Nine Lives of Chloe King

by Celia Thomson

  She walked over to the closest wood pole and tried swatting it. Nothing happened. She looked back at the shadow man and he crossed his arms impatiently. Remember the jump, she told herself. No thought. Just do. She leapt up and found herself clinging. Just with her hands and claws. I’m gonna have the biggest delts, she thought smugly. When she lifted her right hand for a grip farther up, her left hand and arm continued to supporting her; her claws were anchored deeply in the wood.

  She quickly scuttled up the pole, using her legs at the last moment to vault herself up over the wires and onto the top. Chloe found herself grinning uncontrollably. The freedom of movement she now had—she could go anywhere—anywhere! Roofs, cliffs, tunnels, trees—all of those places outside normal human occupation. She could hide forever if she wanted or run across the skyline under stars, outside convention. Free.

  She ran across the wire the way the shadow figure had but much faster and leapt to the billboard to meet him. But as soon as she landed, he took off for the gate, making an amazing leap to balance on its top bar.

  “Hey!” she cried, laughing. A strange smell lingered behind him. He smelled like gasoline—like he’d fallen in a puddle of it. An easy scent to follow.

  She tried to do the same as he did but wound up not quite making his last leap, falling into the parking lot, trapped—if, that is, she had been a normal human. She clambered up the gate and vaulted over it.

  I could be a cat burglar now.

  He was waiting for her, perched on a mailbox. But as soon as she recovered her breath, he was off again, running and leaping onto a fire escape, then climbing up to the roof.

  Oh, you want to play, do you?

  Chloe took off after him.

  She chased him from rooftop to rooftop, from tree to telephone pole, neither of them ever touching the ground until they reached the park. Normally Chloe would never have even considered entering Golden Gate after dark—but obviously she was no longer a normal person. Besides, he’ll protect me if something happens. Chloe felt sure of it.

  It was mostly empty. Starlight wasn’t enough to illuminate the paths, trees, and shadows, but her new night vision made everything, even the blackest dirt in the deepest shadow, glow like it was bathed in moonlight. The sidewalk gleamed like a fairy-tale road. She took to the grass instead, which was a little crunchy from the cold.

  He paused near a bench under a ginkgo tree. He put his hands down as if to leap over it but instead straightened out so he was doing a handstand and then slowly let himself down the other way. My arms aren’t that strong, was her first thought, before she realized what she had done that night already. He hooked his feet around a low branch and then pulled himself up into the tree.

  Chloe ran forward, grabbed the top of the bench, and pushed, fully expecting to flip over and smash her face, arms, and body on the bench. But she straightened her hips when they were over her head and found herself doing a handstand as easily as if she had been a circus performer.

  Suddenly there was a thud as all the weight in the world landed on her feet, bending and crushing her knees almost to her chin. And just as suddenly it was gone. Chloe lost her balance and tipped over onto the ground.

  When she got up, she heard soft laughter, the first noise he had made. He stood with his arms crossed several yards away: he had leapt down from the tree and used her feet and legs as a springboard.

  “Funny,” she said aloud.

  He turned and ran again.

  Chloe followed, straight into the trees and bushes which had probably hidden a thousand muggers and rapists over the years. He darted from shadow to shadow sometimes up a tree, sometimes over a shrub, always just keeping out of her reach. His scent was fading; if she lost sight of him, it would be over.

  Suddenly she was at the other side of the park, in front of the exit. He was nowhere to be seen, and the scent trail was gone.

  Chloe looked around, up trees and down the sidewalks, to see if he was hiding somewhere, waiting for her, ready to push her on again. But after five minutes there was still no sign.

  “Come on,” she called out plaintively. “Please.”

  With the excitement and the thrill of the hunt over, she suddenly felt lost. Just plain old Chloe King again, alone.

  She started back the way she came, the shortest path through the park toward home, disappointed and sad.

  Then she saw the oak tree.

  About five feet up, its bark had been ripped to shreds by something with large claws, violently and deeply.

  And under it, carefully dug in by single claw, was a smiley face.

  Twelve

  When Mrs. Abercrombie handed their quizzes back, Chloe had to remind herself: Super-cat powers don’t include the ability to do trig. There was a big, ugly red D at the top of the page. Part of her fiercely didn’t care; her life involved other things right now, more important things, like nighttime games of hide-and-seek and the fact that she wasn’t like anyone else in class. Things like finding out about her past and what really happened to her dad.

  But claws or no, Chloe was still Chloe, and she mentally calculated how much better she would have to do for the rest of the marking period to bring her grade back up to a respectable B. She snuck a glance over at Paul’s paper and felt an evil satisfaction. He’d actually studied and only got a C.

  When the bell rang, she got up and left quickly, giving Paul a quick “hey” in passing—but he was already making a beeline for Amy, who was out in the hall, waiting. Fortunately Alyec was also there, waiting for Chloe.

  “Hey, Mamacita,” he said. “How you doing?” The Spanish meets Joey from Friends spoken with a faint Russian accent was ridiculous, but his sexy face made it hard to take anything he said seriously, anyway.

  “Hey.” Unlike most other high school couples—note Amy and Paul—Chloe and Alyec did not kiss each other hello after class. They weren’t even really a “couple”—which somehow made things sexier. They stood close without touching, faces inches apart.

  “Do you want to go off campus for lunch, maybe?” he suggested. Chloe considered; this was strictly a no-no, grounds for detention, but it was a beautiful day out.

  Just the sort for a picnic with a handsome Russian student. She pictured them on a hillside under a tree with a Red Delicious or two, somewhere between the Garden of Eden and something more wholesome, like apple picking. Too bad there’s no place like that around here.

  “Absolutely,” she said, deciding that McDonald’s would have to do.

  This was the closest thing to a date she and Alyec had ever really had, Chloe realized. Their relationship was sort of reversed. And this was no relaxing, bucolic hillside: just a bench outside the McDonald’s, and the air was redolent of fry. At least it was a nice day.

  “So … what was it like growing up in Russia?”

  Alyec shrugged. He was very carefully arranging his cheeseburger, opening its wrapper and folding it around the sandwich so that his fingers never touched it. Once it was properly (and somewhat daintily, Chloe thought) assembled, however, he opened his mouth wide and shoved in as much as he possibly could, like a normal teenager.

  “The McDonalds there suck,” he said, through a mouthful of meat. “They don’t know how to do fries.” Then he paused, reflecting. “Shakes were better, though.”

  “I’m serious, Alyec!”

  “I am serious. They really are better. Not just McDonald’s milk shakes, though. All ice cream and dairy.”

  “Yeah … ? And … ?” Chloe prompted him.

  “And? It sucked. Nobody has any money, except New Russians. That’s the mob. Everybody else—well, a movie costs a month’s salary for most people. And a month’s salary for many is like fifty dollars. A lot of people don’t eat meat every day. So people drink a lot, you know?” His eyes narrowed, and for just a second Chloe thought she saw something deeper in them, something sad. But the moment was over and he shook his head. “At young ages, people start. I’ll bet I could drink those football idiots u
nder the table. But I don’t,” he added importantly.

  Alyec poised over his remaining burgers and fries, deciding what to attack next.

  Chloe dipped a single french fry into ketchup and chewed it slowly.

  “How ever do you keep your girlish figure?” she asked.

  “Sex,” he answered promptly, setting about preparing another burger. In between he picked up a few fries with a napkin—and bit off their heads. Then he popped the remainder into his mouth. All without touching them. Chloe was tempted to ask if this was a Russian thing or if he just had obsessive-compulsive disorder. “No, I am just kidding. I do eat a lot, though.”

  “What was St. Petersburg like?”

  “Ha—Leningrad? Well, it is a beautiful city, for Russian cities at least, not like San Francisco, of course.” He threw up his arm as if indicating the most obvious beauty in the world, but she didn’t know if he meant the sky, the fog, the bridge, the weather, or what. “Lots of domes and steeples. Gold now because of restoration work. In the summer it is light until two o’clock in the morning, and the sun is low the entire time, very pretty. But really, it sucks.”

  She couldn’t tell if he was embarrassed about his past, secretive, or just honest: that was his old life, but now it was over.

  “I thought it was hard to emigrate,” she said, trying to draw him out.

  “I got a rich uncle.”

  “Is he a … New Russian?”

  “Yeah, kind of like that.” He looked sadly at the empty wrappers and plates.

  “Teach me some Russian,” she said, lying down and looking up at him.

  “Pazhoust,” he said, leaning forward, his nose almost touching hers.

  “What does that mean?” she whispered.

  “‘Please,’” he said, kissing her.

  I should do that every day, thought Chloe as she waited for her bus home. While Alyec had not revealed himself to be a great thinker or philosopher or—er—someone with a sexy, mysterious, tortured past—he was an excellent kisser. The rest of the school day had passed in a dream—colors really did seem brighter and the future more optimistic.

  And then Amy appeared.

  “Want to hang tonight?”

  Chloe took a moment to surface after she was torn rudely from her daydreams.

  “Uh, what? No thanks. I really have to work on my trig. I’m in the danger zone,” Chloe said coldly.

  Amy stared at her a long moment, like a museum specimen she was trying to analyze. “What’s your problem lately?”

  “My problem?” Chloe felt an itchiness at her fingertips as her temper rose; she shrugged and twiddled her hands until it went away. Clawing my friend’s face off. That’s a good way to end a fight. Especially with the whole school watching.“What about yesterday? When I texted you about lunch and you totally blew me off?”

  “I never got your message,” Amy promptly denied. But there was a tiny hint of doubt in her voice.

  “Check your mail,” Chloe goaded. “Come on. Check it.”

  Making every movement flamboyant and impatient like she didn’t have time for this sort of nonsense, Amy dramatically pulled out her phone and hit the buttons. “You see? There’s no—oh.” Her face fell. “That.”

  “’That’? So you did get it!”

  “I was going to get back to you,” Amy said carelessly. “Paul and I were busy. We were—”

  “’Paul and I were busy’? What were you doing? Working on the newspaper or—hm, let me think—sucking face?”

  “You—”

  “’You and Paul’ are always doing something. It’s like the two of you are one unit and you’ve totally forgotten everything else.”

  “Oh, so that’s it,” Amy said, nodding. “You’re jealous and lonely—is that why you’re whoring around with dumbasses like Alyec?”

  There was that word again. Sheesh, one of my “boyfriends” won’t even kiss me. Chloe opened her mouth to really let Amy have it.

  But as she thought about the other aspects of her life—her claws, her mysterious nighttime friend, Brian—she realized how ridiculous this argument was. There were a lot more important things going on, and Amy had as good as abandoned her the day of her fall. This was not worth it.

  “Whatever. There’s my bus.” She turned and walked away, leaving Amy openmouthed and speechless.

  • • •

  She had to talk to someone about it.

  Chloe had repeatedly backed down from arguments for the sake of their friendship—and Amy still treated her like the bad guy. She couldn’t even see how she was acting! I’d love to tell you what’s going on in my life, Chloe thought bitterly, but you really don’t seem that interested.

  Alyec would probably tell her to shrug it off, that it wasn’t important. She wanted to bitch and to brood, though; she didn’t want to cheer up and stop thinking about it. She wanted to figure it out.

  Chloe took out her phone and dialed Brian. If she only did it once, she figured, she could always tell her mom it was someone she needed to get homework from or a study group partner or something.

  “It’s Brian.” His answer was so short and direct, Chloe almost didn’t recognize his voice at first. It was very professional sounding—curt, but not self-important.

  “Wow, did I just reach Enron or something?”

  “Oh, Chloe! No …” He laughed, sounding more like himself. “I’m just waiting for callbacks from everyone—the zoo, the parks department, animal rescue—even the pound.”

  “Bad economy,” Chloe said, the way she had heard her mother and her mother’s friends talk about it.

  “Ain’t that the truth.” He sighed. “So you, uh, want that pattern, right?”

  Chloe had completely forgotten about it. “No,” she said darkly, “I don’t think I’ll be needing that anymore.”

  “Oh.” He sounded confused—but was that also relief in his voice?

  “But I’d still like to see you again.”

  “Yeah?” he asked cautiously.

  “Yeah.” She laughed. “You want to go somewhere tonight?”

  “Tonight?” There was a pause, like he was looking at his watch or a calendar or something. “Uh, tonight’s not great. … I have to send out a bunch more letters and resumes and applications and stuff. I wanted to get them in the mail tomorrow.”

  Chloe’s ears prickled. There was something odd about the way he was talking, strange pauses—whether it was her new, keen senses or just intuition, she had a feeling he was lying to her. What’s going on with him? He sounds like he’s interested, but he keeps sort of putting me off.

  And then it occurred to her.

  “You have a girlfriend, don’t you?”

  “What?”

  “Tell me the truth. You have a girlfriend.”

  “No! I have no girlfriend,” he said with exasperation. “I haven’t had one in months. Why?”

  “You just sound like … I don’t know … grudging about the whole thing.”

  He laughed softly. “Chloe … I don’t mean to be. I’m just kind of anal and obsessive when it comes to setting a goal and a schedule for myself. I’m like a rat, you know? Can’t get food until send out one more letter.”

  “Oh.” Chloe looked around in embarrassment, but no one on the bus was listening. “I’m sorry. I’ve had a weird day. My best friend Amy and I just had this huge fight—“Something finally broke inside her. Chloe swallowed, trying to hold back the tears that were beginning. She turned her face into the window and rubbed her eyes with her knuckle, trying to bruise them away.

  “What happened?”

  “It’s no big deal,” she whispered, trying not to sound like she was crying. “It’s just like …” I have these new claws, there’s this note that says my life is in danger. … “Amy’s dating my other best friend and doesn’t have time for me anymore, and she doesn’t even realize what a bitch she’s being.” It felt strange to finally say it aloud. She had been thinking it for a while, accompanied with all of the self-doub
t that went along with too much introspection. But now it sounded real. And even weirder—he had asked her what had happened. He’d asked about what had happened between a girl he’d only gone on one date with and her best friend, whom he had never met. And sounded like he was actually interested. Like he kind of cared.

  “I’m sorry. I mean, of course I’ll see you tonight.”

  Chloe smiled through her sniffles. “Can you—are you free now?” She didn’t want to tell him how hard her mom had been on her lately—that sounded so high school. Like she was a little girl not in control of her destiny or daily life. Which is true, but it’s fun to dream.

  “Yeah—want to meet at that coffee place by the playground, across from the Peet’s?”

  “That would be great. I’ll see you in a few.”

  “Okay, be right there.”

  She got off at the next stop, calling her mom to say that she had to stay after school for extra help with trig.

  Twenty minutes later she was hunkered down in a comfy, shabby old chair, sipping a mug of tomato soup while Brian sat across from her, looking concerned. I could get used to this, Chloe decided. Even though her own friends were—had been—really nice, Brian focused his attention on her in a way she had never really experienced before. The kitty cat hat lay on the table between them, and his hair, rather than being flat, greasy hat hair, was sticking up in tousled dark brown clumps that she longed to run her fingers through and straighten. He had another book this time, a collection of short stories by Eudora Welty.

  “It sounds stupid, I know,” she said, trying not to sniff. “But Amy’s always been the constant in my life. My dad disappears, there’s Amy. My mom becomes a complete bitch, there’s Amy. Paul acts like a dick to me, there’s Amy. Only she’s not there now, you know? I can’t rely on her. She doesn’t even answer my messages anymore. And there are … other things in my life, too, stuff I want to tell her about. … Stuff we definitely would have talked about if things were, you know, normal.”

  “What kind of stuff?”