Call Me Grim by Elizabeth Holloway Page A

with his hands sunk deep in his pockets and his eyes locked on mine, burning a hole through my skull. He’s pissed off, but what really concerns me is his soul.
    It still glows way brighter than mine, but the line that I thought was a trick of the light yesterday is now a thick, jagged black fissure that starts in the middle of his forehead and zigzags over the bridge of his nose. It doesn’t compare to the hairline crack in Mrs. Lutz’s face. Kyle’s is much wider and uglier.
    Kyle is marked—whatever that means—and what’s showing through the inch-wide break in his soul is foul and black and festering.
    He scowls as he approaches and pushes by me without a word.
    “What’s wrong with you?” I say. Does being marked mean you’re angry? Somehow, I think there’s more to it than that. He’s definitely angry, but my mom was angry the night I left Max alone in the house and her soul didn’t look like this.
    Kyle’s back stiffens and he stops walking.
    “I don’t know, Libbi!” He whirls around and scorches me with his eyes again. “What’s your problem?”
    “You’re the one hiding behind trees and avoiding me, not the other way around.”
    “You could’ve fooled me.” He reaches in his back pocket for his drumsticks. The black sludge inside his mark pulses.
    “What the hell are you talking about, Kyle? I’m not avoiding you.”
    “Oh, yeah? Well, first, you were being all bitchy.” He holds up a hand to count off my offenses on his fingers. “Then you refused to talk to me. You kicked me off your front porch yesterday. And last night you were supposed to come to the Battle of the Bands, like you promised, and you didn’t. I mean, what the fuck, Libs? What am I supposed to think?”
    Oh my God, I forgot his show. I fell asleep on the couch last night and slept right through it. And I’ve been so wrapped up in Aaron and my impending demise, I didn’t remember that I’d forgotten. No wonder he’s pissed. I suck as a friend.
    “Oh, Kyle, I’m so sorry.” I take a tentative step toward him. “Did you win, at least?”
    “No.” He doesn’t back away, but he beats his leg furiously with one stick and his eyes remain as dark as the stuff showing through that jagged mark. “You’re my good luck charm, Libs. Of course we didn’t win.”
    “I’m sorry for missing the show. For everything. I wanted to come. I just couldn’t.”
    “What’s going on with you?” A spark of warmth and concern flickers in his eyes.
    “Nothing,” I say, and the spark vanishes. His eyes chill and he starts to turn away. “I mean, something. But it’s no big deal.”
    “Bullshit, Libs. I’ve known you since the second grade. Something’s up, and you need to tell me what it is.”
    I can’t lie to him anymore. He’ll know if I lie. But I can’t tell him the complete truth, either, so I settle for the safe middle ground and hope it’s enough to make the angry split in his soul disappear again.
    “I didn’t come to the show last night because I fell asleep on the couch. I hadn’t slept in two days. Mom and I had a fight about babysitting. It was stupid. But this morning she said Ms. Lena could babysit if I ever needed a break. So it’s all okay now.” I smile, but it’s not okay.
    Ms. Lena might babysit Max a lot after today, but not because I call her. I fight hard against the lump in my throat. Hot tears shimmer in the corners of my eyes, but I hold the reassuring smile.
    “That’s it?” His lips press together and form a tight line. “That’s why you’ve been distracted and jumpy and nasty lately?”
    “That about sums it up.”
    He shuffles his feet against the sidewalk and looks over my shoulder down the lane. A frown bunches the skin of his forehead together.
    “Then who’s this Aaron guy Max told me about?”
    I cringe and instantly wish I hadn’t. The name coming from Kyle’s mouth sounds like a swear word. The black stuff within his mark boils.
    “He’s just some new guy at