Tyger Tyger (3 page)

Abby's mom had been watching baby Aiden while Teagan and Abby studied together. They'd both ended up staying with the Gaglianos for three months while their mom was in Lakeshore Hospital and their father worked all day and then spent every evening with his wife.
Psychotic episode.
Teagan had heard her father use the term one night when he was talking to Mrs. Gagliano. She never told anyone she'd looked it up. Not even Abby.
Hallucinations, delusional beliefs. Total break with reality.

"Why is that relevant?" Teagan could imagine the look on her father's face as he asked.

"I'm just doing my job." Ms. Skinner's tone was defensive. "Finn's been sleeping in a derelict warehouse, climbing drainpipes, dropping in windows, eating from trash cans. Living with no running water or electricity." She sounded like she'd practiced the litany on the way over. "He's practically
feral.
I'm not sure that someone who is emotionally fragile would have the resources needed to deal with him."

"I'm not fragile," Mrs. Wylltson said. "I will be happy to let you speak to my psychiatrist. I have emotional resources out the wazoo, I assure you."

"I'm just doing my job," Ms. Skinner repeated. "What on earth is that smell?"

Teagan winced. The Benadryl was kicking in, and even she could smell the stench. Either the old plastic bag had broken open on its way down, or the ape poop had eaten through it.

"Something in the basement," Mrs. Wylltson said. "The drains must have backed up."

"I'd best be going," Ms. Skinner said.

"So we will be picking him up tomorrow?" Mr. Wylltson asked.

"Sending Finn here is against my best judgment, but I have limited options. He hasn't committed any crimes we can prove."

"So we will be picking him up," Mrs. Wylltson said triumphantly.

"I'm afraid so."

"Let me walk you to your car," Mr. Wylltson offered.

"I'll leave my number tomorrow. If he gets into any trouble..." Their voices faded as Mr. Wylltson led her toward the front door.

Teagan pulled open the door to the maid's stairs. The dark stairway went from the tiny guest room in the attic that had once been the maid's quarters all the way down to the basement. The house had been built with the notion that a servant should not be seen. The stairway had doors cut into the wood paneling where they would be most useful: in the hall between the bedrooms, in the kitchen, and in the basement.

"Where are you going?" Abby asked.

"To save my sweater," Teagan said. "If possible."

"I'm not going down there." Abby followed her as far as the kitchen door. "I'll wait with your mom."

"They're just paintings," Teagan said.

"You didn't have the dream I had."

"You lit a candle at church."

"For you, not for me. I'll just wait here."

Teagan went down one more flight. The basement was the largest room in the house, and it didn't smell like a Chicago basement at all. It smelled like an art gallery. A dehumidifier hissed in the corner, sucking any hint of dampness out of the air.

Teagan had always loved this place. It was almost like having her own private Narnia to escape to. The sprites, spriggans, phookas, goblins, and young girls in medieval dresses from her mother's books looked down from the canvases that covered every wall. Wonderful trees—oak, ash, and thorn, gnarled and ancient—appeared in almost every scene.

Teagan stopped in front of her mother's favorite painting. A beautiful little girl danced in front of a house made of trees, their upper trunks curved like the fingers of protective hands above her, while the Green Man, frightening and fascinating all at once, laughed at her.

"You guys planning on coming upstairs for supper?" Teagan asked the hideous band of goblins squatting around a fire in the next painting. "No? I didn't think so."

The laundry room was separate from the rest of the basement, a tiny space just large enough for a washer, dryer, sink, and the basket under the chute. Teagan retrieved her sweater, scraped the green mass into the basin and washed it down the drain, then left the cashmere soaking in Woolite before she headed upstairs.

Her dad hadn't come back from walking Ms. Skinner to her car, but Abby was perched on a kitchen stool, watching Mrs. Wylltson prepare her palette.

"This fat woman wanted Our Lady on her toe today," Abby said.

Mrs. Wylltson paused, paintbrush in the air. "On her toenail?"

"Left big toe. Putting Mother Mary down there where she'd be looking up some lady's skirt all day didn't seem right, you know?" Abby shrugged. "But she was a paying customer."

"What did you do?"

"Painted Bette Midler with a halo. I didn't think she'd mind filling in for the Virgin, right? And the fat lady couldn't tell the difference. I don't think she's seen her toes in years."

"You should go to art school." Mrs. Wylltson squeezed a drop of orange into a glob of yellow paint and mixed it with two quick strokes. "You have too much talent to be painting toenails."

"Gotta pay for art school somehow," Abby said. "Mama can't afford the Institute, not after all my sisters' weddings."

Mrs. Wylltson glanced up. "What on earth was that smell, Tea?"

"Ape poop," Teagan said. "Cindy got hold of my sweater."

"So, Tea's back. Now can we talk about Finn?" Abby had clearly tried to pry some information out of Mrs. Wylltson already and had gotten nowhere.

"Let the grilling begin," Mrs. Wylltson said.

"What happened to his parents?" Teagan asked.

"Car accident." Mrs. Wylltson added a yellow gleam to Ginny Greenteeth's eye. "Seven years ago. I don't understand why Mamieo didn't take him in. It isn't like the Travelers to leave a boy alone."

"Mamieo is Teagan's grandma?" Abby asked. "How come I haven't met her?"

"Because she hasn't been this way in fifteen years," Mrs. Wylltson said. "My brother's family, including Finn, was with her the last time I saw them. No one contacted me after the accident. I didn't know my brother was dead until Social Services called asking if we'd take Finn."

"Your family doesn't write or call on the phone?"

"They show up when they show up," Mrs. Wylltson said. "That's just the way they are."

"So how old is Finn?" Teagan asked.

"Seventeen." Mrs. Wylltson wiped a paint-smudged finger on her shirttail, then brushed a curl off her forehead with the back of her hand. "Almost eighteen."

Mr. Wylltson came back into the kitchen, looking slightly disgruntled. "I sent Lennie home. We could use a little peace around here after that woman. Now, how was
your
day, Rosebud?"

"Fine," Teagan said. It probably was not the right time to bring up cell-phone perverts on the bus.

"That's good. Now, your mom and I need a little time to talk. Aiden found a tribute to the King on Lifetime. That should keep him quiet. You girls want to watch it with him?"

"Dad!" Teagan said. "Not the one with the—"

Aiden screamed in the other room.

"Elvis impersonators." Mr. Wylltson winced. "I'd forgotten that bit. How does he hit that note? I'm surprised we have any glass left in the house."

When they reached the living room, Aiden was standing in front of the television set, his hands over his ears as a line of fake Elvises bumped and gyrated in their tight white pants. One of them held a microphone to his mouth and started to sing. Aiden screamed again. Mr. Wylltson put his fingers in his ears.

Teagan grabbed the remote and turned the TV off.

"That's ... not ... Elvis!" Aiden said. "He sounds all wrong!"

"Of course he does." Mr. Wylltson had taken his fingers out of his ears. "It's just an impersonator. You shouldn't be afraid of them, son. They're just men pretending. We've talked about this, remember?"

"Why don't you go for a walk, Aiden?" Mrs. Wylltson said. "Teagan and Abby will go with you." Even Aiden knew it was pointless to argue if Mom was sending them out of the house.

"Let's go," Teagan said. "I'll pull you in the wagon."

"It's a good thing that Ms. Skinner left before the Elvis thing set him off," Abby said as Teagan pulled the wagon down the street.

Teagan sighed.

"What?" Abby said. "I'm just saying. It makes your family seem a little
strange,
you know? I mean, who's afraid of Elvis impersonators?"

"I am," Aiden said. "So is Lennie."

Lennie was Aiden's professional consultant on scary and not scary. Teagan was sure they kept a secret list. Tooth fairy: scary, because she sneaks up and steals things. Bugs: not scary, even if they crawl on you. Worms: scary, because they have no eyes.

"I don't like that lady," Aiden said. "Why did she come?"

"To tell us our cousin Finn is going to be living with us."

"Is Finn a guy?"

"Yes."

"Is he a kid?"

"No," Teagan said. "He's almost a grownup."

"Does he know how to play Lego war?"

"Probably."

"Okay," Aiden said. "I guess he can come."

 

After dinner, Teagan started the dishes while Mr. Wylltson read aloud from Peter Pan.

Aiden's Tamagotchi made the special little
ping
that meant it had made a pile, and he showed Abby how to clean it up. After his electronic pet went to sleep, Aiden turned a lamp around so that he could cast shadows on the wall and act out the part of Peter's shadow.

"John, I'm on deadline," Mrs. Wylltson said the second time Aiden's shadow stretched across her painting.

"All right, bucko. Let's play war." Mr. Wylltson put down the book and scooped Aiden up.

"You're no good at war," Aiden said. "Mom's better. I'd rather play with her."

"It's a fact"—Mr. Wylltson swung Aiden over his shoulder—"that your father is a lover, not a fighter, and your mother's a bloodthirsty savage. But your mother has a book due. So set up your forces, and I will do my best." He carried Aiden giggling toward the alcove.

Teagan nodded toward the living room. Abby followed her to the computer desk and hung over her shoulder.

"You should go upstairs, Dad," Aiden said. "I'm not finished setting up my ambush. I got some ideas from the Lost Boys in that book."

"Perfect," Mr. Wylltson said. "Call me when you are ready to commence the slaughter."

"He's not coming back downstairs tonight, is he?" Abby said.

"Nope. Aiden will spend days setting up his forces for the attack. What did you say that guy's name was?"

"Which guy?" Abby said.

"The perv on the bus."

"Geoff Spikes."

It took Teagan less than a minute to find it. He had a video link with her picture on it on his Facebook account. It was titled "Shimmy, Shimmy, Ko-Ko-Bop."

"What's that about?" Abby asked.

"It's a song by Little Anthony and the Imperials."

"A Moldy Oldie," Abby said. "Why do you Wylltsons even have this stuff in your brains?"

Teagan shrugged and clicked play.

Geoff had looped it to make it longer and added a soundtrack. "
Shimmy, shimmy, ko-ko-bop
"—Teagan's shirt came up to her navel— "
shimmy, shimmy
"—her rib cage—

"No," Teagan said. "No, no, no!" Something blue and blurry shifted into view, filling the whole screen.

"Hey! That's my butt!" Abby leaned closer to the screen. "I'm famous!"

The camera phone bobbled as Geoff tried to get a better view, but Teagan had already pulled her shirt down by the time he had her on the screen again.

"Relax," Abby said. "No one is ever going to see it."

"What are you talking about? He's got three thousand friends linked. Probably everybody we know from school will have seen it. You just said your butt was famous!"

"Yeah, but there's lots worse stuff out there. Nobody's even going to care about your belly or your bra."

"You saw bra?"

"Just a peek. Run it again, and I'll show you."

"I'm not running it again."

"You should get a nice lace bra," Abby said. "That one is really boring. We have a padded number down at the shop that would help you out, if you know what I mean."

"Shut up," Teagan said.

"
Shimmy, shimmy, ko-ko-bop
..." The human iPod out in the alcove had picked up the tune.

Teagan put her head down and wrapped her arms around it.

Abby patted her shoulder. "I'll change the station. Then you and me are going to have a talk." She started humming, "
I kissed a girl, and I liked it
..."

"Abby!" Teagan jerked upright. Her mom would kill them if that one got stuck in Aiden's head. Abby switched to some boy-band thing that Teagan didn't know, but Aiden apparently did. He started singing along in his piping soprano.

"So, what are you going to do about it?" Abby asked once she had successfully sidetracked Aiden.

"Ignore it," Teagan said. "I have my last final tomorrow. Chemistry. I need to study, and you're going to help me."

"You always ace tests without studying."

"Not this time." College-level science classes only looked good on a college application if you kept a decent GPA.

"How am I supposed to help? I've never taken Chemistry."

"I made flash cards." Teagan pulled the thick stack of three-by-five cards out of her backpack. The rubber band that held them together was stretched to the limit.

"Of course you did."

"All you have to do is hold them up and read the back to see if I got the answer right."

"Fine." Abby folded her arms. "Right after we have the Talk."

"The talk?"

"Not 'the talk.' The
Talk!
The Guy Talk. I've been thinking about this Finn thing. Maybe you can ignore guys in school or on the bus, but one's moving in with you. There's things you gotta know if you're going to have a guy living here. Stuff can happen."

"What kind of stuff?"

"
Chemistry,'
Abby said.

"I'm immune, and you know it," Teagan said. "No boys until I've got my scholarship. Maybe not until I've got my degree."

Abby snorted. "No one's immune. You're just a late bloomer."

"And what do you know about a guy living in your house? You've never had a guy living in your house, unless you count Walter. All you've got is sisters."