Lilith Saintcrow - Harmony, page 14
“Oh, ew,” I whispered, as if I might be overheard. They were teeth. Tiny baby teeth.
My baby teeth.
There was a pink-and-white rattle, too, a plastic thing, pretty well-chewed. A funny flat case that I opened up to find some sort of medal—a brass eagle over a cross, on a purple ribbon with white and red edging. The eagle clutched a scrap that said For Valor. “Huh.” Now that I’d said something out loud, it felt less like he was in here sleeping and more like I was, well, snooping around.
There were two other things on top of the dresser. First, a kid’s sweater. A red cardigan, pretty familiar. Kid Me was wearing it in the picture.
The other thing, tucked underneath, was a folder with paperwork in it. I was tempted, so I slid the corner out out from under the sweater.
Kasparov, Ellen S. Mom’s maiden name, on a sticker on the tab. I went hot all over, then cold. The iron taste in my mouth got a little more awful, and my skin crawled. I slid it out the rest of the way, carefully. It looked official. There was red thread keeping it closed, wrapped around a plastic-looking tab on the front. I unwrapped the thread, flipped it open, and stared.
ACCIDENT REPORT. Typed across the top in big, bold letters.
Oh, God.
There was something else. Pictures. Of the…the scene.
The accident scene.
Now I knew. She wasn’t wearing her seatbelt. The semi had almost gone straight through the old truck and she’d been thrown clear. Waxman Hill Road—what had she been doing out there? She’d just gone to the store that morning, right? I fuzzily remembered her saying something about almond milk while I was in bed, still half-asleep.
If there was one thing about Mom, it was that things happened. She could get it into her head to visit someone she hadn’t seen in months or decide to take a drive, or be following a robin or something.
The mangled thing lying crumpled on Waxman Hill Road didn’t even look like her.
You don’t want to see that, dumplin’. Well, now I had.
The key rattled in the lock. I hurried to shove the file back under the kid’s cardigan and made it into the bathroom before Dad got the door open. I sagged against the bathroom door, staring at myself in the mirror. Yeah, the two bright red patches high up on my cheeks were just like hers. My nose was hers too, and the special little spot underneath my bottom lip was shaped just like hers too. Black hair. Blue eyes. Turquoise glowed blue in the harsh electric light. One of my hands tangled in the necklace, metal edges digging in, the hook biting my nape. I didn’t look beautifully angry like she could, though.
I just looked like a scared, sleep-headed kid.
“Val? You up?” Dad headed for the kitchen. Plastic rustled. He hadn’t gone to Harmony after all, just to the grocery store. In a few moments he was at the bathroom door, tapping gently. “Sweetheart? You awake yet?”
I made some sort of garbled sound. It must have sounded like a normal morning don’t-ask-me-questions noise to him, because he chuckled.
“All right then. I went and got donuts. The good kind. I’ll put your tea on. Hurry up, I gotta use the bathroom too.”
It took two tries before I could clear my throat enough to talk. “Okay.” I sounded a little gravelly. Just-woke-up. Not like my cheeks were wet and bright red, not like my nose was full and my legs were a little too shaky to hold me up straight. “Be out in a sec.”
It took more than a sec. It took a lot of cold water splashed on my face before I made it out into the kitchen, but if Dad noticed, he didn’t say anything. He just sat down at the kitchen table and opened the blue-and-white Mercy’s Doughnuts box. They really were the good kind, Mercy’s was famous. “I didn’t know which ones you liked, so I got a dozen. Can’t get every kind.” He looked at me, anxiously, and the kettle began to chirp. The coffeeemaker was going, too.
“I thought you went out to visit Clover.” I found my mug, right on the counter with a teabag already in it.
“I’m not gonna see her if you don’t like her, dumplin’.” He peered at the donuts like there was something written on them.
Jeez, I wasn’t his dating guardian or anything. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It does matter.” Now he fixed me with a piercing, very parental stare, his eyebrows two thick black bars and his just-shaved, blue-shadowed jaw set. “You’re my baby girl. The most important thing in my life ever since your mom told me she was carrying cargo.”
Well, that was one way to put it. “I mean, it’s fine.” God, this was an awkward conversation. Mom’s version of this talk was more try to get along, give him a chance. I didn’t know how to handle this one. “I don’t mind Clover, I guess. I just…” Maybe I should have some coffee instead. That might jump-start my brain enough to get through this minefield. It wasn’t really like I had any control over who Dad dated.
Dad nodded. “I know you preferred your mom.” His chair squeaked a little against the linoleum. Everything in here was so…whole. Nothing was broken. You didn’t have to jiggle handles or skip stairs that might break. “But I’m all there is now.”
“It’s not a preference thing.” The water was boiling, I poured steadily. “I always used to wish you guys would get back together.”
“So did I.” If it bothered him to talk this way, he didn’t show it. I kept sneaking glances at him, but there was no hint of anger on his broad face. “Maybe I should’ve pushed it, I don’t know. I was afraid she’d take you and disappear again. You’re the best thing in my life, dumplin’.”
Disappear again? I didn’t remember us disappearing, but… Jesus. Now I really felt like an asshole. Clover wasn’t so bad, really. What had she done? Just tried to help out, and been nice to Dad. The Harmony people were kind of weird, and I didn’t really like Father Jim, but…well, they weren’t bad. Ingrid and Gabrielle had even helped a total stranger, risking Sandy Gibson’s bad side. A popular bitch could make your life hell, but they didn’t seem to care. That was worth a little leeway, I figured.
Besides…there was Clover’s hand on the woman’s arm, yesterday. And the dog. Something weird was happening to me, and if Clover could do things too…well, maybe I could learn something, figure this whole thing out. I was pretty sure I wasn’t totally crazy, but starting to see plants glow and the whole thing with the dog wasn’t anything a straight would have any information on, so to speak. I could go back to Enlightened Source, or to Nadine’s studio, but they didn’t even show up for Mom’s funeral, so why would I bother?
“Clover’s okay,” I said, finally. “Really. I just don’t want you getting hurt.” It sounded lame, probably because it was.
“You let me worry about that, Val.” A quizzical look drifted over his face, but his shoulders relaxed. “You don’t have to take care of me. That’s not how this goes.”
It’s always how this goes. Still, it was nice. I wrapped the teabag’s string around the mug handle. “Okay.” The coffeemaker finished gurgling. “You want a cup of coffee, Dad?”
“Sure. But I’ll get it, you sit down. These donuts aren’t gonna eat themselves.”
29
See Red
“Hey.” Travis the Bathroom Bro leaned pretty much out of his seat. “Hey. New girl.”
I didn’t answer, just stared straight ahead at the chart Shieldman had put up about the domestic impact of the Korean War. I’d already taken all the notes I needed to, but I kept doodling. Henna patterns, mostly. Mom and I used to get them done sometimes, and if you can stand sitting still long enough, it’s actually kind of pleasant. You can meditate while they do it, but most of the painters like to talk.
It’s a social experience. Nobody can just sit there and let you think or be quiet, they always have to talk. It’s not just girls, either, though that’s what all the movies and the magazines tell you. Guys have to know you’re paying attention, like they’ll vanish if you stop looking.
“New girl.” He whisper-yelled it, as if something was wrong with my hearing. Probably didn’t think anyone could be ignoring him. Why, he was the center of the universe, right?
Mehndi patterns are fun to draw, even if you’re only a halfass artist and would never show them to anyone, they’re small and finicky enough to get your mind off anything. Especially secrets burning behind your breastbone.
All those times Mom swore I’d someday get abilities like her. Now she was pretty much right, but it was too late. I could have gone with her that day, if I’d bothered to get up out of my camp cot. If I had, would the thing—whatever it was, the energy transfer or whatever all the books would call it—have helped her? I’d never, ever felt it before.
And Mom would have seen it, wouldn’t she? She knew about all this sort of stuff.
“Neeeeeew giiiiiiirl.” He was getting louder, but up at the front of the room, Shieldman probably didn’t hear him.
Or she didn’t want to.
One or two of the kids around me shifted uneasily. I glanced at the clock without moving my head, a quick flicker of eyeballs. Almost lunchtime, and then he’d leave me alone. He probably went on the hunt for kids to shove in the cafeteria. His cologne was sickening. It pulsed out of him in little waves, probably in time to his heartbeat.
The seat was uncomfortable, and I had to balance just right or it would slide off its base. The tiny desk surface wasn’t big enough for any serious work, but at least it was its own little world. I could have been stuck at a table, instead of Travis leaning out of his seat two back and one to the side, its legs scratching the floor a little as he shifted.
Shieldman was wearing a pastel pink sweater, the wool full of fluffy bits, and a black skirt which had the unfortunate effect of making her top half look even bigger than it was, and there was a slight run in the pantyhose on her left shin. Mom told me pantyhose used to be something you had to wear, and some straights still did it. Like turning your legs into sausages, she said. Awful. Just awful. Never again.
I colored in a series of small triangles, listening about the 38th Parallel. Not listening to Travis, who decided he just wasn’t being annoying enough.
“New girl. Hey.” Something hit my shoulder. “Val.”
Well, he’d graduated to my name. My teeth hurt; I was grinding them. A pencil.
He’d thrown a fucking pencil at me.
“Val. Vaaaaaaaaal.” He drew it out, and he wasn’t bothering to keep it down much anymore. Shieldman blinked myopically, the lenses of her glasses full of reflected glow from the projector. Maybe she didn’t care as long as he was leaving her alone. I touched Mom’s necklace with my left hand, concentrating on filling in the triangles with my right. Then I’d do the scallops, until half the page was a solid sheet of ink.
“I heard about you, Vaaaaaal.” He snort-laughed, quietly. “They say you’re a leeeeeezzzzzie.”
Was it possible to shatter your teeth if you ground them hard enough? The clock wouldn’t speed up, no matter how often I looked at it. I tapped the biggest turquoise on the necklace. What would Mom do in this situation? I hated high school, she told me often enough.
“That means lesbian,” Travis said, and something else hit my shoulder. I couldn’t tell what he’d thrown this time.
I imagined getting up, a sharp turn on my heel, taking two steps, and punching him in the face. He’d probably duck, but my boots were steel-toed. Those never go out of fashion, and Mom got them for my sixteenth birthday. Dad got me new socks so I could wear them without slipping around inside. I could kick Travis’s leg—he’d have it stuck out into the aisle, of course, taking up all the space because he thought it was owed to him. I probably couldn’t break his nose, but I could give his shin a wallop. It might not shut him up for good, but it would at least make Shieldman do something, right?
Of course he was picking on me because I was new. I was thinking Oz used to be his victim, by the half-guilty looks he’d sneak me every once in a while. I knew all about the grim relief of finding out an asshole had chosen a fresh target. It was kind of strange that Oz looked so broken up about it, but then, maybe he was a nice guy.
Third period was an endurance contest and so far I was winning, but not by much. I had an idea that Sandy, who hung out with a whole group of pop-preps that included him in the morning, had pointed me out recently. The pop-preppers sometimes congregated off the buses, near a senior history teacher’s room the AP kids were always going on about.
I suspected half of them, boy and girl alike, had a crush on Mr. Pale. He was tall, and skinny, and biked in to work.
Anyway, you had to go past the glossies to get from the buses to any of the other buildings, and they were loud. Sandy wasn’t the biggest queen bee, but you got the sense she was the one none of the others didn’t really want to fuck with, so they acted like they liked her.
“Hey, Val. Come on, just tell me. You a lesbian?”
The kids around us were really shifting uncomfortably now. Shieldman started talking about Russia and North Korea.
“’Cause I am too.” Travis whisper-laughed again. “I’m a big ol’ lesbo, and so are you. Lesbo.”
Something else hit my shoulder.
“Shut up,” a girl hissed from behind us. Travis’s desk squeaked. He was probably looking back to find out who said it, but everyone would be straight-faced.
My right hand clamped down on the pen. For a second I saw red, and I don’t mean figuratively. A sheet of crimson slid over everything, like when you close your eyes in a really bright light and it shines through the blood in your lids. I imagined slapping him. A good, hard, ringing one, right on the cheek.
I was imagining it so hard I wasn’t sure, for a moment, what that cracking sound was. A collective gasp went through the classroom.
“—in 1954.” Mrs Shieldman blinked again, staring past me, her mouth slowly opening. She said nothing else, and there was a general rustle as everyone turned to look. I resisted the urge for about a second and a half, and when I twisted in my seat, I couldn’t understand what I was seeing for a second.
That’s when Travis let out a short, strangled, gurgling yell.
It looked like one of the legs of his chair had suddenly given out, and since he was spread out to take up all sorts of space, the entire thing collapsed with him. And by entire thing I mean chair, desk, and the metal bars holding one to the other. Somehow in there his nose had broken, and blood gushed all down his front. I heard later they had to call the fire department to get him out of the tangle, but I didn’t see it because the bell rang and I escaped while Shieldman waved her hands and began giving ineffectual orders to the kids crowding to see what the hell the noise was. I also heard later one or two of them managed to kick Travis while he was howling, bloody-faced, and thrashing.
I hoped like hell Oz had, at least.
30
Same Shoes
One thing about Cold Ridge High, the chocolate milk was rarely frozen. Some schools, you get ice in the bottom of your milk and forget the chocolate, the prep-poppers always get there first. I grabbed a carton and was about to make a fast getaway to the library when Owen appeared right out of thin air and reached past me o nab a carton of regular milk. “Hey.” He bumped against my backpack, and I skipped sideways to get away. “Sorry. Didn’t see you Sunday. Where were you?”
“Having donuts.” I could have sworn I felt a warm trickle of something on my upper lip, and the thought that I was snotting myself in the lunch line sent a hot embarrassed flush up my cheeks. I swiped at my nose with my free hand, and it came away dry. Nothing there. “With Dad.” I wanted to add, a hot date, right? But I didn’t know how he’d take it.
“We missed you.” Owen grinned. The cross at his throat gleamed, and his hair looked just mussed enough to be planned that way. “Sarah keeps asking when you’re coming back.”
“Oh.” Something about that nagged at me. My ribs hurt, too. Maybe I’d pulled something getting out of Shieldman’s room. Everything inside me was whirling. “I don’t know. It’s up to Dad.”
“Yeah, well, she’s dying to see you again.”
“Move it!” A pop-prepper girl, one of Sandy’s crew, shoved past me. “Don’t stand in the fucking line, morons!” Her smooth brown ponytail switched like a horse’s as she stamped away on a pair of cork wedges just like Sandy’s, too. She didn’t quite have the makeup, or the color-coordination, but her jeans looked like she’d been poured into them and there were rhinestones across the ass. A slice of spray-tanned skin showed on her back; her crop top had ridden up a bit.
Owen stepped neatly aside and somehow he had my elbow, so I had to go with him. I don’t know how he did it, he made it seem like the most natural thing in the world. I didn’t even realize he was steering me, because the headache and the persistent pressure in my chest both vanished at once and I was too busy trying to figure out why. “God, I hate that,” I muttered.
“What?” He stopped, once we were both out of the lunch line and next to an empty table. Nobody wanted to sit here, it was too close to a door one of the security guards liked to lurk near. He was a heavyset older man with restless hands and an ingratiating grin, and none of the kids liked him. It was his lips, mostly, greasy and quivering just a little when he looked at the girls. Even the boys felt it.
“Ponytail bitches shoving everyone around.” I hitched my backpack higher on my shoulder. The straps were beginning to give under textbook load; I was hoping it would last or I could repair it. The sewing machine was in storage, along with everything else from the farmhouse. I could ask Dad to drive me out there.
