Hair too—this was another disparity. Casually tousled and hanging loose to her waist in varying shades of dark and light gold, she possessed the darker blonde mane. Turned to a profile view, I watched as she tucked a thick clump back, revealing the ochre strands untouched by the sun, hiding at the nape of her neck. Silver hoops, no bigger than pushpins, and diamond studs glittered around her small ear, forming a bejeweled question mark. As she peered into a box, the other side of her hair fell forward like a curtain released from a tieback. I continued peeking over my book, studying the boy, deciding his wispy platinum hair—straight up and fairly long—looked like a leaning dollop of whipped cream.
“Jake,” she said quietly. Having seized hold of the object, she settled back onto both feet, ogling the small porcelain figurine with delighted fascination. “Jake.” She raised her hand and one eyebrow simultaneously, smirking, and inviting him to share the look of amusement. “We should totally buy this, shouldn’t we?” She laughed, and like her speaking voice, it wasn’t an overly feminine laugh, but sultry and languid. “Doesn’t it look like something Aunt Lorna would keep in that creepy display of hers?”
Jake, hunched over a crate of dusty vinyl records, didn’t look up right away, but continued sifting through each one slowly and methodically, moving his head left and right to get a better view of the album titles.
“Jake!” She let out a quick breath through her nose, eyebrows knitting close together.
“Mmphf?”
“Look over,” she demanded, clearly vexed by his lack of interest.
“Hold . . . on . . . a sec,” he told her, so engrossed in his search, there were pauses in between each word. “There’s some sweet records in here. I wanna see if I can find Pink Floyd.”
“Hey Jake, there’s a spider on your neck.”
This was said with such apathy, nearly in monotone, that for a moment Jake gave no indication he heard, believed her, or cared. Then clearly he had and he did.
True terror filled Jake’s eyes and his body went stiff with self-inflicted paralysis. “What!? Where? Oh god, I can feel it . . . He wants my blood.” Jake moved like a broken pinwheel, flailing arms and legs, slapping himself amid girlish squeals of terror. “Get it off, Em! Get it off—get it off—Get. It. OFF!” Jake turned in slanted circles, chin pressed to his bare shoulder as he continued slapping himself over and over on the back of the neck.
A few feet away Emily’s laughter grew louder. She shook beneath a red face, a hand pressed over her mouth.
Jake paused, tears in his eyes, and gawked at his sister. “Why are you such a horrible person? Couldn’t you have just thrown something at me? Why’d you have to use spiders?” He started to relax, convulsed, then exhaled, shaking out his arms and legs.
“Next time just do what I say, dude. Then you won’t force me to use your phobia,” she answered sweetly.
“Uh, I think you might need to look up the definition of force,” Jake commented. He ran a cautionary hand over his neck and shoulders, now pink and welted with handprints. Massaging his scalp roughly caused the full head of white and wild hair to rise and expand like a dandelion puff. “One of these days I’m gonna have a mental break and it will be your fault. And you’ll be the one changing my diapers and wiping drool off my chin.” He spoke as though he was explaining pottery and came to stand beside his sister. “What is it that’s so frickin’ important?”
Emily thrust her open palm into his face, grinning. “This.”
“Byyah!” Jake jumped backward, hopping out of one sandal. “Seriously, a mental break, Emily.”
“You’re fine. Doesn’t this look like something Aunt Lorna would have in her house?”
Jake’s cottony eyebrows merged. “Ew, yes. What is it with her and those ceramic cats?”
“Seriously, I don’t know.” Emily lowered her hand, examining the figurine. “Mom told me she started collecting them when she was in third grade because grandma wouldn’t let her have a real cat.” She cocked her head to the side and sighed. “Now she’s insane. Way to go, grandma!”
“They’re all over her house, even the bathrooms and closets.” Jake glanced over his shoulder, then turned back around and said conspiratorially, “Their freaky eyes follow me whenever I get up and walk. No joke, I swear! And I’m sure I heard one of them meow at me once.”
Emily laughed, staring at the figurine straight on. A smile curved on her small mouth, undeniably impish. Suddenly she leapt for her brother. “Aw. Jakey’s afraid of the wittle kitties,” she taunted, pressing the figurine against his bare chest and making purring sounds.
“No! Knock it off, Em.” He shoved her and jumped back, almost tripping over a box of Tupperware. He held up one finger in warning. “Not cool. I almost fell, did you see? I can’t get hurt today. Come on, you know I can’t get hurt today,” he said, a pleading note in his voice.
“Meow!” She waved the kitten in his face. “We’re watching you, Jacob,” she whispered, infusing her voice with a sinister moan. “We think you’re so purrrrrty.”
“You’re such an assclown!” he roared, sandals smacking against the cement as he shuffled backward. Fed up, he swung at Emily, knocking the glass kitten out of her hand and sending it flying across the garage. It shattered at my feet, severed head rolling on its side, so that one black eye peered up at me. Instinctively, I recoiled, lifting the foot closest to it.
That’s when they noticed me.
I could descry a registering on their faces; someone was there? Then I watched them communicate with each other, without words. Did you see her? No, did you?
At that, Jake and Emily, in perfect unison shouted, “Look what you did!”
“Oh, yeah, right,” Emily spat, then looked at me and called across the garage. “We’ll pay for that.” Walking toward me, she reached into her pocket pulling out a neatly folded wad of money and removing a fifty-dollar bill. “This covers it, yeah?” She thrust the bill at me nodding, then with a petulant noise glared over her shoulder. “Well, don’t just stand there like an idiot,” she hissed, jerking her chin toward the far wall. “Go grab that broom and clean it up.”
Jake’s mouth dropped open. “You’re joking,” he said evenly. “You know this was your fault, right?”
“No,” she said succinctly, “I don’t know that, and does it look like I’m joking?”
His face grew very serious. “I don’t know,” he replied, voice hushed and worried. Slowly, he moved his head, until it nearly rested on his shoulder. “I can’t see through that hideous mask you’re wearing.”
“Oh, haha! You are hilarious!” she trilled. “How ever do you manage to remember such creative and original jokes?”
“Your face is all the memory I need,” Jake said solemnly. Turned away from me, I couldn’t see her, but I saw a slight tremor run through her petite body.
“Do it now,” the feral blond growled, looking pointedly from the wall and back to him.
He rolled his eyes. “So lame,” he complained, but followed orders, weaving through the rows of tables to where the hand-held broom and pan were hanging on the wall. “Just like your dog,” he muttered petulantly. “Always blaming his crap on me.”
Emily shrugged. “Yeah, well, he smells way better than you and doesn’t shed as much.”
I slid off the stool, avoiding the broken shards at my feet. “Oh, it’s fine, really,” I assured them. “He doesn’t have to clean this up, and you don’t have to pay me, either. You’re both in sandals and—” Realizing I was rambling, I quickly stopped short and smiled weakly. “I’ll take care of it.”
“No,” Emily said placidly, grabbing hold of my wrist. For such little fingers, she had an incredibly strong grip. “My brother wouldn’t dream of making you clean up his mess, would he?”
Jake returned and regarded his sister with the look of someone making it all the way to school before remembering it’s a three-day weekend. “No. Of course he wouldn’t!” Squatting on the ground, he began to mock clean, draggin
g the hand-held brush over Emily’s feet.
“Stop it, loser.” She kicked at him. “Be useful.”
“What? I thought girls liked being swept off their feet.” Jake threw his head back and laughed dramatically. “Dang, I’m funny.”
Emily rolled her eyes, but as she turned to smile at me the acerbic expression melted away. Like her brother’s, it was a beautiful smile, white and straight, but somehow more polished and affecting. One side of her mouth lifted further than the other, exposing more teeth on that side. With only a couple feet between us, I noticed too, a sheer layer of freckles smattered over her nose and cheeks, as if someone had painstakingly taking the time to deposit each one in just the right place. And the lively brown eyes were no ordinary brown, but flecked with gold and ringed with a tawny sunburst around the large black pupil.
“I’m Emily.” She held out her hand, nails painted white and each finger embellished with a large silver ring in either turquoise, obsidian, or rose quartz. I shook it lightly, hoping she didn’t notice how grossly sweaty my palms were. “And this”—she thumbed down—“is my lowly manservant, Jacob Donahue.”
Her brother responded by reaching over and yanking on her second toe, pulling hard until the knuckle cracked. As he rose, I saw he was even more handsome up close. Both Donahues had inherited the same high forehead and slender nose; but unlike his sister, Jake’s eyes were a deep midnight blue, shrouded with long white lashes.
He gazed around the garage. “Yeah, where should I throw this away?” he asked, aimlessly searching.
Standing near enough I could make out the translucent blond hairs on his muscled chest, I began babbling. “Um—I can—you don’t have to—well . . .” I swallowed, fixing my eyes on the side door so there was absolutely no confusion as to where I was looking. I raised my arm and pointed. “If you go through that door,” I instructed, “there should be a trashcan to your right. Thank you for, um—for doing that.”
He shrugged a shoulder. “Yeah, sure. No worries.” He bared his resplendent teeth, an echo of his sister’s smile in many ways, and different in others. For some reason, the effect was less alluring, more boyish. When he smiled, Jake gave the impression that an eight-year-old was very much still present inside a rapidly developing body. His was the kind of smile that touched all angles of the face, softening the jaw, lighting the eyes with mirth, and highly contagious; so much in fact, my own unwitting mouth mimicked a wonky grin in response. Having known Jake for less than five minutes, I made the assumption that Jake was a person wholly at ease with himself, and thusly with the ability to impart this quietude on those around him. Only later, after getting to know him better, would I know I’d been correct about him.
“Sorry about this one,” he added, jerking his head to the right. “I just can’t take her anywhere.” He sighed reprovingly. “Even though she gets older every year, her maturity level stopped growing when she did. Which, as you can see, was a very, very, very—”
“Better to be small and smart than big and brainless,” she interrupted, throwing her hip into his thigh, so he was forced to hop on one foot until he regained his balance. “Just go throw the glass away, manservant.”
Once safely out of arm’s reach, he picked up where he left off. “Very, very, very long time ago.” Shuffling past a pile of cardboard boxes on the ground, he opened the side door and disappeared.
She groaned. “Damn those fertility drugs. Do you have a brother?” she asked, strolling down a row toward a stack of old magazines.
“Me?” Of course you, I thought back. “No. No siblings,” I answered, taking a seat back on the stool.
“Consider yourself extremely lucky. I don’t know what having a sister is like, but it can’t be worse than having a brother. They smell horrid, eat everything, and have only room in their small brains for one thought at a time. I mean, really, how hard is it? Pee, flush, put seat down.”
“Are you older?”
“Mm-no.” She sighed in a way that made me think this fact was a sore subject. “Age before beauty, though, right?” She picked up a magazine and began flipping through it. “Jake is a whole four minutes older than me, and likes to remind me every chance he gets.” She put the magazine back down on the table and shrugged. Yeah, we’re twins,” she clarified at the look of surprise on my face. “It’s been overglamourized, trust me,” she added dryly.
She digressed into a rant, lamenting over the injustices of being born a twin. I had cause to wonder then, as she quite candidly declared her contempt of Jake in general, if she genuinely loathed her brother, wishing he had never been born. Nearly five minutes passed, where she thoroughly and ruthlessly detailed his idiosyncrasies, mocked his overly used mantras, and informed me of every single one of his shortcomings. Born an only child, I hardly considered myself experienced with sibling rivalry or knowledgeable about what normal interactions were supposed to look like. Still, something about the vitriol with which she spoke, an aversion to nearly everything about him, just didn’t add up. Story after story, that instinct became stronger. Soon I realized what that something was.
Emily knew everything about her brother. Everything. Favorite foods, movies, bands, the way he slept—dangling one leg off the side of the bed—his infernal dislike of the sound a chip bag makes when pulled apart the first time. Each of these minute details could only have been learned by spending numerous hours together, and after a dedication to remembering them in order to tease and belittle.
At the pinging in my stomach, the place where I’d always harbored a sort of loss at not having a brother or sister, I realized Emily, quite certainly, did not hate her brother. The fact that his absence had led her to speak of him the entire time he wasn’t there beside her was more than enough evidence to prove contrary.
“Ugh,” she huffed, dropping the magazine back into the box and stomping toward the side door. “He’s been gone for a while, yeah?” She rose up on her tiptoes and looked out the small window. “I better go make sure he didn’t accidentally slice his wrists open or something. I don’t want him bleeding all over my leather seats.”
I smiled at her show of indifference, rising from the stool.
“Sure. I’ll take you—”
Jake burst through the door at that moment, dusting off his hands on his board shorts. Emily stumbled back a bit, shooting him a glare. “Geez, Conan. Must you always barge through doors like a barbarian?”
Jake grinned, lunging forward to pull Emily’s head under his hairy armpit. “What’s this? You worried about me, Emmers?”
Emily punched him in the stomach. He made a pained sound, releasing her immediately. “Yes,” she answered, combing her fingers through her long disrupted mane of hair. “I was worried your feeble little mind wouldn’t remember the way back and then I would show up late to my competition.”
Jake ignored the insults, taking a seat on the edge of the table and folding his arms over his chest. “Your pad’s pretty sweet. The pool is way nicer than ours and that greenhouse is killer. Did you guys just move in?”
For the third time I took a seat back on the stool, tucking my knees under my chin. “A few weeks ago, we did, yes.”
“You planning to go to Shorecliffs in the fall?”
The question took me off guard. My chin slipped, rubbing harshly against my bare knobby knee. “Yeah, I am . . . How did you—”
“Don’t worry, I’m not a stalker or anything,” he chuckled, reaching up to itch a bushy brow. The hairs stood on end, like a bristled white caterpillar. “We live a few streets up, so I just figured. Hey . . . you don’t happen to have something to eat, do you?”
“Jake!” Emily hissed from behind. “You did not just ask her to feed you. What is wrong with you?” Incredulous, she poked him in the shoulder.
He lifted his hands, conveying his innocence. “What?”
“Um . . . is . . . would a bag of pretzels be all right?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“No!”
I fro
ze, unsure as to whose answer I should adhere to.
Emily gave me a pointed look. “I can tell you’re one of those overly nice people who really doesn’t mind when someone makes a bogus request or tries to take advantage of you, but really . . . you have no idea what you’re agreeing to.” She looked over at her brother reproachfully, though still speaking to me, “Sure, it’s just a bag of pretzels now, but eventually it will be your leftovers, the contents of your refrigerator and cupboards, and eventually . . . Jake here will make it easy for you by dropping by a grocery list with all his favorite foods.”
“That was one time, Em,” Jake said casually, “And Chad’s parents asked me to make them a list.”
“They asked because you had just named off an entire week’s worth of food, after they mentioned running to the store for some milk, Jake,” Emily said, exasperated. “There’s snacks in the cooler in the backseat. ”
“Well, why didn’t you just say so,” he answered back sweetly. “It was nice to meet you, ah-um . . .” Jake looked at me for a moment, then grimacing he turned to Emily for help.
She didn’t meet his eyes, but sighed in defeat. “I actually didn’t get your name,” Emily admitted, slightly abashed.
Jake laughed at her. “Probably because you were talking about yourself the whole time.” His head whipped around with a cocky grin on his face. “I’m right, aren’t I?”
I started to shake my head no, but it was too late, and the bickering commenced for another thirty seconds. Normally, a social situation such as this one would have had me on pins and needles, but something about Jake and Emily’s comfortably contentious rapport made me feel less awkward. There were hardly any opportunities for me to say something stupid, as one was usually vexing the other. Watching them rally back and forth was strangely entertaining.
“Sorry,” Emily said, contrite. “So . . . what’s your name?”
“Oh. It’s Foster.”
Her eyebrows pulled together. “Is that your first name or last?” she asked. I felt my cheeks go hot with embarrassment, as she took a seat next to Jake on the table. “Jake and I go by both, that’s why I asked. Because we both play on the water polo team.”
Awakening Foster Kelly Page 10
