t O ’Ne i l “Oh that’s perfect! We have so much space now. And he’ll be so excited!” Over the next week Anna tried to get Zach excited about his father’s visit. “Your daddy is bringing a surprise for you on Friday,” Anna said with a big

smile. Zach didn’t seem to hear her. “Did you know that fairies can’t enter people’s houses without their permission? They have to be invited in.” “Oh?” Anna wasn’t confused by the topic change. It had been like this all week. “Did you learn that from the book?” “No,” he said looking down. “But the book has a story about fairies that steal babies from human families and replaces them with changelings. They look exactly like the baby but have completely different personalities. Like, they’ll like completely different things and act really different but people are still fooled because it looks like their baby. But how can they do that if you have to invite them in first?” “I don’t know, sweetie.” Anna didn’t know how to respond to him anymore. He didn’t seem to mind though. He could go on for hours about fairies with little to no prompting from his mother. Anna glanced at Emily in her playpen. “No, Emily! Get that out of your mouth!” Anna rushed over and pulled her phone out of her daughter’s grasp. She must have placed it there by accident when she put her down in the crib. She cleared the slobber off the screen. Zach was giggling. “That’s how you know Emily isn’t a changeling. She always eats everything.” He mimicked her by curling his lips under his teeth and pretended to gum the air. It was remarkably similar to his fish impression. On Friday, Michael arrived with a golden Labrador named Trixie. Zach immediately renamed her to Nixie, which is a name for a type of water sprite, as he was quick to tell his father. “Nixies have green teeth and wear a green hat,” Zach told his father proudly. “That’s great, son. Go play with Nixie in the backyard. She needs to get used to her new house.” Michael and Anna watched their son from the kitchen as they prepared lunch. “You weren’t kidding about the fairy thing. He’s obsessed,” Michael said. Anna placed Emily in her high chair. “I know. The other day he told me he was playing with the water fairies of the lake. That’s why he spends so much time near the water. He says they play with Aqualad,” Anna said as she rummaged through the groceries. “You

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bought the wrong baby food by the way. Emily hates sweet potato.” “Maybe she likes it now. Babies can’t have solid opinions yet, can they?” “I don’t think you know how taste buds work,” Anna said. Michael grinned sheepishly. “I’ll buy the right one next time. At least I did good with this dog idea. I mean, I know the kid has imagination but seven is a little old to be having imaginary friends.” They looked outside to watch Zach and Nixie play. They were by the gate. Nixie was barking at the water as Zach pulled Nixie away. Michael yelled out the window. “Hey buddy! Lunch is ready! Bring Nixie inside. Your fairy friends can come too!” Anna hit him playfully. “Stop it. Don’t encourage him.” Michael just laughed. That night Anna woke up to Nixie barking. She started to wonder whether it was a good idea to get a dog with an infant in the house. She elbowed Michael’s sleeping body next to her. He made muffled noises of protest. “What did you say?” “I said ‘it’s your turn,’” Michael mumbled. “It’s been my turn for a week. You have catching up to do.” She tried to push him out of bed with her feet but he was too heavy. Her feet, however, were freezing, and when they made contact with his bare back he immediately jolted awake. “I’m up! I’m up! Jesus.” As Michael was getting up Zachary ran into the room. His eyes were wide and he looked as if he had just run a marathon. “What’s up, sport?” Michael asked, concerned. “It’s Emily. Something happened.” “What?!” Michael immediately ran out of the room. Anna sprang out of bed and grabbed Zach by the shoulders. “What happened, Zachary?” He looked close to tears. “The fairies came and took her away.” Anna ignored the part about the fairies. She went to the closet and took out a baseball bat. “Stay here,” she ordered. Anna advanced to the nursery, bat in hand. She laid her hand on the handle for a moment before pushing it open. She jumped in with her bat raised. “Jesus, Annie. Put the bat down. Emily is fine.”

" R o be r t O ’Ne i l The next day was tense. Even after a lecture from his parents about lying,

Zachary was still saying that Emily had been taken. That the baby they had been holding was changeling. Anna told him to go back to bed, that it was a bad dream, but he was not convinced. Michael left in the morning. “I’m sorry to leave you with this. I just need to get back to work.” “No, I know. I’ll hold down the fort,” Anna said softly. She wasn’t looking forward to being a single mother for another week. Thankfully Nixie was an older dog and was already trained, so she didn’t have to worry about two babies to take care of. “I’ll be back this weekend,” he said. He kissed her and Emily goodbye. Zach wouldn’t come near Emily so they did their goodbye separate. After he left, Anna sat down Emily for some breakfast: the last of the carrot baby mush that Emily loves so much. She also filled Nixie’s bowl with some dog food. “Zachary! It’s time to practice the piano,” she yelled up the stairs. “But…” “No but’s! You haven’t practiced all week.” “Fine!” Anna had just sat down the feed Emily when the cacophony of sound resonated throughout the house. An unexpected con of living in a big house: Zach’s piano skills were amplified by the long hallways. Anna could barely tell that it was supposed to be “Chopsticks.” She shook her head and went to feed Emily. She made airplane noises as she moved the spoon closer to Emily. The food entered her mouth and was immediately spat up. Odd. Anna tried again with the same result. “Come on, Emily. It’s breakfast time.” Airplane noise. Spoon land in mouth. Spit up. She refused to eat the carrots. Anna heard whimpering behind her. Nixie was lying in the doorway, staring at her food. “Come on, Nixie. Get your food.” But the dog just lay there and whimpered. The disharmonious chords echoed through the kitchen. “The water fairies said if we give the changeling back then they’ll give back Emily.” “What?” Anna had been lying down on the couch for a moments rest when Zach approached her. “Since we’re friends they said they’d give back Emily if we gave them their changeling,” he repeated. Anna counted to ten before responding.

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“Emily is not gone. She is in her playpen,” Anna motioned to the corner of the room where Emily was surrounded by blocks. “She’s not chewing anything,” Zach whispered. “What did you say?” “Nothing.” Zach walked out of the room. Anna laid her head back down. She dozed off with dreams of baby food and teething rings. Suddenly Nixie was barking. Anna sat up and saw Nixie at the window, agitated by what was outside. Looking past Nixie, Anna saw Zach in the backyard, standing at the gate. He had Emily held over his head. “ZACH!” Anna was at the gate with no recollection of how she got there. Emily was in her arms and a red handprint was visible on Zach’s face. He looked shocked. And hurt. “Don’t you ever bring Emily out here. EVER.” Anna was torn between defending her baby and feeling guilty over hurting her child. “I’m so sorry. But don’t ever do this again.” Zach said nothing as he ran inside. She could hear his sobs, even from the backyard. That night she locked Zach in his room and put Emily’s crib next to her bed. Despite being exhausted, sleep didn’t come easy. When she finally did go to sleep she was haunted by nightmares of faceless children. She dreamt that she was trying to feed Emily, but she had no mouth. She tried the airplane noises but she had no ear to hear with. It smelled strongly of mildew. She looked down to see a faceless Zach tugging at her skirt. She moved to smooth his hair but the face split open into a monstrous mouth and bit her hand. Anna woke violently from her nightmare and saw that she really had been bit. Nixie was next to her whimpering. Anna looked at the crib. It was empty. Anna tore through the house. Zach’s door was open. As was his window. Through the window she heard a splash. She took three steps at a time as she sprinted downstairs. She entered the backyard to see Zach holding Emily. She ran to him and grabbed Emily out of his hands. “Don’t worry! It’s all fixed now,” Zach said with a smile. “Zach! I told you to never bring her out here!” “I won’t anymore! I promise!” He looked sincere. And Anna was too exhausted to take it further.

" R o be r t O ’Ne i l “Just get inside.” Anna held a now crying Emily to her chest. She followed

Zach inside, too preoccupied to notice the ripples that disturbed the reflection of the moon. “Zach! It’s time to practice piano!” “Okay!” Anna took out the sweet potato mush Michael had gotten by accident. It’s a shame the carrots went to waste last time. Anna made her way over to Emily’s high chair, getting the airplane ready. “I’m sorry, Emily. This is all we have. Daddy will bring the good stuff later though,” She assured her. She heard Zach’s feet pounding on the stairs. Airplane noise. Spoon land in mouth. Swallow. “You’re being good today. Or maybe taste buds really do work that way.” Another airplane noise, another landing, and another swallow. Zach started playing and a perfect rendition of “Chopsticks” rang through the house.

Dy s to p ia

Run, Run Children by Ashley Alongi

I sit with my back against the tub. My knees are pulled up to my chest, and I keep opening and closing my hands into tight fists. I wish there were more things to grab onto in this stark bathroom. There are too many curved lines and smooth slopes, nothing with edges that will bite into my palms and distract me and keep me from going numb. I can hear Luke yelling all the way from the entry way. It’s not difficult to imagine his stance. One hand would be around the doorknob, the other pushing against the door-jam. Slightly defensive, to keep whoever it is from poking their head in too far. I think it’s the landlord. My parents are out of town. Lies. Luke’s parents have never lived here. He, Simon, and I have only been here since last week. But the landlord doesn’t know that. He doesn’t know that the couple whose names are on the lease have not lived in this apartment for month. It was lucky that Simon had remembered that, having read in on a file weeks before, an inch thick thing with the names of the missing. The couple had disappeared one night. Probably taken by the Estate. Probably dead. But no one would have told the landlord that. Too messy. Too unseemly for the respectable government they set out to be. They went to visit a relative. They’ll be back soon. Lies. The wife had expensive tastes. I could remember when I used the shower the first time we came to the apartment, eager to get the sweat and grime from my skin. The tub was lined with bottles of sweet-smelling lotions and soaps.

" A s h le y A lo n gi

Their labels were all written in a language that I did not recognize. It was probably imported. Definitely illegal. I wonder if that’s why they went missing. You’ll have your money by the end of the week. This is a lie, but I wish it wasn’t. Rebel teenagers and escaped prisoners do not have money. I hear the door close with a thud, followed by the clicks and jangles of the numerous locks on the door. There’s the scrape of furniture on the floor. I lower my head onto my knees and an arm drapes across my back. I had almost forgotten Simon was with me. The two of us had rushed into the master bathroom after we all heard the first furious knocks on the door. Luke had narrowed his eyes saying don’t make a sound, and while it was directed at both of us, his eyes were fixed on Simon. Watch out for her, they said. Simon pulls me tight against his chest, leaning his head against mine. I know he can feel the hum of energy under my skin, the barely contained vibrations that could set off a sensor any second. I try to push it down. Convince my body that the danger is gone. Simon is whispering things in my ear, but I can’t make out anything besides my own name, Allison, Allison. I know I need to calm down. The bathroom door opens and my head shoots up, the power beneath my skin flaring up with it. Simon squeezes my arm. It’s like cutting a wire, and I snap back to normal. Luke stands in the doorway for a moment, eyes scrutinizing me, before collapsing on the floor. His long limbs barely fit in the small space. Nobody says anything. Luke presses the heel of hands to his eyes, and Simon moves his arm from around me. The two are unmistakably brothers. Luke is taller and made of angles, and Simon is shorter, if only slightly, with a rounder face. But they have the same unruly brown hair that almost looks black, the same hazel eyes, and the same willingness to protect some girl who will likely get them killed. “It’s not the first of the month,” says Simon after a minute. That was one of the reasons it was a good place to hide. It was the middle of the month and no one would be poking around. Luke laughed, harsh and bitter. “He’s suspicious. He saw me coming in yesterday and was pretty sure no kids lived here. He’s pulling some bullshit about rent being due in the middle of the month. I think I’ve got him convinced I do live here, but we’ll have to pay him soon or leave.” “We could get jobs,” Simon offers. “We wouldn’t make all we need, but maybe just enough to tide him over.

R u n , R un, Child re n

Luke doesn’t look up, instead focusing picking at a loose piece of grout on the floor. “We don’t have papers. No one legitimate is going to hire someone without papers. And we’re already in too much trouble to work under the table.” Simon nods his head. “I could make papers for you,” I say quietly. But the boys don’t say anything. “We could get papers,” Simon says, his voice rising up at the end, as if he was asking a question. “We’re allowed that.” “And when we tell them our last name and our dad’s face pops up? We’re done for.” A stony silence falls over us. Simon runs his hands through his hair, opening his mouth to probably say some half-formed ideas that Luke will shut down for one reason or another. “It wouldn’t take much,” I try again leaning forward, “Honestly.” I can hear the pleading in my own voice. I need to do something. Luke stops playing with the tiles and meets my gaze. His eyes are hard, but I can see the faint smudges of gray beneath them. He hasn’t been sleeping. I know he stays awake at night in the living room, waiting. Whether he’s expecting a patrol or other resistance members, I’m not sure. “It’s like you want to be caught,” he says though gritted teeth. “The second you try to make any papers or do anything else you think is helpful a scanner will pick it up. Then the Estate is knocking down the door, taking you back. And me and Simon are dead.” Luke looks down at the floor and in one swift tug rips up the piece of rubbery grout, leaving a small silver of exposed floor. Without another word he stands up and leaves. A moment later Simon stands up as well. “He’s just…” Simon starts but falters. I can fill in the words myself. Angry. Nervous. Worried. Possibly scared. “We’ll figure something out,” he says as he follows his brother’s path out the door. I wait until the door to the living room shuts before walking out of the bathroom. Even though I can’t hear them, I know the boys are arguing. Simon is trying to be optimistic. Saying that if Luke just calms down for a second they can figure this out. But Luke won’t calm down and is already planning how we can leave. It will be a good plan. But I know we have no place to go. I know they haven’t been in contact with the resistance since I had come into their lives. It would be a risk to go to the last safe house they had. Luke never had backups to his plans. Simon would point this out. Luke wouldn’t listen. I lie on the bed and press my hands over my ears. I know I’m not the whole reason we are running. I’m the reason they are always on edge. It’s the pent up

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magic coursing through my veins that will soon explode. Too long left unused. I can’t suppress the shiver that runs through my body. It’s me the patrols are actively looking for. I close my eyes and dream of when we met. When I woke up that morning that I knew something would be different. It was the first time in my memory that I had woken up before the sun had risen. The first time I had broken from the routine they had so deeply ingrained in me. This morning, even with my vision cloudy from sleep, I knew something was off. I pulled myself off my bed and headed towards the window on the far side of the room, the thin rays of sunlight noticeably absent from the cold floor. Kneeling at the base of the wall, I pulled forward one of the cinder-blocks near the bottom. Grabbing onto the window ledge, I hoisted myself up so I was standing firmly on the block. I scowled even though no one could see me. Whoever was in charge of maintaining the grounds had been neglecting the side of the building, and blades of grass now obscured most of the view. I wondered if I could lodge a complaint. Though I was pretty sure my eight by six inch view was the least of the Estate’s concerns. But through the grass I could see the smallest sliver of sky. Hazy and gray as if it too had just woken up and wasn’t quite sure if it wanted to continue this day or try again tomorrow. I felt today would be different. Breakfast and lunch came and went as usual. I sat in the corner of my room, opposite the door, waiting. Right after lunch, that the man with the slight lisp would usually come and tell me to follow him. He would lead and the one with the neck beard would follow behind, escorting me through the labyrinth of hallways. They would take me to the room smaller than my own where I do what the Estate needed. Saying it was magic feels silly. It didn’t feel bright and golden like magic should. The subtle warmth that would fill my body as a child when I made something move across the room or sometimes disappear entirely. But I can barely remember these times. Since the Estate came, with the knowledge that I was young, powerful, and impressionable, it’s changed. Magic’s now an immense force, rushing out of my body. I can hear roaring in my ears and once it’s done I’m left breathless. At that point I could’ve probably find the room myself. Even gone when it was time. But my door was always locked. They still held to the notion that I would start resisting again. When I thought I was more intimidating than

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their guns and stronger than the cold iron doors that held me in. I sometimes thought that one day I would, though most of the time, it seemed unlikely. I crawled over to the door and pressed my ear against the cold metal. I could hear footsteps. There were two sets, their steady tapping overlapped each other. They were pacing, crossing back and forth in front of my room. I could feel the magic itching at my fingertips, singing to be used to try to see what was happening. But I swallowed it down. They never liked it when I used it without them. They’d bring the iron cuffs that burn the skin and make you feel like your insides are burning as well. Those on the outside, those with any spark of something different, wore them all day. It was for the good of society, or so I’m told. I didn’t realize I’ve fallen asleep until a sharp bang jolted me back into reality. The sun had set and what little light had been in my room earlier was now gone. They’d forgotten to turn on my lights, and the only thing keeping it from pitch blackness was a small trickle coming from under the door. I pressed my ear against the door once more but the footsteps were gone. And for a second it was all silent, the only sound being my slow breathing. And it happened again. But this time I could feel the door vibrating against my face. I quickly scrambled up away from the door. I could hear yelling. It felt as though the walls were not made of cement but paper, because even though I couldn’t tell exactly what they were saying this was the first time I’d been able to hear so much sound coming through. I kept backing away from the door because I did not know what else to do. When my back pressed against the wall, begin to wonder if I could make use of that loose cinder-block that the door opens. The room is flooded with light and I shield my eyes. Standing there is neck beard. He looks behind him and reaches out towards me. I know I’m meant to follow, but I hesitate. His brows furrow and I can see the anger forming in his eyes. He opens his mouth to yell, when suddenly his eyes flutter closed and his body crumples to the floor. He falls into a graceless heap and when I look back up at the doorway I see a boy, no older than me probably, with his arm still raised and the hilt of his knife bloody from bashing it into neck beard’s head. He doesn’t notice me at first, still focused on neck beard. But he does look up and our eyes meet. He’s confused I can tell, the way his eyebrows knit together, wondering who I am and why I’m here. He’s a rebel. Not that the resistance has any sort of uniform, but I know their faces. Steely and hard with determination. You can feel the utter hatred radiating off their skin. I have seen them brought in before, spitting and curs-

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ing the entire way. I’ve never seen them brought out. Sometimes there are the ones who are afraid. The ones who, at the worst time, realize they’ve chosen the wrong side. They’ve seen me and pleaded for their lives to me as though I had the power to do so. They disappear all the same. The boy walks towards me; keeping the knife pointed straight out. I can feel my heart hammering in my chest but strangely I’m not afraid. The power that usually hums to life when I am in danger is silent. “Who are you?” he asks, taking a step closer, his curious voice tinged with anger. I say nothing. I struggle to look past him towards the open door. He’s nearly double my height. He moves again, and I manage to see over his shoulder. The hallway is empty, light filtering into my room. I can still hear the shouting. “Why was he coming to get you?” he flicks his head in the direction of neck beard. “Why are you here?” He takes another step and we are face-to-face. I am too focused on staring into his hazel eyes that I do not notice him move to place the blade against my neck. I breathe in sharply as I feel the cool metal touch my skin. I stare straight into his eyes, and I can feel how he’s holding the knife. His arm is held loose and the knife’s edge only grazes my skin. He won’t hurt me. I’ve learned the look in their eyes someone gets when they are prepared to kill. He doesn’t have it. He holds my glare and opens his mouth to say something else when we both hear the sound of footfalls outside the door. He turns and his shoulders move just so that I can see into the doorway. Another boy is there. His hands are on his knees as his breath comes in quick gasps. He looks younger than the boy currently threatening me, but they share the same dark mess of hair. “Luke everything gone to hell, we need to leave,” he says without looking up. There’s only a second more pause before he does though. When he does his mouth opens a bit and he steps back. “What are you doing?” Luke looks back to me, “She was hiding in here.” This time I can’t help it and I laugh. The boy in the doorway steps closer to us, I can see the urgency in his face. “Luke we have to go,” he tries again. Luke doesn’t take his eyes off mine, “Why was he coming to get her, Simon?” he jerks his free hand towards neck beard. The boy in the door, throws his hands in the air. “Who cares, she’s not important. We need to leave now. Please.” He stresses the please in such a way

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that I almost want to shout at Luke to go. To run. It would be the first time I would have ever helped anyone in this place. Luke’s face softens and he moves the knife away from me. He steps backwards towards the door and I can hear Simon sigh in relief. I watch as they both run out of sight. I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. Before I have time to think Luke is back. He runs into my room, grabbing my wrist and sets off into a run. I have no time to think as I am pulled down familiar hallways, struggling to keep up with his long strides. We turn down a hallway, moving towards a door I had never seen. Simon is already there, his face is blazing with anger. “You went back for her,” he shouts almost like he can’t believe it though I’m right in front of him. Luke says nothing and pushes past. He holds onto my wrist so tight that it almost feels like it will break. Some part of me wants to yell, wants to fight back. And I am so tired of never fighting. We make our way down a set of stairs in pitch darkness. I can see the knife hanging from Luke’s side. I decide to take a chance quickly make to grab it. The boys are distracted for a second, and I use the opportunity pull my wrist free of Luke’s grip and to push Simon against the wall. His eyes go wide and he probably could fight me off if I didn’t press the edge of the blade against his throat. No one says anything. In the distance we can hear pounding feet and shouts, probably the Estate guards who realized I’m gone. Simon breathes in slowly. I can feel him trying to back away from me even though he has nowhere left to go. I try not to smile as I realize Simon is probably furious at Luke for bringing me along. I turn to Luke. He keeps looking around, for what I’m not sure, maybe scrambling, looking for any option out of this. “Look, I don’t know who you are or why you were here. But I’m assuming you don’t want to be here. If I’m wrong, fine. Stay. If not, then come with us,” he says frantically, “Please.” Luke offers his hand. I take a deep breath and look out towards the end of the tunnel. I can’t see it but I know that there must be an end. And I am tired of being stuck. I place the handle of the knife into Luke’s open hand, though I’m pretty sure he wanted me to take it with my own. Simon takes in a shaky breath beside me. “Let’s go,” I say, and turn to walk down the tunnel.

" A s h le y A lo n gi It’s the blaring of a siren that wakes me up from my dreams. My heart

hammers in my chest as I scramble to get out of bed, getting tangled in sheets someone pulled over me while I slept. The sirens sound close. I dive for the lights and the windows began to shake, a helicopter flying past. Its searchlight is on, illuminating the barren streets below and skirting over the buildings all with their shades drawn closed. I flatten myself against the wall and breathe in deep—the lights have not passed over our building. They haven’t found us. They are looking for someone else. But who and why isn’t important. It’s too dangerous now. I can hear the boys shuffling in the living room, things being shoved into bags. They speak in hushed and hurried whispers. I grab my shoes and slip out of the bedroom. We will have to run again.

P aranormal

Renewal by Alexandra Kowal

For the past two weeks, Elijah had felt like he was being watched. Sometimes he heard footsteps behind him, but no one ever seemed to be there. An unexplainable chill followed him wherever he went, and he’d often see shadows that disappeared when he tried to look again. Eli wondered if he was going crazy, if perhaps he’d gone past the kids snorting pixie dust one too many times on his way to school. They were there at the corner as usual, huddled in a circle and giggling uncontrollably. Although they looked like humans, he could tell that they were Wolves by their incredibly toned shoulders and glinting yellow eyes. The Alpha, towering over the rest of the group, chuckled throatily as he took a big hit. The the pack eyed him hungrily. Eli walked by them with his head down. Luckily the pixie dust kept them preoccupied, or he probably would have had to deal with a joke about “the puny human”. It took him longer than usual to climb the stone steps that led to The New York Academy for Human Integration. It was like the whole school had decided to assemble on the stairs. They were all there: a gang of Necros wearing their usual black ensembles and standing on the fringes bringing dead ants back to life, a Caster showing off his latest spell to some human girls, the SheWolf Pack with their matching Amazonian statures. The place was like a social stew, a hearty mix of Supernaturals with a pinch of human. Suddenly, a shrill ring cut through the air, signaling that there were only five minutes left before classes began. Eli barreled up the stairs, trying to beat the chaos outside that was ready to spill in through the front doors. He had

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almost made it to his classroom when the mass of students finally became unmanageable and he was stranded just yards away from his destination. Wherever he tried to turn, a bigger scarier person was in his way. He had grown very adept at slipping through gaps in the crowd, but even he couldn’t find an opening today. “Excuse me. Sorry,” he said as he shoved by a group of Morphers to get to class. “Hey, watch it!” one of them shouted, promptly transforming his head into that of a serpent. He hissed angrily at Eli before returning his head to human form. Morphers, Eli thought. Like I don’t have enough problems. There was only a minute left for him to reach his chemistry class. He ducked to avoid some incoming Flyers, walked around a slow-moving Necro, and dodged some Wolves running to class. Finally, with a sigh of relief, he arrived at the door. Eli waited a second before walking into the room full of Supernaturals. It was tough being a human at The New York Academy. Eli’s favorite part of the day was lunch, even though he always sat by himself. Today, he chose to eat in the school’s courtyard to capitalize on the good weather. Many students had the same idea. Eli surveyed the area as he took a bite of his usual peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Two Flyers were arguing over whether pink wings were “in” this season or not. One said “yes” but the other cried “tacky.” There were hardly any Fangs in the courtyard—they didn’t like the sun—but Eli could see a bunch of other Supernatural groups just happy to be outside. He could even see some humans, scattered among the groups like guppies in a sea of piranhas. While the other humans were always fascinated with what Supernaturals could do, Eli never understood the appeal. Of course, he knew creatures that could do extraordinary things—fly, cast spells, read minds—but that sort of power just seemed intimidating to him. Had he ever dreamed of being able to take on some of the more monstrous kids at his school? Yes. But was he ever disappointed to be a human? No. He only wondered why every other human seemed to be. It was like being normal was never enough. Of course they’re at the Reader’s again, he noted as three or four humans gathered around a sign that read “Fortunes Told: $10.” One seemingly human girl sat cross-legged on the grass behind the sign. She had flowers in her platinum blonde hair and spoke to the people gathered with her eyes closed. Eli couldn’t hear anything, but by the looks of the humans’ faces, they weren’t getting good news today. The girl finished speaking and the others dispersed. When they were gone, she sighed and leaned back lazily. Eli noticed a faint purple shim-

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mer around her whole body that you could only see if you looked long and close enough. He pried his eyes away bashfully at that point and finished his sandwich. It was then that he noticed two students eyeing him from across the courtyard. At least, he thought they were students—Necros judging by the allblack outfits they were wearing—but they did seem a bit old to be in school. One was bald with a scar across his right eye, hands constantly fidgeting with the contents of his pockets. The other was simply colossal, legs the size of tree trunks and a face that no one but a mother could love. Yet, the moment Eli took his eyes off of them, they were gone. Eli normally wouldn’t have thought twice about it, but the guys had given him a bad feeling. He caught up with the Reader from the courtyard on his way to history class. Eli felt a little strange about asking for his fortune read in the hallway during the break between classes, but he figured the girl wouldn’t be opposed to earning another ten dollars. He just needed a quick, specific reading. “Excuse me!” Eli said loudly as he sidled up alongside her. “Can I have my fortune told?” “I do my fortune-telling in the courtyard at lunch,” she snapped. “Everybody knows that.” “Please. I’ve got the ten dollars. And I just need a quick reading. It’s important.” “What’s so important that you needed to stop me in the hall instead of waiting until tomorrow at lunch?” the girl asked. “Look, do you want the ten dollars or not?” She stared at him for a few seconds. “All right,” she said at last. “All right. I don’t appreciate your snippy attitude, but if you really want a reading, I’ll do it.” “Thank you,” Eli said with a sigh of relief. He shoved his hand into his pocket to extract a crumpled ten-dollar bill and gave it to her. “Not right here, okay?” she said, and led him over to a less crowded area by the window. She closed her eyes and stood in front of him for a few seconds. Soon, however, she began to speak. Her sweet girlish voice seemed slightly higher than normal and a bit shaky. “Beware the coming battle.” “Battle? What battle?” Eli asked, confused. She ignored him, desperately sucking in a gulp of air and balling her hands into fists. Her words came out faster this time. “The humans…they are coming for you.” “Humans? Coming for me?” Eli stared at her. “What are you talking about?” “Beware!” she shouted, clutching his arm now. Eli was surprised no one was staring at them yet. But weird shit happened all the time at a school like his.

" A lex an dr a K ow a l “Beware and…and…” By now, she was also cutting off his circulation and Eli

was a bit freaked out. He tried to shrug her off, but her nails dug into his arm. He had to whip it out of her grasp, giving himself a nasty scratch in the process. “Okay, enough of this bullshit,” he said. “Look, I don’t know what you’re playing at, but if you need the ten dollars so badly, just keep it.” Suddenly, her eyes snapped open. She looked at him fearfully and yelled, “Run!” No sooner had she said that than the ceiling-length window next to them shattered. The sight of the glass bewitched Eli for a second—a shower of raining diamonds—before he came to his senses and followed the Reader’s advice. She had started running already, and the rest of the students in the area had begun screaming and fleeing as well. Four gargantuan figures clothed head to toe in black emerged from the ruins, carrying weapons of all sorts, from swords to revolvers. Eli tried not to think about the various ways they could kill him as he dashed away from the scene. The school hallway had never seemed longer than at that moment. Eli threw himself this way and that, ducking around humans and Supernaturals, going as fast as he possibly could. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw one of the cockier Wolves howl and charge at the intruders. Before he could get anywhere near them, there was a spear through his chest and a bullet in his head. The screaming became a constant background noise. Eli’s heart was pumping a mile a minute as he forced his legs to go faster and faster. He had to get out. If he got out, he could go to the police—get help, something. If he stayed, he was as good as dead. Eli put on a last burst of speed as he dodged past some Flyers and a Fang. He burst through the school’s front doors and headed down the road that led to the police station. All he could register was fear, beating hearts, and stomping shoes. It was only when he was a few blocks away from the school that he realized he had four shadows in addition to his own. How the fuck did they follow me? he thought. A shot rang out surprisingly close to him. He turned left. Another shot flew by his head. He made another turn. Before he realized what was happening, there was a brick wall in front of him. So this is how it’s gonna end, huh? In a dark alley, all alone. Eli uselessly pressed himself against the brick wall as the deadly figures strode towards him. One moved ahead of the other three, unsheathing a bloody sword and pointing it toward him.

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“Help!” he screamed in vain, tears unexpectedly welling in his eyes. “Help me!” The sword-brandishing assassin was mere feet from him—he could see a familiar scar over his eye—and Eli froze, waiting for the inevitable. He didn’t feel the sword cut through him like butter; he only felt the warm blood coat his hands as he clutched them to his chest. The assassin slid the sword out and stepped back to admire his handiwork. Eli’s legs gave way. The blackclothed figures began to blur together as his vision faded. He could hear snatches of their conversation as he slid down, his face pressing into the ground. A gruff voice. “Fine job…scum…wiped clean…” A slippery one. “Make sure…doesn’t rise…” Nothing made sense anymore. Eli closed his eyes and lost himself in the chill of the pavement against his cheek. It was dark and cold, and everything was over now. Until suddenly it wasn’t so cold anymore. Was he imagining it or was the ground getting warmer? He tried in vain to pry his eyes open. Attempting to prop himself up also proved to be a failure. By now, his cheek was burning. Is this what death feels like? An extremely painful fever? The slippery voice abruptly began shrieking, “You missed the heart! Kill him now! There were some hurried footsteps, but he couldn’t concentrate on them because the heat was rushing all over his body. His chest was on fire, then his arms and legs. His mouth opened automatically and every other sound was drowned out by his own screaming. Considering he’d been stabbed in the chest, it was a miracle his lungs even had the capacity for such duration and volume. When he felt like he couldn’t take it anymore and didn’t understand why he just wouldn’t die, there was a burst of light. His whole body convulsed and then both the heat and his screaming were finished. He hesitantly opened his eyes. The arms and legs that had failed him before were full of new strength. He stood up with little difficulty, though it did make him a bit dizzy. Once he could see straight again, he stared down at his chest. It was covered in blood and ash, but there wasn’t a scratch on him. Eli touched the area just to make sure and took a deep breath. Not only was there no evidence of his recent stabbing, but there wasn’t a scratch anywhere on him now. Even the scar he’d had on his knee from three years ago when he’d gotten badly beaten up was completely gone. It had vanished, just like all his scars, wrinkles, and pimples. My clothes too, he suddenly realized. Eli was as naked as the day he was born, aside from the few small patches of black ash and dried blood clinging to him.

" A lex an dr a K ow a l “What…the… hell?” he said to the empty alley. The question simply echoed

back to him. He knew he should have died. No human could have survived whatever had just happened to him. The large piles of ash and melted metal scattered around him were a testament to that. Nothing, not even the sword that stabbed him, had survived the blast. All of the people trying to kill him were now dead. Yet, he stood unscathed. So what did that make him? He started heading down the alley towards the main street, keeping a lookout for people and something to cover himself up. As he got closer, he saw a charred corpse with what used to be clothes hanging from it. He gingerly removed the remnants off of one of his former assassins. The scent of the body almost made him vomit, but he had to get something on and get out of there. After that, he had no idea what to do; he thought it best to take it one step at a time. Eli couldn’t process the fact that he had almost died or that he had somehow killed a bunch of armed men after being stabbed. That was enough to deal with, but on top of that, he felt as if his whole body had lit on fire and magically healed. He shuddered just remembering the extent of the pain. There had definitely been a moment when he felt like he died. Tugging on the ragged smoke-scented fabric, he thought of the one thing he’d ever heard of that could survive death. “But I can’t be… no, that’s crazy,” he whispered. He looked down at his flawless hands and then back at the unfortunate man, roasted to death in the alleyway. Contrary to what he’d believed his whole life, he truly had to accept he wasn’t human. “A Phoenix?” he asked himself, wondering if it could be true. He faintly recalled discussing them a few years ago in history class; they were covering a short section on reportedly extinct Supernaturals. If he remembered correctly, humans began to hunt them after one discovered it was possible to kill Phoenixes if you pierced them through the heart, burned them, and scattered the ashes. Apparently, Eli was lucky that he only got stabbed somewhere in the chest. He took a few deep breaths, adjusted the black rags he was wearing, and cautiously stepped out of the alley. Everything had changed. He had been followed and killed. Yet, he wasn’t dead; the men following him were. He was wearing one of their outfits, though it wasn’t much of an outfit anymore. He couldn’t go back to school and pretend nothing had happened. He wasn’t even sure he should go home. He was no longer a “puny human,” but a mighty Phoenix.

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“A Phoenix,” he said, the words still feeling heavy but a little less foreign in his mouth. Then, he ran. He ran down the street, ignoring the looks of confused passersby. He ran faster than he had when trying to escape the assassins earlier. He ran as fast as his new legs could carry him. Whether he was running towards something or running away, he didn’t know. He wasn’t a human now. Truly, he never had been. He hadn’t known before, but he’d always been a Phoenix. The only question left was whether he was still Eli.

Spec u lative F i ct i o n

Batting Cleanup by Paige Sammartino

Neither Callie nor Professor Bell said a word the entire drive to Maplewood. Even when they pulled up in front of 87 Whittlewing Road, the only sound the professor made was a little sigh as he killed the engine. Callie looked up at the house as she got out of the car. Mint green siding, white shutters. Freshly mowed grass, a walkway lined with smooth, white stones curling to the front door, and a mailbox with the name SILVER painted on it in bold strokes. Professor Bell circled the car to stand beside her. “This will be counted as half of your final exam,” he said, glasses balancing precariously on the bridge of his nose. White starbursts of hair jutted out from beneath his bowler cap. “Yes.” “The written portion and interview are only quarters. This is half.” “Yes.” He turned to look at her finally, and under his wild mustache, Callie could see his smile. “Good luck, Miss Cote. Make it count.” Callie reached up and adjusted her tie. The suit felt restrictive after months of the lightweight academy uniform. At least having her favorite teacher proctor her final exam made the task less daunting. Callie was relieved that he’d volunteered. Professor Bell knocked. Only a few seconds passed before the front door swung open to reveal a woman with dark ringlets and blue eyes.

Batting Cle anup

Callie squared her shoulders. “Good afternoon. Vera Silver?” The woman nodded. “My name is Callie Cote, and this is Arthur Bell. We’re here from Arks Studio.” Mrs. Silver’s expression warmed with recognition. Professor Bell tipped his bowler hat. “We received a call about trouble with our work and came to conduct an evaluation.” “Oh, yes, of course.” Mrs. Silver threw the door open, and Callie could see an open living room, dining area, and kitchen. A wiry man wearing glasses was holding a bottle of milk and peering out from over the open refrigerator door. “We’re so glad you could take time out of your busy schedules to visit. Come in, come in.” As Mrs. Silver flitted off to the kitchen, Callie glanced over at the professor. He smiled when she quirked her eyebrow. “Some customers are like this,” he mumbled. In the kitchen, Callie noticed Mrs. Silver shooting the man—presumably Mr. Silver—a look as she grabbed the bottle of milk from him. He stared as she picked up a plate of cookies and two tumblers from the table. “This will be an interesting exam.” “Wait, what do you mean?” Callie asked, but before the professor could answer, Mrs. Silver was bouncing into the living room, the teeth-and-gums smile back on her face. “Ooh, I hope you like chocolate chip,” she said, laying the plate on the coffee table and placing down the tumblers. “Ice cold milk?” She poured without waiting for an answer. When she finally looked up and noticed her guests still standing by the door, she waved them in. “Please, sit, sit!” Mr. Silver watched Callie and Professor Bell as they sat on the sofa. Mrs. Silver perched on a chair across the coffee table from them and sighed prettily. “Well, we don’t want to waste any more of your precious time,” Mrs. Silver crossed her ankles and folded her hands in her lap. Her eyes stayed fixed on Callie. “My goodness, you look so young to be in the working world already!” Professor Bell spoke for her. “Callie is graduating from the Arks Academy next week,” he said. “She’ll be joining our ranks full-time after that. Top student in her class.” “How marvelous.” Mrs. Silver turned to the kitchen, her smile thinning for her husband. “Wyatt, don’t be rude. Come join our guests.” “Why are they here?” he asked. Noticing the professor looking at her out of the corner of her eye, Callie bowed her head to Mr. Silver. “Just checking in to make sure that our work has been satisfactory,” she said. Mr. Silver gave her a funny look, and she resisted the urge to shrink back

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into her seat. The professor nudged her foot with his, which Callie hoped was a supportive gesture. “We’re fine,” Mr. Silver said, nodding. “I’m sorry that we’ve wasted any of your time.” “Wyatt.” Mrs. Silver’s smile hovered. “We’re completely satisfied with Arks. You’ve given us more than we could ask for.” “Wyatt, I want a second opinion. From people who know what they’re talking about.” Mrs. Silver put the pitcher of milk down on the table. “We’re not completely satisfied.” “Mrs. Silver,” Callie said. “If there’s some dispute about our services, we can return at a later date.” To Mr. Silver she added, “We certainly don’t mean to impose.” The professor hummed thoughtfully beside her. Mrs. Silver shook her head. “Oh, no, we want your opinion.” Mr. Silver evaluated Callie and put a hand to his chin. “How old did you say you were, Miss Cote?” “Callie, please,” she said without thinking, groaning inwardly at the lack of professionalism. “I’m sixteen.” “Sixteen,” he echoed. “My son is around your age.” Mrs. Silver shot him a look. “Well,” she said. “Shall we let them begin their evaluation?” “Oh, of course.” Callie straightened. “May we see the…product?” Her hesitation earned her sideways glances from the professor and Mr. Silver, but Mrs. Silver didn’t seem to notice. “Of course. It’s upstairs.” She floated past her white-faced husband and stood at the foot of the stairs. “Luke! Could you come down here, please?” Footsteps overhead made their way down the hall to the stairs, and soon a boy in a yellow t-shirt and jeans bounced down to the landing. “What’s up, Mom?” he asked with an easy grin that melted away once he noticed the company. “Hello,” Callie said. Luke’s eyes went to his father. “Guests of your mother’s.” Mr. Silver coughed. Callie and the professor stood as Luke came down the last few steps and into the living room. “Nice to meet you. I’m Callie Cote.” She held out her hand and he shook it, his palm warm against hers. “Luke Silver. Nice to meet you, Miss Cote.”

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“Callie.” There it was again, that lack of professionalism. Luke’s slow smile eased her embarrassment. “And this is Arthur Bell,” Callie added, turning to the professor behind her, who gave Luke a little nod. “How do you know my mom?” “Luke,” Mrs. Silver said, putting her hands on his shoulders and steering him to the side of the table opposite Callie and the professor. “Would you mind answering a few questions for our guests?” Confusion flickered in Luke’s expression as he turned to Callie. His eyes were the color of honey. “Okay.” The prep file Callie had been issued for this case had been small, a simple manila folder with only a few sheets inside. Mrs. Vera Silver had placed an official complaint with the child she’d ordered from Arks Studio. Her claim was that her son—Luke Silver, fourteen years old, dirty-blond, brown-eyed, lean build, aptitude for physical activity requiring dexterity, accuracy, and stamina—was inadequate. “I understand that you are a performer,” Callie said. “Do you enjoy dancing?” Luke tilted his head. “I don’t mind it.” “What form of dance do you do?” “I’ve taken jazz, tap, and ballet.” His voice dulled with each installment. Callie noticed how his fingers threaded loosely in his lap. “Ballet,” she echoed, propping her chin up in her hands. “I do ballet myself.” “Do you like it?” he asked, leaning forward. The first time she’d ever gotten up on her toes, Basil had been sitting in their father’s lap watching. “Isn’t Sissy amazing?” their father had whispered. Though the patch they’d then thought would be temporary covered Basil’s left eye, his right crinkled with his smile. The professor cleared his throat, and Callie started. When she looked up, Luke was smiling at her. “It must mean a lot to you. You were far away from here.” “Yes.” Callie swallowed. “I love ballet.” A tiny smile crept over Mr. Silver’s face. “Luke, why don’t you show our guests the latest piece you’ve been practicing?” Mrs. Silver suggested. Paling, Luke shook his head. “Mom, that’s okay, I don’t want to bore them—” “Bore them? Sweetheart, Miss Cote just said that she loves ballet. I’m sure she’d be happy to watch you perform.” “Oh, no, not if he doesn’t want to,” Callie said quickly.

" Paige Sam m ar t i n o “Vera, no need to embarrass him.” Mr. Silver helped himself to Callie’s un-

touched tumbler of milk. He’d relaxed considerably, and was now leaning back in his seat. Over the rim of the glass, he smiled and raised his drink to her. Mrs. Silver pursed her lips. Luke looked down at his arms draped over his knees. “So, Luke,” Callie said, injecting her voice with as much enthusiasm as she could muster. “What do you like to do for fun?” His smile was much nicer than his mother’s. “I play baseball.” Mrs. Silver sighed, and Callie couldn’t help glancing over. Even that subtle shift seemed enough to alert Mrs. Silver that she’d been heard, and she busied herself with readjusting her shirt. “Baseball is a great sport,” Callie said. “The best,” Luke corrected, and she laughed. “Are you on a team?” “I usually just play with my friends…but yeah, I made the high school team.” “The varsity team,” Mr. Silver added, puffing up. Callie bit her lip to stifle a giggle; this clearly wasn’t Mr. Silver’s first time telling this story. “First ever freshman in the history of the school to make that team. Beat out seniors, even.” “Dad.” “That’s amazing,” Callie agreed. Luke tugged at a lose thread at the bottom of his shirt. “Thank—” “It is amazing,” Mr. Silver agreed, putting the empty tumbler on the coffee table with an echoing clink. “He could play for the Sox if he wanted. They’d be lucky to get him.” “Dad.” Luke shot Callie an embarrassed look, and she chuckled. The professor sipped his milk beside her. Mrs. Silver cleared her throat. “That’s not especially interesting, dear. Why don’t you tell our guests about the spring production at school?” “Mom, are you okay? Your face is all red.” “I’m fine, dear, just a tad warm.” “We could go out for a walk,” Mr. Silver suggested. “Go down the park, maybe hit a few balls.” He mimed swinging a bat. “No,” Mrs. Silver said. Luke got up to open the window. “So, you’re in a production?” Callie asked as he passed her. Mrs. Silver seemed to have composed herself; only the professor remained unperturbed by her outbursts. Callie wondered again what he had meant by some customers are like this.

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“The spring musical at school. I might be in it.” “Might?” Mrs. Silver asked, frowning. “You auditioned. You got the lead.” “I switched with Jeff. I’m going to be the understudy.” “What?” “I mean, I know the lines and all, it’s just that the show overlaps with the series this year, and coach thinks we’ve got a shot at winning our division. I can’t let the team down.” “Baseball?” Mrs. Silver ran her hands through her hair. “You got the lead in the spring musical, and you turned it down because the baseball team might play?” “We’ll play for sure, Mom, we’re a good team.” “They’ll play, sweetheart. You have to perform,” she said, reaching out to him. “Let him make his own decisions,” Mr. Silver said. “You mean your decisions,” she snapped, turning to Callie. “You see? How am I supposed to have my son on Broadway with all this baseball nonsense?” “Vera—” Mr. Silver began to stand when Mrs. Silver whirled on him. “I have wanted to see my son on the stage since before we even met. Two things I’ve always wanted for my son—to name him Luke and to see him dance on stage.” “I know that, but you can’t force—” “Don’t. This is your fault, for encouraging this…baseball. He used to love dance class, now he’s embarrassed to tell people he even does it.” Mrs. Silver jabbed her finger to Callie and the professor on people, then crossed her arms. “Callie?” Luke’s voice, though barely above a whisper, cut through the room. Callie hadn’t even realized she was standing, her arms outstretched as if to break up the fight. “Yes?” she dropped her arms, unable to look at the professor. “Are you here to take me away?” The steadiness in both his voice and eyes nearly made her stumble. “What?” “I heard a rumor,” he mumbled. “That you do that now. Take away kids who aren’t right.” “You need to get rid of him,” the neighbors had told her parents. “He’s halfblind, what good is he like that?” “I don’t do that,” Callie corrected. “No, Luke, we’re not taking you away.” “Excuse me?” Mrs. Silver balled her fists. “I told you that I was unsatisfied with your work, and I should be compensated. The customer is always right.” “Except, of course,” Professor Bell said, “when they’re wrong.”

" Paige Sam m ar t i n o Callie turned to see the professor standing and wiping cookie crumbs from

his slacks. He smiled and nodded to her, and Callie breathed a sigh of relief. “Mrs. Silver,” she said, turning back to the family. “I’ve reviewed your case thoroughly. Luke was engineered completely to order, with an aptitude for dexterity, balance, stamina, and attention to detail. Skills that are indispensible in ballet, yes, but also in baseball. We can’t change the path he’s drawn to if it suits him, ma’am.” “Your studio promises to compensate unsatisfied customers,” Mrs. Silver countered. “Yes, but Mr. Silver clearly could not be happier with our work.” Mr. Silver put a hand on Luke’s shoulder and smiled. “Very true. I’m proud of my Luke.” “What about the child I want?” Mrs. Silver’s voice shivered. “What about my Luke?” Luke’s head snapped up at that, his eyes widening as they searched his mother’s face. “Right in front of you,” Mr. Silver answered, his grip on Luke’s shoulder tightening. “My sincerest apologies that this visit could not have been more pleasant.” The professor tipped his hat to each of the Silvers. “Our evaluation is complete. We’ll take our leave.” Callie hesitated behind him, looking over her shoulder at Luke’s lost expression as he looked between his parents. As if he sensed her attention, he met her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she mouthed. The last thing she saw before closing the door behind her were his honey eyes flickering like candles. The professor was already at the car. Callie slid into the passenger’s seat as he got behind the wheel and put the key in the ignition without turning it on. They sat in silence for a moment, the professor’s fingers grazing the key. “That was excellent, Miss Cote,” he said finally, even his wild hair seeming sober under the weight of his comment. “It was terrible,” she said, her voice cracking. She gulped a deep breath, her eyes stinging. “I want to go back in there and get Luke. Take him with us. I don’t want to leave him.” “You had to.” “I should be able to do more for him.” “You made a fair judgment,” the professor said quietly. Callie swiped at her burning eyes. “You saved his life. Arks Studio exists to serve the people, and when there is a genuine problem, we must step in. Some people, like this Mrs.

Batting Cle anup

Silver, don’t understand that what we don’t do is remove children with minds of their own.” His lips curved beneath his white moustache. “There is no quick fix for teenagers.” “Will they stay together?” The professor turned the key in the ignition and started up the car. “Within six months, Arks will receive an application from a single mother. A boy, Luke, who can dance.” Flipping on his signal, he checked his mirrors and let a car pass. Callie took a shaky breath, uninvited tears rolling down her cheeks. Not wanting the professor to see her upset, she turned away from him, and though her vision was slightly blurred, she could see Luke’s face in the Silvers’ front window. Jerking back, she tugged at her sleeve and wiped her eyes. The professor pulled out into the street just as the front door opened and Luke ran out. He was saying something, coming towards the car, but the professor, focused on the road ahead, did not slow down. Callie rolled down her window and stuck her head out, looking back. Luke stood on the sidewalk outside of his house. He called something out to her that she couldn’t hear, and he was growing smaller and smaller as they drove away. Finally, Luke lifted his arm, and Callie could see him waving goodbye. She fell back into the car and rolled up the window, not even bothering to fight her tears. He had no business consoling her for leaving him behind.

Fan tas y

The Reluctant Princess by Jennifer Pisano

Once upon a time there was a reluctant princess. Her name was Jessamine, and as the niece of the sister of the cousin twice removed of the other cousin removed once of the successor to Princess Cinderella, it was apparently her sworn duty to become a proper young lady. And a princess. Princess. It was such a nasty word on Jessamine’s lips—it exuded rainbows, unicorns, helplessness, and spontaneous musical numbers when you were just trying to talk to someone. Her vocal teacher had encouraged her to sing whenever possible and about whatever was on her mind. Jessamine had then proceeded to break out in a severely sharp rendition of a vocal exercise in which she replaced the words with the tragic tale of a voice teacher whose head was impaled on a spear by cannibals. She thought it was her best work yet. “Cannibals!” her mother shrieked. “Why on Earth do you know anything about those kinds of awful things? It’s downright horrible, Jessamine, you will poison your beautiful little head and make your mother’s hair curl.” Jessamine muttered quietly to herself about things that would really make her mother’s hair curl, but she agreed to “never do such a terrible thing again.” But of course she would; she didn’t want to stop learning new things about the world for the sake of royalty. Ignorance was the worst disease Jessamine could think of, so she spent all of her time in the library, dreaming up adventures and imagining herself as a great knight who lived by her own rules. Two days later, the vocal teacher packed up and vacated the kingdom. Jessamine’s mother decided to punish her daughter with a silent treatment lasting

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a whole day, and Jessamine had never been so happy in her entire life. She even felt compelled to break out into a song about her delight that would have made Snow White herself proud. Of course, the reprieve from her mother’s nagging only lasted that single span of twenty-four hours, and then it was back to learning how to hold a teacup in the event that all the crystal spontaneously broke. But the thing Jessamine hated the most about being a princess was the requirement that she marry a dashing prince. She had no such interest in finding a man; in fact, she thought them lazy, rude, and boring. Jessamine wanted to be the knight rescuing the damsel in distress, not the other way around. She thought it must be quite emotionally taxing to be captured all the time. But the king, and especially the queen, would have none of that “knight” business from their daughter. “My dear,” her mother said seriously as she placed her cup on the plate noiselessly, “your father and I have been thinking.” Jessamine’s eyes shot up to her father, asleep at the end of the table. He was a tired king, a man sick of ruling in a kingdom where nothing ever really happened. “And by ‘your father and I,’ you mean ‘you’ have been thinking,” Jessamine corrected. Jessamine’s mother pursed her lips so hard that it looked like her eyeballs would pop clean out of her sockets and join the boiled eggs in the middle of the table. “You will hold your tongue while I am speaking to you, young lady!” she said tersely. Jessamine fell silent, but more out of the pure wonderment at how her mother had managed to shout without her lips ever moving. “As I was saying, we have been thinking about your upcoming marriage—” Jessamine only barely contained a groan as her mother continued, “—and about how you have not yet decided on a competition to determine which fine young man you will marry.” There were four suitors that her mother had lined up for Jessamine to consider for marriage. One was a prince from a neighboring kingdom whose only true passion was sword fighting and sweeping his mane of hair delicately across his face. He was rude and narcissistic, and Jessamine’s only interest in him was to make fun of how he carried himself, for it was quite ridiculous. He looked like a peacock, strutting about the courtyard. The next two suitors were brothers and princes from the same kingdom, one skinny and short, the other tall and slightly rotund. Both were very boring and more interested in quarrelling amongst themselves over whose armor was stronger than actually

" J e n n ifer Pis an o

talking to Jessamine. The fourth suitor was a knight from a very distant land, and he never, ever, removed his armor or headpiece. In fact, no one had any idea what he looked like. He spoke only in grunts of affirmation or denial, which made any attempt at conversation rather dull. Jessamine had joked that he was hiding a pimple on his face, and she could have sworn that under her mother’s squawking about manners, she could hear the young man laugh from inside his helmet. It had been decreed by her mother that Jessamine must decide which man to marry based on a competition of her own choosing. This was the only time that Jessamine had truly liked her position of power; she had spent the last few weeks trying to think of an impossible task, something that no one would excel at so that she might remain single and marry of her own free will. “Jessamine?” Her mother looked at her expectantly. Jessamine’s face broke out in a large smile as she realized the perfect scenario in which she might escape this forceful marriage. “I have decided. I want each young man to go out and fetch me a dragon—whoever brings back the largest and most beautiful dragon will win my hand in marriage.” The look of relief on her mother’s face dissolved quicker than sugar in boiling water. “A—a dragon? Jessamine, you know how rare—” But she was interrupted by Jessamine slamming her hands on the table as she stood up, startling her father awake at the other end. “Are you trying to interfere with my happiness, mother?” she cried. “I need a man who is strong and brave and who can protect me from all the dangers of the world so that I might live on in blissful peace as I collect sets of crystal! That’s all I’ve ever wanted!” With that, Jessamine barreled out of the room so that she might not burst into laughter at the ridiculousness of her own display. Of course, she had not meant a word of it, but she knew her mother would take it far too seriously, as she often did. Her mother looked thoughtfully at the king after a few moments of silence. “And what do you think of that?” she asked, referring to the competition. He shrugged. “Whatever will make her happy.” The very next day all four suitors were summoned from their lodgings at the nearby inn to be told the rules. “Each man will travel outside of the kingdom to fight and capture a dragon. Each one must return with the most beautiful beast. You may use as many men as necessary to complete this task. The suitor who returns with the largest and most beautiful dragon will earn Princess Jessamine’s hand in marriage.” The scroll was rolled up, the weapons and men were readied, and each one

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of the four set off immediately. As they walked out of the main gates, Jessamine’s mother leaned over to whisper to her daughter. “Who do you think will return with the best dragon?” Jessamine sighed and rolled her eyes. “Mother, don’t be ridiculous. Everyone knows there haven’t been dragons in this land for almost a hundred years.” The swarm of emotions that passed on her mother’s face was quite spectacular to see, but Jessamine refocused her gaze on the backs of her suitors as they grew smaller against the horizon. She didn’t feel bad about tricking them; none of them would be hurt save their pride. It wasn’t as if she was actually interested in any of the men, but it saddened Jessamine slightly to think about the fate of the knights. Maybe if she hadn’t chosen such an impossible task, one of them would have returned victorious and turned out to be both noble and kind. And maybe, even if he was old or short or obnoxious, he would still agree to teach her. That is what Jessamine longed for; someone who would stop treating her like a piece of crystal and realize that she had things she would like to accomplish in the world other than sitting on a glorified chair and having children. Two weeks passed before any of them returned. It was the short, skinny boy who came first, bearing only a pelt of fur. “It was a monstrous creature, my lady—I could only manage a small section of its hide.” Jessamine’s father grumbled as he fingered the pelt. “Wolf’s fur,” he said gruffly. With the verbal lashing her mother gave the young man, Jessamine wasn’t surprised that the very next day he had joined her vocal teacher in vanishing from the kingdom entirely. “Men these days,” Jessamine’s mother had sighed over dinner. No more than a week had passed before the next man, the tall roundish one, returned with a small dead green lizard no bigger than his forearm. Jessamine’s heart sunk as her mother and father approved this creature as a “dragon,” and she began praying that one of her other suitors came back with something more akin to the fearsome beast she had requested. Three days later, the prince returned with pomp and circumstance, dragging behind his team of horses the large body of a scaly beast. It looked like a cross between a bird and a giant lizard and would have been downright terrifying if it hadn’t been a bright hue of purple. Jessamine watched as what looked like a flake of paint fluttered off the creature’s leg, but she didn’t mention this to her father as he approved the kill. She’d take Prince Tight Pants over the quarrelling brother any day; at least she could make fun of him when she got bored.

" J e n n ifer Pis an o There was still no sign of the fourth knight, however, and Jessamine hoped

that he would return soon with a magnificent beast. Finally, a week later, he returned. Jessamine could tell he had succeeded; instead of being greeted with swarms of cheering, the central square was in a riot as people ran away, screaming. Jessamine ran out ahead of her mother and father to see the knight standing proudly in front of the castle. Next to him, harnessed carefully with chains and still very much alive, was a great dragon. Its hide was iridescent and sparkled in the light, eyes of crystal blue darting menacingly about the distant crowds. It was twice the size of the knight, but seemed perfectly content to stay at his side, digging into the ground with claws each of the size and splendor of glimmering silver longswords. “My lady!” the knight called to Jessamine through his helmet in a deep voice as he bowed deeply. “I have brought you back this dragon to ask for your hand in marriage.” Jessamine’s heart swelled with pride. “But it’s supposed to be dead!” the queen shrieked as she clutched her husband’s arm, her face drawn and white as snow. “My lady, I thought it wasn’t just to kill such a beast,” the knight explained. “So few of them are left now—and what better way to prove to you that I found a real dragon than to bring one to you alive?” Jessamine could see the pompous prince off to her right fuming. “My son,” Jessamine’s father said, “you have more than proved yourself. I can only ask my daughter now if she will take your hand.” All eyes turned to Jessamine. “Knight,” she called down to him, “I declare you the winner and you may marry me—on one condition!” “Yes my lady?” “You must reveal your face to me. Only once I see your face will I marry you.” The knight fell silent for a moment, before grabbing a hold of his helmet and pulling it off of his head. The crowd gasped. Underneath the helmet came spilling a river of long, golden hair. The face was small, delicate, with long eyelashes and blue eyes to match that of the dragon. The knight was a woman. “My lady.” She bowed to Jessamine. “My name is Amanda. I am a warrior from a distant Amazon tribe that has for years lived at the borders of these lands. I had heard stories of a kingdom’s reluctant princess, one rumored to

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favor songs of cannibals and who longed to draw a sword.” “What sort of trickery is this?” The crowd turned to see the prince who had brought the purple ”dragon” step forward, his accusatory gaze fixed on Amanda. The Amazon ignored him, kneeling in front of the royal family. “I have come today, my lady, not to deceive you, but to offer you a place amongst us,” Amanda continued. “I have come to offer you the chance to free yourself from a life you do not want.” The prince was in shock. “But women cannot be knights! This is abomination!” He shrieked. “Why would anyone want to follow you to live on the fringes as a freak?” The crowd gasped as Amanda stood, swiftly drawing her sword and catching the prince’s throat with the tip. He sputtered as she held him at the point, her blue eyes narrowing. “Take care what you say to me,” she whispered, poison seeping from every word. The dragon at Amanda’s side huffed a cloud of smoke at the prince, and he slowly backed away. Amanda sheathed her sword and kneeled again before Jessamine. “My lady—should you…not wish to accompany me, please let me know. I shall take no offense, will leave at once, and I will never show my face again.” “No!” Jessamine cried, perhaps a little too loudly. Amanda met her gaze as Jessamine gathered herself again. “No,” she continued, softer this time. “I want to go with you.” “Jessamine!” her mother shouted, grabbing ahold of her daughter’s wrist. “Mother! I don’t want this. I don’t want to be a princess anymore.” Jessamine shook her wrist free, rushing towards Amanda and taking the Amazon’s hand. Jessamine’s mother scowled. “Well that’s all well and good, Jessamine, but we cannot always get what we want, can we? You came here today to marry— you will not leave this kingdom until you are properly betrothed.” Jessamine and Amanda looked at one another before the princess turned to face her parents again. “I accept your terms mother—I will marry Amanda.” A cry of shock rang through the crowd in an enormous wave. Jessamine shouted over the noise. “Father declared her the winner, didn’t he? And since these were my own terms, who am I to disobey them?” Jessamine’s father studied the dragon Amanda had brought carefully. “She’s right, I did agree to let the winner ask for my daughter’s hand.” Jessamine’s face broke out in an enormous smile. She gripped Amanda’s hand tighter and bowed her head before her. “I am yours, if you wish—I

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mean, I suppose it’s just all technicality—we don’t have to stay together if you don’t want to, I’m sure someone could—” Amanda cut her off. “Jessamine, while I came here today to extend to you an offer of a chance at a new life, I also came for my own reasons—the same reason that three other princes came today. I would be honored for you to stand by my side for the rest of my life. But I cannot make that decision for you—that choice, to take my hand, is yours. But no matter what your answer, I will still take you with me, I will still teach you our ways, and I will always welcome you. I cannot and will not decide your own happiness for you.” Jessamine took Amanda’s hands in her own, smiling at the dragon that stood over them. She then leaned forward and kissed Amanda squarely on the lips, pulling away after a moment, her eyes alight with joy. “I do.”

The E nd

Author Biographies Ashley Alongi is a junior and is majoring in Writing, Literature and Publishing. She minors in History because one day she wants to write a series of YA

Historical Fiction books to ensure that future generations are as nerdy as she is. She hopes to spend her own future drinking wine and writing stories.

Janelle Caputo

has been telling stories before she knew putting a pen to

paper could qualify as an occupation. She is a Sophomore, Writing, Literature and Publishing major, a fan of classic rock, old cars and baseball. She would like to thank the Pub Club’s Paranormal genre workshop for inciting this short story with the line: “You really can find anything at Costco.”

Alexandra Kowal

has always loved to read and write, with Harry Potter

being her favorite series so far. She is a Nerdfighter, a Whovian, and an all-around lover of books. She hopes that Generic will be the first of many places where people can read her work.

Robert O’Neil

is a senior Writing, Literature and Publishing major who

is terrified of the real world. His main genre loves lie in sci-fi and fantasy and he’s working on a way to turn that love into a paycheck.

Jennifer Pisano

is a second-semester junior studying Writing for Film

and Television with a minor in Writing. She enjoys writing various types of genre fiction, and this is her first published work. She would like to run away and become an Amazon warrior, but in the meantime she will settle for working with the BBC or writing scripts for video games.

Paige Sammartino

is a senior Writing, Literature and Publishing ma-

jor who hopes to write books for middle grade and young adult audiences. Running and listening to film scores inspire her when she’s got writer’s block, and she is honored to be included in Generic’s pages. She sends her love and gratitude, as always, to Mom, Dad, Grandma, and Grandpa.

“The Reluctant Princess”

(p. 52)

Story by Jennifer Pisano

Illustration by Jennifer Pisano

GUESS WHO’S BACK?

IN THIS ISSUE

That’s right. Generic, Emerson College’s only literary magazine to celebrate genre fiction, has returned. Whether you want some paranormal romance, a thrilling spy story or a scintillating steampunk tale, Generic is dedicated to exploring some of the best genre fiction Emerson has to offer.

SOME KIND OF NORMAL Janelle Caputo THE DROPPED CALL Alexandra Kowal FA I R I E S Rober t O’Neil RUN, RUN, CHILDREN Ashley Alongi R E N E WA L Alexandra Kowal B AT T I N G C L E A N U P Paige Sammar tino T H E R E L U C TA N T P R I N C E S S Jennifer Pisano

F E AT U R E D G E N R E S O F FA L L 2012:

S t e a m p u n k | Pa r a n o r m a l | U r b a n F a n t a s y | E s p i o n a g e