Blood Type (2 page)

“Here,” Olivia said. She pushed a small plastic bottle into my hand. I turned it over and read the label.

“Eye drops?”

“Yes, well. You look like you’ve been smoking pot.” A stricken look crossed her face and she leaned in to whisper in my ear. “You’re not using drugs, are you?”

“Jesus, Olivia. Give me a little credit.” I shoved the eye drops back at her and turned toward the window. “And no,” I finally said. “My parents made me pee in a cup months ago
.
They also wanted to find out if I was pregnant. It was totally humiliating, especially since I kept insisting I don’t do drugs and am still a virgin.”

“I’m sorry,” Olivia said.

I shrugged, not really interested in apologies. “
Whatever
.
It is what it is.
”

“I’m just not sure what’s going on with you these days,” she said. “I get the whole being sick thing, but it’s not like you have cancer and you’re dying. Your entire attitude has changed. You’re not the same person you were before—”

She stopped then, but I knew what she was going to say.
You’re not the same person you were before John.

“I still don’t understand what all this get-up is about,” she said instead. She wiggled her fingers to indicate my clothes and made a face that clearly showed her disapproval. And then she muttered under her breath, “I can’t help feeling
that
your sudden break-up with John is the reason for how you’ve been lately.”

“This is me,” I said, pulling my coat tighter around m
y shoulders
and avoiding the mention of John’s name. “It’s who I am.”

“Who you are is an Honor
Roll student and former Homecoming Queen
, two years in a row
. Not to mention one of the most popular girls in school.
With the exception of
m
e
, of course.”

I didn’t laugh at her attempted joke. “Correction: That’s who I
was
. I’m none of those things now.”

“Dressing and acting like you don’t give a damn doesn’t make it so. You’re still Blake
Ehlert
, even if you are a thinner and paler version of yourself.
Take my advice
and go buy
a dress. Put some make-up on and fix your hair. Go out and meet someone new.”

The bus slowed to a stop in order to allow more passengers on, and I stood up.

“Where are you going?” Olivia
said,
the alarm evident in her voice. “This isn’t our stop.”

I looked down at her. “I’ll gladly walk home if that means I don’t have to listen to you lecture me.”

“But we’re still
a mile
from home
. It’s
going to start pouring
any
minute!”

“
A
t least I’ve g
ot on appropriate walking shoes. Goodbye, Olivia.
”

I exited the bus and began making my way along the dark
road as quickly as
my legs and lungs would allow
. I knew Olivia would follow and didn’t bother turning around to make sure. Within a matter of seconds, I heard her angry breathing a few steps behind.

“Would you at least slow down? If I have to trek all the way back home in stiletto boots, I’d rather not kill myself doing it. Or break a heel. These were very expensive, you know.”

I stopped suddenly, and Olivia ran into
me
. I whirled around, forcing her to take a few awkward steps
back
. “Then don’t go all parental on me,” I said. “I need
one
person in my life who will just be my friend.”

Olivia held up her hands. “Okay, okay. I’m sorry.
Sheesh.”

“And those boots are ridiculous,” I said, still angry.

We walked in silence after that,
me absorbed in my own thoughts and Olivia smart enough to keep quiet.
The wind bit the tips of my ears and nose, and I wished I hadn’t taken for granted the relative warmth of the bus or how cold the night
had
gotten
. It had to be below freezing now, especially up on the hill.

Olivia finally spoke up. “I know. I’ll ask my parents if you can stay with us for a while. Maybe you just need to get out of your house and clear your head.”

I looked at her, raising a brow. “I’m sure your mother would
love
that.
She has enough to worry about with Henry and Eleanor. She doesn’t need me complicating things.” Olivia’s face fell and I touched her shoulder. “But it was a nice idea, Libby.
Really.”

I’d been doing a lot of thinking—more like obsessing—since John told me I had a choice to make. Thinking
was
all I ever did these days, it seemed. Maybe skipping town, just up and leaving everyone I cared about, was what I needed to do. I could crawl away somewhere and die in peace; spare
them
having to watch my body slowly disintegrate without any real answers as to why.

And yet the idea of saving my friends and family a bit of grief did nothing to make the thought of leaving Olivia any easier. We’d been best friends for as long as I could remember. We’d shared
everything
.
Or rather, everything but the biggest secret of my life.
I reached for Olivia’s hand in the dark and squeezed, and she squeezed back.

At last we
made it home, our faces and small parts stiff and frozen with the rain and sleet that had started to fall. We waved goodbye to each other and trudged to our respective homes.

I found my mother in the living room laughing hysterically at
t
he television, a glass of something
dark
red in her hand.
M
y
heart fluttered behind my ribs
at the sight of it
. I put a hand to my chest and took a deep breath
, fighting back the rising anxiety
.
“How many of those have you had, Mom?” I said, only somewhat jokingly.

She looked up, a smile still on her face
, then
waved me
over and patted the
cushion
next to her. “It’s only cranberry juice and seltzer water. You know I’m prone to urinary infections. One a day helps.” She raised her glass to me and took a sip.

“TMI, Mom
.
” 

“What?”

“Nothing.
What are you watching?”

Mom patted the couch again as her building laughter bubble
d
out once more. I continued to stand.

“
America’s Funniest Home Videos
,” she said. “There was this squirrel . . . on a bird feeder . . .” She was laughing so hard now she had to set her glass on the table for fear of spilling its contents. “A
crow
. . .” she said, gesturing. “Dive-bombed . . .”

I didn’t laugh. Not in a joking mood, I didn’t even crack a smile. “Hilarious. Are you sure that drink’s not spiked?”

My response
had
a sobering effect on her. She pushed up the sleeve of her sweater and looked at her watch. “Where have you been, anyway? It’s after dark, and it’s sleeting. I called your cell, but you didn’t answer.”

“It’s Friday night, Mom,” I said, finally removing my hat and coat now that I had warmed up some. I draped them on the back
of the recliner. “Olivia and I took the bus downtown
and just, you know, hung out
.”

My mother
stood up suddenly
and advanc
ed
toward me, her eyes wide. “And what’s that bandage on your neck? Are you hurt? Why didn’t you call me?”

I put my hand on my neck and took a step back, having momentarily forgotten about the tattoo. “No, I’m . . . I’m fine.” But
in truth, the deed had been done. I would never be any semblance of fine again.

“If you’re not hurt,” my mother persisted, “then
why
is there a bandage on your neck?”

I removed my gloves last of all and massaged my forehead, feeling a slight headache coming on. Of course, I hadn’t really expected to just waltz in and not encounter a total
pare
ntal freak-out.
Mom and Dad
were strictly against marring one’s body. I was thirteen before I got my ears pierced, and I’d had to practically beg
for studs so tiny they were
nearly
invisible.
A tattoo was a lot worse.

“It’s nothing, Mom. It’s just a . . . tattoo,” I finished in a very small voice.

“A tattoo?”
She sat abruptly as if she’d been pushed down by a pair of unseen hands. “Blake, what would possess you to do such a thing?
And on your
neck
of all places.
And when you’re immune system is already compromised?” She shook her head, her mouth opening and closing.

“Mom, don’t—”

She stood again and put her hands on her hips. “Did you even consider your future? You can forget about finding a respectable job now. Bill!” she called, giving me no chance to answer. “Bill, come here this minute!”

I crossed my arms over my chest, steeling myself for my father’s reaction. “Thanks a lot, Mom.”

Dad entered the room, a pipe tucked neatly in the corner of his mouth. A plume of white smoke wreathed his head and trailed after him like a faithful companion. “What is it, Rachel?”

Mom gestured toward me, her lips pursed in anger. “That’s a question you
should
ask your daughter. Apparently she went out and got a
tattoo
this evening.”

Dad removed the pipe from his mouth and turned his attention to me. “Why in the world would you do something like that? We’ve put up with some very odd behavior from you late
ly
, but this is crossing the line. Getting a tattoo goes against what your mother and I think constitutes as appropriate behavior. Do we need to find someone for you to talk to?”

“
No, you don’t need to find someone for me to talk to!
”

We’d had this conversation more times than I could count over the last two months. My parents thought I was acting out
,
that I was simply going through some sort of teenage rebellion. Th
ere
may
have been so
me
truth to that
, but it wasn’t for the
reason they assumed, which was my break-up with
that perfectly nice boy, John
.

I’d often wondered
how
John
had managed to snowball my parents into believing he was the most awesome boyfriend ever
, and I’d
finally
come to the startling conclusion that he must have worked some sort of compulsion on them. Wasn’t that a talent
v
ampires supposedly possessed? There was no other explanation. It was the same reason I’d worn my hair
curly
ever since John suggested it. No, not suggested.
Commanded
.
I’d tried to straighten it several times, only to be physically unable to lift my arms and go through the motions, no matter how much I wanted to. It was an odd sensation, not to be in control of my mind or body.

“Then tell me what this is
all
about,” my dad demanded, bringing me back to the present moment.

His insistence
struck me as particularly funny, and I laughed out loud. “
Do you realize
this is the longest conversation you and I have had since I hit puberty
?
”

“Blake,” my mother said. “Don’t speak to your father that way.”

I
rolled my eyes
. “It doesn’t mean anything, Dad. It’s just a stupid tattoo. Don’t have a coronary.”

Dad’s face hardened and he held out his hand. “I don’t like your tone of voice, young lady.
Hand over
your cell phone and go to your room until your mother and I decide your punishment.
For starters, you can forg
et about going out this weekend with Olivia or anyone else.
”

“Whatever,” I said. “It’s not like I had any big plans or anything.”

“Blake!” my mother warned.

I fished the cell from my coat pocket and slapped it into my dad’s open palm. Then I turned on my heel without another word and stormed up the stairs to my room, slamming the door behind me.

I kicked off my boots and pulled my sweater over my head, and then I just stood in the middle of my room. I had an incredible urge to sweep the books and papers from the top of my desk or rip through my pillow with a pair of scissors and make an incredible mess
of everything
. Instead, I collapsed onto my bed and flung my arm over my eyes, too exhausted to care. I was too tired to even cry anymore.