Twice Shy Page 2

  She rolled her eyes. "Mom works the skating parties and wants the help. She doesn't care if I have the money. Look," she said, touching his arm, "I got to get to class. See ya."

  "Yeah," he said. He didn't move, so she pulled her hand away and walked off.

  When she looked back, his unblinking stare stretched down the hall after the memory of Fey.

  * * *

  Ani sat on the bus, looking up every time someone climbed aboard. Eventually, she saw Mike—getting into Devon's yellow VW. Damn it. They're not supposed to be back yet. She looked away as they kissed.

  Fey patted her leg. "Life sucks. Get used to it."

  Chapter 3

  Ani slouched at the table, affecting her best "The world sucks and I hate you all" pose. Three hours of pop music and wailing little kids was the definition of emo hell. She loved it. Her body screamed to move to the beat, and she wanted to skate with the kids, feel their energy as they circled the gym. She'd always liked kids, and she liked middle-schoolers more and more as she got older. Maybe I'll become a teacher once I escape this hellhole, she thought.

  She tried not to smile at her mom. Her mother hated pop music and didn't much care for little kids. As a birthday present, she had agreed to find a reason to force Ani to come to the middle school skating parties for the rest of the school year. If Ani ever had a question about her mother's love, this answered it.

  A sixth-grade girl in a yellow dress and pigtails skated up to the table. Beaming, she ordered a peanut butter cup and bottled water over the noise.

  So cute, Ani thought. She could feel the energy flowing out of the girl, hear the pulse of her heart drumming in her ears. She seemed so alive. Ani handed over the goods and sent her on her way with a smile that couldn't be helped. She turned to her mom to thank her.

  Her mom smiled, then looked over her shoulder and closed her hand into a fist. It was a code signal. Animal. Ani turned around. Mr. Bell, the middle-school principal, had brought his terrier into the gym and was headed to the refreshment table. Ani's chair flew backward. She hurried to the bathroom and locked herself in the stall to await the "all clear."

  She didn't know why animals hated her. You're the walking dead, freak. Okay, she knew why, but she hated it. Dogs were great ZV detectors. So were cats. And birds. Anything, really. Experiments had shown that all life was repelled by ZV carriers, and would go to almost any lengths to get away from a zombie. On the bright side, the lack of bacteria slowed down tissue decay, and Ani never got mosquito bites.

  She didn't know how she'd contracted the virus—it was believed wiped out in North America over a decade before—and she didn't know why it hadn't turned her into a mindless, brain-eating machine. If her mom knew, she wasn't talking. But the other symptoms—necrotized flesh, animal psychosis, dulled sense of taste, touch, and smell—those were in full force. She missed Roscoe. He'd been a good dog.

  Her mom whispered through the door, "We're good."

  Melancholy, Ani stepped out into the pounding bass beat and tried to enjoy the rest of the evening.

  Chapter 4

  Homecoming week: a glorification of all things jock. Might as well strap steaks to the nerds and set them loose in a tiger pen, Ani thought. It was "Opposite Day," which as far as Ani could tell was blanket permission for homophobic jocks to cross-dress like cheerleaders and prom queens. One of the AV tech kids had shown up dressed in a varsity jacket and football helmet—he'd gone home to change after the team had pummeled him. He'd probably carry the nickname "Helmet" for the rest of his high school career.

  Emo kids didn't have school spirit. It was far too positive. Ani wore black, of course, and as usual she was invisible when not a target. Being a girl helped. Dylan and Jake took way more crap than any of the girls did. Most of the time the girls were left alone, except by the emo guys, who gave them a very different type of attention.

  "Hey," Dylan said, "do you know if Fey's going to the dance?"

  That's so cute, Ani thought. She stifled the happy thought and rolled her eyes. "You'd have to ask her, Dylan. I'm working three to eight Saturday. There's a Magic booster tournament at the Lair." And afterward, if she could figure out a way to escape both the emos and Devon, she'd try to talk to Mike at the dance. She handed Dylan a five-dollar bill.

  He shuffled his feet, his intense stare unsettling. "People still play that, huh? If I had some old cards, could you sell them for me?"

  Mike walked out of history and headed for his locker in a cheerleading skirt. He had blue and white pom-poms tucked under his arm.

  "No," Ani said. "I..." She tried to step around Dylan, but he stepped with her. "I just work there. Bring them in, and Travis will buy what's worth anything."

  "Hey, thanks." He stepped closer—too close. He smelled like old patchouli and Old Spice. He barely moved his lips. "There's Fey. Find out for me, would you?" He dropped a pack of cigarettes into her hand and walked away before Fey caught up.

  Ani glanced around for teachers and then handed Fey the smokes.

  "You're a life saver, Ani. Payday's Friday. I'll catch you back then."

  "Mom's dragging me to Open House on Friday," Ani said. "I have a C in English and she wants to talk to Mrs. Weller. Why don't you bring it to the bonfire?"

  "You're going?" Fey asked. Her bloodshot eyes rolled upward. "There’s nothing better to do in this town anyway. Billy J's smuggling in some vodka for the soccer team. It could get interesting."

  Ani nibbled her lower lip. "Could be fun to watch."

  "And laugh at," Fey said.

  * * *

  Mrs. Weller's room was cleaner than it had been all year. Every pen had its place, and every paper was filed. It looked like the walls had been scrubbed.

  "Sarah, Ani, come in," Mrs. Weller said, offering her hand. "I'm so sorry we couldn't catch up during the week, but Ani's grade isn't where it should be, and I'm a bit concerned."

  Great. Right down to business. Ani did her best to not get defensive as they discussed her work ethic.

  "We read The Crucible in eighth grade, Mom. It's too boring to read a second time."

  Mrs. Weller raised an eyebrow. "And you don't think you might get more out of it with several more years of school under your belt, young lady?"

  "I didn't get anything out of it the first time—"

  Her mother's scowl stopped her in her tracks. "If you're going to be flippant, do it elsewhere. I'll meet you in the Band Room in five minutes."

  "Fine," Ani said, snatching her purse off the floor. She stomped out of the room. Her mom probably thought she was acting. That book sucks.

  She slunk into the Band Room. Voices murmured in the back—Mr. Bariteau entertaining parents. Ani sat at the piano, closed her eyes, and put her fingers on the keys. Chopin's Ballade in G Minor fit her mood—alternating melancholy and whimsical, violent and breathless, cheerful and mischievous. She screwed up a few times but nothing big, and the little piano couldn't do it justice. All in all, a passable job.

  She finished, and applause startled her. Her eyes snapped open to find Mike, his mom, her mom, Mr. Bariteau, Dylan, and several people she didn't know, all watching her. A tear hovered on her mom's cheek. Ditto Mr. Bariteau. Dylan stood in the doorway, mouth open. She looked around for an escape route.

  Her mom brushed away the tear. "That was excellent, sweetie."

  "Oh, is that your daughter?" a woman in a blue jogging suit asked.

  "I... need to go to the bathroom." She ducked between the chattering adults and out into the hall. Mike didn't follow her. Dylan did.

  "That was amazing," he said. "I had no idea you could play like that."

  She shrugged. "I've had lots of practice." It's amazing what you can do when you don't get tired.

  "No kidding." He brushed his bangs out of his eyes. "It hurts to hear such beauty. Or see it."

  Oh, great, Ani thought. The last thing she needed was Stalkerboy's attentions focused on her. "Hey, I don't know about the dance, but Fey's coming to the bonfire.
"

  His face stayed a dispassionate mask, but the barest twinkle crept into his eyes. "Oh, yeah? I might show up, if I don't have something else going on."

  Ani snorted. "What else could possibly be going on in a town the size of a postage stamp?"

  They arrived at the bathroom. Instead of taking the hint, Dylan leaned against the wall. "Sometimes I get pretty wrapped up in my poetry. It's pretty consuming, you know? All that darkness needs an outlet. If not words, what?"

  Are you staring at my ankles? "Sure, Dylan," she said. "Maybe you can let me see some of it some time." Why did I just say that?

  His eyes molested her body on their way to her face. "Really?"

  "Yeah, maybe sometime. Look, I really got to go."

  He backed up from the doorway. "Oh, right, me too. See you tomorrow. At the fire."

  "Sure, Dylan." She stepped through the door into blessed silence.

  * * *

  Friday was School Pride Day, and if she wore a blue-and-white T-shirt under her black turtleneck, and only her mother knew, then that was what it had to be. Sometimes the little things mattered.

  * * *

  The official, school-sponsored bonfire ended at ten when the chaperones went home and the firemen put out the fire. The unofficial one started at ten-fifteen, in the woods behind Finster's barn, far enough from the road to not draw undue attention. How people could drink themselves silly, stay up to all hours, and then play sports in the morning was beyond her. Ani didn't sleep anymore, but she didn't play sports, either.

  Her mom bought liquor and smokes for her, which she "stole" for the other losers. In the back of the crowd, she sat Indian-style next to Jake and handed him a half-full bottle of Captain Morgan. "Have you seen Fey? She owes me ten bucks."

  He pulled off the cap and took a swig, careful not to smear his black lipstick. "Yeah. She's scoring some X from Roberts."

  Chuck Roberts was the poster child of the modern American dream. Twenty-four years old, he had somehow graduated without passing any classes his senior year. Banned from school grounds after serving two years for statutory, he still used drugs to pick up teenage girls. Ani didn't want to think about how Fey was paying him. It made her queasy.

  Jake took another swig. "Wow. You hear about that guy in Rushville?"

  She watched a cascade of sparks escape into the heavens as a pallet collapsed in the fire. "No. What guy?"

  "It was all over the news. Some redneck meth-head gnawed a cop's thumb off when they tried to arrest him. They quarantined the street, had to test everyone for ZV...." He took another swallow. "Can you imagine waiting for your test results, knowing there's a flame crew right outside?"

  Ani's stomach knotted. Yes.

  "No," she said. "That's awful."

  He drummed his legs with his hands. "It's pretty funny if you think about it. It was just meth—"

  Fey plopped down next to her, a ten-dollar bill between her index and middle fingers. "Told you I'm good for it."

  Ani grabbed the bill and stuffed it into her pocket. Fey smelled like jasmine, and underneath, something primal, enticing. The unpleasant feeling in Ani's stomach intensified. What the hell is wrong with me?

  Movement in the darkness caught her eye. Dylan crept up behind Fey with a tiny shake of the head toward Ani. His movements were feral, like he was stalking prey. She gave him a weak smile.

  Fey rolled her eyes without turning around. "Dylan, if you touch me, I swear to God you're going in the fire." She stuck a cigarette in her mouth, which Jake lit for her.

  Dylan frowned, his hands balling into fists, then slumped to the ground behind Jake. Ani's stomach cramped. Dylan smelled like blood. Like meat.

  Oh God, I'm hungry.

  She stumbled to her feet and staggered into the brush, her pacemaker pounding in her ears. She caught snippets of their conversation over the growing need in her gut.

  "...the hell did I do?"

  "...too much, Captain...."

  "...the hell alone, douche...."

  She fell to her hands and knees. She needed to get away, or she'd burn. She started to crawl. I can't. I'll kill them all. The brush, black and orange in the firelight, faded to throbbing red. I'll bite them, and then they'll eat each other. She curled into a fetal position, crippled with sobbing, desperate gasps. The police will come, and they'll kill... They'll burn.... They'll... taste... so... good....

  She sighed in relief as her fingernail dug into her wrist. She focused on the tearing skin, the angelic release of pain. She shuddered, and her eyes rolled into the back of her head. The nail gouged a perfect line across her wrist, and then another, and another. With each cut she transcended further above the hunger where it could not touch her.

  When she opened her eyes, Dylan was there, staring in rapturous horror.

  "Get away from me," she spat, and ran into the darkness.

  Chapter 5

  October second was a chilly Saturday, a chance to try on her new leather trench coat. The cowhide was a little stiff, and it smelled like her mom's Audi, but it blocked the wind that seemed to bother everyone else so much. She hadn't yet figured out how to fake a shiver, but the cold air felt good. She hadn't felt this good in ages.

  Ani couldn't have gone to the Homecoming Parade without blowing her credibility as a life-hating loser, but her mom volunteered as First Aid at the games, so she was able to catch the JV and Varsity girls before she had to go to work. A lot of those girls used to be her friends, but they had abandoned her the moment she became a social liability. Mom's rules weren't negotiable—no sports, limited sunlight exposure, and bulky, body-covering clothes were necessary if she was going to survive long enough to be cured.

  The lab hidden in their basement wasn't for show. If there's a cure, Mom will find it. She knows more about ZV than anyone. Ani pushed away thoughts of the bonfire—the hunger—and ran her thumb along the razor blade in her pocket. Just in case. There were some things Mom didn't need to know.

  She stood off to the side and watched the girls play. Every ounce of her being wanted to be on the field, kicking the ball, running, being part of a team. She hated to admit it, but Devon was a great offensive midfielder. Let's hope she slips and breaks a bone. Or five.

  Keegan Taylor stepped up next to her. "Explains a lot."

  She looked at him sidelong. Interactions with jocks were never good, especially jocks that had had a crush on her in eighth grade. "What does?"

  "You. Standing here, looking at a bunch of girls."

  "I'm not the one who wore a skirt to school on Monday." The girls executed a near-perfect defensive play and stole the ball. Devon took it at midfield and passed it forward.

  "The whole team wore skirts. You're the one staring at the girls."

  "So now I'm a dyke?" Her brain scrambled for a witty retort and came up blank. "Sure. Whatever you say, Keegs."

  He scowled. "What the hell happened to you, Ani? You used to be cool."

  The game was a rout. She didn't clap as the home team scored an easy goal, then turned to look him in the eye. "Life sucks. Then you die." And then it really sucks.

  She left him scowling on the sidelines and walked to work.

  * * *

  Travis was an okay boss, but he loved to hear himself talk. He rambled on about responsibility and customer service, and Ani fought the urge to yawn or roll her eyes or hang herself. The third time 'unsupervised game store kid' knocked over a display item, Ani had thrown him out of the store. His mom had freaked out at her for dumping her child on the street—oblivious to the fact that she was the one who had abandoned him in the Dragon's Lair while shopping down the road—and then Travis came in and freaked out at her for upsetting the customers. It was almost a relief when Dylan showed up with his Magic cards.

  As he walked in the door, Ani interrupted Travis mid-freak. "Customer!" She danced out of earshot and leaned against the counter in front of Dylan. He put the cards on the counter and Ani scooped them up.

  She had to use the p
rice guide to sort them into 'crap' and 'not-crap' before handing them over to Travis. A full third of them were from the current set. She tapped one with a black plastic fingernail while Dylan stared at her covered wrists. "I thought you said these were old."

  Dylan blushed and looked at the gaming tables, then away. "Mine are. I stole some from my brother."

  She chewed her bottom lip to keep from talking and sorted a few more. He pointed at one. "That's one I stole. It's worth twenty bucks." He licked his lips as his eyes drifted back to her wrists.

  Time to go, Dylan. "You're a bad liar. Fey might bite if you were a bit more real."

  "You know what?" he said. "FUCK you!" Face twisted in rage he scattered the cards and stormed out. Travis hollered at his heels as he fled down the sidewalk. Ani had the cards re-sorted before her boss got back, red-faced.

  "What the heck was that?" Travis asked.

  Ani shrugged. "Just trying to give him some advice."

  Travis pointed at the kids in the back. "I can't have your friends yelling obscenities in my store. Parents catch wind, and then who pays my bills, huh?"

  "He's not my friend," Ani snapped. Not even my pretend friend.

  "Sure he's not," Travis said. "Don't let it happen again."

  "It won't." She dropped the worthless cards in the trash and handed him the rest of the stack. "You owe him ninety bucks."

  * * *

  6:50 p.m. The dance started in ten minutes. A night watching hormone-crazed teenagers molesting each other under the eyes of teachers, who were trying to pretend they didn't see anything, wasn't Ani's idea of a good time. She wanted to be one of those hormone-crazed teenagers, hot and sweating on the dance floor. Failing that, she'd paint.

  She was half-done with a watercolor of tiger lilies when a throaty rumble shook the house. A car horn sounded. She pushed back the curtain with a pinky finger and saw a maroon '87 Caprice Classic idling in the driveway. Dylan. She wiped her hands on a towel and went outside.