by J. M. Pierce
Mark’s house was a simple, single-story home with a brick facing on the front. The two-car garage had always made Test jealous. Mark’s dad was always generous to him, and was willing to let him use it when he needed to. John and Tess Wilson, Mark’s parents, were always kind to Test. This was kind of his home-away-from-home.
Test climbed out of the car and slammed the door shut, ready to jump Mark for driving so stupidly. Before he could get the words out, Mark beat him to the punch.
“You know what? I’m just a little worked up; how about a beer?”
Test was tempted but shook his head no. “Thanks, but no thanks.” He looked at his friend and tried to imagine being in his shoes. “Are you gonna be okay?”
“You bet!” Mark replied as he opened the front door.
Neither of his parents was home. His folks didn’t like him to drink, but they had always said that if he was going to, to be responsible about it. The way Mark looked at it, he was home, and Test could drive. How much more responsible could he be? He opened the refrigerator and grabbed a bottle of beer. Before the door had even closed on the fridge, the lid was off, and he had two gulps down.
“Ah! Much better!” he blurted as he pulled out a chair at the dining room table.
Watching his friend seemingly self-implode, Test replied, “That’s good . . . I suppose.”
Test couldn’t help but smile at Mark’s goofy attitude. With a short-winded laugh, he pulled out a chair and took a seat across from him.
Flipping his hair out of his face, Mark stared at Test. “So, why are we here, buddy? Why did I skip school to come home and drink a beer while you watch? What pearl of wisdom do you have for me?” he asked condescendingly.
Test hesitated; it seemed that he had been short of words far too often lately.
“Well, it has some to do with the Jeff Harris thing,” he replied.
“That right? You think I’m a nut job, huh?” asked Mark as he frantically took another gulp from his bottle.
Test tapped his fingers nervously on the table. “No. Not really, my friend. What if I told you that I knew the book had moved?”
Mark sat up straight in his chair and slapped his hand on the table. “You saw it?” he shouted angrily. “Then why didn’t you say something?”
Test took a deep breath. “Yeah, I saw it.” Suddenly scared to death, he took another deep breath. “I saw it . . . and I caused it.”
Mark froze. He picked up his beer and took a giant pull off the bottle. As he set it down, he rubbed his hands on his face and then looked at Test.
“You caused it? What the hell do you mean, you caused it?”
Test opened up his right hand. “Mark, there’s something about me that you don’t know.”
“What, that sometimes you’re a douche? I already knew that, and I forgive you in advance,” he replied, trying to sound composed, but the speed at which he was drinking was beginning to inhibit that ability.
Test remained silent while Mark reached for his bottle.
“Shit!” Mark screamed and jumped from his seat, sliding the chair out from beneath him. His beer bottle was in the same spot that he had left it; however, now it was hovering six inches above the table. His eyes wide with fear, he looked across the table to Test. Test sat calmly in his chair looking at the bottle, his right arm lying on the table and his hand open towards the bottle. He looked at Mark with the expression of a homeless man begging for food.
“Don’t be scared, Mark. Please, don’t be scared.”
“I . . . I . . . I don’t get it,” stuttered Mark in reply.
Loneliness overwhelmed Test. He wanted desperately to take back the last few hours of his life. After a painful and agonizing silence, he replied, “I can do things.”
“Obviously!”
Mark could hardly breathe. Once again, he had turned extremely pale and had broken out into a cold sweat. He uncomfortably and intentionally looked in every direction in an effort to avoid eye contact with Test.
“I think it’s something that’s been with me for a long time, maybe all my life. I don’t know,” said Test, trying painfully to explain himself. “I haven’t really sat and got it all figured out yet. It’s only been in the last couple of days that I’ve come to discover what I’m capable of.”
Completely terrified, Mark replied, “That sounds hardcore, Test. What exactly are you . . . capable of?”
“Come on, Mark, I’m still Test. I’m not going to hurt you or anyone. I . . .”
Frustrated, Test paused, and forgot about the beer bottle that he held over the table. The bottle dropped, spilling the remaining beer over the table in foam and liquid pool. The bottle rolled off and onto the floor and broke into two main pieces, with shards scattering over the linoleum floor. Mark didn’t flinch. He sat, now wholly fixated on Test.
“Damn it, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything. I shouldn’t have told you,” said Test, standing and placing his hands with fingers interlocked on the back of his head.
Having been to this house a million times, he knew where Mark’s mother kept the broom and dust pan. He went to the closet, and as he reached for the broom, he heard Mark’s voice.
“You didn’t answer my question. What exactly are you capable of?” His tone was still fearful, but now had a touch of curiosity to it.
Test peeked from around the corner like a little kid avoiding the scary scene of a movie. “I don’t know. What did you have in mind?”
“How big . . . I mean how big of an object can you move? Does it have to be small? How close do you have to be to it? How—”
Gesturing with his hands, Test interrupted. “Slow down, buddy. I can tell you that I’ve lifted a truck.”
Mark opened the fridge and grabbed another beer. He sat down slowly and deliberately, twisted off the cap, and looked at Test with no perceivable emotion on his face.
“Make me unafraid of you, Test. Tell me everything, and make me unafraid,” he asked, leaning back in the chair.
The two friends returned to the dining room table and came to a level of honesty and friendship that, a couple of days prior, neither of them had thought possible. Test walked Mark through everything. He told him his theory of why his back had been bruised. He told him about everything that had happened the night after he had left Nicole’s house. He even talked about his practice session at the farm.
“So . . .” Mark said in more relaxed voice. “The long and the short of it is that you are some sort of freak, who doesn’t have a mean streak, and is still my best friend?”
“What happened to douche?” asked Test jokingly.
“Okay, freakish douche with superpowers; how’s that sound?” Mark replied with the smile that Test had needed to see.
“Perfect. It’s settled then. Are we good?” said Test, holding out his right hand for Mark to shake.
Mark looked at Test’s hand, still somewhat hesitant. After a short moment of trepidation, he gripped his hand.
“We are good, my friend, but it’s going to take a lot more beer to get me to relax. Okay there, super douche, how about showing me your flight skills?” asked Mark as he flapped his arms like a bird.
Happy that Mark seemed to be loosening up, regardless if it was the beer or not, Test laughed and replied, “I don’t know. I’ve only done it the two times, and the second time I crashed.”
Mark took off from the dining room and headed for the front door.
“Come on. Third times a charm, eh?” replied Mark as he opened the door.
“What, in the front yard? You have neighbors!” yelled Test in protest.
“Oh come on, no one’s gonna see. Just be fast! What are you scared of? You’re the one with the powers.”
Test’s lack of self-control had gotten him to this point in the first place. Reluctantly, he followed Mark out the door. The two walked out to the middle of the driveway and looked around to make sure that there were no spectators.
“Okay, super douche. Show me,” said Mark, st
anding with his legs spread and his arms crossed.
“I got an idea. Better yet, I’ll make you a deal. How about you knock it off with the super douche stuff, and I’ll do it. Don’t blink,” said Test as he looked to the roof of the house.
In an instant, he took off and landed on the roof over the garage. His landing was perfect; left foot touching first and then taking his right knee. Slowly, he looked over his right shoulder and down to Mark.
Mark stood motionless in the middle of the drive with his mouth gaping wide. “Unbelievable, it’s just unbelievable, Test,” he said, amazed.
Test stood up, nearly falling over from the pitch of the roof. He had a flashback to when he was on the roof of the barn, more specifically falling through it. He looked at Mark and asked with a twisted smile, “Is your roof in good shape?”
“Yeah; why?” asked Mark.
Without answering, Test launched off the roof and landed on the end of the driveway.
“What do you think; time to pick up the girls?”
Mark turned and looked at him in amazement. “We are going to have a good time tonight.”
“Absolutely,” replied Test. “Of that there is no doubt.”
After a quick trip back into the house for more beer, they returned to the Barracuda. As they backed into the street and drove off, Test struggled with one last task.
In a subdued tone, he reluctantly said to his friend, “Marcy can’t know, Mark, at least not yet.”
Mark dropped his head and sighed. “I know . . . and I understand. I don’t like keeping secrets from her, but I understand.”
Chapter 8
Shedding Skin
The girls had just arrived at Nicole’s house. This was the first time Marcy had been there, and like most others, she was impressed at how nice the Paxton home was. Marcy’s home was nice, but nothing like this. It was obvious that Nicole’s parents made good money. She was impressed at how Nicole carried herself. To Marcy, a lot of the kids with rich parents acted like kids with rich parents, but not Nicole; she never carried herself in a snobby way or snubbed anyone. She would talk to you no matter what social class you were in, real or perceived.
“Your house is beautiful,” said Marcy in awe.
“Thanks,” replied Nicole. She was so used to that phrase that she really didn’t even hear it anymore. “Can I get you anything to drink?” she asked as they walked into the kitchen.
“What do you think?” asked Marcy with a devilish little grin. “It’s after five. Should we get a head start on the boys?”
“Why, Ms. Jackson!” Nicole replied in a cheesy British accent. She cocked her head and gave Marcy a silly look. “I had no idea you were such the rebel. I don’t know that I condone such childish behavior.”
Marcy still had a grin on her face as she put her right index finger to her mouth to shush Nicole.
“All right, all right then,” replied Nicole, continuing to speak with the accent. “But if your Mum comes to find ye, I dunt know nuttin’.”
“No worries, mate!” replied Marcy in the worst Australian accent ever attempted.
Nicole looked at Marcy with humorous disgust on her face. “What was that?” she asked as she broke out in laughter.
Marcy pretended to be upset. With her hands on her hips, she replied, “What? Was it that bad?”
“Maybe it’ll sound better after one of these!”
Nicole reached into the cooler on the kitchen floor and took out two wine coolers. She handed one to Marcy, twisted the cap off her own, and took a quick sip.
As Marcy took a sip of her wine cooler, Nicole sat at the kitchen table.
“Hey, would you want to help me with something before the boys get here?” Nicole asked.
“Sure, what do you need?” replied Marcy.
“You’re going to think I’m crazy.”
“Try me,” replied Marcy eagerly.
Nicole looked at Marcy while biting her bottom lip. Slinking further into the chair, she cowered as she said, “I want to dye my hair.”
Marcy stared at Nicole with the bottle stuck to her lips. Slowly she lowered the bottle and replied, “Are you serious?”
Nicole nodded.
“What color?” asked Marcy.
Wincing, Nicole replied, “Black.”
“Seriously?” She said the word slowly, the smile on her face growing larger with every syllable.
“Yeah, I’ve wanted to do it for a while now. I never did because I was worried about what other people might think. Now I really don’t care . . . except for one person anyway.”
Patiently awaiting Marcy’s response, Nicole fidgeted with the bottle caps on the counter. Still biting her lip, she peered up at Marcy through her bangs.
“What, are you waiting for my permission? I say let’s do it!” cheered Marcy as she raised her bottle into the air.
“Excellent!” exclaimed Nicole as she bounced in her seat. “Let’s head up to my room.”
They clutched their opened bottles, grabbed two more out of the cooler, and exited the kitchen. The two of them raced up the stairs and entered Nicole’s room. Marcy immediately noticed how girly, yet at the same time edgy, the room was. The walls were painted in a dark chocolate brown and had cream- curtains made of a thick and heavy material. Her queen-sized bed was covered with a burgundy bedspread with frilly edges hanging down to the floor. There were matching table lamps on each side of the bed, standing proudly on a set of sturdy end tables. Another lamp stood on her desk, emitting a soft light across the room. All of the furniture in the room was a dark cherry with ornate scrolling on the corners. Above the dresser hung a wrought-iron wall hanging with a dozen candles nestled inside it. Nicole walked to her dresser, opened the top left-hand drawer, and pulled out a box of hair dye.
She turned to Marcy, and with a smile, asked, “Are you ready?”
“Heck yeah,” replied Marcy, giddy from excitement as well as her drink.
Nicole opened what Marcy had assumed was a closet door, but instead was the entrance to Nicole’s own personal bathroom.
Marcy’s eyes opened wide in amazement. “You have got to be kidding me.”
“What?” replied Nicole, seemingly oblivious to the fact that not every teenaged girl had her own bathroom.
“You have your own bathroom . . . in your room?” asked Marcy.
Mildly embarrassed, Nicole tipped her bottle empty and then replied, “It’s just one of the perks when your dad owns his own construction company. No big deal.”
They entered the bathroom, and Nicole shed her shirt. Standing in her bra, she opened the cabinet under the sink and pulled out a towel. As she draped the towel around her shoulders, she shivered. She wrapped the towel around herself tightly.
“My mom will freak out if I ruin this towel.”
“And you think she’s going to be okay with your hair?” replied Marcy sarcastically.
“Good point. I guess the towel is kind of secondary, huh?” replied Nicole with a laugh.
Within minutes, Marcy had thoroughly saturated Nicole’s hair with the dye. While Nicole sat on the counter, Marcy sat on the edge of the bathtub. Now sitting in the candlelit room, they opened their second bottles and soaked in the silence.
Relaxed and just making conversation, Marcy asked, “Does your mom know that you’re going to the party tonight?”
Nicole let out a short chuckle and replied, “No. She thinks that I’m going to Heather’s house. That’s the excuse I always use when I’m going to a party. Heather’s mom doesn’t care, and she’s actually covered for me in the past. I’m pretty sure that after the other night this is probably the last time I’ll get to play that card.”
“Yeah, probably,” agreed Marcy. She found it hard to imagine how Nicole could have been friends with Heather.
“What about you? Do your parents know?” asked Nicole.
“Heck yeah!” she replied emphatically.
“Seriously?”
“My parents think I’m an ange
l. They trust me, and as long as I’m honest with them, they’re pretty lenient.”
With envy, Nicole replied, “That’s really cool. I wish I had that kind of relationship with my parents.”
Marcy changed the subject. “Do you think everything is okay with the boys? I don’t think I’ve ever seen Mark like that before.”
Almost choking on her drink, Nicole forced herself to swallow another sip. “Yeah, I’m sure they’re fine. Maybe they’re just nervous about tonight.”
She didn’t know exactly what was up, but she had a good idea. Something had definitely happened that had scared Mark, and it was evident that it wasn’t anything minor. She had a feeling that Test was going to tell Mark everything.
“Maybe you’re right. Like I said, I haven’t seen Mark like that before. It scared me a little bit,” replied Marcy.
“Well, they should be here pretty soon. I’m sure he’ll be fine.” It was now Nicole’s turn to change the subject. “Let’s just relax, have a drink, and wait for them to get here. No sense in worrying about things not in our control.”
Marcy tipped her bottle towards Nicole and then lifted it into the air. “You’re right. Here’s to new friends and good men.”
Nicole raised her bottle and tapped Marcy’s.
“Well, do you think it’s time to rinse?” asked Nicole as she hopped to the floor.
Marcy looked at her watch and replied, “Yeah, it should be close.”
Nicole knelt by the bathtub and turned on the water. As she leaned over and rinsed her hair, Marcy stood over her, holding her hands over her mouth as she said softly, “Oh wow.”
Nicole got up from the tub and towel dried her hair. “What? Does it look bad?”
Marcy quickly stepped away from the mirror. “No. Actually it looks amazing. See for yourself.”
Nicole unwrapped the towel from around her head and squeezed the excess water from her hair. Nervously, she stepped to the mirror. It was almost as if she was looking at a different person. In reality it was true; she was not the same person she had been only days ago. Her jet black hair hung wet and straight over her shoulders. She leaned to the side and ran her fingers through it over and over, graciously smiling as she watched it fall from her hands.