A Dark Road

by Amanda Lance

  A secretary with a phone to her ear pointed to a bench on the wall when we walked in. I took off my backpack and slammed it to the ground, letting the thud echo into my well-worn sneakers.

  “Could you be any more immature, Hads?”

  I stared at the useless drabble of information on the bulletin board, and then flicked off a loose thumb tack. “I could. I was going to sit here and pout, for your information.”

  “Hi there. Grayson twins, right?”

  “That’s us.” Simon stood up and immediately started laying on the same charm that back home had made him popular. It was instantly obviously that his niche would take root here as well. “Can I just say that I love the way you wear your hair?”

  The secretary beamed. “Thanks! I never know about wearing it down. I think it makes my face look fat.”

  “Not in the slightest. It’s very feminine.”

  I stared up at the ceiling, preparing myself for the long haul. By now everybody would be starting up their morning routine and competing over reps and times. Jordan would be begging me to make her a photocopy of an athletic pass, though by now the hall monitors all knew why we came in late and didn’t care…

  After wasting my life with ten minutes of chatting about hairstyles, the secretary showed us to a classroom down the hall and handed us each a pink piece of paper with our schedules on it. She assured us that if we had any trouble we could come to her and she would personally take care of it.

  “See what a little niceness can do?” Simon said. I pointed out two empty desks in the back of the room vertical to one another.

  “Careful, Simon. Your nose is looking a little brown there.”

  “My nose may be brown, Hads, but I guarantee that I’ll always have a fan base.”

  I gritted my teeth. Had I been closer, I would have flicked him upside the head just to mess with his hair. “He with the brownest nose may have an overcrowded funeral, but if he isn’t careful, that funeral may be sooner than he thinks.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Thanks, Confucius.” His attention quickly left me as he started scouting the room for new talent. I also let my eyes glaze over the other kids in the room. I wondered which of the girls’ hearts Simon would break, if any of them could ever be faster than me with a sword, who among them was the most tolerable.

  The young man at the front of the room looked over a clipboard before straightening his tie. He was relatively short with thick hair, and clean-cut, like a typical teacher might be, but other than that, there was nothing special about him, though I might have guessed by appearance alone that he was a stickler for promptness and neat handwriting.

  “Good morning, guys. We have two new ones today.”

  As if the class hadn’t noticed. The kids who weren’t whispering with stares were snickering as they walked in behind us, doing double-takes as they realized they had never seen us before.

  “My name is Mr. Grander. I teach senior English, journalism, and work with the yearbook staff. Do you mind standing up and saying a little something about yourselves so we can get to know you better?” Grander leaned back and rested his palms against his desk. “You two are twins, right?”

  Simon stood up and took the reins, which I hardly minded at all since it forced fewer people to look at me. “Hey, everybody. I’m Simon, this is my sister Hadley.” He smiled widely. “And yes, we are twins, though obviously I’m the pretty one.”

  Some people in the class actually nodded as if they were impressed. Imagine if we had been the same gender or identical? Oh la la! I wondered if they had any inkling how annoying it was to hear the ‘you’ constantly used in plural. God forbid we had been triplets.

  “We just moved here from Connecticut, where Hads, here, was captain of the girls’ fencing team, and I was first chair in band. Magic fingers.” He whispered this last part to the girl sitting next to him and winked. I swear she turned redder than her hair.

  No one really paid any attention, but I did hear a faint “oh” and someone actually asked: “What, she puts up fences?” To Simon’s credit though, Grander asked some relevant follow up questions.

  “What do you play, Simon?”

  “Piano.”

  Grander nodded, seeming somewhat interested. I was glad then that the bell rang, releasing us to the hallway beyond and taking me from any further potential humiliation. It was like being a freshman all over again, the awkward feeling that you were in a place meant for others, and not just any other, but the other.

  Simon held his pink piece of paper up to my own, though I only glanced at it. His eyes quickly went to the task of memorizing.

  “Looks like guys and gals have gym together here.” I could almost feel his eyebrows rising at the prospect.

  I strapped my backpack back on. “When do you have band?”

  “Ah, last period. When do you have Econ?”

  “Right now.” I looked again at our schedules. It was looking more and more hopeless. “Damn, we only have a couple of classes together.”

  “Not if you include lunch.”

  We shoved our way through the hall, struggling to overlay the classroom numbers over the pool of students. Every few seconds a toe would get stepped on or an elbow would get thrown, but we pushed forward, yelling louder to hear one another.

  Simon said something like ‘see you later,’ but I never quite heard it over the crowd.

  ***

  With study hall came the library, which was pathetically small. Its walls were covered with those outdated posters from the 80’s that had celebrities advertising the importance of reading before it became popular to ask people if they were drinking milk instead. The computers were slow and my login password didn’t work, suggesting the support staff wasn’t well maintained at all. The carpet was stained and smelled worse than the science hall, and when I tried to check something out, I was all but certain the librarian was asleep.

  I huddled at the cleanest table I could find and withdrew my economics’ textbook. If nothing else, I could try and catch up on some of the assignments I had missed. Though the school year was only a couple of weeks old, I had missed more than my fair share and Mom was adamant that I do well in the class because ‘something about females and independence and the stock market, blah.’

  Tapping my pen against my workbook, I tried to picture the library at school back home. The last time I had seen it was during the blood drive the second week of school. Simon had only been in it for the free cookies, but I liked helping out. Not to mention my brief fascination for all things medical. Like a real sword, I like watching the needle puncture the flesh; digging for the red gold just beneath.

  That day Mrs. Jenkins promised to write me a recommendation for college and thanked me for all my help. Jordan and I laughed at everyone who passed out, but Ian and I were the only volunteers who were strong enough to hoist up the dead-weight of those who had lost consciousness. We all had passes to miss class and were excused from the assignments; we even had our picture in the paper. ‘Sword-bucklers’ Swipe Blood.’ It had gone over way better than the cheerleaders’ car wash (at least among the adults), as it was deemed far more tasteful

  Now I was alone without a weapon in my hand. I hated to think about the truth of the situation, the fact that the last time I had been happy was when the veins of others had been opened and pumped for their life.

  Chapter 4

  McKay

  Because I stayed up late trying to finish up a batch, I ended up forgetting to set the alarm. The only reason I wake up is because Dog is running something fierce in his dreams again, maybe looking to catch uncatchable tennis balls. The final blow comes when he kicks me directly in the kidney, making my leg jerk up so that I almost kick him in the face.

  “You’re lucky I love you, you furry son-of-a-bitch.”

  He gives me a look that tells me to go screw myself and yawns in my face.

  “Jerk.”

  It’s past ten and I don’t want to hear crap about missing more classes,
so I don’t bother to do anything except brush my teeth and throw on some semi-clean clothes. My skin is probably combustible by this point anyway, so showering won’t make any difference. Then again, maybe I would get lucky and catch fire at some point throughout the day.

  At least that would lighten things up.

  Hardy har har. Ain’t I clever?

  No surprise. The Stooges are already waiting for me in the parking lot when I get to school. Twitching more than usual, Sam Anderson looks like he’s about to pick out the last of his hairs from his head. I guess that’s why he cut it so short to begin with. And I swear if Ryan Fuller’s face breaks out anymore, FEMA will have to declare him a natural disaster area. I can see the signs and yellow caution tape now. Warning: Standing too close to this junkie may cause you to go blind from his ugliness.

  And that’s the thing about meth; it makes you ugly, but not just on the outside. We all end up ugly on the outside eventually (don’t get me started about western standards of beauty) but crank makes you ugly on the inside, like evil stepsister ugly. So ugly that I almost forget when we all used to be friends; Sam, Ryan, Luke, and me, before Mom left and Frank started using, and all that other shit. Maybe meth makes it easier to forget. I don’t know.

  I must have become too weird for them to hang out with. At least until I had something else to offer them, something that helps Sam and Ryan make weight for wrestling and help Luke make the money for the car he wanted. Then suddenly I’m their best friend again.

  Poof!

  Presto!

  Alakazam!

  Even that didn’t last long, because now their eyes bug, and they itch, and twitch. They bug, itch, twitch and they sell. They sell for me. I know it isn’t smart to shit where you eat, but I keep everything in-check by keeping them in-check. I mean, I don’t even have to pay them; they work for product, for Christ’s sake.

  I make them their own batch, battered down and diluted so I get the most use out of them for my buck—so to speak. If anything ever did happen, if they ever did turn me in to save their own asses, all anybody would see is a few strung out losers with a story. It would be my word against theirs. And on paper I’m an honor roll student who has never bothered anyone.

  Then there are other ways of getting rid of evidence should I ever need it, so I’m not too worried about The Stooge aspect of business.

  I know instantly when I see them that they must be hurting. In a way it’s funny, these guys have no concept of self-control, and they always end up bingeing on what I bring them. Half the time, they want even more than what our original arrangement dedicated and I have to remind them that they’ll have to pay me on top of working for me.

  “McKay! McKay!” Before I can even get out of my truck, Luke is all over me, practically jumping on the windshield like Dog used to do when he was younger. But when I give him the look, he simmers down a bit and backs off. I thinking figure people are watching us from the windows. I know they aren’t, but I still can’t help but think it.

  “Dude, how ya been?”

  I look around, and because the school day is half-over and the parking lot is deserted, but I don’t want to risk a security guard finding us out here, I hold them off a little longer.

  “I’m not giving you anything.”

  “Dude, we’re starting to feel the pain here.”

  As if I cared.

  Then Anderson makes that whiny sound in the back of his throat and Ryan is scratching at the sores that have formed on his arms over the last few weeks and I am thinking: college, college, college. Out, out, out.

  So I dangle a possibility in front of them.

  “You jackasses have cash?”

  They nod.

  “Meet me out by the football field in five minutes. I don’t want anyone seeing me with you dipshits.”

  I wait before going around to the back of the school. I’m not surprised that there are only a handful of people around (hardly reputable enough to accuse me of anything). We make our exchange quickly. After we do business, there is that awkward moment where The Stooges try to stimulate conversation like we are still friends or something. I swear it’s more painful than lye on bare skin, but I think it’s what normal people do. I think that I should try to be normal, but my chest gets tight and that whole breathing thing becomes a little more difficult with every attempt at verbal communiqué.

  “Dudes, check out the new merchandise.”

  I need to leave. I’ve been here way too long and now it’s gotten dangerous. People can’t associate me with The Stooges. I turn to walk away but Sam has got me by the shoulders swings me around before I know where I’m sweating from or why I’m shaking.

  Christ, I probably look like them.

  Luke and Ryan are practically drooling at the group on the bleachers but all I see are the same old sheep, normals, and Jenna (that girl is going to end up buying me my first house at the rate she’s going).

  I try shrugging out of Sam’s grip discreetly so I don’t draw attention, but the combination of meth and hours in the weight room have him lean, so I go limp before a crowd draws. There is hardly anything the sheep and normals like better than a good fight.

  “Let go, jockstrap.” Now that he’s got a fix for another week or so, he has no reason to listen to my requests, so he ignores me and smacks me upside the head before pointing out one of the sheep in the group. “Just look, dumbass.”

  And then I realized he wasn’t point to a sheep at all. He was pointing to Little Bo Peep herself; the Goddess of the flock.

  I know instantly that (Western beauty aside) there are a lot of things that make her beautiful. There is her dark brown hair, which stops exactly at her shoulders, shoulders that are held back and straight with that perfect posture that only some girls carry with them. And there is the exactness of her large eyes and the curve of her mouth as she frowns. I think that’s what made her the most beautiful, as the other sheep baa away at something they probably saw on a reality TV show last night, Bo Peep doesn’t.

  She doesn’t pretend to be happy at all.

  Chapter 5

  Hadley

  I was back with Grander for English, and tried not to be too disappointed that I hadn’t seen the boy from town. Maybe he was older than I had originally thought and already graduated. Maybe he was a drop-out. He certainly dressed like one…Grander handed me a used and abused textbook almost the moment I walked in the door and a copy of Crime and Punishment, Orpheus Descending, and A Handmaid’s Tale. I smiled and thanked him. If nothing else, at least the reading list promised to be interesting.

  No one seemed to notice me as I paged through the English textbook. Still, I was self-conscious of every person that walked into the room. I had no identity with which to label myself and it was a problem I had never really encountered before. What did these people think when they saw me? Simon’s sister? The new girl? I had loved being captain of the girls’ fencing team— so much that maybe I had taken it all for granted. I had never really realized how much it defined me as a person. But I couldn’t have that anymore, so now who was I supposed to be?

  A group of people walked in just as the bell rang. They filled up the last four seats while laughing and flicking rubber bands at each other.

  “Knock it off, gentlemen.” Grander took his clipboard off his desk and starting viewing it over with a pencil in hand.

  “Sorry, Grander.” I looked up from the book and noticed two of the boys wearing letter jackets. I looked away from them; they were nothing short of immature kids. Sighing, I looked back to the front of the room, annoyed that there was now a head blocking my view of the whiteboard. I strained to see any part of the whiteboard past his head of light, wavy brown hair, but his height made it impossible.

  I stretched my head from side to side, trying to find an angle that would give me a view of the front of the class. If I had been in the last row, I would have just scooted the entire desk over a little, but the room was compacted enough as it was, and I didn’t wan
t to make a scene anyway. I sat as straight as I could, but the stretch made my back pop and it was uncomfortable. Without realizing it, I must have groaned, because the kid in front of me stiffened and turned with a curious look on his face.

  I was immediately embarrassed by what I imagined what could only be perceived as a strange display. I tried to smile but I could feel my chest and neck growing hot. I brushed the hair back from my eyes.

  “Hi.”

  “Hey,” he said. “You’re new, right?”

  “Yeah.” I giggled like an idiot.

  He frowned abruptly and pointed a thumb towards the board. “Am-am I in your way?”

  “Um, a little, yeah.”

  “Wanna switch seats?”

  “Do you mind?”

  “I’m Tim, by the way.” He smiled, gesturing to the desk as if he were leading me somewhere I wasn’t already going.

  I hastily picked up my books and made for the quick move. “Hadley. Thanks for trading.”

  Tim opened his mouth but Grander started tapping his pencil against the clipboard for attention. “Hey, guys...settle down now, people. Has anybody seen McKay?”

  Several people shook their heads, others shrugged.

  “Figures,” Grander mumbled as he made a mark on the clipboard.

  “Doesn’t he have to come to school?” I heard a girl snort. “If he doesn’t, they’ll probably stick him in a rubber room one of these days.”

  The girl she whispered to shrugged and laughed. I jabbed the dull pages of Crime and Punishment under my fingernail and felt it dig into my skin.

  ***

  I found Simon in the cafeteria with a handful of people and I didn’t hesitate to bullet my way straight toward him. There are few things worse than spending lunch alone.

  “Hey.” I stabbed him with my index finger, not entirely unaware of the pretty girl with dark skin and eyes to match that he was chatting up.