by Alex Flinn
“Adrian, please.”
“You don’t want to talk about the flowers? I thought you liked flowers, Will. You were the one who planted them.”
“I like flowers, Adrian. But right now I wanted to talk about our tutoring relationship.”
“What about it?”
“We don’t have one. I was hired as a tutor, and lately all that means is that I receive an enormous amount of money to stay here and catch up on my reading.”
“That doesn’t work for you?” Outside, the last red rose drifted on a sudden wind.
“No, it doesn’t. Taking money and doing nothing in return is stealing.”
“Think of it as redistribution of wealth. My dad’s a rich bastard who doesn’t deserve what he has. You’re poor and deserving. It’s sort of like that guy who robbed from the rich and gave to the poor. I think there’s a book about that.”
I noticed Pilot, sitting by Will’s feet. I wiggled my fingers at him to try and get him to come over. “I’ve been studying anyway. I read The Hunchback, Phantom of the Opera, Frankenstein. Now I’m reading The Picture of Dorian Gray.”
Will smiled. “I think I detect a theme here.”
“The theme is darkness—people who live in darkness.” I kept wiggling my fingers at Pilot. The dumb dog didn’t come.
“Perhaps if we discussed the books. Do you have any questions about—”
“That Oscar Wilde guy—was he gay?”
“See? I knew you’d have some keen insights, something clever to contribute to—”
“Don’t screw with me, Will. So was he?”
“Rather famously so.” Will jerked on Pilot’s harness. “That dog is not going to come to you, Adrian. He is as disgusted with you as I am, lying in bed in your pajamas at one in the afternoon.”
“What makes you think I’m in my pajamas?” I was.
“I can smell you. The dog certainly can. And we’re both disgusted.”
“Okay, I’ll get dressed in a minute. Happy?”
“I might be—particularly if you took a shower.”
“Okay, okay. So tell me about Oscar Wilde.”
“He was put on trial after he had an affair with the son of a lord. The young man’s father said that Wilde had enticed his son into the relationship. He died in prison.”
“I’m in prison,” I said.
“Adrian…”
“It’s true. When you’re a kid, they tell you that it’s what’s on the inside that counts. Looks don’t matter. But that’s not true. Guys like Phoebus in The Hunchback, or Dorian, or the old Kyle Kingsbury—they can be scumbags to women and still get away with it because they’re good-looking. Being ugly is a kind of prison.”
“I don’t believe that, Adrian.”
“The blind guy has insights. You can believe it or not. It’s true.”
Will sighed. “Adrian, can we return to the book?”
“The flowers are dying, Will.”
“Adrian. If you don’t stop sleeping all day and let me tutor you, I will quit.”
I stared at him. I knew he was mad at me, but I never thought he’d leave.
“But where would you go?” I said. “It must be hard for you to find jobs when you’re…I mean, you’re…”
“It is hard. People think you can’t do things, and they don’t want to take a chance. They think you’re a liability issue. I once had a guy at an interview say, ‘What if you tripped and injured a student? What if the dog bit someone?’”
“So you get stuck tutoring a loser like me.”
He didn’t nod or say yes. He said, “I studied hard so that I can work, so I wouldn’t have to be supported by someone else. I can’t give that up.”
He was talking about my life. That’s what I was doing, living off Dad, would always do if I couldn’t figure out a way to break the spell.
“You gotta do what you gotta do,” I said. “But I don’t want you to leave.”
“There’s a solution. We can go back to our regular tutoring sessions.”
I nodded. “Tomorrow. Not today, but tomorrow. I have something I need to do today.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. Tomorrow. I promise.”
7
I knew my days of being able to go out in the world were dwindling. As it got colder, my wearing a coat seemed less weird, less homeless-looking. More than once recently, someone had started to make eye contact, and it had been only my quick reflexes that allowed me to turn away fast enough, so when the stranger looked again, they saw only my back and thought my monster face was just a figment of their imagination. I couldn’t take chances like that. I began to go out later, when the streets and subways were less crowded, when I was less likely to be caught. But that didn’t satisfy me. I wanted to be part of the life of the streets. And now there was my promise to Will. I couldn’t stay up all night and still study the next day. And I couldn’t let Will leave.
It would be a long winter. But today, I knew I could go out without fear. It was the one day of the year that no one would look twice at me. Halloween.
I’d always loved Halloween. It had been my favorite holiday since I was eight years old, and Trey and I had egged Old Man Hinchey’s apartment door because he hadn’t signed up for building-wide trick or treat—and got away with it because we were two of the approximately two hundred thousand kids in the city dressed as Spider-Man. If there was any doubt that it was my favorite holiday, it ended when I went to my first middle school party and got surrounded by Tuttle girls dressed in French maid outfits with fishnets.
And now it would still be my favorite holiday, because tonight, for once, everything could be normal.
I wasn’t really thinking of meeting a girl to break the spell. Not really. I just wanted to talk to a girl, maybe dance with her and have her hold me, even if it was for only one night.
Now I was standing in front of a school that was having a party. It was the fifth party I’d passed, but a few of them had signs that said, PLEASE, NO SCARY COSTUMES. I didn’t want to take a chance that my face would be too gross. It must have been a private school because the kids looked pretty clean, but it wasn’t a school like Tuttle, a school that mattered. Through the gym door, I could see people dancing in a dimly lit room. Some were in groups, but a lot were alone. Outside, a girl sold tickets, but she wasn’t checking IDs. The perfect party to crash.
So why wasn’t I going in?
I stood a few feet away from the ticket seller, who was dressed like Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz except with magenta hair and tattoos. I watched people—especially the girls—go in. No one much looked at me, so that was good. I recognized all the usual types—the cheerleaders and the trust fund babies, the future politicians and the current ones, the jocks, and the kids who went to school just to be picked on. And people who didn’t belong to any group. I stood by the door, watching them, for a long time.
“Cool costume.”
The DJ was playing “Monster Mash” and some people started dancing.
“Hey, I’m talking to you. That’s a really cool costume.”
It was the ticket seller girl. Dorothy. Things had cleared out around her since everyone had gone in. We were alone.
“Oh. Thanks.” It was the first time I’d talked to someone my own age in months. “Yours is cool too.”
“Thanks.” She smiled and stood up so I could see her fishnet stockings. “I call it ‘Definitely Not in Kansas Anymore.’”
I laughed. “Are the tattoos real?”
“No, but I Jell-O-dyed my hair. I haven’t broken it to my Mom yet that it will last a month. She thinks it’s a spray. It should be fun at my nana’s seventy-fifth birthday party next week.”
I laughed. She wasn’t bad-looking, and her legs looked hot in fishnets.
“So aren’t you going in?”
I shook my head. “I’m supposed to be meeting someone.”
Why did I say that? Obviously, I’d passed the test. This girl thought I just had on a really elabor
ate costume. I should have bought my ticket and gone in.
“Oh,” she said, looking at her watch. “Okay.”
I stood there another fifteen minutes, watching. Now that I’d told her I was waiting for someone, I couldn’t change my story, couldn’t go in. What I should do was walk away, pretend I was just pacing, then pace farther and not come back, go somewhere else. But something—the lights, the music, and the dancing inside—made me want to stay, even if I couldn’t go in. I liked being outside, actually. The air felt cool on my face.
“You know what I like best about your costume?” the girl said.
“What?”
“I like the way you’re wearing regular clothes over it, like you’re a half man, half monster.”
“Thanks. We’re doing a unit on literary monsters in English class—Phantom of the Opera, Hunchback of Notre-Dame, Dracula. Next we’re doing The Invisible Man. Anyway, I thought it would be cool to go as a man who’s transformed into a monster.”
“Cool. Very creative.”
“Thanks. I took an old gorilla suit and modified it.”
“What English class is that?”
“Um, Mr…. Ellison.” I tried to decide how old she was. About my age, no older. “Twelfth-grade honors.”
“I’ll have to try and get him. I’m only a sophomore.”
“I…” I stopped myself from saying I was too. “I really like his class.”
We stood for another minute. Finally, she said, “Look, I don’t usually do stuff like this, but it looks like your girlfriend maybe ditched out, and my shift selling tickets is over in five minutes. Would you go in with me?”
I smiled. “Sure.”
“That is really freaky.”
“What is?”
“I don’t know. It’s almost like your mask has facial expressions, like you just smiled.” She held out her hand. “I’m Bronwen Kreps.”
I took it. “Adrian…Adrian…King.”
“That feels really real.” She meant my hand. “It’s freaky.”
“Thanks. I’ve been working on it for weeks, putting together pieces of other costumes and stuff.”
“Wow, you must really love Halloween.”
“Yeah. I was really shy as a kid. I liked to pretend I was someone else.”
“Yeah, me too. I’m still shy, actually.”
“Really? I’d never have guessed from the way you started talking to me.”
“Oh, that,” she said. “Well, your girlfriend stood you up. You seemed kind of like a kindred spirit.”
“Kindred spirit, huh?” I smiled. “Maybe so.”
“Stop doing that.”
She meant my smile. She was a freaky-looking girl with white skin and the magenta hair—not the type who’d ever wear a slutty French maid outfit. Probably had parents in theater or something. A few months ago, I’d have totally blown her off. Now, talking to anyone was a thrill.
Another girl came to take over Bronwen’s shift, and we went into the dance. Now that she was standing and her hair was out of the way, I saw that she’d ripped the neckline of her Dorothy pinafore and had the shirt open so it looked sort of sexy. There was a tattoo of a spider over her left breast. “This is my favorite,” I said, brushing it, taking a chance that she’d think I was just touching her with some fake rubber hand so she wouldn’t mind.
“I’ve been sitting on my butt for hours,” she said. “Let’s dance.”
“What time is it?”
“Almost midnight.”
“The witching hour.” I led her out onto the dance floor. The fast song that had been playing before melted into a slow one, and I pulled her close.
“So what do you really look like under there?” she asked.
“Why does it matter?”
“I was just wondering if I’d seen you before.”
I shrugged. “I don’t think so. You don’t look familiar.”
“Maybe not. Are you into a lot of activities?”
“I used to be,” I said, remembering what Kendra had said about lying. “But now I mostly read. I’ve been doing a lot of gardening too.”
“Gardening’s a weird hobby around here.”
“There’s a garden behind my house, a little one. I like to watch the roses grow. I was thinking about building a greenhouse so I can see them in winter.”
As I said it, I realized I did plan to do that, for real.
“That’s cool. I never met a guy who cared about flowers.”
“Everyone needs beauty in their lives.” I pulled her closer, feeling the warmth of her against my chest.
“But seriously, Adrian, what do you look like?”
“What if I looked like the Phantom of the Opera or something?”
“Hmm.” She laughed. “He was pretty romantic—Music of the Night and everything. I almost wanted Christine to end up with him. I think a lot of women do.”
“What if I looked like this for real?” I gestured toward my beast face.
She laughed. “Take off the mask, and let me look.”
“What if I was really handsome? Would you hold that against me?”
“Maybe a little…” When I frowned, she said, “I’m kidding. Of course not.”
“Then it doesn’t matter. Please just dance with me.”
She pouted but said, “Okay,” and we danced closer.
“But how will I find you at school Monday?” she whispered in my ear. “I really like you, Adrian. I want to see you again.”
“I’ll find you. I’ll look for you in the hallways and find—”
She had slipped her hand under the collar of my shirt and was fumbling, looking for the bottom of the mask.
“Hey, stop it!”
“I just want to see.”
“Stop it!” I struggled away from her. She was still holding on to my neck.
“How does this…?”
“Stop it!” It came out a roar. Now people were staring at us, at me. I pushed her away, but we were too entangled and she stumbled, making a final grab for my neck. I grabbed her arm, twisting it behind her, hearing a gruesome crack. Then her screams.
I ran, her screams still ringing in my ear, until I reached the subway.
* * *
Mr. Anderson: Thanks for coming back this week. I decided to have open chat since it’s been so hard to stay on topic other times.
Grizzlyguy: I have an important announcement
Froggie: ne1 hear frm silent
Grizzlyguy: Im in! im sleepng in a condo!! They let me in.
BeastNYC: Who did???
Grizzlyguy: the 2 girls…. they took me in.
Froggie: thats awsum grizz!!!
BeastNYC: <—very jealous
Mr. Anderson: Tell us about it, Grizzlyguy?
Grizzlyguy: 1 night they let me in & i slept on the bath-mat. When I didn’t eat anyone, I guess they thought it was ok for me 2 come back every night.
BeastNYC: That’s great!
SilentMaid joined the chat.
Froggie: Hello silent
SILENTMAID: Hi, Froggie. Hi everyone. You’ll never guess where I’m writing from.
BeastNYC: where (r u speaking 2 me, or r u still mad?)
SILENTMAID: Yes, I’m speaking to everyone. I’m writing from his house!
Froggie: house? Evry1 gets 2 b in a house
BeastNYC: That’s great!
Froggie: im stil in a pond
SILENTMAID: I met him out dancing in a club. He danced with me. I don’t have my voice, but I danced and he liked it, even though it hurt my feet. He talked his parents into letting me sleep on the sofabed in their study. We’re good friends, but of course, I want it to be more.
Grizzlyguy: of cours
SilentMaid: We go sailing together and for long walks.
Grizzlyguy: That’s right. U can walk now.
BeastNYC: How is it?
SILENTMAID: It’s hard for me. My feet bleed and bleed, but I always act like it’s no big deal because I don’t want him to feel bad. I lo
ve him so much even though he calls me dumb.
Mr. Anderson: Dumb?
BeastNYC: What a jerk! You’re not dumb!
SILENTMAID: Dumb as in unable to speak. Mute. Not as in stupid.
BeastNYC: Still don’t like it
SILENTMAID: Anyway, I think it’s going well. I’m sorry to talk about myself so much. How’s it going with everyone else?
Grizzlyguy: U get 2 sleep on a sofabed. i hav 2 sleep on a mat!
Froggie: stil no hop here. i meen ther is hop but not HOPE
BeastNYC: Ditto here. Waiting 4 something 2 happen.
* * *
PART 4
The Intruder in the Garden
7 Months Later
1
I picked up one petal from my dresser, dangled it out the window, then watched it fall. One year left. Since Halloween night, I’d only talked to Will and Magda. I hadn’t been outside. I’d seen no light except in the rose garden.
On November 1, I told Will I wanted to build a greenhouse. I’d never built anything—not even a birdhouse or a napkin holder in camp. But now I had nothing but time and Dad’s Amex card. So I bought books about greenhouses, plans for greenhouses, materials for greenhouses. I didn’t want a cheapo plastic one, and I needed the wall to be solid enough to hide me from view. I built it myself on the ground floor behind my apartment, a big one that took up the whole yard. Magda and Will helped by doing everything that had to be done from outside. I worked by day, when neighbors were mostly at work.
By December, it was finished. A few weeks later, shocked by the sudden spring, yellowish leaves began to grow from the branches, then the green buds. By first snow, everything was in full bloom, the red roses showing in the winter sun.
The roses became my life. I added additional beds and pots until there were hundreds of flowers, a dozen colors and more shapes, hybrid teas and climbing roses, purple cabbage roses the size of my outstretched hand, and miniatures barely the size of my thumbnail. I loved them. I didn’t even mind the thorns. All living things needed protection.
I stopped playing video games, stopped looking for lives in my mirror. I never opened the windows, never looked out. I endured my teaching sessions with Will (I didn’t call them tutoring anymore; I knew I wasn’t ever going back to school), then spent the rest of my day in the garden, reading or looking at my roses.