A Girl's Guide to Guns and Monsters - Martin Harry Greenberg [22]
It was unheard-of. Usually, Kate finished her potato products first, and a healthy helping of mine as well, world without end, amen. But today she had a few lone survivors on her spread-out cheeseburger wrapper.
She hadn’t been eating much lately.
It was a ninety-plus day, but I shivered. “Okay. So what are we gonna do?”
Kate’s face crumpled. For a moment I was sure she was going to cry, so I looked down at the ruins of my lunch, to give her some privacy.
But Kate just picked up a napkin and blew her nose. A hot breeze from the Tasty Freeze parking lot made the tattered umbrella over our table flap. Everyone else was inside enjoying the air conditioning. Sitting outside on a day like this could fry your brain.
“He’s awake sometimes during the day, even if he never goes outside.” Kate’s voice was small, as if she was six again. “He hates garlic, too. And at night he’s just bouncing off the walls. Mom thinks it’s cute. They’re really into each other since she brought him home.”
It was what she’d said before. But my gaze came up and fastened on Kate’s hand. She’d taken to wearing that fashionable buckled leather cuff everywhere, even into the pool. Now it lay on the table, getting lighter as it dried. The two marks on the pale underside of her wrist where she hardly ever tanned had worn, white- looking edges. Their centers were dark and angry, though. Scabbed over.
Right where they taught you to take the pulse in First Aid.
Kate made a restless movement. “I thought he was just creepy. But he . . . God.”
“He just comes in your room while your mom’s gone, right?” That was important, though I couldn’t say just why. “Is she . . . acting weird? I mean, weirder than normal?”
“She’s tired a lot.” Kate hunched her shoulders. “He’s got money, says she doesn’t have to work. She’s about ready to agree. Her shifts are pretty long.”
“Yeah.” I sucked on her straw thoughtfully, making a weird bubbling noise. “But if she’s home more often . . .”
“She’s so tired.” Kate’s eyes came up, and she stared significantly at me. “You know?”
As tired as Kate looked, probably. Dark circles under her eyes. Worn out.
Drained.
The sunshine was hot, but it didn’t touch the ice inside my stomach. “Okay,” I said again. The exact same way I said it every time Kate had a problem. “Don’t worry. We’ll figure something out.”
School was out, but the sharks were still swimming. I walked on the road side of the pavement, as usual, and as soon as I heard the engine behind us I knew it was trouble. They were driving too slow, whoever it was.
Kate cast a quick glance over her shoulder, fine golden curls drying and unraveling at her temples. “Asshole alert,” she muttered. “Great.”
The car slowed down with a brief squeal of brakes. I had a quick vision of the brake cable snapping, failing somehow, and the whole merry crew of them driving off a cliff.
“Leeeeeeezz-bians!!” It was Nathan Bardsmore. “Look at the leeeeeezzzzzzzz-bians!”
A familiar ball of red- hot anger settled right behind my breastbone. You’d think summer vacation would turn out better than this.
“God.” Kate’s flipflops made snapping sounds as she stepped. They were only a block from home and safety. “I wish he’d just die.”
I stopped. Lifted my head and stared at the red Ford Escort. Bardsmore was hanging out of the passenger window, waggling his tongue like a four-year-old. Only he was doing it between a V made of his left-hand fingers, and troll- like laughter poured from the other rolled-down windows along with a throbbing beat of rap music.
Nathan was one of the rich-jock set. Big, blond, broad-shouldered, and with an allowance that was probably more than most people’s parents made. He was just a symptom, really. The whole world was rotten.
The heat crawled up from my chest, made a lump in my throat, and stung my eyes. It was a familiar feeling, ever since the first day of middle school. Kate’s fingers touched my wrist. It was warm and