Oh My Goth

by Gena Showalter

  “No. Are you kidding? We tell no one, remember, or we’ll end up locked away in a padded room.” Off she trots, joining Linnie and disappearing inside.

  Clarik stuffs his hands in his pockets and studies my face. Whatever he sees—desperation, frustration, amusement, homicidal urges—softens him. “Do you want to risk death by rusty spoon and leave the campus for lunch?”

  So much more than my murder is at stake. But...

  He’s the first good thing to happen to me all day, and I’m not ready to part with him. Just standing here with him somehow relaxes me. I’m no longer frazzled, and I don’t feel pressured into acting like someone I’m not. I’m plain, ordinary Jade Leighton—a girl who wants to spend time with a boy. Nothing more, nothing less.

  “You hate me,” I remind him. “You think I posted passages from Mercedes’s journal at that party. Why would you want to leave with me?”

  “She told me you hurt people in a thousand different ways, but that isn’t one of them. She also told me you’re both going through something terrible, but she—and I quote—has it worse.”

  I’m going to kill her with a rusty spoon.

  “Besides,” he adds, “I was wrong to cast judgment earlier, and I’m sorry. I know there are always three sides to a story.”

  I think he’s the first person to ever apologize to me and look like he means it with every fiber of his being.

  Wait.

  Back up. “Three sides?”

  “Yours, theirs and the unbiased truth.”

  Dude. “That’s kind of brilliant.”

  He unveils a little smile. “I read it on the internet.”

  Dude. He’s got to be too good to be true. I pinch him. “Just making sure you’re real.”

  He rolls his eyes. “Are we leaving or what?”

  “We’re leaving. Yes, please, and thank you,” I say with a nod. Then I hesitate.

  “Come on.” When he turns and strides toward his truck, I fall into step beside him. “I’m curious. Are you and Mercedes friends or enemies? I honestly can’t tell.”

  “Enemies.” Right? But I don’t want to discuss her. “Where are we going?”

  “My favorite hamburger joint. I’m starved.”

  I’m not hungry, but I’d eat a seven-course feast if it meant I could spend time with him.

  He opens the passenger door for me, and I slide into my seat. As I buckle up and settle in, I scrutinize every inch of the truck, looking for differences. Cracks snake through the dark leather, adding to the truck’s charm. The floorboards are clean, no hint of clutter. The exact same. A good sign.

  As he settles behind the wheel, the sound of his soft inhalations creates a soothing melody in my ears. And he smells good, even better than before. Like chocolate-covered almonds and cinnamon sticks.

  “Wait,” I say. “How are we going to leave campus without a pass?”

  “No worries. I’ve got this.” When he keys the ignition, classical music seeps from the speakers. Last time we were together in this truck, we talked and the radio remained off.

  He turns a switch, and the music goes quiet. “Sorry.” He eases the car into gear. “I know most of the world prefers heavy metal—”

  “I enjoy classical music, too, but I never would have pegged you for a Beethoven fan.”

  He shrugs but offers no more. Oookay. This isn’t something he wants to discuss. Got it.

  A security guard wearing a black uniform waits at the edge of the parking lot, manning the booth attached to the gate, keeping students in and unnecessary visitors out. Without delay, he exits the booth and approaches the truck. The scruff of his goatee leads to a row of piercings down the center of his throat.

  I recognize him and blink in surprise. This is Clarik’s uncle Tag. No wonder I thought he was familiar the evening I met him.

  His no-nonsense expression only hardens when he spots his nephew. He motions for Clarik to roll down the window, and says, “Where do you think you’re going, boy?” His gaze shifts to me, and he frowns. “Hello, Miss Leighton.”

  “Um. Hi.”

  Clarik grips the wheel. “We’re going to lunch.”

  Amid a tension-laden pause, I wonder if I should say something. Maybe I can talk Tag into letting us go since I’m the darling of the school and everything.

  “You plan on coming back?” he asks with no prompting from me.

  “We’ll be back for next period,” Clarik says. “You have my word.”

  Tag looks up at the sky as if he’s praying for strength. “You’re gonna be the death of me. You know that, don’t you?”

  “Yes.” Clarik rests his elbow on the open window. “If not by accident, then by intense planning.”

  Some rusty, odd sound bursts from me, short and quick and anything but sweet. My eyes widen as I cover my mouth with my hand. Even Clarik’s eyes widen as he focuses on me. I think... I think I just laughed.

  He grins at me, slow and almost wicked, as if he likes what he heard and what he sees.

  I frown. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”

  “Don’t be sorry. Just do it again.”

  Tag looks at Clarik, then me, then Clarik again. “Fine. Go on, then, but you’d better not be late for your next class. And you’d better be careful with her. She needs to be returned in the same condition she left in, or it’s my butt they’ll flay.”

  “She will. You have my word.”

  As soon as the barrier lifts, Clarik speeds away.

  I shift toward him while nibbling on my bottom lip. If this world is truly an opposite of the other—for the most part, anyway—then he took Mercedes on a nondate date yesterday. He thinks he told her about bits and pieces about his life. He might be attracted to her. He better not be attracted to her. He might consider her a bad bet.

  Maybe I’m a good bet now.

  I want to know more about his thoughts, his past—he is the perfect distraction from my problems—but I don’t know the best way to go about this without seeming like a creeper who knows way too much about a complete stranger.

  “Do you have girlfriend?” I finally ask. I already know the answer, but there’s no other way to kick off a conversation about their relationship.

  “Broke up with her not too long ago.”

  Okay. Now the floodgates have been opened. “What was she like? Why did you guys break up?” He wouldn’t tell me before. Maybe he’ll share this time.

  He flicks me a guarded look. “I’ll tell you, but I’ll expect tit for tat.”

  He’s curious about me, too? Warmth flutters in my torso. “Agreed.”

  “She was...sweet and almost painfully shy.”

  So nothing like me—boo. And nothing like Mercedes—yay. “Go on.”

  “We broke up because, apparently, I have a hero complex and tried to slay all her dragons.”

  Slay dragons... Does he mean the fights? Did his desire to throw down with other guys scare her?

  I decide to ask. “You fought other guys on her behalf?”

  “Brutally.” The word whips from him, almost as if it’s a warning.

  I’m not afraid of him. I recognize his worth. He is a protector of the weak—he is rare and wonderful. Priceless.

  He fiddles with knobs on the console. Cold air blows straight at me but warms quickly. Leaning my head against the window, I gaze out the foggy glass.

  Cannot see clearly when looking through a dirty glass.

  I wipe the fog away and spy tall green trees, with blackbirds flying overhead. Very pretty. What will I find if I wipe away the dirt on...what? My soul?

  “All right. It’s my turn,” Clarik says, drawing my attention. “Are you dating Bobby Bay?”

  “No. Gross. He is Mercedes’s—” Nope. In this messed-up reality, they probably haven’t dated. “No,” I repeat. “We’r
e not. Not now, not ever.”

  “You sure about that? He talks about you like you belong to him.”

  “When did you talk to him about me? What did he say exactly?”

  “During third period. He said he noticed the way I watched you, and I had better keep my eyes off you or I’ll lose them.”

  Bobby needs a crash course in basic human rights. “I don’t belong to him. I don’t belong to anyone.”

  “Good to know.” As Clarik snakes around a corner, I tilt in his direction. The scent of chocolate intensifies.

  “So...when did you watch me?” I press my hands together, forming a steeple in front of my mouth.

  Suddenly sheepish, he says, “I have a confession. I moved into my uncle’s house a few weeks ago, and I’ve seen you jog by the house almost every morning and evening. Saw you before I ever made it to school...maybe drooled a little.”

  Hello, shock and awe. Clarik Iverson drooled over me, and I’d had no idea. The corners of my mouth twitch, and it’s another odd sensation that I’ve never experienced before.

  Except...everything he’s saying might be a lie. An illusion of the fake world.

  “The first time I was struck by the total package. The hair.” He pauses. “The body. Then I saw your eyes,” he adds. “They were so...empty.”

  Or maybe these details aren’t part of an illusion. Maybe they’re true. Robots have empty eyes.

  Empty. The word echoes in my head. No wonder he kept fighting his amusement the day we met. He didn’t want to like me. “It made me a bad bet,” I say, my tone hollow now.

  “Yes.” He casts me a curious glance. “When I was a kid, my mom would tell me how much I looked like my dad, and I wanted so badly to see him I would spend hours staring at myself in the mirror. Sometimes I’d even stare at my reflection in the window, hoping he’d drive up for one of his surprise visits. So often I saw that same emptiness in my eyes, because I knew he wasn’t going to show up. I think that’s why it sometimes hurt me to look at you.”

  Pang, pang. What a sad childhood he must have led, hoping and waiting for someone who would rarely show. At least I had closure. “Are my eyes empty today?”

  “Today they are...wild. I like it.” He drums his fingers over the steering wheel. “I had a hard time reconciling my desire to get to know you better with what I kept hearing about you. And that emptiness... I thought it would be better to keep my distance from you.”

  “I understand. You think I can easily walk away from my friends.” Just like his father walked away from him. And hey, he wasn’t wrong. I did plan to walk away.

  “I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings by admitting—”

  “Don’t apologize. A hurtful truth is better than a pretty lie, always.”

  “If it helps, I don’t think you’re a bad bet anymore.”

  My pulse races, and I shiver. Something akin to hope blooms. “I noticed you, too, just so you know.”

  “Did you, now?” He casts me another glance, and this time he is smiling. “So what’s this I hear about you acting weird? Everyone is talking about the new Jade Leighton. How you lost your taste for blood sport or something.”

  “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

  “Try me.”

  I barely believe what happened, and I’m living through it. “Maybe I woke up living someone else’s life.”

  His eyes shine with merriment as he says, “Fine. Don’t tell me. I’ll guess. You met a gorgeous boy, fell in love, and he melted the ice around your heart.”

  “You jest, but...” All of this began soon after I met him. “Do you have an after-school job?” I ask, changing the subject.

  Silence. I think he’s preparing to demand a more in-depth answer. Then he lifts his shoulders in a shrug, perhaps sensing the fragility of my calm. “No after-school job, but on weekends I restore cars, motorcycles, that sort of thing. What about you?”

  “Nope, no job.” Therapy used to take up too much of my time.

  After a beat of silence, he says, “Last night I had a dream we were sitting in this truck, and you told me you wonder how and when people will die, yourself included.”

  First: he’s dreaming about me! Second: bits and pieces of the real world must be seeping into the unreal one. This is good. Very, very good!

  “Your dream got it right,” I say. “I do think about death.”

  His brow furrows, but he says, “Have you wondered about my death?”

  “No, but only because I thought you looked too strong to take out.”

  He raises an arm, flexes his biceps. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

  We reach our destination, and he eases the truck into an empty slot. “I hope you’re as starved as I am.”

  No, but I’m going to eat, anyway, to keep up my strength. Something about me should be resilient while I’m fighting for better. “I’ll have whatever you’re having.”

  I unbuckle as he requests two cheeseburgers and two orders of fries. No onions and no garlic this time. Interesting. Does he not think we need friendship insurance in this reality?

  “Oh, crap!” I dig in my pockets—my empty pockets. “I don’t have any money.”

  “My treat,” he says.

  “No way.” He works hard for his money, and I’m not going to mooch. “I’ll pay you back tomorrow.” Unless... “This isn’t a date, is it?”

  “Why, do you want it to be a date?”

  “Oh, no, no, no, Clarie. You don’t get to answer my question with a question. Don’t wuss out on me now. Sack up and tell me the truth.”

  His eyes begin to shine again. “Let’s call this a predate. I only just realized you aren’t the person I thought you were. I need time to process.”

  “A predate. Yeah. I’m on board.”

  A car parks next to ours, and in back, a toddler draped in black happily waves her hands. Everyone around us is Goth, just like at school.

  A cold shell. Mom wasn’t wrong.

  I don’t want to be that way anymore.

  We sit in silence until our food is delivered. My stomach is too knotted again, but I force myself to nibble on my burger.

  “Come on,” Clarik says. “You can do better than that.”

  With my gaze on his, I take an exaggerated bite. Bits of meat fall from the corners of my mouth and he laughs, and suddenly I want to laugh. Then the amazing flavors hit my tongue like they did on our nondate, and my eyes close as I savor. I even moan.

  “Good, right?” he asks.

  “So good.” Somehow even better than yesterday.

  He runs a fry along the seam of my lips. “Go on. Try this, too. The first taste is free...”

  Another of those strange, rusty noises escapes me. Strange, yes, but more like a chuckle. “Are you my potato pusher now?”

  “Yes, so do yourself a favor and eat it,” he says, and I chomp off half the fry.

  New flavors hit my tongue. Soon I’m devouring my food, scarfing down every crumb. When I finish, I moan for a different reason. I’m full for the first time in...ever.

  “You are a maze of contradictions, Jade.”

  “A puzzle wrapped in an enigma, dipped in a mystery, and sprinkled with a paradox.”

  Deciding to take a risk, I dig out the phone I have so rarely used. “What’s your number? You know, in case we decide to go on a date-date.”

  As he recites numbers—without hesitation, thank you very much—I type. “What’s your number?” he asks then.

  Relief washes through me, and I shoot him a text. Probably the lamest text in history.

  Hi. This is Jade.

  “Thanks.” He smiles at me before glancing at the clock on the dash. “We better get back. If we’re late, my uncle will use Mercedes’s rusty spoon to murder me.”

  Dread crawls down my spine. “Yeah. We better get bac
k.” Back to school...back to finding a way to crawl out of my nightmare.

  Chapter 10

  Life is always throwing curveballs.

  Just as soon as I duck one,

  another ball is launched—right at my face.

  —Miranda Beers

  We return without incident and make it to class in time. He smiles at me the next time he sees me, but he doesn’t try to speak to me again. He can’t. After the final bell rings, Charlee Ann and the twins corner me.

  I half listen to their chatter as I make my way to my locker.

  “Do you want a ride home?” Charlee Ann asks.

  A group of boys on skateboards fly past us. “No, thanks. I’m riding with...my stepsister.” I’m pretty sure I’ll never get used to referring to Mercedes as family.

  Charlee Ann’s shoulders slump with disappointment. “Okay. I guess I’ll just see you tomorrow, then. Call me later, though. Love you.”

  I shrug, noncommittal. I haven’t ever told Linnie, Kimberly and Robb that I love them, and I’m not going to start with Charlee Ann. “Later.” I rush outside.

  As planned, Mercedes drives me home. We discuss the day, and she tells me about a group of kids who started to insult her and the others but ended up walking away. Progress!

  My dad’s truck is parked in the driveway, alongside another car. One I recognize. Fiona is here. A spark of excitement flares, lighting a fire under my feet.

  “Who’s here?” Mercedes asks, staring at the car.

  “My stepmom. Maybe things are going back to normal already.” I dash out of the car and into the house.

  Laughter draws me into the kitchen. My dad is standing behind the counter with a Goth Fiona sitting in front of it. She’s wearing neck-to-toe black leather. The only splash of color comes from red crystals that dangle from her necklace. Her stomach is flat.

  My blood flash-freezes. Things aren’t going back to normal. Not even close.

  Mercedes sidles up to me, taking in the scene.

  Dad spots us before Fiona, and his amusement vanishes. A dark flush stains his cheeks. Guilt? “Girls. Hi. How was your day?”