by Brian James
FOUR
My dad is used to seeing me mope around. I’ve gotten very good at it over the last few years. He says so himself. Says I’m an expert. Which is why it surprises me that he can be so oblivious to the fact that I’m in a bad mood when he comes out of his bedroom Saturday morning and greets me with a smile.
The sun shining through the window blinds him as he takes a deep breath. “Isn’t it a great day?” he asks me.
I roll my eyes at him and go back to blowing on my coffee. Watch the little ripples like waves traveling across a small pond. He doesn’t notice, though, and goes right on talking about the wonders of this particular Saturday. Telling me how clean the air smells. Saying the wet scent of pine is like medicine.
“Dad, that’s the smell of mold growing in this damp disgusting house,” I tell him. “We’ll probably both get sickb from it.”
“I see you’re as bright and cheery as ever,” he says, taking a mug from the cupboard. He doesn’t say it in a mean way. He just thinks making jokes will snap me out of being grumpy. All it really does is get on my nerves.
“Whatever,” I mumble and go back to staring out the window.
He pours himself a cup of coffee and takes yesterday’s newspaper from the counter. Comes over to the table to join me. The chair scratching against the floor as he pulls it out. Sits down and reads the sulky expression on my face.
“Things still aren’t going so well at school, huh?” he asks.
“Not exactly,” I say. Saying it like an accusation. Saying it in a way that lets him know he’s partially responsible because it was his idea to move here. Saying it mean enough to erase his smile.
I feel guilty about it right away.
I know it must be hard for him to raise me by himself and everything. I know he tries his best. That he has ever since my mom left us when I was just barely old enough to remember her. And I don’t always make it easy for him. I can tell I’m not making it easy for him now, either. I can tell by the way he glances at me that he thinks he’s letting me down.
“At least it’s Saturday,” is all he finally gets out.
It’s not much of a comfort, but I give him a quick smile anyway the next time he looks at me. After all, it’s not his fault that Morgan has picked me to be the target of her popularity poison ever since she heard that Meredith asked me to try out for the cheerleading squad. She’s made me the subject of rumors about why I moved here. Rumors that get meaner as the days go on. Went from being a drug addict who dropped out to me being kicked out for having sex with a teacher. Those are just the ones I’ve heard about or have been written on notes shoved in my locker over the last few days. Whatever the other ones are, they’re enough to keep me quarantined from the rest of the kids. Because I’m rubber and everyone else is glue and whatever the cheerleaders say about me sticks to them, too.
Everyone is too afraid to be seen with me. Meredith especially. Diana still talks to me but that’s only because she’s still hoping I’ll finally make it. That somehow The Blondes will miraculously accept me and then she can be there to latch on to my newfound fame.
Lukas is the only one who doesn’t seem to notice the rumors. Or he doesn’t care, I should say. That’s because no one else will talk to him, either. So he’s more than happy to sit with me and share his theories about Maplecrest. Crazy ideas that he’s taken straight out of the pages of all the horror comics he reads. The most pathetic part about it is that I’m actually glad for his company no matter how much I can’t stand listening to them.
None of this will probably matter too long, anyway. My dad still hasn’t found any work. And as I watch him go through the help-wanted ads, he doesn’t seem to be circling many opportunities. If he doesn’t find something soon, my problems might be solved before I know it.
“Any luck?” I ask, hoping to get an idea of just how soon I could be out of this place. Tucking my hands under my knees and crossing my fingers, hoping it will be sooner rather than later.
“I wouldn’t call it luck,” he says, folding the newspaper over so he can look at me. “I did meet someone yesterday, though. Said he might be looking for part-time people,” he tells me and my heart sinks a little.
I uncross my fingers and lift my hand up to my mouth. Lower my eyes to look at the table as I start to bite my nails. “Oh,” I say. “I guess that means we’re staying here.”
My dad reaches across the table and puts his hand on my shoulder. He knows me well enough to know when I’m just being moody and when I’m really truly upset. “I’m afraid so. For a little bit, anyway,” he says apologetically.
I shrug his hand away and push my chair back.
“Come on, Hannah,” he says playfully. “It can’t be that bad.”
“Remember Buchanan?” I say, bringing up the middle school I went to for exactly two weeks. The two most embarrassing weeks of my life, thanks to puberty and my dad not knowing quite enough to teach me about the lifesaving properties of tampons. Two weeks of being called Hannah Bloody Hannah. And I can tell by the look that creeps across my dad’s face that no matter how hard he’s tried to forget, he still remembers it quite well. “It’s almost as bad as that!” I say.
I see him hold back a smile and I know he thinks I’m exaggerating.
“Forget it! I knew you wouldn’t understand,” I say. I get up from my chair and storm off to my room. It’s not fair that we get to pack up and leave when things don’t work out for him. But when things don’t work out for me, that’s just too bad.
I hear him get up after I shut my door. I throw myself on my bed among the pile of clothes and homework and listen to the sound of his footsteps coming down the hall. I turn away when he opens the door. I don’t want to see him. Don’t want to talk to him. And if I could, I wouldn’t hear him, either, when he says he’s sorry.
“Just give it some time,” he says. “Please. For me?”
“Time for what?” I say, speaking to his reflection standing in the window on the other side of my room. I know how cliques work. Giving it more time won’t ever make them like me.
“I don’t know. Maybe you’ll meet some other kids,” he says.
The houses across the street stare back at me from outside my window. Their rooms are all empty. Their lawns overgrown. FOR SALE signs flapping in the wind as leaves blow across the blacktop like tumbleweeds in a ghost town from old Westerns.
“What kids?” I ask him. His reflection floating behind the vacant windows of abandoned houses. “In case you haven’t noticed, this town died a long time ago,” I whisper. I’m talking more to myself than to him as I stare at the pink bag next to my head. “Now there’s nothing left but cheerleaders and football players and the perfect little world they’ve made for themselves,” I mumble. “And I don’t fit into it,” I say, tracing the shape of flowers on my backpack.
He doesn’t say anything.
He just walks away.
That’s fine with me. I like to be alone when I’m feeling sorry for myself, anyway.
By the time Lukas knocks on the door my dad has already left to see about that part-time job he mentioned. I watch him for a second through the peephole before answering. I wasn’t expecting him to show up here. His shaggy brown hair being tossed around in the wind as he blows on his hands to get the autumn cold out and I debate whether I should open the door or let him shiver for as long as it takes before he decides to leave.
“Hannah?” he shouts, suddenly banging his fist against the door again.
I turn the knob and sigh.
“Oh, hey. I wasn’t sure if you’d be here,” he says. The anxious look I saw through the peephole is erased. Replaced with a polite smile. The shouting replaced with a softer volume. “Is it okay that I came by?” he asks.
I lean against the door frame with one hand on my hip and the other ready to shut him out. “What do you want, Lukas?” He’s trying to sound annoyed, so he doesn’t think he’s saved me from my boredom. But being careful not to sound too annoyed bec
ause I don’t want him to go away just yet.
He doesn’t have any of the confidence that he pretends to have in the lunchroom. Not standing outside my house staring at me in my pajamas. Not when it shows all over his face that he likes me. Rosy cheeks that are a little too red to have been caused by the slight chill in the air. Brown eyes that won’t look me in the eye, but can’t keep themselves from looking at me.
“Um . . . ,” he stutters. Shoves his hands in his jacket pockets and shifts his weight from one foot to the other. Taking his eyes off me for the first time and staring at his shoelaces instead. “I just thought I’d come by . . . see if you wanted to go to the game,” he says.
The draft catches the corner of my shirt and lifts it above my waist. I grab it and pull it back down before Lukas looks up again. I scrunch up my face to let him know I have no idea what he’s talking about.
“Our school’s game,” he says. “You know, the one all the stupid signs in the hallway are for?”
I know the signs. They went up all over school on Friday. Dumbest signs I’ve ever seen. Red with black letters scrawled in a scratchy handwriting. SUPPORT THE DEATH SQUAD! The lovely nickname the cheerleaders have given our football team. I guess our badger mascot wasn’t tough enough.
“Why do you want to go there? I thought you hated everything about them?” I ask. Twisting the end of my hair around my finger and teasing him with a smile. Thinking I caught him in a lie. After the way he teased me for being curious about them, it turns out he may be just as curious.
“Yeah, I do,” he says. “I just thought you might want to go. Then you could see what I’ve been trying to tell you all week.”
“Yeah, right,” I say. “I’m sure that’s why.”
Lukas sighs and tilts his head to the side. Watches the shapes in the clouds as they move in over the mountains in the distance and I can tell I’m making him frustrated. It’s so easy with boys. At least with the ones who have a crush on me. And kind of fun, too. Especially with Lukas because he gets so animated. It’s okay, though, it makes him cuter.
“Look, it’s for your own good,” he says.
I smile and tell him he sounds like my dad. Always telling me to go out, get some fresh air and it will be good for me.
“I’m serious,” he says. “You’ll see what I mean about everyone in this town being deranged.” His hands clenched into tight fists as he pulls them from his pockets. His eyes pleading. Begging me almost.
“Oh, I forgot,” I say, trying my best not to laugh as I remember some of the crazy things he told me when he was finally willing to let me in on the town’s dangerous secret. “What was it again? They’re all vampires or something?” I ask, giggling as I think about the expression on his face when he told me. Remembering how serious he looked and how surprised he was when I laughed.
“Not vampires—zombies!” he says and I don’t try to hold it in anymore. I start laughing like a little kid. The redness in his cheeks stays, but it’s more from anger than anything else now. “Laugh if you want, but it’s true. I’ll show you,” he says, more frustrated than before.
“I think you’ve read one too many of those stupid comics,” I tell him.
I think I hurt his feelings with that one because he sighs and shakes his head. Looks at me slightly in the same way I’ve seen him look at Maggie and her clones as if to tell me I’m just like them. Just like everyone else who won’t listen to him.
“Just forget it,” he says and starts to walk off my front step.
“I didn’t say I wouldn’t go with you,” I call out as he gets to the driveway. Putting my hands on my hips like I’m challenging him. Testing him to see how much he really likes me by seeing how much he’ll put up with. And apparently he likes me enough to turn around because he starts walking back up to the door. “I’ll go,” I say. It can’t be worse than sitting in here all day and watching terrible movies on television. “Just let me get dressed, okay?” I say and he nods.
I open the door wider and invite him to wait inside. He steps in and I head toward my bedroom. Glancing back to see if he’s looking at the lack of furniture in our house and if it changes his mind about me. But he doesn’t seem to notice. Just sits down and waits and I realize I could do a lot worse than to have a friend like him.
“Just so you know, this isn’t a date,” I yell out before disappearing into my room. More of a joke than anything else. I just don’t want him getting too comfortable, that’s all.
Who are all those people?” I ask. I didn’t expect to see so many people in attendance, not nearly as many as I see when we trample across the grass separating the sidewalk from the football field. The crowd fills both sets of bleachers and spills over onto the lawn. On the grass, people are lined up two and three deep, clinging to the fence that circles the field. Surging forward to get the best view. Politely shoving and pushing their way to the front.
“It’s all of Maplecrest,” Lukas says without any sort of expression. Says it’s not an exaggeration, either. That the whole town turns out for home games.
“Why?” I ask. Holding on to his sleeve as we make our way through the crowd, knowing that if I let go I’ll be swallowed by the sea of strangers and never find him again. “I mean, I know there’s not much to do here . . . but still?”
“I told you why,” Lukas says. Fighting forward by swinging his elbows and no one really seems to mind getting nudged or even notices that much. “It’s like they’re all brainwashed,” he tells me. Points with his thumb at no one in particular. Pointing at the crowd in general.
I notice the glazed look in everyone’s eyes. The way pupils are all large enough for me to see the clouds change with the wind. The anticipation of violence making hands tremble. Speaking to each other only in hushed phrases and never taking eyes away from the action that has yet to start.
I wouldn’t go so far as to call it brainwashed, but I have to admit it weirds me out a little the way we’re invisible as we shuffle through.
“Come on! We’ll go all the way to the top. No one ever sits that far back,” he says, leading me up to the bleachers as I see the opposing team take the field. I listen for any sign of applause for them as we climb the steps but they’re only greeted with silence and a scattering of boos. I pause to look around, wondering why no one from their town is here. Not even parents. Not any who are willing to show support, anyway.
I ask Lukas about it as we reach the top row and sit down. My words escaping between the rise and fall of my chest as I try to catch my breath. He tells me they never come. Says it’s too long of a drive because all the schools we play are from far away. That none of the schools nearby will play us anymore. Too many kids getting hurt. “That’s how they came up with the stupid Death Squad stuff,” he says.
I roll my eyes. I find the whole thing nauseating.
I’m beginning to wonder why I came in the first place just as the whispers from the crowd die down. Fade out. And a silence takes over like every breath of air has been stolen from each set of lungs in attendance as everyone watches a parade of paper-thin blondes dressed in black uniforms strut onto the field.
A deafening roar erupts once the cheerleaders have assembled in the middle of the grass. The noise fills the valley and makes the last of the leaves cling for life on the branches of nearby trees. A faint glow shows in the faces of the people sitting around us when they get a glimpse of the girls in their short skirts. Pale like angels and eyes the color of heaven. Casting a spell on the town and even the clouds break apart. The afternoon sun breaks through and shines like a halo above their golden heads.
The calls from the crowd stop as suddenly as they started. Trailing off to a whisper again before falling silent as Maggie raises one fist in the air. Demanding the full attention of every pair of glassy eyes and each obeys. Focusing solely on the bend of her elbow and angle of her wrist.
“See what I mean?” Lukas whispers in my ear. “This place is like a cult, and she’s their leader,” he says, point
ing at Maggie. He keeps whispering as they begin their routine. Mumbling more of his conspiracy theories as the other girls move in close to Maggie and lift her up. Tells me how Maggie makes them all change their names so that they start with the same letter. Says once a girl gets on the squad, she has to dye her hair. Has to become a clone like Morgan. Like Meredith. Like all the rest of them who are helping toss Maggie into the air. “And the rest of the town goes along with it,” he says. Making sure I know that he means the rest of the town minus him.
And as much as I want to agree with him, as much as I want to hate all of them for Morgan’s nasty looks and name-calling, I can’t help but be as fascinated as everyone else when Maggie soars higher and higher. Tucking her legs into her chest and tumbling three or four times before twisting around and landing perfectly on the ground.
“How does she do that?” I ask in amazement. It doesn’t seem possible. She seems too frail with her bones showing through under her skin. Too thin to have the strength or energy.
“She’s undead, that’s how,” Lukas says, deadly serious.
I ignore him and keep watching the routine as the girls form a tight circle so that from any angle, it looks like there’s only one of them. When they can’t get any closer together, the marching band begins to play. With each beat, they move farther apart. The girl in the center multiplying. Identical twins sprouting on each side. And I finally understand why they need to look alike. Makes it more theatrical. More mesmerizing. It actually looks cool in a spooky sort of way.
A wave of quiet sweeps over the bleachers when Maggie raises her hand into the air once more. A tingling feeling rushes along my skin like someone scratching on glass or steel scraping across blacktop.
The clean smiles on their faces disappear. Their eyes open wide and fearful and the crowd mirrors them. Follows them with their eyes as they march stiffly to the sound of the drums. Forming letters on the field as the people shout them in rhythm.