On Edge (13 page)

Sixteen

“You're not nearly that fat,” Surge said, looking sideways at the infamous bloated piece of me Warp had told Haze and me about.

“Gee, thanks, Surge.” I elbowed him in the ribs and touched the art to see if it was tacky.

“How did your brother find this? I don't think we've been down here on a run yet.”

“He probably heard it through the thug-line or stumbled on it.” I stepped back again to survey my sprayed image. The edges of the piece seemed a little sharper, the swirl of paint in the background a little sloppy. My face…stretched and some unfinished cracks, or twigs or something, looked like they were going to poke me in the eye. The writer must've been in a rush or methed out. “You know, this isn't very flattering. I look kinda…piggish.”

“Maybe it was dark. Or they sniffed a little too much paint, yanno? If they did this at night I'd still say it's impressive, but as a depiction of the fine Lady of the Ledge, it's way foul.” He threw off his backpack and rummaged around for a flavored water.

All morning we had combed TRA territory looking for the giant “LL re-creation” Warp claimed to have found night before last. The one Haze and I had searched for all night last night and couldn't find. If we'd gone one more street over, we'd have found it.

The sun burned high noon before Surge and I stumbled on my graffiti-stalker love-note. Now that we saw it, I wished we hadn't.

“So, now what?”

He swirled some water around in his mouth and spit it out. “This is your show, girl. I think we have to recognize the skills and admit someone was trying to make you look unfine, so it's up to you. You wanna get some supplies and erase it?”

“Why? Whoever it is will only make another one. At least I know where this one is. And it's on the side of a building long dead. I'm guessing if we erase it, the next one will look even worse.”

“Throw in some yellow zits and crossed-eyes type deal?”

“I wouldn't doubt it.” I sighed and put my back against the brick. “I'm trying not to let everything get to me but…”

“I know, baby girl.” He ambled over and slid his arm between my neck and the wall, giving my shoulders a squeeze. “We'll figure out what's what.”

We were quiet for a bit. And I couldn't be sure what he was thinking but I suspected it ran along the same lines as what I contemplated. How do you get an unknown graffiti artist off your back?

“You just gotta react the opposite way of what they want.”

I nodded.

Surge straightened, dragging his arm out from around me. “I've got an idea.”

***

A can of black paint, a black eye-liner pencil, and an hour later, we were back at the graffiti crime scene.

“I feel dumb,” I admitted.

Surge tapped the side of my face, the black eye-liner poised near my nose. “Quit moving or I'm going to color in a few teeth on accident.”

“Sorry,” I mumbled. “I just don't know if I can do this.”

“Look, you gotta pretend this shit is funny to you, LL. They want you to take it serious, so if you don't, they'll move onto another target they can bully.”

“Or I'll come off to the entire school looking like an idiot.”

“Pfft. You're friends with me. Everyone in the school already knows you're an idiot for that alone, girl.” He scraped a few more pencil lines across my face and then stepped back.

“How does it look?” I asked.

“Like you're mocking the improvements I made to your character!”

I looked over at the mustache he'd painted on the wall image of me and grinned. Other than holding the can too close, making some of the black paint ooze down the front of my artsy face, he did a decent job.

“Now go stand next to it!”

“Yanno, I think we violated an ethical code about adding to someone else's masterpiece.”

Surge grinned and held up his camera phone. “If they were trying to be accurate, then I'd hardly call that shit work a ‘piece.' Okay now, blow out. Try to make yourself look fat. Yeah…yeah. Awesome!”

Surge took the picture and sent it to my phone—as well as everyone else's. The whole of Three Rivers would have my funky photo in an hour.

“Oh God, I feel sick.”

“You'll be fine. Everyone will laugh and have a good time with it thinking you're goofing around. Except the artist.”

“Writer,” I corrected automatically.

“Whatever. The
writer
,” he said with dramatic emphasis, “will cry at his failed attempt to bully you and find another, more vulnerable target.”

“Surge, what if the reason this one's fat is because it was made by someone else? I know it has similar lines and style but…what if ripping Haze's style and making fun of me become trendy things to do?”

He stared at the graffiti for a long time before answering. “It don't matter how many pictures start poppin' up, we'll take them all down, LL. Trust me.”

***

Other than Saturday night's graffiti date with Haze and Surge's brilliant Sunday afternoon prank, the rest of the weekend had been spent watching the distance between Warp and me grow in silence. By Sunday night his eye had developed quite the shiner, thanks to his tussle with Haze on Friday, and he'd told the crew to go on a run without him for the first time ever, hoping to hide the various shades of purple for a day.

Warp's hiatus made it easier for Surge and me to go off on our own to meet Haze. The night passed with only a couple of burgeoning finger blisters and a nasty bruise on Haze's shin.

Despite his injuries, he had a natural aptitude for freerunning and I was proud of him. I decided against saying so, though, lest I sound like his mom or something.

Pops left after midnight for another cross-country trek that would “bring in Christmas money,” which meant he'd be gone for a while again. I could always tell when Pops felt guilty about being away because he'd put a name to the extra money he'd bring in. “Warp's birthday trip.” “Easter Dinner trip.”

I wanted to tell him the same thing I always did. “Don't worry, Pops. You're leaving me with a stand-in dad. I'll miss you but I'll be fine.”

Not this time. I couldn't reassure him. Not when I was feeling so inexplicably uneasy.

The picture Surge and I sent out seemed to get rave reviews, but I hadn't had to face anyone yet. Not to mention Warp was so damned mad at me I wondered if he wouldn't snap under the pressure of Pops being gone. More than his usual snap-age, anyway.

All I could bring myself to say was, “Whatever, Pops.”

I'd meant it to be flippant, but I knew I didn't hit the mark when I saw the stress age my father's face before my eyes.

“I'll be fine, Pops,” I whispered now on the way to school.

Late. Late for Pops and late for school after waiting all morning for Liv to show. She never did. Obviously, she was still a little sore at me for not telling her about my crush on Haze.

“Hey, Emanuella! Nice picture.” Someone yelled as they sped by me on the sidewalk. The guy didn't look familiar.

Sending out pictures to the entire student body might not have been a good idea, after all. At least it wasn't as bad as Susie Tamer's boob-episode of last year, but, hello—nerve-wracking.

I'd vowed never to take a picture for a boyfriend of mine over the phone, no matter how much they seemed to “love” me. Susie's case was the perfect reason to stay away from
that
.

By fourth hour I'd seen so many renditions of my face on disproportionate bodies I wanted to hurl. My cheeks hurt from forcing a smile all day, and all I wanted to do was fall into Haze's arms by the time I made it to the closet.

I knocked and he jerked me inside rougher than usual. “Um, ow. Ya bully.” He dropped his hand and I rubbed my arm.

“What the hell were you thinking?”

Haze's face wasn't made for anger, and it was kinda scary seeing it there. I wondered if my assumption of his inability to commit murder was accurate.

“Don't yell at me! I've had a rough day and you're
not
going to make it worse by jumping down my throat.”

My theory about turning his offense to defense didn't work out so well.

“LL, I'll yell at you all I want when you do something as suicidal as challenging someone you don't even know.”

“We're going to get caught if you don't shut up.” I tried to calmly point out.

It helped bring his voice down but his anger didn't budge.

“You can't cross out someone's work and not piss them off!”

“I didn't cross anything off. Surge painted a mustache on it. We thought if we showed I found it amusing instead of being victimized by fat jokes—”

Haze dragged his hand over his face and stared up at the ceiling like I was trying his patience. “I get it.” He snapped. “But it's a serious infraction. You're pretty much telling whoever did the work that you're at war.”

“Oh, come on, this isn't a gang-sign marking territory. It's my face.”

“It doesn't matter that it isn't a sign if the person who painted it feels it's a territory issue. As bad as the portrait was, they might have really put their heart in it, and for you to make fun and to touch it…dammit. This is why I handled the last one. There's a way to do it. And your way—not it, Emanuella! We can only hope it's some newb idiot expressing a crush. Please, in the future…”

“Don't touch anything.” I started to feel a little worried. What if Haze was right? What if I did something really bad and made myself a target?

“Yeah, because this…” he said holding up his phone with the picture on it, and sounding like he wanted to yell again. “Not. Very. Smart.”

“You know what, Haze? Maybe not by your standards, but I'm not going to sit here and be victimized. If whoever it is thinks I started a war then…then…. Good! Maybe they'll actually show their face, the coward. I don't know what I've done to be the butt of their jokes, but I'm not going to put up with it! I'm sick of all this crap! I'm sick of my brother, I'm sick of school, and I'm sick of pretending that you don't exist outside of this closet! Maybe if I could show you were my boyfriend, the person painting my pictures would cut it out!”

The lines around his mouth softened and he pulled me in slowly for a hug. “I'm sorry. This is all so messed up. I feel helpless because I can't come out and openly challenge whoever is screwing around until all the territory crap is settled, and when I saw the picture—”

“Have you seen the doctored text-pic with my painted head on a dog's body? That's my favorite.” I smirked.

“Who cares about those? My photo was on TV, so you can imagine the hurtful crap some heartless kids put out there.”

“Yeah.” I remembered hearing some of those really nasty things the kids were saying about him. It bothered me more, now that I was his girlfriend, than it had back then. It also made me feel pretty silly getting all stressed out over the pictures of myself I'd seen. “I'm not bothered by that stuff as much.” I was, but I'd get over it.

“Then what stuff?”

I shrugged. “I just want to be normal. I wanna be able to go to the dance with you and have you as my boyfriend out in the open.”

His nod rubbed against my head and I nuzzled deeper into his neck.

“I know,” he whispered. “I'll find out who's doing this shit and once I can prove that it isn't me, we'll take on your brother and his irrational need to claim territory, then let the whole world know we're together with one big jump out of the closet.” He craned his neck to look at my face with a cheesy grin plastered across his. “So to speak.”

“Okay.”

I guess I didn't sound too convinced.

“I mean it, Manu.” He stroked a hand down my back. “Soon we won't have to hide anymore. I promise.”

Seventeen

“I didn't see you in class this morning,” I remarked to Liv as she took the seat I offered her beside me in Art.

She stared at me for the longest time and then shook her head. “Nope. You sure didn't.”

Her attitude got old fast. She was supposed to be my best friend and she was avoiding me like I had the plague. “Look, I think this is dragging on a bit long. I told you I was sorry for not telling you about my crush on Haze and that I'm a horrible friend, but blowing me off isn't helping things.”

She turned her full body to face me then. “Yeah? What about not telling me that Romeo over there,” she nodded her head toward where Haze sat talking with Mrs. Peris, “climbed up the tower to your window last Friday?”

“Who tol—”

“Your insane brother called me Sunday, demanding to know why I didn't tell him things between you and Haze were so serious! And I told him that I didn't know what he was talking about. You know what he said to me then?”

I shook my head, pretty sure I didn't want to know what he said to her then.

“He said, ‘What kind of friend are you?' And you know what? I didn't have an answer because I thought we were the best kind, but apparently we're not.”

Yeah, I was right about the not wanting to know that bit.

I took a deep breath, accepting the handout as Haze walked around the classroom and gave us each one. Liv looked like she wanted to hurl hers back at him.

“I thought we were through, Haze and me. We'd barely begun anything when the Cathy incident happened, and he came to my room to explain his actions and give me a verbal smackdown for mine. The rest of the weekend went by in a blur, and it isn't as if you called me to hang out or anything.”

“I tried to call you, but you didn't answer your cell.”

“I'm not exactly sure where it is half the time. I think the battery went dead because I tried to call it and—”

“You have a house phone,” she countered.

“Yeah, but I don't know your number by heart.”

She scoffed. “Don't you think you should know your own best friend's number?”

“Oh, right. And you know mine?”

“Yes,” she hissed, complete with hair flip of indignation.

“Then what is it?”

“It's…two.”

“What?”

Liv lifted a shoulder, trying to pretend she was being completely rational. “It's number two on my speed dial.”

“Listen up!” Mrs. Peris called out to the class. “We're going to do a little landscaping of the mind today. I want you all to close your eyes, and for the next five minutes, I don't want to hear a peep out of any of you. I want you to visualize a landscape that brings out your emotions, happy, sad…silly, whatever. I want you to look at the negative space of that landscape, notice every detail. I want you to place yourself in the middle of this created image. And when the five minutes are over, I want you to open your eyes and draw what you saw.”

“I see my best friend pouring toxic waste all over my landscape,” Liv said.

I shook my head and closed my eyes as the teacher passed. If Liv wanted to be mad at me, I had no right to stop her. I couldn't say I blamed her either, but I wasn't going to respond to her snarky comments.

“You're frowning, Ms. Harvey. Try to relax for this exercise,” Mrs. Peris reminded me.

“Yes, Ma'am.”

A picture of the city popped into my head. A city I both loved and hated. I was proud to live in what the majority of the USA would label “the ghetto” and equally as proud of surviving in it. My city; worse than many but better than some. Homicides were a problem every other day instead of daily and most of them involved gangsters and not innocents, so we were ahead of the curve.

I zoomed in on the cityscape in my head, thinking about my favorite trick areas for parkour. The library statues, the pizza joint, and the place we call The Tops, where all of the roofs were within one story of each other and easy to jump across. I also thought about the gym across town where I practiced gymnastics during the summer.

But none of my favorite places remained in my head for long. Soon, I zeroed in on a wall. A particular one, relatively new to me.

The place where I met Haze.

Only this time, it was just him and me. He painted my mural on the wall, and I sat on the edge looking down at his serene face.

Yes. This was my landscape.

“Open your eyes and draw what you see.”

The silence in the room felt strange. Everyone was actually focused on the project. I glanced up and looked around the room to see each student bent over their papers, furiously drawing. Even Haze took part in the project. Not that it surprised me. Any excuse to draw or paint and he'd jump on it. If I knew anything about him, I knew that.

“Quit mooning over your boyfriend and get to work before you get in trouble,” Liv whispered.

I sighed and let her have her PMS moment before turning my attention to the wall scene in my head.

To say that I'm an artist is to insult all the artists who came before me, beginning with the cavemen finger-painting wall art. But for me, this exercise brought out an unknown gift. Inspiration must've beat me over the head because my drawing was actually good. I couldn't draw hands well, or people, so I sketched myself and Haze without much detail. The wall and the graffiti art, though, came out looking sweet.

I smiled down at the finished product when the bell rang.

“Is that all you think about?” Liv asked, practically spewing acid.

“Come on, Liv. I said I was sorry and I'll try to make it up to you if you'll let me, but now you're being a spoiled bitch.”

She blinked at me and slammed a hand down on her drawing, crinkling it in her fist. A real shame, since from the glimpse I'd seen, it might've been the best thing she'd ever done. Without even glancing at me, she threw her drawing at the trash can.

“Whatever, Ellie! You're the one being a selfish bitch.” I saw the hurt in her eyes, magnified by tears before she shoved her way past everyone and out of the room.

Ugh! I felt like a horrible person. The last week I'd been the one blowing Liv off. I'd been the one going out with her only when I had nothing else to do. And I hadn't told her anything about Haze and me.

I met my boyfriend's gaze over the throng of students shuffling out of class. The encouraging smile he gave me helped some, but I couldn't feel good about myself. Not yet.

I walked nearer to him under the pretense of saving Liv's discarded drawing. Picking up on my need to tell him something, he stalled on his way out.

“I don't think I'll make the park tonight,” I whispered. “You cool with meeting up with Surge?”

“I'll go at it alone. I don't need Surge. He's taught me the techniques.”

“You need him to call the ambulance.”

Haze grinned at me. “Your confidence in me is amazing.”

“Oh, come on.” I laughed. “Even the veterans need 911.”

“I'll take that,” Mrs. Peris said, plucking the drawing out of my hand.

“Oh! Sorry, Mrs. Peris. I thought I'd give it back to her.”

“I have a drawer labeled Artist Tantrums for a reason,” she said, and I laughed. “At the end of the year, I hand them out so each artist can see what they almost lost.”

Haze chuckled a little. “Everything Decay creates winds up in that drawer.”

“Our Terrence is a bit of a volatile artist,” Mrs. Peris admitted about Decay.

“Well, I think it's a cool idea,” I said. “Guess I better get to my next class.”

Mrs. Peris nodded while ironing out Liv's drawing. Haze took her distraction as a dismissal and walked me out of the room.

Once past the door, we pretended we weren't “in like.”

***

“Emanuella, is it?” Liv's mom, Mrs. Menesa, asked. Everything about her seemed severe. Her dark hair was pulled back facelift-tight and her clothes looked Amish or something. I didn't see much resemblance between her and Liv.

Realizing I was gawking, I cleared my throat and thrust my hand out. “Yes, Ma'am.”

She smiled politely and shook my hand, but her eyes never quite lifted to meet mine. She didn't seem the shy type. Instead, I was left to feel as though I were unworthy of notation. She backed away from the door and waved me inside.

The instant I stepped foot in Liv's house, I felt cold down to my bones. Jesus. No wonder Liv complained about her home life so much. The place proved that money didn't buy happiness, especially when you never stayed in one place long enough to put happiness in it.

The Menesas lived in the area of the hood called The Courts. Many of the middle-class could live like kings and queens here, and in Liv's parents' case, they did. They paid good money for their security system and chipped in with the rest of the small community who paid for men to patrol the four-block suburb.

I always wondered why those living in The Courts didn't move to a better neighborhood, but Liv explained that no one could sell their homes and get what they were worth, and in better hoods, she and her family would be considered second-rate.

“Can't have that,” she'd said snidely.

“Liv's in her room, up the stairs and down the hall. Last door on the left.” Mrs. Menesa walked away and I had a feeling she forgot about me the second her back turned.

With every step I took, the polished floor sent echoes down the narrow corridor. The draft from the hall window went straight down my back. I half expected an axe murderer to jump out at me B-movie style, but I made it to Liv's room in one piece.

No wonder she always stayed at her nanny's place while her parents were gone. Rosahlia's pad might be smaller but it felt more like a home. Of course, she made great dinners every time I visited, so I might've been a little biased.

I couldn't be sure what made me so tense about
this
house, but something wasn't right. The decorations were bland, the halls a stark white with even whiter trim, and every piece of corridor furniture looked abused. Not in the normal wear-and-tear sense, but antique tables were scraped of their former paint, their natural wood forcefully exposed. Other pieces were painted white to match, though clearly they hadn't been made that way.

Furniture torture.

I knocked on Liv's door and rushed inside the moment she opened it.

Unfortunately, her room wasn't much better.

“Something the matter?”

“I don't know. Your house is kinda giving me the heebies.”

“My parents are home. Enough said.”

I felt a little guilty telling her I didn't like her house. “I guess I'm just used to Rosahlia's.”

“No, it's really this place. It used to be cool but my mom redecorated everything, even my room. She didn't like my choices.”

Ahh. That explained a lot.

“I think I woulda liked it better the way you had it.”

She smiled begrudgingly. “How come you're here?”

“Because I'm a horrible friend.”

“Go on,” she said.

“I realized what you said in Art class is true. I've been so full of myself that I haven't bothered to ask how you're doing. I'm worried about a lot of things, but that's not a reason to ignore you and become self-involved. So, I'm here to offer myself to you.”

Her brows furrowed. “What does that mean?”

“I'm here to listen, to pummel, to whine at—whatever you need, Liv. You've been there for me when I've let you, and now it's time to return the favor because I think there's something else going on with you other than me being selfish.” I walked to her bed and sat on the edge. “And I'm not leaving here until you tell me why you were in such a foul mood in school.”

She stared at me for a while and then lifted a shoulder with the same indifference she couldn't pull off earlier in Art. Parents often ignored this shrug thinking it was all part of teenage angst. But among ourselves, we all knew it was a way of saying “I hurt, and I don't know how to put it to words,” so I dragged her down next to me and hugged her.

As I suspected, she cried and told me all about her horrible weekend with her coldhearted parents.

Once she calmed down, she spoke clearer and I could follow the conversation better. “I don't know what to say to them. They ask me questions and I'm terrified to say anything in case I get the answer wrong. And the questions aren't really the type normal kids worry about getting wrong.”

“Like what?” I asked.

“This time, they asked me how school was and if I'd given any thought to what I might do when I'm old enough to move out. Pretty subtle, huh?”

I felt horrible for her. My mother had her moments of mood swings, but I never questioned that she loved me, even after she lost the battle with her depression. I couldn't imagine having a mother who thought of me as a burden. Though I knew firsthand, having a mother who thought of
herself
as a burden could be disastrous.

The air hung with the thickness of Liv's melancholy, so I wrapped her up in another hug, hoping my continuous affection would be enough to ward off the negativity. She sniffled.

I didn't want her to cry again. “Well, you could always tell her you hope to be a successful interior designer. Maybe then she won't attempt it herself, 'cause Jesus, Liv, this place is creepy.”

“I know, right? I hope the 'rents leave soon so I can go back to Rosahlia's.” She leaned away from me and eyed my pocket. “Is that your phone vibrating?”

“Huh?” At first I forgot I brought it. “Oh. Yeah. I'm trying to remember to have it on me all the time.” I fished for my cell and eyed the display. A text message. “It's from Warp. That's weird.”

WE NEED TO MEET NOW. SHOTGUN WALL.

I read the text message and frowned. “He wants to meet. You wanna come?”