by Alex Flinn
“A girl?” She came closer and looked at the screen. “Ah.” She sort of frowned, and I thought that I wasn’t even sure if she knew what a chat room was, or what the Internet was, for that matter. “Okay, I be very quiet. Thank you.”
I looked around a little longer. There were a few people who seemed normal, but none of them were online. I’d come back later.
Then I spent another half hour Googling words like beast, transformation, spell, curse—you know, just to see if this type of thing had happened to anyone else outside of Grimms’ fairy tales or Shrek. I found the weirdest Web site, run by some guy named Chris Anderson, with all kinds of chats listed, including one about people who’d transformed into other things. It was probably just some teen group, full of the type of people who liked writing Harry Potter fan fiction. Still, I planned to go back there another day.
Finally, I logged off. I’d heard Will come in hours earlier, but he hadn’t come up to talk to me. “Will, vacation day’s over!” I yelled.
No answer. I checked out the other floors. No Will. Finally, I went back to my own apartment.
“Kyle, is that you?” His voice came from the garden. I hadn’t been there since the first day. It was too depressing to look at the eight-foot wooden fence Dad had put in to keep people from seeing me, so I kept the curtains closed.
But Will was out there. “Little help here, Kyle?”
I stepped outside. Will was surrounded by pots and plants and dirt and shovels. In fact, he was trapped against a wall by a huge bag of dirt.
“Will, you look like hell!” I yelled through the glass door.
“I can’t say how you look,” he said. “But if you look like you sound, you look like a jerk. Please help me.”
I went and helped him lift the bag of soil. It spilled everywhere, mostly on Will. “Sorry.”
That’s when I saw he’d been planting rosebushes, dozens of them. Roses in the once empty flowerbeds, roses in pots, and rose vines climbing on trellises. Red, yellow, pink, and, worst of all, white roses that reminded me of what had ended up being the worst night of my life. I didn’t want to look at them, and yet I stepped out farther. I reached out to touch one. I jumped. A thorn. My claws went out. Like the lion and the mouse, I thought. I plucked the thorn and it came out. The hole sealed up.
“What’s with the roses?” I said.
“I like gardening and the way roses smell. I got tired of you moping around with the curtains drawn. I thought maybe a garden might cheer things up. I decided to take your advice about spending your dad’s money.”
“How do you know the curtains are closed?”
“A room is cold when it’s all shut up and empty. You haven’t seen sun since I’ve been here.”
“You think planting some flowers will change that?” I took a punch at one of the rosebushes. It got its revenge by stabbing me in the hand. “Sure, I’ll be like one of those Lifetime channel movies—‘Kyle’s life was empty and desperate. Then a gift of roses changed everything.’ Is that what you think?”
Will shook his head. “Everyone can use a little beauty…”
“What do you know about beauty? You don’t know me from anyone.”
“I wasn’t always blind. When I was little, my grandmother had a rose garden. She showed me how to tend them. ‘A rose can change your life,’ she used to say. She passed away when I was twelve. That was the same year I began losing my vision.”
“Began?” But I was thinking, Yeah, a rose can change your life.
“At first, I just couldn’t see at night. Then tunnel vision, which drove me crazy because I couldn’t play baseball anymore, which stunk because I was pretty good. Finally, I could hardly see at all.”
“Wow, that must have really freaked you out.”
“Thanks for the sympathy, but don’t go all Lifetime channel on me.” Will sniffed a red rose. “The smell reminds me of those times. I can see them in my mind.”
“I don’t smell anything.”
“Try closing your eyes.”
I did. He touched my shoulder, guiding me toward the flowers.
“Okay, now smell.”
I inhaled. He was right. The air was filled with the scent of roses. But it brought back the odor of that night. I could see myself onstage with Sloane, then back in my room with Kendra. I felt a stirring in my stomach. I backed away.
“How’d you know which ones to buy?” My eyes were still closed.
“I ordered what I wanted and hoped for the best. When the delivery man came, I color-coded them. I can see colors a bit.”
“Oh, yeah?” I still had my eyes closed. “What color are these, then?”
Will let go of me. “These are the ones in the pot with the cupid’s face on it.”
“But what color are they?”
“The ones in the cupid pot were white.”
I opened my eyes. White. The roses that had brought back such a strong memory were white. I remembered Magda saying, “Those who do not know how to see the precious things in life will never be happy.”
“Do you want to help plant the rest?” Will asked.
I shrugged. “It’s something to do.”
Will had to show me how much dirt to put in the pot, and peat moss and plant food. “City kid never did this before?” he teased.
“The florist delivered an arrangement each week.”
Will laughed, then said, “You’re serious.”
I squeezed the plastic container to loosen the dirt, the way Will had shown me, then lifted the plant out and put it in the bed. “Magda likes white roses.”
“You should bring her some.”
“I don’t know.”
“Actually, it was she who suggested the garden. She told me you spend your mornings on the top floor, staring out the window. ‘Like a flower, searching for sun’ is what she said. She’s concerned for you.”
“Why would she be?”
“I have no idea. Perhaps she has a kind heart.”
“No way. It’s because she gets paid to.”
“She gets paid whether you’re happy or not, doesn’t she?”
He was right. It made no sense. I’d never been anything but rude to Magda, but here she was, doing extra stuff for me. Will was too.
I started another hole. “Thanks for this, Will.”
“No problem.” He kicked the bag of plant food in my direction, to remind me that was what I was supposed to put in next.
Later, I picked three white roses and brought them up to Magda. I meant to give them to her, but when I got upstairs, I felt all stupid. So I just left them by the stove where she was cooking dinner. I hoped she’d know they were from me, not Will. But when she came down to bring my dinner tray, I pretended to be in the bathroom and yelled at her to leave it by the door.
4
That night, for the first time since moving to Brooklyn, I went out onto the street. I waited until night, and even though it was early October, I wore a big coat with a hood, which I pulled up over my face. I wrapped a scarf around my chin and cheeks. I walked close to the buildings, turning so people wouldn’t see me, ducking into alleys to avoid coming too close to anyone. I shouldn’t have to do this, I thought. I am Kyle Kingsbury. I’m someone special. I shouldn’t have been reduced to skulking in alleyways, hiding behind garbage Dumpsters, waiting for some stranger to yell, “Monster.” I should have been with people. Yet, I hid and ducked and skulked and luckily went unnoticed. That was the weird thing. No one noticed me, even those who seemed to look right at me. Unreal.
I knew where I wanted to go. Gin Elliott, from my class at Tuttle, had the hottest parties at his parents’ place in SoHo when they were away. I’d been watching the mirror, so I knew they’d be away this weekend. I couldn’t go to the party—not as a stranger, and certainly not as myself, as Kyle Kingsbury reduced to nothing.
But I thought that maybe—just maybe—I could stand outside the party and watch people going in and out. I could watch them from Brooklyn, sure. But I wa
nted to be there. No one would recognize me. My only risk was that maybe someone would see me, that I would be captured, held as a monster, maybe made a zoo creature. Not a small risk. But my loneliness made me brave. I could do it.
And still, people passed me, seeming to look, but not seeing me.
Did I dare take the subway? I did dare. It was the only way. I found the station I’d seen so many times from my window, and pushing back once again the thought of being placed in a zoo and having my friends come there on field trips to see me, I bought a MetroCard and waited for the next train.
When it arrived, it wasn’t crowded. Rush hour was over. Still, I sat away from the other passengers, taking the worst seat in back. I faced the window. Even so, a woman in a nearby seat moved away when I sat. I watched her, reflected in the windowpane, as she passed me, holding her breath. She would have been able to see my animal reflection if she’d looked. But she didn’t, just walked, lurching against the movement of the train, wrinkling her nose as if she smelled something bad. She went to the farthest part of the car to sit, but she didn’t say anything.
Then I figured it out. Of course! It was warm. In my heavy coat and scarf, I looked like a homeless person. That’s what they thought I was, the people on the street and the train. That’s why they hadn’t looked at me. No one looked at the homeless. I was invisible. I could walk the streets, and as long as I kept my face sort of hidden, no one would notice me. It was freedom, in a way.
Braver, I looked around. Sure enough, not one eye met mine. Everyone looked at their books, or their friends, or just…away.
I got to Spring Street and got out, not so carefully this time. I made my way along the brighter streets, pulling my scarf closer around my neck, ignoring the suffocating feeling of it, and staying to the side. My big fear was Sloane seeing me. If she’d made the mistake of telling anyone about me, they’d have made fun of her for sure. And then she’d be eager to point me out to them, so they’d know she wasn’t lying.
I got to Gin’s apartment. It had a doorman, so I couldn’t go in the lobby. I didn’t want to anyway, didn’t want to deal with the light, the faces, the fact that the party was going on without me, like I didn’t matter. There was a large planter by the door. I waited until no one was near, then slid down, making myself comfortable beside it. A familiar scent filled the air, and I glanced up at the planter. Red roses. Will would have been proud of me for noticing.
The party had probably started around eight, but even at nine, the late arrivals poured in. I watched like the party was a hidden-camera TV show, seeing the things I wasn’t meant to see, the girls pulling the underwear from their butts, or slipping a last dose of something before entering the building, the guys talking about what they had in their pockets and who they’d use them on. I could have sworn a few of my friends looked right at me, but no one saw me. No one screamed, “Monster!” No one even seemed to notice. It felt good, yet bad at the same time.
And then she was there. Sloane. She was liplocked with Sullivan Clinton, one of last year’s juniors, in a major Public Display of Affection unfolding before my eyes like an R-rated movie. They could do it in front of me because I was, once again, invisible. I started to wonder if maybe I really was. Finally, they went inside.
That was how the night went. People came. People left. Around midnight, tired and way too hot, I thought about leaving. But that was when I heard a familiar voice from the steps above my head.
“Wild party, huh?” It was Trey.
He was with another former friend of mine, Graydon Hart. “The best,” Graydon said. “Even better than the one last year.”
“Which one was last year?” Trey said. “I was probably too trashed to remember.”
I hunkered farther down, wishing they’d leave. Then I heard my name.
“You know,” Graydon said. “Last year—the one where Kyle Kingsbury brought that skanky girl who spent half the night with her hand in his pants.”
Trey laughed. “Kyle Kingsbury—a name from the past. Good old Kyle.”
I felt myself smile and get even warmer in my long coat.
“Yeah, what ever happened to him?” Graydon said.
“Went to boarding school.”
“Guess he thought he was too good for us, huh?”
I stared at them, especially Trey, waiting to see him defend me.
“Wouldn’t surprise me,” Trey said. “He always thought he was so big when he was here—Mr. My-Father-Reads-the-News.”
“What a putz.”
“Yeah. I’m glad that guy’s gone,” Trey said.
I turned my face away from them. Finally, they walked away.
My face, my ears stung. It had all been a lie—my friends at Tuttle. My whole life. What would people say if they saw me now—they’d hated me even when I was hot-looking. I don’t even know how I got home. No one noticed me. No one cared. Kendra had been right, about everything.
5
I was on MySpace again. “Show me Angelbaby1023,” I told the mirror.
Instead, it showed me Kendra’s face.
“It won’t work, you know.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Relieving you of your delusions. It won’t work, trying to meet someone online, find true love that way. It won’t work.”
“Why the hell not? I mean, sure some of them are full of it, but they can’t all—”
“You can’t fall in love with a computer. Not true love.”
“People meet online all the time. They even get married.”
“It’s one thing to meet online, then meet in person and fall in love. It’s another thing entirely to conduct a whole relationship online, convince yourself you’ve fallen in love from thirty states away…”
“What’s the difference? You think looks shouldn’t matter. With the Internet, they really don’t. It’s all about personality.” Then I figured out her problem. “You’re just mad because I figured out a way around your curse, a way I can meet someone without them getting freaked about what you’ve done to my looks.”
“That’s not it. I cast the spell to teach you a lesson. If you learn it, great. I’m not rooting for you to screw up; I’m trying to help you. But this just won’t work.”
“But why?”
“Because you can’t fall in love with someone you don’t know. That profile of yours is full of lies.”
“You read my mail. Isn’t that against the—”
“‘I love to go out and party with my friends…’”
“Stop it!”
“‘My dad and I are really close…’”
“Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!” I covered my ears, but her words still taunted me. I wanted to break the mirror, the computer monitor, anything, but it was all because I knew it was true. I’d just wanted someone to love me, someone to break the curse. But it was all hopeless. If I couldn’t meet someone online, how could I meet anyone?
“Do you understand, Kyle?” Kendra’s muffled voice penetrated my thoughts.
I looked away, refused to answer. I felt my throat getting tight, and I didn’t want her to hear it.
“Kyle?”
“I get it,” I roared. “Now can you please leave me alone?”
6
I’ve changed my name.
There was no Kyle anymore. There was nothing left of Kyle. Kyle Kingsbury was dead. I didn’t want his name anymore.
I looked up the meaning of Kyle online, and that clinched it. Kyle means “handsome.” I wasn’t. I found a name that means “ugly,” Feo (who would name their kid that?), but finally settled on Adrian, which means “dark one.” That was me, the dark one. Everyone—by which I mean Magda and Will—called me Adrian now. I was darkness.
I lived in darkness too. I started sleeping during the day, walking the streets and riding the subways at night when no one could really see me. I finished the hunchback book (everyone died), so I read The Phantom of the Opera. In the book—unlike the dorky Andrew Lloyd Webber musical version—t
he Phantom wasn’t some misunderstood romantic loser. He was a murderer who terrorized the opera house for years before kidnapping a young singer and trying to force her to be the love he was denied.
I got it. I knew now what it was to be desperate. I knew what it was to skulk in darkness, looking for some little bit of hope and finding nothing. I knew what it was to be so lonely you could kill from it.
I wished I had an opera house. I wished I had a cathedral. I wished I could climb to the top of the Empire State Building like King Kong. Instead, I had only books, books and the anonymous streets of New York with their millions of stupid, clueless people. I took to lurking in alleys behind bars where couples went to make out. I heard their grunts and sighs. When I saw a couple like that, I imagined I was the man, that the girl’s hands were on me, her hot breath in my ear, and more than once, I thought about how it would be to put my claws on the man’s neck, to kill him, and to take the girl back to my private lair and make her my love whether she wanted me or not. I wouldn’t have done it, but it scared me that I thought of it at all. I scared me.
“Adrian, we need to talk.”
I was still in bed when Will came in. I’d been looking through the window at the garden he’d planted, my eyes half closed.
“Most of the roses are dead, Will.”
“That’s what happens to flowers. It’s October. Soon they’ll be gone until spring.”
“I help them, you know. When I see one that’s turned brown but it doesn’t fall off, I help it. The thorns don’t bother me too much. I heal up.”
“So there are some advantages, then.”
“Yes. I think it’s good to help them die. When you see something struggling like that, it shouldn’t have to suffer. Don’t you think?”
“Adrian…”
“Sometimes, I wish someone would help me like that.” I saw Will staring at me. “But there’s a few like that red rose, still clinging to the branch. It doesn’t fall. It’s freaking me out.”