Her eyes spark with friction. “You seem more agitated today. I understand you’re angry with me, but really, would you have even tried the medicine had you known about the very rare and unlikely effect it has on cardiac conduction?”
“No.”
“Exactly. So let’s move beyond this … hiccup … and focus on you. What’s been on your mind?”
I’d known for a long time my life expectancy is a fraction of everyone else’s. I’m a faulty model. It’s the hand I was dealt. I should accept it for what it is. Instead, I’m gripping hope around the throat, strangling it, forcing it to change the natural order of things to extend my time on the planet. And it comes at a cost.
“Talk to me, Adam. Let’s not disappoint your mother any further. She worries about you so much, and, with your being tight-lipped, she has good reason.”
I’m a fly trapped in Shaw’s spider web. There’s no escape, so I give myself over to her. “Someone has to die so I can live. It’s not fair. And say they find a heart and the surgery goes well, will I be the same … after?”
“You’re carrying around a heavy burden, facing existential questions decades ahead of when you’re supposed to.” The sweet and spicy layers in her voice are gone. It’s just her now. She’s dropped whatever technique she was using to challenge me.
Relieved, I relax my shoulders and stretch out my legs. “It’s weird, is all. I want a new heart so I can move on, past this nightmare. I look forward to it, dream about it, but it also means I’m wishing for someone’s funeral. That’s kind of sick.”
“It’s the survival instinct. We all have it.”
“So you believe me when I say I’m not suicidal?”
She tips her head to the side. “There’s a difference between actively planning your death and passively letting it happen. On the other hand, they’re opposite sides of the same coin.”
“What do you mean?”
“Death is scary.”
My stomach twinges. She’s laying a new gauntlet for me to navigate.
“And you face it every day.”
I hold my breath, waiting for the next mental hurdle.
“Must be exhausting. Perhaps your fantasy of me prescribing ziprasidone as a method to hasten your death allowed you to reconcile your passive suicidal thoughts as logic. It allows you to kill yourself without actually having to do it.”
A dull throbbing beats at my temple. I rub a finger on the spot. What is she saying? That I really do want to die and I’m not aware of it?
She points a finger in the air, the Socrates to my Plato. “Furthermore, perhaps you tell your mother that you’re fine because you don’t want her to intervene to save you. Perhaps you want fate to make the decision for you.”
I dodge her hypothesis with a lame block. “I am fine. My heart’s still beating.”
“Not for long.”
The blow strikes me across the ribs. I can’t breathe. She’s won.
“I’m not saying that to hurt you. I’m saying it to remind you of reality.”
“I don’t need reminding.” My voice barely passes my lips.
“The idea that everything is okay has taken such a deep hold that it’s reached delusional proportions, which is a sort of psychosis. Delusions can become so deeply entrenched in a patient’s mind that they disrupt therapy and I couldn’t risk that ruining the progress we’ve made. It was one of the reasons I selected ziprasidone for you.”
“I’m not crazy.”
She stands. “You’re in a hospital, connected to a bunch of wires, you need twenty four hour monitoring in case your heart goes into a lethal rhythm, and you’ve been prioritized on the heart transplant list. I’m not sure what more evidence you need to prove your imminent mortality.”
I peer up at her. “Why are you trying to scare me?”
She leans so close our noses almost touch. “To show you how much you want to live and that you’re willing to suffer the mental torment of having another person die for you to survive.”
Chapter Six
Darby
Daniel parks his vintage prize in an empty spot at the back of the high school’s parking lot. He closes his eyes and lets the engine rumble for a minute. A smile warms his face. God, he’s in love with a car.
“Should I leave you two alone?” I ask, unclicking the seatbelt.
“Today’s V-8 engines don’t sound the same.”
“Whatever, lover boy. A car is for transportation.”
“Lover boy? I’m your brother. Isn’t that, like, gross somehow?” He scrunches his nose and cuts the engine, halting the vibrations slowly turning my insides to Jell-o.
“Ugh.” I open the door, yanking my backpack from the floor as I stand.
Daniel leans over and gives me a dimply smile that makes most the girls in our class swoon. Thankfully, my sibling powers have made me immune. “Love you too, sis.”
“Shut. Up.” I slide the bag’s straps over my shoulders after slamming the door in his face.
His jock buddies swarm around the car, an Axe body spray army that instantly dwarfs me. As the smaller fraternal twin, I got the short end of the stick on so many levels and my small size is one of them.
They’re all wearing their red and white letterman jackets. Pride oozes from them in the form of toothy grins and fist-pumping yelps. The Argyle Angels are anything but. More like devils with pitchforks, horns, and slippery tongues.
Tyrell, the basketball team’s center, breaks free from the horde and pounds on Daniel’s window. “Hey, Big D!”
Lamest nickname ever.
I tip my head back to take in the giants invading my personal space. Redwoods have nothing on these solid trunks of muscle. “Excuse me,” I say.
No one moves.
“Get out of my way!” I chop my arm against rows of beefcake like an explorer hacking through jungle vines with a machete.
Several whacks later, I’ve made a dent in the meaty forest. The sun is brighter here, and the air clearer … even if it is heavy with exhaust fumes and teenage hormonal drama. Emo kids drape themselves on benches, geeks bow to their new tech, popular kids’ gossip, and romantics hide between cars for a quick game of show me yours and I’ll show you mine.
It’s not a real love connection until someone gets slapped.
I smooth my hair—it’s still wet from my shower—and tug on a blue strand. By the water fountain, I make a pit stop to catch what a pair of sophomores are saying about the kid who collapsed in class yesterday. The hallway noise is so loud I can only catch, “exchange student,” and “heart condition.” I move on to travel the high school highway alone, stomping my black army boots every step. It makes people move out of my way.
The second floor bathroom is down its own hallway and is rarely used, so I can dip in there to take a break before class. Unfortunately, a couple other kids have the same idea. They huddle just outside the door. Fantastic. I frown, ready to bark at them to get out of the way, when I recognize who it is.
Stephanie Veene.
And she’s wrapped around Eric Thorton, the bad-assiest of bad-asses. Okay, so I get the appeal of danger, but Eric is a bad boy and not in a good way. He’s one write-up shy of getting kicked out of school for good. Plus, he got arrested for drug possession. The idiot blabbed all about it in detention last week.
Stephanie giggles softly and gives him a sly smile with her lip-glossed mouth. His hands are all over her, and then his lips are too. I try not to vomit at the sight of it. This whole thing makes less sense than the essay I tried to write last night. Popular cheerleaders don’t hang with outcasts.
They’re so into each other that they haven’t noticed me. I hang back, avoiding sudden movements.
My mouth salivates at the idea of shouting, “Who’s the slut now?” With my luck, I’ll end up in Principal Shepherd’s office again.
More giggles ripple out of her, curdling my stomach. She’s making out with a dude building hi
s career for a jail cell and thinks nothing of it. I kiss a guy at a club and get crap for it. I clench my jaw.
“Are you coming to the game tonight?” Stephanie’s voice reminds me of a cat’s meow.
“Yeah, I’ll be there. I just won’t be in the bleachers,” Eric says.
“You’ll miss my half-time dance routine.” Stephanie sticks out her lower lip.
Eric brushes it with his tattooed thumb. “Find me after. I have something to show you.”
I bet he does. Ew. Yuck. Gross.
He breaks free from her and turns toward me. Our eyes lock. “The hell you doing here?”
“Duh, I’m going to the bathroom,” I say.
He bumps into me on his way past. On purpose. “Whatever.”
“Asshole.” I rub my shoulder.
Stephanie locks her hip to the side and crosses her arms. “So you like to watch, huh?”
I grab the bathroom door’s handle, flipping my hair back with a twist of my head. “You should be careful. People will talk.”
“About what?”
“Sucking on Eric’s face. He’s one arrest away from spending ten to twenty behind bars.”
She rolls her eyes. “That’s ridiculous. You shouldn’t spread nasty rumors about people. And what I do with Eric is none of your business.”
“They’re not rumors. He told me—”
“Blah, blah, blah. Why are you still talking?” She pops her gum. Her pleated skirt swishes around her legs and her curled hair bounces as she struts away.
Stupid blonde bitch.
I enter the bathroom and lean against the door, locking it so no one else can come in. Heat flares in my face. I dig my fingernails into my palms. Since Shepherd says I can’t fight back, I’ll have to use a different strategy. And what’s the best way to get back at someone? Give them a taste of their own medicine.
In Stephanie’s case, it has to be humiliation.
I smile at myself. Principal Shepherd is right. I don’t have to react to Stephanie when she provokes me. I can act first.
Oh, this bitch is going down.
* * *
The real reason I stay at school for basketball games is to work on my art. I paint better alone, away from home, away from Mom and Dad and Daniel. Tonight I have a different plan. Stephanie Veene is meeting a baddy after her halftime glory show and I want to know exactly what they’re going to do. So I sit in the far corner of the bleachers closest to the doors and watch the beauty squad jump and twist around the basketball court while the two teams take a break on opposite benches.
After shaking their pompoms, boobs, and butts, the cheerleaders skip off court to a bleacher shaking round of cat calls and clapping. I circle to the locker room’s back entrance and tuck myself behind an alcove. Only the main hallway light is on, so plenty of shadows cover me.
Eric hasn’t shown up yet.
Who knows what he has in mind for pretty girl Stephanie, but I’m gonna be there to see it.
And record it.
I pull out my phone, open the camera app, and switch it to record. I make sure it’s silenced and the flash is off and hold my finger over the start button, waiting, waiting …
… waiting.
Twenty minutes go by and no one shows up. The game will be over before Stephanie and Eric arrive. Cheers from the gym echo down the hallway and the floor vibrates when the audience stomps on the bleachers. Must be a thrilling game.
Giving up, I stuff my phone into my back pocket. What a waste of time. I scuff my boots a bit as I walk toward the main hallway. At the corner, I spot a rush of blonde hair and red pompoms. I retreat a step, then peek around the wall.
Sure enough, Stephanie is doing her girly run toward the school’s main entrance. Eric stands just inside the doors. He’s wearing a black leather biker jacket, black jeans, and has a chain hooked to his wallet and belt loop. His dark hair is spiked with gel and a cigarette is tucked in his ear.
Cliché central.
I refrain from rolling my eyes because if I did, they’d probably get stuck.
Stephanie throws herself into his arms. “Hey, baby,” she croons.
Eric twirls her around in a circle. “Missed you.”
Their lips lock like they’re trying to eat each others’ faces.
Bile rises in my throat. Since when does the perfect princess fall for the scumbag? Does anybody know about it? Isn’t Stephanie worried about her reputation like Daniel worried about mine? It’s not like they’re trying too hard to keep it secret.
I scan the hallway. Still empty. Not even one person wandering to the bathroom or outside to sneak a smoke.
Wouldn’t it be disastrously beautiful to expose the tramp for what she is?
I pull out my phone to snap a few pics.
Shudders of revenge ripple down my spine with every click. Later, I’ll decide how to share the news with the entire student body. Then Stephanie will get what she deserves.
* * *
Sleet pings against the windshield as Daniel drives us home. The Mustang’s engine thunders and the heaters burp out stale hot air. I hold my palms to the vents. Should’ve worn more than a hoodie.
Daniel’s thumbs tap against the steering wheel. His head bobs with the rhythm he’s beating out. “Man, that was an awesome shot,” he murmurs to himself. Well, I assume he’s talking to himself. He knows I have zero interest in his mad basketball skills. “Three points,” he follows up, as if I’ve responded to him.
“You lost the game,” I say.
He slows the car to a gentle stop at the light. “I had the most baskets. Makes me high point player.”
“There’s no ‘I’ in team.”
“Did you see me play? I saw you on the bleachers at half time.” The light turns green. Daniel snorts and presses the gas. The car fishtails a bit before steadying out.
“Are you sure you know how to drive in this?” I glare at him.
He totally misses it since he’s staring at the slick road ahead. “No worries, sis. What were you up to, anyway?”
“It’s none of your business.”
He gives a low whistle—the universal what’s-pissed-you-off signal. “Sorry for asking.”
“Not that I have to tell you, but something very interesting happened tonight while you and your buddies were sweating all over each other.”
He taps the brakes as we head around a curve in the road. The car weaves some more. “Oh yeah? What?”
I grit my teeth, partly at him, partly at how much the car is struggling. “Don’t sound surprised that your three point shot wasn’t the most fantastic event of the evening.”
He chuckles. “Oh yeah? Come on, then. Spill it.”
“I saw Stephanie Veene kissing Eric Thorton.” I grin at the ice-slicked windshield.
“Uhh, so?”
My pride deflates like a torn balloon. “So? Stephanie called me a slut and she’s the one hooking up with a known jerk.”
“Why do you care what she does?”
“You care what I do.”
“Of course I do. You’re my sister.” Daniel hits the brake as the car slides into another bend. He turns up the speed on the wipers. “Can’t see a thing.”
I huff. “You don’t get it. I caught the perfect princess sullying herself with a pig and I have the evidence to prove it.”
“Sullying? You haven’t actually been reading the Shakespeare assignment, have you?”
I whack his arm. “Stop being such an ass and listen to me.”
He raises his shoulder in a mock dodge. “Okay, okay. What ‘evidence’ do you have?”
“Pictures.”
Daniel glances at me. “Pictures?”
“Yeah, of them making out.”
“You took pictures of people kissing? Why?”
I want to smack my forehead, or better yet bash it against the dashboard. “I can bring down the queen. All I have to do is post the pictures somewhere—�
�
“And what? It’s not like you can put them on Facebook. When she sees you’re the one who posted them, won’t she do something about it? Like try to get back at you or something?”
“I’m not afraid of her.”
“Darby, you don’t need to get in any more trouble.” His tone carries a warning I don’t particularly like. I don’t need a third parent.
“I can print them and hang them on the bulletin boards.”
“She’ll know it was you.”
“Whatever. Her friends are your friends and you don’t want me to get back at her because they’ll get mad at you too.”
“That’s so not true. You know this little revenge plot of yours will backfire on you. Mom and Dad will go ballistic when they find out.”
“They’re already mad. What difference will it make?”
“If you stop doing stupid things, they won’t be mad.”
“What happened yesterday wasn’t my fault!” I wave my hand for emphasis.
“You shouldn’t let Stephanie get to you.” He sounds like Principal Shepherd.
“You’re just as bad as they are. This is a total double standard.”
He shifts to a lower gear after cresting a hill. It’s pure ice. I tuck my hands under my thighs. “I don’t know why you’re mad at me. You’re the one who screwed up.”
“Why didn’t you stick up for me last night? I could’ve used your help then.”
“There was nothing to stick up for. I warned you at the party and you ignored me.”
“Wow, thanks for throwing that in my face. And newsflash, Mom and Dad listen to you, not me.”
“What could I say about you ending up in the Principal’s office?”
“Forget it.” I cross my arms over my chest.
The car skids a bit. Daniel taps the brake. “I hope you drop this whole revenge thing.”
“I said forget it, okay?”
“Okay. Geez.” He hits the brake a little stronger.
The slope dips. We speed up, despite Daniel’s shifting to first gear. The Mustang’s back end swings left. Daniel counter-steers into it, but overcorrects. We spin to face a drop off bordered by a guardrail.
Under My Skin Page 6