by Beth Goobie
The door opened onto the smell of sky and wind, the rumble of staff cars entering the parking lot. It had begun to snow, tiny specks of white blowing by.
“Grape as in Kool Aid?” asked Terry.
“Grape as in gook,” said Skey, stepping out. “See ya.”
“Have a nice day.” As Terry started to close the door, Skey took a few steps forward, then paused. Clichés were not part of Terry’s usual lingo.
“Wait,” Skey called, turning back. “My tickets!”
The door opened and Terry stuck out her head. “Do you use these?” she demanded, her eyebrows raised.
Skey smiled angelically. “Please don’t make me walk,” she said.
Terry handed her the tickets.
“I’m getting good at begging,” said Skey.
“Comes in useful,” said Terry.
AS JIGGER DROVE into the student parking lot, Lick walked by, his head bent into the wind. Every bit of his exposed skin was as red as usual, this time from cold instead of heat. Leaning against Jigger, Skey watched Lick draw abreast her window and smiled to herself. That boy, Elwin Serkowski, had a lot of inner heat.
At that moment Lick glanced up, caught her glance and stopped. Under the weight of Jigger’s arm, Skey watched him shuffle about in one spot, then lift his head and start trotting after the car. Instant panic gulped her. What the hell did Lick think he was doing? As Jigger turned into a parking spot, Lick came to a halt beside the driver’s door and knocked lightly on the window. Skey ducked slightly.
“Who is that?” Shutting off the ignition, Jigger stared through his window. “Looks like someone grabbed his neck and had a turkey pull.”
Pasting on a polite smile, Lick continued to take up space in Jigger’s window.
“It’s...um, Elwin,” Skey said and swallowed hard.
“Elwin,” Jigger singsonged softly, still staring at Lick. Without warning he erupted, shoving open his door, grabbing Lick’s jacket and slamming him against the car. Then he leaned into Lick, glaring into his face.
“Jesus, Jig,” said Skey. Tentatively she slid to the driver’s door and peered out.
“Shut up,” said Jigger, without looking at her.
Lick blinked rapidly, trying to hold Jigger’s gaze. “Hey,” he said quietly. “I’m not worth the effort.”
“Huh?” Jigger demanded. “
I’m part of the lowest order of beings,” said Lick. “Speck of dirt.”
“Tell me about it,” snapped Jigger. He jerked the speck of dirt, side to side.
“I mean, if evolution worked on me for another millennium,” said Lick, “I wouldn’t get close to your body type. It’s not like I’m running a challenge to the hierarchy of the species here.”
Jigger’s mouth twitched. “So?” he said.
“We’re working on a Shakespeare project,” said Lick. “She has to work with someone. Might as well be with a speck of dirt.”
Slowly Jigger relaxed his grip on Lick’s jacket. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s see your arm.”
Unzipping his jacket, Lick took it off. Then he rolled up his left sleeve. Goosepimpled with cold, the skin was clean, showing only a faint red smudge.
“The other one,” said Jigger.
It surfaced, also clean, pale and skinny. Jigger snorted.
“Get out of here,” he said.
Without sliding Skey another glance, Lick pulled on his jacket and left. Leaning against the car, Jigger watched until the nearest school door swallowed him. “What a loser,” he said.
Relief bloomed in Skey’s chest. “Exactly,” she said.
Jigger grinned down at her. “He probably doesn’t have anything in his pants,” he said. “Everything went into his head. You notice how lopsided it is? He’s an alien. You want an alien, Skey?” Diving into the car, he pushed her down onto the seat, and they kissed hard, an unexpected intensity flaring through them. “You think those pills work in school parking lots?” he murmured.
“I think Ms. Renfrew is watching,” Skey murmured back. “You want to go do it in the Counseling office?”
“You’re mine,” Jigger said. “Lunch and after school.”
“I’ve got tutoring at lunch,” said Skey.
“Shit,” Jigger hissed. Pulling his face out of her neck, he hovered over her, tracing her mouth with his fingertip. “Bring everything to your last class,” he said. “When the bell rings, head straight for my car. I brought blankets.”
WHEN SKEY ENTERED homeroom, she saw Lick draped all over his desk, so relaxed his body seemed fluid. Sliding into the seat in front of him, she turned around.
“You crazy?” she demanded.
“Certified,” Lick grinned, his face flushing its usual red. “It worked though, didn’t it? He’s assigned me as your official chaperone.”
“I’m surprised he let you out alive,” said Skey.
“I’m a speck of dirt,” Lick assured her. “Not worth the minor muscle power it’d take to pulverize me.”
“Yeah,” Skey grinned. “You mentioned that.”
“They’re calling my mom today to run the security check on me,” said Lick. “Think I’ll pass? I told mom to lie.”
“Are you a pimp?” asked Skey.
“Not that I noticed,” said Lick.
“Drug dealer?” asked Skey.
“I wish,” said Lick.
“Any unregistered weapons?” asked Skey.
Lick flushed. “Flesh-eating disease, remember?” he said.
Skey rolled her eyes. “At a very early age. Did you renew your rabies shot?”
Lick gasped. “Doggone it, you need that for a phone call?”
“This is a lockup,” said Skey sternly.
His eyes caught hers and held. Something lived in that emerald green—sadness, deep thought. Skey felt heat cross her face. She was blushing.
“I know,” he said quietly.
TAMMY WAS EATING. As Skey entered the small room off the Counseling office lobby, a rich smell settled heavily into her nostrils. Immediately her stomach let out a loud growl and she dropped her books onto the table to cover the noise.
“Where’s your lunch?” asked Tammy, eyeing her.
“I’m not hungry,” said Skey.
“That’s not what your stomach’s saying,” said Tammy.
“I don’t eat lunch,” said Skey. Sitting down, she crossed her arms over her stomach.
“You don’t eat lunch?” Tammy stared at her.
“Eating doesn’t interest me,” said Skey.
Tammy blinked. “What does interest you?” she asked.
“Not much.” Skey pointed at the books lying in a toppled heap in front of her. “This sure doesn’t.”
“That’s because you don’t eat,” said Tammy emphatically. “Half a person’s brains are in their head. The other half are in their stomach. You’ve got to eat to think.”
“I think,” snapped Skey, tightening her arms over her stomach.
“No, you don’t,” said Tammy. “You hover.”
“What d’you mean, I hover!” demanded Skey.
“You’re like a pale dainty creature that floats above the rest of us,” said Tammy, pointing upward. “In a pale dainty air current. You float up there and watch.”
“That’s racist,” said Skey, “calling me pale.”
Tammy leaned forward, her breath thick with vitamins and protein. “It’s not your skin,” she said dramatically. “It’s your spirit. You’re losing yourself, Skey. You’re going somewhere, I don’t know where, but it’s getting farther and farther away.”
“Fuck off.” Startled tears prickled Skey’s eyes. Why could this girl see what no one else did? Skey didn’t even like her. Looking down, she bit hard on her lower lip.
“Eat this,” ordered Tammy, pushing an unfamiliar food concoction across the table. The aroma that rose from it was loaded. “Your soul is in here,” she said grimly. “You eat it and you’ll get it back.”
The gate to Skey’s stomach swung w
ide. You’ll get fat, her mind argued, but her hands were already moving toward the morsel of life. Eagerly her teeth tore into the creamy texture, and her mouth filled with a spicy taste. She tore out another bite and another. From across the table, Tammy pushed some orange juice toward her. Skey gulped it down.
“That’s better,” said Tammy.
Skey was flushed, her eyes brimming. “This is so good,” she mumbled, her mouth full.
“Uh-huh,” agreed Tammy.
The last bit of food disappeared down Skey’s throat. With a sigh, she swallowed the orange juice dregs, then leaned back. The gaping hole in her abdomen had disappeared. She felt solid, connected. Whole.
“D’you want me to bring you another one on Monday?” asked Tammy.
“Yes, please,” said Skey.
“See, you’re thinking better already.” Tammy smiled.
ALL AFTERNOON THE food sat in her stomach like a gift, anchoring her. What Tammy said was true; when she ate enough, there was less of the hovering feeling. Her arm felt like bone and muscle instead of a dragonfly wing.
The burps were something else though—onions, spices and flavors Skey couldn’t even identify. Then a couple of farts she could definitely identify. They certainly added texture to the class read-a-loud of The Merchant of Venice. Brenda was too polite to comment, but at the end of class, Skey grabbed her jacket and books and headed straight for the door. Halfway down the hall, Lick caught up to her.
“You want me to call you this weekend?” he asked breathlessly.
“About what?” asked Skey, her eyes on the school entrance at the end of the hall.
“Shakespeare,” said Lick. “We have an assignment due Wednesday, remember?”
“Oh yeah.” Eyes still on the door, Skey slowed. “Visiting hours are Sunday, two to four,” she said quickly. “We could work then. It’s noisy in the visitor’s lounge, but...”
“Sure!” Lick beamed enthusiastically, then added, “I’ll bring Mom’s laptop.”
“You have to be on the approved list,” Skey warned.
“I called Mom at lunch,” said Lick. “She said your social worker called her at work and I passed inspection.”
Skey felt another fart coming on. “Great,” she said, “see you Sunday,” and fled.
JIGGER HAD PARKED in a nearby alley where they could avoid student parking lot traffic and make a quick getaway. Turning into the dirt road, Skey maneuvered an overturned garbage can. Ahead, she heard voices and some giggling. A girl was laughing, protesting that it was cold. Frowning slightly, Skey passed a leafless elm and watched Jigger’s car come into view, Rosie lying on her back on the trunk, Balfour holding down her arms while Jigger edged up her shirt. Rosie gave a spurt of laughter as Jigger paused at the bottom of her bra, then slid her shirt up to her neck.
“Jigger,” Rosie singsonged.
“Oh baby,” Jigger breathed and lowered his face.
With a cry, Skey turned and ran, stumbling on ground that seemed to be throwing itself upward. The air clenched and unclenched like a heart, the blue sky cracked open and white forks of lightning struck everywhere. Houses crumbled, trees fell.
“Skey!” Behind her, she could hear Jigger coming after her. But she had reached the sidewalk and was close to the bus stop, the bus one block away. Pounding down the sidewalk, Skey hit the bus door as it arrived at the stop. The door slid opened and she stepped into the bus’s warmth, its smell of upholstery and too many people.
“Don’t pound on the door,” said the driver. “Next time I won’t let you on.”
“Sorry,” mumbled Skey.
Edging onto a crowded seat at the back, she closed her eyes and settled into the sound of the engine. Down, down, the sound pulled her down. Relief flooded her as she recognized the dark tunnel taking shape around her, its silence and emptiness. For several days she had been trapped in the tunnel of light, but now she was back. Cautiously she began to feel about herself for a wall, trying to remember that she was also on a bus and surrounded by people. No carvings, she couldn’t find any carvings. Where had the meaning gone? Desperately she ran her fingers further into the dark, looking for a moon, a star, a running horse—some sign that would tell her why this was happening, why she deserved it, how she had brought it upon herself.
Abruptly the tunnel shattered, wisps of dark scattering into the afternoon light. “Sorry, honey,” said a voice, and Skey opened her eyes to see an enormous woman bending down to pick up her binder. “Didn’t mean to knock that off your knee,” the woman smiled and handed it to her.
To her surprise, as Skey tried to reach for the binder, she found that she first had to tug her right hand out of the inside of her left sleeve. For some reason, she had jammed her right hand in there so tightly that a red mark had appeared on her wrist where the circulation had been cut off. Bewildered, Skey stared at her left arm. What possible signs could she have been seeking inside the tunnel darkness of her left sleeve?
AS THE BUS LET her out, Jigger’s car pulled up behind it. The bus drove off, leaving Skey on a quiet residential street, with three blocks to walk to the lockup. A single car drove past, then turned the corner. Shutting off the ignition, Jigger got out of his car.
“Skey,” he said, coming toward her. “C’mon, it was a joke. Rosie’s easy, you know that. She was laughing. Everyone was just having a good joke.”
Fighting the panic that reared through her, Skey shifted from foot to foot. Nothing was making sense today, especially her feelings. How many times had she watched the gang roll around in front of a TV, pin down a girl and grade her assets? When it was her turn, Skey had always gotten a ten and earned a few of Balfour’s slasher jokes. She remembered laughing too. No one had hurt her, and they had left her bra and panties on. Sometimes they went farther, she didn’t like to think about what they had done to a few girls at parties, but those girls had been outsiders, not members of the Dragons. They had been loaded up on booze and pills first, but still...She didn’t like to think about it, she didn’t. Anyway, that was with other girls, and she belonged to Jigger. No one would treat her that way, no one would cross him by tampering with her status.
“What’s with you?” Jigger asked cautiously as he came to a halt in front of her. “Why’d you run?”
Biting her lip, Skey glanced away from him, down the street. The wild fear she had felt in the alley was draining away now, leaving her with a tired emptiness. For a moment she remembered her mother leaning toward her, tapping a slender finger on one of her scars and saying, “This is what It gets you.” Then the memory faded and she let it go, let go of everything that had just happened—it was all over now and there was no point in getting upset about it, that never got you anything anyway.
Gently Jigger wrapped his arms around her and they folded together, Jigger solid and warm, Skey whimpering and shaky. “I’m yours,” Jigger whispered into her hair. “Just begging to be yours. You know it, Skey, you know it.”
“I’m just not used to everything,” she said apologetically. “In a lockup, it’s different. People act different. There’s no guys. You forget what it’s like.”
“I’m trying to help, aren’t I?” Jigger asked quickly. “Aren’t I helping you get used to things?”
“Sorry,” she said. “I just lost it, that’s all.”
“Rosie’s nothing,” said Jigger. “She’s too easy, even Balfour says so. You’re just right, Skey. You give it, but you’re loyal. You’re loyal to your one guy.”
Skey shivered and glanced away again. “Remember when Balfour stepped on his sister’s gerbil with his bare foot and killed it?” she whispered. “For a joke? When he’s finished with Rosie, he’ll cut her throat.”
“Don’t think like that,” Jigger said softly.
But Skey couldn’t stop thinking like that. “She goes out with him because she thinks she can’t get anyone better,” she said. “I’d never go out with him. Never.”
“C’mon,” said Jigger. “Bals isn’t that bad.”
“I dunno, Jig,” Skey muttered, looking away.
“I dunno what?” He pulled back a little, his eyes honing in, intent.
“I dunno about the Dragons,” she said, “and all that. You know.”
“You don’t want to be with me?” he asked slowly.
“Yeah—you,” she said immediately. “Of course you. It’s just the rest of it. Night Games. Rosie and Balfour...” She trailed off, not able to find the words she needed.
“You’re just tired,” said Jigger. “C’mon, it’s twenty-five after four. You have to get back, and I have to wait until Monday. See how you’re making me suffer? You still taking those pills?”
“I brought two with me for the weekend,” she said. “I put them in my bra so you’d find them.”
His eyebrows rose teasingly. “Where?” he asked. “In here?”
“Jigger,” she said, “we’re on the street.” They wrestled, laughing as his cold fingers moved inside her sweater and found the pills under her bra.
“Should’ve put them lower down,” he said, tucking them back in.
CHAPTER NINE
JANEY UNLOCKED THE SIDE entrance door. Then, to Skey’s surprise, instead of continuing up the staircase, she turned left at the first landing.
“This way,” she said, and led the way into the visitor’s lounge.
“Why are we in here?” asked Skey, her eyes skimming the empty room.
Closing the door, Janey turned toward her. “I have to do a search on you,” she said quietly.
“A search?” Skey’s mouth dropped. “You mean a frisk?” she stammered.
“That’s what I mean,” said Janey, her eyes grim.
“What for?” demanded Skey.
“We have to be sure you aren’t bringing anything in for the other girls.” Janey held out her hand. “Give me your books and jacket, and I’ll check them first.”
“I can’t believe this,” said Skey, her head spinning. As Janey began to go through her things, she tried frantically to remember if she had left anything in her pencil case, then realized with relief that she hadn’t. Freaking out over Rosie had made her forget to ask Jigger for some weed, and she had been ditching the bus tickets at school so no one would get suspicious. Janey wouldn’t find anything in her stuff
