The Dark One

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The Dark One Page 6

by Jennifer Martucci


  “Awesome. I think I’ll go.” I try to sound as nonchalant as she sounded and fail.

  “Great! It should be fun. There’s a lot of stuff planned.” She smiles brightly.

  “Great! I’ll see you there then,” I reply, grinning like a fool.

  Sarah laughs, and my smile capsizes. “It’s only Tuesday, Danny. I’ll see you before that.”

  “You will?” I ask and feel excitement swirl low in my gut.

  She giggles and tosses a lock of hair over her shoulder. “Yes, silly. We go to school together.”

  Her words land like a slap. My face is beet red. I can feel heat so intense my eyeballs warm several degrees. With nothing else to do to redeem my idiotic behavior, I check the time on my phone and say, “We better get to class,” when I feel like saying, “I’m going to go drop dead now.”

  “All right. I’ll see you later.” Sarah smiles at me again then waves. “Bye.”

  “Bye,” I reply and as soon as she’s out of sight, I take my head in both hands and scold myself for being so incompetent when it comes to girls. After a few minutes, I fill my backpack with the books I’ll need for the morning and head to my first-period class. Face still scarlet and heart deflated, I admonish myself for entertaining the idea that Sarah was ever interested in me as anything more than a friend.

  Chapter 6

  Fall always seems to arrive when I’m not paying attention. It’s as if summer slips through my fingers like grains of sand in the wind, and without warning, the days grow shorter and colder. Suddenly, warm, balmy nights are replaced by ones filled with brisk breezes and the scent of freshly fallen leaves. School begins, and long, lazy days are replaced by ones spent rushing to class, taking notes and fulfilling homework assignments. Despite going through the motions of this annual rite of passage for sixteen years, I’m never prepared for it, never ready.

  Smoothing the front of my shirt with both hands, threads of cool air wind and coil through the open window of my bedroom and send my curtains billowing and dancing. Flapping and waving like banners, the panels of fabric mimic the cyclone of nerves swirling within me. The air carries on it the aromatic scent of burning leaves. Ordinarily, the smell would infuse me with a sense of comfort and nostalgia, but not this night. Tonight, I’m too excited, too nervous.

  Friday, much like the seemingly sudden appearance of fall, came without warning. In the space of a breath, the week ended and homecoming is upon me. And attached to the word homecoming is a face that appears in my mind, placed there with such permanence and etched with such detail it might as well be tattooed in my brain. Sarah. Sarah Miller. Her name whispers through the hollows of my being like a benediction.

  Closing my eyes, I shake my head slightly, envisioning her features and feeling a flutter in my belly so pronounced I shudder. I’m not sure what it is about her, what quality she possesses that makes me feel like a puppy wagging his tail and about to wet the floor because he’s so excited. I’ve known pretty girls before. She is, by no means, the first. And I’ve come across my fair share of popular girls too. But none have been capable of holding my attention the way she does, of touching me without ever resting her fingertips upon my flesh. No other girl can hold a candle to Sarah. Everything about her shines brightly: her hair, her eyes, and her smile. All glow, but most importantly, they glow from within.

  She radiates a light that draws me in almost as fully as the one that had me in its magnetic force field the night I was shot in the convenience store. It is a new sensation, a strange sensation.

  I don’t particularly like feeling as I do. I don’t dislike it either if I’m being completely honest. Fearing I am the proverbial moth to a flame leaves me with a sense of vulnerability. Add to that my basic ineptitude in the dating arena and I am rendered a ball of nerve-riddled flop sweat.

  Taking a deep breath and mustering every ounce of self-esteem I can to buoy my confidence, I reach for my bottle of cologne and apply a third spritz. I don’t want to overdo it in the fragrance department. The last thing I want to be is that guy who leaves a trail of cologne in his wake for everyone to hack and choke on. But it’s hard not to want to keep my hands busy, to do something in the moments leading up to homecoming, to seeing Sarah. And since nothing good comes from idle, cologne-wielding hands, I push the rectangular glass bottle to the far corner of my dresser, out of reach and further from my sight.

  Breathing in a lungful of air, I rub my temples, daring to entertain different scenarios for how this night will play out. The hopeful narrative in my brain has Sarah leaning in and inhaling, closing her eyes and saying, “Danny, you smell amazing.” In reality, at this point, she may fan her nose and say, “Who bathed in cologne?” The latter would be devastating, obviously. I’d love for her to compliment me, to maybe even kiss my cheek again. Both thoughts cause warmth to diffuse through my chest. Of late, most, if not all, of my thoughts center on Sarah.

  The days leading up to this one have been the best I’ve ever experienced. Not only did I pass my road test, but Sarah and I have talked on and off all week, laughing and joking about shows we enjoy, movies we’ve seen and have even had discussions about family that bordered on intimate. She has made school more than tolerable thus far. She’s made it a place I look forward to being. Just seeing her make her way to the lunch table I share daily with Tom, Steve, Mike and Pete knocks the wind from my lungs. Not only do I enjoy her company while I eat, I’m also amused by the reactions of those around us. Judging from the curled upper lips, stares and whispering, I’m inclined to believe her friends don’t approve of her table selection lately. I’d feel bad for them if they didn’t come across so shallow and arrogant, but since the do come across that way, I silently enjoy their displeasure. Thankfully, Sarah is unbothered by it. When asked if she was okay with all the attention her new lunch seat garnered she replied, “Who cares? Let them stare. They need to get a life!” Her fiery disposition is yet another aspect of her personality that I enjoy.

  Smiling as I recall the feisty tone she used when she twisted in her seat, leveled a flinty gaze at a so-called friend she overheard voicing her opinion about sitting with me and Tom and the others and made a sharp-witted comment, I gaze into the mirror. After looking at myself for what feels like hours this evening, my eyes begin playing tricks on me. I start to worry my head is too big or my eyes too small, that my lips are unusually full for a guy. I’ve never spent so much time fretting about my appearance ever. Scrutinizing individual features unless there’s a pimple setting up camp there is utterly foreign to me.

  Realizing nothing good will come of all this scrutiny, I turn from the mirror and, with my hand on the doorknob of my room, hear the blare of a horn from the driveway. I have my license and could drive, but Tom is. I slip my phone from my pocket and see that it’s seven o’clock on the dot. He is right on time. Breathing deep to calm my nerves, I open my bedroom door and briskly walk down the hallway. “Tom’s here!” I call out to my mother. “I’m going!”

  I wait and hear silence for several seconds and am about to leave when my mom appears in the hallway behind me. “Have fun, sweetie.”

  Her voice and sudden appearance startles me. Fraught, I jump and clutch my chest. My sister’s laughter, a sound similar to a braying donkey, echoes all around me.

  “Might need to change your boxers, little brother.” To my mother, she says, “Did you see how he jumped? I think he messed his undies.” She tosses her head back and continues laughing.

  Narrowing my eyes, I glare at Kiera for a moment before returning my attention to my mother. “Bye, mom. I’ll see you later.”

  “Hope you have a great time at homecoming.” My mom smiles warmly.

  Laughter trailing off, my sister folds her arms across her chest and shakes her head. “I can’t believe you’re going to be there too.”

  I ignore her and leave the house. I make my way down the driveway and climb into the back seat of Tom’s car. I exchange greetings with everyone inside and we make our way
to the school.

  The ride is short and the parking lot has filled. We find a place to park and enter through the rear doors that lead us down a short hallway to the gym. The rumble of bass from the music blaring in the gym echoes down the corridor. Claps and cheers accompany it, indicating that the pep rally is underway. The closer we draw, the louder the thunderous eruption becomes, and when I step inside, it is deafening. Music from the band and a drum line greets us. The crash of symbols, the crisp snap of the snare drum and the rich beat of the bass collide to form a song to which cheerleaders shake pom-poms and chant. Wringing my hands, I scan the bleachers for any sign of Sarah.

  “Let’s go find a place to sit, or stand at least,” Tom shouts over the noise.

  I nod in agreement and follow him, all the while I check over my shoulder and hope I spot Sarah.

  Wading through a sea of students, we find an unoccupied niche between the debate team and a few kids who reek of marijuana. No one seems to notice us and no one acknowledges us. The band stops and the cheerleaders perform a dance that ends with squeals and high leg kicks. But their routine is unimpressive. All I can concentrate on are the doors. Where is Sarah? The question rolls around in my head again and again.

  “I don’t think she’s coming,” Tom leans in and says as if in answer to the question my brain posed.

  Rearing my head slightly, I pretend I didn’t hear what he said so I can regain my footing. “Huh? Who? What’re you talking about?”

  Tom rolls his eyes exaggeratedly. “C’mon, man, you know who. The girl you keep looking around for.”

  I feign innocence, cocking one brow. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Tom swats the air between us with a large, meaty hand. “Whatever, dude. Not gonna get into it with you.

  A shrill sound distracts us both as the microphone the man I presume is the football coach protests loudly.

  “Oh man, that hurt.” I cup my hands over both ears until the shrieking stops and the man introduces himself as Coach McGrath. He addresses the student body, sharing a story of triumph over opposition as a child deemed too small to play football by his whole town and how he went on to score a game-winning touchdown that clinched the division for his school. The story sounds an awful lot like a movie I once watched with my mother, but I don’t bother mentioning it to Tom and the others. I don’t feel like recounting it and drawing the parallels between Coach McGrath’s harrowing tale and the Hollywood blockbuster, especially not after I see Jenny sashay into the gymnasium with Sarah a few steps behind her. Piercing eyes the color of ice over water search the crowd, and for a fleeting moment, I’m certain they search for me. My heart takes off at a gallop, the notion of her looking for me as I did for her so exhilarating a thrill of excitement pulses through my belly. She spots me and our gazes meet, the electrifying feeling pounding through me multiplying tenfold. She walks past countless girls and a few boys who try to get her to sit with them, declining with a stiff smile and a flick of her wrist. When Chris attempts to intercept her, my posture goes rigid. I watch, waiting to see if she’ll stay with him, hoping against hope she won’t. She blazes past him, not even bothering to make eye contact, and I fight to keep from erupting into a thunderous round of applause that rivals those roused by the pep rally. I beam at her, not caring that I probably look equal parts goofy and terrifying, until she is standing before me, Jenny at her side, chomping and snapping her gum.

  “Hey Danny. Hey guys.” She acknowledges me specifically and the rest of my friends as a group, a detail that does not go unnoticed by me. “Sorry I’m so late. My mom had me running errands for her. You know, picking up milk, eggs and dry cleaning. Fun stuff.” She smiles, a lopsided smile that I find myself mirroring.

  “No worries,” Tom says. “This thing is just about over. We’re going to get going in a few minutes.”

  The tiniest of frowns tugs at the corners of her mouth. “Oh. That stinks.” Jenny glances at her furtively and a look of annoyance flickers across her features. “Hey, are you guys going to Tyler’s party?”

  Jenny huffs and turns her head.

  “Tyler?” Tom asks warily.

  “Yeah, Tyler Adams. His parents are away. He lives in that huge house over off of Brady Brook Farm Road.” She tries to jog Tom’s memory.

  “Never been there.” Tom shrugs and his reply is tight, embarrassed almost. It’s clear Tom and Tyler do not run in the same circles. “Besides, we weren’t invited.” A note of dejection touches his tone.

  “You’re with me, so yes you are invited,” Sarah counters.

  “I don’t know,” Steve chimes in as he shakes his head slowly.

  “Yeah, really, I don’t think Tyler or any of his friends will share your opinion of how invites work,” Tom adds.

  “Oh to heck with them! Who cares?” Sarah tips her chin defiantly. “I want you there.” Her eyes zero in on me and my heartbeat stutters.

  After several beats pass between us, my voice springs from my throat. “I’m in. I’ll go.”

  Tom eyes me curiously then looks between Sarah and I. “Okay, I guess we’re going.” His tone is hesitant, cautious. But he’s agreed, and I’m grateful. I’m not sure how grateful I’ll be if we get there and are promptly turned away at the door, but for the time being, I’m elated to be going anywhere with Sarah. Heck, she could be telling me I’m in for an exam from a proctologist and I’d be thrilled just to be with her.

  “Oh great!” She looks over her shoulder and sees that the faculty is putting on a corny skit. “Let’s get out of here now and avoid the stampede, and this ridiculous nonsense,” she gestures to the teachers humiliating themselves.

  We make our way out of the gym, out of the school and into our respective cars. Following Sarah, we navigate several long and winding roads until we find ourselves driving down a tree-lined lane. Towering pines lend a stately presence to an already picturesque stretch of road. Pines give way to brightly colored, lower growing foliage. Leaves colored vibrant shades of orange, red and yellow fall from branches, cascading to the ground like flames. The road we travel looks as if it’s been pulled from the pages of a magazine or from the canvas of a famous painter, even in the dark.

  “Wow, this neighborhood looks nothing like mine,” Tom mumbles.

  “Yeah, I hear that,” Steve agrees.

  We pull up to a cul-de-sac with just three houses separated by acres of land. Sarah guides her car to the middle driveway and follows the steep slope to a sprawling house set high on a hill. An array of other vehicles are parked on either side of the driveway, both on the grass and off it.

  “Wow,” is all I manage as I take in the sheer size of the house and the property.

  “I know, right,” Tom agrees.

  Guys and girls mill about the perimeter of the property, some chatting in small groups while others pair off.

  “No way do we belong here,” Steve says from the front seat.

  “Yeah, this is crazy. I don’t think we should stay,” Mike chimes in.

  I’m not sure how I feel. All I know is that if I have an opportunity to hang out with Sarah, I’m staying.

  “Let’s go, get out of here and grab a slice,” Steve suggests.

  Tom twists in the driver’s seat and glances at me. “I think we should just see how things play out, right, Danny?”

  “Absolutely,” I agree. “We’re with Sarah. No one’s going to question her. We’ll be fine.”

  Without any further resistance or discussion, we exit the car. Sarah greets us and we follow her through the front door and into a tiled entryway. Loud music blares somewhere in the house, filling the space with a rumbling rhythm that vibrates through my bones.

  “Let’s go out back,” Sarah shouts over the music. She carves a path through bodies that undulate and sway in time with the beat until we reach a sliding glass door off the kitchen. Beyond it is a covered in-ground swimming pool. At least fifty boys and girls linger around it. I immediately spot my sister, Kiera. Flanked by
two other girls and circled by about six boys, she holds court for a rapt audience. Her eyes grow wide when she sees me. Shocked, she mouths the words, “What are you doing here?” Her brow is furrowed and her expression is one of pure hostility but she doesn’t miss a beat. No one with her sees her do it.

  I take a tentative step toward her, sick and tired of her abuse at this point, but feel a small, warm hand land on my forearm. “This place is crazy, right?” Sarah is smiling at me, her face highlighted perfectly by the outdoor floodlights.

  “It sure is,” I agree. “I’ve driven by houses like this but never been inside one.”

  “I’ve been here before, but this place, no matter how many times I come, always manages to amaze me. I always find something different or something I didn’t notice last time.”

  Cocking my head to one side, I ask, “Like what?”

  Sarah chews her lower lip then turns from me, scanning the expansive piece of property on which the house sits. “Those trees.” She points in the distance to a row of stout trees with blood-red leaves. Those are Japanese maple trees.”

  I follow the trajectory of her finger, never so interested in a tree in my life. “Those are nice. I really like them.” I fumble for the right words to say then shift my weight from one leg to the next.

  “Funny thing is, I asked Tyler’s mom if they’re new and she looked at me like I have ten heads, said they’ve been here forever.” She brushes a silken lock of hair from her forehead and I swear I envy her hand.

  “Hmm, wow, that’s cool.” Cool? Cool! Really? That’s the best I could come up with! Heat sweeps up my back, blazing a trail up my neck until it reaches my cheeks. I clear my throat and hope she doesn’t notice that sweat beads my forehead now. Suddenly, I’m grateful for all the cologne I applied as I’m sure my deodorant has just been put to a test it failed. “It’s cool that you notice things like that.” I try to aptly express what was in my brain. “Most kids our age don’t pick up on things like that or know the names of pretty little red trees.”

 

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