Teen Hyde

by Chandler Baker

  I flitted my eyes to the ceiling like I was annoyed when actually it felt nice to have my parents faux-worried about a boy as opposed to real worried about my constant bad mood. Dad slid the pancakes over to me and I forked the biggest one onto my plate and doused it with warm syrup. “It’s not really like—” I stuffed the first bite into my mouth. The taste of the warm, sugar-laden flapjack exploded on my tongue and I nearly moaned. Usually I allowed myself only one cheat day a week and lately I’d been surviving on power bars and Gatorade more often than not. The effect of the flour and sweet and glorious carbohydrates was sinfully delicious and nearly short-circuited my brain.

  I started to tell my parents that Liam wasn’t a boy that I liked and, what was more, there weren’t any boys on my radar period, but I stopped short. Maybe it was the digesting pancakes sending a wave of endorphins into my brain or maybe it was just the way our whole family was gathered around the breakfast table like nothing had changed in the last few months. Whatever it was, I made a decision. I may not have liked a boy exactly, but I did like something, so instead, I asked in the midst of shoveling in my next bite, “Do you guys mind if I meet up with him later?”

  * * *

  LIAM TOLD ME to meet him at the corner of Grimwood and Havelock Drive. At dusk, I pulled up to a ramshackle park with a public basketball court. If this was a date, I’d insist he at least take me to dinner and a movie, but since it wasn’t, the park would do. A pair of headlights shined onto the court. Liam waved at me from the free-throw line. “Can you leave your lights on?” he asked when I started to get out of the car. I glanced at his Mustang. “The lighting sucks out here,” he explained. When I looked around, I saw that he was right. There was only a single lamppost for the whole park and it was several yards away from the basketball court.

  I nodded and left the car running and my headlights blazing. Outside, the sun had slipped below the tree line leaving behind it only a sliver of molten orange to dye the sky’s hem a soft, cottoncandy pink. Everywhere else evening muddied the edges of things.

  The concrete court was painted mostly green, but a rusty red color peeked through in places where sneakers had rubbed holes into it. Liam bounced a basketball in front of his toes twice and then shot it at the hoop. The ball bounced off the tilted rim. I caught it midair and ran my hand over its bumpy, leather skin. It smelled like gym class.

  “How’d you get my number anyway?” I asked, twirling the orange basketball between two fingers.

  He wiped his forehead off on the sleeve of his T-shirt. “Sports directory.” He grinned and tapped his pointer finger to his temple. “Smart, huh?”

  “Oh, right.” I’d forgotten about the directory, which gave the names and contact information of all Hollow Pines athletes. It helped to coordinate pep rallies, signs of support, and general attendance at events. Why hadn’t I thought of that?

  “Don’t worry. I’m not, like, a stalker or anything.”

  I rolled my eyes and bounced him the ball. “I didn’t think you were. You’re Liam Buckley.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” He dribbled the ball to the hoop and this time shot a layup. It swooshed through the ragged net. He caught it on the other side and tossed it to me.

  I hadn’t played basketball since I was a kid, but my dad always told me that I’d stolen all the athletic genes in the family. Maybe that was true, since it looked like Honor was destined to be more of a drama geek. I dribbled the ball out to the three-point line. “Only that I hardly think you need to be stalking girls. They seem to flock quite willingly.”

  He stood underneath the net, waiting. “Yeah, well, you’re Cassidy Hyde,” he said with a shrug.

  I scoffed. “So?”

  “So, everyone knows who you are, too.”

  “I guess.” I positioned the ball between my palms, bent my knees, and used my right hand to guide the ball as I hurled it toward the hoop. It bounced off the backboard and I squeezed my fist tight instinctively. “Darn,” I muttered under my breath while Liam chased after the stray ball.

  “Looks like someone’s competitive.” He returned with his easy lope. “So, are you glad I didn’t let you chop off all your hair?”

  I stared down at the ground. “I wasn’t planning to chop it all off,” I said, even though I wasn’t sure what I’d been intending to do. The darkness that I’d felt in that moment was impossible to touch from where I currently stood. Still, I knew it was hovering nearby waiting to consume me and that was exactly why I was here. With Liam.

  Liam’s eyebrows shot up. A half smile played at his lips. He bounced the basketball through his legs, switching up his stride, left and right. “Okay…,” he said. “But you have to admit, it helped.”

  I took a deep breath. The park was deserted except for the two of us. “Yes, but … I have questions.” As though to prove that the old Cassidy was clawing to return to life, I had come armed with all my best type A questions for Liam.

  He stopped bouncing the ball. “I’m an open book. Come on.” He set the ball down and walked off the court to a swing set nearby.

  I chose the swing next to his and let my feet lift from the ground, grateful now that I had his full attention. “Right … well, first, did, um, did anything happen between us?”

  Based on his text message, I was pretty sure the answer was no, and I was abundantly glad that he couldn’t see the color spike in my cheeks when I asked. Nothing said “easy” like a girl who couldn’t remember whether she’d been easy or not.

  His chuckle was soft and low in the dark. “Like did we hook up? No. Nothing like that. Just danced. But now you’re making me wish that maybe I’d made a move.”

  “No!” I snapped back too fast. The silence that followed was awkward. I listened to the creak of the swings’ chains. “I mean, sorry, but I’m glad we didn’t. I didn’t think so, but I … was just testing. You know, for any side effects of … well…”

  “Of Sunshine?” He completed the thought for me.

  “Exactly.” I looked over. Liam’s back formed a C curve as he hunched in the swing’s seat, too small for his lanky frame.

  “I … wasn’t sure how I got home last night. Has that happened to you when you’ve used it?”

  He shook his head. “No. Nothing like that. And I’ve already taken it, like, a dozen times. Healthy as an ox.” He thumped his chest.

  I furrowed my brow. I guessed that was a relief. “So, are there any side effects I should know about? I ran a search on it, but I couldn’t find anything.”

  He pushed off the ground and tucked his knees to float through the arc. “It’s new. Designer. Totally the shit. My older brother got it at his college. Just that warm, gooey feeling, like everything is happy and perfect and fun. You know what I’m talking about.” He reached over and nudged me.

  I knew exactly what he was talking about. “Is it … addictive?”

  “Christ, Hyde. You think I’d give you heroin or something? Haven’t you ever taken a party drug before?”

  I let the soles of my shoes drag along the dirt below. “No. Is that strange?”

  “Oh, sorry, I just figured you had or whatever. I mean, I guess I’ve always heard you were a bit of a wild child.”

  Wild child. Easy. What had I done to earn these descriptions? “You shouldn’t believe everything you hear,” I said flatly.

  He shrugged. I wondered what it would take to get a rise out of Liam Buckley. He seemed so annoyingly self-assured and relaxed.

  “Look, I’m an athlete, too, but as long as you don’t go overboard, you should be fine.”

  I pressed my lips together. Right. Everything in moderation. At least until the old Cassidy was back and here to stay. I’d been miserable for long enough. What I needed was a jump start. That was all.

  “So, what’ll it be? I’m not just selling to anyone, you know. Only people I know will be cool and not a bunch of shitheads. Shitheads are how people get caught.”

  “How much?” I asked, standing up to dig
out the cash I’d picked up at the ATM.

  “That depends on how many you want.”

  “I don’t know. Two or three, I guess.”

  “All right.” He smiled easily. “For you, forty bucks.”

  My palms were sweaty. I decided not to ask whether “for me” meant the pills were more expensive or less. I handed him the money and he handed me back a small ziplock bag with three yellow pills inside. My heart beat like a jumping bean.

  Sunshine.

  A few minutes passed before I was back inside my car, fishing out a pill and placing the tiny droplet on the tip of my tongue. Now all I had to do was wait.

  FOUR

  Marcy

  One hour, thirty-three minutes, and fifteen seconds.

  It had been that long since I’d first seen the boys walk into the club and it’d been just over an hour since I’d left to wait outside for them. Five faces: The short one who I knew as the watcher, the one who’d hidden behind his video camera that night like the distance made him any less guilty. The surfer with the longish hair and laid-back attitude, the boy who’d told me to relax, chill out. The sexy jock with his backward baseball cap and silver tongue, who’d pulled me in like a mosquito to a bug-zapper. The thin-lipped skull face with a cigarette hanging from his mouth, a mouth I knew was armed with cowardly taunts and cheers and encouragement to go too far. And, of course, the mean one. Vampire-toothed, crocodile-skin boots, eyes that could eat your heart out raw. Circus Master, I called him. I had nicknames for each and I checked them off mentally before returning the phone to my pocket. I traced the entry stamp on the back of my hand, a splotchy inkblot in the shape of a pair of cowboy boots.

  “You know you can go back inside.” The bouncer sat on a stool opposite the glass doors. “If you’re waiting on somebody or somethin’. You’re welcome to go take a look.”

  I nodded without looking over. “’Kay.” But I made no motion to leave.

  Instead, I propped one foot up on the brick wall behind me and folded my arms across my chest. It was getting late.

  The door swung open. I held my breath. Two girls spilled out into the night, giggling and swaying arm in arm. I relaxed against the wall again. No sooner had I, though, than a shot of laughter burst into the dark sky like a gunshot. The laugh sounded to me like a living echo of a memory.

  I wrenched my shoulders from the wall and glanced sidelong at the fivesome and immediately I stiffened. There was an extra person. Six total. And that sixth person was a girl.

  She wasn’t supposed to be there. I watched as Circus Master looped his arm around her shoulder and leaned in close to talk to her. I felt my mouth curve into a snarl.

  The girl was young. Maybe younger than I was. She had an uncared-for look, like a stray cat, wide-eyed and with a narrow build. Clearly, she was just as lost, too.

  As the boys turned left out of the club, I hiked the black hood I was wearing over my ears and followed. Over the fabric, I clutched the outline of the knife hiding underneath. Squeezed the hilt twice for comfort. It was there and it could wait, too, I reminded myself.

  Only I wasn’t sure how long.

  At the corner, I expected the girl to veer off. Go, I willed her mentally. Leave. But she didn’t.

  I trailed a block behind. Watched the moments as they happened like snapshots. The two boys in the back—the one with the cigarettes, Lucky Strike, and the sexy piece of bait for the group, Jock Strap—jostled each other. The cigarette fell out of Lucky Strike’s mouth and he left it fuming on the sidewalk. When I passed the spot, the sweet vapor from the wafting tip made me woozy. I crushed it with the sole of my boot.

  Up ahead, California, who, like Short One, wore a shirt that read Beta Psi, crept up and pinched the girl’s ass. She squealed and whipped around and I saw the fleeting look on her face change from anger to annoyance to a fake smile, like she’d been in on the joke all along.

  The joke was theirs, though.

  Short One jogged in front of where Circus Master still had his arm looped possessively around the girl’s shoulder. Short One pulled out a handheld camcorder. “Smile for the camera.” At least that was what I thought he said. He walked backward and panned the group. I edged sideways, out of the frame’s background.

  From this angle, the girl’s face was hidden from me, but I could see as she raised a tentative hand to wave. Her shoulders pinched up to hide her neck. The boy got close. Zoomed into her face and let out another huge clap of laughter.

  We passed one of the blue towers with dead siren tops scattered near campus. Big buttons begging to be pressed in the event of an emergency. But emergencies rarely happened in convenient areas.

  I should know.

  I’d lost track of where we were walking. I quickly collected my bearings. We’d turned off the main road onto a dark side street. They entered a parking lot, nearly empty but for an old Chrysler with a FOR SALE sign tacked in the window. I hung back in the shadows of an old apartment building.

  Observing. Studying. Biding my time.

  Leave, girl. I needed her to go. No witnesses. No mess. Right now, she was in the way. I felt some of my anger peel off and gravitate over to her. She must have seen where she was by now. But she was still playing the role of good little girl. Pleasing. Compliant. She mustn’t be rude.

  Jock Strap found a littered bottle, picked it up over his head, and smashed it on the ground. Short One hid behind his blinking red light. Then, with no other toys to play with, nothing else breakable, they turned to the girl. My hands curled into fists at my sides.

  It began as a shove. The girl stumbled forward like a marionette doll into the arms of Circus Master. I could feel his sneer, breath hot on my face, even from a safe distance away. Another echo of a memory. I forced myself to watch.

  Another shove. This time back to Jock Strap. Around she went. Push. A kiss on the cheek. Shove. Another pat to her ass. Rage clawed at my stomach.

  Circus Master gave an order. Gestured with his hands. And then the girl was lowering herself to her knees amid the broken bottle and the shimmering moonlit asphalt. The sound of her whimpering cries reached me. Rage boiled my blood until it thickened and hardened in my veins.

  I forced the rage down into the pit of my belly where it’d be forced to stew with the other acids there until the next evening. There would be no revenge tonight, I had to concede. The huntress inside me seethed, pulling at the reins to be let loose.

  But the problem of the girl remained.

  I observed her another moment before turning my back on her. It was official: Tonight had been a total waste.

  As I disappeared around the corner, I could still hear cruel laughter. I could picture the humiliation spilling out in hot tears all over her face as clearly as if it was a portrait painted on a canvas in front of me.

  It took me thirty seconds to reach the blue tower, to slam my hand on the button, for the sirens to swirl and to flash blue and white light on the pavement. They were thirty seconds the girl would never have back.

  My breath shortened as I ran back to the apartment building adjacent to the parking lot. The boys had lifted their heads, listening. I pressed myself to the side of the old brick and cupped my hands around my mouth. “Hey,” I said in as loud and as deep of a voice as I could muster. “You. Over there. I’ve called the police.” The boys searched in my direction. I stepped partway out of the shadows, using the hood to mask my hair and face.

  The sirens cut through the air. The police really would be there. Soon.

  The red light on the camcorder blinked off. “Come on,” I heard Short One say.

  As he left, Circus Master took one glance back at the girl still on her knees. He ruffled her hair before spinning to follow his friends.

  She fell on all fours, palms biting into the asphalt. Sobs dampened the air. My shoes crunched toward her. “Here.” I grabbed her under the elbow and beneath her armpit and used my weight to pull her upright.

  The girl squinted at me. Tears streaked her c
heeks. She shook violently, lower lip trembling. Dark, sweaty bangs stuck to her forehead.

  I let go of her arm. She nearly toppled over, but caught herself and still managed to stand there blinking at me like I was an alien who’d descended down from a UFO.

  “My name’s Lena.” She offered it up like a gift. Her legs quaked and I steadied her.

  “Marcy,” I said gruffly, wearily, wishing there weren’t any more girls like Lena but recognizing myself in her all the same. I held on to her until I was sure she could stand on her own. “Make sure you don’t need my help again,” I said, and there was nothing altruistic about my tone. It was a warning.

  “But, w-w-wait, don’t I—?” she said. “That’s not your—” Her fingers slid down the sleeve of my sweatshirt as I pulled out of reach.

  I didn’t wait. I couldn’t. I tugged the drawstrings of my hood tighter, turned, and walked swiftly away.

  FIVE

  Cassidy

  Honor jabbed me in the ribs and I blinked awake.

  “Watch it. You’re about to start drooling,” she said. Her feet were crossed at the ankles, nude flats tucked underneath the pew. Next to Honor, my mom followed along with the sermon in the Bible she shared with my dad.

  “Is it almost over?” I whispered.

  She nodded and turned her face back to the front. I wiped the corners of my mouth, just in case my sister had been right about the drool. This was hardly the first time I’d fallen asleep during one of Pastor Long’s sermons, but today, I’d managed to sleep through my alarm, plus I was still groggy from missing my coffee. I’d only barely managed to throw on a wrap dress and pin my hair into a passable bun before loading into my dad’s Tahoe. It wasn’t like me to sleep through my alarm. Come to think of it, I wasn’t sure I could recall setting it at all.

  I yawned and shifted my weight on the pew’s thin cushion. My family had been coming to Hollow Pines Presbyterian ever since we moved here. I’d always loved the purple and green stained glass and the way the windows refracted the light into geometric patterns that shifted on the red carpet of the church’s stage. Everyone that was anyone went to church in Hollow Pines. It didn’t matter if you drank yourself silly the night before or if you’d spent the entire six days prior getting to third base in the back of your boyfriend’s pickup. On Sunday morning, your rear end was in the sanctuary.