Curse of Arachnaman (6 page)

I tried to check out possible leads whenever I could. One of them was this gay and lesbian bookstore that was crammed into this tiny little shop space about five blocks from where my tutorials were held. It was Liz who gave me the heads up on it.

"If you're job-hunting, try them out,” she suggested, right before she kicked me out of her truck once we reached Brenda's antique shop. “Mom and Dad already know you want to be productive, so why not start with your homies, know what I'm saying?"

She actually made sense for once. I mulled things over. “Okay, I'll do it. How'd you know about them, anyway? I mean, I'm gay, and I didn't know that my homies had a store of their own."

"It's called being good buddies with the Thursday morning Jumping Bean barista, dude, who's hot as hell and gay. Now scram. I'm late for work."

Yeah, it would be a good place to start, seeing as how I'd be working with my peeps. They could take me under their wing and get me all educated on issues and stuff. Then I'd turn into a vigilant, hardcore pro-gay rights activist when I got older and more cynical. Maybe my relationship with the bigger gay community would lead to the first steps toward a pride parade or something. We didn't have a pride thing every year, by the way. Vintage City wasn't called Vintage City for nothing.

Unfortunately I think the store was owned and managed by one person, and whenever I happened to swing by, he or she would always be out. “Be back in ten minutes” was the sign that I kept seeing taped against the glass door from inside.

I tried to wait a couple of times, standing outside and peering through the shop window, but the interior was so packed with stuff and so gloomy that I couldn't really get a good idea of how well business was going. Even after ten minutes were up, the store manager or whatever was still missing, so I just had to leave before Dr. Dibbs punished me with more Geometry exercises for being late.

Anyway, on one of those days, I decided to walk by and see if anyone was there. I was shocked to find the door open and the “be back soon” sign not there, so I eagerly stepped inside and looked around.

"Wow,” I said, sweeping my gaze across the area. The store was definitely tiny, with all shelves packed with books, and the center space also taken up by big tables piled with discount books and calendars. I didn't even know where to begin with my search for gay titles. I also figured that toward the back part of the shop was the adult section, with the screen and the somewhat obvious sign that said “adult section” hanging on it.

The lighting wasn't very good, either, and neither was the ventilation. The fluorescent bulbs kept flickering, and the vents above kept rattling, occasionally filling the quiet area with weird metallic scratching sounds.

"Hi,” I said, walking up to the skinny, balding guy behind the counter. He glanced up from a ledger he was poring over and stared at me, surprised. “Um—nice shop.” Cue big, brilliant, engaging smile.

"Hi. Thanks."

"I, uh, was wondering, are you hiring right now?"

Tall, skinny, balding guy waved a hand in the direction of the main shop area. “If you know how I could sell all these books and magazines by the end of this month, I'll hire you."

I grimaced. “Really?” I glanced over my shoulder. “Why won't anyone buy these? It's not like Vintage City's gay and lesbian free."

"The recession's been biting us in the ass, and there's no support inside the community or outside. Not enough, anyway. Look around you, sweetheart. This store's been around for thirty years, and it's on its way to closing if things don't change.” He paused and looked up at the ceiling, frowning deeply. “Goddamn it, what the hell's wrong with the vents this time?"

"Yeah, it's kind of irritating, but you know, this isn't the first place to have that problem,” I replied.

"Well, I can't afford to have anything fixed up.” He looked back at me, his annoyance melting away in an expression of defeat. “I'm really sorry, but you'll have to look for a job somewhere else. This store's closing at the end of the month."

I left the shop feeling all bummed out. If I had any money on me, I'd have bought one book to make him feel better, but I kind of needed to work first before I could do that. The walk to Brenda's antique shop was spent pretty much lost in sad gay thoughts.

"Hey, hon,” Brenda called out when I stepped inside her shop. Despite the fact that there was a ton of creepy old stuff that littered the place and filled up the space between the counter where she stood and the front door, I was always amazed at how she knew that it was me stepping across the threshold. “How's it going?"

"Fine,” I said, my voice weak as I wove my way through her gloomy shop. “I'm feeling a little depressed."

"Ah,” she replied as I drew near. “Dr. Dibbs isn't here yet, so you've got time to hang out with me. Tea and cookies, coming up!"

Without waiting for me to say anything more, Brenda turned around and marched toward the back, while I dumped my bag on the floor and perched myself on the bar stool in front of the counter. I'd long claimed that stool for my own, by the way. Brenda didn't have any use for it, frankly, but since we'd gotten to know each other better, she hauled that old thing out and set it where it now stood, so I could sit and chill with her while waiting for the time. She even stuck a piece of masking tape under the seat with “Eric” scrawled on it in thick, black permanent ink.

"So, what's up?” she asked, once the snacks were set on the counter, and I was busy chowing down.

I told her about the bookstore, and she just listened closely, leaning on her elbows and staring long and hard at me the whole time. I really liked talking to Brenda. She was sort of my private therapist without the sky-high fees, and besides, we had the same experience of being manipulated by whackjobs, so that was our real bond.

"Oh, sweetie, I'm so sorry,” she said once I'd done. She watched me refill my cup with hot water. “Times are tough, and some businesses just can't cut it."

"Yeah, but where do kids like me go for stuff to read? I mean—there's the big bookstore downtown, but did you see their gay and lesbian section? It's so lame! I bought only one thing from them since I came out to my family, and I couldn't see anything else there except blue collar porn, and Mom won't let me get a copy.” I shrugged weakly. “So far, I've been gambling on Olivier's to see if they've got anything new in their used book collection."

Brenda smiled and gave my chin a gentle nudge with her fist. “Then tell your friends about the store you went to. Get them involved, and see if they can get other kids in Renaissance High involved, too. I'm sure you and Peter aren't the only gay kids there."

I nodded, feeling a little better. I guessed she was right, but I didn't know how late any rescue efforts might be for that shop. Then again, I really shouldn't have let that doubt stop me. Any little bit helped, and if the shop closed at the end of the month, at least we could comfort ourselves with the fact that we tried.

"You know, I'm glad your store isn't falling apart the way other stores are,” I noted after a moment of silence.

"Hmm?"

I pointed at the ceiling. “The vents."

"What about the vents?” Brenda asked as she blew at her cup.

"They're not making weird noises...like things crawling all over up there. That gay bookstore? I heard those sounds, and it was the same for that one store with all the handmade stuff from different countries. I figured that the buildings were just too old, and the ventilation systems were falling apart."

Brenda's gaze remained fixed on me as she sipped her tea. “This building's one of the oldest in Vintage City,” she observed. “I've never had any problems with it. The vents work perfectly, and I haven't noticed anything weird about them."

I shrugged and snatched a lemon cookie. “It makes me think of cheesy monster movies, like, little flesh-eating critters invading ventilation systems and attacking people when the right time comes or something.” I chuckled. Brenda just listened, sipping her tea and staring long and hard at me.

[Back to Table of Contents]

A couple of days later, I finally got to play an online game with Althea. Blame it on my propensity toward the macabre, but I challenged her to a game of online Hangman. What I didn't realize then was that, since she
was
the computer, she also had the ability to manipulate the results.

Wrong! You're getting strung up, dude!
Sure enough, I only had one limb to go.

I stared at the monitor, frowning. “What the hell is this crap?” I cried. “What's MUB O Q UU XIIA ?"

It's a sentence, dill weed. Come on, choose another letter.

"I've chosen every single letter in the freakin’ alphabet, you cheating pile of computer chips! I'm not playing anymore! This sucks!"

Man, talk about a sore loser.

I narrowed my eyes at her. It. Her. Whatthehellever. “Sore loser, my ass. Anyone with half a brain cell could see that you're messing up my chances of winning anything."

Beep. Sorry! Hangman

Have I ever mentioned how much I sometimes hated the way Althea's powers evolved? Sure, they were pretty cool where thugs and crime fighting were concerned, but in this situation? Major, major suckage.

The limb on my “body” appeared, and the screen flashed in a burst of multicolored light. It was sort of like one of those TV game shows, where the winners were treated to an explosion of colorful confetti, while stupid, cheesy music was played. Then cables shot out of the monitor—and I'm talking cables that weren't real cables, but the kinds that were made of a collection of wild, pulsing, crackling light and electricity. So they shot out of the monitor, sending me jumping out of my chair and crying out in surprise. Before I knew what was happening, they looped around my arms and upper body and pulled me off the floor till I was dangling. Yeah, like Hangman, but not strung up by the neck.

"Ohmigawd, whatthehellareyoudoingyoucrazyb—” I shrieked, kicking. It was kind of sad, really, since moving my legs was the only thing I could realistically do, being wrapped up in pulsing light cable thingies. “LetmegoorI'llfuckingkickyourelectronicass! Daaaaadddd!” Another “cable” flew out of the screen and wrapped around my head and over my mouth, muffling me.

I need your attention, Eric. I really need a favor. I mean, seriously. I'm totally desperate.

Everything that followed was a blur. I might have passed out, even, but maybe not. All I can say right now is that Althea was
so
on my crap list after our “talk” and “negotiations.” I had to be un-muffled first, but it didn't make things any better from my end. She eventually released me and even gave me a consolatory pat on the head with one of the bizarre cables before withdrawing them. I couldn't even stand when she finally set me back down on the floor. I think I teetered a little before my legs gave out from under me, and I landed on my ass with a pretty embarrassing plop. I couldn't even feel the pain from the contact. I was too messed up to feel anything.

Thanks, Eric. You're a doll. I'll call you when Grandma tells me when the next Bingo Social will be at the senior center. [333

I couldn't remember how long it took for me to recover from the shock of being harassed into agreeing to accompany Althea to her grandmother's bingo night, but I recovered eventually. I had to stagger off to my bathroom, where I peed because I nearly literally wet my pants from my ordeal. After cleaning myself up, I staggered back to my room and sat down on my bed, all brain functions frozen.

It wasn't until after dinner, when I had sufficiently recovered, that I got back on my computer and fired off a pretty pissed-off email:
Coercion doesn't count. Go to bingo night on your own, girlie. And if you attack me that way again, I'm filing a restraining order against you. You suck so much ass.
I expected her to possess my computer again and slap me ten different ways for going back on my promise, but I figured that Althea'd had a change of heart in the end. After all, what was the use of bullying a friend into making a stupid promise?

That was so uncool, and I was sure that she realized it.

Whenever I talked to Peter on my private phone, I always lay on my stomach. I don't think it's necessary to explain why.

"So how're things in good ol’ Renaissance High?” I asked, smiling. I couldn't help it. I'm disgustingly schmoopy that way.

"Same old, but you're not there to harass anymore,” he replied. “Althea's gone so far as to stick flowers in your old locker as a memorial. She's been talking about tacking on an old photo of yours and somehow figuring out a way to set up a votive candle somewhere, but I had to smack her upside the head and get her back on track."

"You didn't!"

He laughed. He was hot when he laughed over the phone. Reason number one as to why I had to lie on my stomach when we talked via landline. “No, of course, I didn't! You dill weed. I did drag her away using her shirt collar, though. I think that woke her up."

"Are people talking about me?"

"Meh. Not really. A few tongues wagged when the Trill was around, but not anymore. I think there's some kind of rumor going around about you needing special tutorial help or something because you've got a learning disability, which was why you got pulled out of school."

I made a face. “Well, considering how much I suck at Geometry and Chemistry, I wouldn't be surprised if that kind of rumor's making its rounds. Don't bother stopping it or correcting anyone."

"I almost did a couple of times, actually."

I sighed against my pillow. “Better to be thought of as a real dumb ass than a freak."

"Eric, you're neither. Okay? Stop it. I'm not going to hear any more crap talk like that about yourself. Come on..."

My jeans felt a little too tight. “Speaking of coming, are you free anytime soon?"

"I've got work tonight on top of homework. How about tomorrow? It's Saturday, and Mom and Dad will be at a friend's wedding or something."

Sweet. It had been an eternity since we last went out on a real, ordinary date. Like, about a week ago, and it had been a really short one—a whopping two freakin’ hours—since it was a school night, and while Peter had already gotten some homework done, he was still expected to turn into Calais and battle the forces of evil after dinner. Somehow he managed to convince Trent that he was going to clock in a little late that night.