The Other Normals by Ned Vizzini

the thakerak, and hit it so it sparks up again. With luck it’ll zap him back to Camp Washiska Lake, where counselors or a SWAT team will deal with him. Then Mortin and Ada and I will handle the others. As I play through this scenario, I realize I’m not treating the World of the Other Normals like a hallucination, or a dream, or even real life; I’m treating it like a game. Games prepared me for it. And it has something to win—the princess, whoever she is, or Ada, who is a princess as far as I’m concerned.
    Ada mouths at me, “Don’t move.” I put my hands down.
    “You’re suspected of performing unlicensed tweaks, Mortin,” the octopus-man says, “and considering him ”—me, as indicated by tentacle—“I’ve got ample evidence to bring you in. Plus Ryu tells me you’ve spoken with questionable tone about the Appointees.”
    “I’m trying to help the Appointees! I’m trying to get the princess back !”
    “Mortin … such a sad, delusional case. You used to be one of the brightest minds in correspondence, one of Sulice’s youngest field operatives, and here you are, descended into madness at the hands of that most plebeian substance, earthpebbles.”
    “Shut up!” Mortin lunges forward before Ada can stop him. In a blur, the octopus-man shoots out a tentacle and wraps it around his wrist, twisting him off balance. He lands on his tail; with a quiet crick , his lighter cracks apart.
    “No! That’s vintage!”
    The octopus-man restrains Mortin’s wrists with one tentacle and his ankles with another. He pulls out his sword with one of his buff human arms and points it at Mortin’s neck while the fish-men aim their spears at his chest.
    “All right,” Mortin says. “I surrender. But don’t hurt the boy; it’s vital that he return to Earth to complete a mission.”
    “Nobody’s returning anywhere! Handcuff this criminal and get him out of here!”
    The fish-men advance on Mortin, kneel down, and babble at each other in a rotten, wet language. They snap cuffs on his wrists and ankles. One of them throws him over his shoulder. Mortin looks desperately at me and Ada as he’s carried off. “Ada, get him back to Earth! Explain about the princess!”
    The door slams. Mortin’s gone. The tentacled man stepstoward me. With one tug, he undoes the rope around my ankle. It flops on the table. “Ow!” I curse myself for saying something so wimpy in front of Ada and Ryu, who’s smiling at me in a way that demands a girder be pushed at his face.
    “You’ll be getting further explanations from me ,” the octopus-man says. I grit my teeth. Jake taught me once how to deal with cops: first, treat them as deferentially as possible; second, lie about everything.
    “My name’s Officer Tendrile,” he says. “What’s yours?”
    “John … Johnson,” I say. Will it work? In Creatures & Caverns, the determining statistic for whether someone believes your lies is Personality. Pekker Cland is Personality 5.
    Officer Tendrile wraps a tentacle around my left wrist, snaps it over to my right, and squeezes both. He feels cold, damp, and strong. Where his suckers bite into my skin, a sharp burn, like sandpaper, runs up my arms. Blood escapes from under his tentacle.
    “Aaagh!”
    “Listen to me.” He moves close. His big pecs twitch. Behind him, Gamary looks guilty. “I’ve never had a problem with humans. I don’t like running spears lengthwise through their digestive cavities, or feeding them to sand sharks, or just plain eating them, like my servant here.” Next to him, the remaining fish creature gnashes his teeth, revealing a forked black tongue. “But if you start lying to me, things will get very unpleasant for you very quickly.”
    “Don’t hurt him!” Ada says. “He’s sensitive!”
    “I don’t need to be lectured by an attey !” Officer Tendrile snaps. “You witches think everybody’s so sensitive. He looks fine to me. Guard! How’s that blood taste?”
    I stand stock-still as the