It was on the last day Dante, Freddy, and I hung out together. We sat at lunch, chowing down on what we liked to call Roadkill Roast—an oversalted, semi-edible pot-roast substance that the cafeteria served. It was nice out that day, so most kids sat at the outdoor lunch tables. Then, a few tables over from us, Celeste Kroeger, of Banshee fame, dropped her tray on the ground, flipping her Roadkill Roast into the dirt.
“Best thing that could happen to the stuff,” Dante commented. “Now all she has to do is kick some dirt over it and give it a decent burial.”
But that’s not what she did. Instead, Celeste knelt down and picked up the strips of pot roast one by one ... and pushed each one into her mouth.
“Oh, gross!” Freddy said. Dante and I were beyond even those words. We just stared. You know the “three-second rule”? That brainless notion that if food hits the ground, it’s not dirty if you get it off the ground in three seconds? Well, when something falls into mud, that doesn’t really apply. There was more mud on those strips than there was beef.
“I think I’m gonna hurl,” said Dante.
“Don’t,” I told him. “She might eat that, too.”
We just watched, stupefied, as Celeste pulled every last piece of pot roast, every carrot fragment, every little shriveled pea out of the mud and ate it, licking her fingers when she was done. Then she washed it down with a container of milk. It made me shiver, because I thought of the way Ernest had guzzled those leftover milks from empty tables. The way my brother downed a half gallon the other night.
“She didn’t even wipe the mud off the meat,” Dante said.
“She liked it,” I told them, and the more I thought about it, the more certain I was that it was true. “She liked the dirt more than the meat.”
Dante stuck out his tongue. “Well, that’s just sick.”
And although I had to agree, it brought to mind something I had heard about cravings. People think pregnant women crave pickles, but the truth is, each pregnant woman craves something different. It has to do with what your body needs at the time. My mom craved lemons every day that she was pregnant with Katrina. I always used to say that’s why she turned out so sour. It’s not only pregnant women who have cravings, however. Celeste was having a strange craving for some other reason. I have heard of people craving mud. That was supposed to mean your body needed certain minerals. But craving and eating are two different things.
“She’s gone nuts,” Freddy said, and left it at that. They thought this was an isolated incident, just one freakish girl with a weird taste for muddy meat—but I wasn’t so sure. Over the next few days, I kept an eye out for things like it, and I found that there was a whole earthen feast going on.
... Like the girl in ceramics class who, while throwing a pot on the spinning wheel, didn’t just use her fingers; she leaned over and began shaping the pot with her tongue.
... Like the girl who dipped her hand into her boyfriend’s trail mix, only to find there were actual parts of the trail mixed in with the nuts and raisins.
... Like the kid who kept biting his fingernails just to get at the black nail jam underneath.
... And like Celeste Kroeger, who kept knocking her plate “accidentally” into the mud, day after day, then scooping it back up from the ground and eating it, mud and all.
I asked Tara about it as we sat one afternoon having a picnic among the bobbing insect heads of our secret oil field. She just shrugged.
“People are weird,” she said. “Haven’t you figured that out yet?”
“Yeah—but eating dirt and rocks and stuff? I mean, what could make a normal person do something like that?”
“The key word here,” said Tara, “is normal. A normal person wouldn’t.”
“So then you agree that there’s something up with them?”
Again she just shrugged—but a little less comfortably this time. “Could be just some stupid, trendy thing they saw on TV I read about some kids who heard you could get drunk on water, so they drank so much that they got brain damage. Stupid.”
I ate my sandwich, mercifully free of anything that wasn’t supposed to be in there. No sand, no rocks. A side of me wanted to leave the whole situation alone, but there was another, darker side that couldn’t let it go. It was the same side of me that somehow sensed Tara knew more than she was telling. Sometimes, though, you make a pact with yourself. I’ll pretend there’s nothing wrong if you pretend there’s nothing wrong. It’s called denial, and it’s one of the strongest pacts in the world. Just ask all those people who were still drinking champagne while the Titanic went down.
I was standing on the rocky slope at the edge of the cliff just beyond Darwin’s Curve. A gentle breeze blew my hair in and out of my eyes as I looked out over the town below.
I was alone.
No, someone was with me—behind me. I could feel it. I wanted to turn around and see who it was, but I couldn’t. I was frozen. All I could do was stare down at the town. It seemed so tiny. So fragile.
Whoever was behind me was closer now, inches from my back, and suddenly I was afraid—afraid that this person would push me over the edge of the cliff. I could sense hands about to touch my back and give me a shove.
I saw a sudden movement on the ground beneath me—a shadow. The shadow of a headful of snakes. No—not snakes. Twirls of curly hair.
It was Tara.
I sighed with relief and felt my body relax. I was safe.
Then I felt her hands connect with my back, hard—and I tumbled off the edge in a mad free fall, until ...
... I woke up in bed.
I had known it was a dream from the very beginning—sometimes you just do ... but that didn’t change how powerful it had felt. Dreams can twist your emotions like no reality can.
I got out of bed and made my way to the bathroom. Dim light streamed in through the window, and I saw myself in the mirror. Something in my hair caught my eye.
My twisted curl.
It seemed to sparkle, catching the early morning light. I flicked on the bathroom light, leaned over the sink, and took a closer look.
My own hair is light brown, but this twirl appeared to be made of many different colors, combining strands of black, red, different shades of brown from dark to light, blond, and even silver.
And then I saw it twitch.
It must have been a trick of the light, or maybe my head had moved. I put my chin in my hand and held my head as still as I could. The hanging curl didn’t move. I held my position there to make absolutely sure. A minute. Two minutes. Finally I relaxed and looked away only for an instant.
And the curl twitched again. I caught it only out of the corner of my eye, like the ghosts you see late at night after you’ve spent too much time watching TV
I yanked open the drawer and looked for scissors, but I couldn’t find any. I slammed the drawer in frustration, then threw on some clothes and headed downstairs.
The rest of the family was already eating breakfast. Katrina noisily munched her cereal. My parents drank coffee and ate English muffins while sharing the paper. Garrett lifted his cereal bowl to his mouth, guzzling the rest of his milk.
“Gross!” Katrina shouted, pointing at my head. “Parker has a worm in his hair.”
“It’s not a worm,” I said, taking a seat and grabbing the box of cereal. “It’s just hair.”
“It’s like Tara’s!” Katrina squealed.
“Yeah, but I’m getting rid of it.”
My dad now looked thoughtfully at my brother. “Got enough milk there, Garrett?”
Garrett was pouring more milk into his empty bowl, nearly filling it.
“Huh?” Garrett looked down at his bowl, as though seeing it for the first time. “Oh, right. Cereal.”
He snatched the box from me, reached inside, and grabbed a handful of colorful loops. He dropped them into his bowl, and a thin layer of cereal spread out across the deep lake of milk. Garrett picked up his spoon, scooped up the few floating cerealbergs, then lif
ted the bowl and sucked down the rest of the milk. He didn’t seem to notice that we were all still staring at him, because when he was done, he poured himself yet another bowl of cereal-less milk.
“Garrett,” said my dad, touching his arm. “Are you feeling okay?”
Garrett pulled away. He never liked it when anyone touched him.
“I’m getting the thermometer,” Mom said.
As soon as she left the room, Garrett stood up.
“I’m outta here,” he announced. His exit might have been more dramatic, but instead of storming out in his usual spring-legged stomp, he just kind of shuffled away, like every step was an effort.
“What’s wrong with this family?” Katrina asked.
I finished the rest of my cereal. I didn’t have an appetite anymore, but at least eating took my mind off Garrett’s strange behavior.
I sat outside by myself at lunch. I didn’t feel like sharing my space with anyone, but I could hear them talking. About me. I knew they were staring at me and my dangling curl.
I could feel it twitch.
I sat on the edge of the quad, looking at the other kids in groups of twos, threes, and fours. They were laughing, talking, relaxing. They looked so far away to me: distant and remote, as if I would never be part of their world again. I knew if I wanted to I could just walk over to any table and start talking to them, and I’d be accepted—welcomed, even—but I didn’t want to. Not then, anyway.
I heard someone behind me, and before I could turn around to see who it was, I heard: “Hi, Baby Baer.”
I stiffened, then relaxed again.
Tara sat down. I looked at her for a long time, but as always, I could only see myself reflected in her shades.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“What happened that night you went out with Garrett?”
“Still worried about your brother?” Tara said with a smile. “You shouldn’t be.”
I stared at her and said nothing. She sighed.
“Nothing happened,” she said. “We went out to the rodeo, then played a few lame carnival games. That’s all. We won’t be going out again.”
“He’s acting strange at home.”
She shrugged. “Why is that my problem?”
I began to feel a little guilty for accusing her—although I don’t even know what I was accusing her of. I nodded and even managed a small smile. “Yeah, you’re right,” I said.
“Good,” she said. “I’m glad that’s settled. Now ... what can you tell me about Leticia Fernandez?” She reached up and turned my head toward another table, where Leticia and a few of her friends were chatting.
“Not a lot.” I tried to dredge up all I could remember about her. “She’s on the drill team. I think she’s an artist or something. I hardly know her. Why?”
“I want you to introduce me to her. I have a feeling the two of us can be good friends.”
I tried to make sense of Tara’s request and couldn’t. I slowly shook my head, confused. “What do you need me for, Tara?” I asked. “You can introduce yourself to her. Everyone here knows who you are.”
“I know I could do it myself, but I don’t want to. I want you to do it.”
“Why?”
Tara slid closer to me. I couldn’t read the expression on her face.
“You’re not like them anymore, are you, Baby Baer?” she said. “Can’t you feel it? You’re changing. You can act like you still fit in, but you really don’t.”
Tara reached out and wrapped another strand of my hair around her finger. I should have pushed her hand away, but I liked that feeling of her finger twisting in my hair way too much.
“I feel like you’re playing games with me,” I said.
She shook her head. “It’s not a game, Parker. It’s not a game at all. Think of it as a gift: your gift, to me. But you’ll get something back, too. Something that will make it all worthwhile.”
She kept talking as she twisted my hair around her finger. “All you have to do is trust me, Parker. I need you to trust me. You, of all people.”
She released my hair. And although I couldn’t see it, I knew what she had given me. I knew because I could feel the way it twitched.
“You’re growing, Parker,” she said.
“Growing?” I asked. “Into what?”
“You’ll see.”
Like I told Tara, I didn’t know Leticia very well, but she knew me. She was one of the cheerleaders who had cheered me on when I was the star of the basketball team last year.
“Hey, Leticia,” I said to her later that day. I was sitting on a bench near the entrance to the gym, pretending to study, pretending I wasn’t lying in wait. I’d probably never spoken to her the entire time we’d been at school together. If she was surprised that I was talking to her now, she didn’t show it.
“Hi, Parker. What’s up?”
“The usual. You know. Where are you headed?”
“Um, lunch? The cafeteria?”
“Hey, cool, I’ll walk over with you.” I felt like an absolute idiot. I didn’t know what I was saying, or what I was going to say next, but it was too late to stop. “It’s been a while since we talked, huh?”
“I don’t think we ever talked. I didn’t think you even knew I was alive.”
“Sure I knew,” I said. “I always saw you, cheering on the sidelines. You were the one who jumped the highest.”
Leticia smiled and shook her head. “No,” she said, “you were the one who jumped the highest. I’m sorry you’re not playing anymore.”
I don’t know why I’d never talked to her before. She seemed nice. And she was pretty, too. How come I’d never really noticed her until now? Until it was too late.
Too late? Why did I think that?
When we entered the cafeteria, I saw Tara not far away, sitting with her back to us, eating by herself at a table. Like we had planned.
For about five minutes my life had seemed normal again, a feeling I hadn’t realized I’d been missing.
“Nowhere to sit,” Leticia said, scanning the cafeteria.
“Hey,” I said casually, “there’s Tara. Do you know her?”
“No,” Leticia said, “we haven’t met. Although I’ve heard a lot about her.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Rumors, mostly—she’s filthy rich, and her family dumped her here.”
“Actually, she’s a friend of mine,” I said. “She’s not that bad.”
“I’m sure she’s not,” Leticia said quickly. “They were just rumors. I’m really curious about her. It seems to me like she must be very lonely. Why don’t we go sit with her?”
“You want to?” I asked.
“Sure.”
“Okay. Come on, I’ll introduce you.”
And that was that. I had led this pretty, unsuspecting fly into the web, and she never even knew. As we walked toward Tara’s table, I had a mixture of feelings in the pit of my stomach: so many different feelings that I couldn’t pick them apart. The strongest was a feeling of dread, followed by the feeling that I was doing something incredibly wrong. But there was also a feeling of pride, the feeling that I had accomplished what I had set out to do, and a warm glow that came from making Tara happy I pushed all the feelings, good and bad, farther down into the pit of my stomach, hoping that I could just quietly digest them.
Tara and Leticia hit it off immediately. Soon they were giggling together like they had known each other for years. When lunch was over, they walked off together without a word to me. Tara didn’t even glance back.
Of course a few days later, Tara was back at my side. As for Leticia ... well, I didn’t see her in school that day. I didn’t make a point of looking for her, either.
“There’s someone else I want to meet, Parker.”
It was morning, before school started. No one else was around. I was sitting under a tree in the quad. This time I didn’t bother looking up.
“Who?” was all I said. “Where and when?”
“I
want you to introduce me to Josh Weinstein.”
Josh was the best actor in the drama department by far. He had been the lead in every play since he had started at the school, and he’d already been in a couple of commercials. If Tara wanted to meet Josh, I would introduce her to Josh.
As I headed off to do her bidding, it occurred to me that I was acting more and more like a willing toady, rushing to obey my master’s whim. I should shake hands with Igor, I thought, the vile assistant of Dr. Frankenstein. Or better yet Renfield, the mad, bug-eating lackey of Count Dracula.
But I had it easier than them. Igor had to dig up bodies for the terrible Dr. Frankenstein. My bodies were right there, walking the well-tended grass of our school. And all I had to do with them was introduce them to Tara.
But I realized something that both of those henchmen must have realized, too. I was starting to enjoy it.
As I approached Josh, a strange sense of hunger came over me, almost making me drool. Hunger for what, I didn’t know, but I found myself rubbing my hands together like a fly preparing to dine. All the while, my two twists of hair both dangled to the left side of my face, feeling eerily heavy and off center. Like the hunch on Igor’s back must have felt to him.
I had started taking lunch in the library, not eating—not even feeling hungry. And anyway, by taking the time to do my homework during lunch, I avoided thinking too much and seeing all the strange eating behaviors that had begun to plague more and more students in the school. It was beyond just weird. It was, in fact, so disturbing, my whole body shuddered when I thought about it. I had always been pretty talented at blocking out things that I didn’t want to think about. Now was one of those times when such a skill came in very handy.
I was sitting there, working hard at blocking everyone and everything out when Freddy and Dante noisily barged into the library, to the librarian’s dirty looks. They spotted me right away.
“Yo, Parker!” said Freddy. “More curls? What’s up with that?”
Dread Locks Page 7
