Oh My Goth

by Gena Showalter

  Her smile reminds me of Robb’s. All sadness, no good humor. “The darling man gave you the best of them, wanted you to remember the best of me. I wish he’d burned the others.” Moonlight spills over her, creating a halo around her silvery-white hair. Her eyes are a startling shade of gold and mirrors of mine. Many of her freckles have faded, while I’m still covered in them.

  “Burn them. Why?” I ask. I’d welcome a chance to learn even more about her.

  “The pages are filled with darkness and pain, and you need no more of either, sweet Jade.”

  “I can handle it. Look at me. Darkness is kind of my thing.”

  She stops swaying to reach over and pat my knee. “There is the darkness you see, and then there is the darkness you feel. Suffering and pain. You aren’t handling what you have now. Why would I willingly give you more?” Her gaze moves over my head, seeming to view far away. “If you do not handle your problems, they grow. If you do not appreciate and value the good things you have, you lose them.”

  “This is the philosophizing part of my dream, I guess.”

  “No, you don’t. When you view your past, present and future through a dirty window, you can’t see clearly. Perhaps it’s time someone cleans the glass. Of course, someone will have to strip away your armor, too, and ensure you cannot hide.”

  “Okay, did you die and become the Riddler?” This is kind of ridiculous.

  She slides from the swing to kneel in front of me and rest her hands on my knees. A startling fact crystalizes: in my dream, I can feel her. In my dream, she isn’t a ghost. “You have become a cold shell of yourself, my darling. You have lost your zest for life. Your love for...everything. You no longer see beauty in anything. It’s time to rise from the ashes—rise, rise, stronger than ever before.”

  Ugh. My subconscious is a bit of a (bad) poet and has joined my father’s team. “I’m fine. I promise.”

  “Fine isn’t good enough.” Gold eyes beseech me. “You think your pain is hidden, but you are the one in hiding. The pain is going to find you, one way or another. Be ready. Fight it. Fight for better.”

  I trace a fingertip along the cool metal links that connect my swing to the upper bar. “I don’t want better.”

  “You do, you just don’t know it.” Her grip tightens on my knees. “Yet.”

  I shake my head, locks of hair slapping my cheeks. “Sorry, Momma, but you don’t know me. You’ve been gone a long time. I’ve grown. I’ve changed.”

  She smiles at me, but there’s a tinge of sadness in this one. “I know you’ve become a bully.”

  What! Me? A bully? “No!”

  “A bully hurts others and doesn’t care enough to change. You hurt Robb today—twice. You hurt Fiona and your dad. You inadvertently insulted Clarik. You purposely insulted Mercedes. You didn’t apologize to a single person.”

  “I’m not a bully,” I grate. Bullies deliberately hurt people who are weaker.

  “Besides,” Mom adds, continuing as if I remained mute, “I don’t need to know you to know the truth. Life doesn’t hand out participant ribbons. Either you fight to live or you die. There’s no middle ground.”

  “I’m fine,” I insist. “I’m better than fine.”

  “Voltaire said it is difficult to free a fool from the chains she reveres. I say it is impossible,” she mutters. “You are blinded by your own lies, but I’m going to shine light in your soul and chase the darkness away. One day—one day soon—you’re going to see.”

  Unease prickles along my spine, and I gulp. “You’re talking nonsense.”

  Her gaze flips up, meeting mine. Another sad smile curves the corners of her mouth. “Sleep now, baby girl. Sleep peacefully. Everything is about to change.”

  Chapter 4

  Kindness gives to others.

  Cruelty steals from your soul.

  —Miranda Leighton

  Each new day is an opportunity for tragedy.

  The thought hits me as sunlight pushes through my curtains and fills my bedroom. I’m wide-awake and have been for hours. My eyes burn, and my temples ache. I recall the dream about my mom in Technicolor detail.

  After her final words, I jolted upright with a gasp. Then I tossed and turned, my stomach twisting into a thousand knots. Even now, I’m certain she’s wrong. I’m not a bully. I’m not a shell of myself—okay, maybe there’s a slight possibility that I am almost a shell of myself, and that I’m hiding from my pain rather than hiding my pain. But I still find beauty in things. Even dark things. Especially dark things.

  Hello, remember Clarik?

  And yes, okay, I know I shouldn’t care about the things my mom spouted. She was only a figment of my imagination. But I do care. Somewhere inside of me, there’s a weak link, and I can’t allow that part of me to flourish. I need to choke it out, or starve it. Something!

  Determined, I stretch my arms overhead and climb to unsteady legs. Lazing in bed and worrying isn’t the answer.

  Instead of going on my usual morning run and possibly bumping into Clarik—forget my immersion plan—I clean up and dress in my favorite shirt and jeans. Both garments are black and fit my state of mind. I plait my mass of hair and glance at my reflection.

  What would Clarik think, if I were to bump into him?

  Okay, there’s no forgetting the plan.

  I sit at my desk and look him up online. No matter how hard I search, I can’t find a social media page for him. Interesting. Either he likes his privacy, or he’s as unplugged as I am.

  Maybe I’ll ask Robb to do a little digging. He’s a whiz with computers.

  A knock sounds at my door. “Come in,” I call.

  My dad peeks his head inside the room. “I’m driving you to school this morning.”

  “Um, okay. Thanks?”

  Irritation flashes in his eyes. “Get your stuff.”

  In the car, I expect some kind of lecture, but he doesn’t speak a word. So weird! I spend the morning in the office, attend my next two classes, eat lunch with my friends, attend my next two classes and never catch sight of Clarik. Not until the last class of the day. He doesn’t look at me, and like my dad, he doesn’t speak to me.

  After detention, I go running and pass his house once, twice. On the second trip, he’s exiting his truck and catches a glimpse of me...

  He doesn’t smile or wave, just stomps into the house, leaving me baffled. And disappointed?

  I run by his house the next day, and the next, but I don’t see him again, and I’m pretty sure he’s avoiding me. Maybe he’s a total jerk, with no interest in me and he regrets our upcoming nondate date, or maybe he’s as confused about me as I am about him.

  He doesn’t hang out with Mercedes either, even though she’s available. Mercedes didn’t take Bobby back after she broke up with him; I think she wants Clarik. I swear I catch her scanning the cafeteria with longing in her eyes. But she’s as SOL as I am. He’s stopped coming to the cafeteria. In class and every minute between, he keeps to himself. To my knowledge, he hasn’t made friends with any of the cliques.

  Maybe he’s missing his buds at his old school and is afraid to make new ones, afraid he’ll lose them, too.

  No, that can’t be it. He might keep to himself at sociable times, but he smiles and waves to everyone. Well, everyone except me. Not that he’s mean to me, just dismissive. Despite his friendliness, he’s developing a reputation as a boy with whom one does not screw. No one has to wonder how he feels about them. He says it, no matter how brutal.

  By the time Sunday rolls around, I’m pretty sure acid has burned away my stomach lining. I don’t know if my nondate date with Clarik is still on. If it is, I don’t know what time he’ll pick me up. I don’t know his phone number, so I can’t text and ask.

  At noon, I shower, blow-dry my hair, apply a little makeup and zip myself in a black fit-and-flare dress. Just in case
. And yes, my early-bird roots are showing. On my feet, I anchor my trusty combat boots in place. My only accessory is a necklace with a tiny replica of a human skeleton dangling from the center.

  A soft knock at my bedroom door sends a bolt of surprise through me, and my heart races. It’s now 2:30. Clarik can’t be here yet, can he? I rush to the door, turn the lock. Hinges squeak as the door opens...

  Fiona stands before me, pretty in pink, her dark hair pulled back in a ponytail. “You have a visitor,” she says with no small amount of shock.

  No one ever comes over to visit me because I’ve issued zero invitations.

  Today my mother’s words choose that moment to play through my head. If you do not appreciate and value the good things you have, you lose them.

  Whatever. Clarik is here, and my heart is now racing faster. I’m a little shocked myself. I mean, he actually came. Then Fiona steps aside, revealing Linnie.

  “Surprise!” Linnie stretches out her arms, adorable in a black-and-white-striped shirt, short black skirt and ripped panty hose. Around her neck is a cameo choker. On her feet, black tennis shoes with red laces.

  “Hi.” I fight a wave of disappointment, wondering why she’s here. She’s never shown up like this. Something must be wrong. “What’s going on?”

  She soars past my stepmom and softly but firmly shuts the door. “Nothing, and yet everything.”

  “Maybe unpack that statement with a few facts?”

  With a sigh, she throws herself across my unmade bed. “My parents have guests at the mausoleum, and I was ordered to stay in my room or leave. I knew I embarrassed them, but come on. This is ridiculous.”

  The mausoleum. Her palace of a home is complete with a tennis court, swimming pool, separate guesthouse—not a guest room, a guesthouse—a rose garden, a basketball court, and multiple marble waterfalls.

  Her dad is a lawyer, and her mom, who comes from old money, runs a charity.

  “Robb isn’t answering his phone,” she adds, “and Kimberly is still suffering from a hangover after last night’s concert.”

  So I was third choice. I’m not hurt or even surprised. I have no right to be. “You’re welcome to crash in my room as long as you want, but I might or might not have to leave at some point. I kinda sorta agreed to go on a nondate date with Clarik.”

  Linnie jolts upright. Golden sunlight pushes past the crack in my curtains to stream over her. “Clarik...as in the new guy Clarik?”

  “The one and only.”

  “Wait. He asked you out? And I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to make you sound like dog food. My entire world just got overturned. You, the ice queen, are interested in a boy. And he’s...well, he’s nice...most of the time. I saw him carrying books for a special-needs kid. It was honestly the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen.”

  First I was compared to a robot, now an ice queen. I think I prefer being royalty.

  “Nice boys can’t be into me?” I ask.

  “Well, I haven’t noticed you two spending any time together. Or, you know, doing anything together.”

  I deflate as I say, “He didn’t ask me out. His uncle did. Kind of. I accepted.” I wave a hand through the air in lieu of offering an explanation. “I bet it’s canceled. Clarik probably has other plans, but he can’t tell me because he might or might not know where I live, and he definitely doesn’t have my number.”

  “I’m sorry,” she repeats. She falls back on the mattress and traces a heart on my pillow, saying, “Maybe we should go to Mercedes’s party and get your mind off him. From what I’ve pieced together, her mom flew to Atlanta this morning to attend some kind of medical seminar and won’t be back for two or three days.”

  Nadine is a general practitioner. Half the town sees her, but my family isn’t among them.

  “We’re invited?” I ask, dubious.

  “The entire school is invited.”

  “Mercedes and her ilk don’t consider us part of the school, remember?” Unless she plans to strike at us in some way. “We’re nothings. Nobodies.”

  Tears well in her eyes, and I immediately regret my words. Maybe I am a bully.

  “Those kids are wrong, of course,” I tell her. “We’re the best of the lot. You especially.”

  After giving me a watery smile, she jumps up and throws her arms around me. She’s...hugging me?

  At first I stand perfectly still, my arms at my sides. But...

  I don’t like this. I don’t like this at all. My chest is tightening. My breathing is jacked, my inhalations a little too quick and a lot too shallow. In a rush, I step back, out of her embrace.

  Hurt crosses her expression, there and gone in a blink.

  “I don’t think I should go to the party,” I say. “I should wait here. For Clarik. Just in case.”

  “He lives by you, yeah? Why don’t we go to his house and ask him to join us?”

  A crowd is not conducive to a proper interrogation—I mean conversation. “If you want to go, even though Mercedes might not even let you inside, let’s sober up Kimberly so she can go with you.”

  Linnie’s breath hitches. “You don’t want to spend time with me. I should have known. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come.”

  She steps toward the door, but I move into her path.

  “Don’t leave,” I say, not liking the sudden paleness of her cheeks. I’ve seen that same shade of white in the mirror far too many times. “You’re my friend, and I like hanging out with you.” Too many times I’ve written in my journals about the importance of kindness, and yet I’ve shown very little to this girl—or anyone, really. I need to do better. I will do better.

  “Sometimes I wish I could be more like you. Nothing bothers you, while everything bothers me.”

  “Some people say I’m hiding from the pain of my past,” I mutter.

  “Aren’t we all?” Her shoulders roll in. “I can’t go to the party with Kim. I stretched the truth, but only a little! She’s got a hangover, yes, but she’s also mad at me. Last night she caught me making out with her cousin.”

  “Why is she mad about that? I highly doubt she wants to sleep with him.”

  “Well...he sort of has...a girlfriend. A friend of Kim’s,” she admits, cheeks pink. “I should have slapped his face when he said he was falling for me, but I thought...hoped... Well, it doesn’t matter now, does it?”

  So he lied to her, telling her what she wanted to hear so that he could get off. Kimberly should be mad at him. “We all make mistakes. Kim knows it. She’ll forgive you.”

  “Until then...let’s get you ready for your maybe/maybe-not date that may or may not lead you to Mercedes’s party.” She takes my hand in hers, squeezes. “We have a million things to do to get you ready, and thanks to my dad’s gold card, we’re going to do them in style.”

  Dread flash-freezes the blood in my veins. “I can’t think of a single thing I need to do.”

  “Hello. Your hair! Makeup! Clothes!” She waves a finger over me to indicate, well, all of me. “When’s the last time you waxed?”

  Uh, that would be never. “If I need a makeover to impress a boy, I will be unimpressed by the boy. So thank you for your offer, but I think I’m going to de—”

  “Nope. Don’t think.” As she ushers me to the door, I realize that arguing with her will require more effort than I’m willing to give for something so minor. She loves to shop, so if this will make her happy...

  “Fine. I’ll go.” I could use a distraction.

  “All you need to do, Jade Leighton, is watch me work my magic.”

  * * *

  Linnie’s magic = torture.

  Three hours later, she drives me home. I’m still in my dress because there was no way I was going to wear one of the miniskirts she picked out for me; the hem of each barely reached my panty line.

  I want my goodie bit
s the way I want my pimples: concealed.

  But to make Linnie happy, I let her choose my hairstyle. I now have bangs, cut by a razor so they wisp to the side, and I kind of actually...like them. A makeup specialist I want to introduce to Robb because I think they’d hit it off painted my face, giving me smoky eyes, longer and thicker lashes, “perma-flushed” cheeks and I’ve got to be kissed now glossy red lips.

  I’m told I’m a mix of innocence and wantonness, and it’s the perfect combination for snagging a boyfriend or making a guy regret letting me get away, whichever I prefer.

  When she reaches my house, Linnie turns down the blare of music and slams on the brakes, nearly clipping the curb. “Clarik is going to die when he sees you.”

  “If he shows up,” I mutter.

  “If he doesn’t, I’ll spread a rumor that he once used an empty Doritos bag as a condom.”

  I almost—almost—smile. “I’m glad we’re friends.”

  “Me, too.” Leaning over, she air-kisses my cheek. “I’ll see you tomorrow at school.”

  “You’re not coming in? I thought we were going to ask Clarik to take us to Mercedes’s party.” At some point during our shopping extravaganza, I caved and agreed to her plan.

  “Nah. Call me if you decide to go, though, and I’ll meet you there. But there’s no way I’m horning in on your date.”

  “It’s not a—”

  “Yeah, yeah. I know.”

  Discarded cans of her favorite energy drink clink together as I exit the car. I trudge to my porch. The door is open, and I enter without a word. Amused voices pull me into the kitchen. My dad has his arms wrapped around Fiona, and he’s rubbing her belly.

  Fiona spots me, and her jaw drops. “Jade! Oh, wow. You look amazing.”

  “Thanks.” What else can I say, really?

  She smiles and motions me over. “Come here. Feel. Ruby’s been kicking up a storm.”

  I remain in place, my feet firmly planted on the floor. “No, thank you.” I’ve had enough emotional upheaval for one day.