____
When Saturday morning finally rolled around and Mom was still sitting in the kitchen I started to get antsy. I didn’t want her here when Zach showed up.
“Don’t you have errands to run?” I tried to sound nonchalant.
“Yeah. I’m just finishing my tea. There’s no rush.” She looked up at me and narrowed her eyes. “Are you trying to get rid of me for some reason?”
“No. No. I know you don’t like the grocery store when it’s too busy, that’s all.” I fumbled around the kitchen. God, would you just leave already?
“Did you want me to drive you to the art project?” Mom glanced at her watch.
“No.” I answered too quickly and Mom looked at me with a puzzled look. “I…I still need to shower. And put on my makeup.”
Mom grimaced. “Of course, you wouldn’t want to go anywhere without the makeup.” She stood up and placed her teacup in the sink.
I left the room and headed for the bathroom, ignoring the anger in my gut. I stood in the shower, letting the hot water and steam relax the tension in my shoulders. I lathered the shampoo and rinsed.
As I stepped out of the shower, I could hear Mom still moving around downstairs. I prayed she would leave soon—Zach was supposed to be here in twenty minutes. I wrapped myself in a towel and headed to the kitchen. I had to find a way to get Mom to leave, but when I passed the little hall table where she always put her purse, it was already gone.
I heard another noise and started to panic. If Mom was gone, who was here?
Not only did I not have my Goth Girl makeup, I didn’t even have clothes on. How could I defend myself from an attacker while wearing just a towel?
I pressed myself to the wall and edged my way toward the kitchen. Maybe I could get a look, see how big this person was, and figure out what I was up against.
I craned my neck and peeked around the corner.
“Zach!” I shouted.
I was relieved he wasn’t an attacker, but my relief quickly turned back to a different kind of panic: he was way too early. I wasn’t ready.
He was staring at me with an odd expression. I backed away. His eyes made me cross my arms and look at the floor.
“No, don’t go.” Zach moved toward me.
“B-but I’m not dressed,” I stammered. “I just got out of the shower. I don’t have any makeup on or anything.”
“I know,” he said softly. “You’re gorgeous.” Zach closed the gap between us and took me in his arms.
I froze. Then I relaxed against him and took a deep breath. The familiar spicy scent of his body spray filled my nose and his chest was hard and warm. I didn’t want to move.
He looked down at me and then gently raised my chin toward his. I looked into his eyes and he stared back, his eyes smouldering with intensity. I was thrilled and a bit unnerved at the same time. I swallowed. He lowered his head, one hand on each side of my face, and kissed my eyes, then the tip of my nose. His kisses were soft and light like fresh snowflakes falling on my face—tingling before they were gone.
My heart raced and I held by breath. Finally, his lips met mine.
Then his cellphone rang.
“It’s my dad,” groaned Zach. “I gotta get this. He’s pissed that I tried to skip out on the group last week, so he’s making sure I get there this time.”
“It’s okay.” I stepped back. I wasn’t used to this new sensation and I wasn’t sure I was even ready for it. I rushed back upstairs to get dressed.
I could still feel the touch of his mouth on mine. I almost poked myself in the eye trying to put on my makeup. I needed the eyeliner and mascara more than ever right now. Dressed in my familiar black, I sighed out loud. There, that’s better. Safer. Hidden. I slowly walked back to the living room where Zach was eyeing the picture over the couch.
“Someone likes the royal family,” he said.
“Yeah. A bit too much, if you ask me.”
“It’s kind of creepy.”
“I know, right?”
“Hey,” said Zach. He pouted. “You got dressed.”
The back of my knees tingled at the look on his face. What would have happened if his phone hadn’t gone off? I was kind of glad I’d never know—but also kind of disappointed.
“Yeah. If not, we’d be late.” I reached for my phone and tucked it in my pocket. “Let’s get going.” I turned to leave the living room, heading back toward the kitchen, but stopped when Zach didn’t follow.
“Yeah, guess we better go. Dad is keeping pretty tight reins on me right now,” said Zach. But he still didn’t make any move to go. He put out his hand and I moved closer to him.
“At least you have a dad.” I pushed the thought of my own father from my mind. I still hadn’t heard a word from him or Elsie. But I wasn’t going to let some absent father spoil this.
“Just because he’s there, doesn’t make him a good father.” Zach looked away for a second, and then sighed. “My dad likes to throw around money and buy me stuff, but he doesn’t actually care about me…as long as I don’t interfere with his world. Right now he’s interested because he stuck his neck out for me and I’m making him look bad. Once this settles down, he won’t give me the time of day.” Zach leaned forward and kissed me on the cheek. “Money’s not the only thing he likes to throw around, either.”
I searched his eyes. “What do you mean?”
Zach shrugged. “Sometimes he gets really angry and throws a couple of punches my way.”
I began to say something, but Zach kissed my mouth, making my words disappear. He pulled back, tucked a strand of hair behind my left ear, and smiled.
“Forget it. That’s why I go to the gym. I work out to stay strong. He doesn’t hurt me, and I make sure he doesn’t go near my little sister.” Again, he kissed me. I leaned in to him and twisted my fingers into his hair. “We better get going or we might not make it to the mural.” His voice was low and raspy.
I tried to catch my breath and ignore my racing heart and tingling lips. “I think you’re right.” I broke free from his hold and moved toward the kitchen and the door. I was sure if we stayed a second longer I’d never let go.
He took my hand again and led me outside where his green sedan was parked.
“So, this is your new car?”
He opened the door for me and I hopped in, smiling like a princess.
“Yeah. It’s second-hand, but at least it’s mine. I wanted a Mustang, but Dad said I’d have to settle for this Camry for now.”
I figured it would be a long time before I had any car. I sighed and let my thoughts drift to the painting we were approaching. We were meeting the others at the construction site.
“So what do you think about the mural?”
“It’s okay,” Zach replied. “Not really my thing.”
“Yeah, but the early-village scene with the log cabins that Peter is working on is pretty cool.”
“True. And Russell has a knack for lettering.” Zach stopped for a red light and looked over at me. “Your stuff’s great too.” Zach raised his eyebrows and ogled me.
I made a funny face back, but my heart skipped a beat.
“Really, though,” he said, accelerating, “I like your cartooning. It makes the skyscraper you’re working on look like it’s twenty years in the future.”
“Thanks.” I beamed with pride. “What’s your favourite style?”
“Actually, I’d rather do charcoal sketches.” Zach sighed. “I took up graffiti to piss off my dad. It’s hard to get in trouble with a piece of charcoal.” He chuckled.
“I never really thought of getting into trouble, even though I knew it was against the law. I just love the look of street art.” I thought of the excitement of graffiti and the joy of being creative. “I was watching this show and they were showing some great pieces in New York and stuff by Banksy
. I just thought, I can do that. It kind of reminds me of tattooing, but larger…and less painful.”
Zach nodded. “I have a tattoo, but it’s not great. It was another one of my ideas to tick off my dad.”
“Do you ever do anything that doesn’t make your father angry?” I studied Zach’s face.
“Sometimes. When he gets really mad, then I do whatever it takes to please him for a bit. Like going to this art project.” Zach looked at me sideways and smirked.
Is that what I’m doing? I wondered. Sneaking out, doing graffiti—was it just to get Mom’s attention? Maybe in the beginning, but not anymore. Now, the art itself keeps me going.
“So, I know you don’t want to do this art project, but what would you like to do? What kind of charcoal sketches?” I asked.
“I’d like to draw a picture of you.” He reached over and placed a hand on my thigh.
The thought of Zach taking the time to draw me made me blush. His hand was warm on my leg. “Me? Why?”
“Because you’re beautiful,” he said simply. “And I want to sketch you just the way I saw you this morning.”
“You’re crazy.” I circled my finger around the side of my head.
“Crazy about you.”
My legs turned to jelly.
As soon as Zach parked, I opened the door. The cool air was refreshing. I tested my legs; I wasn’t completely sure they’d support my weight. Once I was steady I rushed over to the others. I was glad to melt into the group so I could think straight.
I was eager to get painting, and soon the process consumed me yet again. I was caught up in the lines and colours, concentrating on the images before me. The mural was beginning to take shape—the different houses were coming to life. We decided to paint the panels in chronological order with the oldest houses on the left, then moving through time to the right. We even thought of a way to use each other’s styles. We were going to mix the different styles randomly, creating a collage of contrasts. You’d look at one part and then your eye would see something else that, for a second, didn’t belong. But the longer you stared, the less out of place it would seem. At least, that was the goal.
I painted a neighbourhood of row houses and Rachael surrounded each home with trees and a yard. Peter worked on a duplex, trying to add different hues. Throughout the mural, Russell used his lettering to describe each scene while Zach added texture and shading in spots to give depth and change the perspective.
I nodded as I stood back and looked at the work. I had a brainwave: “What if we paint the oldest things in black and white only, then move to sepia, and then to full colour as things get more modern?”
“Yeah, I think that would work,” said Peter. He stepped back, beside me, to survey the mural. His freckled hand cupped his freckled chin.“And I’m your guy for the black and white.”
“Good idea about the changing colours. But are you sure you’re the one for the black and white, Peter?” Russell tilted his head in my direction. “Vic seems to have a thing for black and white, too.”
Peter laughed. “Oh, yeah.”
“Go for it, Peter. I like to paint with bright colours. This is the only black and white I use.” I motioned to my own face.
The three of us laughed.
Maybe this project wasn’t such a bad idea, after all.
Again, we had to leave the hoarding and go out to remove “misplaced” art. I headed toward the cruiser with Zach, but Officer Mitchell put out an arm to block me.
“No. Today, you go with Russell and Peter in Cathy’s car,” he said. I got the feeling he didn’t want me hanging out with Zach. It’s none of your business who I hang out with. Besides, it’s not like Zach is any worse than the rest; aren’t we here because we’re all a bunch of criminals?
I sat in the front with Cathy. Russell and Peter got in the back.
The boys chatted easily back and forth, and I listened.
“I got caught again,” Peter was telling Russell.
“What?” Russell sounded surprised.
“Yeah. Tagging the side of the grain elevator down by Point Pleasant Park.”
“Jeeze, man. Don’t blow it now. We’ve just declared you the best at black and white. We need you for the old stuff.”
“I guess the old man’s right. I’m destined for jail.”
“Forget what he says. Prove him wrong.” I looked in the rear-view mirror and saw Russell nod at Peter, but Peter didn’t look convinced. He slumped in the seat.
Cathy chimed in. “I can put in a good word for you, but only if you promise to keep yourself out of trouble,” she said. The guys had been talking as though they’d forgotten she was right there hearing the conversation, too.
“Dunno if I can promise that.” Peter slouched even further and gazed out the window. “My Dad drives me nuts. He’s never happy with anything I do.”
“So, your father gives you a hard time. At least you have one around,” Russell said.
I turned and looked directly at Russell. I said those exact words to Zach this morning.
“What do you know?” Peter was angry.
“I know I live in a foster home—my third in four years. My parents can’t seem to get it together enough to look after themselves, let alone me.” Russell was talking fast, his face flushed. “Dad can’t hold a job for more than a few weeks and Mom’s an addict. I work hard and get good grades. I’m eighteen in two years and I can get out of foster care, and I’ll be damned if I end up on the streets like them.”
A hush fell over the car. Then Don’t Worry, Be Happy started to play. I hastily jabbed at the dial and the silence returned.
Finally, I spoke.
“You guys didn’t know each other before this?” I asked.
“Nope,” said Russell. Then he sighed and elaborated: “You get good at meeting strangers in foster care. You learn to be nice and see how it goes. It’s a survival skill.”
He didn’t say any more, and neither did Peter. When the car stopped I grabbed the rollers and grey paint from the trunk, thinking graffiti wasn’t the only thing we were covering up.
When I got home that afternoon there was a strange car in the driveway. I wondered if it was one of the girls Mom went to dinner with last week. I was so busy avoiding her I hadn’t even asked how the evening had turned out.
I entered the house and was surprised to see an older woman who looked vaguely familiar standing in the kitchen with Mom. Had I seen her at the hospital? She had grey curly hair and was shorter than me. She was dressed in the standard old-lady-polyester stretch pants and flowered blouse. She and Mom were both trying to talk over each other and Mom didn’t look happy. They stopped as soon as they noticed me. The older lady actually jumped at the sight of me.
Now that she was looking directly at me, I recognized her. She was the sweet chocolate-bar-buying lady from Mr. Habib’s. Why would she be here talking with Mom?
“Oh my goodness,” she breathed. “It’s you! The girl from the store!”
“Victoria,” Mom cut in, “this is your grandmother, Elsie. She showed up today to tell me you were trying to contact her.” Mom glared at me and I knew she’d start yelling once we were alone.
“Excuse me?” I was floored. No way. I thought back to all the easygoing conversations I’d had with this lady.
She was kind and friendly, and I always made an effort to speak with her when she came in. Now I find out she is my grandmother? I had emailed and asked her specifically to call me and not tell Mom. Instead, she waits long enough that I think she isn’t going to bother with me at all, and then she shows up, out of the blue, and I find out I already know her. What kind of sick game was I involved in?
“Victoria, say hello to your grandmother.” Mom was speaking through gritted teeth. I could tell she was angry. Well, so was I.
“Hey.” It was more of a grunt.
<
br /> “Hello, dear,” she said. The surprise was visible in her eyes.
I nodded but didn’t speak. I stared at Elsie, trying to make sense of it all.
“I remember you when you were a tiny baby, before Richard left.” She smiled. “You were the cutest little thing.”
I was fuming. “Whatever.”
She probably didn’t think I was so cute now. Sure, she was polite at the store, but I bet she was disappointed to find out the girl with the black spiked hair and the face piercings was her own flesh and blood. She was still being polite, but I didn’t feel like letting her off the hook so easily.
“And I can tell you think I am still just as cute.” My words dripped with sarcasm. How could she stand here and pretend everything was fine? How could she act like we were having a regular conversation at Mr. Habib’s? How could she betray me and then show up all sweet and sentimental?
“I’m sure you are confused by all of this,” said Elsie carefully. I assumed she was trying for a dear-old-granny smile, but I wasn’t buying it.
“You have no idea what I am thinking,” I snapped.
“Victoria. Don’t be sassy,” said Mom. Her eyes were fierce.
“Yes, I suppose that’s true,” acknowledged Elsie.
I stormed out of the room. I was done with this talk. Out of sight, I leaned against the wall for support. I could hear their conversation.
“Oh dear,” fretted Elsie. “Please, Julia, can we just try to get along? There really is no excuse for my letting so much time pass. I did try many times to contact you. I called and sent emails. You always dismissed us, Julia.”
“I couldn’t bear to see Richard or hear about his life and how he thought he was so much better off without us,” answered Mom.
“He may have said that to you at first, but it was never the way it really was. He was miserable and often consumed with guilt for allowing the best thing that ever happened to him slip away.” I imagined Elsie reaching over and placing a hand on Mom’s shoulder at this point.
Goth Girl Page 8
