Chapter Nineteen: Satisfying
(Zander)
Something is going on with Van. I watch Ketchup drive away from our house with a frown. That’s three Sundays in a row now that he’s picked her up before breakfast and not dropped her off until right before Noah shows up either to take her back to his house to work on their project or go workout. The only thing that keeps me from thinking Van is two timing both guys is that she’s my sister and I know her too well. Not only would she not get involved with Ketchup in that way without telling me, she wouldn’t betray a friend for any reason.
I don’t really know how to classify Noah and Van’s relationship. She seems happy when she’s around Noah, but guilty, too. I can certainly understand the appeal of Noah’s life. It’s everything Van has ever wanted, especially since our parents died. I worry that she’s setting herself up for more hurt than she expects.
What also bothers me is that she still hasn’t let me meet him. At first, I understood. She didn’t know how it would even go with Noah. Now, with all the time she’s spending with him, I need to know.
When my grandma isn’t around, Van can’t stop talking about how much training with Noah is helping her, about how nice he is, and how he seems to accept her even though he’s heard all the stories. The problem with that last one is that Noah obviously doesn’t believe what he’s heard. If he did, things would be different. Not that I would ever say this out loud, but I have a suspicion that the praise for Noah isn’t about how great this guy is. I saw everything that happened the night of the first football game.
She was so close to giving in to Ketchup. The brazen desire in her eyes was almost enough to convince me she should. To me, it seems like Noah is a distraction, and her talking about him so much is pure desperation. Whether I’m right or not, she seems determined to keep hanging out with Noah.
This has gone on for long enough.
In reality, I don’t think she feels anything more for Noah than curiosity, but if I let this go on much longer it may turn into another Ketchup situation. If I burn Van twice, she’ll never forgive me. So, I rush to change into something more comfortable and hurry downstairs. I make it down before Van even finishes fixing her hair into a ponytail. Noah isn’t due to show up for another half hour, giving me enough time to slip into the kitchen where my grandma is working. Two rectangles of puff pastry are thawing on the counter. I look from the pastry to my grandma. She notices my staring and grimaces.
“Premade puff pastry? Is the world coming to an end?”
She shoos me away from the counter. “Do you have any idea how long it takes to make puff pastry from scratch? Too long. I have to be at Martha’s house in two hours. I don’t have time to layer dough and butter and run it through rollers a couple dozen times. These won’t be nearly as good as mine, but they’ll have to do.”
“I’m sure they’ll be great,” I say, patting her shoulder. She looks over at me, with a curious expression.
“You’re in a good mood.”
Not that I blame her for noticing, but I’d rather avoid the topic of Ivy with her. I’ve seen Ivy the last couple of weekends, and she’s kept her questions to less personal topics since the first game, but everyone was walking on eggshells around me for about a week after Ivy asked me about my parents and what else I was hiding. Having to talk about the day they died brought up too many unpleasant memories. For days, all I could see when I closed my eyes was the image of Oscar sitting on the couch staring at the blood on his hands, rocking back and forth and mumbling.
It took a week of Ivy asking me the most trivial string of questions every time we saw each other to finally relax. Well, about the memories, anyway. My hunger is still continuing to get worse. I don’t understand why. I keep trying to figure it out with no luck. The increasing hunger and the knowledge that harder questions are going to come back up with Ivy at some point have kept me from enjoying the reprieve too much.
The time I’ve spent around Ivy the last few weeks has been bittersweet, though, and not wholly because of the hunger. The image of Van about to kiss Ketchup, that look of complete happiness, has haunted me. It’s because of me that she holds back, and I don’t know if I can ever fix that. I know she holds out hope that the situation will change. I do too, but the only changes that seem to happen are the kind that makes things worse.
When I first realized my hunger wanted Ketchup, I was on the verge of turning sixteen. My ability to control myself was becoming more fragile by the day. She had to keep him away from me. I thought after my hunger evened out things could be different. But that was when Oscar was around. He could be there to keep Van healthy if I couldn’t.
When Oscar started disappearing for days at a time, frustrated and angry at Mom and Dad and pretty much everything, I was the only option. Oscar coming back didn’t help anyone. Van and I needed each other then. There was no room for anyone else. With Van’s birthday coming up, it’s even more important that we’re together. I want to believe I’ll get used to Ketchup and the right situation will finally present itself, but I honestly don’t know if that will ever come. Regardless of my disbelief, I will keep trying to give my baby sister what she wants more than anything.
Coming back to the conversation with my grandma, I say, “It’s been a good week.”
My grandma’s smile is tight, no doubt thinking about my time spent with Ivy. I know she’s dying to make a comment, but she doesn’t.
“Hey, you don’t need me for anything this afternoon, do you?” I ask.
“No, why?”
“I think I’m going to tag along with Van and Noah this afternoon.”
“To the gym?” she asks. “Don’t you get enough of a workout with football?”
I shrug. “It’s not really the workout. I think it’s time I get to know Noah a little better.”
“Now that I can agree with. I don’t like how he never comes in. It seems sneaky.” Her eyes narrow just thinking about it.
“He’s not being sneaky. He’s being smart. Or Van is. She isn’t sure how I’ll react to him.”
“Oh,” she says, nodding. Her eyes drift to the kitchen window. It has a clear view of the driveway. “I’ll be right here if you need me.”
I smile my thanks and head back to the living room to wait. It seems to take forever, but eventually, I hear the rumble of Noah’s car pulling up. Two seconds later, Van comes bounding down the stairs. Her happy mood falters when she sees me standing at the door. Noah knocks. Her head shakes briskly in fear. I turn the knob and pull it open anyway, bracing myself for any hint of my hunger.
When I open my door, the only reaction I have to Noah’s overzealous grin is a desire to smack him. My hunger stays neatly tucked away. I’m the only one who knows that, though. No sounds come from the kitchen at all. Van isn’t even breathing, and Noah’s stupid smile is slowly sliding off his face. Just because I can, I wait a moment longer, screwing my face into an expression of deep scrutiny. I expect Noah to cringe, stutter something incomprehensible, run maybe.
He doesn’t do any of those things. He stands stock still, but holds his composure, and extends his hand to me. “Hey, Zander, I’m Noah Harbach. Nice to finally meet you.”
When I pause a moment longer, I finally catch sight of some evidence of fear from him. His hand shakes very slightly. I haven’t passed judgment on him yet, but I do decide to give him a break. I take his hand firmly and shake it. “Nice to meet you, Noah.”
He sighs with relief. “Is Van here?”
“Yeah.”
I turn so he can see Van behind me. She isn’t looking at him, though. Her eyes are targeted at me. Her question is clear. A quick shake of my head turns her fearful expression into a sigh of relief. My grandma pops into the hall then, smiling and introducing herself. After a quick round of getting to know you, she excuses herself and leaves the three of us staring at each other again.
“So, Noah,” I say after my grandma is out of earshot, “Van’s been telling me abo
ut your workouts, how much she’s enjoying them. She mentioned that I might like to try for myself, and I was wondering if you’d mind if I came along today and gave it a try.”
Noah’s eyes widen, but he says, “Uh, sure. If that’s okay with Van.” He looks over at her. My sister glances over at me, searching me for any sign of deceit. When she doesn’t find any, she nods her consent. Noah turns back to me. “Okay then. You want to ride with us, or follow in your truck.”
“Follow,” I say. I wanted to meet this guy and make sure Van is handling the martial arts okay. I really don’t need any more guilt about this situation than I already have. Plus, I have plans later. I can’t meet with Ivy today, but that doesn’t mean I won’t see her.
With the driving arrangements taken care of, we all head out. Instead of driving to the gym Van has mentioned several times, I follow Noah to a park deep in an upper class neighborhood. Despite its impeccable appearance, it’s deserted. I guess rich people don’t spend much time at parks. When I get out of my truck, I watch as Van helps Noah lug a big black bag out of his trunk. She pretends to struggle with it, and he shoulders the bulky bag easily.
“So what happened to the gym?” I ask as I fall in beside them.
“Oh, well the gym is only open from noon to five on Saturdays, and since Van’s been busy the last couple weekends, we haven’t been able to make the session. So we found this quiet park instead. Nobody ever comes here, so it’s the perfect place to practice.” Noah drops the bag and starts pulling out punching mitts and blocking pads. He works to set out the equipment, but instead of helping him, Van walks over to me.
“Are you going to be okay with this?” she asks, her voice low.
“I’ll be fine, Van. It’s the same basic idea behind us playing sports. Football can be just as violent as any martial arts.” I look at her pointedly. “It’s not me I’m worried about.”
“I’ve been doing this for a while now. I’ll be fine. Just watch. You and Grandma always think I can’t handle things, but I can.”
She turns away to face Noah. He already has mitts strapped to his hands with his feet slightly apart to give him a strong base. I watch silently as he runs Van through a series of drills, explaining each movement to me as she does them. For the most part, Van keeps her punches and kicks at minimal force. She focuses on every movement she makes, but a smile slowly creeps onto her face as she progresses. When she finishes the last kick, she’s grinning. She bounces lightly on her toes as she turns to face me.
“Wanna try?”
There’s a half-second pause before Noah says, “Yeah, give it a try, Zander. I’ll tell you what to do.” He claps his mitts together in preparation, but Van grabs his wrist.
“I’ll partner with Zander.” She says it with such authority that Noah doesn’t question her. He shrugs at the request, but hands the mitts over. My little sister beckons me to her, eager to pull me into this forbidden sport.
Van looks a bit nervous as I step up to her. I’m not sure of the source. Van and I may be able to heal quickly, but we can still get hurt. I don’t think that’s the reason behind her anxiety, though. I think she’s actually worried I won’t be able to control myself. It creates an odd feeling in me to know that.
Noah takes his place to the side of us, looking equally unnerved about Van facing me. It doesn’t stop him from calling out his first set of instructions. Just a series of simple punches, I move slowly at first. I test Van’s strength against mine. She holds up beautifully. I take it up a notch with the next set. That’s when she starts to feel it.
Pain radiates down Van’s wrists each time I hit the mitts. It’s small, at first, but it grows the longer I keep it up. When it really starts to affect us both is after Van switches to the larger blocking pad and Noah starts in with a variety of kicks. Van has to put a lot more force into blocking me, increasing the pain in her arms and burn in her thighs from holding her stance. My hunger starts taking notice. It gnaws at me and whispers to me, wanting me to push harder and faster. Against Van, it’s easy to resist. Against someone else… it could definitely be a problem.
I can see why my grandma doesn’t want us to have anything to do with this, but just like with football, it provides a controlled environment to cause pain. I suspected as much, but I never thought Van would be able to control her hunger even with so much structure. I’m impressed that she’s handled it so well.
We continue to practice, Van and I both soaking up the pain we are causing each other in small bursts then wrapping it up immediately after. She actually seems to be enjoying the exercise. That is a surprise given how much she usually craves chaos. She’s learned a lot in the past month. It gives me hope that her birthday won’t be as bad as I’ve worried.
When we are finally ready to wrap up the session, Van stares at me over the blocking pad with a hopeful expression. “What did you think?” she asks.
“I liked it. It was… satisfying. You did really well, Van.”
Van grins, but all Noah can manage is to say, “Uh, good. I think.”
“So you wanna keep doing it?” Van asks. Noah looks a less than thrilled about me crashing more of their “study sessions.” I don’t think Van notices his reaction, but she says, “We could practice together in the evening or on the weekends.”
“Yeah, I think that’s a good idea,” I say. Not only will this help Van learn more control, it will be fun, too. Facing Van without anyone else watching will be more than satisfying. Neither one of us will have to hold back. It will be a steady stream of hunger nourishing exercise like she’s never known. Football provides me with a good deal of relief, but I can already tell this will be so much better. For the first time, I wonder if my grandma knew this and still refused to let us learn.
As that thought bounces around in my head, her knowing eyes seem to follow its trail. For a moment, I doubt myself. She’s told us so much, but she always has that look in her eyes that says she knows even more. Is there a real reason behind her forbidding us from fighting? Her dad was cursed with hunger, but he died when she was so young. She can’t possibly know for sure.
Wicked Hunger Page 25