The Dream Where the Losers Go (15 page)

“That was so good,” she mumbled. Staring down at her empty hands, she felt her eyes begin to water. Was she starting to cry? But why?

“I thought you’d like it,” beamed Tammy. “In fact, I brought you another one.”

“Two?” squeaked Skey. “But I’ll get fat.”

Tammy leaned forward in her chair. “You are going to turn into a
genius
, girl,” she said dramatically.

One complete tear slid down Skey’s cheek. “You think?” she whispered.

“I
know
,” Tammy said solemnly.

Skey reached for it.

A
S
S
KEY’S ENGLISH
class made its way to the library, she developed suspicions. When Group D assembled around a table and she got a clear look, they were confirmed.

“You’re on something,” she hissed.

Across the table, Brenda’s eyes widened as Lick turned enlarged pupils languidly toward Skey. For once he didn’t flush, just gave her a funny little grin.

“Are you going to be able to do any work?” For a reason she couldn’t quite grasp, Skey was furious. Absolutely, no holds barred, mind-searingly furious.

“Nope,” said Lick, looking at her calmly.

“Just how are we going to get this done?” demanded Skey. “We have to present on Wednesday, in case you forgot.”

Waving a vague hand, Lick settled his head onto the table.

“You shit,” hissed Skey.

Without opening his eyes, Lick mumbled something.

“What?” snapped Skey.

This time Lick enunciated loudly. “Isn’t your boyfriend the school’s main supplier?” he asked thickly.

Brenda was getting a great deal out of this conversation.

“How much did you take?” demanded Skey.

Lick managed a few more mumbles, then drifted off to sleep. Still furious, Skey stared at his orange-red head. This had to have something to do with the weird Bic connection that had happened to them in homeroom. She didn’t understand it either, but she hadn’t dived into chemical oblivion
to try to handle it. Picking up her thickest, most important book, Skey slammed it down next to Lick’s head. Instantly he sprang erect, a red table-smudge on his cheek. All over the library, students turned to stare.

“Get up,” snapped Skey.

“Huh?” asked Lick.

“I said,” hissed Skey, “get up.” Standing, she reached for his arm and Lick pulled back, half-sliding off his chair. His large pupils met her small focused ones. He stood.

“We are going,” said Skey, “for a walk. This way.” She made as if she was about to touch him and Lick moved immediately in the direction she was pointing, away from the open mouths of Group D and through the library exit. Out in the hall it was quiet, every other student in class, only a janitor here and there. Tight and tense, Skey strode down the corridor while Lick ambled along at her side.

“Where are we going?” he asked.

“We are going to walk this off,” she said.

“Huh?” he demanded.

“You don’t get to sit in La La Land while I do all the work,” she said.

“Since when have you done homework?” he asked in open astonishment.

Skey’s temperature soared. “How many of those stupid thick books did I read to you yesterday?” she fumed. “Half a library? You think I did that for fun?”

Lick snorted. “I know what you do for fun.”

Skey shoved him. Immediately he stepped back, his arms rising defensively. Skey stepped back too, then stood staring at her hands. They felt as if they were throbbing with darkness, and when she looked up again, the dark tunnel was closing in.

“You pushed me,” whimpered the boy.

She stared eagerly toward his voice, straining to see through the darkness, to see him.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

“Names are secrets,” he said.

“Don’t you remember anything from the other side?” she asked.

“I don’t want to remember,” he said.

“Yes, you do,” she said. “When I helped you, you remembered summer, and sky, and green, and autumn leaves.”

“I remember you nagging me,” he said.

“Please remember something,” she said. “Please.”

Abruptly, the school hall faded back in, vivid with light, and Skey found herself backed into the wall opposite Lick. They stared at each other.

In her pocket, the rock pulsed.

“It happened again,” whispered Lick. “Blackout.”

“You don’t remember any of it?” asked Skey.

“No,” he said.

A bitter frustration rose in her. “Get walking,” she snapped.

“Ms. Fleck will notice we’re gone,” he said.

“She’s marking papers in the classroom,” said Skey.

Lick’s shoulders caved.

“No fun time for bad boys,” said Skey. “C’mon, get your ass moving.”

“You left your cattle prod at home,” grumbled Lick. Putting out a hand, he began to feel his way along the wall.

T
HEY WALKED THE
rest of the class in silence, then returned to the library to pick up their books. Without a word, Skey
left for her next class. How they were going to complete their assignment by Wednesday, she hadn’t a clue. Shakespeare be damned.

She emerged from her last class to find Pedro waiting at her locker. “C’mon,” he said. “Jigger’s waiting.”

A blood-red churn started in Skey’s gut. “Yeah yeah,” she said. “I’m coming.”

Pedro played percussion on her locker door while she grabbed her jacket and books. As they began to walk down the hall, he took her arm. When Skey pulled back, he tightened his grip. “Let go of me,” she said, but he walked faster, pulling her along. She had to half-run to keep up. Exiting the school through the nearest door, they crossed the street, then turned in behind a large apartment building.

Jigger, Trevor and Balfour stood waiting. Pressed against the building wall was Lick.

Skey dropped her books. “No,” she cried, lunging forward, but Pedro grabbed her arm and wrapped her in a bear hug. “Jigger, no,” she pleaded, struggling. “It’s not sex, it’s nothing. Please leave him alone.”

“This guy’s name is Brenda?” demanded Jigger, tossing his cigarette.

Against the wall, Lick was muttering swear words, his eyes strangely unfocused.

“We were just working on Shakespeare,” Skey begged. “I was scared that if I told you, you would hurt him. Nothing happened. Please don’t do anything to him, Jigger. Please.”

With another incoherent mumble, Lick raised a hand as if feeling for something in the air. Eyes narrowed, Jigger hissed incredulously, then launched himself. Behind him, Trevor and Balfour closed in. After that, Skey didn’t see or hear anything except her own screaming. Pedro clapped a
hand over her mouth, but she fought until he pushed her to the ground and sat on her. Finally she saw the three boys pull back, leaving Lick crumpled on the ground.

He wasn’t moving, and she could see blood. Slowly Pedro got off her, and she began crawling toward Lick, but was abruptly lifted into the air and carried toward Jigger’s car. Then she was shoved into the front seat and the car immediately pulled away from the curb. Desperately she twisted around to get one last glimpse, but Balfour pulled her back and slapped her face. Grim and quiet, Jigger drove with the radio off, turning the car finally down an isolated street in the industrial sector. He parked and a heavy silence settled onto the car, a silence torn and tortured by the coming and going of wind.

She couldn’t find any tunnels. Though she screamed for them in her head, no tunnels came to save her from this. Softly, without looking at her, Jigger began to speak.

“There’s something you’ve got to learn,” he said. “You’ve been gone a while, so I guess you’ve forgotten how things are. How the Dragons run things. How we stick together. You forget that?”

“No,” she whispered.

“Dragons don’t stick with outsiders,” he said. “Dragons keep to their own kind. Everyone else is prey. You remember your vow?”

“Yes,” she whispered. She remembered it clearly: candles, the dark, the Dragons standing in a tight circle.

“You remember giving blood?” asked Jigger. “How we all became one blood?”

It had only been fingertips, but still her stomach lurched, remembering. “Yes,” she whispered.

“We’ll overlook it this time,” said Jigger. “The way you gave time to an outsider. To prey.”

“It was an English project,” Skey protested. “We were just...”

“Shut up!” yelled Jigger. “You do school shit in school time, not Sunday afternoons. When’s the last time you spent a Sunday with me, bitch?”

Head down, Skey cowered. “You said you didn’t want them to know about you,” she whispered.

He pulled his voice down with obvious effort, hanging onto the edge of calm. “So you don’t go spending the time you owe me with some
loser
,” he hissed.

“I love you, Jigger,” Skey said. “All my love’s yours, you know that.”

She sat, trembling as Jigger pulled in ragged breaths on one side and Balfour pressed in on the other. Behind her hunched Trevor and Pedro, Dragons all around, breathing fire, hunting prey.

“You’re mine,” Jigger said finally. “All mine, Skey. Every minute of your life, every word you say, everything you do, every thought you have in your pretty little
stupid
head—all of it’s mine. You got that?”

She nodded.

“More than that,” he said, “you belong to the Dragons. To all of us. Dragons are soul mates, they tune together and become one mind. We’re like one person here, that’s how it works. You belong to Balfour, just like me. You belong to Trevor, just like me. Pedro, just like me. Whenever we call you, any one of us—even the girls—whenever any one of the Dragons tells you to do something, you do it. You got that?”

All feeling drained out of her. Cold, everywhere she was cold.

“I said,” Jigger repeated slowly, “you got that?”

She nodded.

“Let me hear you say it,” he said.

“I got it,” she said quietly.

“Mark of ownership,” he said. “Trevor.”

At Jigger’s cue, Trevor leaned over the back seat, turned Skey’s chin to face him and kissed her full on the mouth. She gasped, pulling back, but Balfour’s hands came up to hold her head in place.

“Pedro,” said Jigger.

Pedro kissed her hard, forcing her mouth open with his tongue.

“Balfour,” said Jigger.

Balfour pulled her in, kissing so long and hard she started to choke.

“C’mere,” said Jigger and kissed her gently as tears ran down her face. “Skey, Skey,” he whispered. “Remember you’re mine. I run this pack. The Dragons won’t hunt you as long as you do what I say.”

“Jigs,” said Trevor from the backseat. “It’s twenty after four.”

“Shit,” hissed Jigger and took off in a squeal of tires. Leaning forward, Balfour began to play with the radio dial, and Skey felt the gang ease off: The problem had been dealt with, they were cruising the land and the tunes. Turning into the street that led to the lockup, Jigger parked two blocks from the gate and let the engine idle. From the backseat, Pedro handed Skey’s books to Balfour.

“One more thing,” said Jigger, turning toward her. “We gave you an assignment. Night Games. Give us an update.”

“It’s impossible,” whispered Skey. Fear whined shrilly in her head. “There’s no way I can get a key.”

“You get it anyway,” said Jigger. “Friday, two AM, you let us in. Give us a kiss.”

He bent toward her and their lips met. With a sneer, Balfour dumped her books in her lap, then got out and held the door open.

“Better hurry,” said Jigger, “or you’ll be late.” He smiled at her, the same Jigger smile he always wore. Or was it? Inside Skey’s head, something tore sharply. She whimpered and closed her eyes, waiting for the pain to subside.

“See you tomorrow,” said Jigger. “Eight twenty at the usual spot.”

She slid out of the car, her legs wobbling as Balfour brushed her with his hip. Behind her the engine idled, the gang watching motionless as she walked the two full blocks to the lockup. The black iron gate loomed, arms reaching to take her in. As she stepped toward it, one loud rev sounded behind her, and then she was through the gate and out of their sight.

C
HAPTER
T
WELVE

T
ERRY OPENED THE SIDE ENTRANCE
door and gave Skey a wide grin. “So,” she said. “What color are you fee—”

Stepping inside, Skey leaned against the wall. She felt dizzy. Her face was smudged with tears and her jacket torn.

“What happened?” asked Terry.

“The bus was crowded,” mumbled Skey. “This guy kept grabbing me. I
hate
it when guys grab me. I
hate
it.”

Terry made as if to pat her arm, but Skey flinched. Mind racing, she tried to figure out how to fend off all possible questions. “I punched him before I got off,” she said quickly. “In the gut. He tore my jacket, but I got him back.”

“C’mon up to the unit,” Terry said comfortingly, “and I’ll make you some cranberry tea.”

The staircase seemed longer than usual. At the second landing, darkness came at her in a swoop, and she grabbed Terry’s arm for support.

“I’m putting you to bed,” said Terry, pressing a hand to Skey’s forehead. “You feel warmish. Go put on your pj’s, and I’ll bring you that tea.”

Gratefully, Skey crossed the unit and closed her door. Then she turned on her radio. Only one and a half songs and Lick was the main news item. “Police are investigating the beating of a male teen by peers at Wellright Collegiate late this afternoon,” said the announcer. “The victim was found unconscious and bleeding and was taken to hospital where he is thought to be in critical condition. His name has not been released. This incident may be connected to a string of gay-bashing incidents in the city...”

“No,” Skey whispered. Leaning against her window, she watched the elm’s thin branches shift with the wind. Each branch moved differently, the inside of her head blowing in a thousand different directions. A knock sounded on her door and she switched off her radio.

“You’re supposed to be in bed,” said Terry, opening the door. “It’s cold by that window.”

Skey slid listlessly between the sheets. “What does critical condition mean?” she asked into her pillow.