Freaks of Greenfield High

by Anderson, Maree

  Jay led her guests up the two flights of stairs and ushered Tyler and Caro inside.

  “Something smells good,” Caro said. “What’s for—? Whoa!” She whistled as she surveyed the apartment.

  Tyler surveyed the space with a more critical eye. “This isn’t what I expected.”

  “What did you expect?” Jay asked.

  “I—” His gaze darted from her, to her living space, and back to her. He frowned and gnawed his thumbnail. “Dunno exactly. Just not this.”

  She paused to consider her apartment from Tyler and Caro’s perspective. The area was like a smaller version of Greenfield High’s gymnasium. It had a high stud, with a series of small square windows inset just below the raftered ceiling. Given the lack of windows at viewing height, it would have been a gloomy, closed in space, save for two large skylights that drenched the apartment in light. Jay appreciated them solely because they provided her with another exit from the building.

  The space had been partitioned off at one end to form two bedrooms and a bathroom. The rest of the interior was open-plan, with a galley-style kitchen and laundry along one wall. The appliances were yellowed with age but in good working order. They had come with the lease. Jay had furnished the rest of the space with second-hand furniture she’d acquired from a deceased estate.

  Aligned with kitchen area was a massive mahogany dining room table with eight matching chairs upholstered in faded bronze velvet. The table was pitted with age but waxed to a high sheen. The lemon scent of the wax Jay had used still lingered in the air.

  Beside the dining area, the living area had been delineated by a massive Persian rug. The rug was threadbare in patches, the intricacies of its pattern faded and now almost indiscernible. It’d been thrown in at no extra cost because it’d been deemed practically worthless. Jay had taken it because it reminded her of the rug that had adorned the polished floorboards of Father’s living room.

  Atop the rug, two settees and a matching lounger were arranged around a large, solid mahogany coffee table. The chairs were upholstered in buttoned burgundy leather, now burnished and spider-webbed with age.

  Tyler read aloud the ornate calligraphy specimen Jay had framed and hung on the exposed brick wall. “For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten son, that whosoever believeth in Him shall not perish, but have eternal life. John 3:16. What’s that about?”

  “It was my father’s,” she told him, a statement which wasn’t strictly true. It was a replica of the piece the old man had hung on the wall of his study. Jay had done the calligraphy herself, then mounted and framed it. This was the third replica of the piece. It wasn’t always possible to pack her belongings each time she was forced to move. On more than one occasion, she’d uploaded a virus to wipe her computer’s hard drive and left with only the clothes on her back.

  To Jay, the piece of calligraphy represented the old man’s sacrifice for her—the cyborg he’d created in the image of his dead wife. For so long as Jay walked the earth, Mary Durham would live on. And so would the memory of Alexander Durham, Jay’s creator.

  She had also bought the estate’s library, and the entire spare wall of the apartment was devoted to bookcases stuffed with books. Even so, despite her efforts, only about a third of the large area was occupied with furniture. The emptiness didn’t bother Jay. She wondered if it bothered Tyler.

  He wandered over to scan the titles in the nearest bookcase. “So you like to read, huh?”

  “Yes.”

  An understatement. Jay needed to read. The process of turning each page and disciplining herself to read every single word aloud, relishing the unfolding rhythm as each word segued into a sentence, a paragraph, a chapter, sweeping her inexorably onward until the final page when author’s vision was at last fully revealed…. It grounded her, gave her something in common with the humans she hoped to emulate and live amongst. Let her imagine, at least for the duration of each book she read, that she was human.

  “Where’s the TV?” Caro wanted to know.

  “I don’t have one.”

  “You don’t have one? Oh. Okay.”

  She appeared so dismayed by the lack that Jay felt compelled to add, “I watch a lot of DVDs and programs on my computer.”

  Tyler had spotted the huge flat screen monitor and the rest of the computer equipment taking up an entire third of the dining room table. “That yours?”

  “Yes.”

  He ambled over to check it all out. “Hoh baby! No expense spared, huh?”

  “No.” He seemed to be waiting expectantly so Jay elaborated. “When my father died, he left me heaps of money.”

  Some of his enthusiasm diminished. “Shit. Sorry. Didn’t mean to, you know, get personal.”

  She shrugged. “It was a long time ago.”

  “Can I check out this sweet thang?” He indicated the computer, his gaze hopeful.

  “Sure.” None of Father’s research notes were stored on this computer. They had all been destroyed. The only copy remaining was encoded within Jay’s artificial brain and protected by a verbal password calibrated only to her voice pattern. Other than music and eBooks, there were no personal files on the computer, either—why would there be, when Jay herself functioned like a computer and could recall everything of importance? She powered on the PC and input the bios password.

  Tyler flopped into the chair and clicked on the media player icon to check out the list of downloaded songs in her library. Within seconds Cold Play’s latest blared from the computer speakers.

  “Awesome!” Caro held out her arms and did a three-sixty. Her face broke into a huge grin. “Your system is way superior than Shawn’s Bose. He’d be green with envy.”

  “There’s no point listening to good music on bad equipment,” she said, meaning it.

  “The acoustics in this place are incredible,” Tyler said.

  “You should bring your guitar over one day and check what it sounds like.”

  “Thanks. I’d like that.”

  Both he and Caro seemed to be waiting for her to do something. She concluded the “something” was for her to act the host.

  “Would either of you like a soda?”

  “Cola, if you’ve got it,” Tyler said.

  “Diet for me.”

  Jay knew exactly what the contents of her fridge happened to be at any given time. “Sorry, no diet sodas,” she told Caro. “Not that you need diet anything, anyway.”

  Caro beamed. Her brother sniggered and she stuck her tongue out at him. “Jerk.”

  Jay snagged the colas from her fridge and tossed one to Tyler and another to Caro. She popped the tab on her can and took a long swig, draining half the contents. Her appreciation for this beverage had only increased over time. She closed her eyes as sugary bubbles fizzed through her system like the nectar of some ancient gods.

  Caro interrupted her little sugar-rush. “What’re you going to feed us? And more importantly, when? Starving, here!”

  “Caro,” Tyler scolded. “Don’t be so damn rude. Where’re your manners?”

  His sister smirked at him. “Next thing you’ll be digging up napkins and wanting Jay to set the table with the good—” she formed quote marks with her fingers “—crockery. What are you? Our mom?”

  “Ignore her, Jay,” Tyler advised. “She’s practically a savage until she gets fed.”

  The savage sauntered over to sprawl on the settee. “So what’s it to be? Burgers? Pizza? Hope it’s pizza. I haven’t had pizza in ages.” She sniffed the air. “Though it doesn’t smell like pizza.”

  Jay quirked an eyebrow. “You don’t think much of my abilities as a chef, do you? I thought we’d start off with San Jacobos, which are a type of Tapas. Then I’ve made Pork Cassoulet for our main and—”

  “Pork Casso-what?” Tyler asked.

  “Cassoulet. It’s a well-known French dish based on white beans cooked with pork, bacon, sausages and a variety of other ingredients. I realize that it’s more winter fare, but it was
a favorite of my father’s and I wanted to share it with you.”

  “Uh, right. Sounds pretty fancy.”

  “And like you went to far too much trouble,” Tyler chimed in.

  “It was no trouble.” Jay waved a hand to indicate the slow cooker on the bench. She’d assembled the ingredients this morning, and put the cooker on a timer to turn on at mid-morning. She lifted the lid to gave the contents a stir, and switched the dial to High. “I just have to pan-fry the sausages and add them to the cassoulet, then it’ll be ready in about thirty minutes.”

  Tyler wandered over to peer over her shoulder. “Looks pretty good,” was his considered opinion. He inhaled, closing his eyes. “Smells even better. And what’s for dessert?”

  “Little pots of chocolate.”

  “Little pots of chocolate?” Caro asked.

  “I think she means instant pudding,” Tyler told his sister.

  Jay opened her mouth to explain there was nothing “instant” about her melted chocolate, double cream and egg mixture which had been flavored with pure vanilla essence and a dash of brandy, and then thought better of it. “Yes,” she said. “That’s exactly what I mean. There’s ice-cream, too.”

  “Yum!” Caro said, which Jay gathered signified approval of the dessert menu, at least.

  “Where’re these Tapa thingies?” Tyler asked.

  “In the refrigerator on the large white platter. If you wouldn’t mind taking them over to the coffee table while I finish up here? Paper napkins are in the cupboard to the left. Don’t feel you have to wait for me. If you’re hungry then help yourselves.”

  “Sure thing.”

  Tyler performed his chores while Jay fished a pan from a cupboard. From the corner of her eye, she noted her guests exchanging mystified looks over the platter of Tapas. She considered reassuring them as to the edibility of the Spanish appetizers by listing the ingredients and explaining the cooking method, but decided showcasing her knowledge would only make the situation worse.

  Perhaps she should have gone with her first instincts, which had been to provide numerous bags of potato chips. But she’d wanted to cook something special for Tyler. Obviously she still had a lot to learn about acting “normal”.

  Her guests seemed to have reached an agreement which involved them counting to three, and simultaneously popping an appetizer into their mouths.

  “This is really tasty!” Caro sounded so astonished Jay couldn’t help smiling. “What are they called again?”

  “San Jacobos.”

  “Fancy name for ham and cheese fried in breadcrumbs?” Caro guessed.

  “Exactly. They’re often served hot but as I had to make them this morning—” Jay shrugged, and for once the gesture felt natural and not forced. “I’m told they’re equally delicious served cold.”

  Tyler crammed another one in his mouth. “They sure are,” came his muffled response.

  “You must have gotten up really early this morning,” Caro probed.

  “Something like that.” In truth, she hadn’t gone to bed.

  In the short time it took to brown the spicy sausages and add them to the cassoulet, Tyler had made huge inroads into the Tapas. In fact, Caro had taken possession of the platter and adamantly refused to relinquish it until Jay had sampled some.

  “You’re such a guts!” she complained to her brother. “Anyone’d think you got worms.”

  “I’m a growing boy. Hand ’em over.”

  “No way. And the only thing growing on you is the moldy crust ’round your barely-used brain. That, and your expanding stomach if you eat any more of these things.”

  The banter—insults—flew thick and fast, and Jay watched, fascinated. She regretted the silence that descended shortly after she served the main dish and her guests, now confident of her cooking abilities, turned their attentions to the contents of their bowls.

  “That was fricking fantastic.” Tyler had eaten two helpings. He groaned and slid back on the settee ’til he was completely horizontal. He patted his stomach. “Don’t think I could manage another thing.”

  “Pity,” she said. “I’ve been told my chocolate pudding is heavenly.”

  “Heavenly, huh? Maybe I could find room for some.” He groaned again and closed his eyes. “Just give me five minutes to digest.”

  Caro threw Jay a mischievous look, cautioned her to silence with a finger to her lips, and edged from her chair. She tiptoed over to Tyler and pounced on him, kneeling on his legs and tickling his ribs.

  Jay grinned. She was merciless.

  “Gerroff!” Tyler did his best to fend her off but Caro had the advantage. “Dude!” he yelled at Jay. “Some help here?”

  Jay shook her head. “I don’t think it would be wise for me to interfere with sibling rivalry.”

  He managed to roll off the settee. Caro threw a cushion at him and the play-fight began in earnest.

  Jay’s grin grew wider still. She found herself wishing Father had created another like her, someone she could have talked to, confided in, shared dreams with…. Beaten up in a mock fight.

  Her grin turned wry. What a ridiculous fantasy. She had been created to be self-sufficient in every way. She had no need of friends. She did not require companionship. She—

  The cushion that smacked into her face was a most effective end to her introspection.

  Caro howled with laughter. “Gotcha!”

  Jay reached behind her and launched a cushion unerringly in Caro’s direction. It caught her right in the midriff.

  “Ooof!” Caro wheezed. “Hey, easy on the missiles, Champ! You’ve got a heck of an arm on you, I’ll say that much.”

  Tyler didn’t bother to throw his cushion. He walloped the back of Jay’s head with it instead. “Hah! Gotcha, too.”

  When she turned to face this new threat, Caro took the opportunity to grab another cushion and whack her on the back.

  “Hey!” Cushion-less and outnumbered, Jay fended off both antagonists with her hands, taking care not to hurt them with her superior strength. “That’s no way to treat your host. What would your mom say?”

  They merely sniggered and walloped her with renewed vigor. The cushion fight soon degenerated into a full-on wrestling match, with a heap of tickling thrown in. Jay wasn’t ticklish, but she crowed with laughter along with her guests. Even though she had to hold herself in check, she hadn’t had so much fun since….

  Ever.

  Tyler’s flailing foot knocked the empty platter from the coffee table and Jay, intent on escaping Caro’s nimble fingers, rolled atop it. She felt it shatter beneath her and surged to her feet.

  Caro and Tyler both froze, eyes wide with chagrin.

  “Shit! Sorry, Jay.” Tyler reached out to pick up one of the larger shards of crockery.

  “Leave it,” she told him, concerned that he would cut himself. “I’ll clean it up. And don’t worry, the platter was old but hardly an antique. No harm done.”

  “Actually,” Caro said, her voice sounding wobbly and strange, “there has been harm done. Look.” She’d risen to her knees to point at Jay, but now she sank back against the settee, her face pale beneath her makeup, the pupils of her eyes hugely dilated with shock.

  “What’s wrong, sis?” Tyler was instantly solicitous. “You not feeling too hot or something?”

  “N-not me. J-Jay. She’s hurt. Her arm. Oh God. Tyler, do something!”

  Jay glanced down at arm. “Oh.”

  “Shit!” Tyler stared at her, obviously appalled by all the blood. Or perhaps it was the large shard of crockery piercing Jay’s biceps.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Jay yanked up her sleeve to better examine the injury. She extracted the shard from her flesh and let it drop to the floor. The slash bled freely. Blood dribbled down her arm.

  Caro made a strangled noise, and Jay glanced up to see she had turned an even paler shade of white beneath her makeup. “Call 911,” she told her brother in a voice that was husky with shock and fear.

  �
��Unnecessary,” Jay said.

  “You’re so gonna need stitches,” Caro insisted.

  “I won’t. I’ll be fine.”

  “No freaking way will you be fine!” Tyler yelled.

  Jay pinched the wound together with her fingertips. “The bleeding will stop soon.”

  They both stared at her, disbelief straining their eyes, creasing their faces, hunching their bodies. “I could do with a soda, though,” she said, not because she was thirsty but because she hoped to break the tension.

  “Get her a soda, Tyler.” Caro’s gaze remained fixed on Jay as her brother leaped to do her bidding. “You really should get that seen to,” she said, visibly shaking off her shock and trying her best to assume a parental role. “If you’ve got some phobia about hospitals or doctors, and you’re scared to go on your own, we’ll come too.”