The Mary Shelley Club

by Goldy Moldavsky

  He’d never really considered her an option before but tonight, he was going to let her know. She was def on the menu and he was starving.

  “And all you have to do,” Bram said, shoving his drink into Trevor’s hand, “is relax. Talk to her. Be the Man.”

  Trevor had meant to take a sip, but that wasn’t enough for a Man so he gulped down the whole thing. Vodka, straight. He winced as the alcohol shredded his esophagus. “I’m the Man.”

  The guys went to join the girls on the couch, their empty seats awaiting their return. No one was dumb enough to take them.

  Trevor liked that. He also liked that when he and Bram sat down, the girls’ attentions swung back to them. Lux slid onto Bram’s lap and Lucia got up from the armrest to sit next to Trevor. She sat so close now that her thigh touched his thigh and there was nothing but two thin pieces of denim between them. Trevor liked that, too.

  “Hi,” she said.

  Usually when a pretty girl was talking to him, Trevor’s responses came in slo-mo. First he smiled. Forgot himself. Then, way too late, he’d respond.

  Same thing always happened on the field. Nerves made everything slo-mo. Coach had to psych him up pregame to keep him on track.

  “So, Driggy,” Lux said. “Rumor has it you still don’t have a date for the winter dance.”

  “That’s, like, two months away.”

  “A month and a half,” Lux said quickly. “If you don’t ask someone soon, the perfect girl just might get snapped up.”

  The girl could multitask. She shared a look with Lucia while still concentrating on Bram’s ear, gently pulling at his lobe. And then her mouth came down on it. Trevor watched, transfixed by the movement of her lips.

  The slo-mo caught up with him and Trevor reminded himself that Lux was his best friend’s girl. But her mouth. He caught a glimpse of tongue.

  Trevor licked his own lips. But then he noticed that Bram was looking at him. With his girl’s teeth still tugging on his ear, Bram stared. It wasn’t even a mean stare either. It was more of an I get it stare. Lux was hot, and Bram was generous. It’s okay, you can look.

  But now Trevor felt sorta dirty. He quickly looked away, his eyes landing instead on Lucia, who caught his gaze eagerly, like she’d been waiting with a net. A good sign. She was obviously interested, but no way was he going to ask her to a dance that was happening a month and a half from now, like a loser—especially in front of all these people.

  “This song is dope,” he said instead.

  “Yeah,” Lucia said. “I love Chance.”

  It was Kendrick, but whatever. The conversation stalled before it could start. When Trevor didn’t know what to do on the field, he looked around for cues. His eyes darted around the room now, searching. Maybe there’d be somebody doing something stupid, somebody he could make fun of to get a laugh out of Lucia.

  That’s when he saw it.

  “What?” Trevor sat up. There was a red balloon animal on the credenza. A dog standing on its hind legs like it was begging for a treat.

  “I said, wanna share?”

  “Huh?” He looked at Lucia, who was holding out a cup. Focus, Driggy. He took a swig of her drink. More vodka.

  When Trevor looked at the credenza again, the balloon dog was gone. But then Trevor saw something else. He fumbled the cup, nearly dropping it. He blinked once, then again, wondering if he should slow down on the drinking because he was definitely seeing things that weren’t real.

  There was a girl standing in the corner of the living room with a red, round clown nose on her face.

  “What the hell?”

  “Excuse me?” Lucia said.

  “Wait here.”

  As soon as Trevor got up from the couch, the girl with the red nose turned away. He walked toward her but she walked faster, joining the crowd of people. He shoved through them, pushing people out of his way.

  “Hey!” He grabbed the girl’s shoulder and spun her around.

  The girl glared at him. Had he seen her before? She was kinda cute with lots of freckles and a pissed-off look on her face. But no red nose.

  He was definitely seeing things. It hit him then, who she was. “You tried to kill Lux.”

  She began to walk away. “Blow me.”

  “How did you get in here?” He grabbed her elbow and noticed that her fingertips were stained red and green.

  “Let go of me.” She wrenched out of his grip.

  “Get out of my house.”

  “Gladly.”

  Even after she’d left, the door slamming behind her, Trevor stayed standing in his foyer numbly, still thinking about the red nose and that balloon animal. A familiar knot formed between his shoulder blades, an annoying feeling that he couldn’t shake. He opened the door again to make sure the girl was gone, but then stumbled back when he saw what was waiting on the other side.

  A clown. A frizzy blue wig, a painted grin, and his finger hovering over the doorbell. He was even holding balloons. “Birthday gram!” The clown giggled.

  “NOPE!” Trevor slammed the door shut. Now he was breathing hard and the only thing he was capable of doing was leaning against the closed door with all of his strength. He tried to catch his breath.

  Trevor hated clowns.

  When he was seven years old his parents had hired a clown for his birthday party. They’d made Trevor sit on the clown’s lap for pictures. And Trevor had had an accident. Right there on the clown’s lap.

  That clown—who smelled of face paint and body odor (Trevor would never forget it)—started cursing like crazy when he felt the wet mess. Trevor had never heard bad words spoken out loud by a grown-up before, and it freaked him out. Not least because the ugly words had come pouring out of a mouth that was red like a gash. The expression on the clown’s face still haunted Trevor, morphing into something monstrous as he picked Trevor up by the armpits, yelling, “He pissed on me!” Trevor shuddered as he pictured the guy’s painted purple eyebrows, his white makeup caked into pitted skin, flaking off in some parts.

  But that had been a long time ago, and this was a mistake. He needed to relax, go back to his friends, and chill the hell out.

  Back at the couch, Bram and Lux were glued together. His hands to her hips, her hands to his hair. And their lips. Anyone watching might wonder if they were trying to get unstuck or sink into each other. It was kissing quicksand.

  Trevor sat down next to Lucia. He was still the Man. Still time to make the Move. “So I was thinking…” He trailed off, but it wasn’t the slo-mo this time. There was music coming from somewhere, fighting the party playlist. It burrowed in his ear like a nasty fly and he couldn’t do or think of anything else until it stopped. He fished his phone out of his pocket, but that wasn’t it.

  “Somewhere you have to be?” Lucia asked, her tone light, but she was def getting annoyed. Trevor put his phone away and shook his head. “I’m staying right here.”

  But he couldn’t be the only one who heard the music. Tinny, way too jolly-sounding. It was an itch in his brain. “Yo, does anyone else hear that?”

  “Hear what?” Bram said, coming up for air.

  “I think it’s coming from upstairs. I told people the second floor was off-limits.” He was starting to get up when Bram’s hand pushed him back down.

  “You stay, I’ll go.” Then, in a low voice in Trevor’s ear, he added, “Be the Man.”

  Bram was probably just going to scope out a room for him and Lux, Trevor thought, but whatever. Back to the matter at hand. Lucia was looking extra eager tonight. But then Lux leaned over and she and Lucia started whispering like Trevor wasn’t even there.

  His pocket buzzed and he took out his phone. A text from Bram.

  Something weird up here.

  “I’ll be right back,” Trevor told the girls, who continued ignoring him.

  He had to sidestep around Jamie Powells, who had his tongue shoved down George Chen’s throat, then nearly crashed into a girl as she flew down the stairs. Felicity Something.
Her eyes were wild.

  “What were you doing upstairs?”

  But she didn’t answer. As he watched her run off he noticed a blue smear on her sleeve. Makeup? It reminded him of the awful face paint that clowns used. He turned back to the stairs. He hesitated. Something weird was going on. Trevor bounced on the balls of his feet, just like he did before a game, pumping himself up. Nothing to be scared of.

  When he got upstairs, he didn’t see Bram. But he also didn’t hear any trace of the strange, tinny music that had made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. It was almost too quiet. The noise from downstairs felt muted, like someone had put pillows over his ears. “Bram?”

  Trevor’s phone buzzed. A text from Bram.

  Bram can’t help you.

  “What? Bram, where you at, man?” he muttered.

  That music again. Now Trevor could make out what it was. He’d heard that song before. It was the exact same song that had been playing at his seventh birthday party.

  The music was coming from down the hall. From Trevor’s own bedroom. His door was open, and then, in an instant, a light switched on inside. His bedside lamp.

  Trevor was drawn to it like a moth. He treaded slowly. That knot between his shoulder blades was back, his whole body stiffening with dread. He felt like he was being watched.

  “Bram?”

  No one was there.

  But then he saw feet sticking out from under the other side of the bed. Trevor rushed over and now he could see it all. “Bram!”

  Bram was facedown on the floor in a pool of blood.

  Trevor was about to reach for him when he noticed something by the blood. Red, too, and sticky. A footprint, but way too big.

  Trevor’s breathing grew shallow when he saw the smiley face embossed on the sole of the imprint. Then Trevor noticed more footprints. A trail of them, all leading one by one to the closet door.

  He should’ve run. He should’ve called for help, done something. But that delayed response again.

  A buzz.

  Another text. From Bram.

  HAPPY BIRTHDAY

  HAPPY BIRTHDAY

  HAPPY BIRTHDAY

  And then, a giggle. A maniacal, cloying, disgusting giggle, getting louder and louder.

  “What the hell?” Trevor yelled, backing up.

  The closet door banged open and out lunged a clown, swinging a knife. He let out a cackle and this time there was no delayed response. This time Trevor ran like he was on the field—no, like he was seven years old and a killer clown was out to murder him.

  He ran downstairs, nearly tripping over his own feet. The crowd parted and someone cut the music. Trevor stood there in silence, his chest heaving for air. They were all staring at him, some of them even taking out their phones to film him. When he looked down, he could see why. There was a wet stain down the front of his pants.

  17

  WE RAN, SHOES thwacking pavement, my hair whipping my cheeks, the wind swooshing by my ears. All of it colored by the sound of my breathing—hard and electrified.

  Our rendezvous point had been decided beforehand: Tompkins Square Park, seven blocks from Trevor’s duplex, a five-minute breakneck run from the scene of the crime. Some of us could have left for the park once we finished our roles in the Fear Test, but we’d wanted to stick around, to see Trevor get his.

  Felicity could’ve run track, she was going so fast. I, on the other hand, was out of breath by the second block, but the buzz of what we’d just pulled off kept my legs pumping. Freddie’s wig was off, but he was still in costume a few paces ahead of me. He turned and reached back for me and for five blocks we ran together, hand in hand, through the black-paved streets and past the twinkling buildings.

  The running, getting away with it, the feeling of Freddie’s fingers interlocked with mine—it turned all of Manhattan into a blur. I squeezed his hand and he squeezed back, both of us grinning like, well, clowns.

  We burst into the park. Felicity was already waiting there, palms on knees, gulping air. A minute later, Bram showed up. Half of his long-sleeved tee was dyed red, his cheek and jaw streaked with it, too. It looked real, though we all knew it would never congeal and turn brown like real blood would. He rubbed a towel into his damp hair, making it stick up in clumps. He wasn’t out of breath, though.

  “Took an Uber,” he said. “I told everybody I tripped and hit my head.”

  “They believed you?” I asked, my breath ragged.

  “Head wounds are gushers.” Bram ruffled the towel around his head. “Where’s Thayer?”

  We looked around, waiting. The longer the minutes stretched, the more our buoyancy began to char at the edges. And then Thayer barged in through the shadows. I’d never been more thrilled to see a knife-wielding clown in a park.

  “HE PISSED HIS PANTS!” Thayer yelled to the sky.

  I looked over at Freddie, and his expression matched mine. He was the first to start laughing. And like water on high heat, we all started bubbling with it. Bram’s shoulders shook, Freddie down on his knees, weak. It may have been Thayer’s Fear Test, but it was a team effort. Us against the world, wrapped up in a weird bubble that nobody could pop right now.

  “Technically, you didn’t make him scream,” Felicity said. But even she wasn’t immune to this jubilant feeling. Her usual scowl had lifted and was on the verge of breaking into a runaway smile.

  Thayer shook his head. “I’d take piss over a scream any day. BEAT THAT, MOFOS!”

  “How did you know he was afraid of clowns?” Freddie asked, clapping Thayer on the back.

  “The greatest trick the devil ever pulled was making us forget he pissed himself in front of a clown before. His seventh birthday party. I was there. It’s one of my fondest memories.”

  “You’re lucky Trevor is so damn afraid of clowns,” Bram teased, “because those bloody clown shoe prints were cheesy as fuck.”

  “It got the job done, didn’t it?” Thayer said.

  “Just saying.” Bram shrugged. “I was about to break character.”

  “What are you going to say to Trevor?” I asked Bram. “He’s going to know someone was messing with him. And that you were a part of it.”

  “All Trevor knows is that he was drunk. No one else saw a killer clown.”

  I watched Bram, took in how easy it was for him to lie. This all boiled down to a prank, but it was designed to be cruel—Thayer’s revenge for Trevor’s years of bullying. Although I thought Trevor deserved it, I still wondered how Bram could do that to his friend.

  “But I wanted them to see me,” Thayer said.

  “Yeah, why didn’t you come down to the party?” Freddie asked.

  And now I remembered that that had been part of Thayer’s original plan. He was going to come down the stairs and run around scaring everyone else at the party for some “extra credit,” as he’d put it.

  “Players who don’t finish their tests get an incomplete,” Felicity said.

  “Where is that in the rules?” Thayer said. “Going down the stairs was just garnish. I still served a delicious freaking meal.”

  “Why didn’t you go down the stairs?” Freddie asked again.

  “Okay, I was going to, all right? But I tripped. Someone pushed me.”

  “You tripped or someone pushed you?” I said.

  “I don’t know. I almost fell down the stairs but I caught myself. I lost the momentum, though. Decided to go out the window instead.” He was still breathing too hard for me to tell whether this rattled him, the fact that there was a hitch in his test. But with his next deep breath came a change in subject.

  “I was on fire, man. I killed it. I put Trevor in his place!” He bounced up and down like a spring, all energy and excitement. “I finally put that asshole in his place.”

  Whatever thoughts any of us had about the hiccup in Thayer’s plot were already being erased by the realization of what we’d just done. The memory was so fresh I could practically smell it, breathe it in, feel it tingling my skin
.

  “He was so scared,” Thayer said. “He was scared shitless.”

  “He was,” I said, smiling. “We all saw it.”

  “But not all of it,” Freddie said, whirling around. “Bram. You were in the room. Did Trevor lose it?”

  Bram took a moment and settled into his regular posture: broad shoulders slightly hunched, head bent. When he looked up, his lips stretched so slowly that it took a minute before I realized he was smiling. “He lost it.”

  Thayer let out a delighted whoop.

  We noticed two men coming into the park from the west side. They were about ten yards away. We froze. So did they. The men took us in, turned around immediately, and got the hell out of there.

  Freddie cracked up, pointing at Thayer in his ridiculous clown costume, and then at Bram, covered in blood. Bram looked down at himself, messy with the red goo, and started to laugh, too. In seconds, we were all reduced to giggles again, Thayer practically squirming on the ground.

  Anxiety and exhilaration were two sides of the same coin; both made you lose your breath, made your skin vibrate so strong your teeth could chatter. But on one side it felt like torture, and on the other it was elation. Enlightenment. Nirvana. It was the crystal-clear sense of the whistling trees all around you and the dark green grass tickling your cheeks. It was going dizzy but not feeling like you were about to faint. Feeling, actually, like you could float.

  It was this, right now. And it was perfect.

  Who knew that scaring someone could feel like this? I touched my humming lips, trying to make this emotion tangible. But what I felt was power. A sensation that had eluded me since the previous year.

  Our laughter died down. On one side of me, Freddie readjusted his glasses, looking up at the black sky. On the other side of me was Bram. Tonight’s Fear Test had thawed the icy layer that had always seemed to stand between us. And for the first time Bram smiled at me. I smiled back.

  If I was a monster, then so was everyone else in this club. And for once I didn’t feel like such a freak.