Oh My Goth

by Gena Showalter

  Horror, dejection and helplessness collide inside me, and it’s like a sonic boom goes off, nearly drilling me to my knees. Is this how I made Robb and Linnie feel? My dad? Fiona?

  He frowns down at me. “After what you did to Mercedes at the party,” he says, “why would you ever think I’d be happy to see you?”

  Chapter 8

  True character is revealed during

  the worst moments of our lives.

  —Miranda Leighton

  I stagger back, the emotional deluge like acid in my veins. Clarik thinks I hurt Mercedes. He is not my ally. Not even close. I think... I think he’s my enemy.

  How is this supposed to help me get happy, Mother? Huh?

  He’s blaming me for a crime I didn’t commit. Although...

  I grind my back teeth. I told her I would tell the entire school about her eating disorder, and I meant it. I’ve only ever made promises, never threats. Judging by the way Clarik is looking at me right now, as if I’m a monster, I probably would have regretted it forever. Even though I would have been dishing Mercedes a taste of her own medicine, I would have felt like a monster.

  You can’t undo an action. Once it’s done, it’s done.

  “That’s another thing I meant to tell you,” Mercedes says, her cheeks bright red. “Everyone thinks they read passages from my journal.”

  Deep breath in...out... “I didn’t. I wouldn’t.”

  Ignoring me, Clarik studies Mercedes. “How are you doing today?”

  “Horrible!” she cries. “This is the worst day of my life.”

  His arms wrap around her—he’s hugging her? Longing pierces me, and though I shove and kick it, I can’t seem to bury it. Suddenly I crave a hug with every fiber of my being. A hug that is freely given and means something to both the giver and receiver.

  How many of those have I rejected from Linnie and Robb? Kimberly never tried. I always figured she was more like me than the others, but now I wonder if her rough, tough exterior is some kind of armor. Beneath her I don’t need anyone or anything attitude, she could be crumbling.

  I expect Mercedes to flip me off behind Clarik’s back, but she’s too busy clinging to him, as if she’s finally found an anchor in a terrible storm.

  “You like me,” she says when they part. Her chin trembles as she dabs at her watery eyes. “I mean you don’t hate me.”

  “Why would I hate you?” He gently chucks her on the chin. “If anyone gives you any trouble, let me know.” His electric blues flick to me and narrow in warning. “I’ll take care of it.”

  Calm. Steady. “I’m not going to hurt her. But...we are in the middle of a crisis, and I’m sure you’re eager to get to class before Mr. Parton strokes out over your tardiness.” I give Mercedes a little push away from Clarik. “Please excuse us.”

  “Yes,” Mercedes says. “I need time with Jade.”

  Though reluctant, he nods at her. “I’ll see you around.”

  I watch him saunter all the way to Mr. Parton’s door, and it’s like an invisible cord connects my gaze to him. Maybe an invisible cord connects his gaze to me, as well. He glances over his shoulder to study me. He’s frowning, but he’s also thoughtful. Then he’s gone, leaving me alone with my nightmare.

  How can I miss him already?

  I whirl on Mercedes. “You’re going to tell him the truth. You’re going to tell him that you hurt me, not the other way around. You’re going to tell him today! You owe me.”

  “I owe you nothing,” she says, even as her cheeks flush with what I assume is guilt.

  “I saved you from being hit by a car, remember?”

  “Anyway,” she continues, “I’d have to explain our situation, and he will never believe me.”

  Dang her, she’s right. “I’ve been thinking. I’ve had two dreams about my mother. Or what I thought were dreams. She said everything would change. I would see the shell of myself that I’d become, that I would have to fight for better, that she wants me happy and that I would have an ally.”

  Eyes nearly bugging out, she points to herself. “Ally. Me? And how did your dead mother put us in this...reverse reality?”

  “I don’t know, but nothing else makes sense.”

  “A ghost doesn’t make sense.”

  “Does anything?”

  “You didn’t let me finish.” Her shoulders roll in as she chews on her bottom lip. “A ghost doesn’t make sense...and yet I kinda sorta maybe might have had a dream, too.”

  What? “Tell me. Tell me everything.”

  “There’s not much to tell really. It was nighttime, and I was walking down a sidewalk, dragging a whole bunch of rocks that had been tied to my ankles. I passed a little girl who was crying. I asked her what was wrong, and she told me to go to hell, so I flipped her off and moved on. Your mom—”

  “How do you know it was my mom?”

  “I’ve seen pictures of her, okay? When our parents dated.” A bitter note returns to her voice. “Miranda told me...” She presses her lips together.

  “What?” I demand. “Just spit it out. She can’t think any worse of you than I do.”

  Mercedes bristles. “She told me I’m self-absorbed, crave attention and put others down in order to build myself up, and that I’ll be miserable until I learn to have empathy for others.”

  “So, basically she nailed it.”

  “I have faults, just like anyone else, but I also have good qualities.”

  I hope I’m not this deluded about myself.

  “Look, I can’t be stuck in this world. I just can’t.” Cursing, she slaps a hand against the bank of lockers. “Until your mom puts things back the way they were, I’m holing up in my bedroom. I don’t care if I have to stay there for weeks, months—years, even. If I boycott her lesson, she can’t teach, ergo she has no reason to persist.”

  I want to do the same, but problems are peeking from the mire of my thoughts like a Whac-A-Mole. The biggest one? “Time is going to pass regardless of what we do or do not accomplish. Doing nothing, hiding out, will ensure we’re stuck here for years, maybe forever. We might as well—” ugh, I can’t believe I’m going to say this and agree with my mother “—fight for better.”

  Perfect white teeth flash as Mercedes snarls at me. “I’m still going home. I’m not going to pretend everything’s okay.”

  “Oh, yes, you are. Because if we ditch today, we’ll be grounded, and if we’re grounded, we won’t be able to take a two-hour road trip to Grandma Beers’s house—she lives in Tulsa—and read my mother’s journals.”

  “And we want to read the journals because...?”

  “Mom told me she made mistakes, and this was her chance to fix them. We need to find out what those mistakes were exactly. Knowledge is power. The more we know about the situation, the faster we’ll succeed.” Probably.

  We have no other options.

  “Fine,” Mercedes says. “I’ll go about my day as if I’m an actress on a bad soap opera. I’ll even try to help you rehabilitate Lannie and Kasey.”

  “Linnie and Kimberly,” I snarl. “They are perfect just the way they are.”

  “Whatever. But you...you need to get ready. The good opinion of others is like a drug. You’re about to get a taste, and if you aren’t careful, you might become addicted.”

  * * *

  Pretending all is well proves more difficult than I imagined, and I’m not sure how I manage it. By lunch, however, my smile is brittle and my faux happiness is on the verge of total annihilation.

  Girls ask me for fashion advice. “Do you like my hair?”

  “Is my makeup too understated?”

  “Should I pierce my eyebrow?”

  These kids...they look to me for approval, the way they once looked to Mercedes, and it is a heavy burden to bear. Considering what my careless words did to Robb, I chose my r
esponses carefully.

  And yes, Mercedes was right. The good opinion of others is like a drug, especially during this trying time. I need support, and I get it.

  However, every time Linnie and Kimberly see me, they call me a clone and a murderer, blaming me for Robb’s suicide, and a little piece of me dies. Even still, I tell everyone I encounter how wonderful they are, and how we must be better, must do better, and treat them with kindness and respect.

  As I tell the girl standing next to me in the lunch line about our new K and R policy, she nods, hanging on my every word. Last night she snickered at me, enjoying my humiliation as she read a passage from my journal. Today I’m a beloved rock star.

  There’s something so unsatisfying about it. Maybe because I know it isn’t genuine.

  I have no right to complain, though. Every time I buried an emotion, I hid my true self.

  A boy with a Mohawk skateboards past us. “Hey, Jade. Watch this.” He performs a jump and flips the board off a table. Before, teachers would have come running from the halls to stop him. Today teachers cheer him on alongside the students.

  He looks to me, and I know. My reaction will determine whether his day is brightened or ruined.

  “Good job,” I tell him as I edge ever closer to the silverware, and he high-fives another kid.

  Finally, I’m at the front of the line. The scent of overcooked meat and grease assails me, and I want to vomit as I collect my tray and move toward the tables. My gaze skids to my usual table in back. Linnie and Kimberly are there, alone, and they look so...traditional. But they don’t look happy, not like before. Not that they were over-the-moon happy about anything then, what seems a lifetime ago.

  Where is Mercedes?

  “Jade! Over here,” Charlee Ann calls from a table at my left.

  Bobby is seated beside her. He pats the empty space on his other side with more force than necessary, making the action a command. The two smile at me, though Bobby’s is brittle while Charlee Ann’s appears sharp; they wave me over, just as I feared. Heaven and Nevaeh are there, too, busy talking among themselves.

  Other jocks are there, as well. Not that they are jocks any longer. Word around the halls is sports are “out” and sitting in silence to contemplate the complexities of life and death is “in.”

  All around me, others call “Over here” and “Sit by me.” Their voices blend together, becoming a high-pitched ring. Time slows to a torturous crawl. I have no real friends. No real ally. Mercedes is, and will always remain, an enemy. Too much has changed in too short a time. Not just around me, but inside me. So many emotions, trying to bubble up to the surface...

  A wave of dizziness sweeps through me, and shallow puffs of oxygen burn my lungs. But I’m not going to give in. I’m going to fight it. Fight for my friends. My true friends. I straighten my spine and close the distance, heading for Linnie and Kimberly’s table.

  I’ll put action to my words.

  When I place my tray beside Kimberly, she glances up, startled. Her jaw goes slack. Then her eyes narrow, and she nudges Linnie.

  “Look who’s decided to slum it,” she says, her tone acerbic.

  Linnie jolts to her feet. “Go back to your friends, and curse us with your black magic or whatever it is you do. Just stay away from us.”

  Another little piece of my heart dies, but I forge onward. “I want to talk with you, that’s all.”

  “Leave us alone,” Kimberly spits at me. “You’ve done enough.”

  “You like me, and I like you,” I find myself saying in a rush, hoping against hope they’ll remember me. “A lot. This is all a terrible misunderstanding. I’m doing everything in my power to make life better for you both. I would never do anything to hurt or—”

  “Never, she says.” Revulsion radiates from Linnie. “You pretended to be Robb’s friend, too, but only in secret. And every time he reached out to you, you rejected him, just like his parents.”

  The truly sad thing? She’s not describing something Mercedes did. I did this. Me. The real me.

  Thanks, Mom. When she went total Riddler on me, she said she would clean a dirty window so that I could see my life clearly, that she would strip away my armor and take away my hiding places. The best way to strip away someone’s armor? Hit it, again and again. At some point it will shatter. But why can’t credit for this particular sin go to Mercedes since we’ve oh-so-clearly switched places?

  The girls grab their trays and march out of the cafeteria without looking back to gauge my reaction, because they don’t care. They hate me that much.

  A new pang cuts through my chest, and suddenly every sob I’ve ever suppressed demands its due now, now, now. I press my lips together and somehow remain silent. But the action costs me. Can’t breathe...

  Sweat beads on my forehead. My world has been dumped upside down, cut up and glued back together with the pieces in the wrong place. I need to regroup.

  I push to unsteady legs and stumble away, my tray in hand. Someone bumps into me, and I stumble. Sliced pears swish over the side of my tray.

  “Watch ou—” I hear distantly. “Oh, hi, Jade. I’m so sorry. I should have looked where I was going. Fright shoes. Where’d you get them?”

  “Jade?” someone else asks, voice filled with concern. “You okay?”

  “Yo, Jade!” someone else calls as I dump my tray and run.

  Chapter 9

  Today my therapist said people are like flowers.

  Now I can’t stop thinking about something that

  happened to me as a little girl, when I helped

  my mother plant a garden. We buried the seeds,

  watered the soil and then we waited.

  For weeks I would race outside to see if my flowers

  had sprouted, and every day I would experience

  disappointment when nothing happened.

  But I couldn’t see the struggle underneath the surface,

  where roots were fighting to grow—to thrive.

  Just because I couldn’t see the change

  didn’t mean it wasn’t happening. And finally,

  one day, those flowers fought their way

  aboveground and bloomed.

  —Jade Leighton,

  one year ago

  I make it to the parking lot before grinding to a halt. What am I doing? I can’t leave. I told Mercedes we had to stay, and my reasons were valid.

  Come on, come on. Find the beauty in the darkness.

  I...can’t. Bending over, my hands anchored on my knees, I try to breathe. Cold air envelops me, the heat wave seemingly over. The sky is dark gray, storm clouds ready to burst at the seams.

  Footsteps hit my awareness. “A breakdown, Jade. Really?” Mercedes’s voice cuts through my panic. “If you try to leave me here after convincing me to stay, I swear I’ll kill you with a rusty spoon.”

  “Where have you been?” I don’t bother looking up at her. When life throws a punch, some people go down easy. Others fight. Fight! I have to fight. I will fight. “Why weren’t you in the cafeteria? I needed you.” No, no, no. I did not just say I needed Mercedes Turner.

  “Please. You don’t need anyone or anything, ever.”

  I wish! “Where have you been?” I repeat.

  “She was with me,” a male voice says.

  Clarik! Scuffed boots appear beside Mercedes’s sandals. I straighten, my gaze zooming up, up, to meet his. Sunlight pays him proper homage, deepening the bronze hue of his skin. Those blue, blue eyes regard me without wavering.

  One of his eyebrows arches under a fall of dark hair, his expression pure challenge.

  As my pulse quickens, I press my tongue to the roof of my mouth. Clarik and Mercedes were—are—together?

  “Do you two always fight like this?” he asks as he glances between us.

  “Yes,” we answer in unison.

 
“What—what are you guys doing out here?” I don’t know what else to say. My mind has packed up and gone on vacation.

  She flips her hair over her shoulder, as haughty as ever. “I might have had a minimeltdown when Charlee Ann and Bobby told me to... Well, it doesn’t matter now.” Tears well in her eyes, but she quickly blinks them away. “Of course, I didn’t embarrass myself like you’re doing. Look at you, all panicky and gross. At least I walked away with my dignity intact.”

  “Do you want your teeth intact, too?” I show her a fist I am more than happy to use.

  Another hair flip, but this time there’s a gleam of satisfaction in her eyes, as if she’s happy I’m back in fighting form. Wait. She ribbed me to help me? Because if I’m angry, I’m not wallowing or dejected.

  Well, crap.

  “Why, Jade Montana Leighton,” she says, exaggerating her Southern drawl. “Is that anger you’re projecting at me now? It’s as if you actually care about something.”

  “I don’t care,” I respond out of habit.

  “I know! I’ve always known. You’re a stone-cold—”

  Clarik steps between us, becoming all that I can see, all that I want to see. “There’s no need to fight. Jade, ignore her. You are as pretty as always.”

  Um, what happened to his disgust? “Th-thank you,” I stammer. I should be happy he finds me attractive, but... He called me beautiful in the other reality. Pretty is kind of a downgrade.

  “Quick question.” He arches a brow at me. “Montana?”

  Of course he would catch my middle name. “It’s where my mom was born.”

  “Adorable.”

  Adorable again. One word, and yet it delivers a powerful punch of relief.

  “Mercedes?” a soft voice calls from the door.

  In unison, our group turns. I spot Linnie, and my heart squeezes in my chest. I take a step toward her, only to stop myself. She’s waiting for her friend, and that is no longer me.

  “Are they bothering you?” she asks. She looks ready to defend Mercedes to the death.

  Mercedes sighs. “Your friends aren’t as terrible as I thought,” she tells me softly.

  “They aren’t terrible at all,” I reply just as softly. “Did you tell Clarik about our switch?”