“People,” I say lamely.
“People, meaning you?” He draws towards me, and without realizing it, I back into the sink. Suddenly the spinning in my head isn’t pleasant. My stomach hurts. The air is too thick in here. He rests one hand by my hip, then when I try to move the other way, he blocks my path with his other. His palms skim the ceramic just inches from my skirt.
“Couldn’t you see it?” he whispers, breath hot on my ear. “Me coming after you some night when you’re all alone.” His hand reaches up latches onto my tie, tightening it. My hand flies up on top of his, but his grip is unyielding. “I have a dagger. Some rope. Some scotch tape. You’re in one of your little skirts, just like this one…” He tugs mine up, just a bit.
I shove it back down, unable to meet his eyes. “You’re being so creepy right now.”
“But you like it.” He’s breathless, his voice husky.
I can’t get the tie from his grip, so I loosen it, let it twine away in his hand. “No, I don’t.”
“You do.” He presses into me, hot and heavy.
“I don’t!” I shove his arm aside with more strength than he obviously expects. I jolt past him towards the door. “I’m just going to hope you’re really drunk right now.” My skin prickles all over. Crawls all over.
His low chuckle oozes on the air. He almost sings the words, “I’m not drunk.”
Then he falls silent when someone’s footsteps creak in the hallway. I burst out into the cool darkness, swaying a bit, and call back to Russell, “And no, I didn’t like it!” One swipe of my foot and I kick it closed, the wood vibrating with the force. I’m relieved to plant a solid barrier between us.
I wheel around, my eyes finding the other person in the dim hallway. My lips are ready to prepare an excuse even though I’m not sure I should need one.
A blue-eyed gaze, cold as shards of ice, slices into me.
Conrad’s mother. Standing there, all prim and put together and proper with her rope of pearls, wine glass in hand. Her auburn hair is in a stylish twist. Her son and his friends are all burbling through her parlor in a mass of hormones and teenaged recklessness, voices bounding down the distant halls. Far from us.
“Ms. Alton.” As much time as I spend at her house, I’ve never called her by her first name, not like the parents of my other friends. Ms. Alton or Mayor Alton. Never ‘Jolene’. “Sorry about the door slam.”
“Kathryn.” She cocks her head. “Let’s talk.”
“Talk?”
She folds her slim arms. Every movement is crisp and precise. “This discussion is long overdue. I want you to end things with my son.”
For a moment, I just stare at her in the dim hallway. She might have seen something with me and Russell and misinterpreted things. “Oh, that thing you saw wasn’t—”
“Conrad is a bright, talented boy with a promising future ahead of him. I will not have you dragging him into the gutter with you,” she tells me.
“Excuse me?” I say, disbelieving.
Mayor Alton has never spoke to me like this before. Now her mouth forms a thin, hard scarlet line. She compresses her lips so tightly all the wrinkles around them stand out. “I want you to end things with Conrad immediately. You are an anathema. He is a citizen.”
“I thought…” I mumble, “I thought you of all people would understand I didn’t do anything that awful.”
“It doesn’t matter what you did, Kathryn. It matters what you are. Either you remove yourself from my son’s life, or I’ll find a way to do it for you.”
Something in me rankles at the threat in her voice. “What does that mean?”
“If you wait, you’ll find out. Believe me, you don’t want that.” She whips around and snaps off down the hallway, heels striking the hardwood floor.
Long after she disappears back into her study, I stand in the enveloping darkness of the hallway, stunned. Finally, I head back into the party. The feeling of Russell’s breath lingers on my earlobe and the cold eyes of Conrad’s mother burn in my brain. Suddenly my smiles feel forced like I’ve been removed from the rest of the people around me by some great divide. I begin noticing again the scrutiny, the subtle distance about me like a quarantine zone.
I don’t feel safe.
I slur the story about Conrad’s mom to Amanda, and she slurs back, “Ms. Alton is just a bitter megalomaniac who wants to rule her son’s life like she rules the town. Forget her.”
“I will,” I say, though I know I can’t.
Music throbs from the nearby speakers, so I grab Amanda’s hand and tug her to her feet. We dance until most of the boys are too tired to keep up and finally my leg reminds me with a few painful twinges that it doesn’t like this anymore. Then Amanda and I half-doze, leaning against each other as the last stragglers clear from Conrad’s house.
Derek and Conrad, sober now, drive us home. Conrad holds the ladder steady as I sway back up the rickety steps and slip through the window into my room. Then he climbs up after me, dumps in my heels, and kisses me through the open window.
“Happy birthday,” I whisper to him.
“You made it perfect,” he murmurs back, running his hands through my hair. “You and that sexy tie. Where is it?”
I stripped it off in the bathroom to get away from Russell. I don’t answer Conrad, and pelt him with kisses instead. His lips snare mine, then dance down my jaw, my neck. I stand there cupping the back of his head. Even drunk, I can’t seem to focus on anything but the familiarity of it.
“Want me to come in?” he whispers against my skin.
I pull away from him. We haven’t really been together since I lost citizenship. “Conrad, my parents are just down the hall. They’ll hear.”
He raises his eyebrows. “We’ll be quiet.”
“It’s too weird.”
“But it’s my birthday.” His voice has almost a petulant whine to it. I force a smile, trying to hide how unattractive it sounds to me.
“Not tonight.”
“Oh. Okay. That’s cool.”
I make sure to kiss him, glad he understands, hoping I feel differently again sometime soon.
Then Derek is rattling the ladder below him. Conrad flashes an apologetic smile. “The masses are getting restless.”
I give him a last kiss. “Go.”
He jolts back down the ladder.
I plunge onto my bed, the purple light of dawn bathing my room in its gentle haze. My parents stir in the hallway, their footsteps creaking across the floor. Birds are already chirping outside. I close my eyes, determined to forget Russell’s oozing laugh in the bathroom and Mayor Alton’s ultimatum.
Tomorrow – well, today – is a brand new day. If I close my eyes and sleep, the ugliness will all be behind me.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
My father is busy setting up the panic room. My mother is browsing shops, trying to locate a decent machete. Mayor Alton apparently saw her in the store and let slip to Mom that she’d seen me at Conrad’s birthday, so I’m being closely watched at home now.
I’m not letting it get me down. If my evenings are basically under lock and key now, there are other times I’m not so closely watched.
Like during the school day.
The claustrophobia is driving me so insane and my previous success with wanton recklessness has emboldened me. I have to do this. I have to.
“I’ve been plotting something,” I whisper to Amanda in homeroom.
Her eyes light up. “What is it?”
“I think we should bail on third period.” It won’t hurt my grades skipping class. Since absenteeism isn’t grounds for losing citizenship, most everyone skips a few days of school each month.
“And do what?”
I grin. “Let’s see the 11:15 showing of ‘Father, May I Date a Serial Killer?’”
Her brow knits. “You sure?”
“Look, there will be, like, five people at the theater,” I whisper. “We won’t tell anyone we’re going so none of the hunters at school will follow. I brou
ght a hoodie so no one will look at me closely when I walk in the theater. We’ll see the movie and get back in time for fifth period. And I’ll totally be alive when we do. Guaranteed.”
Amanda leans in closer. “Ask yourself one thing, Kat.” Her breath tickles my cheek. “Is an Elena Swilling movie worth your life?”
My voice is firm. “Yes. Yes it is.”
“All right.” Amanda flashes a daring smile. “Let’s do it.”
Amanda and I saw our first Swilling movie when we were nine and having a sleepover.
Elena is a notoriously wooden actress related to an influential Hollywood producer. She has tragic choice in movies, too. All of them are relegated to the straight-to-DVD ghetto. Amanda and I watched our first Elena Swilling abomination that sleepover. We were in awe because it was the worst movie ever.
In the climax, Elena’s character is desperately trying to escape the anathema who has been stalking her. She boards a tiny little row boat and begins paddling away. The anathema follows in a row boat of his own, paddling after her.
It was the slowest and most hilarious chase scene I’d ever seen. Amanda laughed until soda shot from her nose.
“Why doesn’t he just jump out of the boat and swim?” Amanda howled.
“Why doesn’t she?” I cried.
We giggled until we were in tears, until our sides ached. We begged each other to stop making rowing motions that triggered more uncontrollable laughter. We pinky swore that night that we’d see every Elena Swilling movie we could get our hands on.
For weeks afterward, we’d just look at each other and burst out in giggles. It usually happened at the most inappropriate moments—like when my stern Russian dance coach was trying to choreograph my solo.
Today Elena’s newest epic, ‘Father, May I Date a Serial Killer?’ is in theaters. It’s a big deal for Elena Swilling, getting a legitimate movie in theaters. It’s a big deal for me, too, because ditching school to see it feels like sheer liberation.
I’ve barely seen Conrad since his birthday. We don’t share any classes and lunch is brief. He’s not one for texting or even using Skype. The image of Siobhan holding out her drink for him keeps taunting me. When I run into him in the hallway, I whisper the plan to him, too.
Amanda is not happy.
“Elena Swilling is our thing,” she pouts as we wait for him by my locker.
“I never see Conrad anymore.” And I suspect he’s starting to get disgruntled over that. The anathema thing is beginning to wear on us. “It’s not like I can’t invite him.”
“You should’ve warned me. Then I would’ve just invited Russ.”
I felt an uneasy sensation crawl over my skin. No Russell, thanks.
“Just wait and see, Kat,” she warned me. “He won’t even get it.”
We slip off campus together in Amanda’s car. It’s a twenty minute drive inland to Shelter Valley, our neighboring town in the flatlands. People in my town call Shelter Valley ‘The Pit’ because most of the people who live there have been priced out of Cordoba Bay. Mayor Alton has nearly eliminated crime from our city. The rise in real estate prices have driven most of the lower income population straight out of our town to our crime ridden neighbor.
The theater staff is used to young people bailing on school—as long as we pay our way in. There are always posters in the theater threatening people who sneak in or pirates planning to record the movies with loss of citizenship.
Watch anathemas on the big screen! Don’t become one yourself. This establishment prosecutes copyright infringement.
I snort when my eyes sweep over the familiar sign. Guess I have a free pass now if I ever want one.
When we reach the box office, Conrad’s face fills with disgust at the sight of the cheesy movie poster for Elena Swilling’s movie. He launches into an argument with Amanda, trying to convince us to go to “Ninja Commandoes IV: Battle of Blood Island”.
Amanda wins out. “Go without us, then.”
“Fine. Whatever.” Conrad throws up his hands. “Let’s see, ‘Father May I Torture Audiences?’”
I bat his arm as he grins at me. Amanda rolls her eyes and huffs out a breath that flutters her hair.
Conrad is no longer smiling when he wedges into the seat next to me in the movie theater, shifting restlessly all through the trailers. The tinkling notes of music start up, and Conrad mutters again, “This already sucks.”
“That’s the whole point,” Amanda snaps. “Feel free to go to the masterpiece about ninja commandoes.”
I try, like usual, to find the middle ground. “This is going to be so awful that it’s going to be fantastic.”
Nobody speaks after that. Amanda’s arms are crossed, the air crackling with her irritation. She’s still miffed with me. Conrad sighs loudly and slouches lower in his seat.
My gaze keeps unfocusing from the screen. The theater is nearly empty this early in the day. Between Amanda in a bad mood over Conrad, and Conrad discreetly trying to grope my leg rather than watch the screen, nobody is laughing at the awfulness of the movie. When a movie is this bad and no one is laughing, it stops being fun. It just becomes a lousy movie.
It depresses me. Elena Swilling movies are about laughable badness. Not only that, but laughable badness I can enjoy with Amanda. The whole experience has been ruined.
An ache forms inside me. Amanda was right. I shouldn’t have invited Conrad.
Misery descends over me. I finally disentangle myself from Conrad’s grasp and head out into the lobby, planning to hit the bathroom. The time of this precious, stolen freedom is ticking down.
I walk to the sinks to wash my hands. Then I notice the way the janitor near the door keeps swiping his mop across the same spot of the floor. Goosebumps prickle up my back. I slowly wash my hands, monitoring him out of the corner of my eye.
He darts brief, fleeting glances between my face and some device on his belt. I see what’s on his belt, then: a cell phone.
My stomach swoops. He’s comparing my image to an image on his phone.
He must have the same phone app everyone else does: the anathema database. He knows. His gaze scalds my back.
I feel like a mechanical puppet, moving to the hand dryer, trying to be casual. My heart is pounding. Every instinct screams at me not to panic, not to overreact. It’s like dealing with a predator in the wild: break into a run and they start running after you.
Just knowing I’m an anathema doesn’t mean he’s going to act on it. My reaction could be the most fatal thing to me now.
For all my forced calm, though, my stomach gives a terrible lurch when he blocks the door as I try to walk through it. A fleeting instant passes as we just look at each other. I know I must look frightened. There’s an apology in his face. He even smiles regretfully.
“It’s not personal, lady. It’s too much money. I really need it.”
“No.” The word escapes me.
Then it all happens at once. He’s grabbing me, catching me in leathery arms, and I begin to scream my head off. He’s having trouble holding me as I twist, as I thrash, as I kick at anything I can, because he’s clearly never done this before. His grip breaks and I’m free.
My legs launch me forward so fast, my shoulder crashes against the doorway. Muscles burn as I plunge into the lights of the lobby, and then weight crashes into me from behind, carpet burning a path across my knees and elbows.
“CONRAD! AMANDA! HELP!” I don’t recognize my voice. “SOMEONE HELP, HELP!” And then his hand is sweaty over my mouth, his arms compressing, his weight pinning me down as he gropes at my throat.
Then he’s compressing.
My vision begins to go black.
CHAPTER TWELVE
My head feels ready to burst, the world tunneling in. My thoughts blur, the wild urgency of fighting draining out of me…
Abruptly the weight is wrenched off me.
“What do you think you’re doing?” bellows a man’s voice.
A protest. “She’s an ana
thema!”
I stumble blindly to my feet, my hands flying to the bruised skin of my neck. It’s an older man with a paunch and thinning hair. He wears the same uniform as the janitor. He’s grasping the collar of my attacker.
“Not at work, you’re not. There are mothers and young children around. They don’t come to the movies to see some girl killed,” my rescuer snaps.
“I’ll take her outside.”
The janitor reaches for me and I stifle a scream.
His manager grabs his arm again. “Not a paying customer!”
The janitor mumbles his excuses, bowing his head with the rebuke. His manager is fuming, his face beet red. Then he turns and looks at me, taking me in. My blotchy face, my hair askew, my clothes wrinkled.
“You are a paying customer, aren’t you?” The manger gestures to me with a spindly hand. “Let me see your ticket stub.”
Ticket stub? My mouth forms the words but no sound comes out. I feel I am choking. If it’s fallen out of my pocket during the scuffle, does that mean he’ll let the janitor take me outside to kill me?
As though it has a will of its own, my rubbery hand delves into my pocket, finds the stub. My hand shakes furiously as I hold it up. The manager examines it critically. Once he’s verified that the anathema did not sneak into his movie theater, a look of regret creases his face.
“My apologies for this incident, ma’am. We want all our customers to have a positive movie going experience.”
He rips off a slip of paper from a pad in his pocket and hands it to me. It’s a gift certificate: a free drink with my next purchase of popcorn. When Amanda and Conrad emerge from the theater to check on why I’ve been gone for so long, they find me standing there in the middle of the garish lights of the lobby, too terrified to move. The paper has slipped from my hand and fallen to the floor.
Conrad scoops it up. “Hey, free drink with a medium popcorn.”.
“Are you blind as well as dumb?” Amanda snarls at him, then grabs me. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”
My body shaking all over. I keep rubbing the skin of my neck. Amanda pushes my hands aside and winces. I must be bruised.
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