Oh My Goth

by Gena Showalter

  Slowly, not wanting to startle her, I crouch in front of her. “I’m going to dress you, okay?”

  Still no reaction. As gently as possible, I wrap the corset around her middle, move behind her and zip the back. I guide her legs into the pants and force the material up to her waist. With my arm wrapped around her, I help her stand.

  “We’re going home,” I tell her. Fright Night is exactly that—a terrible fright.

  Tremors shake her as we head down the hall. I call for a teacher, an adult, someone, anyone. We need help, and they need to know what happened at their school. They need to take measures to ensure something like this doesn’t happen again. But we make it to the parking lot without catching anyone’s notice, because these hallways are cordoned off; the school’s way of preventing anyone unauthorized from entering the building.

  A whimper escapes her when we come to Bobby and his group. Bobby—whose face is now cut and bruised, I notice with satisfaction. He’s gathered an even larger group of friends, who have surrounded Clarik with a wall of testosterone.

  Clarik is far from intimidated. In fact, he’s grinning with cold calculation.

  Bobby has provoked a bear, but he probably feels invincible with his friends around.

  I don’t want to move away from Mercedes, but I don’t want to leave Clarik on his own, either. “You’ve done enough damage, Bobby. Stop this.”

  His attention never veers from Clarik. “Not yet. I’m going to prove to your boyfriend—” he sneers the word “—that he isn’t as tough as he thinks he is.”

  “By having your friends gang up on him? All that proves is how weak and cowardly you are.” Where are our chaperones, the teachers and staff paid to be here? Principal Hatcher? Martha?

  “Get your sister to my truck, Jade.” Clarik doesn’t spare me a glance, either. “You don’t need to stay for this.”

  “Yeah, it’s gonna be a bloodbath.” Bobby pops his knuckles.

  People gather around us, Fright Night forgotten. Everyone wants to watch a down-and-dirty slaughter.

  “Fight, fight, fight,” they chant.

  A new flood of tears streaks down Mercedes’s cheek. Her tremors intensify.

  “Someone go get Hatcher,” I call. “Now.”

  “No.” Clarik gives a single shake of his head. “Bobby hasn’t learned his lesson, so I’m going to make sure he does this time. He won’t be walking away—he’ll be crawling.”

  Bobby bristles, and I wonder if this reality shift has turned him into his worst villain self, or if he is truly this bad in real life.

  “Go get help,” I command the girl who stands a few feet away. “Now.”

  When she takes a step, Bobby points an accusing finger at her, and she stills. “Do it, and you’ll regret it,” he snaps.

  Dang him! What should I do?

  “Intimidating people who are smaller than you. Look how brave and strong you are,” Clarik says, mocking him as he steps forward. “If you want a piece of me, come and get it.”

  Bobby, too, steps forward. His friends remain a flank at his sides. Not all of them are as cocky, however. Some are visibly frightened, pale and trembling. But not one of them backs down, probably too afraid of being ridiculed.

  They can dish it, but they don’t want to eat it.

  The two opposing forces converge. I gasp, and Mercedes cries out. Fists are thrown. Legs are kicked. Grunts of pain blend together. Clarik... Clarik knows what he’s doing, as if he was born in a boxing ring. He’s in total control. He ducks when he needs to duck, spins out of the way when necessary and throws a well-placed punch at every opportunity.

  Anyone he hits falls.

  It doesn’t take Bobby long to realize he’s outmatched. He does his best to throw his friends at Clarik in order to keep himself out of the strike zone, but Clarik knocks out every...single...one. All the while, his gaze continually returns to Bobby, the main target.

  When one of Clarik’s victims regains consciousness, he jumps to his feet and runs out of the fight circle, knocking into Mercedes and me. We stumble backward, and I lose my grip on her. People scramble out of our way, and in the chaos, I tumble into a wall—headfirst. Sharp pain explodes through my temples.

  Mercedes is pushed into a bronzed scarecrow and screams as if she’s been ripped from her mental reverie. Though my vision is hazy, I’m able to see her through the legs of the people in the crowd. Blood pours from a wound in her ankle. She must have scraped the ends of the scarecrow’s pitchfork as she fell.

  All she can do is press a shaky hand against the gaping flesh to hopefully stanch the flow. I crawl over to her, rip the hem from my skirt and wind the material around her ankle.

  “You are going to be okay,” I assure her.

  A car parks at the curb. Despite the violence taking place around us, Linnie and Kimberly don’t hesitate to rush out of the vehicle and straight to Mercedes’s side.

  “Sorry, sorry. She told us to leave without her, but we didn’t feel right about it so we just stayed in the car, debating what to do, then we saw the fight,” Linnie babbles. “Just...leave her alone, Jade.” She pushes me out of the way. “You and your friends have done enough damage. We’ll get her to a hospital.”

  “I didn’t do this. Her mom is a doctor.” I move in front of Mercedes. “I’ll take her home.”

  “No,” Kimberly spits at me. “You aren’t—”

  “It’s okay,” Mercedes tells her. “I trust Jade.”

  Both girls look like they want to argue, but concern for her well-being overshadows everything else, and they nod.

  Working together, we get her to her feet. Ahead of us, kids are moving with Clarik and Bobby, who are still fighting. Bobby throws a punch, but Clarik dodges and throws one of his own. His strike has a lot more power behind it. His knuckles collide with Bobby’s nose. Blood sprays, and he topples backward.

  Clarik pins Bobby to the ground—and punches one final time.

  Knowing the girls have Mercedes anchored in place, I let go and push through the crowd, reaching Clarik as he stands, throwing my arms around him. He’s panting, a stream of crimson trickling from his cracked lip. Blood coats his hands—Bobby’s and his own. His knuckles are split open.

  “What’s going on out here?” Principal Hatcher winds through the now-gaping onlookers, three men at her sides. Two are security guards—and one of those guards is Clarik’s uncle. Mr. Parton is the third man.

  They reach us seconds later. The security guard who isn’t related to Clarik grabs him, despite his uncle’s protests. I cling to Clarik, refusing to let go.

  Hatcher crouches beside Bobby to assess the damage and check his vitals.

  I’m horrified as my boyfriend’s hands are cuffed behind his back. “He was protecting Mercedes,” I say, refusing to release him.

  What should I do? This is a lose-lose situation.

  “Let him explain what happened,” Tag demands.

  “I’ll tell you what happened,” I shout. “Bobby and his friends stole a female student’s clothing and threatened to violate her. Clarik protected her from further harm. Protected us all by knocking them out, preventing them from causing more trouble or escaping. He should be rewarded!”

  Looking shell-shocked, Hatcher scans the crowd for confirmation.

  “Jade.” Clarik nuzzles my cheek with his own, everyone else forgotten. It is a gesture of comfort. “I’ll be all right. Don’t worry about me. Take care of Mercedes. She needs you right now.”

  Brutal tremors rock me, nearly knocking me off my feet. “I don’t want to let you go,” I whisper. I’m not talking about this moment exactly, but tomorrow and the next day and the next.

  “I know, Jaybird, but you must.”

  “He’s known for fighting,” the security guard grates at Tag. “He was warned what would happen the next time he resorted to violence.” T
hen, glaring daggers at me, he adds, “Let him go, Miss Leighton. Now.”

  “It’s okay,” Clarik tells me. “Everything will be okay.”

  “If what Miss Leighton said is true,” Hatcher announces, “Clarik was acting in the defense of another. Get him inside. Keep him there until the proper authorities arrive and sort everything out.”

  Behind us, Mercedes whimpers. If not for her mental trauma, I would have gone toe-to-toe with the adults. She’s seen enough brutality for one day. So I do it. I release Clarik at last.

  He’s hauled into the building. I watch him until the last possible second. Just before disappearing behind the door, he glances at me over his shoulder, and my heart breaks. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I’m fighting for better. This isn’t better.

  When has life ever done what I expected, though?

  Tag hangs back. “Don’t worry, Jade. I’ll see that he’s taken care of.” Then he, too, is gone.

  “All right, everyone,” Hatcher calls. “An ambulance has been called. So have the police. Do not, under any circumstances, leave this area.”

  I return to Mercedes’s side. “Let me have her,” I say to Linnie and Kimberly. “I’ll get her to our car.” Suddenly, I’m feeling pulled toward home. To get there now, now, now. “Please tell Hatcher and Parton what you witnessed, what Bobby and his friends did. If the authorities need to speak with Mercedes, they can come to the house, or call.”

  “You’re not leaving with her,” Linnie says with an adamant shake of her head. “Not without us.”

  “Not without us,” Kimberly reiterates. “Where she goes, we go.”

  “Please.” Mercedes’s eyes well with tears again, her chin trembling. “Let Jade take me home. I just want to go home. My mother will patch me up, okay, all right? I’ll talk to you guys tomorrow, promise.”

  They share a reluctant look before passing Mercedes on to me. I wind my arm around her waist, saying, “I’ll take good care of her, you have my word.” This girl...she is my sister. Once, I lived for her misery, but no longer. Acting as her crutch, I lead her toward the parking lot.

  “Mr. Parton,” Kimberly calls, doing her part. “You need to know what happened tonight from my point of view.”

  “Mrs. Hatcher,” Linnie calls next. “Let me tell you what else Bobby and company have done.”

  Without garnering anyone’s notice, I get Mercedes buckled in the passenger seat of our car—and then I take the wheel. My blood chills. As I key the ignition, old fears rear their ugly head. As soon as the car moves, I’m responsible for Mercedes’s life. I’m responsible for every life out on the road today.

  Do not vomit. Or pass out!

  “I can do this.” Breath wheezes from my throat. “I can do this.” I grip the wheel so tightly my knuckles bleach of color. What if someone slams into us? What if—

  “Just drive, grandma,” Mercedes says. “You can do this.”

  “Drive. Yes, right.” I gulp and place the car in Reverse...only to jam my foot on the brake the instant we’re in motion. Using the back of my wrist, I wipe the sweat from my brow.

  “You can do this,” she repeats, encouraging me despite her pain. “You are Jade Leighton. You can do anything.”

  “I’m so sorry about what happened.” Tears well in my eyes. “I’m so sorry for what Bobby and the others did to you. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there—”

  A sob leaves her, and she turns away from me, staring out the window. “It wasn’t your fault. Your mom wanted me torn down, remember?”

  “Not like this.” Never this.

  “Face it, Jade. I deserved this betrayal. What goes around comes around. I shared your journal entries, which was a violation of your privacy. Tonight, Bobby did the same to my pride.”

  “No! You did not deserve this, and you had better not think something like that ever again. Nothing you did or said makes you culpable in this. What Bobby did is wrong in every way, shape and form, but it’s his wrong, not yours. Got it?”

  After a lengthy pause, she nods.

  “Good.” Finally, I ease off the brakes. A little more...still more... Okay. The car is moving.

  Oh, crap, the car is moving!

  I slam my foot against the brake once again, and the car jerks to a stop. “I’m brave,” I say with false confidence. Chin up, shoulders back. I can do anything, just like Mercedes said.

  Sweat pours from me as I ease my foot off the brake, and the car inches into motion. We roll forward...soon, we’re on the road. With other cars. One car after another passes us. I’m going too slow, but I’m not having a panic attack, so I consider this a win.

  “At this rate,” Mercedes mutters, “I’m going to bleed out.”

  “Sorry not sorry.” I press a little harder, speeding us up, but not by much.

  “You drive like my grandma,” Mercedes says on a sigh.

  “Then your granny is an excellent driver. She’s probably won multiple safety awards.”

  Cars honk and swerve around me, but finally, blessedly, we arrive home.

  I help Mercedes out...help her hobble inside and shout for her mother. My dad and Nadine come flying out of their bedroom.

  Nadine is tying her robe. When she spies Mercedes’s bloody ankle, she pales. “What happened?” She returns to the bedroom, only to reappear a few seconds later with a bag of medical supplies. “Why can’t you go one night without—”

  “Enough!” Mercedes shouts. “You shouldn’t speak until you know all the facts, Mom. And you don’t have to worry. I’m a problem child. The message has been received, trust me. I’m not perfect, and I’m done trying to be. I don’t need your approval to be happy with who I am.”

  “I didn’t mean... I wasn’t...” Nadine pales as she works on cleaning, numbing and stitching Mercedes’s torn flesh.

  “Tell her what happened,” I say to Mercedes. Then I tug my dad into the hall, so we can give the mother/daughter duo a little privacy. Besides, my head still hurts from my encounter with the wall.

  “Are you all right?” Dad asks. “What happened? You tell me.”

  I do. I tell him what the boys did to Mercedes, and his features twist with anger.

  “Thank you for telling me,” he says. “A lot of kids wouldn’t open up like that, would try to handle the situation on their own. I’ll make sure to follow up with Principal Hatcher.”

  “Thank you.” I give him a hug and say, “I’m going to my room now, okay? I need a little rest.”

  “Sure. Holler if you need me.”

  I hole up in my bedroom and ease onto the edge of the bed, inhaling, exhaling, trying to steady my thoughts.

  We’ve come so far, Mercedes and me. Learned so much. It kind of sucks that our hard work didn’t make everything perfect, but I guess every day is a new battle and another chance for victory. We’re stronger now, and we’re fighting the good fight.

  A light tap on my window gets me on my feet and padding across the room. I move the curtains and gasp. Clarik is here! I open the pane, and he climbs inside. He must have come straight from the school. Blood is dried on his hands, and his shirt is torn.

  The second he’s steady on his feet, I throw my arms around him, my headache forgotten.

  “They let me go,” he says softly.

  “I’m so glad!”

  “Jade.”

  I gasp at the sound of my mother’s voice and jolt from Clarik’s arms.

  “What’s wrong?” Clarik asks.

  I step in front of him, acting as a shield. Mom is standing in front of the window, the curtains blowing through her.

  Her expression is somber. “It’s time.”

  Time...time... “You’re here to take me back.” Whether I’m ready or not.

  “Jade?” Clarik’s hands settle on my waist. Good thing. He becomes my anchor, the only thing holding me upright.
r />   “I’m here to offer you a choice,” Mom says.

  In the distance, a voice whispers, “Come on. Don’t do this. You’re too young. Come back to us.” This time, I can’t blame a TV show or a radio.

  I don’t know what’s happening exactly, or what it means, but I do know I’m at the precipice of something big.

  “You can stay here,” she continues, “or you can go back. The choice is yours.”

  “I can stay?” My heart races, fast, so very fast. With anticipation?

  “You can, but I need to know your decision,” she says. “Now.”

  Not yet! “Just...give me a second to think.”

  “Think about what?” Clarik asks. “Jade, what’s going on? And what did you mean, you can stay? Are you telling me you have a chance to stay here, with me, in this reality?”

  A light flashes before my eyes. More voices sound in the distance as the pain in my head returns and redoubles.

  My mom reaches out her hand. “There’s no time, sweetheart. Make your choice. Here or there?”

  I whirl, facing Clarik, clinging to him, really. How can I leave? I’ve built a good life here. Things aren’t perfect, but what is? Things aren’t perfect in the real world, either. Here, at least, I’m on the right track, headed in the right direction.

  But how can I stay? Sometimes you have to let go of something good to grab onto something great.

  “I am telling you I can stay here, yes,” I say as tears stream down my cheeks.

  He cups my jaw and gently wipes away the teardrops with his thumbs. “But you’re also telling me you have to go back.” A statement, not a question.

  “Yes,” I whisper. “I have to go back.” I won’t let fear make another decision for me and hold me back. I may not know what awaits me on the other side, but whatever it is, I will face it, and I will prevail.

  “I love you.” His gaze searches mine before he leans down and presses our foreheads together. “And I will find a way back to you, Jaybird.”