A Need So Beautiful (3 page)

I shake my head as I lean against the wall. To be honest, I’m tired. Drained, really. Even if I do like the lime green coat on the mannequin in the front window, I don’t have the energy to ask about it. Sarah likes to say that buying me stuff is payback for being her personal shopper. She doesn’t buy a thing, not one stitch of clothing, until I’ve seen it and commented. Not that she takes my advice. She just likes the second opinion.

I walk with her toward the register. She looks sideways at me, biting her lip. “You know who’s going to be at the dinner tonight?” she asks, as if I wouldn’t know. Like every high school, St. Vincent’s has an interesting mix of jocks, nerds, and everything in between. But there’s only one guy right now who fills at least half of Sarah’s requirements—Seth Reynolds. Seth is the captain of the swim team, and not nearly as obnoxious as his meathead friends. He and Sarah have had the whole flirty-eyes thing going for weeks, so I have high hopes for them. I know Sarah does too.

“Who?” I say anyway, feigning ignorance. I eye the coat in the window as we wait at the register.

“Seth! He’s going with his parents. Isn’t that so sweet?”

“Uh, maybe. Or maybe his parents force him to give to charity too.”

“Oh, shut up,” she says. “Anyway, I think he might ask me out tonight. Especially if I’m wearing this.” She holds up the red dress. “What do you think? Can you see anything about tonight?”

I sigh. “Sarah, I have no idea. I’m not really psychic.”

She waves me off and lays the dress across the counter. “Sure you are.”

The dark-haired cashier with an arm full of tattoos and a barbell through her lip tilts her head like she’s judging the garment. “This is hot,” she says, before she starts to ring it up.

Sarah smiles. “Yeah? Thanks.”

I feel a prickle of warmth across my cheek and I reach up to touch it. My heart slowly starts to speed up. No. It’s too soon.

“I’m wearing it to some lame dinner,” Sarah tells the cashier, but her voice is fading. “Do you think . . .”

I clench my teeth as my bones begin to heat up. Without completely freaking out, I touch Sarah’s arm. I can feel sweat gathering at my temple.

“I’ll meet you outside, okay?” I say, hoping it comes out right.

She glances quickly at me, nods, and then goes back to talking to the cashier. I see her mouth move, but I can’t hear her. I hear my heartbeat.

My legs shift, but it’s like they’re not mine. They’re taking me to the front of the store, to the window. I’m on fire now, especially my shoulder, and my head, it’s like it’s slowly imploding. As I pass the green coat a rush of wind blows through me. I stop.

The coat? I don’t see how . . . but I pause. Behind it is a flyer taped to the window, facing the street. I need to pull the flyer off the glass, but I don’t want to. I want to see Harlin. And if I get my next Need I’ll have to go wherever it leads me. I don’t have a choice.

My fingers shoot forward without my permission and pluck the paper from the glass, breaking the tape. Glancing at Sarah, I see her bent over as she signs her receipt.

With the flyer in my hands, I look down, seeing the image of the front bleed through the back of the white copy paper, but I don’t want to turn it over. I don’t want to have to go anywhere, yet I flip it to the other side.

Greens and blues splash across the page as I try to make sense of the words. But I can only read the address: 5918 W. Broadway. I blink quickly trying to read the rest, but it’s impossible. All I can see is 5918 W. Broadway.

“Ready?” Sarah asks from behind me and I jump, the paper slipping from my hands. It zigzags through the air until it comes to rest just inside the platform of the window.

My muscles release. My body exhales.

“You okay?” Sarah takes my elbow and turns me to her. Her eyes are filled with worry and when she starts looking around, I tell her that I’m fine.

She gasps and I wonder if she can tell—tell that the Need has returned and I can’t stop it. She meets my eyes accusingly and I step back from her.

“Liar!” she says. She stomps past me and for a second I think she’s going to grab up the flyer, but she doesn’t. She practically rips the coat off the mannequin and holds it up admiringly.

“You want this!” she says. “And here you are drooling over it. How many times do I have to tell you, if I didn’t want to spend money on you, I wouldn’t? God, you’re so humble you make me want to vomit.”

She laughs and holds up the coat, looking toward the registers. “Raven?” she calls sweetly. “Can you add this on the charge?”

I don’t look back but I assume the cashier agrees because suddenly Sarah is wrapping a lime green jacket over my shoulders. My fingers have almost stopped shaking and I feel close to normal. Not as good as when I left the funeral, but this is bearable. It’s like a nagging feeling; something you have to do when you don’t want to. But I know that even if I try to resist, I can’t. I’ve never been able to before.

Facing Sarah, I slip my arms into the coat.

“Do you think Harlin will like it?” I ask, tying the waist.

Sarah nods her approval. “Absolutely. Oh.” She claps her hands together. “You should totally show up at his house wearing this.” She smiles. “And
only
this.”

“Tempting,” I say. “But I think I’ll save that genius plan for when we’re living together.” After next year, Harlin’s going to move out of his brothers’ place and we’re going to rent a one- bedroom apartment in the Pearl District, something small but charming. I’ll be attending Portland State—even though I have no idea what to study. I’m hoping a major will come to me eventually, but so far, it hasn’t. My future is a blank slate, full of possibilities.

I haven’t told Mercy about our plans, but I’m sure she’ll approve. Or at least I hope she will.

“Aw,” Sarah coos sarcastically. “You two will be so cute playing house. Maybe you can adopt dogs to pose as children too. Dress them up in little sweaters.”

“Oh my God, shut up.”

“Harlin can go work at some filthy garage, fixing motorcycles, and then he’ll come home all dirty. And you’ll be there—his little woman—cooking dinner while wearing this jacket. With nothing underneath.”

“Wow.” I laugh. “That’s a bright future you have planned for us.”

“I’m part clairvoyant, too.”

“You’re also part moron.” I grin at her as we walk outside, the noise of traffic immediately assaulting our ears. I don’t mind the sounds, though. At least right now my hearing isn’t plugged by the Need.

Sarah hooks my arm and bumps her shoulder into mine. “I’m just kidding about the playing-house stuff. I know you’re going to be great at whatever you do,” she says, sounding suddenly sentimental.

I look at her. “So will you.”

She crinkles her nose. “Don’t think my father would agree with that.”

I don’t respond. Daddy conversations are something that Sarah usually reserves for alcohol-induced moments. She glances away just as the sun pokes out from the clouds, only staying for a second before fading behind the tall buildings.

“Anyways,” she says with a heavy sigh. “Let’s get back to talking about Harlin and how he’d want you to show up naked under this jacket.”

I shake my head. “I think I know what Harlin wants.”

“Hmm . . .” Sarah says, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “I bet you do.” She snorts and our shoes beat a steady rhythm on the concrete as we head to the garage where her father’s Beamer is parked. Sarah’s been driving her father’s car since we were fifteen—unless you count that time when we were twelve and skipped out on gym class to grab a milk shake at Frankie’s. She nailed a trash can while trying to park and then spent two hundred dollars of her allowance getting it fixed before her father found out.

Sadness washes over me. That was before the Need took over, back when I only had to sneak away once, maybe twice a month. That was when I had more time.

Sarah clicks open the locks of the car, and as I climb in I start to work on my exit strategy to get to Harlin’s. First I’ll check in with Mercy and pretend to settle in for the night. Once she’s gone, I’ll slip out.

Sarah starts the car and drives out of the garage, talking about how she’s sure Seth has been staring at her in physics class. But it’s hard to listen. There’s an image that I can’t shake. And I know it won’t stop until I get there: 5918 W. Broadway.

Chapter 3

A
s I push open the heavy wood door to my fifth-floor walk-up apartment, Mercy is there—her black hair knotted tight near her neck, her pale blue scrubs crisp from too much starch.

“And where were you?” she asks in her thick Puerto Rican accent. Even though she sounds brusque, I know she’s just being protective. Sometimes that involves dragging Alex out of a rave on a Friday night, or picking me up at Harlin’s when I’m there too late. But recently her schedule at the ER became more demanding, giving us opportunities to sneak out. Not that we take advantage of it. Much.

I drop my backpack on the floor by the couch and untie the belt of my jacket. “Sorry. Sarah had to get a dress for some fancy dinner she’s going to tonight.”

“You can’t call me?” She pauses and touches the green sleeve of my coat. “This is lovely, by the way.”

“Thanks. And you’re right, I should have called. I will next time.”

“Mm-hmm,” she huffs. “And I’m assuming you’re in for the night now that you’ve gotten Sarah’s shopping out of the way?” She’s not hinting. She’s telling me.

“Of course.”

“Good. You know I don’t like you riding the bus when it gets late. I told Alex that too, but I know his little fifteen-year-old butt was out after twelve.” She raises her voice so that it carries toward his bedroom. “He’s lucky he’s not grounded.”

I smile, knowing that Mercy would never ground us. Scold us endlessly, yes. But never punish us. It just isn’t her way.

I’ve been with Mercy for over ten years, longer than Alex or Georgia. She used to tell me about the day she first saw me in the hospital, a six-year-old with a pale pink dress and ribbons in my hair, sitting all alone in the waiting room. No one knew who dropped me off, or whom I belonged to.

Mercy had just gotten her license to foster, so when no one claimed me, she put in a request to take me home with her. After nearly a year of searching, my parents were never found, so Mercy filed to become my legal guardian. She likes to say that
I
found
her
.

It used to haunt me, not having natural parents. I’ve tried so many times to remember my early childhood, but nothing comes to me. Like I didn’t exist until the moment I sat down in the hospital waiting room. Mercy and Monroe both think my memory loss is post-traumatic stress. They say it sometimes erases painful experiences.

But I gave up dwelling about my past a long time ago. There’s no reason to. Mercy treats me like her own, and with Alex here with us, it’s like we’re a real family. We’ve each found the place where we belong.

I’ve never told them about the Need. As far as Mercy knows, I have terrible menstrual cramps and severe asthma. The Need usually knocks the air out of me, so it wasn’t really hard to fake not being able to breathe. When I was a kid, I was too scared to ever tell Mercy about my episodes, afraid that if she found out she’d realize I wasn’t normal, and then she’d give me back.

And now it’s been so long that I’m not sure how to bring it up. I don’t know, maybe I’m still scared of losing my only home.

A door closes and Alex comes from the hall, his toothbrush sticking out of his mouth as he runs his hand through his still-wet, shoulder-length black hair. When he sees me, he waves.

“Hey, Charlotte,” he mumbles through clenched teeth. “Nice coat.”

“Thanks. Going out?”

Alex takes the toothbrush out of his mouth. “Nope. Staying in. You?”

“All night.”

We smile at each other and I slip off my jacket, laying it over the back of the tweed sofa. Like me, Alex sneaks out to see his boyfriend during the week. It’s just so much easier than asking for permission, which we’d never get.

Mercy mumbles something in Spanish to Alex as she walks past him into the kitchen, obviously still mad about his late-night bus ride. He rolls his eyes at me while Mercy takes a Tupperware filled with leftovers from the fridge.

The house is quiet, and I wonder why loud rap music isn’t coming from the back bedroom as usual. “Hey,” I ask Alex. “Where’s Georgia?”

“Hell if I care,” he says, shrugging and sitting on the stool at the counter.

Mercy walks by and lightly smacks him in the back of the head. “Be nice to your sister.”

I laugh because Georgia and Alex fight like actual brother and sister, even though Georgia has only been here about six months. She’s totally secretive and often bitchy, but then again, most fosters who come through start off like that. Alex and I were the only ones who became permanent. Neither of us ever had anywhere else to go.

“She’s not my sister, Ma,” Alex replies. “Not unless you’re going to adopt her, too.”

“Georgia has a family down south,” Mercy says, putting the Tupperware in her insulated lunch bag. “And if it weren’t a temporary situation, maybe I would.” She raises her chin defiantly and I can see in her eyes that she feels guilty. Sometimes I think that Mercy would adopt the whole world if she could.

“Charlotte,” Alex says. “Back me up here. Georgia sucks, right?”

I laugh. “I’m not saying a word.”

“Good girl,” Mercy calls out as she crosses the room to pause in front of me, purse and lunch bag in her hands. “I have to go,” she says, sounding disappointed. “I’m sorry, I know I said I’d try to be around more.”

“It’s okay.” And it is, because if Mercy were around more I’d have fewer chances to sneak out and see Harlin. “Maybe this weekend?”

“We’re going to church on Sunday,” she says like it’s a warning. “Sister Catherine has been all over me about missing Mass.” As a family we consider ourselves part-time Catholics. We reserve church for holidays, baptisms, and funerals. It’s not that we aren’t religious; we just prefer to say our prayers before bed instead of in a cathedral full of people. But every so often one of the nuns at St. Vincent’s reminds Mercy that a scholarship is a “gift from God” and that we should give back by attending Mass. Basically they guilt us into going.