Mystify (6 page)

Tony
is a Jet. That’s a member of a group of white Americans who believe they are the “true” Americans.

Maria’s brother, Bernardo, is a Shark. The Sharks are first generation Americans from Puerto Rico.

The Jets and the Sharks don’t like each other.

But Tony likes Maria. And Maria likes Tony.

And that’s a problem.

Man, can I relate to this. Sitting in Mrs. Copaceptic’s English II Honors class is more uncomfortable today than any of the days yet this year. Last year we read William Shakespeare’s
Romeo and Juliet
and watched the movie with Claire Danes and Leonardo DiCaprio. This year Mrs. Copaceptic—for reasons I’ll never understand—wanted to pick up on the same theme of star-crossed lovers, I suppose. We’re watching
West Side Story
, the 1950s musical that’s a remake of the way outdated
Romeo and Juliet
.

I guess this is outdated too since it’s over fifty years ago. Still, I think I like this version better. Maybe it’s because I’m multicultural with my dad being what they’d call “white American” and my mom being Argentinean. I suppose I’d be considered a member of the Sharks.

But then what would that make Antoine?

He’s definitely not “white American.” African-American,
yes. So he’d be a twenty-first century Jet. We’d be the new generation Tony and Maria.

If I wasn’t so undecided about being with him.

The thing is, it’s not all about the racial issue for me. My reason for hesitating where Antoine’s concerned is more about my parents. About what their reaction would be to me bringing Antoine over for dinner or even taking him to prom. Dad would flip and Mom would spazz for a couple of hours, then give me some long boring speech about my responsibilities, my duties to my father, my family. Which is all a bunch of bull, but she’s been brainwashed to believe it.

Casietta says it’s because back home in Buenos Aires, my mother had nothing. My father was literally her knight in shining armor, rescuing her from poverty and hunger. You’d think that would make her more sympathetic to others less fortunate, instead of more judgmental. In return for my father’s rescue, she worships him, making every word that comes out of his mouth—and some that don’t—like a newly revised bible.

Sighing, because that’s all I can do when I think about my home situation, I slouch in my chair. My chin’s leaning on my arm as I watch Maria singing on half the screen and Tony on the other.

They’re so in love.

My cell phone vibrates in my purse, so using very slow motions so as not to tip Mrs. Copaceptic off that I’m alive, I pull it free and look at it.

Thinking about u

The text from Antoine makes me blush. So with one hand attempting to cover the lower half of my face that’s heated and smiling, I answer with the other.

Thinking about u 2

A few seconds later…

Meet me n hall B after class

My heart’s thumping. Hallway B is on the other side of the building. It leads to the music room and the culinary classes. But those classes are only open Monday through Wednesday.

Ok

Suddenly I can’t wait until Bernardo finds out about Tony and Maria. I can’t wait until the big hand circles past three more numbers on the clock and the bell rings. In essence, I’m ready to go.

Time works in my favor because before I can drift into another musical scene, the bell sounds. I gather my stuff up quickly and move through the rush of twenty or so kids trying to get as far away from English as they possibly can for the next few hours, until we’re forced to endure it all again tomorrow.

Moving through the halls, I’m ignoring everybody else around me, all the while hoping I look okay. I have on a yellow jersey dress with thin white leggings with yellow print and my white leather Mary Janes. My hair’s pulled up in the front with a white clip, hanging down in the back. With my free hand I reach back and sort of fluff it up. My heart’s beating wildly as the direction I’m walking kind of empties of students because nobody really belongs down this part of the school at this time.

With a flattened palm, I push through the double doors and take the first few steps into hallway B, only to be grabbed at the waist and pulled to the side against a bank of lockers.

“Hey, pretty girl,” he says in that not-too-deep-but-still-sexy voice.

My toes curl, and I almost lose my grip on my books. “Hey,” I say in what I think is a light and airy tone.

Then there are no more words. Antoine’s lips are on mine
and I’m sinking. Not floating or flying or soaring, but sinking. Falling deeper and deeper into the touch of his lips on mine, the scent of his cologne so close to me. His arms wrap around me, his hands opening flat on my back. I’m still holding my books, so my fingers grip them tighter between us. He tilts his head, and I feel his tongue brush over my bottom lip.

Tiny tingles move throughout my body like a swarm of bees. His one hand is on my back, but the other soon starts to move lower and lower, until I think my dress is coming up. Now my heart feels like it’s running a marathon, and my body’s trying to catch up. I start shaking my head because the kiss is getting deeper and the once soft touch of Antoine’s hands is now a little harder.

My fingers loosen a bit on my books, and I’m able to maneuver my free hand to flatten on Antoine’s chest. For a moment I pause because, hey, his heart’s beating just as fast as mine. So anyway, I can analyze that later. I push against his chest and try to close my mouth. He’s reluctant and is still pushing his lips on mine. But I turn my head so now he’s not getting lip, but cheek. Finally he pulls back and looks at me.

It’s a strange kind of look, like he’s confused and flustered all at the same time. I slip away from him and lean over to put my books down on the floor. When I rise, I smooth back my hair and take a deep breath.

“Is that what you were thinking about when you texted me?” I’m trying to calm my breathing down. Trying to wrap my mind around that heated kiss and the feel of Antoine’s hand on my butt.

Antoine backs up and leans against the locker. He’s wearing dark-colored jeans, with the fronts sort of washed out. They’re long and baggy but not hanging under his tennis shoes like some of the other guys. His shirt is button-down and lifts at the sides when he tries to push his hands into his
pants pockets. For a second I just look at his face. It’s the complexion of chocolate—milk, not dark. He has a thin mustache trying to come in and slightly thick lips. Lips that I remember intimately. Okay, blushing again. So not cool.

I look away.

“I was just thinking about you,” he finally answers.

I nod my head like I understand, but I don’t.

“I’m not like that, you know.” He doesn’t say anything, just stares at me. “I mean, I don’t just let guys kiss and touch all over me in hallways. That’s not what I do.”

He nods his head. “I know.”

“Then what is this?”

He shrugs. “I just wanted to see you and when I did, guess I just got carried away.”

We’ve really got the nodding part of our relationship down to a science because I nod again, too. Funny thing is, I think I got carried right away with him.

“So we should get to class.”

“Can I get a hug?” he asks, but he doesn’t move.

I’m skeptical. Didn’t we just hug? Well, not actually. His arms were around me, but mine weren’t on him. But if I hug him we might kiss again. And if we kiss again…

“Just a hug, Sasha. I get what you said about us being in school and all. So I’m just asking for a hug.”

I’m hesitant, and then I’m not because I know I want to hug him. And yeah, I probably want to kiss him, too. Hormones are a bi-atch!

So I walk over and stand in front of him. He still hasn’t taken his hands out of his pockets.

“We shouldn’t,” I say because suddenly, being this close to him means something different. Something I hadn’t thought of before rushing to meet him in this secluded space.

“Why not?” He stands up straight and takes his hands out of his pockets. “Other people do it.”

“But we’re not them.”

“I know,” he says, and his voice is lowering as his hands are lifting to touch both sides of my face. “We’re better than the others. That’s why we’ll last.”

His touch is soft, and I take a step closer, feeling the temperature around me change.

“Is that what you want? For us to last?”

He nods, whispers “yes,” then kisses my lips lightly. No tongue this time, just lips, and it’s as sweet as it was the first time. And surprisingly, still as unsettling.

We are just pulling away from each other, like in slow motion. Our lips and bodies no longer touching, but Antoine’s hands are still on my shoulders and mine are just barely moving away from his waist when we hear the sound.

Heels click on the floor, growing closer.

“Well. Well. Well. Isn’t this…interesting.”

The voice is laced with sarcasm. If it were an adult, a teacher, the principal, I would feel ten times better than I do right now.

Jumping away from Antoine like he’s a walking flame, I turn to see Alyssa standing not three feet away from us. What is she doing in hallway B, and why on earth did she pick this moment to be cruising by?

“Hey, Alyssa.” I’m trying to sound all nonchalant while I bend over and get my books.

“Sasha,” she says without even looking at me. Her eyes are glued to Antoine. And when I look over at him, he’s frowning because it’s no secret around school that Alyssa’s a bitch.

“Slumming, I see,” she follows up, taking a step closer to Antoine. “Shouldn’t you be downstairs in one of your remedial classes?” Then, before he can answer, she puts up a finger
and says, “Oh, no. I forgot, maybe you should be out robbing someone or trying to sell some drugs.”

My stomach twists and I feel my cheeks burning. Antoine’s frown deepens, but he stands right up to her. “If I wanted drugs I could just get them from your brother. No need to go outside the school for that.”

I swallow the giggle that threatens to erupt. Antoine is right. Rumor is that Alyssa’s older brother Ronald sells drugs. Supposedly, he gets them from some guy in New York and sells them here. Lincoln isn’t known for having a lot of crime or drug-related activity, possibly because there’s not many people here. Still, they say Ronald has a pretty good clientele. But Ronald graduated last year. I don’t know what he’s doing now.

Alyssa’s lips press into a tight line. “Don’t overstep your boundaries just because she’s unwisely giving you attention.” And when she said “she,” her head jerked in my direction.

“As for you, I really don’t think this is what your parents had in mind when they asked us to get all the kids on board with the new project.”

I hate that she’s right. Hate that her words and her anger are just confirming what I figured would happen if Antoine and I were publicly dating.

“It’s not like that,” I say and know it sounds lame.

“Yeah, right,” she says. “Come on or we’re going to be late.”

She starts walking, and I know she’s expecting me to follow her. I really don’t want to, and I look at Antoine who’s just about spewing smoke from his ears, he’s so mad. I take a step in the direction Alyssa went, and he reaches out, grabbing my arm.

“I can walk you,” he says.

“Sasha.” Alyssa’s voice echoes through the hallway as she tosses me a look over her shoulder. “Are you coming?”

For a minute I feel like the proverbial deer caught in headlights. I look from one of them to the other with wide eyes and can’t seem to make up my mind. Then I, as gently as I can under the circumstances, pull out of Antoine’s grasp and whisper, “I’ve gotta go.”

His arm falls to his side, and I know he’s pissed at me. I hurry up and walk away. Alyssa stays a few steps ahead of me, and I don’t try to catch up with her. Because for as much as I concede that she’s right, I don’t want to be walking down the hall with her any more than I’d wanted to leave Antoine standing there.

It’s
a little after eleven. I should be asleep, but I’m not. I can’t, just like I couldn’t concentrate the rest of the day at school, and I couldn’t wait to finish with dinner so I could come to my room to be alone.

Alone to think about what happened with Antoine in hallway B.

I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I enjoyed every second of our time together. But at the same time, it would also be a lie to say I hadn’t been thinking that it was wrong the entire time.

Dropping an arm over my forehead, I sigh because really, life should not be this hard. Why can’t I just be a normal teenager, go to school dances, have crushes, eat cheese burgers? I mean really, why does my entire life have to be filled with conflict and indecision? There’s not one thing I can do in life without wondering who it will effect or how it will effect them. It’s such a rip-off!

Antoine enters my mind again. Not that he ever leaves it for very long these days. He said he’d been thinking about me. I wonder if he is right now. I wonder what he’s doing and who he’s doing it with. I should call him. No, it’s too late.

But I sort of miss him. I want to hear his voice. Rolling over, I grab my cell phone from the nightstand and text him.

Then I wait.

And wait.

Like a half hour goes by and there’s no response from him. He’s really mad at me. Is it over? Or is this like our first boyfriend/girlfriend spat? Are we boyfriend and girlfriend?

Questions roll throughout my mind like I’m a contestant on
Are You Smarter Than A Fifth Grader?
And since I have none of the answers, it’s apparent that I’m not.

What should I do now?

Rolling over to my side I fake fluff my pillows and curl up. Maybe I should just go to sleep. Can’t.

I need to see him.

Need to talk to him. To explain.

And just like that I’m on the move again.

This time I know the cool darkness I’m floating through is another plane—an astral plane, as Lindsey says. So I’m not afraid or confused. In fact, this time I know exactly where I’m going.

When I open my eyes the room I’m in is dark, lit only by the moon. It’s the first quarter moon, day seven of the moon’s life cycle, when there’s ninety degrees between the moon, the sun and the earth. For a few seconds, I simply stare at it. The silvery gray half sphere sitting silently in the abyss of black. Light in the dark, I sometimes think of it.

Then my gaze roams around the rest of the room. It’s small, less than half the size of mine. Actually, it’s more like the size of my closet. Behind me is a dresser with a small TV on one end and a bunch of tubes and containers on the other. In front of me is a bed, twin-size. And lying on the bed is Antoine.

My heart thuds at the sight, and I take a step closer to the bed. I’m in his bedroom, it dawns on me suddenly. Thinking about him, feeling the urgent need to be with him, has brought me here. This is crazy, this new power of mine. It’s
surreal how I can be in one place and in another at the same time. Taking soft steps, I move around the bed until I’m standing at the top of the bed near Antoine’s head.

He only has one pillow, whereas I have four on my bed, not counting the decorative ones Casietta insists on adding. I don’t know why I keep making these comparisons between me and Antoine, what I have and what he has or doesn’t have. Habit, I guess. The one thing, I’m slowly realizing, he’s definitely got a grip on is my heart.

It’s thudding faster now as I reach out a hand and lightly touch his cheek. Surprisingly, it’s kind of soft. I wouldn’t, under other circumstances, classify a boy’s skin as soft, but it is. The bottom half of him is beneath a sheet, but his shoulder and his arm are bare. I touch there, too, letting just the tips of my fingers feel his skin.

It grows deeper, this feeling I have for him swirling inside me. So deep I just want to jump inside, to leave everything else behind and just be…with him.

In the distance I hear my name being called and I jump. Looking around, I make sure I’m the only one in this room, the only one who isn’t supposed to be in this room. Antoine doesn’t stir. He probably doesn’t hear the voice. My time is running out. I know this because I can hear the voice and not see the person behind it. I’m going to astral project back to my room soon, so I lean forward until I’m just inches away from Antoine’s face. His breath is warm against my skin, and I close my eyes to the comfort. Getting a little closer, I kiss his cheek. Once. Twice. On the third time it feels like I’m kissing the air.

I’m already traveling through the plane, moving on my way back to my room. It’s all good because I was able to see Antoine, to touch him and be near him. I should be able to sleep now.

Then I hear my name again.

“Sasha Carrington. You are one of them.”

So at first I thought there was nothing else to fear in this dark place but now I’m thinking again. I feel like I’ve stopped moving, like the transition from one place to another has been halted.

“You are wrong.”

Who is this talking to me? I look around and expect to see the circle of light I saw before, even though the voice I hear this time is deep and raspy, not high-pitched and sing-songy like the one before. But I don’t see any light, none at all.

“Who are you?” I ask, knowing instinctively that I won’t get an answer.

Then I think I see something swirling in the distance, like smoke, building from wisps on the floor to a dark funnel that grows closer. Wind blows all around me, strong and so cool that chill bumps prick my skin. My hair’s flying around my face, tendrils going into my eyes and touching my lips. Then it stops, the funnel of dark smoke and the wind. I blink and blink again, trying to focus. All I see is more darkness but this time in the shape of a huge man.

Like over seven feet as-wide-as-a-doorway kind of man. There is no face, but the voice talks again.

“Come with me. Help me.”

“I don’t know who…or what you are,” I say, hoping this will serve as an answer.

“I am all. I will be all. Help me and you will be spared.”

“Spared from what?”

The form comes closer, leaning down so that what I presume is its head is right next to my ear.

“Death,” it whispers.

Chills run from my eardrum down my spine to wrap around my ankles like shackles, and I scream.

I come through on my bed, kicking and flailing my arms, in an attempt to get away from that thing. Finally realizing that I’m back at home in my room by myself, I calm down a little. My heart still beats too fast, but I open my eyes now, staring up at my ceiling, remembering when there were stars painted there. The absence of my stars makes me think of the moon, and I turn to my side, look out my bedroom window and find what I’m searching for.

The moon.

My moon.

Going through its normal cycle, yet reminding me of something. Trying to remind me of something that I should know. I keep staring at it, seeing the craters and murky gray aura that circles it.

“What are you saying? What are you trying to tell me?” I ask in a whisper, hoping desperately that whatever it is I’ll find out before that thing kills me and everybody else.