The Dream Where the Losers Go (10 page)

“He stabs her...,” Balfour had to stop to swallow, “over thirty times, in all your favorite places. She doesn’t die until the last stab. It goes slow-mo, it lasts, man. You get to see every one.”

“What’s it called?” asked Jigger. Skey felt the rumble of his words in his chest, deep and dark, pulling her down. Thin lines of blood opened on her forearms. She brushed at them and they faded.

“Dreaming Dirty,” said Balfour.

Jigger tried to feed Skey another French fry. It was dripping with ketchup. “No ketchup,” she whispered, and he ate it, then rustled in the bag for more.

“What’s that place like, Skey?” Trevor asked abruptly.

“What place?” she asked.

“Your new home,” he said. “Give us the scoop.”

“Yeah, all those little girls asleep in their little beds,” crowed Balfour.

Letting out a squeal, Rosie swatted him. Jigger slid a dry French fry between Skey’s lips and she chewed, mulling over her possible responses. None of the Dragons had ever been in a lockup. She could tell them anything.

Jigger answered for her. “It’s a dungeon of shit and puke,” he said. “Skey’s walking out of there tomorrow.”

“I drove by it last week,” said Trevor. “There were some cute chicks in the yard. You can see them through the fence. That place would be great for the Dragons. Especially at night.”

“Oh yeah,” moaned Balfour.

“There’s night staff,” Skey said quickly.

“Even better,” said Trevor. “Can you get us in?”

The air grew radioactive as everyone tuned in. Leaning forward, Jigger turned down the radio. Then he settled back, his arm tightening around Skey’s waist.

“Night Games,” he said. “The Dragons fly.”

Night Games was a series of challenges the gang regularly set for themselves. Gillian had gotten extra keys copied from her mother’s set, and the gang had been through the school so many nights, Skey had lost count. They had also been in Rosie’s church, the bowling alley where Trevor worked and each other’s homes, creeping in after their parents had fallen asleep. All they did was raid the fridge and pull small stunts, never anything obvious enough to raise the alarm and get the cops in asking questions. The point was to push the boundaries and become someone else, that dark shadow
of self that ran the night side of everything they did during the day, so they could look at everyone else, obedient to the rules of daylight, and smirk.

But the lockup was different. There were the girls. And staff, paid to stay awake and keep watch.

“I don’t have a key,” said Skey. “It’s not like I work there. That place is a safety vault. No one gets in or out without a key.”

“So get one for us,” said Jigger.

“They don’t hand them out to the inmates.” Impatiently Skey fended off a French fry. “You guys can’t be serious.”

“Blood, blood, blood,” Balfour sang softly. Giggling, Rosie stroked his buzz cut.

“You’re sick, Bals,” said San.

“It’d be awesome at night,” said Trevor. “Totally new territory. You looked at the place yet, Jig?”

“Not much,” admitted Jigger.

“Check it out,” said Trevor.

“Yeah, I will.” Gently Jigger teased Skey’s lips with another French fry. It was covered in ketchup. With a sigh, she opened her mouth and took it in.

T
HAT AFTERNOON
M
S
. F
LECK
divided Skey’s English class into groups and sent them to the library to research the historical and social context of
The Merchant of Venice.
It was made immediately apparent that there was to be no choice about research partners. Voice remorseless, the teacher listed off, “Group D: Brenda Jones, Skey Mitchell, Elwin Serkowski...”

From opposite sides of the room, Skey’s and Lick’s eyes flicked together, then away. It was Group D all right: D for Damned.

Skey drifted slowly through the halls with San and Trevor, then joined Group D, which was standing around a library table. Across from her stood Lick, also chained to the moment, his left sleeve pulled down, the big kiss covered.
So what?
she thought, ducking her head. He was just another loser, and it was about time he got the reality message, wasn’t it?

Without opposition, Brenda appointed herself group leader. Then she enthusiastically reminded Group D of their assigned topic:
Architecture in Shakespeare’s Time.

Oh yeah
, thought Skey.
Buildings
. She yawned.

“Lick and Skey,” said Brenda imperiously, “you cover city layout. Susan, you and I...”

Skey went cold as an enormous wave of white fear rushed over her, sucking her upward into the tunnel of light. Everywhere, light stretched without end, malevolent and so bright it seemed to be shrieking. There were words, she was sure she could hear words.
Loser
, the light was screaming,
you’re a fucking loser. You cut your arms, you’re cracking up. You’re CRAZY, you’re a CRA—

With all that screaming brightness, she needed a wall, something solid to press against. Putting out a hand, she shuffled forward, but what her fingers came up against wasn’t cold stone, it was soft and warm. Confused, she ran her fingers over the warmth, feeling out something that felt like a nose and a mouth. Was it a carving?

Abruptly the tunnel of light faded, and Skey saw that she was touching Lick’s mouth. Frozen, he stood staring as her fingers brushed back and forth across his lips.

Someone giggled.

“Shit,” Skey hissed and jerked back her hand.

“Are you all right?” asked Brenda, openmouthed.

“Just tell me where to get some fucking books,” snapped Skey.

Fortunately Brenda was a member of the Library Club. “Shakespeare’s time period,” she muttered. “Let’s see. I think it’s somewhere in the 900s. Next to...”

“Fine.” Turning on her heel, Skey headed for the stacks at the back of the library. American History—973, Chinese History—950, Italian History—945. Feverishly scanning numbers, she slid into another aisle. No thinking; she wasn’t going to invest a single goddamn second of her mind into trying to figure out what just happened. If she didn’t think about it, it would fade and disappear, almost as if it hadn’t happened.

That was it, she thought frantically. It hadn’t actually happened. She had made it up, the whole thing was just another crazy figment of her crazy imagination. Relieved at the ease with which she had solved the problem, Skey stood running her fingers over the books on the shelf in front of her. The spines were smooth, their colors dark blue, green and burgundy. Gradually the wild white voices in her head grew quiet, and a deep sigh shuddered through her.
Here
, she thought. She was here, in the library, looking for thick books about Shakespeare.

Footsteps sounded to her right, and Lick stepped into the aisle. With a hiss, Skey focused more intently on the thick books before her. Thick books were easy to handle, they didn’t pull tricks, and they always did what they were expected to do. Five feet to her right, Lick stood fidgeting, not quite looking at her. Skey’s eyes settled on a title:
Life in Shakespeare’s Era.

“Here’s one,” she said brightly, pulling it out. Very thick book, must be important. “Hold this,” she said to Lick. Placing
it in his arms, she went back to running her fingers over the smooth spines, then pulled out another thick book and placed it on top of the first. Lick accepted them awkwardly, his face reddening each time she placed another book in his arms. Finally she turned, and they looked directly at each other.

“Sorry about your face,” she said.

He shrugged.

“I faint sometimes,” she said quickly. “I’ve got thin blood. I get dizzy. That’s what happened.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said.

“Well, I didn’t actually know it was you,” she stammered.

Red winged through his face. “So, I won’t get my hopes up,” he said thickly. “I just happened to be your social charity project for the day.”

No one’s eyes were greener. They burned in his red face, holding hers. Skey’s slid away.

“My boyfriend says I’m not allowed to talk to you,” she said quietly.

Lick’s surprise was tangible. “So that’s why you sat...” He paused, leaving the words dangling.

“Yeah yeah,” said Skey.

“Tell him I’m castrated,” said Lick. “Flesh-eating disease. At a very early age.”

Skey grinned weakly at the books in front of her. “Have you got neat handwriting?” she asked. “For this report?”

“I’ve got a computer,” said Lick.

He was so skinny. She could brush him into nothing with the tips of her fingers.

“We’ll take notes,” he said. “I’ll key them into my computer. Then we’ll edit.” His voice faltered. “You could come over to my place if you want.”

“I can’t,” said Skey, giving him a sideways glance. Didn’t he know?

“They could run a security check on me,” said Lick. “I haven’t got a criminal record.”

So, he did know. “Your mom would let someone from the loony bin into your house?” asked Skey.

“Sure!” said Lick. He was on a hope surge now, straightening, gaining height.

“My curfew is 4:30,” said Skey. “They won’t let me stay out later.”

“Oh,” said Lick. The guy was crushed, so disappointed she almost had to scoop him off the floor.

“Maybe we could work on the phone,” said Skey. “I’ll give you the number. I get fifteen-minute calls. Staff might let me talk longer, since it’s homework.”

“Great!” he said.

Crumbs, scraps, he was happy with anything.

“You wash your arm yet?” she asked.

Lick shifted the books to his right arm and pulled up his left sleeve, displaying her dramatic red artwork. “Nope,” he said proudly.

Skey touched a fingertip to the lip’s center point, where everything entered first. “It was a joke, you know,” she said.

“I know,” he assured her.

“I mean, don’t take it personally,” she said carefully.

“Since when did life get personal?” asked Lick.

S
KEY HESITATED
, then got it out in a rush. “Y’know that guy you told me not to talk to?”

They were in Jigger’s car, looking for a place to park.

“Elwin,” Jigger singsonged.

“Well,” she said, looking out the window. “I got assigned to work on a Shakespeare project with him. The teacher chose the groups.”

“Oh yeah.” Jigger turned the car into a back alley. He didn’t seem all that interested. “Just remember,” he said sternly. “
My
body’s the one getting your warm and oh-so-loving attention, right?”

“You know it.” Skey grinned, relieved. “Tonight, 9:45. I want to remember every second. I need some more weed.”

“Bad habit,” he grinned. “Help yourself.”

Opening the glove compartment, Skey slid some weed into her pencil case. “Um,” she said carefully. “While we were working on the Shakespeare thing? I got kind of dizzy and I put my hand out for balance. I ended up touching his face.”

“Whose face?” His mind on what was coming, Jigger had already forgotten.

“Lick’s face,” said Skey.

“Who?” demanded Jigger.

“Lick,” said Skey. “That’s what they call Elwin. In case you hear about it from someone else, I just got dizzy, that’s all.”

“Oh.” Jigger frowned slightly, then changed the subject to something more manageable. “Where’d you put the pills?”

“In my locker,” she said. “I can’t take them with me— they do room searches.”

He gaped slightly, then said, “Well, don’t forget to take them. You’re going to need every single one.”

They opened their doors onto cold November air, then slid into the warmth of the backseat. They had twenty minutes.

“Jigger,” Skey said, hesitating. “What if I get pregnant? The pills aren’t working yet. We never had to worry about that before.”

“You won’t,” he murmured, and she had to forget it then, let it go. The universe wasn’t going to stop its mad wild spin and change its rules for her. She might as well open to every way Jigger touched her, she so wanted to be touched by him, loved the gentle curve of his hands, the sounds they made together, their heat. Even though it had been half a year, he waited, touching her until she was laughing and begging for it. Then they were together, rocking and rocking, Skey hanging onto him the way she had hung onto her mother’s hand when she was small, so afraid to lose the connection, one small bit of love.

“You know the way dragons do it?” he whispered afterward, stroking her face.

“Up in the sky,” she said.

“They wrap tails and fly,” he said. “They fuck so hard, they leave claw marks all over each other. But they love each other, Skey. They’re soul mates. They love forever.”

His blue eyes were too intense and she lowered hers, nuzzling his mouth. No matter what he said, he never left claw marks on her. “I’ll love you forever, Jig,” she murmured.

“When are you gonna get out of there?” he sighed.

“I’m working on it,” she said. “You wouldn’t believe the very good girl I’m being.”

They got dressed and he let her out a block from the lockup, then drove toward it, checking out Trevor’s suggestion. As she approached the gate, he passed her coming from the opposite direction, leaned out his window and gave a long wolf whistle. After that, it was difficult to pull her face into its usual lifeless expression as she neared the lockup’s side entrance, but she managed. And as soon as she got into the unit, she took a long bath, trying to wash out every baby-
making chance, though she knew if one of them was going to get her, it was already swimming around with its radar going, looking for whatever it needed to destroy her life.

H
AVING SWEATED THROUGH
Viv’s supper-hour glare, Skey went into Ann’s room and passed her the weed. “Just tell her staff are watching,” she said. “I can’t pass it to you the minute I walk in the door.”

“Yeah sure,” said Ann. Lying on her bed, she was surrounded by
Archie
comics and scratching idly at the scab on her wrist. “Want to see something interesting?” she asked.

“What?” Skey turned to go. Even if she and Ann connected during their nightly tapping game, daylight seemed to take the conversation out of things. They were so
different
. Reluctantly she took the piece of paper Ann passed her.