by Mary Gray
I feel like crying and covering my head.
Teo’s eyes are like two black holes. The spirits of the dead have returned to his face, but eventually the darkness scatters. He’s staring at his violin, no doubt remembering the music he played while they danced. While Romeo and Juliet have been clumsy with their ending, Teo must be remembering the connection he enjoyed. And Teo, the Teo I have salivated over for these past thirteen months, loves artistry above anything else.
Reaching inside his suit pocket, he retrieves two needle-tipped vials. But what if that’s not the vaccine, but poison? My heart’s in my mouth. Teo stares down at Romeo and Juliet and says, “You honor your stations well. Come!”
I should join the couple, demand he prick my skin first, but now I’m convinced it is the vaccine, and my intrusion would only sour his mood.
Romeo’s eyes fasten on the ground, but he manages to secure Juliet’s hand. Together, they ascend the stairs. The muscles in Marc’s jaw look like they’re working so quickly they might explode, and Ana, standing the furthest from everyone, wrings her sari’s shawl in her hands.
As Romeo and Juliet reach the top, Teo has them pull up their sleeves. He pierces their skin, a needle for each. Gwen gasps, frizzy tendrils of hair whisking around her face, and Eloise chants, half-whispering something to Abe. Marc, though, is doing what I noticed he does when he’s uncomfortable or scared—pulling on the front of his hair again, gripping a fistful at the side of his head.
For me, it all feels wrong. Or maybe it’s right. Because Romeo and Juliet aren’t falling down, dead. There stands Romeo, head hanging, and Juliet, trembling with flushed cheeks. They should be celebrating, relieved they won’t get sick. The couple has earned a spot in Teo’s world, two polished pieces of treasure placed neatly on a shelf. They might not want to be his treasures, but they’ve passed, sure enough.
Izzy, in the center of the room, bounces her head up and down, which reminds me of her decision—to act like the stereotypical cheerleader who’s happy with this life. But she’s convincing. She’s leaning over to her partner, Tristan, and stroking his pink and green hair.
“Let this be the standard for all of you,” Teo says, eyes resting thoughtfully on Tristan and Izzy, who sit so closely that Tristan’s leg rests several inches over Izzy’s. Oh yes, Izzy, you’re doing fine.
“Though you are young,” Teo smiles, “there is no reason for this to be prolonged. The homes have extra bedrooms, ideal for the little ones when they come.” Little ones? He can’t possibly see us as baby factories to rear up the next generation of Teo Youth.
Teo studies Romeo and Juliet, who stand below him on the hardwood floor. “Become your stories,” he says, “and pledge your allegiance to wed. When you do,” he lifts his arms out to the couple, “you shall obtain the vaccine!”
Teo pauses dramatically, and it’s like he expects us to clap, so Abe and Eloise quickly slap their hands together, and the rest of us dutifully follow suit.
When Teo moves down the wrought-iron staircase, he reaches out for me, lowering his voice. “It looks like the Shakespearean couple has escaped its fate.” He chuckles darkly, and I have to fight to control myself. I want to claw the eyeballs right out of his face, so I look away and try to still my twitching fingers.
But Teo’s just staring at me, probably waiting for some sort of indication that I adore his sick game. So I try formulating a decent question for Teo, show him an unchanged Cheyenne—or Persephone. “So,” I flutter my eyelashes as I gaze up at him, “what is your vision for the remainder of these parties?”
“Eager, aren’t you, my dear?” He rubs his lips on the top of my head. “Very well, how about I make you a promise?”
The word “promise” makes me cringe. I don’t want any of his promises. He’ll say something horrific, like I could kill someone next.
But his eyes don’t flash. Instead he says, “Tomorrow night, you may host the next soirée.”
Every millimeter of my body crumples. The last party I hosted was in fourth grade, and we played Monopoly, Twister, and Clue. I can’t measure up to this. Frantic, I search for Marcus, but he’s moved on from Romeo to chat it up with Cleo. I feel Teo’s eyes on me and will Marcus to look up. Marcus, forget Cleo and exchange serious looks with me.
But Teo’s gaze is intense on me, so I reply, “Of course, my Hades.” It’s a risk mentioning Teo’s new name. He’s never openly admitted it to me.
I’m lucky. Delight, sheer happiness, ripples from Teo’s throat. “Oh, my dear. I cannot tell you how happy that makes me.”
Folding one arm around my stomach, he uses the other to squeeze my back. Locked inside, I can think of nothing but prison. I’m not merely trapped in Teo’s world; he has bonded us together. My life is his in every way to create, build, and destroy. My heart wrenches as his hold on my waist pulls me closer.
He’ll never let me go.
12
I close my eyes, trying to force my exhausted body and racing mind to sleep, but all I see is Bee’s smile, that florescent lip-gloss shimmering in delight. And Ramus, his diamond face and drooping shoulders. Seven men and seven women. I was the eighth person. It should have been me.
I can’t believe I came to this place. Of course, I didn’t choose to be knocked out, blindfolded, and drugged to come to Teo’s utopia, but there must have been something I could have done. A distraction I could have made. Not falling for Teo would’ve been a good place to start.
Small. I feel so small. Like the hamster my mother bought me when I was a child. Lila? Lola? I don’t remember, but she was always getting trapped in her wheel.
I roll out of Bee’s bed to my feet, and the touch of the carpet reminds me of home. It’s so different than what we had, not as plush and cloud-like—Mom’s relationship with the Mayor paid for things like that. Mayor Tydal. He had this way of looking at me sideways while putting his arm around my mom. It was like he could see my useless wish that my real dad was here. But my dad, who mom called “the flighty flight attendant,” never stayed in one place for long. I used to think he’d come and get me, take me to Hansel and Gretel’s house. We’d eat giant-sized gumdrops and licorice and mints. Maybe that explains my initial attraction to Teo; deep down, I needed a male to look up to, and there Teo had been with all his wisdom and charm. I need to stop thinking about him.
I head to the kitchen for a drink of water before I sleep. Maybe I’ll get inspired as to what to do for my party tomorrow night.
The cool tile stings the pads of my feet, and I jump a little when the shadows spilling into every corner seem to form Teo’s shape. I really feel like he’s watching everything. One of the shadows in the kitchen moves. It’s Teo and he’s come for me. My heart races inside my chest, and I grip the side of the counter, trying to steady my nerves. But the shadow looks wrong—it’s short, has floppy hair. Marcus is visiting me.
He tosses back the little liquid left in a wine goblet and sets the glass down. I exhale, forcing my twitching fingers to grow still.
“Hey, Cheyenne,” he says, smiling slightly. It’s so nice to hear my real name.
He walks closer to me, and I immediately pick up his scent—the sheetrock, bark chips, and paint—always that combination. Such ordinary objects shouldn’t make me want to breathe him in, but they do. They’re comforting.
“You do realize,” I say, “if your brother knew you were here, he would not be thrilled.” I shut my eyes and close the thought from my mind. Teo wouldn’t murder his own brother—right? I walk to the cabinet to retrieve a glass with trembling hands, lift the faucet, and fill the goblet up. Trying to calm my fluttering heartbeats, my twitching fingers, I tell myself Marcus and I are safe—Teo won’t hurt us tonight.
Gripping the goblet, I lift it to my lips and let the cool water soothe my throat. I’m glad to have something to do, because my penchant for screwing up small talk may take front and center again.
“Funny.” Marcus stretches out his fingers to touch the knuckles of my
empty hand. “Teo shouldn’t be the only one who gets to be thrilled.”
My stomach flip-flops. What does he mean? He likes the thrill of potentially getting caught visiting me? Or that he should get to have his own private moment with Cleo by picking up where they left off on that chaise lounge?
Marcus draws his hand back, then walks to the sink to refill his cup. “Stupid glasses,” he mutters under his breath. “Gotta refill them twenty times to get a decent drink.”
I laugh, both excited and nervous. Maybe he would like to spend a little time on that chaise lounge with me.
Oh, Cheyenne. What are you thinking? He’s Teo’s brother. Nothing more. That’s it.
I clear my throat. “Yeah, I know. At first I thought it was just Cleo who had the cups.”
He turns the water off and turns to face me, laughing. “That would fit her, I guess.”
I hate how my heart’s bouncing around like a pingpong ball in my chest, so in an attempt to calm myself, I push myself up onto the counter to take a seat. Marcus does the same thing. His gray knit shirt stretches over what I’m suddenly realizing are very ripped shoulders and chest. I would never describe Teo as ripped. Teo is lean. I look away.
We sit knee to knee with only about an inch of space between us, and it takes all my concentration not to stare at the gap. I want to close the distance, make contact, but I shouldn’t want to do that. I was just obsessing over his brother, trying to force the image of that olive-toned skin out.
“So,” I say, circling the rim of my glass with my thumb, “what was it like, growing up with Teo?”
Marc eyes me suspiciously, that black eye I spotted earlier nearly healed. I could ask him about how he got hurt, but I figure I can save that conversation for another time.
“Not to know him better,” I explain, “I just want to know what it was like being raised behind a madman.”
Marc grunts; I may have just used a touchy word. Maybe mental illness runs in their family. But Marcus doesn’t look grumpy; in fact, the grunt almost sounded happy. Friendly. Something I could scoop up and hold in my hand. He’s always friendly, though, and I don’t understand why. I’ve never been anyone to him besides a girl at math meets, one he jokes with a bit, but certainly not anyone he’d really care about.
Marcus rubs his hand over his face, like he’s searching for a memory. “I have a story for you,” he says, and my mind momentarily darts to the fact that I haven’t planned anything for my party tomorrow, but right now I listen to Marc. “It shows that Teo has pretty much always been the same.” Marc smiles at me. “Our mom told it to me once.” He glances at me to make sure this is what I mean.
“Okay.”
Marcus sets his glass beside him on the sink, and once again I think about my party, but I push the little worry away. I have time.
“There was this one time,” Marcus says, lacing his fingers behind his head, “when my mom took Teo to the zoo. I don’t remember it; he was, like, nine or ten, so I was only three. Anyway, they were looking at the anacondas—”
I shudder. Anything but them.
But Marcus smiles. “Teo thought he needed one.”
“What?” I grumble something unintelligible, even to myself. Remembering the snake from yesterday, I kick the pale-colored cupboard behind my feet. “Figures.”
“Hey, you know Teo. He kept bugging our mom, whining he needed one for a pet, so my mom finally talked to a worker.”
Okay, I’d say their mother sounds off. But I may be misreading things, so I double-check. “You’re kidding. She actually asked for an anaconda for him?”
Marc laughs, a simple, unreserved sound. “You never knew our mom—she died when I was ten—but she had a plan to wise up Teo. Paid the guy fifty bucks to stick him in the cage.”
“No.” My mouth drops open. I can’t decide if his mom was extremely cool or just demented. Maybe this is the reason Teo went nuts.
“The snake was in a cage within a cage,” Marcus says. “It never could have really reached Teo, but he didn’t know that. Scared the crap out of him.”
All I can picture is a much shorter Teo with ebony eyes bulging from fright. I wrinkle my nose. “He stopped asking for the snake?”
“Yup.” He nods proudly, like he’s hell-bent on defending his mom.
But Teo had to get messed from somewhere, and putting your kid anywhere near anacondas seems pretty messed up. Marcus seems proud of her, so I ask about her as delicately as I can.
“She was a good mom.” I say it like a statement, but I’m digging around.
He drops his hands from behind his head onto his lap. “The best.”
But the way Teo turned out doesn’t make sense. “So why tell me this story?” I ask, looking into his eyes, but I don’t know about locking gazes with him, so I look away.
Marc leans forward, our knees lightly touching. “To show you Teo can be beat.”
I take in a sharp breath, suddenly overwhelmed by the touch. It’s warm and nice, but almost too much. I want his leg to come closer, and I want to push it off.
Looking away from our legs, I sigh loudly. “He was nine, Marc.” But Marc’s looking across the room, like he’s not really seeing anything.
He rips his eyes away from wherever he’s looking and glances at me. “You also need to understand my brother. He and Mom had the same mind—they were creative to a fault. She used it to teach him, and I think he turned out like he did because she died. She didn’t get to finish her work.”
“So she was a good person?” I ask, unable to help it.
“The best kind.”
“What about your dad?” I pause. Teo has warned me never to talk about their father—said something about Marcus getting worked up ever since he died last year. I never really thought about it this way, but Teo and Marc are orphans. I suppose I always thought of them as okay because Teo always seems so grown up.
Marc leans forward as the air conditioning kicks on, and the skin on my knee cools from the breeze. I can’t believe I’m so pathetic that I want him to come back to me again.
Marcus’s eyes rove over my eyes, my nose, my chin, and I can’t help but study the faint scars on his cheeks. The largest runs down the length of one side, almost luminescent, a pale, pale white. It makes me wonder how he got that one—probably battle wound of an active boy. Which leaves me wondering if Teo ever roughhoused, or if his olive-toned complexion covers up any scars he might have. Marc’s skin tone is fair despite his black hair, sideburns, and growing beard.
Marcus jumps off the counter, apparently needing to move around the room. Watching him pace across the tiled floor, I decide to try one more time. “So, Teo is like your dad?”
Marcus grabs onto the front of his hair and pulls it down at the side. “Pretty much.” I know that tone. Marcus is minimizing things. When he says, “pretty much,” he means, “in every possible way.” I know because I tend to do the same thing. Minimizing things is a coping mechanism. A way to handle whatever threatens you by making it small.
He keeps closing off. I have questions about how his dad died exactly, and how he made Teo turn out the way he did, but I decide to let them drop. We can talk about this another time, when Marcus is ready to open up. Besides, for the first time being here, I can revel in the fact that this particular boy has chosen to visit me. Not Cleo, not any of the other pretty girls from his school. It’s just Marcus and me, and there’s nothing preventing us from getting to know each other better, from talking.
Fully preparing myself to launch into whatever topic he likes, my eyes snag on the bulge of his bicep beneath his short-sleeved shirt. To think I’d been so obsessed with Teo that I’d missed that. Marc’s arms look like they could snap Teo in half. Now, if Jonas wasn’t around…
I scoot off the counter and try to decide where to go next. Marcus has planted himself halfway between the kitchen and the great room. It’s time to stretch out on the floor. Carpet would be better, but I’m not about to invite Marcus to my room or upst
airs, so I move over to the hardwood and sit down.
An uncomfortable silence falls between us—no, not uncomfortable. Tentative. Marcus is careful around me. I’m sure that’s what he must be thinking, because he’s glancing around the room, then at me.
Eventually, he says, “Let’s go into the dining room—it’s more comfortable in there.”
I’m not really sure how he thinks a dining room table would be more comfortable, but I follow him anyway. He saunters toward the front door, slowing a little like he wants to be sure I’m checking him out.
When he veers left into the dining room with a little more bounce in his step, I can’t help teasing him. “Think you have an audience or something?”
He twists his head around and shoots me a grin. “Obviously.” I hate that he’s right—that it’s impossible not to notice how his pants hang just a teensy bit too low on his hips. But I quickly look away as I watch him move a few chairs to give us room to sit on the carpet.
“So,” I nudge him on the arm, “what do you like to do in your spare time?” I only ever saw him at the math meets or grocery shopping.
“You mean, besides playing dress-up with Cleo?” Marcus cocks an eyebrow as he moves a chair onto the hardwood.
I smile. “Besides that.”
“Well, you know I like math—that and literature are the only things Teo and I have in common, but he disregards everything else.” He waves away the “everything else” like his other interests shouldn’t matter to him, too. Minimizing again.
I wait for him to explain, and when he doesn’t immediately say anything, I nudge him again. “Like…?”
“Like—he thinks I should have gone to Khabela.” He sighs, moving another chair. “Says I don’t have the talent to pursue art.”
I feel my jaw unhinge. I can’t believe Teo would say such a thing. Well, I can believe it, but to squash someone’s dreams before they have the chance to try them is the mark of a royal douche. “How can he say that?” I finally ask.