Oh My Goth

by Gena Showalter

  The letters RIP jump out at me, and I jolt. Rest in peace, as if he’s...dead? Dead and gone? No, no, no. He can’t be.

  Tremors sweep through me as I turn my attention to another poster. The same image peers at me, begging for help. Only in this one, someone has drawn Xs over Robb’s eyes, blackened his teeth and etched skulls across his shirt. I struggle to breathe as I rip the image from the wall, then another and another.

  Don’t value what you have, lose it.

  I can’t... I don’t...

  I should have been nicer to him, should have showed him just how much he means—meant—to me. And I will! As soon as I wake up from this nightmare. I’m learning, Mom. See!

  Everything will be okay. He’s not really dead. He’s not. This strange, horrible world is only temporary. Unless this was the path we were headed down in the real world? Had Robb planned to take his own life? What if my callous rejection—another one in a long string, and from someone who was supposed to love him—would have acted as the tipping point and sent him over the edge? Not that his decisions revolved around me, but cruelty is cruelty no matter how you slice it.

  I change directions, rushing to the lobby. Martha is at her desk, but she’s not the Martha I know and like. She’s morphed into some sort of prom Goth, a sequined black dress hugging her ample curves. Her gray hair now boasts streaks of vibrant purple.

  “What happened to Robb Martinez?” I demand.

  She presses a hand over her heart. “Good gracious, Jade. You scared me half to death.”

  “Tell me,” I shout. “Now.” My breaths come fast and shallow, cold fingers of dread creeping down my spine.

  “He killed himself.” As calm as if we’re discussing the weather, she gathers a stack of folders. “I hope you aren’t blaming yourself. Mercedes and her flock might think your teasing led him to pull the trigger, but I promise you, everyone else knows better. You speak the truth, no matter how difficult. Now, if you’d like to schedule a session with the school counselor—”

  “My teasing?” The entire awful world tilts, the ceiling trading places with the floor. Breath wheezes from me. My stomach roils, hard.

  “Did no one tell you about his note?” she asks with a frown. “He said he had a mental picture of his future, thanks to you, and it wasn’t pretty, that it would be better to end things now.”

  Those words...the same words I spoke at Mercedes’s party. About Clarik, not Robb! And yet so clearly I remember Robb’s reaction to them. He’d peered at me with such hurt, as if I’d just upended his world.

  I have to wonder again. Was he considering suicide, even then, and I missed the signs?

  I never should have considered severing ties with my friends. They needed love and support, not more heartache. Heck, the same was true of everyone, I suppose. Even me. Even Mercedes.

  “I should have been more careful with my words,” I say softly. “I know that now. I’ll guard my tongue.”

  “What are you talking about?” she asks.

  One step, two, I back out of the lobby. Then I’m running...sprinting...my hair flying behind me. I reach Mr. Parton’s class, and note the door is covered with red-and-black ribbons. Our new school colors? My hand freezes on the knob. What will I find inside?

  Tremors growing worse, I open the door and step in. Mr. Parton stands at the head of the classroom. As soon as he spies me, he goes quiet. His thinning hair hasn’t changed colors, but the strands are now long enough for a ponytail and—

  My mouth flounders open and closed. No way I’m seeing what I think I’m seeing. Blink, blink. Nope, there’s no change. Usually he sports a polyester suit and ugly tie. Today his T-shirt has a grunge-metal band logo, and his jeans are ripped.

  “Welcome, Jade.” His features light up with something akin to delight. “I’m glad you could make it. You always darken our day.” He pushes his palms together, forming a steeple, and bows his head. “Come in, come in and have a seat. I’m about to start today’s lesson.”

  Darken our day, he said, as if he finds beauty in darkness. Twisted, wrong. I laugh without humor, acid burning my throat as every eye finds me.

  I scan the sea of familiar faces, but there’s no sign of Linnie or Clarik. Maybe they’re running late? Any second, they could fly through the door and demand to know what’s going on. Together we’ll figure out what I need to do to make things go back to normal.

  I trip my way to one of two open desks, both of which are next to Charlee Ann, who is beaming at me. Along the way, a boy with thick silver chains wrapped around his neck winks at me.

  “Hi, freak.” A girl who’s never spoken to me—only laughed at me—waves. A snake tattoo peeks from the collar of her black lace top. “Your party ruled the school last night!”

  My party?

  “Hey, you.” Another girl waves. Hand-drawn teardrops decorate her cheeks. “Did you get my message? Want to do a taxidermy class tonight?”

  “Or we could make a YouTube video about the best places to shop,” another girl says.

  A third girl sounds off. “Hey, where did you get those pants? Soooo fright.”

  Fright?

  Clattering voices blend together until I can no longer make out individual words. Everyone is peering at me as if I’m a shiny new car, paid in full, the keys already in the ignition. Everything inside me screams, “This isn’t happening!” And yet the proof is sitting all around me, asking me to go hang out.

  This kind of thing happens only in books and movies, never real life. Not my life.

  “Jade?” Mr. Parton pads toward me, eyeing me with genuine concern. “Are you all right? Would you like to visit the nurse?”

  Um, what would I even say to the nurse? Unless she has a magic wand to wake me from my nightmare, she’s useless to me.

  Another humorless laugh bubbles from me, tinged in budding hysteria. “I’m fine,” I force myself to say. I’m not sure I’ll ever be “fine” again.

  The door opens and Linnie steps inside. Her gaze is downcast as she trudges over and sits at the desk next to mine. My heart pounds against my ribs, the bones threatening to crack. Like everyone else, she’s different—familiar and yet not. Her strawberry locks are shorter, her black lipstick exchanged. Rather than a skintight dress, she’s wearing a cotton T and capri pants.

  She looks so...innocent, like she just came from a student council meeting, where she rallied to include an ice cream station in the cafeteria. Does she know people think my words led to Robb’s death? Is she okay? Whether this world is legit or not, her pain is real.

  Finally, she looks up. Looks at me. Looks away. I’m desperate to find an anchor in the midst of this craziness, but when I reach for her hands, she flinches as if I plan to smack her.

  “Linnie,” I whisper, my voice a little broken. “I’m your friend. I’m not going to hurt—”

  “Leave me alone,” she snaps, so tense I fear she’ll shatter.

  Everyone in the classroom watches us, fascinated. We might as well be standing center stage, illuminated by a spotlight.

  I slink down in my chair. The truth might as well be claws sinking in and ripping me to shreds. This world is a cold shell of itself, a metaphor for the cold shell my mother thinks I’ve become. I have no friends here—no real friends—just as I thought I wanted. I’m alone. Robb is gone because my careless words stripped away his hope for a better life, and Linnie and Kimberly despise me. I’m enemy number one. The stepmother I never valued has been replaced with a stepmother I can’t stand, and the people who used to ignore me now worship me the way they once worshipped Mercedes.

  What am I supposed to learn from their adoration? Tell me and I’ll learn it, I swear!

  My mom called me a bully. At the time, I denied it. Well, I admit it. I am a bully. I hurt Robb, Linnie and Kimberly in ways I’ll forever regret. Let me go back to real life now, and I’ll make it up
to them. Please! I’ll even try to be happy.

  I wait, hopeful, but...nothing happens. My muscles bunch, preparing for flight. I don’t know where I can go, where I’ll be safe.

  Mr. Parton begins his lecture, and I tune him out and focus on Linnie. If I can get her to remember me, to remember who she was—who she really is—I’ll have my ally. The ally I need more than air to breathe.

  The Victorian Goth on her other side launches a spitball at her, and she winces. Several people snicker, but Linnie pretends they don’t exist, even as a deeper red spills over her cheeks.

  “I hear you like balls, so how about another?” Victorian mutters. She crumples up another paper and draws back her elbow, ready to launch.

  “Stop,” I snarl. These kids are Goth because it’s cool, not for any other reason. They don’t embrace what the mainstream world shuns—those who are different—or they would be nice to Linnie. “Leave her alone or I’ll make you regret it. Understand?”

  Victorian stills. Her horror-filled gaze widens, and she drops her hand onto her desk with a thump. “I’m so sorry, Jade. I didn’t know we were supposed to leave the preppies alone today.”

  “Is something wrong?” Mr. Parton anchors his hands on his hips and glares at Linnie as if she’s at fault for the disruption.

  That hasn’t changed. “She did nothing wrong.”

  Rather than berating me as usual, he jumps back into his lecture. Linnie pretends I no longer exist.

  I have to reach her.

  A finger lightly taps my arm. “Okay,” Charlee Ann whispers. “You know I adore the crap out of you, right, but you are being seriously weird right now, and not in a good way.”

  I’m being weird? Me? Charlee Ann Richards just told me she adores the crap out of me! I’m no longer the mud caked on her three-hundred-dollar boots. And doesn’t she just look sickeningly adorable? Black cobweb lace overlays her corset top. Red and black glitter surrounds her eyes, making her look like she’s wearing a half mask.

  I hate this. Defeat swamps me, and I drop my head into my upraised hands. Can’t deal.

  “Are you even listening to me?” She tosses a pencil at me. “Jade! For real already. The girl you just defended? She’s your stepsister’s favorite sidekick and a preppy to boot. They are no better than wild animals. As you like to tell me, you can’t feed a wild animal without losing a finger.”

  Here, Linnie and Mercedes are best friends as well as pariahs, and I’m the current “it” girl, my word law.

  “Psst. Jade. Pay attention to me before I have a meltdown.”

  “Just...leave Linnie alone, okay?” Frustration and anger boil inside me, destroying any semblance of numbness I had. Robotic? No longer! I feel, and there’s no end in sight.

  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 want you happy.

  I jolt. Those words—fight for better, I want you happy—rattle around in my head. I can use my newfound popularity for good and make sure everyone in school likes Linnie and Kimberly. I can make their lives better. In turn, they’ll be happy, which will make me happy. Or as close to happiness as someone like me can get. Surely some of the pain I harbor will fade. Things will go back to normal.

  Robb will be alive. When I’m back in the real world, I will remain friends with Robb, Linnie and Kimberly. In a few short hours, I’ve become intimately acquainted with loneliness, and I hate it.

  “I don’t want to fight with you,” Charlee Ann whispers, dragging me out of my head.

  “Girls.” Mr. Parton offers us an apologetic smile. “I don’t mind if you talk during class, but bring it down a notch. This is the second time I’ve been interrupted.” He levels a pointed glare at Linnie, as if she’s to blame for both instances.

  “Sure thing, Mr. P.” Charlee Ann flashes him a thumbs-up.

  When he returns to his lecture, she leans closer to me. “If you want me to be nice to the preppies, pick one or two and I’ll be nice,” she says in a fierce but quiet voice. “But first, tell me why.”

  Here goes. My first move in the right direction. “Linnie and Kimberly are wonderful people. They have terrible pasts, and they have endured more abuses than you can even imagine. They deserve better than we’ve given them.”

  Her lips part. “Are you kidding me?”

  “I never kid.”

  The person sitting behind me taps my shoulder, and dread fills me. What’s next? I turn and find Bobby leering at me. His sandy-colored hair is so black it appears blue and, like Mr. Parton, his eyes are rimmed with black eyeliner.

  “Mmm-mmm, you look good enough to eat.” As his heavy-lidded gaze peruses me, he radiates the supreme confidence of a guy who believes every girl on the planet is hot for him. “We still on for this weekend?”

  We’re on for...never. “First, you shouldn’t drink and drive. You could have killed someone.” Namely Mercedes and me! “Second, unless we scheduled a boxing match, the answer is no.”

  He laughs as if I’m joking and reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. I catch his wrist, push his hand away. Now he frowns.

  When next he speaks, however, his voice dips low with suggestion and promise. “I know why you’re mad. You think I forgot our anniversary. I didn’t, I swear. I only pretended to forget so I could throw a party on Saturday.”

  I’m not going to pretend I like him. “Are we celebrating a year of loathing each other?”

  The door bursts open and crashes against the wall, startling everyone in the room. Mercedes rushes inside, her gaze frantic, her expression wild, her hair now tangled around her shoulders.

  “Miss Turner.” Mr. Parton glares daggers at her. “You were transferred out of my class for a reason. You are to remain as far away from me as possible.”

  “Preppy alert,” Bobby mutters.

  “Anyone bring a tranq?” Charlee Ann quips. “Put the animal out of its misery, and save us from having to look at her. If she posts one more photo of her face, I’m going to barf.”

  Gales of laughter erupt.

  “Charlee Ann?” Mercedes hurries toward the girl’s desk. “How can you—”

  “Ew.” Charlee Ann shudders and tosses an eraser at her. “The preppy is talking to me. Somebody make it stop. And leave. Definitely make it leave. It’s stinking up the room.”

  “Please.” Chalk white, she focuses on Bobby, who calls her a horrible name under his breath. “You have to remember me. You can’t—”

  “All right. That’s enough.” Mr. Parton storms to her side, grabs her arm. “First you disrupt my class, then you screech like a banshee. Go to the office, Miss Turner. Right now. I won’t tolerate this kind of behavior.”

  I leap to my feet as she wrenches her arm from his grip.

  “It’s worse than we thought,” she says to me, desperation drenching every word.

  “I know.” I lick my lips. “Mr. Parton,” I say, “I’ll make sure Mercedes goes to the office.” I don’t wait for his response, just drag my “stepsister” out of the room. Not that she puts up a fight.

  Once the door closes behind us, she takes me by the shoulders and shakes me. “Tell me what to do. I don’t know how to escape this hell. Everyone hates me. Me! People beg for my attention, and now I’m nothing, no one.”

  “I know,” I repeat.

  “You don’t know anything. Someone actually threw gum in my hair!”

  I quirk a brow at her. She threw gum in my hair a few weeks ago.

  Withering, she presses her face against her upraised hands. “I’m sorry, okay?”

  Yeah, right. Like she’s ever been sorry about anything. “We’ll find a way out.” I can’t believe anything less. I have to get back to Robb. For once, I’ll accept his hug and tell him everything is going to be okay.

/>   “Like you want to leave,” she mutters. “You are everyone’s everything here.”

  “I know,” I reply a third time. “But I figured out my purpose. I’m going to use my power for good and make everyone like Linnie and Kimberly.”

  She snorts. “You think you’re here to make an entire school fall into like with two Goth girls? Well, former Goth girls. That might be the dumbest thing you’ve ever said, and you’ve said some doozies.”

  “Then why are we here, huh? Tell me your best theory. Go ahead. I’m waiting... Still waiting...”

  “We... I...”

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought. I should be able to get it done in a few days. Definitely by the end of the week,” I say. “You never had any trouble getting people to do what you wanted.”

  “You know nothing about my life. But I guess you’re about to.” She tears a poster from the wall and shoves it at me. “Have you seen this?”

  My knees almost buckle as I read. VOTE FOR JADE. CLASS PRESIDENT. My own face stares back at me as if I’m peering into a mirror. Same platinum hair and gold eyes. Same high cheekbones and freckles. Same blank expression.

  I raise my chin. “This is more proof I’m supposed to lead everyone at school into a new era of tolerance.”

  She tosses the poster on the ground and stomps all over my face. “What am I supposed to do, huh? Cheer you...on...” Her voice trails off.

  A boy—Clarik, I realize—turns the corner and strolls in our direction, his hands pushed into his pockets. A white T-shirt hugs his biceps, and ripped jeans cover his legs. He hasn’t colored his hair either, the brown waves tumbling over his forehead and ears.

  He looks exactly the same, as I hoped. He must be my ally!

  My pulse trips into a wild rhythm. Mercedes instantly forgotten, I rush to Clarik and throw my arms around him. The first hug I’ve ever initiated. “I’m so glad you’re here!”

  He gives me a gentle push away from him, severing contact—rejecting me.