by Quinn Loftis
“I know,” Tara said through a clenched jaw. She was angry at herself for even thinking it. “I told you it was stupid. Sometimes I just really hate not having any family, ya know? All these years since my parents died, and no one has ever bothered to check on me. My grandparents died when I was young, but I figured somebody—an aunt, uncle, or somebody—might check on me.” She could hear the bitterness in her own voice, and it poured fuel on the simmering anger deep inside of her. She had to get that crap locked down tight. Tara was afraid that if she ever let her rage out, she would never be able to cage it again.
Shelly put an arm around Tara’s shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she said softly.
“There’s something else.” Tara cleared her throat and pulled out from underneath Shelly’s arm.
“Okay, what is it?” Shelly asked, not fazed by Tara’s avoidance of any form of affection. Shelly was used to it.
“Something even weirder.”
“Something weirder than a mysterious giant staring at you like you’re his long-lost cousin even though you are not of the same race? This I gotta hear.” She rubbed her hands together eagerly.
Tara stood and began pacing. She took a deep breath and released it before she spoke again. “Okay, before I tell you, I need you to promise me you won’t tell anyone else.” She couldn’t believe she was about to do this. Her stomach dipped as she considered the consequences of telling Shelly something so utterly and completely bizarre. But Tara was sick of bearing it alone. If anyone had proven they deserved Tara’s trust, it was Shelly. She sucked in a breath, stopped pacing, and looked at her friend. Tara waited for a response before she continued.
Chapter 5
I promise,” Shelly said quickly.
Tara saw a gleam in the girl’s eyes. Shelly probably thought Tara was going to tell her she was into girls after all or that she actually had a crush on their hot new biology teacher or something like that.
“No, Shelly, you don’t understand. I’m dead serious. This isn’t like the time Jesse Hardcastle grabbed my boob at the Winter Formal and I told you not to tell anyone that I’d broken his nose, and the next thing I know we’re both in the principal’s office. You. Cannot. Tell. Anyone.”
Shelly held up her right hand. “Girlfriend’s honor. I won’t tell anyone. Double promise. And I didn’t exactly share that secret with just anyone. I shared it with the principal because the douche, Jesse, shouldn’t have been copping a feel without your permission. And you shouldn’t have to break a guy’s nose after you’ve made it perfectly clear you have NOT given any boob-copping authorization.”
“Right, well, this is a little more serious than that,” said Tara.
Shelly’s eyes widened. “I can’t imagine anything more serious than boob copping so please continue.”
“Would you please stop saying boob copping?”
“Fine,” said Shelly. “Just tell me what’s going on.”
Tara took another deep breath and then blurted it out so quickly her words came out garbled. “ICANBAHHUR. There I said. I said it. I finally said it.” She blew out a breath and shook her hands as adrenaline rushed through her body. It was making her as jittery as an addict needing her next fix.
Shelly’s brow lowered. “What? You can be her? You can be who? What are you talking about?”
Tara shook her head. Okay, so maybe she’d said it, just not clearly enough for her friend to understand. “No,” she said slowly now. “I can’t be hurt. I don’t get injured, and I don’t feel pain.”
“Psh, duh, that’s not news. I thought you were going to tell me something juicy. Like you had made out with the new biology teacher. You’re one tough chick. Everyone knows that. Don’t rub it in.”
“No, Shelly, you don’t understand. I cannot be physically injured. I have not experienced any physical pain of any kind since my parents died.”
Shelly’s eyes stayed narrowed. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about … I’m like … Superman or something.” Tara paced aimlessly, taking small, quick steps, around the locker room. “My body, my skin, my skeleton doesn’t sustain injury when brought against any kind of negative force. Not stabbing, not falling onto a hard surface from a significant height, not dropping a bowling ball on my foot. Nothing.”
Shelly’s mouth opened and closed several times before she finally got the words out. “Okay, let’s say that I don’t think you’re crazy—because I really don’t want you to be crazy— and I believe you. Would you show me? Is that cruel of me to ask?”
“I’m telling you something that should be scientifically impossible,” said Tara. “I don’t think it’s wrong to want proof. Of course you can ask. You just can’t go running and screaming and freaking out.”
“I don’t freak out,” Shelly said, giving a slight sniff of indignation.
“You totally do,” Tara argued. “At any and every available opportunity. No one freaks out more than you.”
“We can agree to disagree. Now, as much as I fear you are wrong and you’re going to do something to show me you can’t be injured and then wind up dying or something, please prove this to me. I want to believe you, Tara. But like you said, it’s just so unbelievable.”
“I’m not mad or hurt that you want proof. Just please try and remain calm.”
“Again, I don’t freak out,” Shelly said.
“You do,” said Tara.
“But … if you do die,” said Shelly quickly and loudly, overriding her friend’s arguments, “because you are crazy and aren’t actually a superhuman, I will be forced to call 911. And I will have to explain to them that I asked you to do some asinine thing to prove that you were some sort of superhuman. That will be embarrassing for me. In retaliation, I will give Tucker your diary to read. So, choose wisely if you want to continue with this nonsense.”
“You’re evil. Now shut up and pay attention.” Tara pulled one of her soccer cleats out of her bag. They were the kind with the metal traction on them instead of plastic. She placed her hand on the bench and swung the cleat, spikes down, onto the back of her hand as hard as she could. Whap! Shelly jumped. Tara did it again. Over and over, she slammed the cleats down on her hand, never once uttering a sound of pain because there was none.
“Stop! Enough, bloody hell, it’s enough,” Shelly yelled and lunged forward, reaching for the offending shoe. She was breathing hard as she stared down at the completely unharmed skin on Tara’s hand. There wasn’t even so much as a red mark. It should have been bloody and swollen from the amount of abuse Tara had just put it through, but it looked as fine as it had before Tara had gone psycho on it.
“That’s not some sort of fluke, is it?” Shelly asked. “That’s real.”
Tara shook her head. “No.”
“I just don’t see how this can be possible. I … it’s … how?” Shelly stumbled over her words as she looked at Tara’s hand and then back to her face.
Tara could still see the skepticism in her friend’s eyes. She needed to find something that would take any doubt out of Shelly’s mind. If Shelly was going to know this secret, then she had to fully understand that it was real, and it was a threat to Tara if anyone else found out. Tara wasn’t stupid. She knew if someone with any kind of medical interest found out about her, they’d toss her in a laboratory so fast her head would spin. So, she started looking around for something else she could use to fully convince Shelly that what she was seeing was real. Tara honestly couldn’t believe she was doing this. For some reason, she had lost her damn mind, that or she was just tired of being so alone. But, probably, it was that she’d just lost her mind. Denial, people, denial. She dropped her cleat and walked over to the athletic trainer’s station.
“What are you doing, Tara?” She could hear the nervousness in Shelly’s voice.
Tara hesitated at the table. “I need you to believe me without a doubt.” When she turned back to Shelly, Tara was holding up a pair of scissors.
“Tara, wha
t the hell? You’re starting to freak me out.” Shelly’s eyes had widened to a ridiculous size, reminding Tara of one of the Disney princesses. It would be a moment like this that in the movie one of them would break out into song to somehow explain why they were doing what they were doing. Tara tried to think about how her song would go. Maybe something like, “Do you want to stab my shoulder? Or maybe shoot out my eye.” Yes she liked Frozen. Who didn’t? And if you didn’t, Tara was convinced you must hate all good things and snow. Which in her book made you a communist.
“I thought you said you didn’t freak out,” Tara reminded her.
Shelly growled. “Yeah, but this. How can you expect me not to freak out?”
“Just don’t scream,” said Tara. Now that she had finally told someone about her “ability,” for lack of a better term, Tara felt like a giant weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She could finally breathe. Not to mention there was a small amount of twisted pleasure in seeing her annoying BFF becoming a little unhinged. Tara held up a finger, placed it between the scissor blades, and squeezed.
Shelly squealed, holding out her hands as if that would somehow make Tara obey. “Stop!”
Tara raised her eyebrows and removed the scissors. She held out her perfectly intact finger to Shelly, whose mouth was now hanging open. There was no blood. No cut, not even a small scratch. Completely unharmed.
“How?” Shelly muttered, her eyes as wide as saucers. “How? How is this possible? It’s not.” She shook her head. “It’s not possible, and yet here you are with no injuries when you should clearly have injuries. OMG. I think I’m going to puke. You just tried to cut off your finger. What the hell, you mangy female dog with deformed teats!”
“I thought we agreed no freaking out,” Tara said calmly. “Although I have to say I’m impressed with that insult, and it wasn’t even in Latin.”
To drive the point home, no pun intended, Tara took the scissors, held them in her fist, and stabbed them into her thigh. The scissors bounced off her leg as if she’d just stabbed a rock.
Shelly gaped at her. “Would you please stop trying to cause yourself bodily harm? It’s giving me a complex.”
“Welcome to my world. Here, you try.” She held the scissors out to Shelly.
The girl blanched. “I’m not going to try to hurt you. I mean, I know I’m crazy and I threaten you all the time, but I would never actually hurt you. Unless you took my man, then I’d cut a body-selling-woman-of-the-night, even you. But just to hurt you for the sake of hurting you? I can’t do that.”
Tara sighed. “You wouldn’t be hurting me. You can’t hurt me, Shelly. That’s the point. You cannot hurt me. At least not physically.”
“I can’t. No. Absolutely freaking not. That’s gotta be against some hoes before bros code or in the bitches can’t be snitches handbook.”
Shelly slashed her hand through the air as if that somehow made things final. She should know better. Tara was every bit as stubborn as her counterpart when she wanted to be.
“Hey, you actually cursed,” Tara said with a smirk.
“Only because ‘female dogs before tattletales’ doesn’t sound near as catchy.”
Tara shoved the scissors into Shelly’s hand. “It’s not against any codes if I’m asking you to do it, you dork,” she muttered as she forced Shelly’s hand around the scissors and brought the point down on her own arm before Shelly could even cry out. There was a small twang, and the scissors bounced harmlessly off.
Shelly’s skepticism changed to fascination at a frightening speed. It was as if she’d just realized that an alien species did exist, and she was the first person to get a look at them. Tara had to admit it was a little creepy but then shrugged because it was her own fault for pulling Shelly into her world. “Can I do it again?” Shelly asked as she bounced on the balls of her feet.
Tara laughed. “You’re a little disturbing. You know that, right?” She pulled up her sleeve. “Here. Aim for the shoulder. Pretend you’re giving me a shot.” She heard Shelly suck in a breath before the girl jabbed. It felt to Tara like she’d been stabbed with a blade of grass. Shelly lost her grip, and the scissors fell to the floor with a clatter.
“Seeing it and then actually feeling that it’s impossible to penetrate your skin are two very different things,” said Shelly a little shakily.
“It takes some getting used to.”
“It felt like I was stabbing a brick wall.”
“And isn’t that what every guy wants in his girlfriend?”
“Yet your skin feels as soft as my own. You were right,” said Shelly. “You are Superman. No, wait, you’re”—she paused, seeming to fish for the right title she wanted to give Tara—“you’re Brick Wall Girl!”
“That sounds so sexy,” said Tara flatly.
“It may not be sexy, but it’s definitely wicked,” Shelly replied and then added, “You know what else is wicked? Your first time totally isn’t going to hurt, you lucky female cow that’s never had a baby.”
Tara’s eyes widened. “Seriously? You call me a heifer and then go straight to sex? That’s where you went with this? First, you don’t believe me. I have to stab myself to convince you, and then you jump to imagining how painless losing my virginity will be?”
“Oh snap,” Shelly said. “What if you can’t lose your virginity at all? What if you have an impenetrable hymen? Mother of pearl, what if you seriously can’t do it? And hello. It’s me you’re talking to. Of course, I went there. Every girl knows the first time hurts like hell. You won’t have an ounce of pain. How is life fair? You got a rockin’ bod and an impervious vagina. If I didn’t love you and knew you’d actually feel it, I’d want to cut you. Except for the fact that you also might have an impervious hymen. Then I don’t envy you at all, and you can keep your superpower.”
“I seriously have no bloody idea how this conversation went from me sharing this huge secret with you to speculating about my potentially impenetrable hymen.”
“That’s because you lack imagination and the ability to think about things from multiple vantage points.”
“I’m not going to dignify that with a response.”
“Excellent. Now, tell me everything. Start from when you were in the hospital after the crash. How was the hospital able to treat you? I mean, you had to have had an IV or blood drawn or something. If not you wouldn’t be here. You’d be in some top-secret lab having all your parts studied, including your hymen.”
“You’re going to have to let go of the hymen,” Tara said.
“I will when you do.”
“Remember when we met and I wanted to throat punch you?”
Shelly tucked her chin down as if to protect her throat and then said, “Go on. From the hospital.”
Thirty minutes later, Tara had told Shelly everything she could remember about the accident, which wasn’t much, and how she’d been in the hospital for a week afterward. She explained how, sometime after her wounds had fully healed, she slowly realized she couldn’t feel pain. It had started with little things, like dropping a can of corn on her toe and not even feeling it. Then she’d slipped on ice one day and fallen directly on her elbow. Again, no pain and no injury. Tara told Shelly how she’d been afraid to tell her foster mom or anyone else because she’d been scared the government would come and take her away and experiment on her. At which point Shelly, oh so helpfully, reminded Tara that they’d also have experimented on her hymen. The girl was disturbed. “If you don’t let go of my impervious hymen, I’m going to twist your nipple until you scream like a girl while I point out that you can’t retaliate because my nipples are untwistable. And I won’t feel bad about it at all.”
“If I didn’t love you and your sadistic ways so much, I’d totally be offended right now.”
Tara then told Shelly all about her fruitless efforts to find out why she was like this. There was simply nothing, at least no credible information, out there on her condition.
“So that’s it. I don’t know
what it means for me as far as aging and how my body will respond. Will my skin wrinkle with age? Will my bones get brittle over time? I just don’t know. Does this change anything between us?” Tara asked.
“No, I’ve known you were a freak from the moment I met you in the park. The freak in me recognized the kindred spirit of the freak in you, and nothing will ever change that. Unless you steal my man.”
Tara rolled her eyes. “Let the hymen go and the whole ‘I’m going to cut you if you steal my man.’ You have no man, Shelly. I can’t steal your imaginary fantasy man.”
“I just like full disclosure. You can never say you didn’t know I would go postal on you if you poached on my property. But we both know you’d never do that because of your weird lack of desire toward guys, despite the fact that you are attracted to them. See, you’re a freak, but you’re my freak. My freak of a BFF.” Shelly snorted. “You’re my BFFF, my best freaky friend forever. But really, that title would work for me, too, since we both know I like to get my freak on. I’m just a different kind of freak than you.”
Tara sighed. “Shelly, have you ever kissed a boy?”
“That’s not the point.”
“Pretty sure you can’t be freaky if you’ve never actually gotten your freak on,” Tara pointed out with a smirk.
“We aren’t talking about my freaky freak tendencies. We’re talking about yours. And BTW, I’m not going to turn you into any government officials or post an online video about your superpower. Your secret is safe with me. If I can do anything to help—not sure what that might be—let me know.”
“Thanks. Although, the reference to the online video is a little disturbing. That means it crossed your mind for at least a few seconds.”
“And was dismissed equally as fast because I love you hard. I would never do anything that would put you in harm's way. Even if you are an emotionally stunted, grumpy bear with anger issues who oftentimes deserves to be punched in the vagina. Which I now know would be fruitless. Stupid concrete girl parts.”