Who we are instead, p.5
Who We Are Instead, page 5
I slip the dead kitten carefully back into the trash bag. I wipe my cheeks with the sleeve of my jacket. “Pop the trunk of the car.”
“What? We can’t—”
“Pop the trunk! We’ll put them there for now and figure something out later.”
Simone’s thick eyebrows lower into a straight line. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Do I look like I’m kidding?” I nearly scream at her. “Eden, open the damn trunk.”
“This is a terrible idea. You cannot put dead, decaying corpses in your car! That’s disgusting!”
Eden looks back and forth between me and Simone. I glare at her. “It’s my frickin’ car. I decide.”
Eden shrugs, leans over, and pushes the button beneath the steering wheel. “Sorry, Simone.”
“Don’t apologize to her!” I say, my teeth chattering. I lift the trash bag gingerly and hold it in my arms, trying not to think about how many dead kittens are in here. Six? Eight? More? Bile rises up in my throat as I carry the bag to the trunk. Simone follows me and takes out a flashlight and the shovel we’ll need to get out of the snow drift.
I’m lowering the bag when I feel it. The slightest push against my forearm.
I drop the bag with a thud. “What in the—!”
“What’s your deal?” Simone asks, glowering at me.
I wish I had better gloves than these flimsy fingerless things, but I don’t. I steel myself with a deep breath and plunge both hands in the bag. More stiff bodies, more frozen, ragged fur. And then something moving. “Turn on the flashlight.”
Simone points the flashlight at my hands. I pull out a tiny, smoke-gray kitten. It’s alive.
The little thing wraps its tiny paws around my wrist. I hold the kitten easily in one hand and unwind my fuchsia knit scarf with the other. Carefully, I wrap it up in the scarf. I knock on Eden’s passenger window. “Here. Warm her up.”
She caps her diet pop, rolls down the window, and takes the kitten. “Poor baby!”
“How old is she?”
Eden cradles the tiny creature in her lap. “Her tail isn’t curled around her body, and her eyes are open and bright. Maybe seven, eight weeks?”
I pat her shoulder. “Beautiful and brilliant.”
“It might not be a girl.”
“It’s a girl.”
“Girls have a dot and slit under the tail and males have two dots. You want me to check?”
I’ve already decided she’s a girl, and I don’t want to be told differently. “No! No checking. It’s a girl, okay? No further discussion needed.”
Eden wrinkles her nose. “Did you know oysters can change their gender multiple times over the course of their lifetime?”
“Whoop-de-freaking-do!” Simone hollers. “Come on! Help me dig out of this mess.”
Simone and I duck our heads against the onslaught of snow. We shovel ourselves out of the snow bank and jump back in the car.
“What’s the plan here?” Simone asks, shivering and blowing into her hands.
I back the car up and turn around. “The pharmacy’s only a few minutes back. We need milk and a syringe.”
“What about the party?” Simone asks.
“We’ll be late. So what?”
“Look, Lux,” Simone says. “I know you want to save that thing, but it’s practically frozen. You’re getting your hopes up. It’s just gonna be that much worse when it dies.”
“Don’t you dare say that.” Simone rolls her eyes, but I don’t care. Eden’s crooning softly to the kitten, stroking her head. “Me, Skittles, and the kitten disagree. You’re outvoted and you know it.”
We head to the pharmacy, snow swirling in the twin circles of our headlights, crunching beneath the tires.
Whatever happens tonight, I’m going to save that kitten. It’s a fighter. Like me.
7
Lux
The party whirls and churns around me. The music thrums in my chest, in my bones. People swirl in and out of the massive kitchen, where all the beer and wine and chips, brownies, and bowls of M&Ms are stacked nice and neat on the marble island. There’s a massive pool table and big screen TV in the basement. Out in the living room, the couches, chaises, and coffee and end tables are all pushed back against the walls, making a dance floor for dozens of gyrating couples. The sliding glass doors out to the deck keep opening and closing, as girls strip down to their bikinis and climb into the steaming, ten-person Jacuzzi.
Usually, I’m one of the first ones to jump in. Usually I’m dancing and grinding and drinking and laughing the whole night away, spinning and whirling, bright and dazzling as a sparkler on the Fourth of July.
But not tonight. Tonight, I’m all business. I’m saving a life.
I sit at the farmhouse-style kitchen table, hunched over the tiny kitten. She’s nested inside one of Jayda’s sage green towels I warmed in her dryer. I hold the kitten carefully in one hand, trying to get her to drink heated milk from a syringe. Her whole body is trembling. She laps tiredly as I give her the milk, one drop at a time.
“To what nefarious purposes are we up to tonight?” A shadow looms over me as Felix gives me a hug from behind. The chair next to me scrapes against the floor as he flops into it. He’s wearing a vintage T-shirt that says, “My Weekend is All Booked Up,” with a printed stack of books beneath the words. His nerdy clothes are always slightly rumpled, like he’s too busy solving quadratic equations to spend time on personal hygiene. “You look—amazing. Like Black Widow in the original comics.”
I try not to blush, but with my porcelain skin, I pretty much blush at anything. I love how effusive Felix is with his compliments, how he always compares me to some epically gorgeous comic book character. He’s so adorably geeky. “Hey, hot buns. What’s up?”
“Sweet mother of—is that a cat?”
“Great deductive skills you have there, Sherlock.” I tell him everything that happened on the way here. Well, not everything. I leave out the insane game of chicken with the Toyota. He’s like Eden. He doesn’t appreciate certain versions of fun.
He pets the kitten’s ear. “He’s handsome.”
“It’s a ‘she.’”
“How do you know?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“Should we check?”
“What is with you people and your obsession with gender identity? She is who she is. What she really needs is a name. And not Fluffy or Cuddles or anything lame.”
Felix gives me his wide, dopey grin. “That white streak between her eyes looks like a lightning bolt. How about Harry Potter?”
“Just, no. She’s much too refined for that. Plus, hello? She’s a girl.”
“That’s undetermined.”
I glare at him. “Whatever. Are you gonna help me or not? Her fur is the color of ash.”
“Well, that’s a depressing comparison. How about something more conventional? And, you know, not about death. Like Stormy.”
I roll my eyes. “Too cliché.”
“How about Jean Gray?”
“That’s an X-men character, right? What’s her other name?”
“You mean Phoenix?”
“That’s it! She died and then she was reborn out of the ashes. It’s perfect!” I lean in and kiss him on his perfect lips. “I love it.”
Felix scrapes his hand through his scruffy curls. “Happy to be of service.” He rubs the kitten’s tiny head. “You need a break? I can take over if you wanna dance or chill for awhile.”
My heart melts. “I’m good for now.”
“Cool. You want a Mountain Dew?”
“How about some schnapps?”
Felix brings me a sweating bottle of schnapps and a bag of Doritos. He kisses me on top of my head. My stomach does little cartwheels. He’s too perfect for words.
“Thanks, babe.”
He smiles at me, but the smile doesn’t reach all the way to his eyes.
I don’t want him to be sad. I want him to be as happy—no, euphoric—as I am. “What’s wrong?”
Just as he opens his mouth, Jayda Washington-Clarke saunters up. She’s wearing a silky maroon strap dress that flatters her light brown skin and the mahogany stripes streaking her shoulder-length hair. She points at us. “No food outside this kitchen, comprende?”
Jayda’s a cheerleader, wildly popular and super smart, and the host of the best parties. Her parents are never home. But she’s tough as nails when she wants to be. If you so much as drop a Dorito on her parents’ white carpet, you’re out. And if you don’t want to go, one of her linebacker boyfriends will firmly escort you.
“We got it,” I say.
She glares at the kitten.
“Is that thing going to pee in my house?”
“No way. She’s potty-trained. She can even use the toilet.”
“Mmmkay . . .” She twists up her face, as if deciding. Then she smiles her trademark brilliant white smile and turns to Felix. “How ’bout that Physics test? It was totally brutal.”
“Yeah,” he says, but he sounds distant, like he’s thinking about something else.
Jayda wrinkles her nose. “Wait. Is that weed I smell? Is some scum-sucking idiot actually stupid enough to smoke in my house? I’m gonna kill them!” She barrels out of the kitchen.
“Someone’s about to be booted out on their ass,” I say. Felix doesn’t even crack a smile. “Okay, now you really have to tell me what’s going on.”
He tugs his hair behind his ear in that adorable way of his. “That Physics test? It was brutal. I got a C minus.”
“That blows.” I know it sucks for him, but I haven’t given a flying fart about my grades since I was nine.
“I have to get an A in Physics.”
Phoenix gives a little mewl. She’s lapping the milk harder, getting stronger. Her suckling makes a soft sucking sound. Her little belly is round and full, her fur drying into a silky blue-gray. “Getting a B is not the end of the world, you know.”
He gives a short, hard shake of his head. “I need a scholarship to pay for Notre Dame’s astronomical tuition. I’m gonna have to study more.”
“Okay, I guess?”
Just then, Eden and Simone wander in to refresh their drinks. Simone leans against me, wheezing. She loves to dance, and usually it doesn’t affect her asthma as long as she takes her medicine beforehand.
“You need your inhaler?”
“Nope. I’m good.”
“I’m so gonna ask Dominic to dance,” Eden says, her cheeks two pink circles. “I totally am. Hey, Felix.”
“Hey,” Felix says back.
Raj Patel walks up and slaps Felix on the back. He’s Felix’s best friend and fellow geek. They both love Star Wars, comic books, and arguing about Marvel versus DC worlds, which Avenger kicks the most butt, and other nonsense.
“Nightwing versus Daredevil,” Raj says, not even saying hi to the rest of us. He and Felix have this superhero battle thing going on.
“That’s easy.” Felix sits up straighter, preparing his argument. “It’s a good fight, but Matt has 360-degree perception. He hears human heartbeats. He times bullets. Daredevil knocks Nightwing out flat. End of the sixth round, tops.”
Simone stares at them, her eyes bugging out.
“Nightwing can throw his batarang so hard he cuts through metal chains,” Raj says. He’s super-skinny, with ears that stick out, these huge dark eyes, and a serious mouth that makes him look like he’s always frowning. “He tears open punching bags with his fists.”
“The humanity!” Simone mock-clutches her chest. “How can you bear it, Lux?”
Eden giggles.
“Haven’t you heard?” I deadpan. “Pocket protectors are the new sexy.”
“I don’t wear pocket protectors.” Raj pats his button-down shirt pocket anyway, like he’s checking just to make sure. He glances at me for the first time. “Is that a cat?”
“No, it’s a skunk bomb,” Simone says, shoving her black-framed glasses up the bridge of her nose. “For nerds, you’re both dumb as a pile of rocks.”
“I resent that statement.” Raj frowns. In spite of—or maybe because of—his almost perfect SAT scores, he completely lacks any sense of humor.
“Please,” Felix says with a grin. “Nerd is so passé. I prefer the term ‘intellectual badass.’”
I rub his bicep with my free hand. “See? Sexy as hell.”
Simone groans. “I can’t even.”
“As I was saying,” Raj continues. “Nightwing would use one of his sonic grenades to hobble Daredevil’s senses.”
“Not a chance. Heck, Daredevil can swat bullets with his cane. He’d be on Nightwing faster than he could react for sure.”
I sigh and slant my eyes at Felix. “We’re boring our friends to tears over here.”
Felix is smart enough to take the not-so-subtle hint. “Hey Raj, I heard they’ve got World of Warcraft set up on that massive TV downstairs. Wanna check it out?”
Raj nods curtly and leaves the kitchen.
“Thank goodness that torture’s over,” Simone says. “I came over in the first place to tell you that guy’s here again. The one with the greasy hair.”
“Um, hair gel much?” Eden snorts.
The last party we went to, this older guy named Reese crashed the party. He had to be in his early twenties, and he stared at all the girls like we were his prey. We figured out later he’s the guy all the stoners get their dope, E, and Molly from, so someone must be inviting him. But still. Gross. I make a gagging mime with my free hand.
Simone sneezes, takes her glasses off, and wipes at her eyes. “Sorry, Lux. I think I’ve had enough of that thing and its allergy-laden fur.”
“It’s a ‘her.’ And her name is Phoenix, thank you very much. Go tear up the dance floor.”
“Hells yes!” Simone shakes her hips. She loves to dance. Last year she was into a heavy jazz phase, the year before that it was hip-hop. This year it’s swing. It doesn’t matter whether she’s just walking across the room, she moves with the grace of a ballerina, like she’s skimming the surface of the world without ever getting her wedge heels dirty. “Come on!”
“Five minutes, I promise.” The kitten’s movements slow. She curls into a little ball, tucking her nose beneath her paws. The tiniest hint of a purr vibrates against my palm.
Simone grabs Eden’s arm and they head back out to the party.
Felix clears his throat. “Anyway, back to our conversation. What I’m trying to say is, I need to spend more time studying. And less time, you know, hanging out.”
My body tenses. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means . . . we can’t spend so much time together. We need a break.”
It takes a second for the words to sink in. A break. Breaking up. I leap out of my seat, adrenaline flushing through me. “You’re breaking up with me? At a frickin’ party? While I’m trying to save this kitten’s life?!!”
He shakes his head, eyes widening. “No! It’s just a break. Just—”
There’s a roaring in my ears so loud I can barely hear his words. “A break? A frickin’ break? Are you for real right now?”
“No! I mean, yes. Sorta. You’re not listening—”
Pain explodes inside me. This is not how tonight is supposed to go. A dark thing wakes up inside my chest, rears its ugly head. “Then what is it? You think you’re better than me?”
“No!”
“You think I’m too stupid for you. That’s it.”
“That’s not what I said!” His voice is rough, pleading. “Please, can we just back up for a minute here?”
“I heard exactly what you said. And how you said it.” I shove the chair against the table with my hip. My mind blazes with indignation, with humiliation. I can’t believe it. All this time. He’s just wanted to use me, like the rest of them. “Screw you, Felix Avery. I wasn’t that into you, anyway. You’re just a social pariah posing as someone who’s cool, someone who matters. News flash: you don’t. You don’t matter at all.”
I storm out of the kitchen, leaving him sitting at the table with his mouth hanging open. Serves him right. No one screws me over. No one.
The music surges through my blood, lighting up my synapses. The volume is turned way up, blaring through me. I shove past the couches full of people chatting and drinking and clatter upstairs in my heels.
I open doors until I find Jayda’s room. A few rooms are already occupied. Curses follow me down the hallway. No one’s in here. No one would dare. It’s dark, but I’ve visited enough times to feel my way to her massive walk-in closet. She keeps the boxes for every pair of shoes she’s ever purchased. I fumble for the top box, open it, make a little bed with my scarf, and tuck the sleeping kitten inside. No one will mess with her in here.
My phone vibrates in the pocket of my jean jacket. It’s Lena. Again. Screw that. I don’t want to think about any of it right now. Or ever. I can’t. I won’t. I dump the phone inside the shoe box without looking at it.
Phoenix is safe. Now I can focus on what the heck just happened. How my tongue tastes coppery. How my head is buzzing like a thousand wasps are trapped inside, batting around against my skull. How my whole body’s trembling with outrage. How. Dare. He.
Something bad is about to happen. I can feel it.
And I’m the one who’s going to do it.
8
Lena
It’s almost 6:30 and dark by the time I make it out to the garage. I spent the afternoon scrubbing and organizing the house until it gleamed. Now I stand, my hands limp at my sides, staring at the twelve-year-old grayish-green Honda Odyssey minivan my mother drove for four years, until she didn’t have a need for driving anymore. She used to say, “Ready to rumble?” mimicking Dad’s deep voice. It always made Lux laugh and laugh.
I make myself press the key fob. There’s no reason to freak out. I don’t freak out. It’s just a car. Besides, Dad and Lux have driven it plenty of times since Mom’s funeral. It’s not like her essence still lingers inside it, drifting like blue smoke, like a ghost.
