Wicked Hunger (Someone Wicked This Way Comes)

by DelSheree Gladden

  “Will you take me?” I ask quietly.

  “Of course,” Ketchup says. “I’ll take you after school today.”

  ***

  I sit down at our usual lunch table, focused more on the impending trip to the senior center than anything else. Ketchup isn’t here, yet, and I find myself missing him more than usual.

  “Van!” Ivy pounces, startling me almost out of my chair. “Do you absolutely hate me? I’m so sorry I told Zander about training with Noah. I had no idea it was a big deal. I’m so sorry!”

  Her wide-eyed, high speed apology slams into me. I stare at her in surprise. As I push my chair farther away from her in an effort to cool my hunger, a million thoughts run through my mind. I want to attack her for outing me, but I know that won’t accomplish anything useful. It makes me want to scream, but I force myself to stuff my anger and hunger away as best I can.

  “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

  Ivy blinks at me in surprise. “Really? You’re not mad? Zander looked furious when he stormed out of the restaurant.”

  Restaurant? I thought they were studying! I am seething at Zander, but I push it aside for now. It’s a struggle to get my thoughts back on the conversation. “We talked and it’s fine now.”

  “I felt awful when I heard him yelling at you.”

  The compassionate expression on Ivy’s face seems somehow false. There’s an edge of delight to her apology that freaks me out. I realize why when I think of the things Zander said to me that night.

  “You heard him yelling at me?” I ask.

  Ivy’s eyes dart down to her feet once then back to me. “I didn’t really hear what he said. I just heard his raised voice when I came out of the restaurant. He calmed down right after that.”

  I can’t tell whether she’s trying to make me feel better about overhearing us by saying she didn’t catch our words, or deliberately hiding what she knows. Either way, she’s lying. My irritation amps up my hunger and I have to move my chair further away from her.

  She heard at least some of our argument. My brain calls up the fight, and I scramble to remember everything Zander said. He asked whether Noah was okay, not me, implying I was the dangerous one. Zander begged me not to be scared of him, and questioned whether I could really not lose control fighting with Noah. He also mentioned my birthday and how things might change for me. I’m sure she’s smart enough to draw some damaging conclusions. I have a feeling math isn’t the only thing Ivy’s good at.

  “I had no idea you’d get in trouble for training with Noah or I never would have mentioned it. I promise Van,” Ivy says.

  “I know. It’s okay,” I say tightly.

  Ivy sighs and relaxes. “Zander said he was upset because of your grandma’s rules, but he didn’t explain why she’s so strict. He just said there were reasons.”

  “Reasons,” I sigh. My mind inevitably strays to that night.

  There are the obvious hunger-related reasons my grandma doesn’t want us fighting, but there are even deeper reasons as well. Losing someone you love changes you forever. It makes you go overboard, take things farther than you normally would.

  “Yeah, there are definitely reasons. When your family experiences violence firsthand, you do everything you can to make sure you never see it again.”

  “Violence?” Ivy asks, quiet and intensely curious at the same time.

  My mind snaps back to the present. Visions of blood and insanity vanish, leaving me staring at Ivy’s eager eyes. I immediately shy away from her gaze. “Never mind,” I say quickly.

  “Wait, what happened? Why is your grandma so strict?”

  “It’s personal.” I stab at my mushy mac and cheese and refuse to look up.

  “I’m just trying to understand so I quit getting you in trouble,” Ivy complains. “Just help me out, Van. Nobody else will.”

  Dropping my fork, my fingers clench the edges of my food tray. Cracks spread out from my fingertips. “What is that supposed to mean?” I say through my teeth.

  “What?”

  “What do you mean by nobody else will help you? Have you been snooping into my personal life?”

  That last part came out a little loud. Heads turn in our direction, but look away as soon as they see me. Fine by me. The only person who doesn’t react is Ivy. She faces me dead on with a patronizing expression.

  “If you didn’t act like everything about you was some huge, monstrous secret, I wouldn’t have to ask other people about you to figure out who I’m sitting next to at lunch,” Ivy snaps.

  We’ll see how long she’s sitting next to me after that! “If I want you to know something about me, I’ll tell you. My other friends respect that. Why can’t you?”

  “Maybe it’s because you haven’t saved my life, yet,” Ivy snaps. “The rest of them do whatever you say because of what you’ve done for them, but you can bet they all have the same questions I do.”

  “And what questions are those?” I ask. Let’s get this all out in the open, if that’s what she wants. What is she really after?

  Ivy squares up her shoulders and juts her perfect little chin out at me. “Why is your brother in a psych ward?”

  “He went crazy.”

  “Why can’t you fight?”

  “People we know died.”

  “I saw your hand get burned in Home Ec. How’d the burns disappear?”

  “They didn’t. I never got burned in the first place.”

  Ivy grits her teeth and fires again. “Why is Zander so strong?”

  “He works out a lot.”

  “Why don’t you like me?”

  I lean toward Ivy, pushing my anger and hunger alike to their limit. “Because you have secrets, too.”

  Her eyes open wider in surprise, but I don’t stay to bask in it. Without another word, she slides her tray down a few seats and stews in silence. Turning away from her, I search the cafeteria for my actual friends. Ketchup and the twins are thankfully on their way to the table, now.

  I contemplate grabbing Ketchup and opting for sitting outside or in the halls, anywhere but here. Before I can gather up my tray, Noah slips into the chair across from me. I’m too surprised to say anything. I panic, knowing that Ketchup is on his way over. Hanging out with Noah is one thing, him sitting at our lunch table…with Ketchup, that’s something else entirely. A hurried excuse that will get him out of here forms on my tongue, but not fast enough.

  “Who are you?” a none-too-pleased voice says next to me. Unfortunately, it’s not an unfamiliar voice. My stomach drops right along with my head. I am not going to make it through this day without losing my mind.

  “I’m Noah.” He extends his hand politely. Ketchup glares back at him.

  “What are you doing at our table?”

  “Uh, I needed to talk to Van. We’re English partners.”

  “Does this look like English class?” Ketchup snarls.

  “Ketchup, please,” I beg.

  Ketchup’s eyes flare. “Please what?”

  “He just wanted to talk for a minute.”

  The way his eyes pierce me is unnerving. “Talk? What happened? Why is he here? I would have thought you’d have told me if you saved…”

  I cut him off before he can finish his sentence. “Nothing happened. Noah is my partner for the English project. He wanted to talk to me. That’s it. Just let it go, okay?”

  “That’s it, huh? I don’t believe you, Van. No one ever just…”

  He stops himself this time, but the damage is already done. Abandoning Noah to the harsh absurdity of my table of friends, I stand up and make for the exit, racing to the outside before my tears can fall. I burst through the doors and round the corner. My body falls against the rough bricks of the building. Their prickly surface digs into my back and keeps me from sliding down.

  I have maybe ten seconds of peace before I hear footsteps. Hope that it’s Noah come to cheer me up is dashed when Ketchup comes around the corner. His tortured expression is a far cry from the
hostility he was just shoving down Noah’s throat. His mouth opens, but he can’t seem to figure out what he wants to say.

  “Nobody ever just wants to be my friend, right?” I ask. “That’s what you were going to say, wasn’t it?”

  “Van, I didn’t mean…”

  “Yes you did, because it’s true.” I take a deep breath. My ragtag group of friends all owe me. Every one of them is my honest to goodness friend now, but they never would have had anything to do with me if I hadn’t saved their lives. I give up and slide to the ground so I can wallow.

  “I didn’t mean to sound like such a jerk,” Ketchup says. He sits down next to me. “I thought you were lying, that you didn’t want to admit you had to rescue someone else, that he was only there because he felt like he had to be.”

  That familiar stab of rejection buries itself in my chest. “I wasn’t lying,” I manage to whisper.

  “You didn’t save him?”

  I shake my head. “He saved me, actually,” I say without thinking.

  “What?” Ketchup demands.

  I try to backtrack, but Ketchup will not let this one go. Finally, I give in and tell him about what happened in the alley. Well, I tell him as much as I can. Ketchup is stunned at the tale of me getting mixed up with a trio of chollos. He doesn’t bat an eye about me fighting, and he doesn’t look for evidence of bruises or cuts. He doesn’t seem to know whether to be angry or grateful when I mentioned Noah breaking up the fight. In the end, the only emotion that sticks around in Ketchup’s eyes is sadness.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Shame makes me look away. “It was stupid to walk home. I was embarrassed, and I was fine anyway.”

  “But…”

  I hold up a hand, not willing to discuss it anymore. Ketchup grunts in annoyance, but doesn’t press the issue. Instead, he goes back to the original topic. The skepticism is clear in his voice when he says, “And now he’s your English partner? Isn’t that kind of weird?”

  “I know. I was worried at first, too, but he hasn’t pulled anything. I even offered to let him off the hook and do it alone, but he said no.”

  “Van, I don’t know Noah very well, but he’s been here a few years. He’s heard the rumors and stories. He knows about your…interesting past. How can you be sure of his motivations?”

  I shrug. Admitting Noah’s biggest motivator for ignoring the vicious stories constantly circulating about me is because he likes me is not something I want to discuss with Ketchup.

  “Are you sure he isn’t after something?” Ketchup asks. “Van, I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  “Is it really so hard to believe someone might just like me?”

  “By someone, you mean a guy,” Ketchup says, jealousy sneaking back into his voice. When I don’t answer, Ketchup knows the answer is yes. He sighs and leans his head against the wall. “Noah likes you?”

  “I think so. Is it that surprising?” I ask.

  Ketchup is quiet. His hand moves slowly to take mine, and for once I let him. “Is it surprising that a guy thinks you’re beautiful and amazing?” he asks softly. His hand tightens around mine. “No, it’s not surprising. Everyone should be able to see that about you. Everyone should see you like I do.”

  Tears that have nothing to do with anger build in my eyes. They scare me because I know their source, and I know I won’t be able to hold them back. “Ketchup, please,” I whisper.

  “It’s not true,” he says as if he didn’t hear me.

  He doesn’t continue. I’m forced to ask, “What isn’t true?”

  “What I said about nobody wanting to be around you unless you save them. I wanted to be with you long before you saved me.” He smiles and leans closer to me. “In fact, the only reason you had to save me was because I was already hanging around you when that car lost control.”

  I try to block out his words, but they’ve already sunken deep into my mind. I lie to myself every day, trying to convince myself that Ketchup is only here for the protection I provide and the loyalty my rescues require. I’m so convincing, everyone else believes it. The only one I can’t fool is myself. No, I’m not the only one who can’t be tricked. Ketchup will never give in to my make believe, no matter how hard I try.

  “Why Noah?” Ketchup asks. His anguished voice breaks my heart.

  “Because he likes me without needing a reason,” I say simply, honestly.

  “Do you like him back?”

  I shrug unconvincingly. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  Ketchup seems to take my answer as a sure sign of my feelings for Noah. His voice cracks when he asks, “More than me?”

  “I…” My throat seizes up, and I can’t speak. I turn my head into his shoulder and hide from him. Ketchup’s hand sweeps up my back and tangles in my hair. He presses me closer to his chest. My body trembles as I take in a deep breath. “Ketchup, I can’t be with you. You know that,” I whisper.

  As he shakes his head, I expect his usual argument, the same one he’s thrown at me a million times before. He surprises me this time. “I know you think that, but it doesn’t matter right now. I just need to know.”

  He pauses, and I can see his free hand clench into a fist. “Do you like him more than you like me?”

  “No.” It’s an honest answer, but the sudden hope that fills Ketchup’s eyes scares me and I rush to clarify. “But maybe I should give him a chance. If I can’t be with you, maybe it’s time…”

  “No,” Ketchup says angrily.

  My face crumbles. “Ketchup, it’s not fair of me to keep doing this to you. I can’t be with you. You shouldn’t waste your time waiting for me.”

  “You’ll keep seeing him, then?” Ketchup demands before I can convince him.

  “Yes.” Tears slide down my cheeks when Ketchup shudders. “We have our project to do…” I say, not convincing in the least.

  “But that’s not the only reason. You want to see him again.”

  “Part of me does,” I admit.

  The tension in his body tells me exactly how he feels about my answer. He is bursting, dying to ask me, tell me, demand that I don’t do this. He wants to stop me from ever seeing Noah again. I can feel it pouring off of him, but he doesn’t ask. Never. He would never ask me to do that.

  Instead of what he really wants to say, he says, “I’ll wait.”

  I can’t stop my tears from falling in earnest. They cascade down my face. “Don’t,” I beg him. “I don’t want you to wait.”

  “I’ll always wait, Van. I love you.”

  It must kill him to walk away, then, but he does it. He leaves me to cry, not out of vengeance, but again, because he knows that’s what I want. Ketchup always gives me what I want in the end. I only wish I could do the same for him. What I can give is so paltry in comparison. I wait until the click of the door hits my ears before whispering, “I love you, too.”

  Then I drop my head to my knees and sob.

  Everything after lunch is a blur. I don’t speak to Ivy or Noah. I know I won’t get the chance to confront Zander until I get home from work tonight, so I force myself to focus on going to the senior center with Ketchup after school. A quick text message to Grandma explaining my plans to “volunteer” are met with happy approval. I, on the other hand, am sick just thinking about it. What if Ketchup is right?

  It is with trepidation that I cross the parking lot to Ketchup’s car after school. When I finally make it to him, his subdued demeanor lowers my eyes.

  “Ready?” he asks.

  I nod and slip into his SUV. The drive is quiet at first. After about ten minutes, I can’t stand it anymore. “Ketchup, I’m sorry about earlier.”

  When he looks over at me, his smile is faint, but genuine. “You don’t have to be sorry about anything. I had no right to act the way I did. Forgive me?”

  “I don’t need to. I’m the one…”

  “Van,” he interrupts, “I know this situation sucks. I don’t understand it, at all, but I want you to know I’
m here for you, no matter what. Nothing else needs to be said right now.”

  I have the feeling what he means by that last line is that he doesn’t want to talk about me hanging out with Noah anymore. There are still plenty of things that need to be said—mainly me apologizing for being such a horrible friend to him. But I don’t say anything else. I should make myself pull away from him, quit torturing him. It’s the right thing to do, but I can’t. Deep down, I cannot get rid of the hope that one day things will change and I can live the life I want, with the person I want. Ketchup must feel the same. The sense of relief that settles around me may be false, but I hold it close until we pull up to the senior center.

  We walk in together, with Ketchup greeting friends of his late grandfather and me following along behind, not sure whether or not this is going to work. Ketchup leads me deeper into the center. He pauses at a plain wooden door. Even with it closed, I can hear voices, several men arguing.

  “This is the unofficial ‘Vets Room,’” Ketchup says. “I’ve known these guys a long time. I’ve heard their stories dozens of times. All three of them served in the front lines in Vietnam. They’ve never talked much about the actual killing they did, but they’ve talked about what it was like over there. If you’re right about what the weird taste means, these guys should cause the same effect.”

  “But what if it doesn’t? Even around Zander it doesn’t happen all the time.”

  Ketchup puts his arms around my shoulder and reaches for the door knob. “Then we’ll come back again, just to make sure. We’ll come back as many times as it takes, okay?”

  “Okay,” I say quietly.

  Ketchup opens the door and I brace myself. I even find myself holding my breath until I can’t stand it anymore and breathe. When I do, the air smells faintly of tobacco and arthritis cream, but that’s it. I’m pulled out of my contemplation when I am poked with a cane. I jump back at the hard nudge and glance over at the source.

  “Who’s this pretty little thing?” a wrinkled old man asks.