Oh My Goth

by Gena Showalter

  Her smile fades.

  My dad scowls at me. “Jade, your mother and sister deserve—”

  “She’s not my mother.” The words rush from me, my tone sharper than usual.

  “It’s okay. Really.” Fiona steps from my dad’s embrace, grabs a rag from the sink and begins to clean the already clean kitchen counter. “She doesn’t have to do anything she doesn’t want to do.”

  Silent now, I head to my room to avoid my dad’s glare.

  I spend the rest of the day watching the clock, watching and waiting...watching and waiting...kind of hating myself for being this girl. 5:04. I decide to change into a tank and jeans. 6:11. My dad knocks on the door to tell me dinner is ready, but I decline, just in case. 7:02. My life does not revolve around a boy, dang it! But come on! Will Clarik or won’t he?

  I’m tempted to do as Linnie suggested and show up at his house. Are we doing this or not?

  Then the clock strikes 7:23, and the doorbell rings. Breathless, I open my door in time to hear my dad say, “...to see Jade? Why?”

  There’s a tension-laden pause. Then, “I’m taking her to dinner.”

  Clarik’s husky voice strokes me, and I gulp.

  “Jade. To dinner,” my dad says. “Anywhere else?”

  “A welcome party. I’m new to the district.”

  Wait. So Mercedes is throwing the party in his honor?

  She wants him bad.

  I’m stiff as a board as I shoot a quick text to Linnie, letting her know we will be attending, after all. My legs tremble as I make the small trek into the living room. Clarik looks me over the same way he did the day we met—and frowns. I’m not sure what to make of that, and I smooth sweaty palms down my sides.

  I look him over, too, and my every pulse point flutters. He looks good. Really, really good. His dark hair is askew and yet the perfect frame for his face. His blue, blue eyes are positively electric. He’s dressed casually in a T-shirt that reads ZOMBIES HATE FAST FOOD. The material hugs his shoulders and biceps. His jeans are faded and ripped, and his boots scuffed in several places. Leather cuffs circle his wrists, and several rings glint from his fingers.

  He nods at me, his expression unreadable. “Hey, Jade.”

  My mouth goes dry. “Hey.”

  My dad spins around, his eyes wide. “You agreed to go to a party? With a boy?”

  “Yes.” Is he going to demand I stay home?

  A grin suddenly brightens his features. He gives me a gentle push in Clarik’s direction. “Go. Have fun. Stay out late. Do things you’ll regret tomorrow.”

  I hear his unspoken words: Be a normal kid for once.

  Fiona, who is standing by the coatrack, grins from ear to ear as well, and gives me a thumbs-up.

  If I were normal, I’m pretty sure I would be humiliated right now.

  Clarik opens the door and motions me out. He follows, close to my heels. The light from the porch chases away the evening darkness, providing a path to his truck.

  Stray thought: I wonder how and when Clarik is going to die.

  Ugh. I swallow a groan. If I start pondering all the ways he could kick the bucket, I’ll get lost in my thoughts, lose track of my surroundings and spend what will probably be our only evening together in a fog. On the other hand...

  No, no!

  When we’re seated inside, I notice he smells like vanilla cupcakes and lemonade, and my mouth waters for a taste. I’ve got a sweet tooth tonight. Noted.

  “Your dad is...unique,” Clarik says, easing the truck onto the road. “I halfway expected him to offer money for beer.”

  “Yeah, he wants me to be a normal kid,” I admit. Truth is better than a lie, always. “Part of me was sure you wouldn’t come. You’ve been avoiding me all week.”

  “Yes.”

  At least he didn’t try to deny it. “Why?”

  “I got to thinking. The only reason you’d agree to go out with me is if you want something more. A relationship,” he adds, in case I’m an idiot and can’t figure it out on my own. “I’m attracted to you, yes, but I’m never going to date you. If you’re into a one-night stand, though, I’m your guy.”

  See? Brutally honest.

  My stomach gives an unexpected twist. Am I the problem? Or is it his feelings for his ex? And why does it matter? I’m not interested in a relationship, either. “Do you one-night stand often?”

  “Never have before,” he says. Grumbles, really. “Okay, I don’t want to talk about this.”

  “All right.” I give him an out—for now—because too often I’m pushed to talk about things I don’t want to talk about. “We’ll be friends. Nothing more, nothing less. Okay? I won’t develop feelings for you. Robot, remember? But I’m not on board for a bang and bail, either.”

  On the surface, a one-time thing might seem like my cup of tea. No attachment. We walk away before we can get serious and someone gets hurt. But I’ve seen the heartache Linnie deals with on a regular basis. I’ve witnessed her world crumble whenever an ex moves on to someone else.

  Clarik nods. “I’m good with being your friend, Jade.”

  Good. That’s good. “So...friend. Have you ever wondered how you’re going to die?” The question escapes me before I can stop it, and I press my tongue to the roof of my mouth to stop myself from becoming a bigger tool and demanding he forget I asked.

  Rather than freaking out the way Mercedes once freaked out when I asked her the same question, he flicks me an amused glance. “I’m not sure how we segued into a conversation about death, but okay. I can roll. The answer is no. Have you wondered how you’re going to die?”

  “Not lately. But I used to—all the time.”

  “This is kind of...adorable.”

  Movements exaggerated, I grind my fists into my ears. “Please repeat what you just said. I’m certain I misheard. You did not just call death thoughts adorable.”

  “Adorably morbid, then. Fits the whole angel of death vibe you’ve got going on.”

  Angel of death? Who? What? Me?

  Okay, yeah. The description fits.

  “What was the top contender?” he asks.

  “I always figured a car accident since the one that killed my mom failed to finish the job.”

  He reaches over to pat the top of my hand in a gesture of comfort. “I can’t imagine the pain of losing a parent. I’m sorry.”

  Twist. Time to move on.

  Before I can change the subject, however, he says, “Did you cry?”

  “You mean did my mechanical tear ducts leak oil?” My tone is as dry as the desert. “The day of the accident, yes. Afterward? No.”

  He frowns at me. “You don’t cry about anything? Ever?”

  “I guess nothing can compare to the trauma I experienced that day.”

  He opens his mouth only to snap it closed. “Okay, you told me how you think you’ll die. Now tell me something you live for.”

  I’ve never actually entertained such a thought, and my mind blanks. “Let me get back to you on that. So, uh, where are you taking me for dinner?”

  He doesn’t comment about the topic switch, just goes along with it. “Uncle Tag has lived in this town all his life, right, and when I first arrived he took me to all his favorite places. Now I’m taking you to my favorite place. It’s not much to look at, but the burgers are incredible.” He turns a corner with ease. He’s a good driver, completely at ease on the road, his hands steady on the wheel, his body relaxed. “By the way, you look beautiful.”

  Do not fluff your hair like an idiot. “Thank you.”

  “What? No denial? What are you talking about, Clarik?” he offers in a falsetto. “I’ve never looked worse.”

  I blink at him. “You would prefer I offer a denial, in essence calling you a liar?”

  “No. Denial is what I’m used to receiving, that’s a
ll.”

  “From your ex-girlfriend?”

  Car lights whiz past on the other side of the highway.

  “From all girls.”

  “Dude. That’s because girls can’t win. If she accepts a compliment, she’s automatically considered a conceited witch. If she denies a compliment, she must have low self-esteem or she’s playing coy. If she ignores a compliment because it makes her uncomfortable, she’s got to be a total snob.”

  He opens his mouth, closes it. Opens, closes. “You’re...right.”

  “Usually.”

  He snorts. “I’m going to ask you a question, okay, and I mean no insult.”

  Oookay.

  “Why did you accept my uncle’s invitation?”

  Uh-oh. Suddenly I feel as if a spotlight is glaring on me. Why not lay it all out there? Besides, what’s the worst that could happen? He laughs at me? So what?

  “You said you’re attracted to me, but... Well, I’m attracted to you, too, and I’d like not to be.” There. Now he knows the truth, the full truth and nothing but the truth.

  His attention whips to me, his hands jerking the wheel. The truck swerves, and he hurries to straighten it. “Let’s see if I’m understanding you correctly.” No longer does he sound amused or even friendly. “You think I’m hot, but you wish you didn’t think I was hot.”

  In a nutshell. “Yes.”

  “So, what? Getting to know me will cure you of your attraction to me?”

  The words are snarled, and I realize my mistake. I just insulted the crap out of him—out of his personality.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean—”

  “Forget it,” he interjects, his tone as hard as a rock. “You don’t have to worry. Nothing is going to happen between us. You’re a bad bet. I’ve watched you. You like your friends, but you could walk away without missing a beat. If I fell for you... No. Just no.”

  Ouch. That no is final; there’s zero doubt it in. And I can’t argue with his logic. I am a bad bet. I can walk away. And I won’t suddenly morph into a girl who’s a great bet, who clings or cleaves or whatever it is he wants from a significant other, just to win him over. I’d rather play it safe. I like safe.

  He pulls into a mom-and-pop drive-in burger joint I’ve never before noticed and parks at one of the only available slots.

  “Just so you know,” I say, “I told you my reason for accepting at the time. I’ve gotten to know you better already, and I like you more. But unlike other girls my age, I’ve never been attracted to anyone before. Not even movie stars or singers. Robots can’t love,” I add, trying my hand at teasing. “Why did you accept? And don’t say you didn’t want to hurt my feelings. You watched me, and I watched you.”

  Whoa. Back up. Realization strikes with all the finesse of a baseball bat. He watched me?

  “You are as blunt as boxing gloves,” I finish.

  He shrugs, suddenly sheepish. “Let’s just drop it, okay?”

  If he thinks he can intrigue me with this mystery—Dang him, he’s right. “Tell me,” I insist. “I can take it.”

  He says, “I was curious about you...and I hoped to appease my curiosity so I could move on.”

  “The same reason as me, then. You seriously suck right now. And you are beyond lucky that I’m an unfeeling robot, or I’d smack you into next week.”

  He offers an invisible-hat tip, unrepentant but even more sheepish, and I roll my eyes.

  “So tell me why you love this place,” I say.

  “I’ll do better. I’ll show you.” He orders us both an onion burger and garlic fries and insists on paying. His way of making amends, I guess.

  “Onions and garlic, huh?”

  “Consider it friendship insurance.”

  I might as well stamp MOCK on my forehead as I say, “You need insurance against my irresistible appeal?”

  “Nah. But I knew you’d need insurance against mine.”

  Ha! “Funny man.”

  I’m not superhungry—my stomach is a little too sensitive—but I’m curious about his favorite, and once the food arrives, I take a bite. Little moans slip past my lips as delicious flavors hit my tongue. Clarik smiles, and dang, it’s a good look for him. He might have joked about his appeal, but I definitely need the insurance.

  Not just for me, but for other girls at the party. That’s right. I admit it. I don’t want anyone else getting a shot with him.

  “I think it’s safe to say this is now one of my favorite places, too.” I swallow another bite, and another and another. “I will absolutely be coming back.”

  We eat in silence for a bit, and it’s nice, comfortable. Neither of us feels a pressing need to chatter about nothing simply to fill a void. Plus, the peace and quiet gives my curiosity time to grow.

  “Tell me about you,” I say. “How’d you end up at Hathaway High?”

  “I was born in Florida and lived there for ten years. Then, one day out of the blue, my mom decided we needed to move to the other side of the country, so we set out for LA. But when we reached Oklahoma, the car broke down. She met and married my stepdad—former stepdad—soon after. I attended a couple different schools, but the most recent was Crossroads High, near Tuttle and Blanchard. Know it?”

  Of course. “You guys kicked our butts in football last year.”

  He flashes me a toothy smile. “Yeah. I remember. I scored the winning touchdown.”

  “You’re a jock, then,” I say. My surprise is silly. The guy has muscles stacked upon muscles.

  “I was. I got kicked off the team for fighting.”

  I like that he cops to the truth without prompting. “The day we met, you had bruises on your knuckles. Even if Mrs. Stewart hadn’t mentioned your brawling history, I would have pegged you as a butt-stomper.”

  He gathers our trash and throws everything in the bin next to the truck. “I believe there’s a right and wrong way to speak to a girl. Another guy disagreed.”

  “Is that why you moved here? To join our football team?”

  “No. My mom and stepdad divorced, and she had to get a job for the first time in years. Despite the new income, we couldn’t afford rent, so we moved in with my uncle.”

  We, he’d said. Not her. He takes coresponsibility for the bills. “Were you sad about the divorce? And what about your bio-dad? Is he in the picture?”

  Those muscles I just admired? In an instant, they seem to turn to stone. “No. He’s not.”

  I hit a nerve. Why?

  He puts the truck in Reverse, backs out of the slot. “I thought we’d make an appearance at Mercedes’s—”

  “I know about the party,” I interject. I notice he isn’t curious enough about me to question me about my family life. “I overheard you talking with my dad.”

  “So you’re on board?”

  “Yes. Actually, we have to go. I told my friend Linnie we’d meet her there.” A part of me enjoys the thought of ruining Mercedes’s big night. There. There you go. Something I live for. She’ll hate seeing me. Will hate seeing me with Clarik even more. I almost smile. Petty revenge should be beneath me. Should. “Have you met her? She’s the redhead I hang with.”

  “Odd that you describe her hair color but not her relationship to you, eh?”

  He... I... Argh! Bad bet.

  “Nothing lasts,” I tell him. “Eventually everyone dies. Love makes the loss hurt more.”

  As he merges into traffic, we lapse into silence. This one isn’t as comfortable.

  For a split second, I think I see my mother standing on the sidewalk, watching me as we drive past, her pale hair billowing in the wind. Impossible! And yet unease slithers around my neck and chokes me.

  When I rotate in the seat to glance back, she’s gone.

  Chapter 5

  Life is a labyrinth filled with obstacles,
/>   tricks and traps, and other lost people.

  —Miranda Leighton

  “This isn’t the way to Mercedes’s house.” We aren’t headed back to our neighborhood but away from it.

  “I’m told her father has a cabin in the woods,” Clarik says.

  Oh, yeah. That’s right. “We called it the Hump Dump. Eddie, her dad, has a history of getting married and cheating on his wives. He uses the cabin as a love shack for his affairs.”

  I remember Eddie vividly. He sucks as much as Nadine, but to her credit, she did her best to shield her daughter from his parental incompetence. Never showing up when promised, forgetting birthdays, ignoring holidays and always apologizing.

  He won’t care if the place gets trashed. No, not true. He’ll care, but he won’t give Mercedes crap about it. Nadine would flip her ever-loving lid if one of her precious knickknacks got broken or a rug got stained.

  “How do you know so much about Mercedes’s dad?” Clarik asks.

  “Her mom dated my dad for years. We were as close as sisters. A few times Eddie took us both camping. Only he called it glamping since we stayed in the cabin.”

  “Wow. I never would have guessed you two used to get along.”

  By the time we get to the cabin, cars line both sides of the gravel road. Vehicles are positioned between thick oak trees and form a path to the only house on thirty acres of land. Kids from school are everywhere, interspersed with kids I’ve never seen. Some are drinking from beer bottles, some from red plastic cups. Some are puffing on cigarettes or weed, ribbons of smoke curling up, up, into the moonlight.

  Clarik finds a place for his truck, emerges and strides around to open my door for me.

  He’s definitely a closet gentleman, and I like it.

  Our shoulders bump as we head toward the cabin, and the unplanned contact jolts me, warm tingles riding the waves in my veins.

  “Sorry,” he mutters.

  One day—one day soon—you’re going to see. Everything is about to change.

  Ignore dream Mom’s warning. Focus. I need my wits.

  On the porch, Mercedes and members of her group are huddled together. The core four. Bobby—are the two back together again?—Charlee Ann and the Wagner twins, Heaven and Nevaeh, whose hair I have always envied. Yes, even I suffer from the occasional case of the I Wants. Their black curls are full of personality while my colorless locks are board-straight and flat.