by Wolf, Sara
“Ew, gross!” I say. “Now your germs and my germs are fraternizing and making germy little babies!”
He glares at me. I weigh the pros and cons of an early death and shut my mouth.
“Did you want jasmine rice or white rice, Jack?” Mrs. Hunter’s voice stabs through the tension in the kitchen as she walks in with two bags of rice, one in each arm. She sees me, and smiles.
“Oh! Hi Isis. Are you joining us for lunch?”
I shoot a look at Jack, who coolly ignores me and chooses the jasmine rice bag.
“Uh, yes? Provided I won’t be taken out back and shot afterwards?”
Mrs. Hunter laughs and settles beside me, and Jack just dumps the rice into the rice cooker on the counter.
“How was Sophia?” She asks her son.
“Fine,” He says tersely. “They’ve decorated for Halloween.”
“You should make her that pumpkin pudding you made last year. She’d love it.”
Jack’s hand goes still as he flips the stir-fry. It’s a quick-stutter stop motion, but he continues when the meat starts to burn.
“She can’t eat.”
“Oh no, not that stomach thing again,” Mrs. Hunter sighs. “I’m sorry, honey.”
“It’s fine. She’ll get better.” Jack says with hard conviction. Mrs. Hunter looks to me.
“Jack and Sophia were friends from a very young age. She’s such a sweet thing, but she’s bedridden in the hospital. Some genetic neurologic disorder. It’s so sad.”
“She’s fine,” Jack insists coldly. “And you don’t need to tell that girl. She already knows.”
Mrs. Hunter looks to me with surprise. “You do, Isis? Jack kept it under such tight wraps I didn’t know about it until a few years ago. I’m surprised he’d tell you.”
“I didn’t. She snooped.”
Shame washes over me, hot and red, but I push it out.
“Excuse me if I go around looking for your weaknesses when you posted mine all over the school,” I hiss.
“Being fat is not your weakness,” He snaps. “We both know it. You disproved that with that trashy outfit the next day. And I never asked Evans to do that. He went overboard. I never expected he would do something on that magnitude, and I never expected you to sneak into my house to try and get leverage.”
“You used to be fat?” Mrs. Hunter gasps. “I bet you were just as pretty then, too.”
Her compliment tears me out of my anger, but not for long.
“I’m sorry if I try to defend myself when you back me into a corner, jackass!”
Mrs. Hunter watches us snarl at each other, her head going back and forth like she’s watching a ping-pong match. With swords. And a flaming meteor as the ball. Darth Vader, hearing our rising voices, runs in and starts barking.
“I never backed you anywhere. Evans did,” Jack snaps.
“This is our war. Take some responsibility for your fucking actions!”
“So you decided it was alright to come into my house,” Jack’s voice rises minutely. “Go through my things, and read my personal letters? You were looking for ways to hurt me. But it’s not just me you’ll hurt, is it? You’ll go to Sophia and hurt her too, just to get back at me.”
I flinch. “I wouldn’t –”
“You would. You’re ruthless and maniacal and stubborn. You’ll do anything to hurt me because you hate me. You hate me so much you declared a petty little war on me.”
“You declared first!”
“You’ve hated me the second you saw me, and I can only assume it’s because I remind you of someone who hurt you.”
“Jack!” Mrs. Hunter looks shocked. “That’s a horrible thing to say!”
“Did he say you were fat?” Jack asks coolly. I go still, but he presses on. “Did Will say you were fat?”
“Shut up.” I growl, a roiling nausea creeping into my stomach.
“No,” Jack says lightly, as if to himself. “It must’ve been more than that. Did he call you stupid? Prudish? Ugly?”
Ugly.
“I said shut the hell up!”
“Jack, I don’t think you should –” Mrs. Hunter is cut off. Jack takes the stir-fry off the stove and turns, leaning against the oven and looking at me with sharp, chilly anger in his eyes. But something behind those fragments of ice suddenly goes soft. Sad warmth is in them, buried deep and buried well.
“Did he hit you?”
“Jack that’s hardly –” Mrs. Hunter starts. I stand so fast the barstool screeches and tips over.
“I’ll kill you,” I grit.
“Is that why you hate me? Because you think I’m like him?”
“Shut the hell up!”
Jack’s voice becomes even softer.
“Did he force you?”
“Jack!” Mrs. Hunter snaps. Darth Vader’s barks turn shrill.
“I swear,” I spit through my teeth digging into my lips so hard there’s blood. “I’ll fucking kill you if you keep talking.”
“Is that why you hate everyone? Because he hurt you bad? Because you trusted him, and he took that and set it on fire?”
“Jack Adam Hunter, I want you to stop speaking right now –”
Jack smiles, brittle. “That’s what you get for trusting someone. You should’ve known better.”
I lunge for him, but I’m too slow. A slap resounds, and Jack’s head whips to the side. The silence in the kitchen puts on pounds, tons. Darth Vader chokes off a whine and goes quiet. The hissing of the rice cooker is the only thing that dares to make noise. Mrs. Hunter puts her hand down, face contorted with equal parts fury and regret.
“You will not,” Her voice is slow and deliberate. “Speak to Isis again while she is here today. Is that understood?”
Jacks eyes glint with shock, and confusion. But he steels himself quickly and strides out of the kitchen without another word, without a glance at me. When he’s gone, Mrs. Hunter turns to me.
“I’m sorry, Isis. He’s…I won’t make excuses for him, but he’s not the best at recognizing when he’s hurting people beyond repair.”
“I’m fine,” I manage.
“Sweetie,” Mrs. Hunter says softly. “You’re not fine. You’re crying.”
I raise my hand to touch my face. It’s wet and cold.
Mrs. Hunter comforts me when I falter, hugging me. Every inch of my body shakes, and I break into choking sobs in her arms.
***
Mrs. Hunter holds me until I calm down, and then she insists I drink a cup of mint tea. It’s sweet and warm and opens my sad-clogged lungs. I thank her. She doesn’t bring up what just happened, and she doesn’t ask questions. She just busies herself with the tea and drinking her own cup of it.
Ugly. I finger the thing under my sleeve. I can feel the outline of it on my arm. It hurts, burns and smolders.
Ugly ugly ugly.
Jack doesn’t come down.
I leave after thanking her, making some excuse about dinner. Avery is in the car, still waiting, tapping away on her phone. She looks to me, irritated.
“What took you so long? Did you get it?”
“He caught me.”
“He WHAT?” Avery hisses. “But – But I didn’t even see his car pull up!”
I jerk my thumb behind me. Avery turns around and her eyes widen at the black sedan parked almost a block behind her.
“He saw my car,” I say.
“Why is his windshield streaky and brown?”
A single peal of laughter escapes my throat, but it cuts off quickly. Avery looks confused, and then shakes her head.
“What happened in there? You look sick.”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I saw lowly, and start the car. Avery must see my red eyes, or snotty nose or the way I move like I’m drained of all energy, because she doesn’t push me to stay or go back and get it. Even ruthless popular girls have a heart, I guess. The highway flashes by as I take her back to her house.
“I read the letter,” I say dully. Avery’s e
yes flash.
“Anything…did she anything about a surgery?”
“No.”
Avery exhales, a deep and worried thing that leaves her in one breath.
“Neurological, right?” I ask.
“Yeah. She didn’t show any symptoms until –”
Avery squeezes her eyes shut.
“It doesn’t matter. Just forget about it.”
“What did he do, Avery? For Christ’s sake, what the hell did he do that makes you and Wren so scared of him? He’s just a guy. A teenage boy.”
Avery turns her eyes to me, something hard and unknowable in them.
“No, fat girl. He’s not just a teenage boy. I know teenage boys. He’s not one of them. He might look like one, and his birth certificate might make him one, but he’s older. You feel it, right? Even you can’t be that thick.”
“Feel what?”
“The difference in him.”
She looks out the window, and I pull off the highway and onto the ramp. The trees flash by, green reflections in her eyes as she speaks.
“He’s not like the rest of us. And he never will be.”
Of course he’s not like the rest of us – he looks like he belongs in an American Eagle ad in a magazine. He’s got no heart – or at least, no heart for anyone whose name doesn’t start with Soph and ends in ia. Of course he’s not like us; he’s the Ice Prince.
Avery throws her phone in her purse in frustration. “Damn.”
“What?”
“I can’t get ahold of Kayla.”
“She’s probably busy slathering mud on her face and putting cucumber slices on her eyes or whatever it is you pretty girls do to primp. She has a date tomorrow night.”
“What? With who? It better fucking be Wren.”
“Wren? Why?”
Avery tries to play it off cool. “N-No reason. It is Wren, right?”
“No. It’s Jack.”
“I told her – Wren!” Avery snarls. “Wren, Wren, Wren, and then after Wren she could uselessly go after Jack all she wanted.”
“What are you talking about?”
Avery shoots me a look. “You saw how they got along at the bowling alley. Even Jack noticed. Outside of school, where she isn’t popular and he isn’t a dork, they’re great together. Wren’s had a crush on her forever.”
It dawns on me then.
“You’re using Kayla!” I snarl. “Oh my god, you’re using her to get the funding for your French club trip to the mountains! You’re using your friend!”
“It’s not just for me, okay?” Avery glowers a hole into my windshield. “Kayla will go. And so will Sophia. It’s the last chance I have, alright? The last chance I have to…to make it up to her. The surgery might not be now, but it’ll be soon. Jack told me.”
“That doesn’t excuse the fact you’re forcing Kayla to flirt with a guy she doesn’t like to get what you want - ”
“Did he tell you?” Avery interrupts me. “Did Jack tell you how long Sophia has?”
I swallow, hard, and for once my famed motor mouth comes to a standstill. Out of gas. Out of things to say.
Avery looks out the window at the passing forest. “France. We pretended when we were kids that we lived in France. Princesses. That’s what we’d play in her backyard. Princesses of France. And she’s got a book – I’m sure she still has it. We put it together. Maybe she burnt it. A scrapbook, of the things we wanted to do when we grew up. It’s full of French stuff. She was taking French, right before –”
She cuts off as I pull into her driveway.
“Avery, can’t you please, please tell me what happened to you and Sophia and Jack and Wren in middle school? Please?”
Avery’s green eyes flicker over me, as if she’s judging me.
“You’re like him, you know.”
“Say what?”
“You’re like him,” she repeats. “Jack. You’re different. People can feel it. That’s why you two are at odds, probably. You’re so similar. Like two magnets repelling each other.”
“Avery, what happened –”
“Back then I still liked Jack. I was like Kayla – obsessed. Sophia and Jack were…it was obvious to everyone they were in love. Meant to be together. I couldn’t stand it. So I arranged it. I bribed some of the low-wage guys who moved crates in my Mom’s shipping warehouse. Dock workers. Huge idiot guys who’d just go out and get drunk all the time. I bribed them. I did it. I was a stupid kid and I did it, and now I pay the price for it every day.”
My stomach curdles. But before it can shrivel in on itself, Avery opens the car door and walks out. Into her house. Away from me. Away from the truth.
When I get home, I throw together something easy – ham sandwiches. I take one to Mom, who’s reading in the living room, and she smiles and hugs me.
“You look so sad today, honey. Are you alright?”
I force a smile, but today it feels brittle. The conviction isn’t behind it. Nothing is behind it - just empty lies and too-full pain.
“I’m fine.”
“New school, all that new homework, new friends. And then me on top of it all! It was definitely not as stressful at your aunt’s. You must be exhausted.”
I shake my head fervently. “I’m happy to be here. Honestly. I’m just happy I can be here to help you.”
She gets up and kisses my head, murmuring into my hair.
“I’m so lucky to have you.”
As I’m leaving to head upstairs, Mom calls me back.
“I saw that girl again today. The one with red hair. I finally remembered where I saw her – she goes to my clinic. I’ve stood behind her in line at the receptionist’s – she’s prescribed the same medicine I’m getting.”
“For…?”
“Depression.”
She says it delicately, softly, but it’s so much better than what she used to do – pretend nothing was wrong with her at all, that she didn’t need meds.
“She goes to my school,” I say.
“I know. She’s so young to be on medication. It’s tragic.”
“I’m gonna go upstairs and finish up my applications.”
“Alright, honey. Good luck! Knock ‘em dead.”
I escape to my room and shut the door behind me. The most popular girl in school takes anti-depressants instead of molly or coke or the usual party drug suspects. The most popular girl in school set in motion a chain of events that echoes still today.
I’m getting closer to finding out what happened, and winning the war once and for all.
But do I still want to know? Do I still want to war? Jack defeated me totally today. He pulled out my every secret and laid it bare, chiseling it with a hammer of cruelty. I came to Ohio to escape, to get a fresh start, not to have everything brought up for people to see. He knows. And he could use it against me at any time. How could I have ever thought I liked him? There’s nothing there in my heart for him but cold grief, now. Grief and anger. I should’ve been expecting his savagery when I dabbled with Sophia’s letters. Avery warned me. She warned me he gets touchy when people reach into the past, and I ignored it. I should’ve told her to get the letter herself. I should’ve never started this war.
That’s what you get for trusting someone.
I should’ve never trusted Nameless.
I was an idiot for trusting Jack with my feelings, that night at the party.
I clutch at Ms. Muffin and curl up on the bed.
Ugly.
Ugly, ugly.
Is that what you thought this was? Love?
Dark hair. Dark eyes. The smell of a cigarette. A crooked smile that used to make my knees quake and my head go fuzzy, becoming something sinister and evil.
I don’t fall in love with fat, ugly girls. No one does.
Ugly.
Ugly.
Ugly girl.
Ms. Muffin’s black bead eyes watch me with no pity.
Maybe I’ll love you. Maybe, if you hold still.
-11-
I watch Isis leave through the front door. Her thin shoulders are hunched. She’s sniffing away the remnants of tears, fists clenched at her sides.
She broke into my house. She’s inching herself closer to Sophia to hurt me. She is a nuisance. I should feel nothing for a nuisance like her. Especially not the gentle flame of sympathy that licks at the back of my mind. An urge to prove her wrong, that I’m not like the scum that hurt her. An urge to rip the bastard’s balls off and stuff them down his own throat until he chokes.
An urge to protect her.
I scoff and turn away from the window. Avery’s sitting in Isis’s car. It’s typical of Avery to get others to do her dirty work for her, but Isis still agreed to it. She’s halfly at fault.
Avery deserves nothing, no part of Sophia. She doesn’t deserve to even read the words Sophia writes.
I sigh and run my hands through my hair. I stink of the dogshit someone – Isis, probably – threw at the car. I ran it through a car wash, but it was stubborn. Just like Isis. The girl’s a mystery. Most people fall open like books for me to read within a few minutes. Stray animal hairs on their jacket - pet lover. Over sympathetic. Yellowed teeth – coffee or cigarettes or bad hygiene – all signs of an addiction to punishing oneself. Everyone is simple. No one bothers to hide themselves well. They put on perfume and makeup and designer clothes, but it’s a superficial shield that I can read. It takes me minutes to know who they are, if they’re particularly difficult, a few hours. People in Northplains, Ohio, aren’t exactly complicated and duplicitous. They tend to stick to malls and keg stands, gossip and football games.
But then she came. The new girl - a complete mystery. Most new people settled quickly, but not her. She stood out, with no friends except over-eager Kayla. She joined no clique, treated everyone with the same brusque, jovial, self-effacing humor. She isn’t afraid of being alone.
She never dropped her guard - her smiles and her jokes. It’s an act, a thick, hard shield forged after years of pain. I know that now. But still, she didn’t falter beneath it. She held it up even as I kissed her, even as the pictures of her old self circulated and the whispers about her turned vicious. She held strong. She took the blows, and she struck back at me with more fervor than ever.