* * *
It started with my toes.
When I woke up on Thursday, I didn’t have any toes. I felt my stomach drop out of my body, and I tasted my heart, all bloody and beating. My feet came to an end at a rounded stump. My toes had been surgically removed in the night. That was the only explanation.
I reached out to touch them. Why wasn’t there blood everywhere? My fingers met skin, but I saw nothing. My toes were still there, just . . .
Invisible.
I heaved but nothing came up. I put on two pairs of socks. My toes still filled up the ends, and I traced their outline. One two three four five, one two three four five. Toes. I just painted them black. They matched my fingernails. My toes themselves were pretty long, and I never liked looking at them, but it’s not like I wanted them to disappear.
I’d never spent so much time thinking about my toes.
Was I dreaming?
I took my socks off. My toes were still gone. My thumb and forefinger squeezed my big toe, hard, and I could feel the pressure, feel the hard surface of my nail and the fleshy pad at the bottom. But I could see both of my fingers where my toe should have been. My stomach clenched again, wanting to vomit but nothing came up.
Next, I put on a pair of tights and watched the fabric stretch out over the surface of my nonexistent toes. I did it three or four times, just covering my feet and uncovering them, feeling the fabric against my skin, revealing the blank space where my toes once were.
I took off all my clothes and looked for other gaps in my anatomy, but there were none. It was only my toes. So I began pinching myself all over, hoping to wake up. There was a wake of little crescent moons from my nails trailing across my body.
Something was wrong with me. And I had to get to school.
• • •
My mom put eggs in front of me. I pushed the plate away.
“You need protein.” She sighed, not looking at me.
“Gordy gets pancakes.”
My little brother scraped his fork across his plate, trying to shovel the carbs into his body.
“Gordon is five,” my mother said. “He eats well at school. You are seventeen and apparently need to be told what to eat.”
I managed two bites and then grabbed my keys. My feet felt swollen with both tights and a pair of socks shoved into my boots.
My mother glanced at me before I left. “I didn’t know you had tights.”
“I don’t wear them a lot,” I muttered. “I have to go.”
She stalked over, grabbed my backpack, and shoved something inside. “A protein bar. Eat it.”
“Mom.” I swallowed. “I think there’s something wrong with my feet.”
She gave me a look like I was crazy, because clearly I was.
“I’ll show you,” I said, taking her hand and leading her away from Gordon. I removed my shoe and started peeling off my tights.
“Casey.” She sounded disappointed, and I was hopeful for a second that she recognized what was happening. She leaned down and touched my thigh. The lines on them. I jumped back. “I thought you stopped all this.”
“They’re old . . .”
Mom looked me dead in the eyes. The ones on my thigh were old. I quickly put my tights back on. She wasn’t going to see past those stupid scars.
She let me go. I ran for my car. I felt every single step.
• • •
No one said anything at school, of course. No one can see through me. Well . . .
At lunch I had fries, a slice of pizza, and a Coke. Mila offered me her bag of chips, so I had half of those before excusing myself. When I went to the bathroom, the door was closed, so I leaned on the wall to wait my turn, but two minutes went by in silence, so I opened the door.
“Hey!” a girl snapped. “Can’t you hear?”
She was sitting on the counter, smoking.
“You weren’t making any noise.”
“Fine. You can stay,” she said, waving me in.
“I don’t . . . need to that bad.”
She laughed and it sounded cruel. I realized I’d never seen her before. She looked kind of old-school with her combat boots and denim overalls. A flannel shirt was tied at her waist. She looked out of place. Then I saw the scar across her neck.
“Whatever. I won’t tell about your puking.” She took a drag. “Not like anyone would hear me.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked. I scrunched up my toes in my boots. I wondered if they’d come back. I wanted to check.
“I sort of lost my voice a while back.” She dragged her finger across her throat, where there was an awful-looking gorge in her neck, one that looked far too fresh to be real, all red and angry. I could almost feel it burning across my own skin.
I started to close the door. “I’m sorry to bother you.”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re just like everyone else.”
Not everyone else’s toes are disappearing. Unless that’s a part of puberty they never explained.
“Who are you?”
Her gaze zeroed in on me. Her lips began to turn purple. Her whole face was turning purple, like she was holding her breath too long. Then she blew smoke in my face. It didn’t sting. It didn’t even smell bad.
“I have to get to class.” I stepped back.
“Whatever.” She sighed, and crossed her legs, ashing her cigarette into the sink.
• • •
My window of opportunity was gone so I had to digest my food all day. My stomach felt like a volcano.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Mila said as I headed toward my car after class.
“Bye.” I waved, but she was already turned toward Noah. Everyone was waiting for them to start dating. She liked him so much. Everyone knew. I knew.
Noah knew.
I unlocked my car and sped home. Mom and Gordy were at the doctor’s. I went straight for the bathroom, but instead of kneeling, I ripped my tights off.
My toes were still gone.
Weirdly enough I couldn’t throw up after that. Instead, I got into my car and drove to the nearest clothing store. With sweaty hands and the change I scraped up from my purse and the car I bought a pair of tights. Then I curled up in my bed and tried to cry, but couldn’t. I put on YouTube videos of much prettier girls putting on their makeup. I brought out my one brush and mimicked their perfect strokes and pretended that I could pull that off too. I knew they didn’t think they were lying when they said Anyone can wear this. I didn’t do my homework. I massaged my see-through toes until my mom came home, and then I shoved my socks on.
I should have made her look again.
But I knew she wouldn’t see.
“Dinner!”
Fruit salad, biscuits, and meat. Every single night here was a plate full of fruits or veggies and a plate full of meat. I shouldn’t complain. It was a balanced meal. It tasted fine. But it didn’t taste good. Mom just wanted Gordy to eat what he needed. If he ate balanced, he stayed healthy. If he stayed healthy, then his anemia wouldn’t come back.
But his sickle cell would always be there.
It wasn’t that bad, as far as genetic disorders were concerned. Recently there had been more treatments. It wasn’t a death sentence. But I knew it killed my mom that I wasn’t a bone marrow match.
“How was school?”
I flinched, but she was talking to Gordy.
“We watched a movie about talking to strangers. It was stupid.” He laughed at his own review.
She smiled at him. “It’s important to know how to stay safe.”
“But they tell us we’re safe at school.”
“It’s a worst case scenario kinda thing,” I said to him. “Don’t worry about it.”
Gordy reached over and took my biscuit. “What does ‘scenario’ mean?”
“It’s a situation,” I said.
“What’s a situation?”
Mom rolled her eyes. “You’re confusing him.”
“A situation is a thing. You k
now ‘thing,’ right?”
He smiled at me. Mom did not smile. (Did she ever?)
“Honestly, Casey.”
I stopped talking.
• • •
I woke up in the middle of the night, freezing cold. The covers were up over my feet, and my socks were off. Panic struck my heart and I shot up to cover my feet.
My right foot was gone. My breath whooshed out of my lungs, and I clutched my foot, rubbing it haplessly, as if to put feeling back into it, but I could feel it just fine. No, that wasn’t the problem. Clearly, the problem was in my head. A wire had shredded in my brain, and now I was imagining things.
Then I saw the girl.
The girl from the bathroom was standing against the wall of my room, hands behind her back. She stared at me, like I had scared her.
“How did you get here?” I whispered.
She said nothing, stayed still. Something about the dark of the room almost made her look sick. Her skin was ashen and her face hollow.
“Who are you?”
She remained still as a board.
“Get out of my house!”
The girl just stood there. I was too scared to move. If I moved, then she would move and then it would be real. But there was a chance that I could still be dreaming right now, as long as I remained perfectly still.
The girl let out a long, aching breath.
I threw a pillow as hard as I could. When it came to land, I was alone again. I stayed sitting up for as long as I could until my eyes started getting heavy. Then I built a small fortress of pillows to keep me propped up and continued staring at the wall until I fell asleep with my head lolled to the side.
When I woke up, both my feet were gone.
• • •
The party was at Mila’s. She wanted so badly to impress Noah, and her parents had tons of alcohol.
I stayed away from it. I didn’t need any more hallucinations.
A few people nodded at me when I came into the house and then went back to their conversations. I checked the basement and saw a game of spin the bottle. I quickly left. The living room had music blasting and people dancing. Well, not dancing so much as rubbing together, as if they wanted to start a fire. All the people who wished they were dating but didn’t for some reason. What were they waiting for?
Mila was hiding with Jordan and Kylie. They were giggling and slightly buzzed. I started toward them. I wanted to pull Mila aside and tell her everything. I wanted to start with my toes. But as I drew closer, I heard their conversation.
“He said I looked nice today,” Mila squealed.
“I bet he’s going to kiss you tonight,” Kylie said.
“You’re so lucky”—Jordan tossed her hair—“Noah is so cute.”
Noah was the nice kid in school, the one whom everybody knew, whom teachers asked for favors, who played on sports teams, but wasn’t the star player. He didn’t steal attention from the real overachievers, but he was on the radar. He was practically a model student. Practically.
Almost.
(Not at all.)
Why did I come to this party?
I was wandering the upstairs when he showed up. He grabbed my arm and pulled me past everyone, toward Mila’s parents’ room, into the walk-in closet. He pinned me against the dresser, and I let him. His lips pressed into mine. I let him. He tasted like beer. He put his knee between my legs. Maybe it was my fault. Maybe I should tell him to stop. His hands held my face. But if not him, then who on earth would touch me?
After a few minutes Noah pulled away, breathing heavily. He pulled the door open and vanished. Oh right, this is why I came here.
To be noticed.
And yet, standing in Mila’s parents’ closet, alone, with Noah’s breath on my lips, I didn’t feel any more visible.
• • •
I dreamt that night of the girl leaning over me. I dreamt of her slowly opening her mouth to reveal a row of jagged, pointed teeth. I felt her pull the covers off my feet, and a searing pain burned through my ankle.
When I awoke on Saturday morning, part of my leg had disappeared as well. Chunks had been gouged out of my flesh. But it didn’t hurt. It was just invisible, like before. I traced the lines of my still there skin and bit my lip until it was okay to cry.
I did homework in the living room with the TV on. Then my eyes began to slide shut, so I grabbed my jacket and stepped outside. I walked through my neighborhood, hoping to wake myself up. I could walk to a café and get coffee. I could walk to the library. I could walk to Noah’s house and demand that we stop. That if he wanted to kiss me, he had to do it publicly. And not when he’s drunk.
In the end I went with coffee. As I waited for my drink, I noticed a boy in the corner of the room. He was staring at me. I didn’t want to stare back, but I was curious. He was tall, lanky, and pale. Baggy jeans with chains on the front, long, dyed black hair hanging in front of his eyes. As I watched him, he pulled his sleeve up from his arm, and I saw blood pouring out of his wrist. He smiled at me.
Then some other customer walked right through him, and he vanished.
Just like the girl in my room.
I left my coffee and hurried home.
• • •
Monday. I walked through school with tights and thigh high socks on over them. I wore boots. I had long sleeves under a sweater. I was a cocoon, and not a single person said anything.
In the night my wrists had disappeared. There was a gap between my hands and my elbows. Just where the boy had bled in the café. He was in my dream last night too, with the girl. They fed on me with gnashing teeth.
I didn’t fight back. There was no point in a dream.
The bell rang and the halls emptied. I took my time. I went to the bathroom and purged my breakfast. My throat stung from the bile, and I stood up on shaking legs. I had not returned to the bathroom where I’d met the girl. I ignored it dutifully. But as I walked back toward class, I noticed something.
A locker, with paper hearts taped on to it, a candle on the floor in front, Sharpie on the door, and a flower in the vent. Sam. The girl who committed suicide at the beginning of the year. The girl who was weird enough to get talked about, but not enough to have friends. The one who dressed like she was in the ’90s and who went to a senior’s party and everyone said she was a slut who did drugs. Sam.
I forgot about her. She didn’t forget us.
• • •
Gordon was in the hospital again. He was in pain throughout his whole body, they said. He can’t take much more, they said. We have to be careful.
Gordy looked at his toes. His perfectly visible toes. I touched them, and he giggled.
“Casey, stop it,” Mom snapped.
We remained quiet as the doctor calmly took my mother’s abuse. Finally, when she quieted down, he took her by the shoulder.
“We may have found a donor, Jen, but it’s dangerous to get your hopes up right now. It’s early in the process.”
First she covered her mouth with her hands. Then she hugged the doctor, and she hugged Gordy, and that was that.
I vanished from the room.
• • •
Tuesday was nothing. Tuesday was quiet in the house and homework and my mother cleaning everything she could find. She bustled into my room without asking and ripped the sheets off my bed. Meanwhile, I thanked the Lord that I had my sleeves rolled down.
Noah called me at dinnertime.
“Can you come over?”
“Why?”
He sighed. “I need help with my math homework.”
“And?”
Another pause. “And my parents are out to dinner for at least two hours.”
• • •
So, I went to Noah’s house. There was no homework. He pulled me inside and pushed me against the door without saying hello.
“Why are you doing this?” I breathed at him.
He rolled his eyes. “Come on, Casey, let’s just enjoy the time we have.”
&nbs
p; I used to enjoy this. I used to think it was secret and kind of sexy, and I was into it. But Mila kept talking about Noah, and she would report every interaction they had at lunch, and everyone followed their story with rapt attention, and I was supposed to follow along.
The first time he kissed me, I wanted to tell Mila first. I actually went up to her and said, “Mila, I have to tell you something.” And she responded, like a glowing mother, “Me too! I totally have a crush on Noah. It just, like, hit me. I think he’s wonderful.”
Suddenly, I had betrayed her, and I hadn’t even known.
“You know how much Mila likes you,” I said to Noah as he led me up into his room.
“I don’t really care,” he said. “I don’t want to date. Dating is pointless. I’m a senior in high school. I’m going to go to California next year.”
Pointless. Yeah.
“So, what are we doing?”
He let go of my arm. He turned slowly. “If you want to stop, just say so.”
How could I explain? That I hated him and loved him? That I knew it wasn’t actually love, but my brain knew nothing else but this. That I wanted to be touched, that I used to think this was fun, that I wished I knew how to say no, even though I didn’t want to stop forever, I just wanted to be in control.
I didn’t say any of this. He kissed me again and erased my thoughts, and it seemed like maybe it was going to be okay until he went for my shirt and I forgot, I forgot, because it was Noah, because maybe I wanted him to see.
“What the hell?”
He stared at my wrists. Stared through my wrists.
We locked eyes. Fear permeated his gaze. He looked at me and he was disgusted.
I grabbed my shirt and ran.
• • •
Stupid stupid stupid.
As soon as I walked into school on Wednesday (my left calf was gone gone gone), Mila was waiting for me.
“You bitch,” she spat, and turned on her heel.
“Mila!” I shouted and ran after her. There was only one explanation. Noah had told someone that I’m some kind of circus freak. “I wanted to tell you!”
“Screw you, Casey,” she said as I jogged beside her. “I guess Noah probably already did, huh?”
“It’s not like that. Mila, please!” I grabbed her arm. I pulled up my sleeve. “Look at me!”
Scary Out There Page 10
