by C. T. Aaron
Ezzy takes a step forward, toward Pink Shirt, and lowers his head to release another growl. It makes the ground shake. Behind me, I hear Aison laugh, which for him amounts to a single baritone groan and nothing more.
As if on cue, singing his one-hit wonder, Pink Shirt again says, “Nice.” Long and drawn out like the greaseball he is: Niiiiiiice.
Maebry folds her arms and cocks out a hip. “As I was saying, we need to get going. It was a pleasure meeting you, have yourselves a good night. Bye now.”
She pivots on one heel and walks toward the freeway, where headlights whip past in the distance. Aison gives another grunt—not a laugh—and follows her, walking clumsily on feet the size of coffee-shop tables.
“Ezzy, come on,” I say to my Familiar, and turn to go with Mae.
Ezzy stays put for another moment, eyeballing all four men before taking a long, loping stride to walk beside me.
He nudges my shoulder with his nose as we go.
“I’m fine,” I say. Then I add, “A little scared.”
Ezzy then nuzzles my arm with his huge wet nose, and that helps.
As we’re walking, Pink Shirt calls out behind us, “We’ll see you girlies around then, okay? You change your mind about fightin’ your Fams, you ask for Dante, all right? Big money. Buy yourself some new clothes, make-up, get a car. Heh heh! Hasta!”
Naturally, his thugs have to laugh like he’s a comedian. Ezzy turns his head and gives one single bark that rattles my brain in my skull even as it feels wonderful to have him protecting us.
Maebry already has her phone out. “There’s a McDonald’s down the road a bit. Let’s go there, wait for a ride.”
“Yeah, okay. God, Mae. I feel like puking. Those jerks.”
“Yeah, the world’s full of them,” Mae says as she finds us a ride. “I’ve seen them around before, but we never crossed paths really. Total idiots.”
“So they just go there for the fun of it?”
“That’s one way to put it, yeah. The fights are just money and entertainment to them. Like cockfighting.”
I can’t help a snort, and feel like a twelve-year-old boy. “Ha! Cock fight.”
Mae grins, then laughs. It breaks the tension.
I shut up after that and try to make myself feel better with the knowledge we don’t ever have to go back there again. Yeah, the money would have been nice, but if I hadn’t already been convinced by Mae to never do something so stupid, this little encounter with Pink Shirt Dante would have done it.
Pricks. Cocks.
When we’re within fifty yards or so of the freeway, we send our Familiars back. Ezzy nuzzles me once more before he goes, and Aison gives Mae a soft grunt.
Neither of us talk the rest of the way to McDonald’s, and once we’re inside, the sickness in my stomach turns to raging hunger. I haven’t eaten since after school.
“Hungry?” Mae asks. I guess she can see I’m salivating while staring at the menu.
“Yes.”
So she buys me food and picks up a salad for herself. She’s full-on vegan most of the time, and vegetarian when she can’t be vegan first. Her dad calls her a “liberal hippie granola tree-hugger” and laughs, but not in a mean way. Her parents, Joe and Tina, are pretty cool.
Maebry crosses her legs and hunches over the table to eat, forking small bites into her mouth. I like that we can sit and not talk. I let my mind wander, watching her eat, and remembering suddenly that her posture is the same now as when she—or rather, we—came out to her mom several months ago.
Maebry came out on accident to her mom, and technically I haven’t yet to mine. I think my mom knows by the way she looks at us sometimes, and she’s not stupid. But she hasn’t questioned me or forced me to talk about it, which I appreciate. I mean, someday I’ll make it official, but now just doesn’t seem the time.
Mae had no choice, and it was sort of my fault. One day last fall, we’d gone to her house and fell asleep beneath her comforter after getting out early because of teacher in-service. We woke up only when her mom starting shaking her leg and saying, “Maebry. Maebry.”
We’d woken up, startled, at about the same time, and I remember pulling the comforter up over my nose so only my eyes showed, a scared little bed-ninja. Maebry tried to act apathetic, rubbing her eyes and saying, “Oh, hey Mom.”
Tina—that’s what she made me call her after this episode—simply said, “Why don’t you two put your shirts back on and then come on out to the kitchen so we can chat, okay?”
Maebry nodded, still playing it cool, but I swore I could feel her heart thudding against my arm.
“Are you in trouble?” I whispered as we hurried to put ourselves back together.
Mae had shrugged. “Too late now. Let’s find out.”
And then—this part I will never forget no matter what—as I began to cross her threshold, Mae stopped me, took my face in her hands, and kissed me once. Leaving her hands in place, she looked into my eyes and said, “And I don’t care if I am. Okay?”
I almost cried, but managed a nod instead, and together we went into the kitchen where we found Tina making instant hot chocolate.
“Have a seat,” she invited.
So we sat at their kitchen table and waited nervously while she finished making three mugs. She brought them to the table and sat, clearing her throat a little. That was when I noticed it was the same throat-clearing sound Mae made when she was about to say something she wanted to make sure I heard.
“So,” Tina had said. “I’m going to make this as fast and painless as possible, ladies. Let’s start at the beginning, and let’s be honest with one another, shall we? Is this a phase or is this who you really are?”
Wow, I’d thought. She doesn’t take any prisoners. But I also remember admiring her straightforward manner. She still didn’t sound angry at all, just down-to-business. Like we were adults and could have adult conversations.
I also didn’t know how to answer the question. Not because I had any real doubts about who I was, but because . . . what if Mae didn’t know? And this was before I knew about Oscar. Funny, come to think of it, that Tina never brought him up.
But Maebry answered immediately. “This is who I am, Mom.”
Mae also had the grace to not look at me and force me to answer, since this “chat” was clearly more about her and her mom.
I answered anyway. “Me, too.”
Tina nodded once. “All right. Good to know. At least we can skip condoms and pregnancy.” She leaned forward. “Right?”
We both managed a nervous giggle and said, yes, right.
“Are you two exclusive?” Tina went on.
We answered yes after trading worried expressions, since we’d never actually said we were exclusive. Then we giggled again. So much for being adults.
“Good,” Tina said, and sipped her cocoa. “You seem like a good fit.”
Which was nice to hear, even if it was a little awkward coming from my girlfriend’s mother.
Tina went on talk about the ground rules she and Joe would have for us when it came to hanging out—curfews and things like that, nothing we didn’t already know. She made clear she would be glad to talk, or listen, to anything we needed to say anytime.
Then she said:
“Most importantly, and I hate saying this but it needs to be said: I need you to be very, very careful about how you behave in public. I am not ashamed of you and you should never be ashamed of yourselves. But girls, there are people out there these days who are truly unhinged and they may want to hurt you. Sadly, we’re already on the hook for that by being women, but the wrong people at the wrong time could be a major issue for you if you’re not careful. I support you, and your father will support you, our church will support you. But please be very, very alert to your surroundings when you’re out and about. Do you understand?”
We did. A friend of ours from school, Will, had gotten jumped just a few weeks earlier. He landed in the hospital and no one ever got punished
for it. When we went to visit him and asked, like I’m sure a hundred people did, who had attacked him, he’d only say, “Oh, you know the type.”
So yeah—we knew what she meant. And it infuriated me. Get slammed on one side for being female and slammed on the other for liking females. Can’t win in any world, I guess.
“It’s bullshit,” I’d said, without thinking.
Tina put a hand on top of mine. “It is. It is absolute Grade A bullshit. And we’re going to change it. But for this time and in this place, your safety comes first.”
She sat back. “Having said that, if either of you feel it is important to speak up for yourselves, then you can make that choice. We’re behind you, one hundred percent.”
That was the end of her chat. The last thing she asked was, “How exactly did you find one another, anyway? I know you’ve been friends forever and a day, but how did you . . . find each other?”
I sure had no answer for that. Maebry jumped in and saved my bacon as usual by saying we’d just met at school and got to talking. Which was true, of course. It just neglected the parts about calling forth a giant gargoyle and massive wolf.
“Ride’s here,” Maebry says.
I blink and sit up straight. Right—we’re at McDonald’s. I’d been totally tuned out. We toss our trash and head for the exit.
“Hey,” I say as we reach the idling SUV and Tina’s warning about safety lingers in my head. The very last thing I’d felt since the soccer field at Papago Junior High tonight was safe.
Maebry faces me.
“I know it’s late, but can we talk some more? Like, when we get to your house?”
“Of course, B. What’s up?”
“Let’s just get there.”
We have the ride drop us at Maebry’s house, which is beautiful. All white with a crimson front door and decorative lights giving it a glow in the night. Tina keeps flowers growing in a little rectangle of dirt under the living room picture window. I’m not sure what kind they are. The first time I came over, they were in the process of tearing out the front lawn to replace it with desert landscaping to reduce their water usage. That was Mae’s idea, and her parents got on board immediately. Which meant they could afford things like redoing their entire front yard, which was maybe a quarter of a football field big.
As the SUV drives off, I picture Joe and Tina’s cars behind the closed garage door. A BMW and a Mercedes. They’re not hurting for money. Not the way Mom is, anyway.
“Hey,” Mae says, smiling. “Crazy night, huh? You okay?”
“Sure.”
She comes in for a kiss but I turn my head.
Mae frowns. “What.”
“It’s just . . . all that money. At the Meets.”
“You don’t want to make money that way, sweetie.”
“No, I know but . . .”
“What’s wrong? You wanted to talk about something?”
I take a step away. “Have you scheduled your SAT yet?”
“No . . . ?”
God, I should not go here, not after everything tonight. Yet somehow, it’s because of everything tonight that I can’t help myself. I need assurances. Something. Something I can hang on to when it comes to Mae. I’ll always have Ezzy; but Mae is no Familiar. She’s a person like me, who can do what she wants.
And it scares me to death. I don’t think I’d find anyone like her again.
“Are you going to?” I cross my arms.
She tries to peer into my eyes, like I’m hiding something. “I guess so?”
“Planning on any, I don’t know, schools?”
“B, what’re you—”
Maebry stops, and her shoulders sink. A sympathetic smile crosses her lips. It makes me furious, like she’s not taking me seriously. “That’s what you’re mad about? If we’re going to the same college?”
“Yes! Okay? Yes! In just one night, I have found out you have an ex-boyfriend. I found out I can literally walk to another planet somewhere in the cosmos, if it even is a planet. I’ve been—we have been threatened by dangerous-looking jackasses, and there’s a way I could make all kinds of money if I just had the guts to put Ezzy in . . .”
Maebry steps up to me. The sympathetic smile is gone. “Finish it. Go ahead. Finish that sentence, Briar.”
I won’t. I can’t, and she knows it. “I’m just saying I could do it. We could do it. We could make enough money that we could go anywhere we wanted.”
She whispers, “Why do you think we can’t do that as it is?”
I fling a somehow accusatory finger toward the garage door. “Because I don’t have your money! I can’t just pick a college and go there. I don’t even know where you want to go because we haven’t talked about it, and I know it’s not senior year but everyone’s getting ready and sending in apps and taking practice tests, and . . .”
I take a breath.
“And we’re not. And I don’t know what that means, Mae. I’m sorry I didn’t date the whole planet before we met, like you did—”
She makes a gasping, hiccup sort of laugh that is anything but amused.
I try to stop talking.
Can’t.
“But you’re all I ever . . . you’re the only person . . . I don’t know.”
Drained, I recross my arms the other way and stare at the driveway. There’s not a single crack or oil stain.
We’re both quiet for a very long time. Too long, I think, before Mae puts her hands into her hip pockets.
“You’re right,” she says, softly. “It’s been a really long and really weird night, and, it’s late, and, I’m tired and you’re probably tired, so . . . I’m going to go inside and go to bed, and I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Okay?”
She turns on one toe like a dancer and walks to her front door, arms pressed tightly against her ribs. I want to call out to her, but I don’t. She’s gone in an instant as the door closes, reminding me of Ezzy popping back to the mirror world.
I spin and march down the sidewalk toward home. I wish Ezzy could walk home with me.
It’s going to be a long walk, and it’s late, which means—not that I care, but—Mom’s going to be mega pissed.
FIVE
And boy, am I right.
“Where the hell have you been?” Mom shouts as soon as I get the front door to our condo open.
“Nice to see you too.”
“Don’t give me ‘nice to see you’ right now, Briar Estelle!”
Yep, that’s my middle name. Estelle. I’m named after absolutely no one, by the way. Just something Mom or maybe Dad wanted to name me. Go figure.
I stop at the bottom of the stairwell and face her. She’s standing by the table in the kitchenette, leaning on one hand, fingers splayed. Mom and I look a lot alike, for better or worse. I’m glad, now, actually. I’d hate to look like Dad. Jerk.
“What do you want me to say?”
“What I want is to know where you’ve been all night!”
“I was with Maebry.”
Something twitches high up on her cheek. She hesitates, but only for a second. “Doing what?”
“Drugs, Mom. And grand theft. Aggravated assault. B and E. Petty larceny, I think, but I’m not entirely sure what that is.”
Mom’s already rubbing her eyes by the time I get to the grand theft part. “Briar, it’s late, and I don’t know where you were. Why can’t you just let me know where you are when you disappear like that?”
I take out my phone. “Did you ask?”
Because she didn’t. If she’d texted me, obviously I would have seen it.
Mom stares. She lowers her gaze, sighs, and walks past me to go up the stairs.
“It’s always my fault,” she mutters. Then she’s in her room, the door closed.
Damn. I really should talk less. I shouldn’t have talked to Mae about school, or at least the way that I did. And I shouldn’t have talked to Mom like I just did, either. Better to staple my mouth shut.
I pull myself up the stairs and into my r
oom, shutting my door, too. This is how we’ll spend the rest of the night: doors closed, hallway dark, not speaking to each other. It’s been more like this than not since Dad left.
There’s a picture of him on my tiny desk in the corner, taken when he and his dad went on a trip to Amsterdam. I don’t talk to my grandfather any more either; he left grandma way back, and then she died, so I never really got to know either one of them. Mom’s parents moved to New Zealand ten years ago and we don’t talk much.
In the photo of Dad, he’s sitting on a brick fountain, elbows on his knees, fingers laced, looking for all the world like a hotshot college stud with dusty blond hair and blue eyes so dark they’re almost brown. He’s not a big guy, but he used to play a lot of tennis so his legs are like liquid steel.
I haven’t seen him in person for three years, or talked to him in the last five months.
“Dick,” I say out loud, and come too close to popping Ezzy. He wouldn’t really fit in here. So I instinctively start to send a message to Maebry, but remember we’re pissy at each other too.
I fall back to my mattress. “What a fine, fine day this has been.”
My mind wanders, going inevitably back to the mirror world. The next time I talk to Mae—which hopefully will be in the morning, unless I really screwed things up—I’ll have to ask her how such a place impacts her faith. She doesn’t believe in a six-day creation or anything like that, but she definitely believes that God created everything. So he created the mirror world, too, and Familiars, and the connection us Counterparts share with them? Why? And is it in the Bible somewhere? What about the Koran, or other holy books? Do any of them talk about this?
And . . . what if they do? What would that mean? What if religions are actually based on Familiars and the mirror world? That would change everything this world believes. On the other hand, that doesn’t disprove the existence of God.
Okay. I’m done. I sound like that guy on the Aliens show on History Channel with the weird hair.
I’ll just ask Mae in the morning. In the morning, when everything will be fine. No aliens, no gods, no crazy mirror worlds with King Kong monsters. Just us, going to school, a couple of normal girls who can summon our own monsters to Earth any time we want.