Call Me Grim (23 page)

I glance at the door and then at Haley.

“Where is he?” I whisper. The morning announcements end and the PA system gives one final squeal before clicking off.

“He was still in bed when Mom and I left this morning.” Haley checks the clock on the wall again and shrugs.

Haley gets to school an hour earlier than us. To me, it wouldn’t be worth the early wake-up call to be the vice president of the student council and on the debate team, but Haley doesn’t mind. She loves it.

“Did you physically see him in bed?” I say, a note of panic in my voice.

“Well, no,” she says, and my stomach lurches. What if I missed it? What if Kyle killed himself without me getting a chance to change his mind? “But I heard him. The boy snores like a pig. Especially when he’s drunk.” She yanks her history book out of her bag, peels off the cloth book cover, and stacks it on her desk with the rest of her naked textbooks. “Don’t worry, Libbi. He has his chem final today. He’ll be here.”

As if on cue, the door swings open and Kyle stumbles over the threshold. The stuff inside his mark seems blacker than ever as his bloodshot eyes scan the classroom. They lock on me briefly, but he doesn’t acknowledge me or Haley. He slogs up to Mr. Winkler’s desk, deposits his late note, and slips into his seat at the front of the classroom.

Since we already took our history final, Mr. Winkler uses his last class of the year to regale us with every detail of his trip to Rome last summer. When he starts talking—or should I say spraying—about the fountains, I glance over at Kyle. I expect him to snicker or make a joke about sprinklers, but he doesn’t. He keeps his head down on his desk, using the crook of his elbow as a pillow, his back rising and falling rhythmically.

The bell rings and I rush up to his desk. He sits up slowly, wiping the drool from his lower lip with his sleeve. Haley comes up from behind us and parks herself in front of Kyle’s desk.

“So good of you to join us, sleepyhead,” she says. “Late night?”

“Shut up, Haley.” He rolls his eyes and grabs his bag from the floor.

“Good luck, Libs.” Haley pats my shoulder before turning to leave. “See you at lunch.”

“Hey, Kyle,” I say. “Can we talk?”

He mumbles something I can’t understand, but it probably has the word no in it because he stands up and pushes by me.

“Wait up!” I jog out the door after him. “I need to talk to you about something.”

Kyle tucks his hands in his pockets and turns down the hall.

“Something important.”

He picks up his pace and files in with the steady flow of students in the hallway.

“About Aaron.”

He stops. The girl following him quickly jumps to the side and barely avoids smacking into his back.

“Jesus Christ! Watch it,” she says, but Kyle doesn’t pay her any mind. He slowly turns around and looks at me, his brown eyes colder than Aaron’s blue-ice-colored eyes have ever been.

“Oh, so you’re finally ready to tell me about Aaron, huh?”

“It’s not what you think it is, Kyle,” I call as I push my way down the hallway to meet him. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Oooohhh…he’s not her boyfriend,” some kid with a stupid red mohawk says as he walks by us.

“Mind your own business, asshole!” I call after the kid and he raises his middle finger over his shoulder. Classy.

This is not going to work. I can’t talk to Kyle here. I grab his arm and yank him out of the middle of the walkway. He lets me lead him down the hall to the janitor’s closet. The door eases closed behind us, blocking us from eavesdroppers and the noisy hallway.

The scent of harsh detergents mixed with mold and mildew fills my sinuses. My mind instantly turns to asthma and the location of my inhaler. Then I remember I threw my inhaler away. I don’t have asthma anymore.

Kyle studies me, his arms crossed over his chest. He taps his drumsticks impatiently against his shoulder. In the dingy overhead light, his skin appears yellow, sickly. Except for the mark. That’s blacker than anything I’ve ever seen, other than the Blackness itself. I shiver and force that thought out of my mind.

“So,” he says. “You wanted to talk? Then talk.”

“Haley says you’ve been out partying every night this weekend,” I say.

“Yeah? And?”

“That’s not like you.”

“How do you know?” He leans against a metal shelf loaded down with bottles of different cleansers. “Maybe it’s exactly like me.”

“Are you kidding? In fifth grade, you wouldn’t drink grape juice because you thought it would make you drunk.”

“That was fifth grade.” He scowls at the floor. “I’m not a kid anymore, if you haven’t noticed.”

“Yeah, but Haley also said she thinks she knows why you’re partying so much,” I say, and his eyes dart up and meet mine. Pink splotches bloom on his cheeks. “But you have it all wrong, Kyle. I’m not dating Aaron.”

“Oh, yeah? Then why did you blush like a ripe tomato when I asked you about him?” The ooze inside Kyle’s mark bubbles and churns. “And why do you keep blowing me off or forgetting about me? And what about that letter? Max told me you got a love letter. He said you left him alone at the house to go on a date with this guy. Then he said you came back, but left again, and you were gone all night. All night!”

“I know.” I shake my head. I didn’t realize Max knew I left twice that night. “I’ve done all of those things. Except it wasn’t a love letter, Kyle. And I didn’t do any of this because I’m dating Aaron. I can’t date him. It’s impossible.”

“But you want to, don’t you? You want to date him.” His voice is harsh, but underneath I hear the broken voice of the boy I painted a few months ago. “Maybe I’m trying to forget you. Maybe I’m trying to make you happy by staying out of your life.”

His eyes search my face, asking me to tell him he’s wrong about me wanting to date Aaron. Begging me to say I want to date him instead. It would be so easy to tell him what he wants to hear. But I can’t. He’s my friend and I can’t lie to him anymore.

“I’m sorry, Kyle,” I say. “It’s—”

The black stuff pulses inside Kyle’s face and I hear a small pop like static. Pencil-thin cracks extend from the ends of the fissure in his soul, like a broken eggshell, and the edges of the mark pull apart, exposing two more inches of black, bubbling sludge.

I’m making it worse. Shit. Telling him the truth isn’t healing it; it’s making it grow.

“What I mean to say is, it’s impossible to date Aaron, when…” I look down at my trembling hands. “I’m in love with you.”

Kyle’s elbow slips and knocks over one of the bottles on the shelf; it hits a few others, causing a domino effect. He scrambles to grab them before they fall to the floor, and then he sets them all right again. Once everything is back where it belongs, he steps away from the shelf and closer to me. The janitor’s closet is too small to back away without causing another avalanche, so I hold my ground.

“Is that true?” Kyle’s wide eyes search my face, pausing at my lips far too often. “You’re in love with me?”

“Um…yeah,” I say and watch his mark closely. The edges haven’t started to mend yet, but they haven’t grown any farther apart. And the black stuff has stopped boiling. The surface of it settles and becomes as smooth as black glass.

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve waited for you to say that to me?” He brushes my cheek with the back of his hand and traces my bottom lip with his thumb. I harness my inner actress and stop myself from slapping his hand away.

“I guess as long as I’ve waited to hear it from you.” I curl my hands into fists to stop them from fidgeting.

I can do this. I can pretend I love him for a few days, if it will heal his mark and save him from the Blackness. And I do love him, in a sisterly way, so it’s not a complete lie. Still, everything about this feels wrong.

“I love you, Libbi. I love you so much.” He steps closer. Joy and pure shock transform his tired features. His chest touches mine and his hand slides around to the small of my back. “I’ve loved you since the third grade when Todd Lance tripped me and you chased after him with a stick.”

Kyle chuckles at the memory then tilts my chin up and leans in. His morning-after breath reeks of stale beer.

I was wrong. I can’t do this. I can’t kiss Kyle. If the first time I kissed him felt awkward, this will feel a hundred times worse. But if I want to save him, I have to. I have to somehow get through it.

I close my eyes and Aaron’s face appears behind my lids. His piercing eyes under disheveled black hair. His stubbly chin punctuated by the bruise I gave him the day we met. I imagine his soft, full lips pressed against mine, dancing in perfect harmony, and the firm warmth of his body as I grip the back of his shirt and pull him against me.

“Wow!” Kyle says when he finally pulls away and I open my eyes.

“Yeah, well.” I run a hand through my hair.

“God, Libbi! I can’t believe that just happened. I wish I could stay in here and do that all day.” Kyle bends down and I stop his lips with my hand. One kiss is enough.

“Aren’t you late for your chem final?” I grab his book bag off the floor and push it into his chest, at the same time pushing him away. He takes it and swings it over his shoulder.

“Yeah, I guess.” He gives me a little pout and the acid in my stomach churns. “I’ll see you after school, though. Right?”

“Well, I’m not sure. I have plans with…my dad…He’s picking me up early from school and I don’t know when I’ll be home.” That sounds good. I hope he buys it.

“Your dad? You haven’t seen him in months.”

“He called me last night and said he wants to talk.” I shrug and try to look as surprised by this out-of-character behavior as Kyle. My father hasn’t bothered to come see us since he hooked up with his girlfriend months ago. “But I promise to text you as soon as I get home. Okay?”

“Yeah, sure.” His eyes dance over my face and a huge grin turns up the corners of his mouth. He bends down and kisses me again. It’s quick and spitty, and I’ve never seen him look so happy in my life. Why do I feel so terrible?

“Oh and one more thing,” I say as he turns the doorknob to leave. “Don’t tell Haley about us yet. I want to tell her together. You know? I want it to be special.”

“Yeah, you’re right. She is going to flip a shit when we tell her.” He laughs. “She’s been saying you don’t like me like that for years. She has a humongous I-told-you-so coming her way. When do you want to tell her?”

“How about Saturday night?” I say. “At Foster’s.”

“Great! Saturday night,” he says. “I can’t wait.”

I leave out that I’ll be an invisible Grim Reaper by Saturday afternoon.

I wait all day for the familiar, I’m-being-watched feeling that accompanied Aaron’s previous visits to school, but it never comes. As the second to last class of the day ends, I decide I have to leave, with or without him. If I show up in last period, Kyle will know I lied to him about seeing my dad today, and I can’t risk that.

When no one is looking, I push open one of the side doors and slip out of the building. It’s a short dash across the lawn to a strip of woods behind the school. I duck under a tree limb and into the cool shade.

My walk is short, but it’s not easy to sneak home without getting caught when your house is directly across the street from the school. After a few detours, I finally sneak in the back door of the house and make my way up to my bedroom to change and wait for Max. Or Aaron. Whoever shows up first.

Ten minutes go by, and I realize I’m aware of exactly how much time has passed, down to the millisecond. We’re sharing powers again, which means Aaron’s close. The brightness of my soul intensifies and a quiet knock sounds at the door.

I shove my dirty clothes into the hamper and quickly throw my teddy bear under the bed before I say, “You can come in, Aaron.”

Aaron melts through the door and his face lifts in a smile when he sees me.

“Thanks for knocking,” I say with a matching smile.

“It’d be rude to barge into your bedroom.” He moves across the room toward me, but stops halfway, at my desk. His eyes drift over the drawings I have strewn over the desktop.

Oh God.

Sure, I got rid of my dirty laundry and childish stuffed animal, but I forgot to hide the stack of sketches on my desk.

Aaron touches the one on top, a colored-pencil drawing where I tried and failed to duplicate the unique color of his eyes. His hand drifts to the charcoal sketch of him standing at Jumpers’ Bridge, mist wrapping his legs. He lifts one drawing to reveal yet another sketch of him in profile.

There are more sketches of him, but thankfully he stops looking. He turns with the colored-pencil drawing in his hand, his eyes unreadable.

“We should probably go downstairs.” I snatch the picture out of his hand and throw it behind my back. “Max will be home soon.”

He doesn’t say a word as I shuffle him out of my room and down the stairs to the kitchen. I sit at the kitchen table and pretend to tie my shoes. Anything to avoid his eyes for a few seconds. He places his hands on the back of the chair next to me. The muscles in his forearms bulge as he grips the wood, and I resist the urge to run my fingers over the ripples.

He clears his throat and says, “Are you ready to go?”

“It depends.” I tug on my laces and sit up straight. “Where are we going?”

“Yesterday, you promised to help me with something. Remember?”

The front door crashes against the table inside the door. Max shuffles over the threshold, his eyes glued to his handheld video game. He drops his book bag on the floor, looks up at me, and yelps in surprise.

“Libbi! What are you doing home?”

“Kraus let us out early.”

“You suck! I wish my teachers were that cool.” Max plods down the hallway and slumps into the chair Aaron’s leaning on. Aaron lets go and steps back against the wall.

“He can’t come with us, Libbi,” Aaron whispers, though I’m sure Max can’t hear him.

“Look Max, I have to go out for a little bit and you can’t come.” I grab my purse from the floor at my feet. “I’m going to call Miss Lena and see if she can come babysit for a couple of hours.”

“Why? Where are you going?” Max says, then his eyes narrow and he gives me a mischievous little smile. “Are you meeting your dream boyfriend? What’s his name again? Aaron?”