Blood Orange Soda: Paranormal Romance (13 page)

“Hey, buddy,” Jack says, tapping the veins.

She beams a smile at me. “You’re home early.”

“Yeah, we’re gonna jam this afternoon,” I say. “You working tonight?”

“I’m leaving in a few minutes,” Mom says. “Jack’s prepping for my transfusion tomorrow.”

“You got blood, Jack?” I ask.

“I bribed a Vamp who bribed another guy.”

“Great, so tomorrow we’ll give Mom fresh blood, and hopefully she’ll feel better,” I say, and then I accidentally add, “And if we see progress, then...”

“Then what?” Mom asks.

“Then we pray for a miracle,” I say.

Mom sighs. “I’ve been praying for a long time. I’d welcome additional prayers,” she says to Jack and me.

He fiddles with his equipment and glances up at me, knowing that I almost slipped.

“How about we do the blood transfusion at my apartment tomorrow night? You can all spend the night so I can keep an eye on you, Virginia,” Jack says. “Darius and Kira can sleep over and watch movies.”

“Fine with me,” Mom says.

“What do you think, Darius?” Jack asks.

“Yeah, I’m totally for it. And we need to work on my self-defense moves. I have a fight coming up.”

Mom sits up, pulling her arm from Jack. “Another fight?”

“With Bao, the bully I told you about.”

“You’ve
arranged
a fight with him?” she asks.

“Yeah, I had to get him off my back until I’m stronger. You’ll help me train, right?” I say to Jack.

“Of course I will. When is this fight?”

“Absolutely not!” Mom protests. “You’re not fighting that bully again!”

Jack comes to my rescue. “Virginia, there comes a time when a boy has to defend himself.”

After surviving all those middle school beatings that my mom never knew about, I agree with Jack. I have to prove that I can defend myself. “This is one of those times.”

“When is this fight?” Mom asks.

This time I’m less dramatic about it, because I can see my mom’s upset about the idea. “Halloween night.”

“Isn’t that the night of Shelby’s Transformation Party?” Mom says.

“I suppose so,” I shrug. “Fights are usually late at night.”

I leave the family room and walk down into the basement, listening to them whispering in German about this news. Mom is animated, and obviously concerned for my safety. All I’m thinking about is that amazing kiss.

Weezer is totally in the zone tonight. He warms up, shredding his strings with “Purple Haze” and Angel rocks her drums and I scream the lyrics. Angel and I exchange glances because we are both in awe of Weezer’s talent. He’s far better than our basement band, and someday he’ll move on to bigger music venues than parties or battle of the bands contests.

Shelby is sitting curled on a futon, watching us, with her foot tapping to the rhythm of my bass lines. She’s enjoying this, and if she’s any indication of how other students will respond, we could do well at the school talent show, which is only a few weeks away.

Most of our song choices lean toward punk rock because it’s just easier for us to play. And when we play loudly, it covers up my limited vocal range. Our set list starts with The Cure and moves to edgier post-punk bands like Bauhaus and Siouxsie & The Banshees, which Shelby seems to really like. As a nod to my dad, we throw in a Replacements song, “Rock ‘n’ Roll Ghost.”

Weezer pauses at the end of our set and grabs at his jeans. “I gotta drain it,” he says, setting his guitar on my bed, running upstairs to the bathroom. He’s a total ass, especially when girls are around.

“You sound great,” Shelby says. “What’s the name of the band?”

Angel is spinning her drumsticks around her fingers when she says, “We’ve been fighting over a name. I want to call us Two True.”

“But there’s three of us,” I say in protest, as always.

“That’s the whole point,” Angel says. “There’s three of us, but only two are true.”

“True in what way?” Shelby asks Angel, as if I’m not even in the room and my opinion doesn’t count.

Angel seems cool and distant behind her drums and cymbals as she glares at Shelby. “Any number of ways,” she says. “Truly in love, truly crazy, too truthful?”

Shelby nods. “I like that you could interpret the name any way you want. What name do you like for the band, Darius?”

“Voodoo Child or possibly Liquidz,” I say.

Shelby shakes her head. “I like Angel’s name better.”

“What name?” Weezer asks, as he jumps down the last two stairs into the basement with a slice of cold pizza in one hand.

“Two True,” Shelby says.

“Yeah, it’s okay,” he says, plopping onto my bed. “Whatever Angel wants is fine with me.”

So that’s how it goes down. That’s how we choose the name of our band. Maybe for other bands it’s that simple too—you create a list of names, and whatever feels right, you go with it. I watch Weezer chewing his pizza as he watches Angel, and I know they must’ve talked about the band name before they arrived. His crush on her might be working, because she seems to like him, too. For a brief moment jealousy surges through me, but it must be the Blood Orange Soda. The drink sometimes causes me to experience unexpected mood swings, and I breathe deeply to calm myself. Are Weezer and Angel “too true” to each other, and I’m the third wheel in a budding relationship? I’m okay with it, I suppose. Whatever Angel and I had two summers ago is lost in the past.

Mom, Kira, and I drive around downtown for thirty minutes to make sure we don’t walk in on Jack and one of his mentors, and we finally arrive at his loft around 9:30 p.m. When I open the rail doors, his loft is dark except for lit candles on the counters and windowsills.

Mom pulls me back. “Wait, let me check. You and Kira wait here.”

“Why, what’s up?” Kira asks, pushing by me.

“Jack?” Mom calls out. Her voice echoes off the floor-to-ceiling windows.

“Be right there!” Jack hollers from the back bedroom.

A woman barefooting down the hallway catches our attention. Her hair is a mess and she’s carrying two wine glasses as she ducks into a back room.

“Who’s that?” Mom asks me.

“One of Jack’s mentors,” I reply.

Mom rolls her eyes, which strikes me as funny because she usually does that when she can’t believe
my
behavior.

“How pathetic! He knew we were coming over,” Mom says.

“What’s wrong with mentors?” Kira asks.

I laugh at my sister’s innocence. “That woman wasn’t teaching Jack anything he doesn’t already know.”

“Darius, that’s enough,” Mom whispers.

“Oh, he was having sex with her?” Kira asks, grinning.

“Kira!” Mom reprimands my sister, grabbing her arm.

Ha! My mom is realizing that Kira isn’t as young and naïve as she thought. Jack surfaces from his bedroom, and he’s wearing tight jeans and carrying a white T-shirt.

“You’re early.” He’s pulling his shirt on.

“No, we’re not. We’re a half hour later than we agreed,” Mom says.

Jack’s female friend walks from the back room and stands next to him. I study her. She is probably five foot five inches tall, with long, straight black hair pulled back with a barrette. I’m sure my mom is wondering the same thing I am—how young
is
Jack’s mentor?

“Everybody, this Sonya,” he says, as he puts his arm around her. “She’s my vocal coach.”

“You’re taking voice lessons?” I ask.

“I like to sing, what can I say?”

“He’s very good when he sings from his diaphragm.” Sonya pats him on his flat stomach.

“Hi, nice to meet you, Sonya,” Mom says. “Jack, if this isn’t a good time, we can come back another day.”

“No, come in and have a seat,” he insists. “Sonya has to leave anyway. She has another lesson to teach across town.”

They hug, and he kisses her cheek. Sonya passes me and I notice her neckline because it’s red, as if Jack might’ve given her a hickey, or maybe a bite. When she notices where I’m looking, Sonya pulls the barrette and hair and covers the spot. She removes her coat from a peg on the wall and is out the door with the coat still in her arms. This gives me an opportunity to gaze at her long legs and tights as she walks to the freight elevator.

“Darius!” my mom says, and I turn to see her already sitting on Jack’s leather couch. He’s fetching drinks out of the fridge. “Why are you staring at her?” Mom asks.

“I wanted to make sure she got to the elevator safely,” I reply.

Jack laughs. “She knows where the elevator is, Darius.”

Walking into the living room, I join them. My mom is sitting on the couch, while Kira is in a leather chair that’s so big her feet dangle just above the floor. I take the chair across from my sister and watch as Jack prepares for my mom’s blood transfusion.

He sets a metal briefcase on the coffee table, unlocks it and opens it up, revealing two IV bags, one with clear liquid in it, and the other bag containing blood. Jack pulls out several tubes and syringes.

“Is that blood?” Kira asks.

He lifts the bag and holds it up for her to see. “Yes, go ahead and feel it.”

“No, gross!” Kira says.

“Jack, she’s only thirteen, stop teasing her,” Mom says.

“Darius, you want to hold it?” Jack asks.

“Yeah, sure.” I take the bag into my hands and it’s cool, as if he kept it chilled prior to our arrival. It feels heavy and slippery. “How much is in here?”

“You’re holding one pint of B positive blood. It’s free of any infectious diseases.”

“How much did this cost?” I ask, which probably isn’t apropos since he already spent the money, and there’s no way we could afford to repay him.

“This is the most valuable mineral in the world,” Jack says, as he takes it from my hands. “Blood is more valuable than gold, because blood gives life.”

He removes a telescoping pole from the briefcase that looks like a stand to hold sheet music. He props it at the end of the couch near my mom’s head and hangs the pint from it. Mom gets comfortable on the couch, wraps herself in a blanket and lies back. She and Jack whisper words in German and I remember that they’ve done this before, that this is a familiar routine for some Vampires.

“What’s the other bag of clear liquid?” Kira asks.

Jack turns and looks down at the briefcase. “Oh, that’s Hespan. It’s a filler. I’m removing two pints of your mom’s blood and replacing it with only one because that’s all I could find on the underground market. Hespan will make up the difference.”

“You’re removing some of Mom’s blood?” Kira asks.

This makes me queasy, too.

“Honey, it’s okay. Jack knows what he’s doing,” Mom says.

“We have to remove some of the disease and replenish her blood supply with healthy blood cells,” Jack says. “I’ll remove two pints and add in one pint of blood and one pint of Hespan. This is the only way to help your mom beat this disease.”

He looks towards me and I know what he’s thinking. He knows there’s slim chance this will give her much more time, because my mom is already very weak with V2. He’s wondering if I’ve researched Jonathan. Even though he cautioned me about contacting him, I get the feeling that maybe now that’s what Jack
expects
me to do.

“Why don’t you two go upstairs?” Mom says. “This will take about an hour, and then I’ll need to sleep here.”

“Good idea, Virginia,” Jack says. “There’s fruit juice and water up in the dojo. If you two want to watch TV, help yourself.”

Kira slides out of the large chair. “I love you, Mom,” she says, kissing her forehead.

I do the same and look into my mom’s eyes, searching for something, anything that will assure me that she’s ready to fight, willing to think positive.

“You’re looking more like your father every day. You’re a beautiful boy, becoming a man. I love you,” she says to me.

My knees buckle, and I hold back my tears. “I love you too, Mom.” I kiss her cheek and taste her salty tears on my lips.

“I’ll join you upstairs in an hour,” Jack says. “Spend time stretching and warming up. You and I will start your training routine tonight.”

We climb the spiral metal staircase and I look down one more time at Jack and my mom below. He’s drawing blood from her veins, the bag by her side filling slowly, and I notice the fear in Kira’s eyes. She’s much closer to our mother than I am; I guess girls are usually closer to their moms. She and my mom spend many evenings talking about Kira’s school days, her boy crushes, and the mean girls at school. Without our mom around, who will give my sister that kind of comfort and support? Am I capable of listening to Kira’s problems and offering brotherly advice? This is just another reason, among many, that I need to find Jonathan.