Burning Emerald (4 page)

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Authors: Jaime Reed

BOOK: Burning Emerald
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On my way to the stairs, I tried not to look at the living room, but its presence seemed to burn at my peripheral, soliciting one peek, one moment of my time. I snuck a glance at the small area and cursed at my own weakness.
The layout was different, a cheery arrangement of floral prints, cushions, throw rugs, and fake plants tucked in corners. The sofa had been moved a foot or two closer to the center of the room, grouped by the love seat, glass coffee table, and high-back chair. The walls were painted in a pale, cake-batter yellow trimmed with white molding. Carefully selected photographs crowded the wall unit and marble fireplace that we never used. But no amount of remodeling could erase the image of Nadine's body sprawled on the floor.
As Angie had once said, “once seen it can't be unseen,” and that truth breathed life into this phantom, giving it substance. My back stiffened and the muscles tightened painfully, causing a bubbling in my stomach. My throat closed up as I tried in vain to keep my dinner down.
The greasy sludge rotting my gut shot me upstairs, down the hallway, and to the welcoming embrace of the commode. Between vomit sessions, the cool tiled floor became my new best friend, my confessional. I wished I could blame it on food or some physical illness, but it had to be psychological. Mom wasn't the only one with issues—I was just better at hiding them.
Gripping the edge of the sink, I pulled myself up and stared at the stranger in the mirror—perhaps a close cousin or a long-lost twin. The features looked familiar, same chubby cheeks, stubborn chin, caramel-brown skin, and the Sideshow Bob mop top that reached my shoulders. The only thing that didn't belong to me were those green eyes—another souvenir from Nadine.
Three antacid tablets didn't ease my stomach, four glasses of water couldn't quench my thirst, stripping down to my underwear didn't cool my fevered skin. The air tasted thick, rusty, and too humid for my lungs to absorb. Too much activity crowded inside my skull, too many voices between my ears spoke out of turn. I needed oxygen and an open space where the walls didn't move.
I went to my room, opened the window, and welcomed the crisp night air, not caring that I stood in my skivvies, giving the neighbors a free show. I had never experienced anxiety attacks before, and considering what had brought it on in the first place, I doubted it would be a one-hit wonder.
As if an answer to my unspoken prayer, my cell phone rang. I didn't need to see the name on the caller ID, or hear the sappy ring tone I'd picked out for him; I just knew.
“Sam, you okay? What's wrong?” Caleb asked as soon as I placed the phone to my ear.
“I'm glad you called. I just ...” I paused, unsure how to verbalize hysteria.
“You just what?” His voice hitched and his anxiety shot through the line to reach me. Police radios and chatter mingled in the background, so I knew he was still with his car.
“Nothing. I just—I've got a lot on my mind,” I dismissed. It was best to keep quiet. Caleb had his own problems. “I'm not feeling good.”
“I can tell. Why don't you lie down? I'll stay on the line until you feel better.”
“I thought you weren't gonna call me until morning,” I nagged.
“That was before I started getting nauseous and scared out of nowhere. Go to bed. I'm right here.” His soothing tone melted the knots in my shoulders and liquefied the bones in my legs. Underneath his hard outer layer came a wash of peace that purified me.
I crawled into bed and let his voice cradle me to rest. “Thank you, but you don't have to do this.”
“It's not just for you, Sam. I need you nearby for a while. Don't think I can sleep otherwise. Is that okay?”
“Always,” I whispered and tucked a pillow under my head. I couldn't blame him, for I felt the exact same way. It came with the package of having a Cambion boyfriend, to share emotions. All. The. Time. Some would consider it intrusive, or even a curse to experience this kind of connection, this empathic intimacy, but it had its perks, especially tonight.
His sigh dragged through the phone, a weary gesture that mirrored mine completely. “Talk to me. Anything you want.”
I brooded for a moment before asking, “How would you feel about mixing at a party on Halloween?” I told him about Courtney B.'s proposal and the free press that would come with it.
He sucked in a sharp breath. “Yeah, I heard. Some redhead approached me earlier today about doing a gig. The pay is good and all, but ...
high school girls?
I can't deal with all that whiny—”
“Hey, grandpa, in case you forgot to take your meds today,
I'm
one of those high school girls. Plus, it's supposed to be the biggest event of the season, with free candy,” I added, knowing that anything involving sugar would seal the deal.
A long pause passed between us until he asked, “Will you be there?”
“I gotta check with my parole officer, but I think I can swing it,” I said while toiling with my love-hate battle with my phone. Despite all its buttons and high-tech features, it had no arms, no lips, no breath. This tiny device served as both a gateway and wall between us. “I wish you were here.”
“I feel you,” he whispered. The double meaning made me laugh out loud, as did the next topic of discussion.
“So ...” Caleb drawled, trying to sound sultry, but coming off extremely sleazy instead. “What are you wearing?”
4
L
unchtime: where social lines were clearly marked in the sand and where group status hung in the balance of the faintest whisper.
Legends were born, hearts were broken, and the weak were herded to the slaughter in front of a live studio audience. Here lay the watering hole for all members of the food chain and hunting ground for predators. And I was the deadliest of them all.
Just a taste.
That was the Cambion policy, our credo.
Just take enough to appease the spirit, then move on.
It sounded simple enough, but sometimes taking a little was worse than taking none at all.
I inhaled the boundless life that hummed in the air and consumed the electricity just under their skin. I could see their energy if I squinted my eyes—a turbulent haze or sweltering heat on the horizon line. This was my daily vitamin and Lilith's food supply.
Energy in assorted temperaments mingled in large gatherings like these, serving up a convenient buffet platter of human life force. Each sip of energy, no matter how small, gave me joy and replenished my starving psyche, a free-for-all without guilt. Though strictly for dietary purposes, I still felt weird about feeding from anyone who wasn't Caleb. I didn't want a stockpile of memories of another guy in my head. It was too intimate, too personal, so direct contact was for emergencies only.
I sat at the far end of the cafeteria with the leftovers their peers chewed up and spat back out. These discarded table scraps assembled into a patchwork of loners, from bookworms to goths, to that one weird kid who never bathed and talked to himself. My allure didn't work on the willful and chaste, which revealed more about my lunchmates than I'd really wanted to know.
What no one realized was that they were the nicest people in the entire school. Unfortunately, this was a dead zone for anyone who was part of a preexisting clique, but it was an excellent place for those like myself who wanted to stay under the radar. Not even Malik had the nerve to come over, but he watched me from the east wing of the cafeteria, licking his chops.
Trying my best to ignore him, I dove into my writing assignment headfirst. Papers and folders spread across the rectangular table, sorted by priority, subject, and difficulty. Between Caleb and work, I had to squeeze every moment to keep up with classes. I had to write a poem for English, which now seemed to be an effortless task. No doubt Nadine's lingering influence had something to do with it, because much like her prose, mine was now leaning toward the dark and dismal.
While I was trying to find a word that rhymed with “fester,” a voice whispered my name. “Hey, Sam.”
I lifted my head in time to see Mia sitting next to me, wearing a hoodie and shades over her eyes. “What are you doing here?” I asked.
“I should ask you the same question.” She nudged her chin toward my lunchmates.
“Unlike you, this is
my
lunch period and I want to keep a low profile. How did you get out of class?”
She waved her hall pass in front of my face. “I needed to go to the nurse—woman problems and all that.”
“That's like the fifth excuse this month. People will think you're pregnant.”
“Whatever. Actually, I'm here on business. I was supposed to meet Jason at twelve-forty-five on the dot.” Mia examined her watch.
I leaned away from her, just in case crazy was contagious. “Am I about to witness some shady drug deal?”
She crouched lower in her seat. “No, but I gotta keep it on the DL. Dougie's in this lunch and I don't want him to see me.”
I glanced sideways at her. “Uh-huh.”
Even though I'd seen it a mile away, it had still come as a shock when it arrived. Mia and Dougie's breakup had hit our trio hard, leaving me in a messy custody battle for friendship. I refused to take a side. I only had a small handful of true friends, and I was surgically attached to all of them, including Dougie.
Scanning the cafeteria again, Mia leaned in and whispered, “Don't look, but Malik Davis is checking you out.”
“Good for him.” I sniggered, not bothering to lift my head from my notebook.
I didn't need to. His heated glare was burning a hole in my neck. I did wonder how his pictures would turn out, but I would have to wait another month until they came back from the studio.
What happened on Picture Day stayed close to my mind, but not enough to exchange words or follow him around. He did plenty of that for the both of us; it was kind of his thing. Okay, I may or may not have taken pictures of him with my camera phone when he wasn't looking, but all the images turned out fine. Until further evidence came to light, the case of the skeletor mug shot remained unsolved, and Malik still held the title of douche bag of the year.
“Man, he is straight up
on your six
,” she exclaimed, indicating his position clockwise. “The guy looks hungry, and not for what's on his tray. I don't know, Sam. He's pretty hot and has a shiny new truck,” Mia teased.
“I'm quite content with the guy I have, thank you very much.”
“Oh yeah, I forgot you like your men older. Nineteen is the new thirty.” Continuing her stakeout, Mia spotted her inside man.
Rail thin and covered with acne, Jason Lao was anything but discreet. The head editor of our school newspaper was the fast-talking, Korean equivalent to Perez Hilton, with a not-so-secret gossip blog that the superintendent had tried in vain to shut down. This tenacious news hound could find dirt on dirt, but he always gave us the week's scoop before it hit the web.
Spying the area for any witnesses, he scurried to the table. “Wow. When you said you wanted to meet in private, I didn't think you meant no-man's-land.” He swung his legs over the table's bench and plopped down across from us.
Mia drew closer and whispered, “I'm on the clock here. What you got?”
Getting right to business, Jason pulled out his notepad and flipped through several pages. After clearing his throat, he reported, “Courtney B. is sending out invitations this week. I managed to sneak a peek at the guest list first period. Sorry, kid, you didn't make the cut.”
Mia sobbed and rested her forehead on the table.
“Don't feel bad. You can tag along with Sam.”
“What?” Mia looked to me with surprise. “You got an invite to the Halloween party?”
“Not really. She wants Caleb to deejay, so I'm invited by association.”
Mia closed in on me. “Why didn't you tell me? Sam, you have got to get me into that party.”
“I'm not sure if I have power like that.”
She grabbed my shoulders and shook me. “Of course you do. Caleb's the deejay. Just tell her that we're a package deal; one can't go without the other.”
I groaned, knowing that my classwork would have to wait yet again. My theory became fact when a shadow darkened my notes.
“Hey?” called a voice behind us, snatching all humor from the building.
Mia turned around, removed her shades, and stared her past in the face.
Dougie was a sight for sore eyes, and what a sight he was. He'd put on some extra weight since he joined the wrestling team, with muscles popping out the yin-yang. His sudden interest in school activities didn't harm his position as the most thugged-out white boy I'd ever met.
My recent purchase of a demonic man-magnet kept my visits with Dougie brief, but the allure had diminished over time, thanks to the recognition exercises Angie had taught me. As practiced, I corralled all the memories of Dougie and pushed them to the forefront before Lilith had a chance to pounce. Since my draw didn't work on virgins, Jason Lao wouldn't be a threat until he was thirty.
Dougie tipped his chin in greeting. “Yo, SNM, what's good?”
“Same old,” I replied.
His smile faded as he locked eyes on Mia again. “What are you doing here? I thought you had second lunch.”
“I'm just talking to Sam.” Mia wrapped her arm around me possessively.
He nodded. “So, how you been? You a'ight?”
After undressing him with her eyes, Mia stammered, “Good. I mean, I-I'm good.”
Dougie did some visible disrobing himself, his hazel eyes twinkled with longing. My head panned to our growing audience. Everyone at the table stopped eating to watch the action like it was the Thursday night lineup. This table had seen more action within the past five minutes than it had in all four years of school.
Suffering a long and thoroughly awkward silence, Dougie spoke up. “Listen, what are ya'll doing for Halloween? We should try to do something. It's our last year and I miss hanging out.” He stared at Mia with a look that almost broke my heart. “We used to have fun.”
I turned to Mia, my invisible pom-poms waving in the air, encouraging her to make a move. She worried her bottom lip as she searched the cafeteria for a reply. “Well, I just—”
“There you are. I was looking all over for you.” A short girl clung to Dougie's arm, and slaughtered any trace of hope. At first glance, I could tell she was one of those high-maintenance girls who usually had small dogs hiding somewhere in their purses. She used her X-ray vision to size up Mia, then rose to her tiptoes and planted a kiss on Dougie's cheek. “Dougie, I wanna go eat now.”
Say what?
I was ten seconds away from snatching those extensions off that chick's head. Nobody, and I mean nobody called Douglas Emerson III “Dougie” but us. It was official law, and no one dared transgress and expect to survive.
Mia had the same reaction, but she hid it well under a guise of cool. I knew that look of deadly calm, a look that usually preceded bloodshed and a police report. Mia may not have known karate or kung fu, but she had mastered the ancient art of
kut-a-bitch
at an early age.
Dougie squirmed away from his arm candy. “I told you not to call me that.”
The girl pouted. “Why? It's so cute.”
“ 'Cause only special people call him that,” I answered through gritted teeth.
Little Buffy narrowed her eyes at me. “Well, I'm special. Aren't I, Dougie?”
The bell chimed on Mia's side of the ring. Rising to her feet, she rounded on her target. “Obviously not if he told you to stop, and obviously not if you continue to ignore him. You don't know him like that to use the title.”
Resting her head on his shoulder, the girl caressed Dougie's chest. “Oh, I know him
real
well. Don't I,
Dougie?
”
The suggestion did not go overlooked by Mia or anyone else in the cafeteria. Heads whipped in our direction, mouths dropped, and Jason's pen rapidly scribbled away at his notepad. And Dougie just stood there sporting a mask of dumb, neither confirming nor denying the claim.
Mia's gaze iced over as she stared at the couple in front of her. “Nice seeing you, Douglas. But let's not do it again.” Like the Hollywood starlets of old, Mia lifted her chin in the air and brushed past them, preceding her graceful exit—stage left.
Dougie turned to me, almost pleading. “Sam, I—”
“I'm staying out of this. You had your chance to say something and you didn't. Besides, you have your hands full. Good luck with that.” I patted him on the shoulder, gathered my stuff, then met up with Mia at the double doors.
Though both parties had agreed to see other people, Mia hadn't expected Dougie to adhere to that contract. Mia had never told me what happened that caused the big break, but I had a feeling that that “something” had to do with little Miss Clingy. I figured Mia would tell me in her own time. Telling by her robotic walk and stiff shoulders, today wasn't it.
“So, Dougie's trying to date my body double? He should know that nothing can replace the original,” Mia grumbled with a taught jaw.
“Didn't
you
break it off with him?”
“That's not the point. You don't date one girl and then go try to find her designer knockoff. He could at least own the decency to upgrade.” She put on a brave front, but the heavy bags under her eyes revealed worry and fatigue.
“Mia, you sure you're okay? You've been acting strange lately.”
“I'm fine. Just haven't been sleeping, that's all.”
“You would tell me if there was something wrong, wouldn't you?”
“As much as you would tell me.” Her gaze met mine for a moment, drilling her point home.
The events of the summer had put a veil of awkwardness between us that we couldn't remove. I had to choose my words carefully; every action, every excuse ran through a censoring filter, so I thought it better to say nothing.
We stopped in front of her physics class when Mr. McNamara snatched open the door. “Good of you to rejoin us for the last five minutes of class, Miss Moralez,” he barked, his sunken brown eyes narrowed in accusation.

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