Teen Spirit

by Francesca Lia Block

  Grant’s gaze didn’t waver. “Clark was really upset. He said he left and he felt bad about it. I know how much he likes you and I wanted to see if I could help.”

  I scowled at him. “So he doesn’t know you came?”

  “No. And we probably shouldn’t tell him. I wasn’t kidding about the sibling rivalry. I keep an eye out for the dude but I try to give him his space whenever possible.”

  “A lot of space. I’ve known him a couple of months and . . .”

  “I graduated from Hancock in Chicago a year early and I stayed there with our aunt. I just got back. Like I said, sometimes I think it freaks him out to have me around.”

  None of this sounded particularly reassuring. And I still had questions. “How’d you even know where I live?”

  Grant shrugged. “We’re brothers, remember. With cell phones. It wasn’t hard.”

  Grant walked slowly over to me. An ambulance drove by, throwing a swath of light across the wall. It lit the boy up for a second so that his whole body had a red sheen to it.

  Then Grant came and sat next to me on the bed. I could smell wood smoke and candy.

  He leaned closer so I could feel his hair brush against my face for a moment. It was surprisingly soft, like a kitten’s fur.

  “Clark didn’t say how beautiful you are,” he said.

  I scrunched my face at him.

  Grant’s eyebrows went up.

  “What does that mean? You don’t see it?”

  “I’m so not.”

  He moved closer. His breath smelled like cinnamon.

  “My nose is fat.” Why would I tell him that? Maybe I was trying to push him away and draw him closer with the words. “Not to mention . . .” I patted my butt.

  “Both perfect.”

  The lights in the room flickered on and off for a second, though I wasn’t sure if I had imagined it or not. The electric flicker in my body was proof enough. This wasn’t Clark.

  BEFORE GRANT LEFT, WE stood by the front door and he whispered in my ear, “Don’t tell him, don’t tell Clark. I just wanted to help but he’ll be pissed.”

  “I’ll try not to,” I said.

  “Don’t try, Julie. Just don’t do it. Trust me. I’ll see you soon, okay?”

  I nodded but it was hard for me to speak. My lips were tingling with electricity.

  AFTER GRANT LEFT, I had a dream. I woke crouched on the floor and there were tears on my cheeks and my heart was knocking like it was trying to escape a death trap. In my dream, I had seen a car, a speeding car. Winding roads. A cliff. I was tumbling down, down, down, crashing against the rocks, flipping and hurtling and falling forever into the darkness and I knew that if I didn’t wake up, everyone I loved would be gone forever.

  THE NEXT DAY AT PE, I was walking past the basketball courts in the gym with the Olympic-sized pool under its floor when I saw a tall boy shooting hoops by himself. He made every shot.

  My pulse dribbled along with the thud of the ball. Was it Grant? At school? It couldn’t be Clark. He never played basketball. As he had said, he couldn’t even make a basket in a trash can. And this guy was good. I ran over, propelled by a blast of adrenaline, forgetting about trying to act cool.

  “Hey!”

  The boy, distracted, turned his head and missed the shot. He retrieved the basketball and stood looking at me, eyes out of focus, holding the ball to his chest like someone had extricated and handed him his own heart.

  “Julie?”

  “Clark?” I said. “What are you doing?”

  He looked down at the ball and then rubbed his head. “I don’t know.”

  “I didn’t know you played.”

  “I don’t.”

  “WHAT WAS THAT ABOUT?” I asked him on the way to lunch.

  “I seriously don’t know. I hate playing basketball.” He pulled a knit cap with two pom-poms out of his pocket and jammed it on his head.

  “You’re good.”

  “No, I suck.”

  He was already agitated, so we didn’t talk about the basketball playing anymore, and I didn’t tell him about Grant. I wanted to say something; I felt as if I was being dishonest. But what could I say? You deserted me and your hot twin brother came over last night and he kissed me? He told me not to tell you?

  Why had I let Grant stay and talk? I didn’t even know him. Maybe the resemblance to Clark had made him seem more familiar but it was still strange. He’d had an effect on me I didn’t understand and I was pretty sure Clark wouldn’t either.

  Also I was still a little pissed at Clark. Not only because he had left so suddenly, when my grandmother was almost within reach. But why hadn’t he told me about Grant in the first place? I had known him since the first day of school, seen him almost every day; I thought we trusted each other.

  At lunch he had a pot of millet almond kicharee with yam and he offered me some; it was delicious, sweeter and creamier than his other recipe. I felt awkward, suddenly, being that close to him, after what had happened the night before. Clark and Grant were so alike that it was hard not to think about the spiced-candy scent of Grant’s mouth as I watched Clark precisely chewing each bite of his food.

  Jason Weitzman flicked the side of Clark’s head as he passed by. “Nice pom-poms.” For some reason he thought this was hysterically funny.

  Clark frowned, rubbing his scalp. “What’s wrong with pom-poms?”

  “He’s an ass. And pom-poms seem to have a negative effect on high school students who need to find something to hate on, apparently,” I said.

  “Not everyone is a hater.” Clark waved at Ally Kellogg, who happened to be passing by.

  “Does my hat annoy you?” he asked her.

  She smiled with even teeth. The freckles across the bridge of her nose looked like someone had drawn them on in exactly the right place. “Not really. It kind of suits you.”

  “See?” Clark grinned at me. At least he was grinning again.

  “I’m having a party this weekend,” she said. “It’s post-Halloween because we can’t waste all the good decorations. Come in costume if you want. You should have enough hats to choose from.” She handed us a flyer.

  It was the first time I’d been invited to a party since I’d come to this school in September and Ally was super popular, one of the north-of-Wilshire rich kids who didn’t socialize with south-of-Wilshires like me and Clark, so I was kind of flattered. She had complimented me on a short story I’d written about my grandmother in English, but besides that we hadn’t talked much, in spite of our elementary school connection.

  I thanked her and examined the invitation. “We should go,” I told Clark.

  “I’m not really into parties. Plus, it’s kind of far to walk.”

  “You drive, though, right?” I knew he was eighteen, but we’d only ever gone places that were within walking distance.

  He shrugged and shouldered his backpack. “I’m just not a party kind of guy,” he said, turning away.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I have to pee. Is that okay with you?” There was a tiny edge to his voice, and for a second I wondered if he knew that Grant had visited me or if he was just still upset about the Ouija board incident.

  “Are you mad?”

  “Should I be?”

  “No. Of course not. Sorry.”

  “See you later,” said Clark, and I watched him lope away—long legs, wide, bony shoulders, dumb hat, backpack full of always-warm kicharee. I wondered again why I assumed Clark would mind that his brother and I had sat together on my bed. Maybe I was concerned about it. But not enough to stop hoping that Grant would come to see me again as he had promised.

  I WAS FEELING THE desire for a little more of a social life than eating kicharee with Clark; I needed a bigger distraction from what was happening at my apartment—late-night visits from Luke and a crazy mom who still didn’t have a job and the weirdness with Grant and the ever-present missing of my grandmother that nothing—not a friend, not a mysterious brother,
not a stubborn Ouija board—could distract me from. So I decided to go to the party alone.

  “Where are you off to?” my mom asked from my bedroom doorway while I was getting ready. “You look good.”

  I pushed a pair of my grandmother’s marcasite hoops—dark, silvery metal flecked with shiny inlays—into the holes in my earlobes with a little more force than I had intended. “I got invited to Ally Kellogg’s Halloween party. Remember the girl I know from fifth grade?”

  My mom stood behind me so we were both reflected in the mirror on my wall. I was wearing a black off-the-shoulder jersey blouse and black high-heeled leather boots and a black-and-purple sequin-covered 1950s circle skirt that made my waist look small and hid my butt. I’d purchased it at Treasure Hunt, using most of my first paycheck. It was pretty clear by the creases on my mom’s forehead and the way she touched her scraggly ponytail, her eyes darting back and forth between us in the mirror, that she didn’t like how she looked, and it made me feel a twinge of guilt that I had been admiring myself when she came in. But it seemed like she only dressed up when Luke was around and didn’t have the energy to do it otherwise. I wasn’t sure what was worse—hooker heels or Mom the hot mess in a stained T-shirt and stretched-out yoga pants.

  “I’m glad to see you getting out.” She smiled wanly and pulled the ponytail holder out of her hair. I knew she meant what she said but, also, that part of her wanted me to stay. She didn’t like to be alone and Luke had an out-of-town gig that night. They were seeing each other less. She was sleeping more again, had stopped preparing meals for us.

  I adjusted a purple paisley silk scarf over my head and imagined Grant standing behind me instead of my mom, complimenting me the way he had the other night. Why did I care so much about someone I didn’t know? I guess I was dressing for a guy, too, even though he wasn’t there. I wondered if he might show up at the party and then scolded myself for wanting him to.

  For some reason the thought of Grant made me remember the Ouija board in my closet. It would make a good accessory for my outfit. I went back into my room to get the board but hid it in the silk shawl I was wearing so my mom wouldn’t see it.

  “Do you need a ride?” she asked.

  “No thanks.” As I kissed her quickly on the cheek, I smelled her familiar, soapy scent and felt bad that I’d been so judgmental. “Clark is taking me.”

  Actually, I used the rest of my paycheck from Treasure Hunt to take a cab to the party. I texted Clark on the way to see if he had changed his mind about coming, but he didn’t answer.

  Ally’s house was a huge Tudor, decorated in hundreds of black and orange lights and nearly as many elaborately carved pumpkins. Life-sized mechanical skeletons danced in a circle on the vast lawn. Small plastic skulls, headless skeletons, and green cobwebs hung from the porch. Some of the sticky netting clung to my face and mouth, and even when I brushed it away, I could feel it against my chilled skin. My breath clouded the air like a little ghost escaping from my body. I could hear music coming from inside the house and saw costumed kids filing up the staircase.

  The temperature soared as I walked inside. The music was too loud: Nirvana’s “Smells Like Teen Spirit,” a song I loved, but for some reason it made my mind hurt then. Colors blurred, shimmering in the hot air. Suddenly achingly hungry, I grabbed a handful of candy out of a crystal bowl on a counter. It made my gums ache but I took some more. I’d forgotten to eat dinner before I left. I was sure my grandma would never have allowed me to go to a Halloween party with an empty stomach, but my mom hadn’t even asked me if I’d eaten.

  Why had I come here at all? Ally, dressed as a sexy Alice in Wonderland in a blue pinafore and white thigh-high stockings, was running around the high-ceilinged, wallpapered rooms, handing people cups of punch.

  “Hey.”

  “Hi, Ally.”

  “Want a drink?”

  I took the plastic cup of rum punch from her gratefully.

  “Are you a gypsy or something?”

  “Yeah. Ouija board and all.”

  “Oh, cool! We’ll set you up to answer people’s questions,” she said.

  How could I say no to the hostess and the most popular girl at school? She sat me in a big red tapestry chair at a little gold table with lion’s feet. I sipped my punch and my body started to relax and warm up a little, although my hands were still cold.

  Jason Weitzman and Liam Wellington, two boys from my class both dressed as Jack Sparrow, approached my table.

  “Hey, gypsy girl, I want my fortune told,” Jason said.

  He sat down opposite me.

  “What do you want me to ask, Jack?”

  “Uh, it’s Jason.”

  “Yeah, I know. It was a joke. You know, Jack Sparrow,” I said.

  His lips curled under the fake mustache. “Ask it if Ally Kellogg is going to suck my dick.”

  I wanted to throw the board at him, but before I could do anything, the marker slid to NO. I couldn’t help smirking a little.

  Liam grabbed Jason in a headlock and scrubbed his scalp with his fist. “Poor baby.”

  Jason pushed him off, glaring at me. “Let’s see how well you do, dude.”

  Elbowing Jason aside, Liam leaned over the table. He was too big, looming. I didn’t like the feeling. “Tell me, fortune-teller, am I going to get laid tonight?”

  The marker sped to NO. I could have told him that. I could have told them both.

  “Fuck you,” Liam said. He was laughing but it almost sounded like he was in pain. “I’m going to get laid, you sorry bitch.”

  The marker kept moving. I wanted to stop it, but my hands felt glued to the surface.

  F-U-C-K-Y-O-U

  “Bitch,” Liam said again.

  I got up, folded the Ouija board in my shawl, and started to walk away. At this point I really just wanted to get out of there.

  I felt a hand on my ass and whirled around to face Jason and Liam. But I saw their faces blanch as someone behind me said, “Don’t touch her.”

  Surprisingly neither Jason nor Liam said anything else. They just walked away.

  “I was hoping you’d be here. That’s the only reason I came,” he said. The boy took off the top hat he wore and smoothed his hair back. His face was painted white with dark marks to look like a Day of the Dead skeleton.

  “Clark?” I said, unsure.

  There was a long pause.

  “Grant,” he said.

  WTF? It was just wrong that I couldn’t tell them apart.

  “This is messed up.” I walked away from him and he followed me. I had hoped to see Grant but now it just gave me the creeps and I wanted to go home. And I was still upset from what had happened with Jason and Liam.

  “Red Right Hand” by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds was playing. Katie Turnbull had a noose around her neck and was starting a conga line, followed by M. J. Rodgers with plastic fangs and white glitter on his skin, and two girls I didn’t know in cat ears and tails and black spandex American Apparel unitards.

  “Wait.”

  I went through the French doors and into the garden, and Grant was right behind me. The large stone statues had been wrapped in gauze like mummies. Neon-green cobwebs draped the bushes. A Frankenstein statue repeatedly raised and lowered a giant ax, and a mechanical witch cackled as she offered up a dead baby doll on a plate. Except for the bloodred water, the tiled pool reminded me of a much larger version of our old one. I thought that if I still lived in that house, if my grandmother hadn’t died, I wouldn’t be at this stupid party dogged by whichever the hell brother I was with.

  He was handing me a cup of punch. Which I reluctantly took. Molly Neiman, dressed as the Bride of Frankenstein, ran by screaming, pulling her shirt over her beehive hairdo. Grant didn’t even glance at her boobs.

  “I was worried about the other night. That I upset you,” he said.

  “I feel weird not telling Clark.” I missed Clark then with a hollow pang that surprised me. All his oddness seemed like the only normal t
hing in my life just then and I wanted to get home and call him. “He’s my friend.”

  “I know.” Grant stepped closer.

  I stepped back. “I thought you were him. Where is he? I texted him and he didn’t answer.”

  “Home. You know how he is. Everything freaks him out.”

  I squinted at him, trying to figure out if he was being disrespectful to Clark or just teasing in an affectionate way. And if it was the former, should I defend my friend?

  “Did you borrow his hat?”

  Grant looked at the hat in his hand. “Oh, yes, this. It’s not really my thing. But it’s Halloween. You know, costumes?”

  I shook my head in confusion, looking away at the haunted garden and bloody pool. Suddenly colors seemed much too bright and the mechanical witch’s cackle reverberated through my head. A glowing blue devil with horns uncannily sprouting from her forehead whacked me with her tail as she passed. My clothes felt tight. Grant was watching me. “I need to get home,” I said.

  “Can I give you a ride?”

  I went back into the house and was immediately sheathed in sweat. “Mind Eraser” clanged wickedly against my eardrums as I passed Harry Potter (Devin Li) and Hermione (Emily Carr) making out on the staircase, and headed toward the front door. Grant followed me, pushing a Jack Sparrow out of the way. On the porch, the headless plastic skeletons tried to ensnare me in their long fingers. I noticed one of the pumpkins had begun to rot, caving in on itself, the way my heart sometimes felt in my chest since my grandma died. The smell of the pumpkin reminded me for a second of the funeral parlor where we had received her ashes. For the first time, I realized she had actually been taken apart there, burned, put in a jar. Ally’s house loomed, white and wailing as a ghost.

  “Please,” Grant said, his voice floating across the night like mist. “I’ll take you home.”

  I stood on the sidewalk, dialing the cab. He hovered behind me, as tall as Clark, but his presence was so much more imposing. I felt his hand on my arm.

  “Come on, I have a car. You’ll save cab fare. I’ll just drop you off.”

  “This is so weird. You need to stop dressing like him and just showing up.”