Song of Teeth 1: The First Voice (2 page)

Dropping his keys in the hideous ceramic bowl he had made in first grade, Mark called out, "Hey, I'm home. Anyone here?"

No one answered, but he heard the creak of his brother's steps in the hallway and the careless thud of the bathroom door closing. Sighing at what he knew would be a long wait for the shower; Mark went to the kitchen to make himself a sandwich. There was just enough peanut butter left for one or two more sandwiches-he would have to remember to pick some up tomorrow. He could barely taste that sweet earthiness that he loved over the scent of burnt hamburger clinging to his nostrils.

After nearly 20 minutes, Mark heard a flush, the bathroom door click open, and his brother creaked in. Maybe because he had always been so tall and gaunt, Jacob always twisted and stooped as low as possible when he walked, barely lifting his feet, as if he was embarrassed to take up any space.

"Hey," he muttered to Mark as he shuffled to the refrigerator. A sickly, oily sweetness wafted after him.

"Ugh, Jake, have you been smoking again?" Mark wrinkled his nose. "You reek."

"Yeah, well, so do you." Jacob grabbed a sports drink and chugged the entire bottle while holding the refrigerator door open. "'Sides, it keeps me relaxed."

Mark snorted. "What, relaxed from all that school and work you don't have?" Jacob ignored him.

The doorbell rang. Mark got up to answer it, since Jacob was very skilled at ignoring everything around him when it was inconvenient.

At the door was a petite woman whose heavy makeup could not hide the weariness tugging down her eyelids and cheeks. Her lustrous black hair was carelessly knotted back, and she balanced a silent, plump baby on her hip.

"Hey, Mark. Jake here?"

"Hi, Maria." Mark held open the door. "Yeah, he's in the kitchen." The baby stared hugely at his taut ginger curls as they passed by, as always. Mark was used to the odd looks, being the only one of his family who had inherited the trait. "How's little Robbie?" he asked.

The baby wriggled his arms at the sound of his own name, but Maria looked too tired to stop and talk. "Roberto's fine, thanks," she said without turning her head. Anticipating an angry conversation he would not want to overhear, Mark hurried to the shower.

Even through the rush of the water, Mark could still hear the swells of voices, distorted hollow and harsh through the tiles. Even Robbie, normally so quiet, started wailing. The cry trilled sharp and high like a distant, lonely bird. As Mark finished his shower and reached for a towel, the front door slammed so hard the medicine cabinet shuddered, and then silence squatted over the house.

On his way down the hall, Jacob walked past him, muttering. "Crazy bitch. What does she want me to do? It's her baby." He wasn't looking at Mark, but slowed down, apparently pausing for validation.

"Uh, well, it's yours too," was all Mark could think of saying. Jacob hunched even lower and opened his mouth in a scowl, but faltered at words. For a moment, he looked so ungainly and awkward, like a lost gosling, that Mark felt a bitter wave of protection sweep over him. But he had nothing comforting to say to his brother, and Jacob stomped away to his bedroom.

Mark collapsed on his bed and did not bother fighting against the exhaustion that quickly pulled down heavily on every muscle. He did not even hear his mother come home from her late shift, as he usually would. Crossing into sleep, his thoughts unspooled in a tangle: his brother's childishly frightened, bloodshot eyes; Maria's dull glitter; tiny Roberto's patient wonderment; and especially the wild-haired girl striding around corners, twisting around to gaze back at him, her eyes flashing over and over.

A CRUEL BEAM of late morning sunlight pierced Mark's eyes as he rushed around the edge of the library door. How could he have forgotten to print off his report yesterday? He feverishly hoped he had arrived early enough in the lunch period that he wouldn't have to wait for a computer. Too many times had he seen his brother in this position and give up; the memory of Jacob's despondency last night only made Mark more anxious.

With a simultaneous lurch of relief and nervousness, he saw one computer open: next to the girl from the alley. Although she still wore plain jeans and a tee shirt, today they were clean and stylish-a detail he would never usually notice. He sat down and logged on, looking from the corner of his eye for any reaction from her. She stared at her screen, clicking swiftly through websites, apparently oblivious to the fact that another person was even sitting beside her. A cold sliver ran through Mark's chest-relief? Insult?-When he realized that he had turned and stared directly at her. She must really think he was invading her privacy now. He cleared his throat politely.

"Hi. Um, look, I didn't mean to stare at you yesterday at the cafe. I'm sorry."

The girl stopped briefly and studied him with a sideways look. Mark tried to imagine how his freckled, timid smile might appear to her. "Yeah, all right," she said, turning back to her research.

Mark tried to focus on his computer again, running mindlessly through his report, sending it to the printer. But now he had seen those eyes close up-thickest brown with specks of gold-and he could not concentrate. He couldn't sit there and say nothing.

"I'm Mark, by the way."

For a moment, she hesitated, and he was sure she would ignore him. Then she turned fully towards him and extended her hand. "I'm Tatiana."

He involuntarily grinned as they shook hands, noting the smooth dryness of her palms contrasting the rough scrape of her fingertips. "Can I ask what you're working on?"

She shrugged. "Just some personal reading."

"Oh. I just caught a glimpse of a lizard, and thought maybe it was a biology project or something." Tatiana started to scrunch her lips to the side and frown. "By accident! I wasn't trying to pry."

She relaxed. "It's just some old legend about crocodiles living underneath the city. Nothing anyone else finds interesting."

Mark thought he could detect a hint of blush beneath her skin. "Is it less interesting than old diaries and letters from history? Because no one understands why I love reading that stuff, but I'm fine admitting I'm an old man."

For the first time, Tatiana smiled. Heat rushed to Mark's face, which he knew must glare through his pale skin, which made his blood even hotter. If she noticed, Tatiana pretended not to show it.

"Maybe we should swap old people stories someday," she said.

"How about this afternoon? We can meet after school at the cafe from yesterday and start over." The words came from some other part of Mark's brain that he could not seem to control. He was never able to speak with girls so directly.

Crossing her arms and leaning back, Tatiana gazed intently at him for several long seconds, searching for any sign of insincerity. Her face was so smooth and blank; Mark began to be afraid that he had said exactly the wrong thing.

Instead, she finally said, "Yeah, all right. I don't know about you, Old Man Mark, and I kind of like that."

Mark could only flush even redder, which she acknowledged with a mischievous smile before she left.

MARK STARED intently into the clear whirls of melting ice in his vanilla coffee, sipping so slowly he imagined tasting the minutes themselves. Yet, his heart insisted on beating faster and faster the more he tried to slow down time. She would not come. Why would she come, when all he had done from her perspective was stare at her too much? The coffee dissolved paler and paler.

Then, a soft cough across the table, and he finally looked up.

"Hi." Tatiana dropped her backpack on a chair with a solid clang and sat down.

"Hi. Um, would you like a coffee?"

She shook her head. An awkward pause started swelling over the table, but she quickly broke it. "I know that kid you were with yesterday, Aaron. I'm surprised you guys are friends."

"Oh, why's that?"

"Just doesn't seem to fit. He's always talking and messing with the lab equipment in my biology class. Every time the teacher says 'organism' he says 'orgasm'-
every time
. I mean, he's no worse than half the boys in school, but you two seem like you would clash a lot. No offense. Maybe you guys are best pals or something, I don't know."

Looking down at the table to hide his smile, Mark replied, "Aaron can be very... animated, as my mother used to call him. He'd kill me if he heard me say it, but he's actually a softie. We've been friends since third grade."

"Ah." Tatiana gazed off in silence at a pigeon strolling by. Conversation was obviously not one of her strengths. This only endeared her more to Mark, who was often the quiet one among his friends.

"So, I want to hear more about these crocodile legends. Is that what you were reading earlier?"

"Yeah. And about fossils. That 'lizard' you saw was actually a drawing of an extinct ancient crocodile. There are a bunch of stories about crocodiles living in the sewers here, even some really old stories from when the city was built, and a lot of the stories sound like they're describing this one type of crocodile, but it was supposed to have gone extinct thousands of years ago..." Tatiana trailed off, realizing she had started waving her hands in distraction, and sat back in her chair. "Anyway, you're probably not interested in anything like that."

As she had been speaking, her already bright face had flushed with an intensity he couldn't remember seeing in anyone before. That she had stopped so suddenly almost made him physically ache. "No, keep going. Like I said, I'm kind of a nerd for history and legends. What do the stories say?"

"Well, I was just reading this one today from way back when Archopolis was just a little village in the woods. Like, when the Spanish were just settling this area. This lady said she went to the spring where they got their water, and got bitten by a baby crocodile when she was filling her jar. Except this wasn't like the normal crocodiles around here-she swore it had no color, clear almost, and it had little hands that it used to grab onto her fingers. There are a lot of stories kind of like that, too. Crocs with no color, walking up on their legs like dogs, using their hands, weird stuff like that."

"Huh. So, you think these stories might be real? That they were talking about some kind of ancient crocodile that was supposed to be extinct?"

Tatiana turned her face down, embarrassed again. "You just think it's stupid. Everyone does."

"No!" Mark instinctively reached out to touch her knee, then immediately pulled his hand back. "I don't think it's stupid. I mean, I don't know. I've just started reading some of Archopolis' history myself. I didn't know they had built the whole city on top of where the old city flooded. Some of the accounts I've been reading mentioned myths about crocodiles or lizards or whatever, but I figured they were just superstitions, like pet alligators getting flushed down people's toilets and living in the sewers."

Tatiana tapped her finger on the table and pulled her lips tight in thought. Tentatively, she asked, "Did you know you can still go down in some parts of the old city?"

Mark sat up straighter. "Really? I thought it was all blocked off."

"Well, not if you know the way in. Would...would you like to go?"

"Yeah, of course! But how do you know the way?"

She shrugged. "I don't remember. I've been exploring the underground since I was a kid. It's kind of my hobby. Hey, what's your number?"

Caught off guard, Mark recited his number without question while Tatiana typed on her phone. A second later, his phone buzzed.