I’m backing out the door. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come.”
“No, wait.”
The girl in his arms turns her head my way. Her eyes are red and puffy. He leans over and speaks softly in her ear. The guy that brought me here tries to get past, but I’m blocking the doorway. I go left; he goes left. I go right; he goes right. We pause. I back out and wait on the porch. Witnessing what’s happening in there will end me. My guide follows and stands near the door. I curse my stupid sundress yet again. I can tell he’s trying to not stare, as am I. Each time I chance a quick look at him he looks away, and we continue our silent parley until Rocks appears.
The girl is against his side. Her black dress is a lot less sex shop and a lot more burlesque. There is a sensuality to her darkness that makes my eyes burn green.
“This is Jeremiah and Rebekkah,” Rocks says, looking at me. “This is my friend Connie Phillips.” Jeremiah says a quiet hello and nods. Rebekkah flicks her waist-length hair over her shoulder, acting like she hasn’t been crying and walks off. “Keep an eye on her for me,” he says to Jeremiah.
I wish I’d never gotten out of my car. My stupid sundress. My stupid golden hair. The stupid cookies. And my stupid idea. I honestly need my head examined. I’m frozen, staring into his midnight eyes.
“Come in.” He waits for me, but I can’t seem to get my feet to move. I want to know the significance of Rebekkah, but I also don’t. Part of me wants to erase today and be left with the memory of him kissing my head and never seeing him again. He lifts a hand and gestures for me to enter. I know he won’t go first—ever the gentleman.
I find the motivation to move when I notice every single person in the street is gawking at us. Rocks is close behind me and half shuts the glass-fronted door. He takes my bag and places it on the thin, wooden pew style seat near the entrance. My eyes drift over his workspace—the place where he created my earrings. The place he spends his nights in human form—alone. Or is he?
“What are you doing here?” My back stiffens. His tone isn’t angry, but I know I’ve caused him grief by visiting.
“I wanted to give you this.” I spin without looking at him and dig down the side of my tote. I hand over the out of date phone.
“What?” Rocks cradles the ancient technology like a baby bird. “For me? No, Connie. I can’t accept this. It’s too much.”
I look at him now. My emotions are bubbling up inside, brewing and ready to spill over. I need to get a lid on them. I can’t have him reject my lifeline.
“It’s an old piece of shit! Take it.” He looks at me and frowns. I never swear and he knows it. “I’m serious. I can’t contact you and it’s driving me crazy. It’s got plenty of credit. Look, it’s just an old model. No Internet, but we can text.” I will get down on my knees and beg if I have to. I’ve finally found a good use for my Bun Lovin’ wages.
Rocks looks out the door window. The group is still hovering in the distance.
“I can’t.” He hands it back to me. “I can’t afford this.”
“But, I can. We just buy minutes when you run out. It’s simple.”
He shakes his head.
“Rocks, please let me do this. I miss you, and I feel like everything’s broken.” I swallow back tears. He’s slipping through my fingertips, and I’m not ready to let go.
Rocks pulls me into the circle of his powerful arms. I pull away, fighting him. I can’t get that close after what I just witnessed, but he won’t let go. “Hey, it’s me.” His voice is solemn and lets me know he can see the turmoil inside me. “Please.”
I can’t deny him and collide heavily with his chest. He engulfs me while I struggle to keep the tears at bay.
“Shhh. It’s okay.” The smell of his leather jeweler’s apron calms me—it’s him. I rest the side of my head against his chest and listen to his beating heart. I don’t want to let go. After a minute, Rocks pulls away and studies me. “Let’s see what’s in these containers that smells so good, huh, Beans?”
The Rocks I know is back. The tears have been chased away by the protection of his arms and that stupid nickname I’ll never admit to loving. The lead weight is vanishing, but I still feel a heaviness on my shoulders. We need to talk.
Rocks brings each of the three containers to his nose and takes a deep breath. His smile is wicked, and he decides to sample the chocolate chip macadamia cookies first. While he eats one of everything else, I show him how the phone works. It’s pretty old and there’s not much to it. He can call or text. The end. I sit on the edge of the bench and let Rocks play with the phone. I’ve missed the joy on his face when he eats, and the phone is only adding to it. He’s smiling at the glowing green screen and nearly explodes when he hears my phone chime. He’s sent his very first text.
“Oh fudge me!” I exclaim.
“What?” His glow fades.
I pull out the power adaptor and want to strangle myself with it. What part of ‘we don’t use electricity’ did my brain not comprehend? I hold the offending cord in the air.
He laughs a little. “Don’t worry. I’ll sort it out. You’re not taking this back.” He slips his hand behind the apron and slides the phone into his front jean’s pocket.
“But …”
I could stare at his smiling face all day. Rocks hasn’t lost his ability to read my every mood and thought. “Zola runs the dairy. She sells cheese to the tourists, and I keep goats so I’ll swap her some goat’s milk for a charge up.”
He keeps goats? I don’t know this boy I spend so much time thinking about at all.
“Goats?” I can’t help myself.
Rocks rolls his eyes. A habit I know he’s learned from me. “I’m pretty sure you didn’t come all this way to talk about my goats.” He raises an eyebrow. I keep staring at him and he sighs. “We keep animals here, Connie.”
I don’t understand and my frown gives me away. “To feed on,” he explains, not meeting my eyes.
Oh, good God! Right. Okay. I swallow. His stance weakens.
“Right, so you look after them and in return …” I suck at being a supportive friend, and my issue with his need for blood has to end.
“Yeah.” He doesn’t offer any thing else.
“You okay? Is everything around here good?” The tears cried onto his chest have to mean something. He shrugs. “You help your dad?”
“Still am.”
I can take a hint. I’m not going to beg for details. I walk to my bag and stack the food containers on the bench. Rolling up the electrical cable to place it on top.
“There have been attacks,” he says, quietly.
“What?” I shout. Rocks frowns and looks out the door again. We have more attention than before. “Sorry. Attacks on the Camazotz?” I whisper. My heart rate has skyrocketed.
“You don’t need to worry. I’m fine. It’s …”
“If you say bat business, I’ll punch you.” I glare.
“Well, it is. It doesn’t concern you.” He flicks his hair in a move that feels like he’s daring me to argue.
“Fine. I won’t worry. Just like I’m sure you won’t worry when you know that I’ve got a new lead on Josie, and I’ll be checking that out without you since you’re so consumed with secret bat stuff.”
“No, you won’t.”
“Yes, I will. I want answers. You know what this means to me.”
Rocks rubs his face and sighs. “I admire your independence. I really do. But I have way too much going on here to add worrying about you to my list. You were warned to stay away. Warnings usually equate to danger. We’re doing this together.”
“Together? I don’t see you asking me for help here—to sort your problems out TOGETHER.”
The muscle in his jaw ticks and he leans over to whisper yell at me. “You know damn well I can’t.”
My eyes begin to water and I blink rapidly. “But you can share it with Rebekkah.”
“That’s different and you know it.”
Yeah, I’m the one
who’s different and after today, boy, do I know it.
Rocks takes my hand in his. “You mean the world to me. Please. Please don’t go alone. Just wait. You know how fragile my place is here.”
The crowd that has gathered outside suddenly focuses on something else, and the movement draws both of our attention. A middle-aged man, in full leathers with thick band tattoos circling his forearms, has entered their circle. I watch as the group step back from him and lower their gazes.
Rocks tenses. “Shit. That’s the Sire.”
“Oh my God, the dude that runs the whole freaking colony?” My voice has risen in my panic.
“Shhh. You have to go. I’m sorry.”
By the time I gather my bag and am out the door, the Sire is standing on the porch. Waiting. Watching. Judging. His gaze follows me as I try to slip past without a fuss. I don’t know whether to talk to him or not. He’s their king—of sorts. I have the urge to curtsey but don’t want to risk embarrassing Rocks any more than my visit already has. I break into a half run and scurry through the Goth honor guard toward the path. Nobody says anything and a quick glance over my shoulder shows he’s still on the porch watching. Fudge sundae!
At the signposts, my ‘friend’ from the entrance is talking to Scarface—about me. I know because I’m pretty confident I’m the only ‘naught bitch’ for miles around. I think I’m going to be sick, but when I get closer, they don’t do or say a thing. He steps back, forcing me to run the gauntlet between them. When the Sire is present, order ensues.
Back in my car, I lock the door. I take a moment to calm myself and check my phone. The text from Rocks is waiting.
My head hits the steering wheel. I don’t understand. Seeing those Goth, gypsy, emo girls has left me even more lost and confused. There is no way in this world that Rocks could ever be attracted to my sunshine yellow self. We are night and day. Dumping my phone in my bag, I start the drive home—the words of his text echoing the whole way.
You’re my first too.
9.
Visitors
The visit left me trapped on a seesaw of emotions. The colony is not at all what I imagined. One look at the Camazotz and it’s obvious they worship the night. Seeing them talking in groups during daylight is similar to seeing a family of polar bears without snow or ice. The Camazotz belong in the shadows and their love of darkness almost oozes out of them. When Rocks and I are in our own little bubble—just the two of us together in my room—the sense of midnight around him lessens. Maybe my light evens up the contrast. Maybe together we find balance.
Maybe I’m delusional.
The glares, whispers and sneers echo in my memory. My golden hair couldn’t be more of a target. I bring attention to Rocks that he simply does not need. My stomach churns. An eel or something equally as disgusting has taken up residence inside me since the visit. Those girls hate me, and my gut completely agrees.
My mood overall hasn’t exactly lifted. That woman who might adopt Rocks next won’t leave me alone. She hovers and questions, and innuendos linger in the air. Like Tiff, she has come to her own conclusions regardless of my answers. I’m tempted to leave a note on the fridge in block capitals. WE ARE NOT FIGHTING. IT’S NOT MY FAULT HE ISN’T VISITING.
The exact words haven’t been said but her eyes tell me she’s convinced my attitude has sent the polite, well-raised boy running for the hills. Mini is my only solace. She distracts me from the urge to text him every ten minutes. There has been no contact, and in a moment of clarity, I realized a chiming gadget would only push him further into their bad books. Cell phones are probably highly illegal contraband in the colony. I must show him how to silence it.
It’s Wednesday and my school day is finally done. During lunch, I continued my hunt for Parents V1.0. The image of Josie’s house on Google Maps must be the universe’s way of giving me the finger. A ginormous removal van completely obscured any and all views of the home—just my luck. If the house had matched what I’ve imagined, then I was going to plan a visit.
“Rocks with you?” Mom V2.0 inquires.
“My day was great. Thanks for asking.” I walk back out of the kitchen without even getting a drink. Maybe she’s right. I’m one enormous pile of human baggage. My technology lessons can’t possibly be worth putting up with the love-hate relationship I get lost in with my parents, and then there’s the whole adoption hunt on top of that. Why would he bother?
It’s late when I pull my window closed and switch off my lamp. Closing the window seems as though I’m shutting him out, but leaving it open only leads to more disappointment the following morning—not to mention mosquitoes eating me alive since I’ve removed the screen.
But the disappointment is momentarily chased away when I shut off my alarm. My screen shows a text from Rocks.
Open your window.
He’s here! I fling the bedcovers off and race across my room. The wooden frame protests with the speed I shove it open. Grabbing the sill, I lean out into the morning air and look toward the trees.
The air is still. No sound of flapping wings or shrill calls.
Then, I notice the tiny velvet pouch sitting on the red roof tiles.
My shoulders sag and the wings my feet had a moment ago have fallen off. I stumble back to bed. Up. Down. Up. Down. My emotions are an elevator that can’t make up its mind. He visited. The window was closed. He left a gift. I’d rather he was my gift.
The silver hairclips have a little metal bow on the end. I immediately slide them into my bird’s nest hair. I need to feel him close. I risk a text.
Thank you so much.
After breakfast, his reply flashes across my screen.
No, thank you for my gift.
I hesitate, chewing the inside of my mouth.
You should have tapped on the glass.
I imagine the ding of his phone echoing through the empty market.
Would never wake you. You need your sleep.
I need you more.
But I don’t hit send on the last message.
* * * * *
Arriving at Bun Lovin’ on Saturday night, I find Tiff inundated with hungry, young boys. A busload of boys in Tennessee colors has stormed the van. I had asked the universe for a distraction, and it appears to have answered. This starts off a run of unexpected rushes, and it isn’t until half way through the shift that Tiff and I get a chance to chat.
“Is he coming?”
I shake my head, pouting.
“For sure?”
“He texted and ordered I get a lift with you.” It’s the first I’ve heard from him since our morning conversation a couple of days ago. He apologized, explaining he had hoped to see me tonight before telling me to stick close to Tiff. He also requested Josie’s new address. Just like I never seem to win an argument with Rocks face-to-face, texting is no different.
I look at Tiff’s sad face. “I’m just gonna walk. Make the most of these nights before it gets stupidly cold.” Tiff eyes me. “I’ll be fine. I promise to keep my phone at the ready.” I draw a cross over my heart.
“He’s so hot,” Tiff adds. I shrug.
“Oh, come on, Connie,” she admonishes. “Are you kidding me?”
“What?”
“Do you think he’s good-looking?” Her eyes narrow. I don’t want to risk any kind of move or she’ll be onto me.
“Not sure.” I don’t need to look at her to know she’s giving me the biggest eye roll.
“You are so full of it.” She shakes her head. “There’s something about him that I just can’t put my finger on.” I stiffen. Looking at her face, she stands tapping a finger on her lips. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but it’s, um, almost animalistic or something.”
The room spins. I need to sit down.
Tiff is still dubious about my decision to walk when we close up the van. We linger for a few minutes, planning a nail afternoon with the four of us soon. Tiff suddenly puts her shoulders back, adding an inch or two to her height.
&
nbsp; “What’s wrong?” I look around and see dark shapes moving just out of the streetlight near the trees. Sounds like a few teenagers but when I squint harder, I recognize those clothes. “Crabapples.”
“Sure you don’t want a ride?” Tiff asks, watching the group emerge into a sliver of light.
“Um …” Lie number two hundred and forty-nine? Or the truth? “Um, they know Rocks.” The truth lightens my load, but watching them in the shadows fills me with dread simultaneously.
“Oh?” Tiff doesn’t look happy or even curious like I thought she would be at the mention of Rocks’ friends. Her erotic romance-addled brain would normally have been imagining equally hot, available best friends. “You never told me you’d met his friends.”
“Can I get that ride after all?” She nods and I know she’s sensed their Camazotz side. “I just need to talk to them first.”
She goes to say something but then stops and frowns. “I’ll get the car.” She sighs and walks off before I can respond.
The fact that the bat gang has found my place of work has the eel slithering about inside of me. Rocks said he wouldn’t be here, and I know he wouldn’t send my cheer squad instead.
“Hey, naught, we need to talk.” I’d recognize the acid in that tone anywhere.
Stepping further into the light, I see Scarface leading the group. There are four girls and two boys lingering behind them. The hairs on my neck prickle when my eyes land on the boy with the fangs tattooed under his lip. He’s not my biggest fan, and the disgust in the eyes of his friend is crystal clear. Message received.
I stand, tight-lipped. My eyes scan each face, soaking up details. Rebekkah—with no red eyes—I hate to admit is really pretty. Her features are elf-like in the dim light. Another girl around our age, who has a burst of delicate stars tattooed around her eyes, holds the hand of the girl farthest from me. It’s impossible not to notice how young she is—barely even a freshman—or the angry oozing gash above her eye. It’s a fresh wound and turns my stomach. Scanning her body, I see a long cut down her forearm, but it isn’t as deep as the eye wound. Finally, front and center and looking as ghoulish as I remember is Scarface—Zabreena.
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