elementary school shit, but she doesn’t move away. It’s been over a week since the cops stopped us, but we haven’t kissed again or even really talked about it. We’ve spent a lot of time together, but all in the company of our friends. Still, the thing with the cops was so threatening and bizarre and unexplained, it made kissing seem kind of childish. For the moment, at least.
“At least you can’t see the scar,” I say.
Jared’s hands have helped the stitches already come out, but without slabs of make-up, there’s still a hoof-made gash in my face. It’ll heal more, I know, but the scar ain’t going anywhere.
“It’s going to be fine,” Mel says. “Once the redness is gone, it might even look kind of amazing.”
“Nobody really sees scars after the first time,” Henna says. “Not anyone who matters, anyway.”
“Yeah,” I say, flatly, “people who make fun of my face probably aren’t my friends.”
Henna reaches up and traces her fingers lightly over it, running down from the tip below my cheekbone, over the wider part on the flat of my cheek, to the little curlicue on the side of my chin. “It’s still you,” she says. “Everyone will be able to see
you
.”
She keeps her fingers there for a second. Yeah, I really want to kiss her again.
“Um,” the scraggly man says, back at the main counter while his prescription gets filled. “Could I get a pack of Marlboro?”
Mel grabs a pack off the rows of cancer-addled faces and tumoured lungs in the racks behind her and rings it up. The man is still so obviously shy of us, he fumbles with his money, dropping a five-dollar bill on the ground. I lean to get it, but Henna’s better placed. She lifts it up to him.
“I know you,” the man whispers, not looking her in the face. He slides the five plus another ten at my sister.
“You do?” Henna asks.
The man looks at her once, then away again, shyly. “Teemu,” he says.
Henna slumps like her clothes suddenly weigh an extra hundred pounds. “Erik?” she says. “Erik Peddersen?”
The scraggly man nods.
“Oh, Jesus,” Henna says, under her breath, but out of surprise, not scorn. The scraggly man blushes anyway.
“Strange shit going on,” he says, still not making eye contact.
“I don’t think it’s vampires,” Henna says.
“No,” Erik says, firmly. “They’d have come for me if it was.”
There’s an empty, silent moment, where no one’s blinking and Erik is obviously growing more uncomfortable. Then “Number Nine,” says the voice of Pratip, the pharmacist, over the loudspeaker, and Erik immediately heads off without looking at us again. We watch him go.
“Friend of your brother’s?” Mel gently asks.
“In his band,” Henna says. “Haven’t seen him since it all ended. Guess he had a hard time coping.”
She pulls her good arm into herself, almost visibly shrinking. I put my own arm around her, and she leans into me. I kind of hate myself for thinking how nice it is.
“That won’t be us,” Mel says, meaning Erik. “Whatever happens, that’s not going to be us.”
And she says it like she’s demanding a promise.
“Your sister is like a cute little robot,” Tina, our manager, says. “I just want to eat her right up.”
Meredith sits alone at a booth in Grillers. Jared’s piled the table in front of her – the part not covered in homework and school hardware – with enough cheesy toast and blueberry lemonade to ruin every Jazz & Tap class she’s ever taken.
“I want a kid,” Tina says, looking at her hungrily from the waitress station.
“Get one from Ronald,” Jared says, stealing a fry from a plate.
“He’s
infertile
.” She whispers it louder than her normal speaking voice.
“You should adopt,” Jared says. “Adoption is a moral good.”
Tina makes a face. “Yeah, because Ronald’s exactly the kind of guy who makes a good impression on a social worker.” She sighs, looking around Grillers. “Grumpy night. Everyone’s
“At least you can’t see the scar,” I say.
Jared’s hands have helped the stitches already come out, but without slabs of make-up, there’s still a hoof-made gash in my face. It’ll heal more, I know, but the scar ain’t going anywhere.
“It’s going to be fine,” Mel says. “Once the redness is gone, it might even look kind of amazing.”
“Nobody really sees scars after the first time,” Henna says. “Not anyone who matters, anyway.”
“Yeah,” I say, flatly, “people who make fun of my face probably aren’t my friends.”
Henna reaches up and traces her fingers lightly over it, running down from the tip below my cheekbone, over the wider part on the flat of my cheek, to the little curlicue on the side of my chin. “It’s still you,” she says. “Everyone will be able to see
you
.”
She keeps her fingers there for a second. Yeah, I really want to kiss her again.
“Um,” the scraggly man says, back at the main counter while his prescription gets filled. “Could I get a pack of Marlboro?”
Mel grabs a pack off the rows of cancer-addled faces and tumoured lungs in the racks behind her and rings it up. The man is still so obviously shy of us, he fumbles with his money, dropping a five-dollar bill on the ground. I lean to get it, but Henna’s better placed. She lifts it up to him.
“I know you,” the man whispers, not looking her in the face. He slides the five plus another ten at my sister.
“You do?” Henna asks.
The man looks at her once, then away again, shyly. “Teemu,” he says.
Henna slumps like her clothes suddenly weigh an extra hundred pounds. “Erik?” she says. “Erik Peddersen?”
The scraggly man nods.
“Oh, Jesus,” Henna says, under her breath, but out of surprise, not scorn. The scraggly man blushes anyway.
“Strange shit going on,” he says, still not making eye contact.
“I don’t think it’s vampires,” Henna says.
“No,” Erik says, firmly. “They’d have come for me if it was.”
There’s an empty, silent moment, where no one’s blinking and Erik is obviously growing more uncomfortable. Then “Number Nine,” says the voice of Pratip, the pharmacist, over the loudspeaker, and Erik immediately heads off without looking at us again. We watch him go.
“Friend of your brother’s?” Mel gently asks.
“In his band,” Henna says. “Haven’t seen him since it all ended. Guess he had a hard time coping.”
She pulls her good arm into herself, almost visibly shrinking. I put my own arm around her, and she leans into me. I kind of hate myself for thinking how nice it is.
“That won’t be us,” Mel says, meaning Erik. “Whatever happens, that’s not going to be us.”
And she says it like she’s demanding a promise.
“Your sister is like a cute little robot,” Tina, our manager, says. “I just want to eat her right up.”
Meredith sits alone at a booth in Grillers. Jared’s piled the table in front of her – the part not covered in homework and school hardware – with enough cheesy toast and blueberry lemonade to ruin every Jazz & Tap class she’s ever taken.
“I want a kid,” Tina says, looking at her hungrily from the waitress station.
“Get one from Ronald,” Jared says, stealing a fry from a plate.
“He’s
infertile
.” She whispers it louder than her normal speaking voice.
“You should adopt,” Jared says. “Adoption is a moral good.”
Tina makes a face. “Yeah, because Ronald’s exactly the kind of guy who makes a good impression on a social worker.” She sighs, looking around Grillers. “Grumpy night. Everyone’s
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