by Mary Gray
“I know,” I say, pressing my fingertips to the wood-grained door. “Teo—” I wipe the sweat dripping into my eyes, “—gave me a job.”
Several awkward seconds languish past and I’m left wondering if I will ever get inside, get a drink. Which sucks. I need to focus on Teo’s mission, stop wasting precious brain cells on the minor detail of my parched throat.
Marc sighs like I’m more of a nuisance than anything. “I can’t believe this.”
Wait. I know that voice. “Marcus?”
Several seconds pass before Teo’s younger brother responds. “I go by Marc now, Cheyenne.” But the way he says my name isn’t right, not like that. He used to sing my name, “Chey-yi-yi-yenne,” every time he saw me at the math meets. And before he sang my name, his blue eyes would swim in a barely controlled typhoon so that I could only smile at him before looking away. But now, he sounds beaten down, flat. And it’s not hard to imagine that his eyes have also changed.
He said, I go by Marc now, Cheyenne. Which is odd, because once he threw a spitball at one of the judges for calling him just “Marc.” It’s Marcus, he had said, and I braced myself because the judge had to pause everything to pick the spitball out of his hair. One of my friends, Josie, had wondered why they let the artsy kids from Griffin compete with our school, and I halfway wondered the same thing. Not because I didn’t like them—they just always came in last. And they never focused on the questions like Khabela. We were the math and science school; math meets were our thing.
But I can’t believe Marc’s here, too. I’m surprised Teo didn’t mention that. While I can’t wait to talk to Marc more, for some reason he doesn’t seem excited to talk. Like Teo, Marcus has always been hard to read. But I need to know what’s going on, and if I can keep him talking, maybe he can help me figure out which is the “right” house.
“So, what are you doing here?” I finally ask.
“You need to go.” Marc’s words are a slap. We always chatted at the math meets, and I swore those blue eyes watched my every move. His order only makes me want to dig in my heels and stay. I lean back against the side of the house, my cotton shirt sticking to the brick. Folding my arms, I plan to dig in, convince him to help me out, when he asks me the last thing I’m expecting:
“Are you vaccinated?”
Apart from my childhood vaccinations, everyone was vaccinated last year. “Are you vaccinated?” became the new “How are you?” Everyone asked it, like a fee for entry, but that was for the outbreak in Beijing two years ago, the Living Rot. The sickness was so horrific, so deadly, that everyone involved with the quarantine made sure it was buried as deeply as the core of the earth. Beijing would never happen again. The cannibalistic disease would never be repeated.
Despite my ingrained assurances, I have to ask, my lower lip trembling slightly, “What do you mean?”
The seconds that tick by languish longer than the time during finals week when all I could see was the live footage of the Chinese people turning on their friends. Their sagging skin and blood-dripping teeth. The citywide burning authorized by the United Nations. The military strike units forbidding anyone to enter Beijing.
Eventually, Marcus responds and he does little to answer my question, “You’d better talk to my brother, Cheyenne.”
His reaction makes me want to lash out. His brother was the one who told me to find someone else to let me inside. So I try once more, desperately hoping Marcus will soften. “Please, Marc? Just a drink?”
Silence answers me. I hold my breath and will him to answer. But there’s nothing coming from the other side. He’s ignoring me. Waiting for me to move away. But then the floorboards squeak; he’s coming closer. I’ve convinced him to open the door. Metal clicks against metal, and I’m watching the doorknob, preparing for it to turn, when it doesn’t. That’s because that metal clicking against metal was him turning the deadbolt—locked.
He’s locking me out. Marcus is Teo’s brother, my friend. Or he was. Sometimes he could be a colossal jerk. Especially compared to Teo, who must have gotten all the good genes in the family: manners, intellect, tact.
“Find a girl!” Marc barks, which proves I’m right. “Tell her you’re clean.” And then all Marc’s movements from the other side fade away, and it’s just the door and me.
I smack the door with my fist, very nearly scraping it with the stake in my hand. There’s something seriously wrong with these people. I’ve been placed in the heat, in ninety-degree weather, and no one is helping me. I’m not a threat to anyone. I need to get inside.
“You need to go,” Marcus growls, apparently back at the door. He doesn’t have to growl at me. He was always so playful and eager to help. Like when I’d managed to tangle a wad of bracelets at a math meet. I’d been so done with them, about to rip them off, when Marcus had reached over and untangled them for me, smiling. I’d thought he was sweet.
Now I don’t understand why he won’t help me. But, wait a second. “What about the vaccine?”
“You don’t—”
A sound I don’t recognize comes from nearby. A whoosh, crisp and neat, catching the wind. But quicker. And close. Just beside me in Marcus’s front lawn lies a foot-wide hole in the ground, which wasn’t there before.
Curious, I step cautiously to peek inside the hole. Maybe Teo is sending me something. A note, or water, maybe. I’m two, three inches off when two eyes and a forked tongue slink out of the hole. A snake, and it’s looking directly at me.
I freeze, too terrified to speak. Black and yellow coils glisten in the sun, and I wish I were the sort of person who could find some beauty in the thing. It’s horrible. Death, scales, teeth. I’ve been terrified of snakes since I was a little girl. Ever since one of my mom’s boyfriends thought it would be fun to taunt me with one, I’ve avoided the reptiles more than I avoided the stupid ninnies who laugh at the books I read.
As the snake slinks out, I see it’s much larger than I originally thought. Four feet long or so. I can’t have it lunge at me.
I repeat the mantra my mom taught me when I was small, in case I ever found one at the park, on a walk, or in the street: Walk slowly and it will lie flat. Walk slowly…walk slowly…but it doesn’t look like it’s going to lie flat. The beast is lifting its head. He’s hissing at me, which is worse than nails on a chalkboard, like pterodactyls screeching. My mouth is open before I know what I’m doing, and the noise tearing through my throat causes it to lash out at me.
I’m screaming, flailing across the yard and down the street. Snakes don’t need to be near me. Snakes can have their own feast. Just not me. Not me. I shake away the image of dozens crawling over me.
Marcus told me to find a girl, so I will. With things like that around, there’s no way in hell I’m going back on his side of the street.
* * *
I’m back at the place I started, that small patch of grass where I plucked up that metal survey stake. Tossing the stake to the ground, I glance up at the sun where it sears me from the sky. It’s directly over my head, so it must be noon, and my back, neck, chest—everything—drips with sweat from the heat.
I need shade. But those trees on the periphery of the subdivision look like they’re the only place that offers it. Or the houses themselves. Or the porches. But I’m not going to linger on any porches any longer—I saw how well that turned out.
So far, this is what I’ve learned: I’m stuck in a hellhole filled with an unrelenting heat. Seven men stare at me from their houses, and Cleo is the only one of the women to come out. The men’s homes bear signs, and the women’s sport mailboxes. I’m not supposed to touch the mailboxes, and freakishly large snakes pop out for any girls who venture on the wrong side of the street. For the life of me, I can’t see why Teo likes this place.
I need to study the other women’s houses, like the one closest to me. It’s similar in coloring to Cleo’s: dressed in red brick, two stories, and towering. So maybe I’ll knock and announce that I’m not leaving until they let
me inside. I’ll bring the stake again and threaten to use it if I must, because Teo is waiting on me. I need to prove that I can do this.
Teo knew I would take the complicated route, that I wouldn’t try the closest home so I could learn what I needed from the outside. I always did that in class, too. Solve this equation, Miss Laurent, he would say, taunting me with the jerk of his upper lip. I would scramble for my notes, wrack my brain for the proper method, and then he’d remind me of a simple mnemonic. And instead of feeling like a fool, I’d be awed by his simple trick. So now, Teo knows I won’t linger on the men’s side of the street after seeing the snake lash out. I have always struggled with bravery, something Teo no doubt has seen.
But today, today I am hot. And thirsty, and sweaty, and cross. Perhaps Teo wants me to do something specific. This game where he plays master and I play puppet is precisely the type of thing Teo does to test us. Let down your hair, girls, he once said. Not for aesthetics, but to relax your brains so you can better think. We all dutifully listened to him. But this time I will not be his puppet. I’m already tired of this game.
He may have an issue with perfection—my little manicure is evidence of that. The new homes, the perfect lawns, even the trees are minutely placed. I’ll never be perfect. I wish I was, but I’ll never be able to change that. It’s time to get inside, go in the home that makes the most sense: the home closest to me on the women’s side of the street. And I’ll take my weapon—this little survey stake—in case this woman is anything like Cleo and fights letting me in.
Avoiding the street completely, I cut across the yard. Scanning the precision of the red bricks lining the exterior of the home, I note the two dainty trees held up with pencil-thin ropes; with care, they’ll grow to be something great. Maybe that’s how Teo sees me: dainty, but having potential, like the trees. I do and do not like the thought. I love him precisely the way he is—no matter how quirky. What if he wants to change me?
Raising my empty fist to the door, I knock once, and the weight of my fist causes the door to creak wide open. It’s open. It’s open. My pulse quickens as I step through.
2
“Miss Laurent, you pass.”
Teo, wearing a black suit, sits on a bench in a living room that doesn’t have the interior décor I would have expected. Painted vines and dark arches on the walls give me the impression of Rome or Greece, and a crack painted in the center connotes conflict—something I’m surprised Teo would choose. From what I saw of the first home, the décor made much more sense, with its simple colors and furniture highlighting the aesthetics of the room. Like the wrought-iron staircase I see before me that sweeps over a good portion of the room and dominates everything around it. If I didn’t know better, I’d want to slide down the rail. But Teo would find that foolish. And he is right. I’m not a child. I’m a grown woman—the way he kissed me proved that. He wants to be with me; that’s why he brought me here. Not quite the reception I would have preferred, but he’s here, smiling at me.
Moving to his feet, Teo reaches his hands out for me. “Welcome to Bee’s home. You shall meet her shortly.”
I have to force myself not to reach out for him. Just because my daydreams consist of embraces and kisses doesn’t mean Teo is ready for that affection now, so I keep my arms where they are, force them to remain unmoving by my sides.
“You did well,” Teo says, smiling his moonbeam smile. It was the one he reserved for me after the math meets, when I won. Come to think of it, Marcus seemed to notice that smile once. It was several months ago, and I looked at Marcus, surprised he noticed our bond. Nobody else saw it, but for some reason Marcus did, awkwardly ducking his head and scratching the back of his shaggy, dark hair. Maybe because he knew his brother could decipher his facial expressions the way no one else could. I hope Marcus is wrong, that there are no repercussions from Beijing.
“You know now why you needed to enter this home,” Teo says, smiling at me.
I nod, because it’s all become so simple now. “I always take the complicated route.”
His eyes light up, the ebony more beautiful in this noonday light. “You do! But that is why you have these tasks. It was your first one—” There are going to be more? “—and I am pleased you accomplished it so fast. I know you.” Teo waggles his finger at me. “You have a way of mulling over everything many more times than once.”
I swallow, my throat parched from the heat, and spot two filled wine goblets resting on an small table next to the bench. Teo thinks of everything. He plucks the goblets up and holds one out for me.
“And what do you think of the décor?” Teo asks as I take the goblet from him and sit next to him on the bench. I take a sip. It’s only water, but water is all I need. Rest and air conditioning and water. And Teo beside me.
I glance at the large cracks in the center of each wall, not sure what to make of them. “It’s very…unique.”
Teo pauses. My response was clearly not what he had hoped. Teo likes his ego stroked, never questioned. One of my classmates once suggested he grow his hair out, and he’d spitefully shaved his head every day for a week. He even smiled a little when she failed a test, which always kind of bothered me. He didn’t have to punish her for liking longer hair.
Heart hammering, I shift on the bench, trying to find something positive to say about the odd décor of the room. But instead of scowling, Teo unleashes my favorite laugh, the loudest one—not boisterous or obnoxious—but the one I expect the gods in mythology sounded like.
“You have questions for me,” Teo says, eyes twinkling, and a thrill runs through me to see him so calm. “I would love to answer them if I can.”
I take a sip of water as my mind swims. I need him to tell me what this place is exactly and why there’s a need for a vaccine. Surely, Teo’s happier now that I’ve passed my test.
Glancing at his hand resting lightly on his lap, I yearn to take it in my own. If I could express to him all that’s going on inside my heart and my head, he could see how much I want to be with him. Please him. Because he’s the person I think about all day long, even when I sleep.
Teo reaches over and gently grabs my chin. “Perhaps the first question is, ‘What is next?’”
I hesitate. That is not the question at the forefront of my mind, but disagreeing with Teo would make him unhappy “You are right.” But my nose twitches, snags on the smell of tangerine—an air freshener, I think. I scrunch my nose to push the zingy scent out, because I’m this close to a sneeze.
Teo perks an eyebrow.
“The smell,” I explain, laughing. “It’s really sweet.”
“That would be Jonas,” Teo answers drily. “He tends to get carried away with his duties. It’s all for the better, you shall soon see.”
“Jonas?” I ask, noting the random plants strewn across the floor. From where we sit on the ottoman they look like miniature forests springing up from the hardwood floor. They might be devil’s ivy or some sort of spider plant, but my mom is the one who tends our garden. All I know is the plants look prickly and I may have made up those names.
“You met him before,” Teo says, bringing me back to my question—who this Jonas is—and the only nameless person I’ve encountered is the albino, so that must be him. I tuck away this bit of information so I can call him by his real name when I see him again.
The smell of sheetrock and fresh paint mixes with the scent of the tangerine, the purr of a hot water heater abruptly clicks off, and when I let my eyes wander over to the curved staircase I put together that the same curves echo throughout the room. All of the walls and doorways arch several feet above me. That, combined with the high ceilings and granite counters, makes me realize these homes were built to impress. All this for one person seems pretty excessive.
Teo leans back from where we sit on the ottoman, resting his head on the ivy-painted wall. “I can breathe in a room like this,” he says, voice low, nearly carefree.
And I know exactly what he means. He’s not ta
lking about the air freshener. He means our time together is no longer contained to those heart-stopping moments I stole after class. It’s impossible for me to count the number of times I feared we’d get caught. A teacher coming around the corner would see the way he’d slip his hand around my waist when he thought no one was watching, or a student would point fingers when they saw his fingers graze the back of my neck when he walked past my desk. But I lived for those moments, how they warmed everything inside of me, and I hoped that Teo did, too, despite the danger we’d be caught.
I watch as Teo closes his eyes, seeming to enjoy our moment of peace. And I close mine, too, savoring the fact that our knees are slightly touching, the cool water is cleansing my throat, and Teo’s breathing labors like he’s in a dream.
Time has slowed down in this room. No brassy school bells ring, and there is no onslaught of curious looks from teachers, students, or the janitorial staff. Right now it’s Teo and me and one small bench. The stark opposite of when we’d just met.
Some people can’t remember first impressions, or it all comes to them as a blur. But everything regarding Teo has been recorded with precision, like how I first heard his name from one of the other students. It’s Tay-oh, not Tee-oh. Short for Mateo, a Spanish name. He’s touchy about it, like he’s royalty or something.
Those first few weeks at Khabela were particularly tough. I was struggling to make friends, trying to make myself invisible in class. One day, though, Teo said something that cheered me a little. “I will be teaching you all next year,” he said. “Calculus, which holds a beauty like trigonometry. You shall see.”
I was elated, but tried to conceal my feelings, so I let my hair fall forward and scrunched down in my seat. I had decided long ago that scrunching was best, because teachers were much less likely to call on the new girl if she was one they didn’t notice. But my vanishing act hadn’t worked entirely, because it was only a few minutes before Teo sat by my desk, perched atop one of the empty ones to my right.