Oh My Goth

by Gena Showalter

  “Are you okay?” he asks. “Truly?”

  There are a thousand and one things I can say, but the first words to leave my mouth are, “She wanted me to die with her.” And now I’m supposed to believe she wants to help me.

  “Yes. After the accident, I found a note.” He pushes out a weighty breath. “I’m so sorry, honey. I never wanted you to read her journals, but I couldn’t bring myself to toss them. The truth shall set you free,” he mutters.

  The truth hurts. Talking about what I learned brings the pain right back to the surface. Air wheezes through my nose, but doesn’t quite reach my lungs. It’s too shallow. Acid swims inside my stomach as ice crystalizes in my veins. My ribs threaten to crack against the constant hammering of my heart. Pain swamps me, and I’m not sure I can overcome it.

  “She loved you,” he says, “but she was sick.”

  Part of me aches for her and the pain she struggled to overcome. Another part aches for me, for the little girl I was, and for my dad, who has carried this burden for years. This man has his faults, but he’s my dad. He did what he felt was right.

  I lean over and rest my head on his shoulder. He doesn’t move, and I realize he’s probably stunned. Even in this reality, I must have been as standoffish as ever. Plus, attitude is in. Then he winds his arms around my waist, holding me against him, and tears well in my eyes.

  “What’s this for?” he asks, his breath fanning through my hair.

  “For you being you.”

  We stay like that for a long while. After kissing my forehead, he stands and draws me to my feet. “Come on. The painters are about to leave. You can go for your jog, clear your head, and I’ll cook dinner. Sound good?”

  “Sounds good.”

  He leads me into the kitchen, and the painters are already gone. So is Fiona. Nadine still sits at the counter, but she’s focused on her daughter rather than her work.

  “For goodness’ sake, Mercedes, have a little pride in your appearance.”

  Mercedes’s cheeks redden. She stalks off without glancing in my direction. A door slams.

  “Nadine,” my dad says on a sigh.

  “I don’t need another lecture about the way I treat my daughter. I’m honest with her because I love her.” She returns to her files.

  I run my tongue over my teeth, anger spilling from me. “You like honesty? Great. Here’s a big dose of it, just for you.” My dad squeezes my hand in warning, but my words are an unstoppable freight train. “The way you treat her is the way she treats others, so good job there. She’s the most-hated girl at school, but she’s pretty, so I guess that balances everything out, right? If you really loved your daughter, as you claim, you would build her up and not tear her down.”

  She lifts her chin and glares at my father. “Are you going to let her speak to me like that?”

  I leave him to deal with his wife and knock on Mercedes’s door.

  “Go away,” she shouts.

  Fine. I shut myself in my room, anchor my hair in a ponytail, then exchange my clothes for a tank and shorts and my boots for running shoes. Clarik asked me to come by his house, but he never told me a time. I could text and ask him, but I’d rather see him.

  I knock on Mercedes’s door a second time and ask her if she’d like to join me. Got to practice this kindness thing, you know.

  “Go away, Jade. I mean it.”

  “You’ll feel better after—”

  “Go. Away!” Something thumps against the door. A pillow, I’m guessing.

  “Fine. Stew in solitary confinement.”

  As I exit the house, Dad and Nadine are still arguing. Outside, the sun is still shining, but the air is growing colder. In the distance, smoke wafts from a chimney, the scent of burning wood heavier with every breath I take.

  I decide to jog around the neighborhood before seeing Clarik. I pass the lawn where I hit my head, when the car almost ran over Mercedes and me. My blood stains the rock by the flower bed, and the sight of it makes me dizzy. Moving on. I round the corner, Clarik’s house coming into view. He’s at the curb, putting the finishing touches on a brand-new mailbox.

  He spots me and brightens, and the sight of his excitement causes a weight to lift from my shoulders. One I didn’t know I’d been carrying around.

  “Everything okay?” He pulls on the end of my ponytail, his gaze searching my face. “You look stressed.”

  “Be still my heart,” I say, batting my lashes at him. I can’t bring myself to paste on a smile. I just... I want to be myself with him. Let him get to know the real me, warts and all. “Exactly what every girl wants to hear from the guy she’s—whatever.”

  He barks out a laugh. “Even stressed, you’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.”

  Pleasure heats my skin. “You told me to come over, so here I am.”

  He surprises me by taking my hand in his, linking our fingers, and the gesture is as comforting as a hug. “Let’s go for a walk.” He urges me forward, a comfortable stroll. “You can tell me why you didn’t jog last night or this morning.”

  He watched for me? “Mercedes drove me to Tulsa to visit my grandmother.” I lick my lips, suddenly nervous. Like tearing off a bandage, I admit the truth as fast as possible. “I learned some things about my mom. Terrible things about how she died. She killed herself and tried to kill me, too.”

  “I’m sorry. I wish you’d learned happy things.” His grip tightens, his fingers seeming to flinch unconsciously. “Tell me something else you live for.”

  One of those lumps grows in my throat, this one barbed. “My unborn sister.” I will get you back, Ruby. “And you?”

  “My uncle.”

  A voice whispers behind us. “This is good. This is very good. She’s making progress.”

  I twist around, but no one is there. Ugh. The stress of everything is clearly taking a toll.

  “I told you how I never cry, right?” Wait. I’d told the old Clarik. “Since the age of five, I’ve cried only once. Last night. I’ve laughed only once. When I was with you.”

  “Do you want to cry and laugh again?”

  “I kind of do.” I’d fooled myself into believing I was content, but really I wasn’t even close.

  “Well, then. I can help you find your funny bone.” He kicks out his leg, blocking my foot, causing me to launch forward. Our hands are still linked, and with a laugh of his own, he yanks me upright so that I crash into his chest, facing him.

  One of those rusty, odd sounds bubbles up and slips from my mouth. This time, I recognize it for what it is. A laugh of my own. An actual laugh. This boy...

  He’s smiling as he wraps his arms around me and rests his hands on my lower back. His fingers toy with the waist of my shorts, tickling my skin under my shirt. “I’ve got the magic touch.”

  Curling my fingers into his shirt, I say, “All right. I told you a secret about me. Now it’s your turn to tell me a secret about you.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  So many things! I’m still a little fixated on his relationship with Kendra, so why not start there? “You were with your ex for a long time.”

  “That’s true. I would even argue too long.”

  Well, that’s good to hear. “So you don’t miss her?”

  “Not even a little.” Gently, so gently, he brushes a lock of hair behind my ear. “But that isn’t a secret.”

  Contact electrifies me, igniting a fire in my veins. “Tell me something you’ve never told anyone else, then.”

  A honk sounds as a car heads our way. Clarik leads me to the sidewalk, wraps his arms around me again and lets his fingers drape over the curve of my butt. The new position is superintimate, as strange as it is wonderful, and something I’ve never experienced.

  “I’ve never met my biological father. He...” The muscles in his arms knot. “My mom got pregnant
in college. He gave her money and told her to take care of the problem. She refused, and he dumped her. I think she hoped he’d fall in love with me after I was born, but no such luck.”

  Truth? Or illusion? Either way... “That blows chunks! And just so you know, he’s missing out. Big-time.” I rest my head against his chest and, in a mimicry of him, wrap my arms around his waist, holding him, offering comfort. “You are one of the best people I know.”

  You know what will make me happy? Dating this version of Clarik. Kissing him. Doing more. I want his arms around me, just like this, but I want his hands under my clothing.

  If I’m going to deal with my pain, I want some pleasure on the side.

  “Jade?” he says.

  “Yes, Clarik.”

  “This position... I like it. I like it a lot. Which is why things are going to get embarrassing if we don’t separate ASAP.”

  He means... Oh my gosh! A gasp/laugh combination leaves me, and I straighten. His cheeks are a little pink, and it’s freaking adorable.

  “Want to go to Charlee Ann’s party with me on Saturday?” he asks, bumping my shoulder.

  My knees weaken, threatening to buckle. Clarik Iverson just asked me out on a date. A real one! My first. “What about your job?”

  “I’m scheduled to work earlier in the day. The night is mine.” He gives me an exaggerated eyebrow waggle. “Or should I say the night is ours.”

  I snort. “I want to spend more time with you, I do, but parties aren’t my thing.” I’m not sure I’ll be able to pull off “kind” in a crowd, especially when the party is hosted by a girl I can’t stand.

  “No offense, Jaybird, but you’ve never been to a party with me. You don’t know what you’re missing.”

  Actually, I have been to a party with you, Clarik. But he’s right about one thing. I will miss what he brings to the table.

  Wait. Jaybird? How fricking adorable is that?

  How can I resist this boy? Besides, what if the key to seeing my life clearly, to embracing my emotions, to finding my happiness, is doing things I wouldn’t normally do?

  “Okay. Yes,” I say with a nod. “I will go to Charlee Ann’s party with you.”

  “Thank you.” He’s smiling as he presses a swift kiss on my forehead.

  His lips are soft and warm, and I miss them the second they’re gone. Again he takes my hand, and we resume our walk.

  “Let’s have dinner at the drive-in before the party,” I say. “It’s my turn to buy you a meal.” And not with my dad’s money. Well, with my dad’s money, but cash I’ll earn by doing chores.

  For the rest of the week, I will clean the entire house every evening, help cook dinner and wash all the dishes, really work for my allowance.

  I expect a tendril of dread to snake through me, but all I feel is satisfaction.

  “Deal,” he says.

  “One more thing.” Releasing his hand, I jump in front of him. I flatten my palm against his chest to force him to stop. My nerves are razed, but I force myself to keep going. If my former numbness taught me anything, it’s that there is no reward if there’s no risk. “When the date is over, I’d really like it if you walked me to my door and...kissed me good-night. Just wanted you to know.”

  His smile returns, but it’s slower to show itself this time, and far wickeder. “Consider yourself kissed at the door.”

  Chapter 13

  In life, good and bad things are going to happen.

  That’s a fact.

  —Jade Leighton

  Each day is a new opportunity to go home, to our other reality.

  Do we? No. And as the rest of the week drags by, I develop a routine. Wake up, jog with Clarik—he’s always waiting on his porch, ready to join me.

  He asks me to name something I live for. So far, I’ve added making up with Robb, Linnie and Kimberly to the list. Though I keep Robb’s name to myself, considering what happened in this reality. Clarik’s answers have included becoming a cop, making me laugh so hard I cry, and kissing me.

  He has become my one bright light, and I can’t get enough of him. I want more. I need it. I really, really like this version of Clarik.

  After our jog, we go to school together. I avoid Charlee Ann and Bobby whenever possible, and catch a ride home with Clarik. He usually drops me off at my house; we change, then meet up again to go jogging. After I shower, I clean the house, cook dinner, do the dishes and go to sleep. Rinse and repeat.

  My mom doesn’t make another appearance.

  I don’t know how much longer I can be nice to everyone. Clarik and Mercedes are the only exceptions. I get to be myself around them.

  Avoiding Charlee Ann and Bobby is tough. After Mr. Parton’s class, Charlee Ann follows me around. Twice she’s broken down and sobbed, wanting to know what she did to make me hate her. Let me count the ways. I assure her my feelings for her haven’t changed. And Bobby keeps trying to corner me so we can discuss our “relationship.”

  Once, he grabs and shakes me, so I knee him in the balls. I’ve never been more grateful for the self-defense training Dr. Miller recommended. And Bobby is lucky. He’ll be able to have his testicles surgically removed from his throat, no problem.

  I don’t mention the encounter to Clarik, knowing what will happen if I do. Bobby will die, and Clarik will go to prison for murder. No, thanks.

  Turns out, I don’t have to mention it for a fight to break out.

  One morning Clarik is walking me to class, doing his best to make me laugh. He’s always doing his best to make me laugh, something real-life Clarik wouldn’t have done. Sometimes he succeeds. When he fails, I wonder if ever he’ll get tired of having to work so hard and decide to wash his hands of me.

  It’s stressing me out. Basically I’m becoming one giant nerve ending. And now I’m rambling inside my head. Great!

  Bobby rushes over, his friends lined up beside him. He’s practically vibrating with rage.

  “You need to stay away from my girl,” he snarls, getting in Clarik’s face.

  “Your girl?” I say. “This is delving into stalker territory, Bobby.”

  Any other guy in the school would shrink back, desperate to escape the jock’s fury. Not Clarik. He bows up, ready to throw down. “You don’t want to fight me, Bay. Trust me on this. I will mop the floor with your blood.”

  “Guys.” I try to step between them as panic flash-freezes the air in my lungs. “Don’t do this. There’s no need. Bobby, you should have stayed away. I’m not dating you, and you know it. Not now, not ever.”

  Nice isn’t going to get me anywhere in this situation.

  Clarik holds out his arm, keeping me back. “Perhaps he needs the information beaten into him.”

  “Bobby’s gonna tear you a new one, Iverson,” one of the jocks growls. The others cheer. Bobby continues to stand in place, inhaling and exhaling with force, his nostrils flaring.

  A chanting crowd forms around us. “Fight, fight, fight.” Cell phones are lifted and set to record.

  “Go ahead,” Clarik says and grins with ice-cold rage. “Throw the first punch. Then it’s self-defense for me, and I can do all the damage I want.”

  “Go to class,” I bellow. “Now.”

  For once in this reality, I’m ignored.

  The bell rings, but all the students remain in place. Cheers grow louder, almost deafening. Then Principal Hatcher comes storming down the hall, and everyone goes quiet.

  “All right, that’s enough. To your classrooms. Now.” She claps her hands, indicating she means business. “In thirty seconds, anyone in this hallway will be suspended for a week.”

  There’s a rush of footsteps as the hallway empties. Bobby stomps away.

  Clarik frames my face with his big, beautiful hands. His skin is warm and calloused, and sends tingles racing through me. “If he gives you any trouble,
tell me.”

  “Don’t worry about me. I took self-defense lessons. I can handle a double-douche-canoe. If he gives you any trouble, tell me.”

  He gifts me with one of his perfect smiles, and it’s white-hot.

  I wrap my fingers around his wrists; the bones are so thick that the tips of my fingers aren’t even close to touching. “Be careful, Clarie. I mean it. He’s devious enough to ambush you.”

  We go our separate ways.

  Later that day, I notice that Mercedes is avoiding me. I don’t know why, or what I did wrong. I try to question her, but Linnie and Kimberly drag her away. That night—Friday—she stays the night with Linnie. Something I’ve never done. Envy pokes at me...

  It’s your own fault, and you know it.

  At long last, Saturday arrives. Clarik is working till 6:00 and picking me up at 7:00. I spend the bulk of the day journaling and coming up with ways to get happy. Right now, though, everything revolves around the kiss Clarik promised me, so I end up researching how to be an expert frencher.

  By 6:45, I’m studying my reflection in the mirror, my heartbeat erratic, my palms sweaty. My dress is tight and black and overlaid with lace, and it perfectly conforms to my curves. The hem stops a few inches above my knees, revealing my fishnet stockings and tall boots. A necklace made of silver spikes completes the outfit.

  “Dude. You look like a dominatrix.” Mercedes stomps into my room and perches at the edge of my bed.

  At the sight of her, excitement flares to life. What a difference a week makes. I guess she’s grown on me. Like a fungus.

  “We should exchange clothing,” she says. Her canary-yellow sundress has a bow on the neckline, cinches at the waist, the skirt layered with ruffles.

  “I’m going on a date with Clarik.” How would he react to Preppy Jade? Honestly, I don’t think he’d care one way or the other. To him, people are people, no matter what they wear. An admirable trait. “I’m comfortable in this dress.” It’s what I’m used to. “I would be a wreck of insecurity in yours.”

  “You’re always confident,” she grumbles. “It’s not fair.”