There’s an entire conversation here about me and Bao and the upcoming fight. People are choosing sides and they’re even betting. I click over to Twitter and type in #Gladiator and #DariusHunter and there’s more trash-talking there, too. Logging onto RenRen, I search Bao’s name and also mine and there’s more than a hundred comments, photos, and videos. My Chinese isn’t very good, so I copy and paste the posts into Google translate and learn that there are students in China planning fight parties. Somebody from Bao’s gang has promised to record it live for friends back in China.
Gulp!
My stomach aches. I close my laptop and lie back on my pillow, staring up at the floor joists in the ceiling. The spider that started its web last week has expanded it across two pipes now. It’s been busy but so have I, and I have a lot more to do. Mom needs help. Her spirit is different. She’s detaching.
Reaching for my phone on the nightstand, I hold it up above me as I search my contacts for Jonathan’s name. I hate calling people because it seems weirdly intrusive. I’ve called him a half-dozen times this week, but he never picks up.
“Hello?”
The man’s voice is deep, and it sounds as if I might’ve woken him up.
What time is it?
My clock on the milk crate shows it’s 11:30 p.m.
“Hello?” he says again.
“Jonathan Wurtz?”
“Yes, this is Jonathan,” he says, clearing his throat.
“You don’t know me. My name is Darius. You knew my mom back in college,” I say, stuttering between words.
“Oh? Who is your mother?”
This is the point of no return. Hanging up now, he’d never find out who I am, but for my mom’s sake, I go for it.
“My mom was your girlfriend. Her name is Virginia,” I say, allowing him enough time to remember her.
“Virginia Hunter? You’re her son?”
“Yeah, I found you online. I hope you don’t think I’m a total stalker for contacting you, but your e-mail address and phone number were listed on the Chicago Tribune website. I thought this was your work number.” I blabber on about how I shouldn’t have called so late.
“My work number rolls to my mobile number. What can I do for you, Darius? And how is your mother?” Jonathan asks.
“Well, that’s the reason I called you. She’s not well.” I finish this sentence just as my voice cracks. I clear my throat. “She’s been sick. She has V2, and it’s pretty bad these days.”
There’s a long pause and for a second I think we’ve been disconnected.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” he says. “May I speak with her?”
“She’s doesn’t know that I called you.”
Now I have to tell him a lie because I can’t ask him in the same phone call to drop everything and save my mom’s life. “I’m planning a surprise party, something to cheer her up. I’m surfing through her Facebook friends to invite people.”
“Oh, well, I’m not connected to your mom on Facebook,” he says. “I haven’t spoken to her in years.”
“I noticed you were connected to her other friends,” I explain. “That’s why I called your work number.”
“Well, it sounds like fun. I’d certainly like to see her again,” Jonathan says. He still seems leery of the idea. “Who else have you invited?”
“Yeah, it would be good to have you there,” I say. “I can send you a list of the others I’ve invited. I can’t remember all their names right now.”
“When is the party?”
“I don’t have a specific date yet, but it will be sometime in early November. Are you ever in Minneapolis?”
“I could certainly make the trip,” he says. “Let me know the day and time and I’ll be there, Darius.”
“Will do! Thanks for being so cool…it must be weird getting a random call like this,” I say.
He chuckles slightly and catches himself. “When my phone vibrated I wasn’t expecting a call from Virginia’s son. Yes, it’s a bit out of left field, but I applaud you for doing such a nice thing for your mother.”
After we hang up I lie in bed.
What have I done? I’ve convinced my mom’s old boyfriend that I’m planning a surprise party, and he’s willing to fly to Minneapolis from Chicago. How and when will I explain to Jonathan the real reason I need him here? I should call Jack right now. He needs to know that Bao is on the Soda just like me. But Jack is such a talker that I’m afraid he’ll keep me up all night.
Friday, October 24
After my morning run, I jam to that song by The Cure, “Friday I’m in Love” while I apply makeup and study my face. The scar above my eye from Bao’s fist is hardly noticeable. The cut on my arm from last night is healed and nearly gone as well. My face has stubble again, so I grab my razor from the medicine cabinet behind the mirror and rinse it off. What a hairy beast I’ve become! A five o’clock shadow at seven in the morning. Shaking my can of shaving cream, I squirt it into my palm, and lather up my prickly face.
When I slide the blade along my face and jaw, I realize this is one of the few times I actually feel stubble of hair peeling off my skin. This isn’t soft pre-pubescent fuzz, but a man-beard of coarse hair. I scrape my face carefully but, of course I nick myself just below my nostrils, and blood oozes out onto my lips. I lick it and swallow. It’s better than Soda, and I watch as the cut instantly heals without me grabbing a tissue to slow the bleeding.
Score some points for Darius. He’s made it to the next level!
I’m not the only one in love with Fridays. Everyone is excited today, as we move quickly through the security line. Even Officer Denny is more friendly than usual, and hardly searches any backpacks. There’s a buzz in the air about tonight’s game, after-parties, and a general vibe that weekends belong to the young and the free!
Dodging two dorks in the lunchroom kicking a Hacky Sack, I make my way to the classroom where the Vampire Club meets, and where Shelby is already seated in the circle of chairs, talking to the others.
I sit next to her in the circle of chairs. Everyone here is stoked and excited about the weekend. For a bunch of Emos and Goths, they’re a light-hearted bunch today. Tandi, the club leader, passes out flyers that she’s created for Shelby’s party. For Tandi it’s all about fundraising and pushing her cause, but it’s no longer UNICEF like she said, or Zombie babies as she joked about before. They’ve chosen instead to raise money for a village in South America, to build a school. That’s pretty cool, but couldn’t we raise money to build a bridge across a deep ravine, rather than another school? Heck, we hate school, so why are we building more of them? I say nothing as I take a sheet and pass the stack of flyers.
The Gamers, Alex and Marcus, each take a sheet. Alex starts constructing a paper airplane with his, and Marcus pulls a wad of gum from his mouth and sticks it on the back of his paper as he passes the stack on to the other female V-Club members. I do a quick head count and there are twelve people here today, including Shelby and me. Membership is growing. We’ve added four members since my last visit.
“Shelby said we can set up a table in her backyard, next to the DJ,” Tandi says. “We’ll take turns at the table, collecting donations. Who wants to go first?”
Marcus and Alex bury their heads, avoiding work. A few people raise their hands, and Tandi writes their names down.
“We can make announcements throughout the party,” Shelby says. “Nobody has to stay at the table for very long. And Darius will mention the charity between songs.”
“You gonna totally jam this event?” Marcus asks me.
“As loud as they’ll let us,” I say.
“What kind of music? Not pop stuff, pleeeeaaase.”
“Yeah, no techno tunes,” Alex says. “Guitars and drums, no synthesizers.”
“We’re a new minimalist band,” I explain. “A guitar, a bass, and a drum kit. That’s it.”
“Noobs,” Alex says, which isn’t a word I know. I suppose Gamers have their own lingo. He t
hrows his paper airplane into the air. Everyone watches it sail across the room and land on top of the teacher’s immaculate desk.
“Need roadies?” Marcus scratches his pale neck. “We could set up.”
“Sure, we could use a hand moving gear from my basement over to Shelby’s backyard.”
“Count us in,” Marcus says. Alex gives him a high five.
Tandi stomps her boot. “Hey, we’re here to help the Vampire Club, not to support his band.”
“So? His music will raise awareness for the club and the charity,” Alex says. “Look at these people. We have new members this year because of him. People respect The Gladiator.”
I realize why there’s so much energy in the club today, and why we have new members. People are here to see me, to see what I’m like up close. They’re gawking.
“I don’t mean to be a distraction,” I say to Tandi.
“You’re not a distraction,” Shelby says.
“Damn straight,” Alex says. “About time for Emos and Goths to stand their ground against Normals. We’re not takin’ their crap anymore. Darius represents all of us.”
This is the perfect segue for me to build my “crew,” as Jack calls it. I play it more indirect, more happenstance.
“I’m not here to cause trouble. And if you joined the club because of me, or because you think I’ll lead a race riot against the Normals, well, sorry, I’m not your guy,” I say. “I only intend to fight Bao Wang after Shelby’s party, and it would be helpful for me to have back-up.”
“Oh, here we go again; here’s the truth of it,” Tandi says. “You want a gang to fight Bao’s gang. I told you, this club is about non-violence.”
“I was bullied into violence. And I agreed to settle it once and for all,” I say to her.
“With more violence,” she says, with her signature mock clapping.
“I’ll back you up, Darius,” Alex says. “And Marcus will, too.”
“Me too,” Shelby says. “Anybody else?”
There’s a moment of uneasy silence as the female Goths and Emos eye Tandi. One by one, they raise their hands in my favor. It’s eleven against one.
“Seriously? You’ll all leave the party and follow him to a gang fight?” Tandi says. “Have you seen who Bao parties with on weekends? They’re not a club, they’re a real gang. They carry knives and guns and they’re drug addicts. And I’m not talking about dope or alcohol, either. They deal in coke, crank, and Soda. They’re wild boys. If it becomes a gang fight, they’ll rip you to shreds. Who’s in now?”
All the hands drop slightly as if Tandi had rattled them with her warning. But nobody withdraws from commitment.
“Everything will be cool,” Shelby says. “We’re there for moral support, that’s all. Right, Darius?”
Shelby has fear in her eyes; her lower lip even quivers slightly. She’s putting as good a face on this as possible. I’ve never been in an organized fight before, and I’m not sure what will happen. Clearing my throat, I tell her and the rest of them the words they want to hear. “Don’t worry. If you’ve got my back, I’ve got yours.”
The rest of the day passes by slower than an IV drip. And even Ms. Andreesen’s English Lit class can’t hold my attention for very long. I gaze out the window at the autumn leaves blowing in the wind, like tiny little kites untethered by strings. What I do notice on her desk is a stack of papers she must be grading. They look like our memoir assignments, and I lean in to Shelby and whisper to her.
“You writing a first-semester memoir?”
She’s texting and looks over at me. “No, since I transferred in I don’t have to do it. Thank God!”
“She gave me an extension,” I say, watching Ms. Andreesen writing on the chalkboard.
“Is it dumb writing about your life?” she asks.
“Sort of, but I kind of like it,” I say.
“What are you writing about?”
“My totally pathetic life.”
“You’re not writing about us, are you?”
“Yeah, of course.”
“You have to let me read it before you hand it in,” she insists, her whispers getting louder.
“Sure, but you can’t edit it. What I write is up to me,” I say.
“Still, I want to see it,” she says, slapping me on the knee and snickering.
The slap is loud enough that Ms. Andreesen turns around and scans the room. Her eyes land on me as she rests her hands on her hips.
“Darius, is there anything you want to share with the class?”
“No.”
“Shelby?”
“I thought he took my pen, but I guess it’s his,” Shelby says.
“Please keep your eyes up here,” Ms. Andreesen says, “or I’ll have to separate you two.”
Waiting for her to turn around again, I start writing again before I look over at Shelby, who is back to texting.
My phone vibrates in my pocket and I slip it out.
Shelby: Want a ride to the game tonight?
Me: Yeah, cool.
Shelby: And you have to let me see what you wrote about us.
Me: Okay…maybe.
I eventually get so busy with school and life that I never show Shelby what I’ve written in my memoir. And that’s probably a good thing because of what happens to us later at her T-Party.
It’s crazy-busy at home tonight. My mom overslept, and Kira didn’t realize it until Mom was already late. By the time I walk in the door, there’s a whirlwind of frantic activity—Kira and Mom shouting at each other as Mom slaps together a snack she can eat during one of her breaks. Kira is emptying the dishwasher and is clearly frustrated. I set my backpack down at the door.
“Kira says you’re taking her to the game tonight,” Mom says to me as she packs her lunch.
“Yeah, Shelby can drive both of us,” I say.
“And make sure Kira has a ride home with you?”
“Yeah, no problem.”
“And try to stay out of trouble?”
“What kind of trouble—”
“No fights, Darius,” Kira says, as if she’s suddenly my mom.
“Listen to your sister,” Mom says. “She’s speaking wisdom.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I say to both of them. “Bao is suiting up for the game. He’s not thinking about me.”
Mom tousles my hair and kisses me on the cheek. “Good, then watch the game and come home right afterward. What’s it like outside?”
“Chilly,” I say.
Mom grabs her coat and shoves her lunch in her shoulder bag. She looks pretty good today, but if she overslept, then I know she’s feeling run-down. Her energy level drops when she’s feeling the V2 and she sleeps a lot, too.
“See you in the morning,” she says before she steps outside. She walks to her car in the driveway and I notice she’s walking slower, too. I turn to Kira, who is no longer emptying the dishwasher. She’s looking for something to eat from the fridge.
“What if we threw Mom a party?” I suggest.
She stops snooping through the fridge, stands up, and looks back at me. “What would we celebrate?”
“Nothing; we’d have a party to cheer her up,” I say. “She seems down.”
“She wouldn’t want a party like that,” Kira says. “Would she?”
“Maybe not, but what if it’s a surprise party?”
Kira smiles. “Yeah, that would be fun. She’d never expect it.”
“Right, and we could invite some of her coworkers and friends on Facebook,” I suggest.
“When? Where? Our house is too small.”
“As soon as possible. Maybe Jack would let us use his place downtown,” I say. “I’ll ask him.”
Reaching for my phone, I start to text my uncle, but I realize it’s not even 6:00 p.m. yet. He’s probably still in bed or in a yoga session. I want to ask him about setting up a party and find out if I can work out again with him this weekend.
Me: Hey, got time to talk?
If he doesn’t answer right away it usually means that he’s not near his phone. I give him another minute, but there’s no reply.
“Did he text you back?” Kira asks.
“No, he’s probably still in bed. If you’re coming to the game, you’d better get ready. Shelby will be here soon.”
“Cool!” Kira says, and she runs out of the kitchen into the family room and upstairs to her bedroom. I hear dance music blaring, and the glassware in the kitchen cabinet rattles to the beat.
While she’s getting ready, I run down to my room and put on a fresh black T-shirt and add more bracelets and a couple more chains to my neck. I reach into my jeans pocket and my rosary is still there. It’s an odd good luck charm, I know, and I should do as Denny suggests and wear it around my neck; but it’s such a habit to have it in my right pocket.
Passing the full-length mirror, I notice I already have the five o’clock shadow again. And then I suddenly have a craving for Soda, so I pull one out of my mini-fridge and pop it open and drink half of it before stopping to breathe.
“Hey, there.”
Shelby is standing behind me in my room. She’s dressed sporty Goth in black jeans, black Converse high-tops, and a really tight white top only partially covered by her black sweater. Her breasts look larger, or maybe it’s the mirror.
“What?” she asks, with a curious smile. “What are you looking at?”
“I’m looking at you,” I say, turning to pull her into my arms, and she slips her hands into the back pockets of my jeans as we kiss.
Her cheek runs along my cheek. “Hmmm, your skin is so rough. I bet I can find softer skin somewhere else.”
She drops her head down to my neckline as her lips explore my skin, searching for my jugular vein. My heart throbs rapid beats.
Blood Orange Soda: Paranormal Romance Page 17