by Natasha Deen
Serge appeared in my peripheral vision.
Crap. My talking about him must have called him to me.
The skin on Mr. Popov’s face went leather tight and red. “Your rights? How dare you?” He spit the words.
“He was a stupid kid.” My words bounced off the tile. “But he was a kid, and he doesn’t deserve this kind of annihilation. He’ll never get a chance to be the person he could have been. Please give us the chance to find closure—”
Craig stood, gave me a thumbs-up.
“Miss Johnson,” Mr. Popov hissed. “Sit down before you embarrass yourself further—”
“Funerals are expensive.” Mrs. Popov stood.
Her husband’s head snapped in her direction, the hate on his face naked and raw.
She stumbled back and dropped in her seat.
“If money’s an issue,” said Coach Thiessen. “We can hold a fundraiser—”
“We are not poor!”
“Then why won’t you do it?” I asked quietly. The question echoed into silence.
“Your selfishness is only exceeded by your stupidity, Miss Johnson. His death, like his life, is of no concern to anyone but his mother and me. Leave my family alone.” Mr. Popov turned on his heel and with slow, deliberate steps, stalked to the exit.
After a brief pause, his wife scurried after him.
I watched them leave. Their path took them straight to Serge. They couldn’t see him, but it didn’t matter. In death as in life, they walked through him.
He stretched his arms out to his mother and tried to grab her as she moved past.
Everything in me crumpled at the pain and torment etched on his face.
The coach put his hand on my shoulder. He took the mic and, giving me a small smile, said, “Why don’t you go and find your friends?”
I nodded and went back to my seat.
The ref blew his whistle and the game started. I saw Amber get up and leave.
Nell grabbed my arm. “You did good.”
I tried to get Serge out of my head and away from my thoughts. His hurt haunted my heart and swept through the chambers of my mind, a hot, blistering wind that seared everything it touched.
I forced myself to watch the game—mostly because everyone was watching me, but my eyes seemed to hone in on Craig. And every time, it left me feeling cold and alone, bereft of hope and happiness, and terribly lonely. Who was the girl he’d been with and why couldn’t it have been me?
By the time the match was over, I felt like I’d been the one in the pool, getting tossed around and held under.
“Man, what a game!” Bruce draped his arm around my shoulder. “Craig saved it in the last minute, eh?”
I didn’t even realize we’d won. “Yeah, he sure did.”
Bruce pulled me close. “Don’t let the Popovs screw up your night. You tried your best, Mags, and that’s better than Serge ever deserved from you.”
I nodded. “Yeah, I guess.”
Nell’s eyes narrowed at my tone. “Hey, let’s go to the Tin Shack to celebrate.”
“Wanna take my minivan?” asked Tammy. “It’ll fit all of us.”
“No,” said Nell. “Maggie and I will catch up.”
“No telling the dirty details of finding Serge without us,” said Bruce.
“Promise,” I said.
They moved off and Nell pulled me to the side. “Spill.”
I shrugged. “There’s not much to say. I felt the pull—”
“Not that. The zombie act.”
“I’m fine.”
“And I’m flat-chested. Start talking. What was really going on when the Popovs walked out?”
I sighed. Pulling her away from the crowd, finding a quiet spot where no one could hear us, I started from the beginning and told her about Mrs. Popov smelling like rotten apples.
Nell’s nose scrunched. “I don’t get it—rotten apples?”
“You ever hear the saying ‘as wholesome as apple pie?’”
Her eyebrows pulled together. “Maybe…”
“Moms smell like apples—it’s nurturing, loving. Rotten apples is motherhood gone wrong.” I pressed my fingers to my eyes. “I feel really conflicted, Nell. Whatever she was to him, it wasn’t a good mom. Earlier, when I was talking to her, she smelled like poop and burned sugar. Her obsession for her husband, her unquestioning devotion, and loyalty—it’s at the expense of her son.” My throat clogged with tears. “You should have seen him tonight, reaching to her. It was horrible. I can’t stand Serge, but I’m tormented by what was done to him.”
“Wire monkeys,” she said.
“How much sugar did you have tonight?”
“No—in psych class, they were talking about this horrible experiment with monkeys.” Her head tilted to the side. “Or was it chimpanzees?” She waved away the question. “Doesn’t matter. What matters is that they took the babies from their real mothers and put them in a cage with two fake monkeys.”
“Holy crap.”
“I know, eh? Anyway, one fake mommy was wrapped in terrycloth. The other one had milk, but it was a wire monkey. What they found was the babies would cling to the terrycloth mom, even though she couldn’t do anything for them. They’d only go to the other one when they were hungry.”
“We are a real screwed-up species, aren’t we?”
“Forget the animal rights aspect for a minute and focus. What I’m trying to say is that Serge had a terrycloth mom. She didn’t do anything for him, but—”
“—she was the only mom he had.”
“Exactly.”
“I was much happier when I just hated him.”
“Tell me about it.” She nodded to the boys’ locker room. “What else is going on? Usually, when you’re watching Craig, you look like you’re experiencing the rapture. Tonight you looked like you were trying to drop a deuce but were too constipated.”
“Nice imagery.”
She grinned. “I try.”
I told her about Craig and Widow’s Peak.
Nell shook her head. “No way. Craig doesn’t have a girlfriend.”
“Maybe. But he seems to have a friend with benefits.”
She frowned. “It doesn’t make sense. If he was rubbing skin with anyone in the school, I’d know.”
I scoffed. “Yeah, why?”
She gave me a hard look. “I know about you, don’t I?”
“Well—”
“Believe me, I know everything.”
I thought about my ghostly roommate. “Do you know who Serge saw the night he died?”
She made a face. “Okay, almost everything.”
“I feel comforted already.”
“Don’t be petulant,” she said as she threaded her arm through mine.
Her soft hair brushed my face and tickled my chin.
“I may not know about Serge, but I know Craig. You must have gotten the cars mixed-up.”
“With the level of my obsession with him? Not likely.”
She chewed her bottom lip. “I guess, but still…”
“You know what? I really don’t want to talk about this.” I shook my head. “I’d rather talk about the dead guy.”
Nell gave me a sympathetic half-hug. “Okay, no more talk about love. Let’s go discuss death.”
“Do you think it’s strange that the place townsfolk go to have sex is called Widow’s Peak—I mean, it’s a death name. That’s weird, right?”
Nell grunted. “This whole town’s weird.”
We left the arena and headed to my car. A few minutes later, I pulled into a parking spot and saw Tammy and Bruce outside the Tin Shack. Craig was with them.
“Holy crap,” I muttered as we headed over. “I just can’t catch a break.”
Nell squeezed my fingers.
“He
y, Maggie,” he said. His breath clouded the air.
“Hey.” I shoved my hands in my pockets and wished I’d brought my gloves. “Good game.”
He grinned and stupid me, I went weak in the knees. “We toasted them.”
“Winning by two goals isn’t toasting,” said Bruce.
Craig’s grin widened and the too-familiar blade of love and rejection sliced my heart.
“Any win is toasting.” He bumped my shoulder. “Right?”
“Yeah, right.”
We went inside and the smell of grease, fries, and meat mixed with the dry heat of the room.
“We should grab a table,” said Bruce.
Nell shook her head. “Let’s eat in Tammy’s ride. It’s more private.”
I looked around and realized she was right. The small restaurant was full of kids, and most of their attention seemed to be on me. “Good idea.”
I ordered my food and headed to Tammy’s minivan. The chairs were worn and the hinges squeaked, but it was big enough to give us room to spread out. I sat on the left of the last row, Craig took the right, and we set the food in between us.
Tammy started the car and flipped on the interior lights.
“So, what happened?” Bruce asked around a mouthful of fries.
“Uh.” I took a sip of the shake and gave myself a minute to think. “I was driving around and saw the car.”
Bruce frowned. “That’s it?”
I shrugged. “I thought it was weird for his car to be there—plus, we’d had words at the pool. I wanted to have it out with him.”
Craig stiffened. “What did he do?”
I reminded my hopeless heart that his protective tone had more to do with being a genuinely good guy than with nursing a crush, and said, “Nothing. He was just on edge about his parents.”
Serge appeared on the chair next to Nell. “What happened to the TV? They were just going to shoot the drug dealer.” He glanced around the van. His gaze stopped on me. “I felt you calling—a tug.”
Tammy turned on the vehicle and adjusted the heat gauge. “Getting cold.”
“Kinda sudden.” Nell’s gaze caught me. Her eyes narrowed.
I nodded and glanced to the seat beside her where Serge sat.
She gathered her food closer, and he shifted into a more comfortable position.
“Are you going to be calling on me a lot?” he asked. “Because we’ll have to figure out a schedule.” He leered at me. “Like when you’re in the shower.”
“Not likely,” I muttered.
“What?” asked Craig.
“Unlikely,” I said. “I thought it was unlikely that we would solve anything, but I thought I’d face him anyway. He’d just been a jerk about me talking to his parents.”
At the mention of his folks, Serge went grey. He regained colour and said, “I told you not to talk about it.”
I didn’t answer him.
“You said they didn’t say anything to you.” Craig took a bite of his burger.
Serge watched me. “Maggie—c’mon—” He swallowed and his Adam’s apple bobbed. “—c’mon, please.”
“They didn’t.”
His breath left in a rush.
“Serge was just freaking out about nothing.”
“I don’t freak out over nothing!”
“Amber said he’d been weird lately.”
Bruce snorted. “He was always weird.”
“The guy wears thong underwear,” muttered Serge, “and I’m the weird one.”
Craig looked up from his burger. “Tammy, what did you mean about Serge acting weird?”
She shrugged. “All I know is that Amber used to be gaga over him, but since the start of school, things had been going downhill.”
“It’s true,” said Nell. “One time she came to cheerleading practice and she had a bruise on her upper arm.”
Red light sparked from Serge’s body. “That wasn’t me.”
“Did she say Serge did it?” I asked.
“She denied it,” said Nell.
“I believed her,” added Tammy. “The marks were too small for his hand.”
We looked at her.
“How did you notice that?”
She moved, uncomfortable and embarrassed. “Amber used to brag about Serge’s—”
Bruce grunted.
“She said you could tell by how big his hands were.”
Both guys spread their hands and looked at them.
“I can’t imagine Serge letting someone else manhandle his girlfriend,” I said.
“I didn’t,” he told me, his voice hard.
“Who did it?” I asked.
“She never said,” answered Tammy. “But whoever it was, she was scared out of her mind.”
Nell nodded.
“That explains why Amber would have drunk herself to death, but Serge is the one who’s dead,” said Craig. “It doesn’t make sense. He drank too much and too often to do something stupid like overdose by accident.”
“Do anything long enough and you get careless,” said Nell.
“Maybe there was something else going on,” I said, looking at Serge, “something that was eating at him and he couldn’t go on.”
He leaned over the chair back. “I didn’t drink myself to death.”
“He wouldn’t drink himself to death,” said Craig.
“See?” Serge smiled.
“He would have been more likely to beat up whoever was giving him problems.”
“Is it true his pants were off and his wiener was hanging out?”
Tammy hit Bruce. “Nice.”
He rubbed his shoulder. “It’s an honest question.”
“It’s a stupid question.”
“Now that”—Bruce reached over and plucked a few fries from Tammy’s container—“doesn’t make sense. Serge was a pig when it came to girls, but even he wouldn’t take a chick to the old mill.”
“Why?” I took a bite of my cooling burger and wiped ketchup off my face. “Isn’t any spot useful?”
Serge rolled his eyes. “You’re such a virgin.”
“When the wind comes in from the northeast the place stinks,” said Craig. “No one’s that horny.”
And that just reminded me again about his romp on Widow’s Peak. “Oh.”
“Amber wouldn’t have done it there. No girl would.”
“But some girl was with him,” said Nell.
“Or some boy,” said Bruce.
The lighting in the van waned and buzzed.
I shot Serge a look.
His eyes widened. “Is that me? Can I do that?” He stared at his hand, pointed at the steering wheel and tried to zap it.
Nothing happened.
“Maybe I need incentive,” he muttered. His eyes went to Nell’s breasts and he grinned. Spreading his hands like an evangelical pastor about to perform a miracle, he squeezed his eyes shut and tried again.
I sighed and ignored him.
“He was a flaming heterosexual,” said Craig. “As long as it was female, he’d do it.”
“You guys hung out—”
Craig’s face twisted with disagreement.
“Kind of,” I clarified, “You kind of hung out.”
“That was just because of the team,” he said, “we weren’t friends.”
“But Serge wasn’t private or anything. You must have known the girls he was screwing.”
Craig made a face. “Who didn’t he try to have sex with?”
“I’ve got a normal sex drive,” said Serge, “is that such a bad thing?”
“The guy was like a rutting pig.”
Serge tried to zap him, but couldn’t get the electricity to work.
“So,” I asked, “who was he with the night he died?”<
br />
“No one,” said Serge. “I saw Amber after practice”—his face went to shadow—“that was it.”
“Girls that would have gone with him to that place?” Bruce went silent. “Minerva, maybe.”
“Minerva? That mousy girl from bio?” Craig shook his head. “No way.”
“She’s the only one desperate enough for a boyfriend to have gone with him,” said Bruce.
“Please,” said Nell. “Minerva doesn’t want a boyfriend.”
“How do you know?” Bruce shot at her. “She barely talks to boys.”
“Because she’s too busy chatting up the girls.”
“Huh?”
“She’s gay.”
Serge looked at me. “She talked to you, a lot. Anything you want to confess to me, Deadhead? Promise, I’ll take it to my grave.”
He laughed at his joke, but the sound was empty and held the hollow ring of desperation covered by bravado.
I rolled my eyes. I put my arms on the back of the chair in front of me. Looking at Serge, I said, “Who could it have been? Amber?”
No response.
“Kim?”
Still nothing.
“Beverly?”
No reaction.
“I think he was screwing some old lady,” said Bruce.
Whoa, that got a reaction. Serge’s body sparked like fireworks.
I turned to Bruce. “Really? Somebody’s old lady? Or some old lady?”
“Some old lady,” he said.
“How do you know ?” asked Craig. He crumpled the wrappers and stuffed them into the bag.
“Followed him.”
“You followed him? Why?”
“Because he was a ball hog and he needed to learn how to share. I saw him sneaking out of the locker room one time after practice. I thought maybe he was scoring drugs. That could have gotten him kicked off the team.”
“I didn’t do drugs,” said Serge.
I gave him a look.
“Alcohol doesn’t count. That’s a drink.”
I rolled my eyes.
“Anyway, I saw him with somebody’s mom. They snuck into her car and drove off.”
“Whose mom?” asked Nell.
He shrugged. “She had on a hat and sunglasses.”
“Of course she did,” muttered Craig.
“She did!”
Nell frowned. “How do you know it was someone’s mom?”
