by Морган Райс
“I always wanted to play the piano,” Caitlin said.
“Why don’t you?”
She was going to say, I never had one, but stopped herself. Instead, she shrugged and looked back down at her food.
“You don’t need to own a piano,” Jonah said.
She looked up, startled that he’d read her mind.
“There’s a rehearsal room in this school. For all the bad here, at least there’s some good. They’ll give you lessons for free. All you have to do is sign up.”
Caitlin’s eyes widened.
“Really?”
“There’s a signup sheet outside the music room. Ask for Mrs. Lennox. Tell her you’re my friend.”
Friend. Caitlin liked the sound of that word. She slowly felt a happiness welling up inside of her.
She smiled wide. Their eyes locked for a moment.
Staring back into his glowing, green eyes, she burned with a desire to ask him a million questions: Do you have a girlfriend? Why are you being so nice? Do you really like me?
But, instead, she bit her tongue and said nothing.
Afraid that their time together would run out soon, she scanned her brain for something to ask him that would prolong their conversation. She tried to think of something that would assure her that she’d see him again. But she got nervous and froze up.
She finally opened her mouth, and just as she did, the bell rang.
The room erupted into noise and motion, and Jonah stood, grabbing his viola.
“I’m late,” he said, gathering his tray.
He looked over at her tray. “Can I take yours?”
She looked down, realizing she’d forgotten it, and shook her head.
“OK,” he said.
He stood there, suddenly shy, not knowing what to say.
“Well…see you.”
“See you,” she answered lamely, her voice barely above a whisper.
Her first school day over, Caitlin exited the building into the sunny, March afternoon. Although a strong breeze was blowing, she didn’t feel cold anymore. Although all the kids around her were screaming as they streamed out, she was no longer bothered by the noise. She felt alive, and free. The rest of the day had gone by in a blur; she couldn’t even remember the name of a single new teacher.
She could not stop thinking about Jonah.
She wondered if she had acted like an idiot in the cafeteria. She had stumbled over her words; she barely even asked him any questions. All she could think of to ask him was about that stupid viola. She should have asked where he lived, where he was from, where he was applying to college.
Most of all, if he had a girlfriend. Someone like him had to be dating someone.
Just at that moment, a pretty, well-dressed Hispanic girl brushed by Caitlin. Caitlin looked her up and down as she passed, and wondered for a second if it was her.
Caitlin turned down 134th street, and for a second, forgot where she was going. She’d never walked home from school before, and for a moment, she blanked on where her new apartment was. She stood there on the corner, disoriented. A cloud covered the sun and a strong wind picked up, and she suddenly felt cold again.
“Hey, amiga!”
Caitlin turned, and realized she was standing in front of a filthy, corner bodega. Four seedy men sat in plastic chairs before it, seemingly oblivious to the cold, grinning at her as if she were their next meal.
“Come over here, baby!” yelled another.
She remembered.
132 nd street. That’s it.
She quickly turned and walked at a brisk pace down another side street. She checked over her shoulder a few times to see if those men were following her. Luckily, they weren’t.
The cold wind stung her cheeks and woke her up, as the harsh reality of her new neighborhood started to sink in. She looked around at the abandoned cars, the graffitied walls, the barbed-wire, the bars on all the windows, and she suddenly felt very alone. And very afraid.
It was only 3 more blocks to her apartment, but it felt like a lifetime away. She wished she had a friend at her side—even better, Jonah—and she wondered if she could manage this walk alone every day. Once again, she felt angry at her Mom. How could she keep moving her, keep putting her in new places that she hated? When would it ever end?
Broken glass.
Caitlin’s heart beat faster as she saw some activity up on the left, on the other side of the street. She walked quickly and tried to keep her head down, but as she got closer, she heard yells and grotesque laughter, and she couldn’t help but notice what was going on.
Four huge kids—18 or 19, maybe—stood standing over another kid. Two of them held his arms, while the third stepped in and punched him in the gut, and the fourth stepped up and punched him in the face. The kid, maybe 17, tall, thin and defenseless, fell to the ground. Two of the boys stepped up and kicked him in the face.
Despite herself, Caitlin stopped and stared. She was horrified. She had never seen anything like it.
The other two kids took a few steps around their victim, then raised their boots high and brought them down.
Caitlin was afraid they were going to stomp the kid to death.
“NO!” she screamed.
There was a sick crunching sound as they brought their feet down.
But it wasn’t the sound of broken bone—rather, it was the sound of wood. Crunching wood. Caitlin saw that they were stomping a small, musical instrument. She looked closely, and saw bits and pieces of a viola all over the sidewalk.
She raised her hand to her mouth in horror.
“Jonah!?”
Without thinking, Caitlin crossed the street, right to the pack of guys, who had by now begun to notice her. They looked at her and their evil smiles broadened as they elbowed each other.
She walked right up to the victim and saw that it was indeed Jonah. His face was bleeding and bruised, and he was unconscious.
She looked up at the pack of kids, her anger overpowering her fear, and stood between Jonah and them.
“Leave him alone!” she shouted to the group.
The kid in the middle, at least six-four, muscular, laughed back.
“Or what?” he asked, his voice very deep.
Caitlin felt the world rush by her, and realized that she’d just been shoved hard from behind. She raised her elbows as she hit the concrete, but that barely cushioned her fall. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see her journal go flying, its loose papers spreading everywhere.
She heard laughter. And then footsteps, coming at her.
Heart pounding in her chest, her adrenaline kicked in. She managed to roll and scramble to her feet just before they reached her. She took off at a sprint down the alleyway, running for her life.
They followed close behind.
At one of her many schools, back when Caitlin thought she would have a long future somewhere, she took up Track, and realized she was good at it. The best on the team, actually. Not in long-distance, but in the 100 yard sprint. She could even outrun most of the guys. And now, it came flooding back to her.
She ran for her life, and the guys couldn’t catch her.
Caitlin glanced back and saw how far behind they were, and felt optimistic that she could outrun them all. She just had to make the right turns.
The alleyway ended in a T, and she could either turn left or right. She wouldn’t have time to change her decision if she wanted to maintain her lead, and she’d have to choose quick. She couldn’t see what was around each corner, though. Blindly, she turned left.
She prayed it was the right choice. Come on. Please!
Her heart stopped as she made a sharp left and saw the dead end before her.
Wrong move.
A dead end. She ran right up to the wall, scanning for an exit, any exit. Realizing there was none, she turned to face her approaching attackers.
Out of breath, she watched them turn the corner and approach. She could see over their shoulders that if she had turned
right, she would have been home free. Of course. Just her luck.
“All right, bitch,” one of them said, “you’re gonna suffer now.”
Realizing she had no way out, they walked slowly towards her, breathing hard, grinning, and relishing the violence to come.
Caitlin closed her eyes and breathed deep. She tried to will Jonah to wake up, to appear around the corner, awake and all-powerful, ready to save her. But she opened her eyes and he wasn’t there. Only her attackers. Getting closer.
She thought of her Mom, of how she hated her, of all the places she’d been forced to live. She thought of her brother Sam. She thought of what her life would be like after this day.
She thought of her whole life, of how she’d always been treated, of how no one understood her, of how nothing ever went her way. And something clicked. Somehow, she had had enough.
I don’t deserve this. I DON’T deserve this!
And then, suddenly, she felt it.
It was a wave, something unlike anything she had ever experienced. It was a wave of rage, flooding through her, flushing her blood. It centered in her stomach, and spread from there. She could feel her feet rooted to the ground, as if she and the concrete were one, and could then feel a primal strength overcome her, course through her wrists, up her arms, into her shoulders.
Caitlin let out a primal roar that surprised and scared even her. As the first kid approached her and laid his beefy hand on her wrist, she watched as her hand reacted on its own, grabbing hold of her attacker’s wrist and twisting it backwards at a right angle. The kid’s face contorted in shock as his wrist, and then arm, were snapped in two.
He dropped to his knees, screaming.
The three other boys’ eyes opened wide in surprise.
The largest of the three charged right at her.
“You fuc—”
Before he could finish, she had jumped up in the air and planted her two feet squarely in his chest, sending him flying back about ten feet and slamming into a stack of metal garbage cans.
He lay there, not moving.
The other two kids looked at each other, shocked. And truly scared.
Caitlin stepped up and, feeling an inhuman strength course through her, and heard herself snarl as she picked up the two kids (each twice her size), hoisting each several feet off the ground with a single hand.
As they hung dangling in the air, she swung them back, then swung them together, crushing each into the other with an incredible force. They both collapsed to the ground.
Caitlin stood there, breathing, foaming with rage.
All four boys were not moving.
She didn’t feel relieved. On the contrary, she wanted more. More kids to fight. More bodies to throw.
And she wanted something else.
She suddenly had crystal clear vision, and was able to zoom in on their necks, exposed. She could see down to the tenth of an inch, and she could see, from where she stood, the veins pulsing in each. She wanted to bite. To feed.
Not understanding what was happening to her, she tossed her head back and let out an unearthly shriek, echoing off the buildings and down the block. It was a primal shriek of victory, and of unfulfilled rage.
It was the shriek of an animal that wanted more.
Chapter Two
Caitlin stood before the door to her new apartment, staring, and suddenly realized where she was. She had no idea how she got there. The last thing she remembered, she’d been in the alley. Somehow, she’d got herself back home.
She remembered, though, every second of what happened in that alleyway. She tried to erase it from her mind, but couldn’t. She looked down at her arms and hands, expecting to see them look different—but they were normal. Just as they had always been. The rage had swept through her, transforming her, then had just as quickly left.
But the after-effects remained: she felt hollowed out, for one. Numb. And she felt something else. She couldn’t quite figure it. Images kept flashing through her mind, images of those bullies’ exposed necks. Of their heartbeat pulsing. And she felt a hunger. A craving.
Caitlin really didn’t want to return home. She didn’t want to deal with her Mom, especially today, didn’t want to deal with a new place, with unpacking. If it weren’t for Sam being in there, she may have just turned around and left. Where she’d go, she had no idea—but at least she’d be walking.
She took a deep breath and reached out and placed her hand on the knob. Either the knob was warm, or her hand was as cold as ice.
Caitlin entered the too-bright apartment. She could smell food on the stove—or probably, in the microwave. Sam. He always got home early and made himself dinner. Her Mom wouldn’t be home for hours.
“That doesn’t look like a good first day.”
Caitlin turned, shocked at the sound of her Mom’s voice. She sat there, on the couch, smoking a cigarette, already looking Caitlin up and down with scorn.
“What did ya, ruin that sweater already?”
Caitlin looked down and noticed for the first time the dirt stains; probably from hitting the cement.
“Why are you home so early?” Caitlin asked.
“First day for me, too, ya know,” she snapped. “You’re not the only one. Light workload. Boss sent me home early.”
Caitlin couldn’t take her Mom’s nasty tone. Not tonight. She was always being snotty towards her, and tonight, Caitlin had enough. She decided to give her a taste of her own medicine.
“Great,” Caitlin snapped back. “Does that mean we’re moving again?”
Her Mom suddenly jumped to her feet. “You watch that fresh mouth of yours!” she screamed.
Caitlin knew her Mom had just been waiting for an excuse to yell at her. She figured it was best to just bait her and get it over with.
“You shouldn’t smoke around Sam,” Caitlin answered coldly, then entered her tiny bedroom and slammed the door behind her, locking it.
Immediately, her Mom banged at the door.
“You come out here, you little brat! What kind of way is that to talk to your mother!? Who puts bread on your table….”
On this night, Caitlin, so distracted, was able to drown out her Mom’s voice. Instead, she replayed in her mind the day’s events. The sound of those kids’ laughter. The sound of her own heart pounding in her ears. The sound of her own roar.
What exactly had happened? How did she get such strength? Was it just an adrenaline rush? A part of her wished it was. But another part of her knew it wasn’t. What was she?
The banging on her door continued, but Caitlin barely heard it. Her cell sat on her desk, vibrating like crazy, lighting up with IMs, texts, emails, Facebook chats—but she barely heard that, too.
She moved to her tiny window and looked down at the corner of Amsterdam Ave, and a new sound rose in her mind. It was the sound of Jonah’s voice. The image of his smile. A low, deep, soothing voice. She recalled how delicate he was, how fragile he seemed. Then she saw him lying on the ground, bloody, his precious instrument in pieces. A fresh wave of anger arose.
Her anger morphed into worry—worry if he was all right, if he’d walked away, if he made it home. She imagined him calling to her. Caitlin. Caitlin.
“Caitlin?”
A new voice was outside her door. A boy’s voice.
Confused, she snapped out of it.
“It’s Sam. Let me in.”
She went to her door and leaned her head against it.
“Mom’s gone,” said the voice on the other side. “Went down for cigarettes. Come on, let me in.”
She opened the door.
Sam stood there, staring back, concern etched on his face. At 15, he looked older than his age. He’d grown early, to almost six feet, but he hadn’t filled out yet, and he was awkward and gangly. With black hair and brown eyes, his coloring was similar to hers. They definitely looked related. She could see the concern on his face. He loved her more than anything.
She let him in, quickly closing the door be
hind him.
“Sorry,” she said. “I just can’t deal with her tonight.”
“What happened with you two?”
“The usual. She was on me the second I walked in.”
“I think she had a hard day,” Sam said, trying to make peace between them, as always. “I hope they don’t fire her again.”
“Who cares? New York, Arizona, Texas…Who cares what’s next? Our moving won’t ever end.”
Sam frowned as he sat on her desk chair, and she immediately felt bad. She sometimes had a harsh tongue, spoke without thinking, and she wished she could take it back.
“How was your first day?” she asked, trying to change the subject.
He shrugged. “OK, I guess.” He toed the chair with his foot.
He looked up. “Yours?”
She shrugged. There must have been something in her expression, because he didn’t look away. He kept looking at her.
“What happened?”
“Nothing,” she said defensively, and turned and walked towards the window.
She could feel him watching her.
“You seem…different.”
She paused, wondering if he knew, wondering if her outside appearance showed any changes. She swallowed.
“How?”
Silence.
“I don’t know,” he finally answered.
She stared out the window, watching aimlessly as a man outside the corner bodega slipped a buyer a dime bag.
“I hate this new place,” he said.
She turned and faced him.
“So do I.”
“I was even thinking about...” he lowered his head, “…taking off.”
“What do you mean?”
He shrugged.
She looked at him. He seemed really depressed.
“Where?” she asked.
“Maybe…track down Dad.”
“How? We have no idea where he is.”
“I could try. I could find him.”
“How?”
“I don’t know…. But I could try.”
“Sam. He could be dead for all we know.”
“Don’t say that!” he yelled, and his face turned bright red.
“Sorry,” she said.
