by Tara Kelly
Gramps always said you could tell when something bad was coming. The air felt different. Still and thick. The crickets and the birds would stop chirping, too.
I hadn’t heard a cricket all night.
Saturday, June 21
Sometimes I have this dream about setting people on fire and watching them burn. Their eyes go hollow. Their smiles melt away.
You’re standing right next to me, your hand in mine. The sky is as black as the void inside me. The place I used to feel. The place I used to care. The pain you took away.
You saved me. You saved me. You saved me.
Chapter Four
“Nova!” Mom’s husky voice woke me up. She pounded on my door. “Don’t make me come in there.”
I must’ve been in a deep sleep, because she didn’t threaten to come in unless she’d tried knocking a few times.
“Give me a minute,” I called, looking over at Alex. My arm was stiff and tingly from sleeping on it all night.
There was something about weekend mornings that made everyone want pancakes. They’d start trickling into the diner at 7:00 a.m., all bright-eyed and impatient.
“Fine. One minute,” Mom said before padding into the kitchen. She got out a mug and poured her morning dose of caffeine. The fifty-year-old walls of our one-story house hid nothing.
My half brother, Gavin, made kissing sounds and laughed before slamming the bathroom door. He knew Alex was over and liked to tease us endlessly about being “secret” boyfriend-girlfriend. Eight-year-olds were easily amused.
Alex was wedged against my wall, his eyes shut tight. A beam of light took direct aim at his face, creating a halo along his cheek and jaw. He could sleep through a metal concert—and he did once. The Metallica show Mom dragged us to a couple years ago. Oh, how I envied him that night.
I studied his face, like I had more often than I’d care to admit. He looked so innocent. His slightly parted lips and the dark eyelashes against his cheeks. The way his nose scrunched into the pillow. And his hair, the color of wet sand, standing up at all angles.
I ran my fingers along the curve of his cheekbone. He didn’t even twitch.
“Alex, wake up.” I reached under my navy blue blanket, tickling his stomach.
His whole body jerked, and his face scrunched up. “Quit it.”
“Make me.” I traced a line along his ribs. Goose bumps followed my fingertips.
In one swift motion, he was on top of me, pinning my wrists to my pillow. The heat of his skin bled through my T-shirt, and his jeans scratched my bare legs. I didn’t fight him, though. I didn’t want to. Every inch of me seemed to buzz.
“Whoa, Alex…” It was about all I could get out.
His face lowered toward mine, and my heart hammered through my chest. I was sure he could feel it.
“There,” he whispered with a smile, his lips inches from mine. “I made you.” Then he rolled off and onto his back again.
It took me a few seconds to breathe.
My door flung open. Mom poked her head in, raising her dark eyebrows at us. She was already dressed in the diner uniform. “You guys are too old to be squeezing into that bed.”
I sat up and threw my covers off. “How about getting me a new one?” I’d only had this bed since I was five.
Mom’s maroon lips stretched into a grin. “How about you stop spending your tips on music downloads?”
I rolled my eyes at Alex. Mom wasn’t strict about much, but she was antitechnology. I wasn’t allowed to have a cell phone until my eighteenth birthday because she thought the radiation would give me a brain tumor or alter my brain forever or something. Luckily Eric insisted on getting a laptop for Gavin and me to share.
“There’s Cheerios, if you’re hungry,” Mom said. “Grandpa needs us there early—they’re already filling up.”
“I need a shower,” I said.
“Not unless you want to start paying the water bill. I heard the shower running for a half hour last night.” She grabbed my diner shirt out of the hamper and threw it at me. “Get moving.”
“It’s dirty…” I knew I forgot to do something last night.
“Told you to do the laundry yesterday. Twice!” Mom left and shut the door behind her.
Alex climbed out of bed and snatched his black Alice in Chains T-shirt off my cluttered floor. I found myself staring at him again, at his sinewy torso and the way his jeans slid low across his hips.
“What?” he asked, combing his messy hair back with his fingers.
“You look good.” I smiled, trying to pass it off as a friendly comment.
The tips of his ears turned a familiar pink. “Um, thanks?”
I turned toward the mirror on my door and brushed my tangled locks into a bun. “Get out. I have to change.”
His lips turned up a little, and he grabbed his skateboard and backpack off the floor. “I’m taking off anyway.”
“At least stay for breakfast. Let us give you a ride home.”
“I have to take Riff out before he wakes Grandma up.” Alex brushed his fingers across my back as he passed me. “I’ll be fine. It’s seven thirty. Doubt Matt’s awake.” He pulled my curtains open and froze, his hands still holding the fabric.
Whorehouse was written across my window in dark block letters. They’d painted the letters backward, just so I could get the message loud and clear from inside my room.
My mouth opened, and my face got hot. But I couldn’t find the words. I just wanted it gone.
“Fuckers,” Alex muttered, dropping his hands.
I yanked my door open and ran into the laundry closet, grabbing rags—clean, dirty, I didn’t care. Then I ran into the kitchen to get some Windex.
“What are you doing?” Mom asked, her brow furrowed.
I didn’t want to tell her. See that guilty look on her face. She thought my reputation was her fault. That I was paying for the choices she made with Eric.
“Just a spill,” I mumbled, knowing she wouldn’t buy it. I ran to my room and shut the door behind me, then locked it.
“Nova!” She knocked.
Alex was already outside. He squinted at the window, touching the letter W with his finger. I climbed out and joined him.
Most of the houses around here were too old to come with window screens, ours included. And every time Mom nagged Eric about getting some, he’d say he’d get them when they paid off their credit cards.
They never paid off their credit cards. There was always some emergency with the cars or the house or the diner that would run them back up again.
“I think it’s barbecue sauce or something,” Alex said. “At least in part.”
I didn’t want to know what it was. The color was foul—a sludgy brown with a reddish tint. It smelled like sugar. And smoke. And rot.
I sprayed the glass, holding my breath, and then started scrubbing. The stuff was like glue. It crumbled in tiny bits.
“You have to let it soak first,” Alex said.
I gritted my teeth and pressed harder.
“Nova…let me do it, all right?”
“You have to get home.” I could hear Mom trying to pick the lock of my bedroom door.
Alex yanked the rag from my grip, holding it behind his back. “I’ll do it.”
“No. I need—”
“It’ll be gone by the time you leave. I promise.”
I thought about fighting him for it, but that would take too long. Instead I let him pull me into a hug. His hands ran up and down my back, making me relax a little.
“They’re idiots,” he whispered. “They don’t matter.”
I closed my eyes. This could’ve been the cakes. But the timing made me think of Jenika and Matt—vandalism was definitely their thing. And I knew Matt wasn’t going to let Alex pick a fight and not want to finish it.
I heard my bedroom door open, which meant my mom saw the window. I cussed under my breath.
“Go on inside,” Alex said. “I’ll leave the stuff on your porch when
I’m done.”
I thanked him, opened the window, and hefted myself back into my room.
I stirred my soggy Cheerios. Gavin was more interested in lifting his spoon and watching the milk dribble back into his bowl.
We were crammed together at what passed for our kitchen table, a round slab of wood as old as my grandpa and vinyl chairs that wobbled and squeaked.
Mom rested her chin in her hand, giving me one of her soul-piercing stares. She was big on thinking she could read people. And she was usually right…Gramps always said we were part Salish, part English, and a drop of “witch blood.”
“You want to talk about it?” She meant later. We weren’t going to have the slut conversation in front of Gavin.
“Not really,” I said.
She cocked her head, her lips pursing. “Thank Alex for me. For taking care of that…”
I nodded, swallowing a mushy bite of cereal.
“Did you guys kiss yet?” Gavin asked with a big grin. He had Eric’s blond hair and my mom’s hazel eyes, but he smiled like Jenika. It was eerie sometimes.
“No, jerk. Eat your cereal.” His teasing had gotten to me lately. I felt like me and Alex had done something, even though we hadn’t.
“Why does he always sleep in your bed?” Gavin continued.
I ignored his question, but I could feel Mom’s eyes drilling a hole into my forehead. She’d asked me to have Alex sleep on the couch numerous times, mostly because Eric didn’t like the example it was setting for Gavin. But Eric was in Seattle, working a three-month contract job. He did software development, mostly, and he wanted to move us to Seattle so we could be together more and have steady income. But Mom hated big cities, and Gramps needed her help running the diner.
“Gramps still needs that extra server, right?” I asked, pushing my bowl away. “’Cause Alex needs a job.”
“Oh…” Mom frowned. “Grandpa hired Brandon Koza yesterday. I’m sorry.”
“Why?” Brandon didn’t need a job. His dad was the only veterinarian for miles, and his mom was promoted to police chief last year. They lived in a cozy oceanfront house off Beach Street.
Mom’s forehead crinkled. “Because he applied?”
“Brandon isn’t dependable,” I continued. “He slacks off at school all the time.”
“And you don’t?” Mom asked.
“You never do your homework,” Gavin chimed in.
“Not my point.” I actually only knew a couple things about Brandon. He always hung out with Gabi De Luca, he was one of the best sprinters in the state, and he fell asleep in class sometimes. I saw him with Gabi at a few cake parties last summer, but we’d only address each other with a smile or nod. We’d probably said five words to each other our entire lives.
“Go brush your teeth, Gavin,” Mom said. “We need to leave soon.”
“I’m not done,” he said.
“Now.”
Gavin glanced from Mom to me and let out a dramatic exhale. He was smart enough to know when he wasn’t wanted. “Fine.” He took his time shuffling off, letting his feet slide and squeak across the hardwood floor.
Mom drank the last bit of coffee out of her favorite mug. It had a picture of the trickster raven on it.
“Alex is turning into quite the looker,” Mom said. “Those puppy-dog green eyes? Wow.”
I suddenly found myself playing with my spoon.
“Don’t go acting like you haven’t noticed.”
I glanced up at her knowing expression. “We’re friends, Mom. That’s it.”
“Yeah? Can’t say I ever crawl into bed with my friends.”
The floor creaked down the hall, and there was the breath of a giggle.
“Gavin!” Mom called. “I don’t hear any water running.” She turned her attention back to me, lowering her voice. “If something like this happens again, leave it there. We’ll try to get the cops out to look at it.”
“They’re not going to do crap, unless it’s a threat. And even then…” They’d figure I did something to bring it on.
I got up and rinsed my bowl, turning the water on high. A couple years ago, Jenika slashed all of our tires. I knew it was her because she practically confessed to it at school.
“Car trouble?” she’d asked when I showed up to class late.
Officer Young, who should’ve retired his racist ass years ago, told us, “These things usually don’t just happen randomly.” I still remember his face as he said it, red-cheeked and smiling, like it was all a big joke. Afterward, he told us to “get a couple security cameras.”
The cops didn’t do anything when Anya, Jenika’s mom, shoved my mom to the ground in the Emerald Market parking lot, either. It didn’t help that none of the witnesses came forward. They all thought my mom deserved it—the whole town did. Eric may have done the leaving, but my mom was the one who got all the heat for it.
Mom joined me at the sink, giving me her mug. She put her hand on my back and leaned toward my ear. “Talk to me…”
I’d never hidden much from her, not even what happened with Zach or the stoner phase I went through afterward. But I didn’t want to talk about the window. And I didn’t want to talk about my feelings for Alex. That would only make them more real.
“I’m worried about Alex,” I said finally. “He tried to pick a fight with Matt and Jenika yesterday.”
“Well, you’ve always said you wished he’d stick up for himself more.”
“Not like that. I’ve seen Matt fight. He doesn’t let up. And Jenika’s psychotic.”
“She’s just angry,” Mom said, loading our bowls in the dishwasher.
Mom was always making excuses for her, maybe out of guilt. And I did feel bad about what happened to Anya. Her bipolar went even more out of control after Eric left—these days she never left their trailer. But it wasn’t as if Eric stopped being Jenika’s dad when he moved in with us. He called her all the time, tried to take her out places. She was the one who pushed him away.
“Her mom just gave up on life, you know?” Mom said.
“And that makes it okay for her to do whatever she wants?” I lowered my voice. “I know she wrote that crap on my window.”
She stopped loading, her lips parting. “Did you see her do it?”
“Well, no. But—”
“Then we don’t know. It could’ve been anyone. I mean, there’s someone running around town mutilating animals.”
“Also probably her…” I muttered.
Mom put the last bowl away, closing up the dishwasher. “You can’t keep accusing her of things without proof. It upsets Eric.” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “It makes Gavin ask a lot of questions.”
“Fine. But we both know she’s capable of it.”
Mom didn’t respond right away. She shook her head. Then she asked, “What would you have done if I fell apart after your dad left?”
“I don’t know. I was two.” I hated it when she called him my dad. He’d never been a dad. He’d moved back to Argentina, his home country, when I was four and never came back.
“What if you were older?” she asked.
“I’d be pissed. At you. Not the entire world.” I dried my hands off. “Besides, Esteban did the same thing to us. I don’t go hating on his wife or him.”
Mom looked down at her dark purple fingernails, the fine lines around her mouth deepening. “You never talk to him.”
“He calls once a year and asks the same three questions. I don’t know what else to say…”
Mom sighed and grabbed her purse, which signaled that she was done with the conversation. She’d been in a few long-term relationships in her life, Esteban and Eric included. But she feared marriage. She thought of it as an archaic tradition that made people feel trapped. Most guys left her for that reason. But that wasn’t the case with Esteban. He left because of me… I wasn’t exactly planned.
There were times when I got a little curious, wondering what my life would be like if he were in it. If I knew my family in
Argentina. My grandparents. My dad’s three sisters and two brothers. Mom said he had a big family. Most of the time I tried not to think about it—because then I’d get angry. I’d probably never meet them, much less know them.
At least Jenika had the option of knowing her father if she wanted to.
“Gavin, let’s go!” Mom said.
“Hang on,” Gavin called back. “I need my Story Cubes.” There was a clanking sound from his bedroom, as he was probably rushing to put them back in their box.
“Okay. We’re leaving without you,” I said, making exaggerated steps toward the back door and opening it.
“Don’t!” More bangs echoed from his room.
“Nova…” Mom said, shaking her head. “You’re so mean to him sometimes.”
“You know he’ll keep finding things to bring if we let him.”
She exhaled softly. “So, what was in that purple envelope?”
“Nothing.”
Her eyebrows rose. “Nothing? Yeah, I’m not buying that.”
“It was just some prank. A bunch of cryptic nonsense.” I wasn’t going to mention the flower, because I knew she’d find some romantic explanation for it, her way of trying to cheer me up. And then I’d tell her she was wrong. And she’d tell me it wasn’t good for me to always jump to the worst-case scenario.
But even my most rational voice told me there was nothing benign about that note.
Chapter Five
People were milling outside the diner when we pulled up in Mom’s old blue Subaru.
“Crap.” Mom yanked the keys out of the ignition and opened her squeaky door. “Grandpa and Rhonda are gonna kill us.”
“Then they’d be screwed.” I climbed out and helped Gavin untangle his seat belt from his arm. I didn’t know how he managed it, but he always did.
We rushed in the back door and into the kitchen where Gramps and his two assistants were doing three things at once and trying not to run into one another. Gavin settled on top of an old barstool to watch them work.
“Take section two, Nova,” Mom said, peeking out the small window on our swinging wooden doors. “Rhonda’s probably dying out there.”