by Lori Adams
The bell rings just as Duffy swaggers in wearing a black fedora and a pink breast cancer T-shirt that says, BIG OR SMALL, LET’S SAVE THEM ALL! He cops a walk to ensure he’s noticed and then takes a seat and starts talking about Friday night’s big football game.
“Hey, sugar, you like watchin’ football?” he says in a seductive voice, like he’s asking to do Jell-O shots from my navel.
I suppress a smile. “I don’t know. You any good?”
His eyes blow up like balloons. “Fastest guy on the team!”
Raph laughs. “That’s like being the fastest snail.”
Duffy falls against his seat. “You’re killing me, man.”
Everybody laughs, and Raph winks at me, and I smile. I look at Michael and my smile slides off. He is the enemy of fun.
Michael is looking at me like he wants to tear my head off. I roll my eyes and turn away. Sir Scowls Alot has been officially added to my resolution of things to be ignored.
*
Okay, so the day cruises by at the appropriate altitude—nothing over my head. But I haven’t met my goal regarding Casey James, which is fine since I don’t know, exactly, how to ask, exactly, what I want to know. Exactly.
Taking some sage advice from my favorite zombie hunter in Zombieland, I decide to “nut up or shut up” during lunch.
I see Casey bribing a Coke from the vending machine so I walk over. What should I say … Hi, so you died yesterday, huh? Or how about, So what’s it like to be dead? No, no, no. Not cool.
“Hey there.” Casey sees me walking up and offers me the Coke he has beaten out of the machine. “Want one?”
“Yeah, thanks. I mean, no. You keep it.” I blink like hazard lights and anchor a strand of hair behind my ear. “Hey, Casey … I was wondering, I mean, how are you? You know, after yesterday?”
His eyes soften and a smile climbs up his cheeks. I think he’s cute when he’s not dying. “I’m okay,” he says vaguely.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
We stare awkwardly, and I try again.
“Well, I was wondering … what do you remember about it? You know, when you—”
“Hey, man! I’ve been looking for you.” Michael throws an arm around Casey and snags his attention. He ignores me like I’m a light fixture and starts describing a play from last week’s football game. Casey, like a lot of other guys I’ve noticed, seems to worship Michael. He is easily led astray, and I am left standing alone.
I can’t believe Michael’s nerve. He is so obviously keeping Casey away from me. I’m stunned speechless. Can’t cram two words together to bring Casey back. I am so suspicious that Michael is trying to hide something that I almost fail to notice how the second heartbeat sprang to life the moment he arrived. Almost.
*
I spend the rest of the day rethinking my plan about Casey. Was it rude of me to ask about the scariest moment in his life? After all, I really don’t know him and it’s a personal thing, right? Maybe Michael thought I was bothering Casey, and he jumped in to spare his feelings. Damn.
By the time the last bell rings, I’ve beaten myself up one side and down the other. I trudge to the jeep, feeling whipped by a cerebral heavyweight. My backpack is a dead body I stuff through the passenger’s side window. When I round to the driver’s side, there is Michael walking down the sidewalk. He looks at me as though I had called his name, and cuts across the lawn in my direction.
There is something about the way Michael moves that seems, I don’t know, predatory? Lethal? Like he’s unusually confident and ready to deflect an attack any moment. Maybe martial arts training? Whatever it is, it certainly attracts attention. All the girls watch him walk by, and someone yells, “See ya later, Michael.” He waves distractedly, and then scrubs a hand through his gorgeous blond hair. Cosmo would call his beauty classic or Greek, and then list twenty sexual acts that would keep a guy like Michael satisfied.
I blush and try to look away but can’t. Michael’s eyes hold my attention. The sun washes the blue to white, reminiscent of the night of the accident. It’s disturbing to know there had been no sun at the accident, and yet Michael’s eyes shone with an unnatural light that is still emblazoned on the back of my eyelids. I’m dying to ask him about it, but since my DNA is missing the tactful gene, I won’t.
As he approaches, my second heartbeat starts up and I catch my breath in surprise. A numbing sensation tries to overtake my thoughts but I fight it. I don’t want to get foggy, like yesterday in astronomy class; I want to confirm my suspicion. There is something about Michael that makes my heart freak out. I mean, I can’t seriously have a second heartbeat, right? We are studying human anatomy in bio and I’m pretty sure there has been no mention of people having two heartbeats. All I can do is add it to the list of Freaky and Unexplainable Things About Sophia, and try to act cool and carefree around Michael.
It doesn’t work. I remember him at the accident; I remember how he maneuvered Casey away from me, and my defenses go up. After all, I know Michael’s beautifully serene exterior contradicts the interior. Michael is violent, and manipulative, and … and I tell myself he is egotistical just to add bricks to my defensive wall. Like he climbed down from an Abercrombie & Fitch poster just so little ol’ me can get a better look. Well, the egotistical part hasn’t proven true and I know I’m reaching. So I sift through all the appropriate accusations I want to launch at him, starting with him stealing Casey away.
“You’re hard to keep up with.” Michael smiles, and his gentle voice challenges my assessment. His mood has changed, again.
I smile and think, Don’t you ever have a bad hair day?
The second heartbeat accelerates because Michael stresses me out like no one else. It’s hard to breathe with a mosh pit in my stomach.
Blue eyes hold mine, and a thread of attraction slips through a chink in my armor. When Michael looks at me with peace in his smile, I can say with all certainty that I am the chocolate and he is the melting pot.
I inhale unevenly, gathering courage and anger like necessary props. I thought he wanted me to stay away from him. I thought we were agreeing to dislike each other. Playing nice should constitute a ten-yard penalty.
“Did you need something?” I am sharp and perfunctory.
Michael cocks an eyebrow and grins like he finds my serious tone amusing. “Well, I thought we should arrange time to start the astronomy packet. Mr. Cummings is right. We shouldn’t put it off. It looks involved.”
My eyes narrow. “I thought you didn’t want me as your partner.”
Michael seems genuinely surprised. “What made you think that?”
I analyze him for sarcasm or deceit. His open expression seems honest enough, but I’m not a complete idiot. Since I don’t have a convincing response, I change the subject.
“Why did you steal Casey away from me?” I demand and immediately want to hit Delete, Delete, Delete! That’s not how I meant to put that.
Michael stifles a laugh. “Well, maybe you could play with him tomorrow at recess.”
Oh, he thinks he’s so funny!
“You know that’s not what I meant. Why didn’t you want me to talk to him?” Ah, this grabs his attention. “Is there something you don’t want me to ask him?” Michael’s flat expression says I’m on target. I just don’t know what I’m aiming at. I had a feeling he deliberately sabotaged my conversation with Casey, but not until now was I certain. Not until Michael’s smug look turned cold. He doesn’t answer.
“Well?” I push, not knowing what to expect. He can’t possibly know what I meant to ask Casey so I continue aggressively. “You know what, Michael? I can talk to whomever I want, whenever I want, wherever I want. Including Casey James!”
Michael is stoic, and just when I think he’s not going to respond, his face lights up like he’s had an epiphany. “Oh, I get it.” He chuckles. “You and Casey, okay. Sorry, I didn’t know. But you might find more privacy out back. Under the bleachers.”
The
ground gives way and my jaw drops. “What! That’s not … You know I didn’t … Oh, please.” I roll my eyes and yank open the jeep’s door. I slide in and try to slam the door but Michael catches it and gently clicks it shut.
“Temper, temper,” he chides.
“You’re the one with the temper,” I snap.
We stare, both knowing to what I am referring. Michael knows I want to ask about the accident, about how he lost his temper all over that grungy guy. His eyes become tight and his jaw grinds out his anger. Here it comes! He’s going to admit it!
But he leans on the window and casually says, “Well then, what about astronomy?”
He has shifted gears again, and nothing I say will provoke him into revealing his alter ego. I can’t get a beat on this guy. When he smiles, the throbbing in my chest unfurls like a warm blanket across my skin. When he glares, I get all twisted inside. One thing I do understand: Michael likes to play mind games.
“I can handle astronomy on my own, thank you very much.” This, of course, is a big fat lie. I am lost in astronomy but don’t want him to think I’m falling over myself to spend time with him.
“I’m afraid we don’t have a choice. Is tomorrow night good for you?”
“Nope. As a matter of fact it isn’t.” Another lie, sort of. I have tons of homework but this is homework, too. I’m surprised by my courage to be so nonchalant. All I really want to do is hold him still and look at him for a while.
“Hmm …” he contemplates options. “Tonight doesn’t work for me—”
“Too bad.” I start the engine and grab the gearshift, waiting for him to step back. “Tonight is perfect for me. Oh, well. Guess we’ll just have to wait.” I am growing desperate to escape; the second heartbeat has gone berserk, making a coughing fit inevitable.
“Are you sure you can’t make it tomorrow?”
“Yup.” I clamp my lips shut and hold a cough in my mouth.
“But free tonight? Good. Then tonight it is.”
I exhale in a gush. “You said you were busy tonight.”
All amusement evaporates and Michael’s eyes become tight again, his voice low and commanding. “I’ll move things around, Sophia. Be ready at nine.”
Chapter 12
Music, Zombies, and Things that Tingle
With textbooks scattered around me on the living room floor, I lie in quiet repose. My belly is on the cool hardwood floor, my chin on my hands, and my eyes on the bio chapter. Sundance is a mirror image next to me, his soft white face splayed on the floor and his eyes winking back and forth from me to the book. He is waiting for it to do something; so am I.
Actually, I’m struggling to stay engaged. It’s only six-thirty and I’m loopy. What I want is a nap; what I need is coffee. I surrender my head to my arms, letting my eyelids drift down. School fades, stress fades …
Soon I am lingering on that delicious dreamy state of sleep. All is peaceful … calm … only a heartbeat for company … thump … thump … thump. I know the rhythm as I know my name. It’s comforting. It’s familiar. It’s … “Dude Looks like a Lady”? What the—
My eyes pop open, and the unmistakable rhythm of Aerosmith hits me like a whack in the head. Sundance and I jump up and race to the window. I pull the curtains back while he lets go a string of barks. Duffy’s red truck is idling at the curb and music is blasting from the stereo. Casey is waving at me from the passenger window. The truck bed is a dance floor; J.D. and Holden are contorting with air drums, and Bailey and Rachel are body-slamming and head-banging with air guitars. The truck is rocking.
“What the hell?” I laugh out loud.
Rachel climbs down and sprints to the door. I meet her there, still laughing.
“Oh, hey!” She bounces to a stop, breathless, her auburn corkscrew hair flying wildly about her face. Usually so composed, Rachel is as hyper as a Chihuahua on Red Bull. “Good, you’re home. Come on. Let’s go.” She whirls to leave.
“Um, go where?”
“Oh, yeah.” She spins back around. “Milvi called. It rained, ya know?” She races off the porch, leaving me bewildered.
“Wait, what?” I holler, but she’s climbing back into the truck. Bailey waves me over while gyrating to the music.
“Dad, I’m going out!” I yell, but think, not that he cares. I climb in the back as Aerosmith shifts to “Walk This Way.”
We circle the park, which is packed with people and stacks of plywood, both waiting to be useful. The raw-wood frame of a gazebo is going up in the corner under a large sprawling maple. We round the corner behind it and pass the courthouse on our right and then the founding-church-cum-library on the corner. It reminds me that I’m drowning in homework and shouldn’t be out cruising.
“Where are we going?” I yell over the music. Bailey just grins and looks over my clothes. I’m wearing my favorite cut-off jean shorts, a black Tinker Bell T-shirt, and Vans.
So?
Half a mile down we turn right at a fork. Less than a quarter mile later, we circle around a dead-end street where the pavement ends and we roll to a stop. I stare in wonder. On the right is the giant Victorian farmhouse with the greenhouse out back that I’d imagined when Rachel talked about Mrs. Patronus. I am shell-shocked. I know I’ve never seen it before but there it is, a replica of my vision.
Everybody climbs out, and I follow on a precarious tightrope. Nerves dance in my voice when I ask Bailey where we are.
She says, “Michael’s house,” like I knew she would. My brain is tingling as though I’ve been drinking 7 Up through my ears. Airy sensations like mystical spider webs cling to my psyche. I can actually feel the house, or rather, feel its energy emitting the low hum of power lines, which is impossible because there’s nothing but forest and pastures in every direction. It’s as if the house has its own heartbeat, its own energy source.
I’ve never experienced anything like this, so I certainly can’t decipher the myriad of emotions swirling in and around the house. Anticipation swells inside me, and I feel watchful and jumpy.
The screen door flies open, and Milvi rushes across the porch and down the steps. “Hey, guys! You ready?”
Everyone is pumped up for something. We file through the picket fence and meet her in the front yard. Sweet, pungent fragrances swarm around me like bees, and I’m heady from the aroma. The yard is an assortment of brilliant colors with clumps of flowers open like eager faces searching for approval. Pink rose bushes hug the picket fence and purple morning glory vines stretch their leafy arms up and around the porch columns. Their bell-shaped flowers are trumpets announcing their beauty.
The screen door swings open again and Raph strolls out followed by a woman and a younger boy. They share similar features of blond hair and light eyes. The woman’s hair is platinum and shiny like Milvi’s but styled in a long braid that curls around her slender shoulder. The boy is fourteen or fifteen with strawberry blond hair and narrow features. They are obviously related. And they are obviously staring at me. The intensity is a laser beam but it’s not hostile, just insanely curious.
“Who are they?” I murmur to Bailey.
“Oh, that’s Michael’s mother, Katarina, and Uriel, their cousin from Estonia. He’s been living with them for a year. He’s infectious.” She smiles and waves at them.
Michael walks onto the porch and folds his arms over his chest, throwing an exasperating look at the crowd.
“Milvi!” he calls in a demanding but playful tone.
Milvi dances lightly up the steps and sets her thin frame before his towering figure. She tips her head back and peers up.
“Now, Michael,” she says with honey in her voice. “I know you said you didn’t want to go but that doesn’t mean we can’t go.” She flashes the dazzling smile I saw in the cafeteria.
Michael holds a steady scowl, contemplating her adept manipulation, and then slowly pulls a sideways grin. His eyes sweep over us with a certain amount of mischievousness. The last time I saw Michael, he ordered me to be ready for
our study date at nine. I’ve never seen him playful like this.
Duffy claps his hands. “Aw, c’mon, man. We’re bored.”
“Yeah,” Bailey calls. “Uno mas! Last time this season.”
Katarina whispers something to Michael, and his eyes cut to mine. I hold my breath, and watch as his lighthearted mood melts into something somber. The moment stretches long and awkward and I wonder if I am welcome here.
“Okay.” Michael announces to everyone’s relief. We all troop back through the gate, but I have an unsettling feeling. Katarina’s penetrating stare makes glass of my skin, nothing hidden. Raw emotions are laid bare for examination, and she knows me without effort, just like Mom. I look over my shoulder as I climb into the truck bed and find her watching me. She smiles and inclines her head as though accepting a compliment, and my breath sticks in my throat.
Milvi dumps a load of old towels at our feet. “Michael’s decided to go after all so I’m riding with him. See ya there.”
I consider the pile of towels. “Oh, so we’re just going swimming,” I say. Everybody smiles but nobody agrees.
*
We follow tire tracks across a field and turn left around a clump of trees. We stop and crawl out. I look for a pool or lake but don’t see any. We walk to the edge of a sloping precipice. Now I see it.
The back side of the hill is wet from the storm and worn into a long, brown, slippery slide that dumps into the biggest mud pit I’ve ever seen.
“You gotta be freakin’ kidding me,” I gush, and everybody bursts out laughing.
“C’mon, Sophia, let’s get dirty,” Duffy says. His grin is naughty and makes me blush. He strips off his shirt and shoes, trying to coax me along but I won’t budge. He gives up and throws himself down the slide, hollering and sliding on his butt and landing in the pit. Mud whooshes out in every direction.
Bailey drapes an arm across my shoulders. “Listen, doll face, we gotta do something for fun around here. This town is as tight as a frog’s butt. So we improvise.” She winks and then takes off running at the slide. With wild abandon, Bailey dives headfirst and flies down the mud chute. One by one the others plunge in, feet-first, headfirst, or swirling on their butts. Even Rachel and Milvi spin and scream all the way down.
