Mary Lou swoops in for the kill. “Do you know the statistics on college attacks on female students these days? If you can’t stand your ground, you’re easy pickings. She does need the practice.”
“Well, not all campuses have this sort of problem, right dear?” When Chad defers to Kelly, it’s game over. The woman who doesn’t look like me comes to my side. Mini is in her high chair, clapping her hands.
“Is this what you want?” She lays a tentative hand on my shoulder, and for a second I want to erase the past two weeks and go back to life in the Phillips’ household the way it used to be. Being torn in two sucks.
But has she really forgotten my four thousand previous requests? “Yes, Mom.” It’s the first time that word has passed my lips in two weeks. I feel the knife blade slice open my chest and re-expose my heart. What I wouldn’t give to really be her biological daughter. Why on earth don’t they trust me? The anger rushes to the surface again, but I swallow it down.
Kelly shrugs at Chad.
“Oh, Mr. Phillips, you’re doing the responsible thing. Friday night is eight to midnight. Saturday eight to one, and I’ll make sure she gets home.” Deal done and dusted. “I’ll pick up a shirt and bring it to school next week.”
* * * * *
Friday after school, Mini and I are enjoying the sunshine in the front garden. She’s running around on the grass playing her version of soccer with a handful of different sized balls. I watch from the porch swing, lazily painting my fingernails. The white base coat is dry and I’m hand painting pink, purple and yellow tulips on each nail. Parents V2.0 are bringing take out and will be home by Mini’s dinnertime.
Mini manages to ‘kick’ the large pink ball under the trees that mark our fence line. A holly tree stands between two red cedars that are just taller than our house and have low hanging branches touching the lawn in places. Her sudden squeal of delight makes me look. She giggles and waddles to the next ball trying to send it under the trees. Her chubby leg misses the ball by a mile causing her to topple over. My nail art brush hovers in anticipation of a cry, but she pushes herself up into a seated position and claps her hands. Her squeals fill the air.
Our house faces west so the setting sun makes it difficult for me to see what’s got her in such a good mood.
“Ball,” she proclaims.
Next minute, the pink ball slowly rolls into her waiting arms from under the trees.
Oh, fudge no!
I’m on the grass and snatching her up in a millisecond. Mini protests at me for ending her game and struggles to get free.
“Down. Down.” She might have missed kicking the ball, but she’s making contact with my thighs now.
Rocks emerges from under the trees. I find it hard to believe how a boy so tall could fit under there. He unfolds like one of those Transformers to his full height.
“Get away from her!” I wrap my arms around Mini, cradling her head to my shoulder. My tone causes her to cling back for a moment.
The smile on his face vanishes. He huffs and looks toward the sun. “I wouldn’t lay a finger on that kid.”
Rocks is standing in full sunlight, looking into the orange glow. I notice that his black eyes are actually a blue as deep as the ocean. Only the reflected sun reveals their true color. After a moment, he squints and looks back at me.
“What are you doing here?”
Mini is trying to look at Rocks, but I don’t want her to. I keep turning away each time she turns toward him. There is no way this kid is being corrupted on my watch.
“I want to explain now that you’ve calmed down. I hate seeing you scared of me.” His hair falls over his eyes, which makes it hard for me to trust him when I can’t see if he’s lying or not. He can’t seem to keep still.
“Ball. Down.”
“Why should I listen to you?” Part of me wants to believe in fairy tales and discover this boy isn’t an evil killer monster, but then I remember the fangs tattooed on his friend.
“You’ve got it all wrong. I want you to sleep at night. I’m not a vampire. That’s why I’m here in broad daylight to fail another of your absurd tests.”
My heart is beating so hard that I’m convinced Rocks can see it thumping against my ribs. I have to protect my sister. She can’t get involved in my stupid mess, but my curiosity is piqued. Sleeping for eight hours straight again would be a dream come true. I turn and go up the three porch steps and leave Rocks on the lawn. He’s in dark denim with a long sleeved, black Henley. Surprisingly, the vest’s absence makes me sad.
“Connie, please.”
My hand pauses over the door handle, and my eyes squeeze shut from the hurt in his voice. Each second I hesitate feels like a lifetime. I have no clue what to do and my gut feeling has left the building. Mini giggles, and I know she can see him over my shoulder. Her delighted squeal has me look as well. What the—
Rocks is juggling the three smallest balls. She’s enthralled. She jigs up and down in my arms, cheering him on. The balls drop to the lawn the second Rocks notices me watching. He studies his boots and hooks both thumbs into his back pockets.
My brave side is telling me to give him a chance. “Wait there.”
Once inside, I place Mini in her playpen. The Cartoon Network never fails to mesmerize her, so I flick it on and return to the porch. Before the door has swung shut, Mini is screaming at the top of her lungs. It’s her I-want-to-play-with-the-big-kids-scream. Crabapples.
“I won’t hurt her. I swear to you.” Rock is waiting on the other side of porch railing. He’s closer, but I still have the height advantage—just.
I observe his body language to try and gauge his intent. “Don’t mess with me. I’ll kill for that kid.”
“I know.”
Once Mini is back on the porch, she heads straight to the wooden palings. Her chubby hands grip the beams as she play peek-a-boo with Rocks between the rails. He winks and clicks his tongue at her, which makes her jig up and down. The kid is smitten.
“Still got the garlic going on,” he says, indicating to the cloves above the doorway. We both know it doesn’t affect him, but every time Kelly takes it down, I put it back up. I know it’s immature to taunt her this way, but I just can’t get over the fact that they never told me the truth. God dammit. I want to talk to them. I really do, but I would never know if their answers were the truth. I can’t focus on them right now.
“You have five minutes and counting.” I have to be stern. I’m not going to be tricked with juggling and winking at babies. “I know what I saw and it’s not normal.”
He winces. “Not for you, but that doesn’t make me a killer vampire either.” He’s ignoring Mini now. The softness on his features is gone.
“What are you?”
“A guy most of the time. And a vampire bat when I have to be.” He flicks his hair back, and there is nothing jovial about the look he gives me.
My rocketing heart rate instinctively has me inching closer to Mini. “So you are a vampire then? And Hollywood just has all the wrong ways to keep you out of my house?”
“No, I’m not. Stop believing what you see on the television box. I’m not Dracula. Okay? I’m the Batman man.”
“Oh, please.” I stop myself from rolling my eyes because it drives Mom—Kelly—her nuts, but she isn’t here so I let him have it. “You expect me to believe that?”
“Well, you seemed to believe I was a vampire pretty quickly. Why is it so hard to believe I’m not a monster?” His voice fades when he says monster, and he steps back from me.
I’ve got nothing. I focus on Mini. She’s wedged her little arm through the palings and is reaching out to him. Do little kids have better intuition than adults? Is she still in touch with her sixth sense or is she just naïve and innocent of the evil that lurks in the world? Rocks raises his hand, one slender finger extended.
“Don’t.” It drops to his side, and the pain I just inflicted is visible across his features. How did I become the bad guy?
�
�Okay, let’s say you are a bat and then a boy. What do you feed on?” I demand.
He swallows. “When I’m human, I eat regular food. I love it. There is so much to try.” He cracks a tiny smile, almost to himself and his eyes are softer. “It’s amazing. But I, I …”
“You what?”
“I don’t know much about it. I haven’t had that much until recently.”
“Explain.” I wince at my curt tone. I am not this girl, but I have to think of Mini.
“Where I live, um, with my colony, they feed as bats, so …”
“Sooooo? Rocks, you need to keep talking because in two minutes, I’m going inside and locking the door.” I fold my arms over my chest. If I don’t get the answer I want, I’m done.
“As a bat, I drink blood.”
My stomach rolls as though I’m on a boat in bad weather. “Well, if you’re coming around here to chomp on my sister and me, then you’ve got the wrong house.” I half yell, aware of the neighbors. “We are not on the menu.” I stand behind her, making a cage with my legs around her little body.
Rocks flinches at my words. His wide eyes and open mouth tell me I’ve stunned him silent. Kneeling down on his haunches, he takes a moment before shaking his head. I don’t understand why my words have struck a physical blow. When he starts to speak, I can barely hear him.
“Wow, to think I thought you were the one to trust. The one who would understand and give me a chance in your fancy world.” He stands again, and I don’t like the mask that has fallen into place. He slips out the biggest pair of sunglasses from his back pocket and slides them on. They cover half his face. “You were never a menu item. I’d like to think I have better taste in women.”
Fudge me. That missile hit its target, and now I want to jump the railing and slap him. There is no need to insult me when I’m just trying to understand and protect my family. “So why are you here then?”
“To help you find out who you are, but it doesn’t matter.”
“I don’t need your help.” Fudge you and your better taste in women.
“I can see that now.” He spins around and walks a few steps toward the mailbox. Turning back, he continues, “That address. It’s an abandoned house, but I guess you already know that. Decker was right. You naughts will only see what you want to see. I don’t belong there, and you’ve made it pretty clear that I don’t belong here, so I guess I’m on my own.” His voice rises. “And I don’t need the judgment in your eyes anymore than I need it from my own kind.”
He marches off without another glance. My eyes water, and I struggle to swallow the bile in the back of my throat. Gripping the wooden railing, I resist the urge to scream like a wild animal because I don’t want to scare Mini. I take her hand and encourage her over to the door. The sweet little imp is completely oblivious to the emotional storm raging under my skin. Reaching up, I grab the garlic ropes and pitch them across the yard.
4.
Hotdogs
The saying ‘careful what you wish for’ has never been more appropriate. I wanted to be left alone, and I have been. Rocks hasn’t shown up since he stormed across our lawn. I swear I don’t recognize myself anymore. I’m so full of anger these days, and I took part of that out on Rocks. It’s not his fault my real mother wrote that letter. Why now? Why after all these years? If it was so important that I don’t look for them, then why tempt me with contact? My fists ball at my sides as I try to imagine what she looks like. Maybe I’m channeling my anger at the wrong people. I wish for the millionth time that I resembled Kelly.
On the weekend, I slept day and night and removed all vampire wards from every nook and cranny that I’d crammed them into around the house. Parents V2.0 watched me but didn’t say a word. Even though I have more than caught up on the sleep I missed, I still feel drained. The girls are starting to take my shopping refusals personally, and I can’t afford for them to get curious. On the days that Mom V2.0 doesn’t work, I usually hang with my friends at the mall after class. But I just haven’t felt like going. There’s an emptiness inside that I can’t chase away. I stare at my chipped nails daily but can’t muster the inspiration I need to cover them.
The other days of the week—which change depending on her roster—I have Mini duty, like today. Mini is strapped into her seat behind me and instead of heading home, we are zooming down the I-20 W. It’s an abandoned house, but I guess you already know that. His words simultaneously haunt me and give me hope. I’m at war with myself. My goal is finding my parents. End of story! Bats and boys that can fly are not my focus, but my conscience won’t let me forget the hurt in his voice when he said he didn’t belong. I’m the monster. I know how that feels. I know what being alone all of a sudden means. Not gossiping daily with Kelly about her crazy work colleagues is killing me and refusing to paint her nails last week took me to an all time low I didn’t think possible. But I want to know where I came from. I realize I know absolutely nothing about the guy I felt safe enough to share my secret with in the forest. Why doesn’t he belong? Is he really alone too? All those other bats at the carnival …
Not wanting to end up in the middle of a forest again, I’ve printed out the directions to her house using Google maps. Sometimes the old fashioned way is best.
“Mini, my plan is find my birth mother. That’s it,” I say into the rearview mirror. She claps her hands together and smiles. “Maybe then I’ll be able to say the words mom and dad again without choking.”
Mini’s eyes brighten. “Da-da. Mom-mom-mom.” She’s so lucky living in her little world of innocence. I used to share that space with her and miss it. “Dog,” Mini says, pointing out the window.
“We’re looking for four hundred and ninety-two. If the house is like Rocks said, then I know he’s on my team after all.” But if Rocks is telling the truth, then I’m back to square one on the hunt for my identity. I don’t know what to wish for.
The houses I’m driving past don’t look promising. In fact, the yards are getting more overgrown and uncared for as we go further long the road. Most of the houses have wide green areas surrounding them, no fences, and there’s not even a sidewalk—the grass just meets the road. The area is pretty in a Southern way. According to my map, Josie Hendersen’s house should be at the end of this dead end road. Pulling up outside number 492, it’s obvious that the only residents are raccoons and squirrels.
“I am the world’s biggest idiot, Mini.” I look at her and her tiny brown pigtails in my mirror. “That boy has done nothing but help me and all I’ve done is throw things at him. What’s happened to me? I need to apologize.”
When I read that letter, it made me feel like a fool. Now I feel like a fool for completely different reasons. The black hole inside me is spreading. My identity search has hit a dead end, and the only person who cares enough to help me, I let walk away because I was convinced he was a liar and a monster rolled into one.
“Tree. Tree,” says a little voice. Mini smiles when I turn around to her. At least there’s one person in my world I haven’t let down—yet.
* * * * *
The shirt I’m forced to wear is almost indecent. It’s not that it’s revealing but the bright red fabric with the cartoon picture of a hotdog stretched across my breasts looks all kinds of wrong. The wiener is wedged between two bulging sides of a pinkish bun and has very dubious-looking mustard spraying everywhere. Freud would have a field day. The words Bun Lovin’ Barn are in puffy 70s writing, but the word ‘Barn’ is lost on the underside of my boobs, so all you can see is the Lovin’ part—which makes the picture even worse. I can’t let my father see me in this, or it’s game over before I even clock in. I’ll have to have a word with Tiff, but it probably looks quite tame on her chest.
The Bun Lovin’ Barn is a food van that is permanently parked on Peachtree Road. It’s the perfect location to attract drunks and hungry under 21s leaving the bars and dance club across the street. Tiff thinks it’s the perfect job because it’s easy, and she gets to flirt with h
ot college guys suffering from late night munchies.
“We,” Tiff squeals, “are going to have soooo much fun!” I’ve just climbed into the back of the van. She’s filling the giant sauce fountain that usually sits on the window counter with mustard, ketchup, barbecue and chili sauce.
“I still can’t believe you got my dad to agree.” Since school has been back, I’ve used the dreaded D and M words more than I cared to. What I would give to be able to talk to my friends about that fudged-up letter.
I point to my chest and ask her opinion. Her laughter tells me the shirt looks as bad as I suspected.
“Okay, the dogs go here, warm buns here, and we stock the warmer from the supply there.” Tiff wastes no time. She lets me watch for the first few customers so that I know where everything is located by the time we get busy.
By eleven, I’m an old pro at slapping dogs into buns and loading them up to desired tastes. Tiff is right. The number of attractive guys that eat hot dogs after too many beers is outstanding. It’s almost enough to distract me from my identity crisis and the guilt I feel over the boy with his own identity crisis, whom I pushed away.
“Connie, check this one out,” Tiff says, pointing across the road to the narrow parking lot beside Wicked Beats. “Nice.” She’s been scoring the hotness level of the guys that come and go from the club. From her extensive experience, she insists that the dance club has the best eye candy. Guys that dance have much sexier bods than the ones that just sit around drinking in bars, she insisted earlier when I argued.
The parking lot has two dumpsters a little way in under a small streetlight, which belong to the row of shops that are closed at this hour. Hot sweaty bodies mill around the emergency exit by the cars, cooling down after the heat of the dance floor. This side door allows for easy access once they’ve gotten a stamp from the main entrance. In the glow of the streetlight, I notice a dark-haired woman wearing a sparkling dress. Movement in front of her reveals a guy dressed from head to toe in black, resting against the brick wall. Her hand is travelling up and down his chest. I squint. Impossible!
Sanguine Mountain Page 5