Sanguine Mountain

by Jennifer Foxcroft

  The girls wish me luck and send me off armed with dating game experiments. I don’t even know where to begin. I have the ability to screw up simple biology labs so no way I’m getting these right.

  Parker drives to his favorite hamburger diner. They make to-die-for thick shakes, which I know is all my stomach can handle. Parker orders what I would describe as a week’s worth of food. I try not to think of Rocks and how many burgers that boy could inhale in one sitting if given unlimited funds. Thinking about him isn’t helping.

  Parker wipes his mouth and takes a break from his burgers. I sip steadily on my berry magic shake.

  “I hear you’re acing Economics,” he says with a smile.

  Penny. Dropped.

  Parker needs outstanding grades to have a chance of chasing his full scholarship.

  “I need a tutor,” he continues. “Since you’re so good at it, I thought you could help me out.” His eyes flick to my chest. I casually fold my arms on the table in front of the girls.

  Much to my own amazement, I can’t feel my ears at all. They’re not even a little bit warm. “Sure, I’ll tutor you, but Economics isn’t really that hard.” Boring maybe, but difficult not so much.

  He focuses on his fries and dollops ketchup everywhere. “It’s more the assignment.”

  Unlike Tiff predicted, the planets have not aligned, and Venus is not in my sector. Parker just needs someone to write his paper. Mystery solved.

  * * * * *

  I arrange the last marshmallow brownie on the center of a white oval platter. It looks delicious. My payback plan for him telling Tiff I think he’s good-looking is set. I wait. Thankfully, I’m home alone.

  Right on time, Rocks pushes through the front door and enters the kitchen. It’s become the routine—he doesn’t even knock. Kelly was a hairsbreadth away from giving him his own key until Chad stepped in. As Rocks rounds the doorway, I set my laser to stun, or should I say payback.

  “Hey, Mr So Good-Looking, see this brownie? It’s the last one.”

  His eyes focus on the gooey treat, and that’s when I pounce and shovel the entire chocolaty mess into my mouth like a sea monster eating little children in a horror movie. The effect is startlingly similar. Rocks looks as though he’s witnessed a massacre. He raises both hands in a feeble attempt to stop my attack but gives up as the brownie is demolished in half a second. Crumbs litter the kitchen counter, as I struggle to close my mouth and chew. Kelly would pass out. I’m fairly certain I have chocolate on my face.

  “Was that really the last one?”

  He’s failed to notice the fact that I called him good-looking.

  Abort. Abort.

  Plan backfire.

  “You didn’t want to share?”

  Fudge!

  My mouth is too full to speak.

  He goes to the fridge and makes a brief inspection, but I know for a fact that nothing compares in his mind to mom’s famous brownies. His shoulders slump and by some miracle, I’ve actually made him shrink in size. He usually takes up too much space, but my laser didn’t stun him, it pulverized. I’ve hit hard and low—maybe too low. I remember him telling me how they share everything at the colony in order to survive.

  When I’ve chewed and swallowed enough brownie to semi talk, I start my backpedaling.

  “You texted Tiff that I think you’re good-looking.”

  “You obviously don’t think so, do you?”

  His eyes meet mine for a brief minute, before he lets his hair fall over them to block me. He turns and heads to the stairs.

  HOLY FUDGE!

  By the time I get to my room, he’s in his chair and is too quiet. I crack. Did I seriously think I could be hard-core and win? I never win against Rocks. I should know this after all our mini disagreements.

  “I’m sorry I ate all the brownie.” But I’m not sure that’s all he’s upset about.

  “I’m sorry I deviated.” He opens his Driver’s Manual and starts to read. On my way to the desk, I shove my unlocked iPhone under his nose with my games folder on the screen.

  He shakes his head and buries his nose further in. iPhone refusal is a disastrous sign.

  I survive all of twelve minutes of silence, more excruciating than lemon juice in a paper cut, before completely caving like the wimpy peacekeeper I am. I can’t hurt Rocks.

  “Follow me,” I say, exiting my room.

  Knowing his biggest weakness will allow me to redeem myself spectacularly, if he’ll give me half a chance.

  By the time he enters the kitchen, I have the biggest, glossiest photo cookbook on the bench.

  The kicked puppy watches with suspicion.

  “Pick whatever you want, and I’ll make it for you.”

  He slides the cookbook over and flicks page after page. Rocks pays special attention to each recipe and studies the photos in a way that suggests they contain the ancient spell used to change him. Four minutes later, I’m forgiven, and I know this because he gives me the shyest of smiles—just one little corner of his mouth curves up—as his long finger taps a winner.

  I can breathe again.

  Just to prove that I’m extra sorry for the brownie eating incident—I think I’m understanding “the punishment doesn’t fit the crime” slogan NBC was going on about the other day—I let him take full charge of the KitchenAid, but he’s still too quiet.

  Like always, he seems to realize I know he’s not just upset about the brownie, and after the butter and sugar are creamed to perfection, he speaks. “So do you think I’m good-looking?”

  My joy is short-lived, and suddenly I feel as though my lungs are full of all purpose flour. He catches my bug-eyed look before I can control myself, and his shoulders slump to post-brownie-gobbling level once more.

  “What?”

  “You heard me.” He still won’t meet my eye and I’m kind of glad. It’s uncanny how, when you need to be at your most quick-witted and intelligent, your brain seems to short circuit.

  “Look. Just wait till mom gets home if you’re fishing for compliments. She’s practically ready to adopt you, she loves you so much,” I say, trying to make light of the heaviest situation we’ve crossed that doesn’t involve blood or Camazotz girls.

  “I’m serious, Con. I want to know what you think. You mean the world to me. You’re smart, and funny and fiercely independent—”

  “No, I'm not.”

  “You don't see it, do you? The Camazotz girls travel in packs. They never do anything on their own or think for themselves, but not you. That night we met, you got lost” —he starts ticking things off on his long slender fingers— “you broke down, you were stumbling around a dark forest alone, you discovered the Camazotz—you took it all in your stride because of your need to find answers about who you are. I don't know any girls that would do that.”

  I shrug. “I don’t remember taking all that in my stride. I was a screaming lunatic.”

  “My point is you set goals, and you don’t give up. You have this quiet determination that I admire, and I wish I were more like you. I know how many times you've wanted to cave and tell your parents. But you haven’t. You’ve kept your eye on the goal. Don't you think it would have been ten times easier to just ask them? But you don’t care if the path is hard or not.” Rocks stands stock-still waiting for me to respond.

  I can’t. I don’t know how to process what he’s said.

  “And you’re prettier than all the stars on a moonless night,” he whispers. “Tell me. Am I acceptable, or do I stick out like the crazy turn of the century freak that I feel like most days when we hang out? I get the feeling I’m never gonna fit in anywhere. Not here and not there.”

  I’m such an idiot. Rocks thinks I’m pretty, independent, and strong. He sounds so sincere that it sets off a jackhammer inside my chest. I rest a hand over my heart. He’s hurt and lost and giving me a moment of honesty that I don’t know what to do with. I stand before him a mute idiot and try to focus on sifting flour and adding vanilla. I will not add
a lie to my collection today.

  Rocks is desperate to belong. His reaction to me eating the brownie did seem a bit over the top, but he’s always comparing what he knows at the colony to my world. He’s trying to find a place and teasing him isn’t helping. It just leaves him feeling the gap is too wide to bridge.

  “You’re not a freak.” I kill the mixer and grab his hand between both of mine. He meets my gaze. “Honestly, you’re the strong one. Trust me. I wouldn’t last five seconds if I thought my family was trying to get rid of me.” His frown doesn’t lessen any.

  “The boys at school are immature losers compared to you. So where do you belong, Rocks? You belong wherever you want to be, and if it’s here, with us, then I’ll teach you all you need to know. And if you think for one minute that Parker Reed could make a vest and fob watch look cool, you’re completely insane.”

  Rocks leans over and places the tiniest kiss on my forehead. His lips hardly touch me, but the spot where they make contact zings to life. He flicks his hair, returns to his full towering height, and the mixer whizzes to life.

  I gobbled his favorite food, and he told me I’m independent and strong. I think he’s insanely good-looking and failed to tell him when he needed to hear it. Creepy Ursula from The Little Mermaid could pass for the Fairy Godmother if she stood next to me.

  The next morning, I wake to find a tiny silver hair clip with a shiny cupcake on the end. My heart does a somersault picturing Rocks in his old-fashioned workshop up half the night creating my gift. But it quickly sinks when I remember I didn’t give him the comfort he deserved.

  * * * * *

  A text from Rocks arrives just as I pull into our driveway. Seeing his name on my screen always makes me smile because I know how excited he gets when he has a reason to use his favorite gadget.

  Connie, I won’t be visiting today. Colony business.

  Our Wednesday visit is cancelled and before I have a chance to ask, I get another text.

  Please don’t worry. There have been more attacks. No deaths. I’m safe.

  Not seeing Rocks gives me the chance to follow up on my E.A. lead. I return to Josie’s old high school to scour the yearbooks.

  The class of ‘82 doesn’t contain a single E.A. student. Neither does ’81 or ’83. In 1980, there’s an Evan Alder, but his photo is nothing like the guy in the Polaroid. No high school romance in my family tree. On my birth certificate, the box under father’s name is blank. Without a name, I have no clue how to find him. I stare at the webpage offering free family searches, but without his name, I can’t fill in half the form. And the only person who knows is dead set against telling me.

  When I arrive home, the news is blaring from the family room. Sneaking upstairs, I log on and check my email. Nothing. My search has stalled and so has Rocks’. It’s only been two weeks, but the colony needs answers pronto. It occurs to me a lie will get their attention so I open my Gmail impersonator account. Curious teenager wanting information on owls got me nothing.

  Let’s try annoyed, irate, local bird lover a hairsbreadth away from complaining to some higher body about pesky new owls she saw released in the area that are killing her homing pigeons. Lie number four hundred and twelve is a good one. I almost want to pat myself on the back for this stroke of genius. Send.

  With nothing to do, my mind wanders back to Josie. Could I trick her into telling me his name? No chance. Josie is one tough nut. Rocks said I was strong, and even though I imagined Mom V1.0 as an almost carbon copy of Mom V2.0, I now know I get my determination from Josie.

  I head for the family room to watch Chad while he watches the news. “Hi, honey,” he says, without looking up from the newspaper spread across his lap.

  I collapse in the chair opposite and study him. The disappointment of Josie has made me hesitant about imagining my real dad. I don’t want to make the mistake of taking the best parts of Chad and giving them to the grainy face in the Polaroid. Chad turns the page of the newspaper and simultaneously flicks the remote. The opening credits of the international news hour begin—his timing perfect. How does he focus on the TV and read at the same time?

  “Whatcha reading?”

  He looks up and smiles. “About the crazy crime rates that are skyrocketing. You need to be careful coming home late at night. Drug-related muggings are getting out of hand. Police are at a loss. Taking down organized crime is one thing, but how do you trail after the ever increasing number of cocaine addicts in the city?”

  I blink so my eyes won’t have that glazed over look. Josie turned out to be the opposite of Kelly. The thought that Dad V1.0 won’t care about drug addicts, crime statistics, and police man power problems makes me smile—but not for long. Chad is my hero, and he’s never let me down until the whole adoption secret.

  The first time I volunteered at the dog shelter, I had no clue that my four-hour shift was solely going to consist of picking up dog poo. Chad had walked me in to make sure all was safe. When he saw the look of disappointment on my face that I wasn’t going to be playing with puppies the whole time, he rolled up his sleeves, swapped his shiny leather shoes for the hiking boots in the trunk and grabbed the pooper scooper. Two hours later, I was swamped with puppies vying for my attention.

  If there’s one thing that I learned from finding Josie, it’s that the blank father box on my birth certificate doesn’t hold much promise.

  Friday brings more disappointment. Rocks texts again to inform me to wait for an escort home from work, but that it won’t be him.

  Tiff is wiping out the wiener pot. Tonight will go down in Bun Lovin’ Barn history as the night we ran out of wieners. It’s the first time we’ve ever sold out of hot dogs.

  “Rocks coming tonight?” Tiff asks.

  I shake my head. “Why did you tell Lou and Brandy about him?” I send a quick text to Rocks explaining why I’m heading home early. To say I’m nervous about ‘the escort’ is the understatement of the century. If any of those girls show up, I’m sleeping in the Bun Lovin’ Barn.

  “’Cause I can’t work out if you like him like him or not. And I still think you’re up to something.”

  Nothing gets past Tiff. I miss honesty. I know all the lies are the reason I’m so confused and pissed off half the time. Her comment about feeling replaced echoes in my head. I did that to my best friend and she isn’t mad. She isn’t ignoring me in the halls. She’s just waiting patiently for me to return to her.

  “It’s complicated.”

  The dishrag flies at my face, but I duck with plenty of time. “We’re teenagers. How complicated can it be?”

  “His family doesn’t approve of me—like can’t stand me complicated.”

  “Well, that sucks,” she says, making a sad face. “It’s not exactly the end of the world though. You wouldn’t be the first couple who’ve dated behind their parent’s backs. If you like him and he likes you, do it.”

  “That’s just it. I don’t know if he likes me likes me.” Can I trust my gut? Are my instincts right where Rocks is concerned? A kiss on the cheek instead of my forehead would’ve been a sign. He does want to know if I think he’s hot though. But admiration? Admiration and attraction aren’t the same thing.

  “Sometimes you’ve just got to stick your neck out. If you’re not living life on the edge, you’re taking up too much room.”

  We close up and Tiff heads to her car. There is no boy or bat waiting. I check my phone. I just want to go home, but Rocks made me promise. The memory of blood trickling down my face makes me shiver, and I rub my scar. Owls aren’t going to attack me, but Camazotz might.

  I pace back and forth behind the van. If I run, I’ll be home in half the time. I text Rocks again.

  Nothing.

  Promises suck. The old crate behind the van digs into my thighs. I’m not going to do anything stupid. I keep screwing up where Rocks is concerned, and my gut is telling me not to walk home alone. I’m going to trust my instincts for once. I need the practice, and Horror Movie girl would b
e proud.

  An hour later, two dark figures instantaneously appear a foot away causing a small shriek to escape before I get control. The last thing I want is to embarrass him.

  Jeremiah is unmistakable, but the guy next to him is not Ezra. I don’t move a muscle.

  “Connie?” the new guy asks. He bends down to crate head height. “I’m Decker, Rockland’s coolest brother. He has entrusted me with your safety and wellbeing for the evening.”

  I smile. His eyes remind me of Rocks when he’s high on technology. They’re kind. The tension eases out of my neck.

  Decker is seventeen and not only Rocks’ half brother, but also one of his best friends. His grey t-shirt shows off full arm tattoos that match his brother’s tatts. Rocks and he obviously visit the same artist.

  Jeremiah pulls a pocket watch from his vest and clicks it open. He looks at the van.

  “You’re not late,” I explain. Jeremiah makes me nervous. “We closed up early. I tried to tell Rocks—” Stop talking now. That phone is top secret. I slide mine into my bag with as little movement as possible and stand.

  “I know you gave him one of those telephonic devices.” Decker smiles. “It’s his pride and joy, but the Sire probably wants to flog you with it.”

  Holy fudge, does every Camazotz know?

  Decker laughs and I squint. Is he joking, or am I really enemy number one?

  “Anyhow, Rockland is—” He lifts both hands and makes little flapping motions. “On patrol.”

  Confirmation that Rocks is a bat when the owls are still attacking makes the pit in my stomach deepen. He said he was safe. I can’t panic. I have to trust his judgment.

  “Rockland tells me you make a ‘mean dog,’” Decker says. A distraction is exactly what I need.

  “Oh, really?” I smile. I haven’t given Rocks a free hot dog in ages and make a mental note to bring him one next time he walks me home. “Ah, I don’t actually have any dogs for you guys tonight.”

  Sugarplums! The last time Rocks’ friends helped him we paid them off in baked goods.

  I look back and forth between the boys. “We sold out.”