Wicked Hunger (Someone Wicked This Way Comes)

by DelSheree Gladden

  Ivy leans against a row of lockers and says, “It was mostly my fault Van was late getting out of class last night, you know? She asked how I liked the class and I started talking about the type of dancing I used to do. I feel like every time we meet, I do something that makes you upset. I hope you weren’t too mad at Van last night.”

  “I…”

  Was that what she thought last night, that I was mad at Van for making me wait? Everyone else in this school thinks I’m the most pleasant guy in the world. Thanks to how I’ve acted like a lunatic every time we’ve met, she must think I fly off the handle about things as small as being late. It’s much better than her realizing I was two seconds away from killing her last night, but it still bothers me that she thinks of me like that.

  “I wasn’t mad at Van.” I pause, struggling to find some kind of excuse that won’t lead her to the truth. I fall back on yesterday’s argument. “I mean, I was mad at Van. We got in a fight when I dropped her off. I thought she was being a jerk and making me wait because she was still mad.”

  Ivy eyes me thoughtfully. I know I still don’t come off as some stellar guy with that lie, but she’s been willing to overlook my supposed short temper so far, so I hope she’ll do it again.

  “Well, I promise not to make Van keep you waiting, if you promise not to jump to conclusions. She really was just trying to be nice to me. She didn’t seem upset about whatever you two argued about at all. Besides, getting so upset all the time isn’t good for you.”

  “It isn’t?” That may apply to other people, but I’m not exactly other people.

  “No, it isn’t,” she says. “So, do we have a deal?”

  I ignore the fact that this is absurd and say, “Yeah, sure.”

  “Good.” She smiles up at me, then, a strip of pink hair falling in her eyes. On some instinct I didn’t even know I had, my hand moves to brush it back. Whether Ivy acts like my “temper” is something that can be overcome by a deal made in a school hallway or not, she flinches. My hand freezes and falls back to my side.

  Ivy lithely tucks the stray hair away behind her ear and I decide it’s time to go. I’m too…embarrassed, frustrated, angry…I don’t know. Whatever it is, I turn away without saying anything to her and fix my eyes on the door of my next class.

  “Zander, wait,” Ivy calls after me. I don’t stop. I hope desperately that she’ll just leave me alone and walk away. She doesn’t. She does something much worse.

  Her fingers touch my arm. The all-consuming fire that blossoms under her touch spins me around. My body lurches toward her. Somehow, I stop short of actually grabbing her. I think it’s the panicked expression on her face that reigns in my reaction. “Ivy,” I gasp, drawing in a breath to try and calm myself. “I’m sorry. You startled me.”

  “I…I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay.” Even as I say it, though, I take several steps back. “I…I have a thing about people touching me. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “No, it’s fine. I thought you heard me call out, but I guess you didn’t.”

  “It’s kind of noisy out here,” I say, grateful a good majority of the students who have lunch right now are standing around eating in the halls rather than the cafeteria. It’s not a great excuse, but it’s semi-plausible. Ivy seems to take it at face value. I fold my arms across my chest to minimize any chance of accidental contact and say, “Did you need something? I must have missed…”

  “Yeah,” Ivy breaks in, “well, kind of. I just wanted to say that maybe we could get together this weekend. I could help you with whatever math homework you still have, and since Van is going out with Noah anyway, I thought you might have some free time.”

  “Oh, uh, maybe,” I start. Her last sentence sinks in and I falter. “Wait, what? Van is going out with who?”

  “Noah,” Ivy says uncertainly, “her English project partner.”

  “I thought she was doing that solo.”

  “She was, but Noah moved into her class and they got paired up. Is that a problem?” Ivy watches my reaction carefully, no doubt worried I’m going to freak out on her again.

  “No, of course not. I was just surprised. Van didn’t mention it to me. She’s not usually one for study dates or things like that,” I say.

  Ivy offers me a timid smile. “Is that some kind of sibling thing? I thought you might need some help still, but if you don’t, that’s okay.”

  Now she’s the one to take a step back, eager to turn away and leave it at that before I have another chance to reject or attack her. My hunger takes a backseat to the pain it causes me to think I’ve hurt her feelings, or made her think I don’t want to be with her every second.

  “No, it’s nothing like that,” I say, stopping Ivy from leaving. “Van is just, well, she’s not really into dating right now.”

  “That’s what Ketchup said about you, too,” Ivy says, her eyebrows rising in a silent question.

  I roll my eyes at the mention of his name. “Ketchup says a lot of things.”

  “Things that aren’t true?”

  I hesitate. “Things he doesn’t understand very well. Some things are more complicated than his little brain cares to figure out.”

  “Oh,” Ivy says.

  “But with Van, it is true. She’s more focused on getting into a good college than dating.”

  “I’ve seen her brush off Ketchup,” Ivy says, thankfully letting me change the topic from myself back to Van, “but she seems to really like Noah.”

  I don’t have any clue about Van’s feelings for Noah, but I know exactly why Van won’t date Ketchup or bring him around the house, and it has nothing to do with how much or little she likes him. I realize Ivy is waiting for me to say something. “I’ll have to ask her about that later.”

  Ivy nods, but I’m not really sure whether she’s agreeing with me or just doing it to acknowledge I said something. It drives me crazy that I find it so hard to talk to her. I can’t read her at all, either. I feel like I’m constantly floundering every time I get near her, something that has nothing to do with hunger.

  “Well, I guess I better get to lunch. Your class already started, I’m sure,” Ivy says. She starts backing away, toward the cafeteria.

  “This weekend,” I say without thinking, “you really want to get together?”

  There’s a moment of hesitation, but she says, “Yeah, give me a call.”

  “Does Van have your number?”

  “I’m not sure, but Laney does. You can get it from her, if you want.” Ivy turns, then, and disappears around the corner.

  The relief I feel at her leaving and giving my hunger a reprieve is hard to quantify, but along with it comes confusion. It would have been a simple thing to exchange numbers. I have my cell phone in my pocket, and I’m sure she had hers. What teen doesn’t have their cell phone with them at all times?

  For a moment, I wonder if she’s playing some kind of hard-to-get game, but that doesn’t seem like her. She’s the one who’s made the effort to talk to me, not the other way around. Understanding hits me when I sink into my seat in my calculus class. She’s giving me a way out. If she’d given me her number directly, I wouldn’t have had an excuse not to call her. This way, I could say Van didn’t have her number, or I couldn’t get a hold of Laney to get it from her.

  Ivy is leaving it in my hands. She talks to me regardless of how I’ve acted around her, but she must see the risk of being near me. Apparently open to the idea of hanging out, it would seem she doesn’t want to be the one to actually make the choice. Deniability in case things go wrong? I shake my head. She doesn’t know just how much danger she’ll be in. Only I know. Keeping her out of harm’s way would be easy. Don’t call her. It would be the noble thing to do.

  Noble, hah.

  People around here may think that word describes me, but I have them all fooled.

  I walk toward the cafeteria still stewing over Zander’s response to my question about the weird taste. I don’t b
elieve him. His odd reaction to my questions, and generally ridiculous answers, has been under my skin all day. Zander is probably right about this having something to do with getting closer to my sixteenth birthday. The part he’s lying about is what he knows. That was pretty obvious.

  The problem is, if I keep asking him about it, he’ll avoid the questions even more, maybe even start avoiding me. I wouldn’t want that on a normal day. With Ivy around, I can’t let that happen. I huff in irritation, completely stumped on what to do.

  “Hey, what’s going on?” Ketchup asks as he falls in step with me.

  I glance over at him, unsure of what to say, but glad he appeared. In my head, I know this isn’t something I should discuss with him. Words that will brush off his concern form on my lips, but I can’t say them. There is so much banging around in my head that if I don’t let at least some of it out, I am going to explode.

  “I think Zander is lying to me about something,” I blurt out before I can change my mind.

  Ketchup looks a little surprised that I actually told him, but he doesn’t let that stop him. “Lying about what?”

  Now I balk. How on earth do I explain this without sounding like a total nut job? “I, well…um.”

  Ketchup stops walking, his hand on my arm forces me to stop as well. I can’t meet his eyes. I knew it was stupid to say anything. A gentle hand under my chin pushes me to look up. Ketchup’s stern expression is both surprising and welcome.

  “Van, I know you’ve got some weird stuff going on. I figured that out a long time ago.” His hand softens as he slides his hand to rest on my cheek. “If I wasn’t good with weird, I would have bailed already. You can tell me. I can handle it, okay?”

  He seems so sure. I’m not nearly as confident, but my earlier argument wins again. I need someone to talk to. “Okay,” I say slowly.

  Ketchup smiles, looking quite pleased with himself.

  “I keep tasting this weird taste, and I asked Zander about it and he acted really weird and gave me some lame answer about it being normal, or whatever, but I knew he was lying because he got all tense and shifty, which made it pretty obvious he didn’t want to talk about it with me, and that’s really freaky because we don’t keep secrets from each other ever, and if he won’t tell me it must be really bad and I don’t know what to do about it,” I say all in one breath, too scared Ketchup will walk away before I can finish.

  I breathe in slowly and wait for Ketchup’s reaction.

  Frowning, he asks, “What kind of weird taste?”

  It takes me a moment to speak after his mild reaction. In my head that sounded like a whole string of random, crazy crap. He doesn’t even bat an eye.

  “Um, it’s kind of…well, it’s hard to explain. It’s not really any one taste I can identify. It’s like old socks and water that’s been sitting around for too long, like gross puddles mosquitos like to lay eggs in. And rotten food. It’s just gross.”

  Ketchup thinks a moment before responding. “And you’ve only tasted it around Zander?”

  “So far,” I admit, “but I have a feeling it’s not just about him.”

  “And he won’t explain it?”

  I shake my head. “He basically brushed me off when I asked. That’s not like him at all. That’s what makes me think it means something bad.”

  Before Ketchup can say anything else, the hallway goes completely silent. Given how many students are hanging out in the hall right now, that’s really creepy. What’s even freakier is that Ketchup slips his arm around my waist and pulls me under his arm, but not in a romantic way. It’s more like he’s trying to protect me. Concerned, my eyes sweep the hallway for the source and land on one of the scariest guys I have ever seen. It isn’t his clothes or hair, or even the way he stalks through the crowd. His cold, dead eyes are what scare me. I can’t help but draw closer to Ketchup as he nears us.

  I have every intention of looking away, but I freeze when the familiar taste forces its way into my body. My stomach heaves and I panic. Spinning into Ketchups embrace, I bury my face against his chest, breathing in the scent of his cologne in an effort to get away.

  A few seconds later, the world goes back to normal. Sound returns, as does the normal smell of teens chowing down on concession stand grub. Still, I don’t trust it. It takes Ketchup pulling back and forcing my chin up to convince me to rejoin the rest of the world.

  “Hey, are you okay? What happened?”

  “Who was that guy?”

  Ketchup looks at me like I’m crazy. “That guy? That was Alonso Vega. He’s been all over the news for months. How do you not know who he is?”

  “Grandma doesn’t let us watch the news, remember? Too many violent stories.”

  “Right, sorry,” Ketchup says.

  “Why has he been on the news?”

  Before speaking, Ketchup pulls me closer to the lockers. “Vega is a member of the Westsides. He was supposed to be involved in all those gang shootings last summer. He’s been on trial for the past few months, but they couldn’t pin him down and the jury let him loose even though everyone knows he’s on the gang’s cleanup crew.”

  “That guy’s a hitman?”

  “A pretty good one from what I’ve heard. Why?”

  “When he walked by, I tasted that same taste again.”

  Ketchup’s face scrunches. “So…what does that mean? Zander and Vega have something in common?”

  “Oh, no,” I say. “I really hope that isn’t what it means.”

  Neither of us knows what to say after that. We walk to the cafeteria in silence. I’m not entirely sure what might be running through Ketchup’s mind, but I am on the verge of losing it.

  “Van! What took you so long?” Ivy says in a rush, surprising both me and Ketchup with her sudden appearance.

  Even my hunger takes a minute to roar to life. I practically jump back in hopes of getting away from her, but she follows me. In a moment of panic, I grab Ketchup’s hand for strength to resist my hunger and yank it behind my back where Ivy can’t see it. Either Ivy doesn’t notice, or just pretends she doesn’t. Either way, she rattles on.

  “You meeting up with Noah this weekend wasn’t supposed to be a secret or anything, was it?”

  “What? No. Why?” What on earth made her think of that?

  “Who’s Noah?” Ketchup demands.

  “Are you sure?” Ivy asks, ignoring Ketchup’s question entirely. “I mentioned it to Zander and he got kind of weird about it.”

  All the fear and confusion I’ve been carrying around today suddenly gets ten times worse. Mixing with my hunger, I begin to feel lightheaded. “You talked to Zander? When?”

  “You talked to Zander?” Laney repeats, popping into the conversation as well. “Ooh, tell us all about it. What did he say?”

  “Uh, can we go sit down first?” I beg as my hunger begins to escalate. I need a little more separation as soon as possible. Thankfully, everyone agrees and scurries over to the table.

  Sitting a good five feet away so my hunger only simmers instead of rages, I focus on Ivy. I want details. “You talked to Zander?” I ask as casually as possible.

  “Yeah,” Ivy says slowly, watching me just as closely as I am her. “He was in my homeroom class. I guess Mr. Dalton was helping him with some homework.”

  Dalton. It’s plausible, but I’m not real big on coincidences. If it wasn’t by chance, Zander was the one who sought Ivy out. This screwed up day is getting worse by the minute.

  “Who cares about homework?” Laney says. “What’d you two talk about? And what did you say about Van going out with Noah? Who’s Noah?” When her waterfall of questions finishes, she stares at me and her cousin eagerly.

  Her questions about Noah dredge up a pretty heavy dose of guilt. Suddenly, I can’t even look in Ketchup’s direction. “Noah’s my new English partner, and it’s nothing,” I say with a shrug. “We might get together this weekend to start working on our project.”

  “We’ll discuss Noah more later,
” Laney says, turning back to Ivy.

  Ketchup seems to be echoing that same sentiment when I risk a glance at him. I shrink down in my chair even more.

  “Now what about Zander?” Laney asks.

  “Nothing,” Ivy says. “We just talked for a few minutes in the hall. I asked him if he needed any more help with his homework. He said he might, and I offered to help him with it this weekend. That’s when I brought up Noah. He seemed…not upset, but really surprised. I thought maybe I wasn’t supposed to mention him.”

  I wave away her concern, and hopefully Ketchup’s as well, with only half my attention on them now. The rest of my mind is scrambling to make sense of what she just said. The idea of Ivy and Zander simply talking in the hall is laughable. Whether she saw it or not, he would have been fighting his hunger the entire time. If that had been me, I would have needed to go demolish another punching bag. Zander has way more control than I do, but I bet he’s suffering right now, which makes me bite my lip with worry.

  He can’t possibly be planning on letting Ivy tutor him. I know he doesn’t believe me that there’s something up with her, but his hunger for her is reason enough to stay away. It would be insane to purposely subject himself to that. Which I guess is what he thinks I’m doing by not ditching Laney, but at least I have friendship and protecting family as a reason behind my choice. What does he have? Does he want to screw up? Doesn’t he understand what that would mean?

  I don’t get it. I want to crush Ivy every time I see her. That’s pretty hard for me to ignore. Zander’s more developed tastes are even harder to push away, especially the way his hunger leans. If he doesn’t stay away from Ivy, he’s going to end up killing her. He’ll end up just like Oscar.

  Laney’s elbow bangs into my ribs, jarring me from my thoughts. “What?” I snap.

  “Did you hear anything I just said?”

  “Um, no.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Movie. Seven o’clock. The three of us, plus whoever else wants to come. You can even invite this Noah guy if you want.”