Spiral

by Jacqueline Levine

  But each time they ask, I feel her skin on mine, and her warm body curled around my arm. Sometimes you wish rumors were true.

  Mica promised to meet me during fifth period in “the courtyard.” Lucky me, there’s three of them, and it’s a whole text conversation just to figure out which one he meant. It’s the only period we have together, and we both have a study hall. I finally find him in Courtyard Two, outside of the science rooms, and I shake off a few girls who are following me with more questions about Cherie.

  “But do you guys really live together?” one short brunette asks.

  “I, uh, I gotta go,” I stammer pitiably. “Nice talking to you.” I make a beeline for my friend, who’s all smiles.

  “Jack Hansen, my man!” he laughs, thankfully clueless. “I see you made a few friends of the female persuasion already.”

  I’m so fortunate he has no idea who I have been made out to be in the press, and I pray he never finds out. “Yep, looks like it.”

  “You okay? How’s Worthington High treating you? You look like you been thrown outta a bus!”

  I chuckle shyly and immediately reach up to check my hair. It feels fine, still in place. “Just disoriented, that’s all. How’s your day so far?”

  He waves it off. “Just had chemistry. Ain’t nuthin. It’s my best class! What’d you have?”

  “English with Mr. Cannon. Seems easy enough; nice guy.”

  Mica snickers. “That’s my worst class. He wants to me write all poetic, and then he tells me my grammar’s bad. I say, ‘tell that to Jay-Z’!”

  I laugh with him. He has a way of relaxing me with his jokes, and I’m grateful.

  “Let’s go walk around; I’ll take you on a tour,” he says, then adds a wink and a nudge of his elbow. “Maybe we’ll talk to those new twin biddies along the way.”

  I start to nod, even though I’m not totally sure what a biddy is. Then I notice he is pointing at the twins, who are aptly surrounded by a gaggle of overdressed guys. I was used to the attention they attracted at our old school, but this new place, with these snake-eyed guys, makes me feel like I should step in and check on them. Conflicting emotions instantly surge through me.

  Mica reads my expression like a book. “What? You know them or sumthin’?”

  I purse my lips and nod. “Remember how I told you I live with an annoying stepfamily?”

  He grins. “No way, man! You kiddin’ me? Them twins live witchu?”

  I cringe from the higher octave in his voice. “Yeah, they’re my step-sisters.” He laughs full on.

  “Hook a brotha up!” he says, clapping a hand on my shoulder. When he sees I’m not laughing, he adds, “I’m kiddin’ man.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  “No, I’m not. They some fine a–”

  He’s cut short by Chloe, who is shouting my name from across the courtyard. She sashays over to me while her admirers look on with a mix of curiosity and humor. I know what they’re thinking, and it gets my blood coursing.

  I force myself to look down at her. “What?”

  “I just wanted you to know we’re going to hang out after school with some friends, so you don’t need to drive us home,” she says with a noticeably disapproving look in Mica’s direction. I’m not sure if it’s his baggy shirt or his skin color that she disapproves of more, but her awfulness as a person makes me even angrier than her news.

  “Oh, yeah? I doubt Jim wants you going home with Miami Vice over there,” I shoot back, tilting my chin in the direction of her arrogant entourage. “Better bring that pepper spray your dad gave you.”

  She huffs heavily at me. “Don’t be a jerk, Jack.”

  Mica cuts in with his jovial grin and an outstretched hand. “Hello, I’m Mica Williams. I’m Jack’s friend. Nice to meet you, uh…?” It’s the clearest, most eloquent sentence I’ve heard him speak since I’ve met him.

  Unfortunately, he might have been the same old Mica for all my stepsister cares. She stares at both of us like we have cooties or something. “Chloe,” I say when she doesn’t move to speak or shake his hand. Finally, she remembers a fraction of her manners and forces herself to shake his hand.

  “Hi. So nice to meet you.” Her saccharine smile makes me grind my teeth. “I’m so glad Jack has been able to find someone willing to hang out with him.”

  “Well, I’m sure he feels the same for you,” he says with all of the pleasantries of a British gentleman. I snicker when her stupid smile transforms into a blazing glare.

  She locks her eyes on his but says to me through gritted teeth, “I’ll see you at home, Jack.” With that, she flips her hair, turns and storms back to her new boyfriends and Claudia.

  “I am really sorry about her,” I say quickly.

  “Eh, I’m used to snobs like her. This school’s full of ‘em.”

  “But what you said was awesome – did you see her face?”

  Mica bumps my fist and encourages me to keep walking, chuckling, “Guess I see why you hate bein’ home, playa. Can’t believe there’s two a dem!” I grin to myself; he’s right back to the Mica I know.

  “Three,” I correct him. “There’s another one just like them, but she’s at home.” I suddenly feel badly lumping Cherie in with those two.

  “Triplets?!”

  “No, just their cousin.”

  Maybe it’s the way I smile at the thought of her, or maybe it’s how I speak of her, but Mica picks it up. He reads me again, and I want to kick myself. “Ah, is that Miss Trouble?”

  I try to shake my head, but I’m forced to add a disclaimer when he laughs at me. “It’s not like that, really. She’s their cousin; that would be weird.”

  “Ooh, that’s double trouble right there!” he smirks.

  “She’s actually the reason we moved out here.”

  “Word?”

  I nod. “Yeah, her parents were killed in a car accident this Christmas.”

  He winces. “Damn, that’s rough. I’m sorry, man. But, uh, why she livin’ witchu?”

  “Something about the will; her parents left her in my stepdad’s custody.” The concept must sound nuts as it comes out of my mouth because Mica gawks at me.

  “Say what?” His voice rises in pitch again. “That’s some craziness right there! What ‘bout your pops – couldn’t you just stay with him?”

  My guts twist into a pretzel. I swallow hard, looking for anything to say but the truth. I shake my head, coming up empty. “It’s, um, it’s complicated.”

  He respects my silence. “A’ight. Why’s this cousin at home and not here?”

  Boy, is he nosy. If I keep going, he’s going to put it all together. “It’s a long story.”

  “We got time,” he prods. “If it’s not too personal or nuthin.’”

  I take the out. “I don’t know if she’d like me talking about it.” I feel terrible dismissing him, but he shrugs and grins.

  “It’s cool, I respect that.” He sighs, “Well, I wish you luck, Jack Hansen. Sounds like you gots a lotta chaos at home.”

  I grimace and nod. “You have no idea.”

  “Since you’ve been, uh, relieved of yo’ drivin’ duties to Miss Congeniality, how bout we go to the gym after school and work it all out of yo’ system. You in?”

  I roll my eyes and laugh, rubbing my sore shoulder. “Yeah, I’m in.”

  It’s nearly 6:30 at night when I finally pull into the driveway. I’m drenched in sweat and my hair is matted against my head, but I’m starving and can’t decide if I should shower first or eat. The thought of sitting next to Cherie looking like this makes me decide to shower first, and I walk around the outside of the house instead of through it to get to the casita.

  As I pass the windows of the dining room, though, I notice there are three empty seats at the dinner table. My mom looks downtrodden as she cuts something on Britney’s plate, and Jim is busy peering out into the living room to catch part of the news. Brenton is building a pyramid with some ears of corn on a platter.

/>   Where are the girls?

  I open the door, and my mom jumps to attention.

  My mother looks harried yet relieved. “Oh, Jack! I’m so glad you’re here, I was worried. I just put dinner on the table – have you heard from the twins at all?”

  I look around and ask, “Where is everyone?” I ask.

  “Jackie!” Britney sings, and she pushes her face upward, her lips scrunching together. I bend for her to kiss my cheek and hug her.

  “Hey, Brat. Miss me?” She nods emphatically.

  “Jack, did you hear from the girls?” Mom repeats impatiently.

  I shake my head. “Chloe and Claudia went home with some friends they met today.” I can tell this doesn’t sit well with her or Jim, who instantly joins the conversation.

  “What friends? I told you guys under no circumstances to go in cars with other people!” he nearly scolds. I squint at him.

  “Don’t look at me; I didn’t break the rules,” I say. He rolls his eyes. “I told them it was a bad idea.”

  I look around and listen for Cherie stomping around or blasting her whiney indie music. “What about Cherie?”

  My mom hangs her head and avoids eye contact with all of us. “I, uh, I don’t know. She said she was going to lunch with that boy Caz and Danika, but that was this afternoon. I haven’t heard from her since.”

  I grunt in response and shake my head. “She shouldn’t be going anywhere with Caz, Mom. He’s not a boy. He’s old.” I try not to let on how jealous I suddenly feel.

  Jim cocks a concerned eyebrow. “Yeah? How old is old?”

  I shrug, trying to be casual. “25 maybe?” His jaw clenches. I grab a roll from the basket on the table and take a bite, adding, “I’d get on that if I were you, Psuedo-Dad.” He growls something incoherent, and I smile smugly.

  “I’m sure it’s nothing,” Mom reassures him while shaking her head at me. “They’re probably doing some interviews for that movie they’re in together. Speaking of which, the premier for the movie is next Monday, and we are all going, so I need to get your suit dry cleaned. Please make sure you give it to me before you go to sleep tonight.”

  “Whatever,” I groan, pretending I don’t care about her or her premier. But as I walk out to my room, I feel everything but indifferent. Sickness creeps through my stomach as I think of her out with Caz, as I realize I have to attend a movie premier where everyone thinks I might be her boyfriend, and as I keep this huge secret that she slept in my bed last night. The thoughts swirl and crash into one another in my brain, conjuring fury and frustration that manifest into a pitch of the bread roll over the top of the casita.

  DIRTERAZZI.COM

  DRUGS, BOOZE, AND SEX: IS CHERIE BELLE A TRAINWRECK IN MOTION?

  Another night, another bender. Cherie Belle is growing her party girl reputation by the hour, and it’s starting to make a few people more than concerned. After snapping a picture of Belle smoking what appears to be a marijuana joint last night, Dirterazzi did some investigating and found out that the teen queen has been adding drugs to her growing list of things she’ll do for a good time, along with body shots, cigarette smoking, and dancing like a stripper for anyone who will watch. Some say she’s just having some fun, but it looks like a cry for help to us. We’ve seen this behavior before in other disturbed actors and actresses who crumble under the growing pressures of fame, and the end result is often tragic. Hopefully, the Goldmans will realize she’s in trouble and step up to their duty as her guardians. If not, here’s a photo gallery of the ugliest moments in celebrity train wreck history, which can only be described as little windows into Cherie Belle’s future if no one steps in to stop her.

  CHAPTER 26

  It’s past midnight, and Cherie’s in my room again. I forgot to lock my door, and this time she just slips inside, quietly closing it behind her. I hear her turn the lock.

  I lift my head from my pillow wearily and see her shadow inching closer to my bed. “Cherie?”

  “Oh!” she gasps with a start. “I didn’t know you were up.”

  “Well, now I am,” I grumble, shifting onto my back. “What are you doing?”

  “I just came to hang out,” she replies. Now she’s close, and I can smell the aura of vodka around her once more.

  “You’ve been drinking again,” I mutter, feeling the mattress dip beneath her weight as she crawls in beside me. I’m foggy with sleep and dumb enough to slide over to make room for her when she nudges me. She smells of smoke and weed, too. “Where were you tonight?”

  “At a party,” she sighs. I wonder where the party was and if Caz was there. I don’t want to sound jealous, so I don’t ask. I picture her making out with Caz, and my skin grows hot.

  As if she senses my envy anyway, she adds, “It was a lame house party.”

  I don’t feel any better. “Cherie, you can’t keep coming in here. It’s – it’s weird.” But I’m defenseless when she burrows inside of my arm and rests her head on my chest.

  “It’s fine, Jack,” she slurs. “Just for tonight, okay?”

  “You said that last night,” I sigh. I can tell this is going to be like dealing with Britney all over again, except she’s not my baby sister. She’s a beautiful, famous girl my own age who thinks it’s no big deal to sleep with a guy. A guy she’s not dating. A guy she sometimes hates.

  “I like it here, with you,” she murmurs. “You get me.”

  Now I know this is high-talk, or drunk-talk. “I get you, huh?”

  “Shh,” she shushes me, and I feel her arm drape across my stomach, pulling me tightly against her. I’m torn between forcing her to leave and just closing my eyes because it feels kind of good to have her there. I didn’t like being alone every night anyway, so I can tolerate this I guess, right?

  The fear of getting caught looms over me. How embarrassing it would be if anyone found out about this. The twins would scream, “Gross!” and make fun of us for the rest of our lives. Jim would be mad at me, and my mom would probably be upset that I have a girl sleeping in my bed.

  But, I try to convince myself, maybe she’d be proud of me for being nice to Cherie. I can’t be sure. I don’t know if I care right now anyway. I promise myself that I’ll talk to Mom tomorrow and get Cherie the help she needs.

  When morning comes, though, she’s gone again, and I think better of telling Mom anything. I’m sure that it was the last time, and I’m pretty confident Cherie is just going through a weird phase. Even if it happens again, it won’t last forever.

  I go about my day, going to school, and dodging the questions from my classmates about her. I join Mica afterward at the gym. I try to forget all about Cherie until it’s time to go to sleep. Just as I’m about to lock my door, I pause, as if my hand doesn’t want to do what my brain is telling it to do. I don’t lock the door, just in case. Sure enough, when I wake up hours later, she is snuggling up beside me, telling me it’s not a big deal.

  And it happens Wednesday night, too. I pretend to be asleep, and she comes in as quiet as a mouse. She tip toes to my bedside, calls out my name, and then climbs in beside me when I don’t answer. I knew before I went to sleep that I should lock my door and stop her from coming in, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. It’s become part of my nighttime routine: push-ups, crunches, brush my teeth, wash my face, stare at the door debating whether or not to lock it. I begin to wonder if there’s something wrong with me for practically inviting her in every night.

  By Thursday morning, I’m positive I’ll get in trouble if I tell Mom. I’ve let Cherie sleep with me for a few nights, and my mother will definitely ask why I didn’t tell someone sooner. She’ll scold me for not caring enough to stop Cherie from drinking or hurting herself. I won’t know what to say to that because deep down, Cherie getting hurt is becoming my newest fear. I know it can’t be healthy for this girl to be getting drunk all the time, and I am beginning to worry that something will happen before she gets home to me. Each night I find myself staying awake later and later, h
olding my breath, waiting until she comes through that door before I can breathe easy again. Dread plagues me, even during the day when I’m at school. I constantly wonder if she’s okay and who she’s with.

  Tonight, she doesn’t tip toe inside. Instead, she runs in and jumps on the bed, high on life.

  “Jack!”

  I’m wide awake but still startled. “What are you doing?”

  She giggles maniacally and sits on top of me. “Oh my God, I had the best night! It was so fun!”

  “Great, I’m glad,” I mutter. I shift her off of me and turn onto my side. “Did Caz show you a good time?”

  “Very funny, Jack,” she laughs, pulling on my shoulder until I’m on my back. “It was a girls’ night, for your information. We went to Fly, and – ”

  “Cherie, I need to go to sleep, and you need to go to your room,” I say firmly. But a huge weight floats off of my chest when I hear that Caz wasn’t with her for once.

  “Can’t I stay here, with you?”

  Her voice is small and pouty and makes me angry. She is so proud of herself for being able to manipulate people with that voice, but I refuse to be just some other tool she has wrapped around her finger.

  “No, you can’t keep staying here. You’re keeping me up every night. I can barely stay awake at school.”

  She giggles. “Oh stop, you’re always passed out when I come in. Aren’t you?”

  Dammit! I turn on my side again to hide my reddening face. “Yeah, but that doesn’t matter, you’re keeping me up right now. Go to bed. In YOUR room.”

  She’s relentless tonight. “Why do you keep pushing me away, Jack?”

  The question hits me like a brick. I look over my shoulder and see that she is genuinely hurt. Her expression is a punch to my gut, but I try to stay strong. “Because this just isn’t…right.”

  “It’s not wrong, either, Jack,” she fires back. “What are we doing besides keeping each other company?”

  I grunt, “I don’t need company, Cherie. I’m fine. You’re the one who keeps coming in here.”