by L. Duarte
“Where did you get drugs?”
“Not drugs, Moon. Pot.”
“Seriously, we can’t keep any shit in the house. And don’t you have to do an exam or something? Damn it, Jake.”
“I’m not a moron. I don’t have anything on me. Pat got us the sweet stuff. And I know how to fool the system and make my urine clean.”
I glanced at the clock. “Were you out? You have a curfew. What about the GPS thingy?”
He lay on his back and folded his hand behind his head. “Jerry used to have one. He knows a way to fool the cops.”
I lifted his pants sleeve. “What did you do with it?” The black bracelet looked perfectly fine around his ankle. “Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know. Shit, Jake. If they catch you, you go back to jail. And newsflash, I’m broke. I can’t bail you out again.”
“No worries, Moon. I’m too clever to get caught.”
“Have you learned nothing in history class? That’s exactly why the Titanic sank. Excessive confidence.”
“No wonder Caleb went solo to the party. You’re always in a pissy mood. Jesus, chill out.”
My head snapped up. “You saw Caleb?”
“Yep, drunk as hell. Andrew and he were doing keg stands. If beer didn’t taste like piss, I would have done it, too.”
“Was Jessica there?” Lousy response, I know, but I couldn’t help myself.
“Hell, yeah. And her tits looked damn hot when she stood on the keg. She left with Andrew and Caleb. They were going to another party.”
I collapsed on the bed next to Jake. “Did, um, did Caleb ask about me?”
“No. He barely said hello. Are you guys okay?”
“No. I think… I think we’re done.”
Jake pulled me to his chest. “You have it bad for him, don’t you?”
“Yeah. I’ll get over it.”
After Jake had fallen sleep, I got my cell and texted Caleb.
Me: We need to talk
Caleb never replied. I curled into a ball beside Jake and heard his restless sleep where he battled his dad over and over.
I WOKE UP with a bright light filtering through the curtain. When I realized I was late for class, I got up with a jolt. “Jake, up. We’re late.”
“Let me sleep.” He shoved the pillow over his head.
“Up, we need to go. Now.”
With a groan, he got up and scrambled to his room.
“No time to beautify this morning. Get your shit and let’s go.” Every morning Jake took three hours and used a bottle of gel to get ready.
Ten minutes later as I pulled out the driveway, Jake lit a cigarette.
“Eww, smoking on an empty stomach, that’s gross.”
“You know nothing about smoking, do you?” Jake asked, sinking down the seat and rubbing his temple. “And why all the shouting?”
“I’m not shouting, wise ass. You’re hung over.” I pointed to my messenger bag. “Just take a couple Advil.”
He bent down to retrieve the pills and grunted. After finding the bottle, he mumbled, “Thanks,” popped the pills in his mouth, and swallowed without water.
“Jesus, Jake. You want an ulcer? You need water to help digest things.”
“Sorry, ma.” He rolled his eyes and took another drag on his cigarette.
“Which reminds me, we need to talk.”
“Not now. I beg you.”
“Now is good as ever. You know your mom put the house on the line for you to be out, don’t you?”
“Did you just say something nice about Mom?”
“No. But I won’t watch you jeopardizing her house and not say anything.”
“And how am I doing that?”
“You know you aren’t supposed to get near drugs.”
“It was pot. Luna. Jesus, how many times do I have to explain that to you?”
“Newsflash, moron. Pot is a drug. And I’m not that naïve. You did some serious shit last night. What was it? Crack?”
“Fuck no. I don’t mess with that shit. It was Valium and vodka. Shit, remind me not to do that again.” He groaned, closing his eyes.
“Not to mention what time you got home. This is serious, Jake. If you get caught, there’s too much at stake.”
“I won’t get caught. Shit, Luna. Mind your own business. Get some sweet over that sour mood. Maybe Caleb will stop fucking Jessica and come back to you.”
I blanched. My vision tunneled and everything in front of me seemed to split in two. Thankfully, I had just pulled into the last open parking space, or I would have wrapped my Mustang around a pole.
“I didn’t mean that. Sorry, I’m talking out of my ass. I don’t know if they’re fucking. I mean they looked—shit, Luna. Forget it. I’m an asshole.”
I didn’t debate that. At that moment, Caleb, Jake, and everyone for that matter could just go to hell. “Get out of the car,” I said, my hands gripping the wheel.
“Sorry Lun—”
I didn’t let him finish. “Out of the car,” I hissed.
He pulled his hair and said, “I’m really sorry, Luna.” Jake shut the door with a bang.
I sat there frozen like a statue, my heart struggling to keep on beating. I looked at the azure blue sky, just like the one I had painted, so long ago. Its bright and pure color was so at odds with my emotions.
Eventually, my rational and practical side prevailed. I summoned all my courage and scrambled out of the car, ready to step into hell. I let out a bitter laugh, longing for the days when I thought school was purgatory.
My cell vibrated. When I pulled it from my jeans pocket, my heart jolted inside my chest. It was Caleb replying to my text.
Caleb: As I recall you said all, last I saw you. Sorry, it has to end like this but we r done
I swallowed my pride, and my fingers trembled terribly when I punched:
Me: Let’s talk….
I hit send, and an immediate reply came through.
Caleb: You’re smarter than that. Can’t take a hint? It’s over
I walked numbly to the reception desk to get a late slip. I opened my locker and searched for an Interior Design assignment that was due that morning. I heard a soft moan coming from an alcove down from the lockers.
I shut the door with unnecessary force. That place was the same spot Caleb tugged me many times to make out.
“Let’s ditch and go to my house. Mom’s at City Hall this morning.”
“Tempting, but I have a trig test.”
That voice. That raspy voice that has a warmth with the ability to curl inside my chest and thaw my cold heart. I didn’t have to look to know who it belonged to. It was Caleb’s. But some perverse sadomasochist power propelled my feet, taking me around the corner.
I never wished to forget my sorrows. I wore my scars with pride. They made me who I was. But if I could choose to erase one thing from my mind, it would definitely be the image of Jessica molded against Caleb’s body.
My mind, maybe in wishful mode, briefly imagined that I had seen pain flicker in Caleb’s eyes as he saw me. But I dismissed the ridiculous thought as fast as it had occurred.
“My bad. Carry on. Didn’t mean to interrupt your… little party,” I said sarcastically but unbelievably lighthearted. I said a mental thank-you that I hadn’t lost my ability to put on a mask. I spun on my heel and dashed away as fast as a criminal flees from a crime scene.
As I headed to my Interior Design class, self-loathing swept over me. Why, one might ask. Because I never wanted something so badly as I wanted Caleb to chase me and tell me it was all a misunderstanding, and I was the love of his life.
I questioned my sanity. But mostly I questioned my self-esteem, my sense of pride. And never, in my entire life, had I felt so ashamed of myself. Not when I became a drug pusher, or when I became a murderer. That moment was my lowest point.
Weeks rolled into months. Jake’s court date was rescheduled twice. Mrs. Perez, the attorney we had hired, said it was unprecedented, but there was nothing we could
do but to wait.
I grew more nervous, and Jake seemed more strung-out each day. To my devastation, he had started to steal my money. Now that we both refrained from selling drugs, things were falling apart. No matter how many hours I worked, the money was never enough for all the expenses we had. I canceled my phone. Our dinners consisted mostly of Raman noodles, but it still wasn’t enough, and in the heart of the winter, they shut off our electricity.
To no avail, I called the electric company from the school pay phone (yep they still had one of those). I even begged—I was getting good at that—to have it turned back on. But all the customer service did was say they needed a minimum payment to reconnect it.
To make my sour mood worse, I hung up the phone and turned, bumping into Caleb’s chest.
“Hey, love,” he greeted. “Are you in a rush?” he asked, wiggling his brow. “Maybe we can go to the janitor’s closet and I’ll relax you. You look a little worn out.”
I glared at him. Biting the inside of my cheek until it bled, I turned to leave. Only to spin at the last moment and say, “You know, Caleb, you said you didn’t want to be like your father. I don’t know if this is a competition or what. But if it is, hats off to you. You win over your dad.” I clapped my hands in a quick applause. “You’re a royal asshole.”
I stormed away before tears flooded my cheeks.
Inside my car, I dreaded going home. I even considered sleeping in the kennel. It was so warm in there. Eventually, I did go back to the house. Jake needed my help to stay grounded. Not that I was doing a good job at that; he continued to get worse each day.
When I opened the door, something looked weird. I squinted my eyes, wondering what was off. Then, I realized the power was back on. I wanted to let it go and not question who was responsible for that. Did Aunt Lace pay the bill? Nah, not likely.
I couldn’t get rid of the bothersome feeling, so I borrowed Jerry’s cell and called the electric company hoping to unravel the mystery. Maybe, after I hung up earlier today, someone had taken pity on me and decided to extend the due date. To my surprise, someone had paid our entire bill. Cash. I wondered who it was, but I wasn’t about to complain or question. Let the Good Samaritan do his deed and be on his/her merry way. Anonymously.
After gobbling down a bowl of Raman noodles, I descended to the basement to do the laundry. My heart panged when I checked the oil tank. Less than a quarter left. Wow.
I started a load in the washer. Having even those beaten-up machines at home was an immeasurable luxury. I climbed the stairs, hoping to escape to my room without Aunt Lace noticing me.
But when I stepped into the living room, I saw her fumbling with the thermostat that I had adjusted earlier.
“Aunt Lace, you got to keep the house at seventy degrees, we’re almost out of oil.”
“Are you suggesting I turn into an icicle?”
“All I’m saying is that we can’t afford to keep the temperature at eighty all the time.”
“If you weren’t a lazy bum, you could still work for Ser.”
“I can’t believe you’re saying this. Actually, yes, I can. Never mind.”
“Ser said your spot’s still open. He wants you back.”
“Tell Serratore to go fuck himself.”
“Oh, your highness, the princess, cusses too? I thought ‘foul language,’ as you say it, was just for the likes of us, the paupers.”
Sometimes I looked at Aunt Lace and wondered how it was possible we shared the same DNA. But I knew some mysteries were unfathomable.
“Where’s Jake? It’s almost ten,” I asked, squeezing detergent on a rag to wash the dirty dishes.
“Do I look like a fucking babysitter? I’m not here to tend to a grown ass man.”
Were you ever? “Who did he go out with?”
“Are you fucking retarded? I just said I don’t know his whereabouts.” She opened a cabinet and closed it with a bang. “No food.” She grunted.
And by food, she meant Spam. “My paycheck wasn’t enough for groceries. I had to pay my car insurance.”
“You ungrateful bitch. That’s what I get for charity. All these years taking care of you. How do you repay me? Being a lazy ass. That’s how.”
“Didn’t you get the monthly social security check from Dad?” I asked, placing the last washed plate on the rack.
“Fuck you,” she said, grabbing a Raman noodle.
“Tell Jake to come to my room when he gets home.”
“Do I look like your fucking servant?”
“Good night to you too, Aunt Lace.”
Inside my room, I opened my bag and retrieved the fruits I had salvaged from lunch. I saved the banana for Jake and sank my teeth into the Granny Smith apple, relishing in the tart taste in my mouth. I had gotten my appetite back. Well, sort of.
I liked to pretend that Caleb was just a murky chapter in the story of my life that I would title An Unfortunate Series of Events. Yeah, like the movie with the orphans. But at night, when I folded myself into bed to sleep, the painful throbbing in my soul was as real as the physical ache in my chest.
At school, I avoided him like the plague. And he avoided me, too. That made me feel equal parts devastated and relieved. I missed him so much that at times it was as if there wasn’t enough oxygen to feed my lungs, to keep my heart beating, and my blood flowing.
But I would survive his absence. So what if my sky was permanently gloomy and dark? Who needed bright blue skies anyway? So outdated. That’s the thing about teens, we thrive on drama and depression. It’s true. I read it in an article from one of those parenting magazines sitting in a rack at my ObGyn’s office.
I opened Wuthering Heights with hopes to finish it. A paper about the book was due at the end of the week, and I hadn’t written a single line. I had a hard time getting through this book. Heathcliff evoked an onslaught of emotions, none of them pretty or noble. His Catherine was a selfish bitch. But, my heart bled for her. Why would a high school teacher recommend such a tragic story for teenagers to read? Unbelievable.
The door squeaked open. Jake stumbled in and fell head first on my bed, crushing my schoolwork and squashing his banana.
“Jake, get off.” I tried to rescue the banana.
“Damn, you’re the moon in the sky. I’m starved.” He snatched the banana out of my hand, peeled, and shoved a mushy bite in his mouth.
“More like you have the munchies,” I said, smoothing a crumpled sheet of math work.
“Do you have anything else to eat?” he asked.
“No, sorry—Oh, wait, I have peanut butter somewhere in my closet.” I leaped from my bed and raided the closet.
“Found it.” I lifted the jar as one might heft a gold Olympic medal.
“Have I told you that you rock, Moon?”
“Jesus, you get so sappy when you’re high.” With my finger, I scooped a generous lump of peanut butter and handed the jar to Jake. “Here, eat it. It’s good protein, and you need it.”
He held the jar in his hand, and his eyes burned into me. “I don’t deserve you.” Tears flared.
“Shut up and eat it.”
“No, since I’m making a fool of myself, might as well be thorough. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me. And I never thanked you.”
“Sappy…,” I said in a singsong voice.
“For real, Moon. I love you. More than I ever loved anyone, even Mom.”
My heart twisted painfully. “Right back at you, Jake.”
“Do you believe in premonitions?”
“I believe you’re high and in need of a scolding. But come here, I’m not in the mood to preach.”
Jake rested his head on my lap, the jar of peanut butter forgotten at his side.
“I had a dream that Dad came back to take me to hell with him,” he said with a whisper. His warm tears wetting my legs.
“Hush, I killed him once. I won’t mind killing him twice. If he ever comes for you, I’ll send him back to hell, where he belongs.” I rhyth
mically caressed his hair, and sang a lullaby that Dad had always sung to me. It was a church song, but it had a calming effect on my soul. I suppose it did the same to Jake because it had always lulled him to sleep.
Long after Jake’s breathing became even, I stared numbly into space as memories of his dad flooded me.
When I moved into my aunt’s, my bond with Jake was immediate. He was an oasis in the middle of the desert. (Sorry for inserting a cliché, but it’s the truth). Plus he reminded me so much of my dad it was scary.
Soon after I moved in, Aunt Lace quit her job. I suspected that getting the monthly checks from Mr. Bakosi and social security influenced her decision.
We didn’t talk money. I had a small trust fund that would pay for college, and I could only touch it when I turned eighteen. I didn’t care what she did with the money Dad left for her to raise me. From where I was standing, she made it clear that I was a burden, and she wouldn’t hesitate to kick me out. Besides, her hand was heavy and left angry marks on my face whenever I said something to upset her.
So I put up with all her unstable temper and her angry outbursts without ever rebelling. That was until Uncle Bob moved back in with us. Until I did the unthinkable and changed the course of who I would become.
I knew I was going to kill Uncle Bob the first night I heard the bang of Jake’s door followed by his cries, and Uncles’ Bob grunts. I had spent that first night staring at the murky shadows dancing on the ceiling, eyes wide open, stiff back pressed into the mattress, fear corroding my chest like battery acid.
Then it happened. It was just another day, nothing extraordinary. After classes, I stayed at school for softball practice. When I got home, sweat covered my skin, dampening my jersey, and exhaustion ached in every muscle. My feet were raw; the darn cleats were getting too tight. I kicked them off.
I saw Auntie Lace sprawled on the sofa. She was hammered. One of her eyes was bruised and swollen, and she had a trail of dry blood down her nose. On the coffee table, I saw a crack pipe, a bag of crack rocks, and an empty bottle of Jack Daniels.