Twice Shy (3 page)

Her mom brushed away the tear. "That was excellent, sweetie."

"Oh, is that your daughter?" a woman in a blue jogging suit asked.

"I... need to go to the bathroom." She ducked between the chattering adults and out into the hall. Mike didn't follow her. Dylan did.

"That was amazing," he said. "I had no idea you could play like that."

She shrugged. "I've had lots of practice."
It's amazing what you can do when you don't get tired.

"No kidding." He brushed his bangs out of his eyes. "It hurts to hear such beauty. Or see it."

Oh, great,
Ani thought. The last thing she needed was Stalkerboy's attentions focused on her. "Hey, I don't know about the dance, but Fey's coming to the bonfire."

His face stayed a dispassionate mask, but the barest twinkle crept into his eyes. "Oh, yeah? I might show up, if I don't have something else going on."

Ani snorted. "What else could possibly be going on in a town the size of a postage stamp?"

They arrived at the bathroom. Instead of taking the hint, Dylan leaned against the wall. "Sometimes I get pretty wrapped up in my poetry. It's pretty consuming, you know? All that darkness needs an outlet. If not words, what?"

Are you staring at my ankles?
"Sure, Dylan," she said. "Maybe you can let me see some of it some time."
Why did I just
say
that?

His eyes molested her body on their way to her face. "Really?"

"Yeah, maybe sometime. Look, I really got to go."

He backed up from the doorway. "Oh, right, me too. See you tomorrow. At the fire."

"Sure, Dylan." She stepped through the door into blessed silence.

*  *  *

Friday was School Pride Day, and if she wore a blue-and-white T-shirt under her black turtleneck, and only her mother knew, then that was what it had to be. Sometimes the little things mattered.

*  *  *

The official, school-sponsored bonfire ended at ten when the chaperones went home and the firemen put out the fire. The unofficial one started at ten-fifteen, in the woods behind Finster's barn, far enough from the road to not draw undue attention. How people could drink themselves silly, stay up to all hours, and then play sports in the morning was beyond her. Ani didn't sleep anymore, but she didn't play sports, either.

Her mom bought liquor and smokes for her, which she "stole" for the other losers. In the back of the crowd, she sat Indian-style next to Jake and handed him a half-full bottle of Captain Morgan. "Have you seen Fey? She owes me ten bucks."

He pulled off the cap and took a swig, careful not to smear his black lipstick. "Yeah. She's scoring some X from Roberts."

Chuck Roberts was the poster child of the modern American dream. Twenty-four years old, he had somehow graduated without passing any classes his senior year. Banned from school grounds after serving two years for statutory, he still used drugs to pick up teenage girls. Ani didn't want to think about how Fey was paying him. It made her queasy.

Jake took another swig. "Wow. You hear about that guy in Rushville?"

She watched a cascade of sparks escape into the heavens as a pallet collapsed in the fire. "No. What guy?"

"It was all over the news. Some redneck meth-head gnawed a cop's thumb off when they tried to arrest him. They quarantined the street, had to test everyone for ZV...." He took another swallow. "Can you imagine waiting for your test results, knowing there's a flame crew right outside?"

Ani's stomach knotted.
Yes.

"No," she said. "That's awful."

He drummed his legs with his hands. "It's pretty funny if you think about it. It was just meth—"

Fey plopped down next to her, a ten-dollar bill between her index and middle fingers. "Told you I'm good for it."

Ani grabbed the bill and stuffed it into her pocket. Fey smelled like jasmine, and underneath, something primal, enticing. The unpleasant feeling in Ani's stomach intensified.
What the hell is wrong with me?

Movement in the darkness caught her eye. Dylan crept up behind Fey with a tiny shake of the head toward Ani. His movements were feral, like he was stalking prey. She gave him a weak smile.

Fey rolled her eyes without turning around. "Dylan, if you touch me, I swear to God you're going in the fire." She stuck a cigarette in her mouth, which Jake lit for her.

Dylan frowned, his hands balling into fists, then slumped to the ground behind Jake. Ani's stomach cramped. Dylan smelled like blood. Like meat.

Oh God, I'm hungry.

She stumbled to her feet and staggered into the brush, her pacemaker pounding in her ears. She caught snippets of their conversation over the growing need in her gut.

"...the hell did I do?"

"...too much, Captain...."

"...the hell alone, douche...."

She fell to her hands and knees. She needed to get away, or she'd burn. She started to crawl.
I can't. I'll kill them all.
The brush, black and orange in the firelight, faded to throbbing red.
I'll bite them, and then they'll eat each other.
She curled into a fetal position, crippled with sobbing, desperate gasps.
The police will come, and they'll kill... They'll burn.... They'll...
taste... so... good
...
.

She sighed in relief as her fingernail dug into her wrist. She focused on the tearing skin, the angelic release of pain. She shuddered, and her eyes rolled into the back of her head. The nail gouged a perfect line across her wrist, and then another, and another. With each cut she transcended further above the hunger where it could not touch her.

When she opened her eyes, Dylan was there, staring in rapturous horror.

"Get away from me," she spat, and ran into the darkness.

Chapter 5

October second was a chilly Saturday, a chance to try on her new leather trench coat. The cowhide was a little stiff, and it smelled like her mom's Audi, but it blocked the wind that seemed to bother everyone else so much. She hadn't yet figured out how to fake a shiver, but the cold air felt good. She hadn't felt this good in ages.

Ani couldn't have gone to the Homecoming Parade without blowing her credibility as a life-hating loser, but her mom volunteered as First Aid at the games, so she was able to catch the JV and Varsity girls before she had to go to work. A lot of those girls used to be her friends, but they had abandoned her the moment she became a social liability. Mom's rules weren't negotiable—no sports, limited sunlight exposure, and bulky, body-covering clothes were necessary if she was going to survive long enough to be cured.

The lab hidden in their basement wasn't for show.
If there's a cure, Mom will find it. She knows more about ZV than anyone.
Ani pushed away thoughts of the bonfire—the hunger—and ran her thumb along the razor blade in her pocket.
Just in case.
There were some things Mom didn't need to know.

She stood off to the side and watched the girls play. Every ounce of her being wanted to be on the field, kicking the ball, running, being part of a team. She hated to admit it, but Devon was a great offensive midfielder.
Let's hope she slips and breaks a bone. Or five.

Keegan Taylor stepped up next to her. "Explains a lot."

She looked at him sidelong. Interactions with jocks were never good, especially jocks that had had a crush on her in eighth grade. "What does?"

"You. Standing here, looking at a bunch of girls."

"I'm not the one who wore a skirt to school on Monday." The girls executed a near-perfect defensive play and stole the ball. Devon took it at midfield and passed it forward.

"The whole team wore skirts. You're the one staring at the girls."

"So now I'm a dyke?" Her brain scrambled for a witty retort and came up blank. "Sure. Whatever you say, Keegs."

He scowled. "What the hell happened to you, Ani? You used to be cool."

The game was a rout. She didn't clap as the home team scored an easy goal, then turned to look him in the eye. "Life sucks. Then you die."
And then it really sucks.

She left him scowling on the sidelines and walked to work.

*  *  *

Travis was an okay boss, but he loved to hear himself talk. He rambled on about responsibility and customer service, and Ani fought the urge to yawn or roll her eyes or hang herself. The third time 'unsupervised game store kid' knocked over a display item, Ani had thrown him out of the store. His mom had freaked out at her for dumping her child on the street—oblivious to the fact that she was the one who had abandoned him in the Dragon's Lair while shopping down the road—and then Travis came in and freaked out at her for upsetting the customers. It was almost a relief when Dylan showed up with his Magic cards.

As he walked in the door, Ani interrupted Travis mid-freak. "Customer!" She danced out of earshot and leaned against the counter in front of Dylan. He put the cards on the counter and Ani scooped them up.

She had to use the price guide to sort them into 'crap' and 'not-crap' before handing them over to Travis. A full third of them were from the current set. She tapped one with a black plastic fingernail while Dylan stared at her covered wrists. "I thought you said these were old."

Dylan blushed and looked at the gaming tables, then away. "Mine are. I stole some from my brother."

She chewed her bottom lip to keep from talking and sorted a few more. He pointed at one. "That's one I stole. It's worth twenty bucks." He licked his lips as his eyes drifted back to her wrists.

Time to go, Dylan
. "You're a bad liar. Fey might bite if you were a bit more real."

"You know what?" he said. "FUCK you!" Face twisted in rage he scattered the cards and stormed out. Travis hollered at his heels as he fled down the sidewalk. Ani had the cards re-sorted before her boss got back, red-faced.

"What the heck was that?" Travis asked.

Ani shrugged. "Just trying to give him some advice."

Travis pointed at the kids in the back. "I can't have your friends yelling obscenities in my store. Parents catch wind, and then who pays my bills, huh?"

"He's not my friend," Ani snapped.
Not even my pretend friend.

"Sure he's not," Travis said. "Don't let it happen again."

"It won't." She dropped the worthless cards in the trash and handed him the rest of the stack. "You owe him ninety bucks."

*  *  *

6:50 p.m. The dance started in ten minutes. A night watching hormone-crazed teenagers molesting each other under the eyes of teachers, who were trying to pretend they didn't see anything, wasn't Ani's idea of a good time. She wanted to be one of those hormone-crazed teenagers, hot and sweating on the dance floor. Failing that, she'd paint.

She was half-done with a watercolor of tiger lilies when a throaty rumble shook the house. A car horn sounded. She pushed back the curtain with a pinky finger and saw a maroon '87 Caprice Classic idling in the driveway.
Dylan
. She wiped her hands on a towel and went outside.

He turned down the music as she approached the car, tiptoeing bare-footed through the gravel. The titanium pin in her pinky ached, dull and distant, and the rocks pricked the bottom of her feet.

"Hey," he said. "I'm sorry about earlier."

"Mmm," she said. She didn't much feel like giving him the satisfaction. "You almost got me fired."

"I said I'm sorry."

"I heard you."

He sat there, staring at the steering wheel
.
She waited. He didn't say anything. She leaned her elbows on the door and put her head in the car.

"What do you want, Dylan? I'm busy."

"Will you go to the dance with me?"

Ani cleared her throat. "Excuse me?"
You didn't just ask me to go to the dance with you. No. Nuh-uh. That did not just happen.
She tried to think of excuses, and her mind went blank.

"Fey's going to be there, helping her step-dad DJ."

"Oh," Ani said.
Thank God.
"And why do you need me there?"

He threw up his hands. "I can't go by myself. Fey won't give me the time of day, and Keeg and his friends will leave me alone if I'm with a girl."

"Or they might go
Carrie
on both of us."

"Yeah, I won't let that happen. Will you come?"

She sighed out the breath she'd been holding. "Shit. Yeah. Um… On two conditions. One, we never, ever talk about last night."

He nodded. "What's two?"

"Tomorrow you apologize to Travis for swearing in his store."

"Oh, please," he said. "He's a total douchebag."

Ani
tsk
-ed. "Suit yourself." She pushed away from the car and picked a few careful steps back toward the house.

"Hey!" Dylan called. "Wait! Okay."

She turned around. "Okay, what?"

"Yeah, okay. I'll do it."

"In person. While I'm there."

He hesitated. "Deal."

Dammit.
"Okay. Give me five minutes." She walked inside and shut the door. It took longer to convince her mom than to pick an outfit.

*  *  *

Dylan's car smelled like old french-fries. She was glad to have big chunky boots between her feet and the garbage on the floor. She noticed a smudge of yellow paint on her knuckle and sucked it off.

Dylan manhandled the gearshift into reverse. "You smell delicious," he said.

Ick.

She looked out the window. "It's incense from the Lair. It clings to your clothes."
And masks the nerd-funk.

He backed out of the driveway. "Well, you still smell nice."

She sighed for effect. "If you hit on me, the deal is off. Stay focused."

He put the car in drive and hit the gas, too hard. The trombone-blast of his decrepit exhaust system echoed through the neighborhood. "I was trying to be nice," he said through gritted teeth.

"Well, don't. This isn't a favor, this is
quid pro quo
."

"Quid what?"

"Never mind. What's the game plan?"