The Replacement (19 page)

Authors: Brenna Yovanoff

BOOK: The Replacement

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Tate stood looking up at me and I knew suddenly that she wasn't the kind of girl who ever looked away. She could take your skin off if you let her look long enough.

I closed my eyes. "I wish I could do something. I don't know how to help you."

Tate moved closer, and her voice was low and breathless, like she was telling me an awful secret. "You know what did it? What made me absolutely sure? It wasn't how big her teeth seemed suddenly or the way her eyes got strange. I mean yeah, those things mattered, but they didn't prove anything. It was her pajamas. These pink footie ones with bears on them--she used to wear them all the time, and then, a couple months before she died, I couldn't find them anymore, but you know what? It didn't matter because she never
asked
for them anymore, and she didn't like picture books and she didn't like toys. And I'd tell myself it was just because she was sick, but that's not the real truth because at night, when you think all those things you can't stand to think about during the day? At night, the real truth was, she wasn't my sister."

I stood in the wilted border, leaning on the fence. Beside me, Tate looked small and sad. Her mouth was meaner than I'd seen it in a while. For the first time since that afternoon under the oak tree, she wasn't looking at me like she expected something.

I wanted to hold on to her, but everything was wrong--the time and the place and the way she jerked and fidgeted, like she couldn't stand to be touched, so I settled for pressing my forehead against the top of the fence. "There's something else I need to tell you."

"So, tell me."

"I like you." When I said it out loud, the admission felt hopeless--inescapable, like I'd hit on something that until now, I just hadn't had the words for. But it felt that way because it was true.

Her laugh was incredulous. "You
what
?"

I looked at the ground and the dark, drizzling sky and pretty much anyplace that wasn't her. "I like you. A lot." When I finally glanced at her, my face was hot and it was hard to keep looking.

She squinted up at me. Then she crossed her arms. "This is a really inappropriate place to be having this conversation."

"I know. I like you anyway."

Saying it a third time was like breaking some kind of spell. Her face went soft and far away. "Don't say that unless you mean it."

"I don't say anything I don't mean." I leaned closer, smelling the metallic smell again. "Take your necklace off."

"Why?"

"Because if you don't, I can't kiss you."

She stood looking up at me. Then she reached back and undid the clasp. Her mouth was open a little. She shoved the necklace into her pocket and I put my hand on her cheek. Then I leaned in before I could think about it long enough to chicken out.

I'd never expected much from Tate. Long, bored looks, maybe. A couple rounds of vicious-clever ball breaking that I had no comebacks to. Maybe get my ass handed to me a few times at pool or darts or cards. Instead, here I was, kissing her behind the church. Her mouth was warm and I was surprised by how good it felt not to breathe.

She had her arms around my neck, then she was grabbing at the back of my shirt, fumbling behind her for the sloping ground, and we sat down. She was holding on to me, pushing me flat on the grass. Above her, the sky was wide and full of water. Against the fence, a huge oak tree spread its branches over the corner of the churchyard. The leaves that were left were wet, covered in tiny drops, and each one caught the light from the street in a collection of little starbursts.

Tate brushed my cheek with her fingers, like maybe she was brushing off the bright spots of light. But it was just the rain.

She glanced over her shoulder at the glittering tree, then turned back, smiling a smile that was sly and sort of tender. She was on top of me, straddling me. It's strange when you're not happy for a long, long time and then suddenly, you are.

She leaned down and I could taste ChapStick, smell iron and shampoo and under it, that crisp, clean smell.

We lay in the grass beside the cemetery fence, kissing and shivering. Her teeth started to chatter and I pulled her against me, which made me feel like a superhero for no apparent reason. She was clinging to the collar of my jacket like I'd just done something outstanding.

She put her hand on my chest, moving her fingers so that I got chills all over.

I pulled her closer, holding her so her head was tucked under my chin. "I'm not normal, Tate."

"I know." Her hand was working its way under my shirt, then touching my skin, sliding over my chest and my stomach, down into my jeans. "Does this feel good?"

I closed my eyes and nodded.

"You're normal enough."

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CONFESSION

I
got through school in a daze the next day. I was running on very little sleep, but the analeptic made things manageable. Roswell wanted to know what had made Tate so upset, and I told him a completely worthless story about feeling carsick, which he didn't believe, but he left me alone after that.

I'd spent the morning preparing myself for another encounter with Tate, but she wasn't at school. It was the first day she'd missed since before the funeral, and on the surface, it was way overdue. Even so, I couldn't help thinking that after telling me all that stuff about her sister, or maybe because I'd kissed her, she was avoiding me.

The idea was more relieving than I would have expected. In the last few days, my life had gotten kind of unmanageable and Tate was a complication I didn't know how to handle. Still, throughout the day, during lectures and homework reviews, I caught myself going back to kissing her.

By the time I got home, all I wanted was to do was sit down in front of the TV and turn off my brain.

When I walked in the front door, Emma was laughing. She came out of the living room as I was scraping my shoes and peeling off my wet jacket. She smiled in that wide, helpless way, like even if she wanted to, she couldn't stop--it was just that funny. She was wearing a floppy black rain hat.

"It's Janice's," she said, yanking the hat off and trying to flatten down her hair. "We were just messing around." She reached for me with a worried expression, catching my face between her hands and pulling me down to look at her. "You look exhausted. Are you sure you're okay?"

I nodded and was a little suprised to realize that I was telling the truth. The only reason I was exhausted was because I'd been out all night. "Just tired."

Emma gave me a doubtful look and walked out again. I got an apple from the kitchen, then went into the family room to see what the deal with Janice was.

She was on the couch, leafing through a textbook. Her hair was down around her face and she was back to looking kind of plain and unfortunate.

"What are you doing here?" I said. "I gave you what you wanted, so quit harassing Emma."

Janice flipped to the index, then back through the chapters. "I'm not harassing Emma. We're doing homework. And not to be pedantic, but she came to
me
. I wasn't out looking for pretty musicians, I was just attending classes."

I sat down across from her and watched as she made notes in a little leather-bound book. "Why is someone like you even going to school? I mean, what's the point?"

She ran her finger along the caption under a color diagram of a cell, then looked up. "The point is to learn everything I can about my field."

I raised my eyebrows. "Your
field
?"

"Pharmacology, they're calling it now." She closed the book and leaned back. "Scientific knowledge changes so fast that it's hard to keep up, but Emma's been really nice. She explains a lot of the horticulture. I've never actually grown things before and it's nice to understand things like seed propagation. She's been giving me lessons."

I nodded, reflecting that in a place like the House of Mayhem, keeping houseplants was likely to be tricky.

"Emma," my mom called from out in the hall. "Are you going to use all that peat moss, or should I put it away?"

At the sound of her voice, Janice got a strange, awkward look. She turned toward the door.

"Emma," my mom said, coming into the family room, and then she stopped.

Janice stood up, offering her hand. "Hello, I'm--"

"Get out," my mom said. "I know what you are. Get out of my house."

"Please . . ." Janice trailed off, taking her hand back, picking at the inside of her elbow.

My mom stood with her chin up and her shoulders back, like if she looked away for even a second, that might be all the time Janice needed to do something terrible.

Emma came in behind her with an armful of books and then just stood there. Janice was already edging toward the door, looking sad but like this was about what she'd expected.

Emma watched her. Then she turned and stared at our mother. "What's going on? What did you say to her?"

My mom breathed in like she was making herself taller. "Tell her to get out," she said, and the look on her face was one I'd never seen. "Tell her she's not wanted here."

Emma raised her eyebrows and made her mouth very small. Her cheeks got pink, which was a sure sign she was about to say something regrettable. It was normal for her to get pissed at our dad, but she never yelled at our mom. I couldn't figure out if she didn't because it would be too easy or because something about our mom's flat silences could be scary.

Finally, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, like she was trying to sound patient. "She's helping me with botany class."

It sounded almost convincing, but my mom wasn't deterred for a second. "She's unnatural."

I dug my fingernails into my palms, while Janice just stood there.

Emma kept her temper for roughly three seconds. Then she threw down the stack of books. "So, you're determined to hate her just because she's not exactly like
you
? Does it matter that she's nice or that ever since I met her, she hasn't done anything but
help
?"

"You have no idea what you're talking about. She's the worst kind of creature."

"You don't even know her! They're not automatically
bad
. What about Mackie?"

"Don't you
dare
bring him into this. Mackie is
fine
. He grew up in a decent household, with decent principles. He's like
us
."

Emma stood over her scattered books and said, very quietly, "Well, maybe
they're
like us too."

My mom didn't answer right away. When she smiled, it was hard and bitter. "Like us. Tell me, do any of our friends and neighbors have a fanatical devotion to a demon? Do they steal children? Do the parishioners at United Methodist kidnap babies and farm them like cattle and sacrifice them to a lost cause? Mackie is a sweet, normal boy, and they are
monsters
."

All of us got very still. The dropped books shifted and slid over each other, coming to rest on the carpet. My mom looked like she wanted to cover her mouth with her hands, take it back before she went too far.

Suddenly, I was sure this was it. We were going to talk about all the nasty, screwed-up things in Gentry, like how nice, normal babies got switched out for freaks. Maybe even how I wasn't really her son and a kid named Malcolm Doyle was dead because a bunch of people who lived underground got off on collecting blood.

We were going to get into the dirty stuff.

My mom took a deep breath and said with her hands clasped tight, "They always come back. It was just a matter of time. They watch and they wait, and then, when you let your guard down, they come in and take everything."

"Stop calling her
they
. She's a person!"

My mom just went on in the same deadly voice. "I knew they'd take my children if I gave them the chance. I did everything I could to prevent it, every trick and charm. I filled the house with bells and coins and embroidery scissors, and in the end, it didn't matter. Someone took down the scissors, and they came in and got him anyway."

She and Emma stood looking at each other. I pictured the house, full of her charms and tricks. How later, she must have had to throw all of it away just so I'd stop screaming in the crib.

Emma took a deep breath. "Yes," she said. "Yes, I took them--I took the scissors down and didn't put them back--
I
did it. Is that what you want? Is that the big revelation you were waiting for? That I was four years old and a stupid little kid?"

The room felt too small for the four of us, even with me trying to make myself inconspicuous and Janice backing up against the bookcase. My hands were shaking and Emma looked furious.

I realized numbly that she
did
blame herself.

There were the simple reasons--because she took the scissors down, because she didn't scream or call out when someone came in the window and took her brother. Because she didn't even go for help after he was gone but stayed with me all night, sticking her hands through the bars. But those were the simple reasons. More than that, I was here because she'd spent years smiling and listening and protecting me. Because she loved me. I was everything because of her.

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