Chapter Eight
3 years, 16 weeks, 1 day
I pick Mom up after her shrink session downtown. I wait in the car outside the brick building and watch the late-afternoon sun dance its golden fingers across the sidewalk and through the trees. Northplains might be quiet and chock-full of a whole lot of nothing, but it’s incredibly pretty in the fall. Orange and red leaves litter the ground, dreamy clouds of steam and smoke pour out of the chimneys, and the sky is a cold, bright blue, like a chilled porcelain dish. I pull my scarf up over my nose. It’s way chillier than Florida, but if I freeze to death, at least I’ll die far, far away from where Nameless can see.
I bump my head against the headrest thoughtfully. Nameless. He hasn’t crossed my mind in a while. He’s always been there, like a massive poop stain in my brain, but with the war against Jack and Mom’s problems, I haven’t thought about him for weeks.
That’s a lie, of course. I always think about him when I see a mirror, or the thing on my wrist. There’s no escaping him. He’s the reason I look the way I do now, and I’m reminded of that every day. I am who I am because of him, and part of me hates that. Part of me hates everything I am because of him. Maybe someday I’ll get rid of him. I hope so, at least. But hope is hard to hold without cutting yourself on it, so I try not to hold on too tight.
Mom’s taking longer than normal, so I grab my coffee and head inside the building. Neat offices line the hall, and a lobby with fake plants and faker girls on the magazine covers greets me. The receptionist is a woman with gray hair and eyes and a sad sort of smile. She’s helping someone at the counter with flaming red hair.
Hair that can’t be mistaken for anyone else but Avery Brighton.
“Hey, Avery!” I wave.
The girl freezes, shoulders seizing up as she slowly, so slowly, turns around. It’s Avery all right, bright green eyes glaring at me and her nose twitching. She says something to the receptionist and walks over to me.
“What the hell are you doing here?” she asks. Completely nonthreateningly.
“Uh, my mom goes here. For things. What about you? Why are you here? Oh, uh, shit, is that insensitive to ask?”
“Slightly,” Avery drawls.
“You’re here for someone else, too, huh? Duh. Avery Brighton doesn’t go to a shrink.”
“Of course,” Avery says quickly. “I’m here to pick up my . . . cousin.”
“Ms. Brighton?” the receptionist calls. “Here’s your prescription. Would you like to schedule another appointment for next week?”
Avery winces, composes herself, and turns to the receptionist and takes the prescription. She marches back to me with a super-angry face.
“Don’t you dare say anything.”
“Uh, I won’t. It’s cool.”
“It’s not cool.” Avery’s voice pitches up. “Don’t you get it? It’s the fucking opposite of cool, what I’m doing here, so just keep your mouth shut.”
“Look, it’s fine, I’m not out for your blood.”
“You would be if you knew about Kayla—”
I frown. “What? What about her?”
Avery’s face relaxes visibly. “Never mind.”
“Wait a second, I might not be after you, but I care about Kayla. What the hell did you mean by ‘if I knew about Kayla’?”
Avery flips her fiery hair. “Remember how I said I’m never inviting you to a thing of mine ever again?”
“Vividly.”
“Well, I’m inviting you now. And I hope you’ll return the favor and not talk about what you saw here.”
“Suuuree,” I say slowly. Avery narrows her eyes.
“The Grand 9 bowling alley, in downtown Columbus. Saturday at noon. Be there.”
“But what about Kayla?”
Avery scoffs. “It’ll be clear when you come to the alley. So just come.”
“Yes? Okay? I guess?”
She pushes past me and is gone before I can ask more questions.
“Isis!” Mom comes up behind me, hugging me and turning me to face her. “I’m sorry I’m late, honey, the session went long.”
Her eyes are a little red, and she’s clutching a wad of tissues. It must’ve been a hard session. Hard, and sad.
“It’s fine.” I smile. “Let’s go. I’ve got some pizza dough rising in the oven.”
“Homemade pizza!” She laughs and looks to the receptionist, wrapping an arm around me and pulling me into a hug. “I’ve got the best daughter in the world, I swear.”
When we get home, I roll the dough out and put sauce on it and decorate with mushrooms, olives, and a few onion slices. I sprinkle it with garlic salt and mozzarella, and put it in the oven. The smell soon permeates the house in a cloud of cheesy, saucy scent. Mom is upstairs taking a nap when the phone rings.
“Hello?”
“Isis! How’re you doing, sweetie?”
“Hi, Dad. Wow, I’m sorry I haven’t called? It’s been crazy over here.”
“Your mother told me. Apparently you’ve made friends and have been going to parties. I’d be proud if I wasn’t so insanely worried.”
“I’m fine, Dad.” I laugh. “It’s really okay. I’m smart and careful.”
“No boys yet?”
“Never boys.”
“Good. Keep that off your plate for a while, you don’t need the distraction when you’re so close to graduating and going to college.”
Jack’s dangerously handsome face instantly pops into my mind, and I smirk.
“Don’t worry. No distractions here.”
...
There are only two things people will ask you in your senior year of high school: what colleges you’re applying to and whether or not you have a boyfriend. Everything else seems completely irrelevant. No one will ask after your mental state (deteriorating rapidly with all my homework and essays), what you do to have fun (stare at my bedroom ceiling and pick the nail polish off my nails), or whether or not you actually want to go to college (no, I don’t, I’m tired of school, but I’ll go because everyone is making me and flipping burgers at McDonald’s for seven bucks an hour sounds revolting). So far I’ve applied to a couple, and the only one I really want is Redfield University. It’s close to Mom, so I can take care of her if she has another breakdown or if she just needs me, period. I can’t go too far, obviously, not with her nightmares and flashbacks. She’d forget to eat without me here to cook for her, I’m sure. And I’m not gonna let her waste away.
What I really wanna do is take what I earned from my summers of part-time-jobbing and go to Europe, eat the food, see the people, bike around the countryside. It’d be incredible. And incredibly terrifying to be on my own like that. But I’d manage. Struggling through young adulthood is half the fun, or so I’ve been told.
Except we all know that’s bullshit. It isn’t fun at all.
It’s painful, and now I just wanna go somewhere no one knows me, start the next chapter of my life fresh. But I can’t. I have Mom. And I love her more than I love my freedom. I have to protect her and help her get better.
So I’ll do the college thing Dad and Mom expect of me. I’ll get a degree in Poopology or something. I’ll be the daughter they want me to be until I figure out the person I want to be.
The Grand 9 bowling alley in downtown Columbus is awesome, a massive neon sign greeting me with the number nine and a dancing electronic bear of some kind draped over it. It’s cheap and looks like it’ll be greasy as hell, and I’m already loving it. I park and go in, and I’m instantly greeted by that particular bowling-alley smell—wax and sweaty shoes and soggy French fries. An overweight man jerks his thumb to the last lane and hands me a pair of size-seven shoes.
“Oh. Thank you? How did you know my size?”
“Pretty Boy told me.” The man grunts. Pretty Boy? I walk over to the last lane, the counter riddled with soda cups, a pitcher of root beer, and empty nacho containers. Wren is bowling, arcing a perfect split. Kayla smiles and high-fives him as he comes off the lane. Avery is grumpily sipping her root beer, and to my surprise and general disgust, Jack Hunter is sitting at the lane, looking even more insufferably cool, if that’s at all humanly possible.
“I see everyone’s here!” I cheerily bounce into a seat next to him and unlace my shoes. I glance over, as if seeing him for the first time. “All right, which one of you’s been dabbling in demon summoning and hasn’t told me about it?”
Avery rolls her eyes and takes out a flask of, presumably, alcohol, and dumps it into her soda.
“Nice to see you in something other than prostitute clothes,” Jack says.
“You’d know all about prostitute clothes, wouldn’t you?” I smile, and choose a bright pink ball before sitting down again. “Who—”
“I’m here because I was invited,” he interrupts. “And I guessed your shoe size.”
“Accurate guess.”
“Your measurements are 38-28-36, and you’re five five. It’s not hard to guess a shoe size based on that.”
“And you know my measurements!” I clap my hands excitedly. “However did you guess those? Wait, let me think—you were staring at me!”
“I have a gift,” he says drily. “For observation.”
“And for being extremely creepy.”
“Your outfit the other day was the first time you wore tight enough clothes for me to estimate correctly.”
“I would love to slap you right now, but I’m currently wielding a nine-pound ball and I’m afraid that would be called murder.”
He half laughs, half scoffs, and gets up to pour himself a soda.
I turn to Avery. “So? Who’s winning?”
“Can’t you read numbers?” Avery sighs and motions to the board. Jack is ahead of everyone by a good fifty points and they’re only in the fifth round, his card decorated with straight strikes.
“Look at all those Xs! It’s like a strip club sign! You’d almost think they had some kind of hidden meaning,” I muse aloud. Very loudly.
“The meaning that I’m winning?” Jack raises a brow.
“Or that you’re a stripper at a gay bar,” I announce.
“I’ve only stripped once, and it was for a woman, thank you very much,” Jack hisses.
“Yeah? Do tell.” Avery suddenly looks mildly interested.
Jack sneers. “As if I’d tell you, you disgusting weasel. You’d use it for blackmail, undoubtedly.”
“You know me too well,” Avery says, quieter than I’ve ever heard her. Something about Jack’s presence is keeping her humble in a way I’m completely shocked by. Avery isn’t quiet ever, just like Satan isn’t a decent guy ever. Jack stands to bowl his turn. Kayla bounces over to me.
“Aw, Kayla, look at you! Eager as a puppy and pretty as a picture. Not of a puppy. Because pictures of puppies sometimes look kind of slimy and you are not slimy and oh my God Wren are you wearing contacts?”
Wren coughs and adjusts his shirt collar, eyes busy boring a nervous hole into the back of Jack’s head.
“Y-Yes? I just came from volunteering at the Salvation Army, so I didn’t have time to take them out. It’s good to see you. We thought you weren’t coming.”
“Oh, I always come. Especially where I’m not wanted!”
Kayla frowns. “That’s not true. Um. Avery, um, you wanted her here, right?”
Behind Kayla’s back, I make a crazy cuckoo spiral around my head with my finger.
Avery narrows her eyes, then smiles like a fox with its tail caught in a chicken coop door. “Yeah. Sure. Whatever. Did you get the French club proposal, Wren?”
“Yes, I did. I’ve already looked it over. It’s nice you took me out to bowling and all, but I’m afraid I just can’t pass it. That much money for only the French club is pretty ludicrous.”
“Ludicrous? C’mon, sweetie,” Avery coos, running her finger up his chest. “You know I’ll put it to good use.”
Wren gulps. “Ah, still. No. I’m sorry, but I can’t sign off on it. You could start four new clubs with that much funding.”
“But they aren’t being started!” Avery snarls. “The money’s just sitting there. Why not give it to me? Kayla, back me up here.”
Kayla shoots her a nervous look, but she can’t meet Wren’s eyes. “It’s just a little money, right? Avery really needs it, Wren.”
Wren’s face flushes a dark red. He coughs, rubbing his throat as Avery shoots him a smug smile and Kayla guiltily looks at her hands. I sidle next to Avery as Wren uncomfortably works his way to the soda pitcher to stifle his coughing.
“Avery,” I lilt. “Can I ask you a personal question?”
“No.”
“Why did you invite Jack? He obviously doesn’t like anyone here.”
“Kayla refused to come unless I invited him,” Avery says. “And I need her here or I’ll never get Wren to—”
I lean in harder and she wrinkles her nose.
“Your moronic blabbermouth is infecting me. Get away,” she says.
I back off. She’s obviously plotting something devious. Jack’s perfectly right about her being a weasel—a pretty weasel, but definitely a slinky little weasel. Jack bowls a spare. And he has perfect form, of course. He strides off the lane looking immensely smug and I slip a leftover cheesy nacho onto his chair the second before he sits down. He smirks at me, and I smirk back.
“Good work,” I say.
“You don’t need to tell me that. I always do well.”
I make a gagging motion to Kayla, who giggles and sits beside him.
“So, Jack! Are you good at other sports? Like, baseball? Or basketball?” she asks, doe eyes wide.
“I played basketball in middle school.”
“Oh! That’s really cool!”
“I hated it.”
“Oh,” Kayla whispers.
I bowl my turn—a strike. To catch up, Avery bypasses everyone else’s turn on the computer and I bowl a few more times. Strike. Strike. Strike. Strike. Wren cheers, and with every strike I hear Jack getting more and more irritated as he answers Kayla’s innocent questions. Finally, when I turn around and sit for good, I notice Kayla’s gone, the sound of wailing coming from inside the nearby girl’s restroom. Avery looks impressed, as much as a china doll can form emotions like impressed, and Jack’s white-knuckled fists are on his knees.
Wren high-fives me. “You were awesome!”
“Thanks!”
“I’ve never . . . Seriously, I’ve never seen anything like that! You have to teach me your secret.”
First of all, don’t be such a huge dork.
“Uh—”
Second, why is Kayla even hitting on Jack? Wren is way, way cuter and way nicer.
“Um, Isis . . .” Wren clears his throat, flushing red.
I blink. “Hm? Did I say that out loud? Oh dearie me.”
Wren laughs, and Avery snorts. Jack stands abruptly and pushes past me, grabbing his bowling ball and striding down the lane with newfound verve.
“Got another stick put up your butt? I didn’t know another one could fit, you’re so tight-assed!” I call.
“Be quiet,” he snaps. I turn back to Wren, who’s gone a little white.
“Everything okay?”
Wren nods. “Yeah. It’s just . . . been a long time since I’ve been around Jack like this. I didn’t know he was coming, otherwise I wouldn’t have—”
“Yeah, me, too. Too late now though, huh? No choice but to beat his ass and send him back to the eighth circle of hell from whence he came.”
“Of course. I never back down from a good game of bowling.”
“Awesome. It’s you and me against the legion of darkness, then. Look, I’d better go check on Kayla. Be right back.”
The girl’s bathroom smells like hairspray and hand soap and boy-inflicted misery. I follow the scent to where Kayla is at the mirror, redrawing her makeup.
“Is everything, uh, mildly all right? Since I know it’s not okay. Since this is like, the four millionth time that jerk has made you cry.”
Her lip starts wobbling, and she drops her eyeliner and runs into my arms.
“He told me . . . he told me Wren and I would make a better match. He shoved me onto his ex–best friend, Isis!”
As she’s sniffling into my armpit, I feel my eyebrows raise. Hmm. Pigs are flying like jet planes right now and the moon must be blue, because Jack might actually be onto something. But I can’t say that in front of Kayla.
“Do you . . . do you like Wren at all?” I ask softly.
“He’s a nerd!” she wails. “A student council nerd who spends all his time with homeless people! And he’s not even close to Jack in terms of looks!”
“Ah yes, the great dilemma of looks over personality. We can’t have it all! Nobody’s perfect! We’re all shallow even if we don’t admit it! Cities will rise and fall and the universe will collapse from its own inevitable heat-death!”
“W-What?” She sniffs.
“I’m saying Wren is actually not that bad.”
“Oh. Okay. That was a lot of words.”
“Look, you’re gonna fix your makeup, you’re gonna go out there, and you’re gonna have fun. Don’t let sourpuss-in-boots-that-are-cramping-his-toes-and-making-him-a-whiny-baby get to you! You’re beautiful—”
She glares.
“—uh, not beautiful! You’re funny! You’re adequately able to function! All good things on the dating checklist. Either Jack will wise up, or you’ll find someone else.”
The beginning of a wail escapes her lips, and I retreat.
“You will NOT find someone else! If you like this guy so much, shit, why don’t you just ask him out?”
“You don’t think I’ve tried that? I’ve asked him out fifteen times this year!”
“How?”
“Facebook.”
I slap my palm to my forehead. “I mean a real sort of ask, like walk up to him and form words.”
“What if he rejects me?”
“You will then say, Gosh, you’re really pretty and all but I have to inform you that if you don’t accept my date proposal my friend Isis is gonna come over here and do her freaky thing and trust me no one wants that.”
“You’ve been doing your freaky thing forever on him, though.”
“True.”
“It’s fine, I’ll figure it out, okay? You’re right—the first step is to fix my makeup and go back out there!”
She turns to the mirror to retouch her delightfully trashed movie star face and it’s that exact moment I realize it’s time for an intervention. I march back outside, down half an entire cup of soda, and plop next to Jack.
“Kayla stares at your butt a lot,” I announce.
“Yes,” he agrees.
That’s it. One word. Yes. I swell with indignation, but before I have the chance to explode all over him, he adds, “It tends to happen a lot.”
I suddenly become aware of how weary and adult-like and around-the-block Jack is and proceed to ask him a completely innocent, nonpersonal question.
“Have you ever had sex?” I blurt.
Jack closes his eyes.
I immediately start backpedaling, past what I just said, past the day I learned what the word “sex” meant, and for good measure, past my own date of birth.
“Just, wow. You don’t have to answer that. Actually I only brought it up. Because. Uh. It’s a survey! For . . . sex ed! And the teacher was all like, interview one person who you totally think is a weirdo and has never had sex ever because they are a dork and get back to me with a ten-page report on Monday. So.”
“I tend to keep my private affairs to myself.” Jack sighs. Kayla comes out of the bathroom and bowls her turn, giving Jack serious goo-goo eyes.
“So that means you have!”
He glares at me with much fervor. At least nine fervors.
“Sorry. You’re an escort. Of course you’ve had it. Was it weird? Sex? Is it weird?”
Jack sighs again, and I push on.
“Because! You know, I’ve thought about it.” I lower my voice. “Sex. Seeeeex. I mean, why the hell am I whispering? SEX! SEX!”
Kayla drops her ball. Wren looks to be in slight pain. Avery pretends not to know any of us and mutters, “Freak,” under her breath.
I point at her. “I heard that!”
She scoffs and adds more booze to her soda. I shake my fist at her and spin around to face Jack again.
“I cannot, for the life of me, recall what we were just conversing about! Alas. I will forever remember this moment we spent together affectionately and oh God I remember now you pervert!”
“You were the one who shouted ‘sex’!” he hisses.
“You were the one who was born, so really I think that’s the root of the problem.”
“The root of the problem is you. Are fucking. Insane.”
“That’s not the point!” I slosh my soda in the general direction of everywhere. “The point is, do you see that fine piece of ass over there who happens to be my kind-of friend? Because she’s really into you and she’s the prettiest, nicest goddamn girl in school and I only barely approve of you and if you crush her pure maiden heart I will pull your pancreas out through your nose and feed it back to you in a drip inserted into your anus, is that clear?”
He opens his mouth, and for once, nothing snarky comes out of it. He leans back and folds his arms over his shirt.
“What if I pay you?” I whisper. He smells like spices and soap and honey again, and it’s extremely unhelpful-slash-gross.
“Pay me to what?”
“Pay you to take her out. I’ve got some saved up, I can—”
He laughs, in that you-can’t-afford-me way.
“Two hundred. Just to take her out and be nicey-nice like I saw you be with Alice.”
He glowers, icy eyes freezing my insides. He musses his hair up in frustration and makes a half snarl in the back of his throat.
“Fine. I’ll go out with Kayla for two hundred.”
I make a quiet hiss of victory. “Where?”
“Saturday. The Red Fern, at seven. It’s a Thai place downtown. I don’t care if she’s allergic. That’s the only place I can go where they won’t recognize me from my escort work.”
“Cool. Obviously I will also be going along.”
“What?” he snaps.
“To make sure you’re nice.” I smile. “Gotta see I’m getting my money’s worth! She needs this more than you know.”
Jack and I are the highest scores in the game, and at the tenth round, we’re tied. He bowls a double strike. I have to get a turkey, or it’s over. I hold my ball up and breathe, trying to tune out Kayla’s crazy loud cheering and Wren’s sensible encouragement. Avery even snarks at me not to mess up. I get a double, and on my final round I eye the lane like it’s a live snake. Don’t bite me, lane. C’mon, we’re friends, even if you’re a reptile and I’m a mammal. Friendship knows no racial bounds.
I slip, and the ball plunks into the gutter and rolls happily away. Jack and I are dead tied. Wren and Kayla pat me on the back, and Avery tips her head back and downs more booze as she puts her shoes back on.
“Might wanna lay off on that,” I say.
“Mind your own business,” she snaps.
Kayla pokes her head between us. “Don’t worry, I’m driving her.”
“Driving me insane.” Avery sighs.
Jack and I are the last two to put our shoes back on. He sighs and shrugs. “Neither of us won, but I might as well have. We both know I bowled a more tactically sound game. Your style is a huge illogical mess.”
“Yes, my style sucks. But at least I didn’t bowl half a game with a nacho stuck to my ass.”
I smirk as I saunter away, leaving Jack to feel the back of his jeans wildly. I hear a swear and feel a sharp something ping lightly off my head.
The counter guy burps. “Uh, that guy just threw a chip at you.”
“He’s mad I won, good sir.” I sigh happily. “And he’s mad because he realized I’m going to keep on winning. It’s what I do.”