Cruiser (20 page)

Dad is so lame. Actually, his ideas are. Here I am supposed to be enjoying my fifteenth birthday and he’s walking in
every
second with some new way to “spice up the party” when really all I want is for this to be over.

It’s charades now. Dad’s on the floor, pretending to be a dead fish or something. I don’t know. I’m distracted by all the balloons and streamers.

My gaze drifts to my ten guests. I invited the entire freshmen class, but hardly anyone showed up. Two girls I barely know from Spanish are here. They’ve been whispering and giggling the whole time. Guess they had nothing better to do on a Sunday night other than to ridicule me and my party. Then there are twins who I’m sort of friends with, and a guy whose mother forced him to come because she and my dad work together at the public library. My eleven and thirteen year old neighbors somehow got an invitation. My older sister, Meg, escaped half an hour ago to hang out with her boyfriend. Can’t say I really blame her. And of course my best friend Toby is here, guessing my dad is a sea lion. I’m not sure I could survive this thing without him by my side.

I know, Dad’s trying. Single father with no clue how to raise two teenage daughters. And I love him for that. But I would have been fine with dinner at some fancy restaurant. Just me, Dad, Meg, and Toby.

Dad flops on the floor for five more minutes before I finally convince him that it’s late and my guests should head home. He heaves himself up and pats his butt to clean the dirt, prompting new giggles out of Giggly One and Giggly Two.

One by one they file out. The only one left is Toby.

“Present time,” I announce.

Dad chuckles. “Now I understand why you were so eager to kick everyone out, Emily.”

I leap to the small table and start opening the packages. DVDs, pretty dangling earrings, a free pass to Six Flags. Money from Dad, which is awesome. The only thing that remains is the present from Toby (Meg claims hers is still in the mail. Sure.)

It’s a small-ish package, wrapped in off-white paper. Giving Toby a look that says, “This better be good,” I tear it off to reveal a video game. “No way.
Triumph
? This doesn’t come out for another two months. How did you get it?”

Toby grins. “I have my sources.”

“Thanks.” I hug him tight. “You got one for yourself, too?”

He scoffs. “As if I’d get you one without getting my own.”

I roll my eyes.

“So,” he says with a crooked smile. “You going to sneak out with your boyfriend to the woods?”

I punch his shoulder. “Shut up.”

Toby likes to tease me about my single status, but I don’t really care that I don’t have a guy. I mean, of course I fantasize what it would be like to have a real boyfriend—and I’m not talking about Danny Lewis, who in fifth grade insisted that kissing on the lips will yield babies—but I’m really relieved I don’t have to go all psycho like some girls at school. Worrying whether they look hot enough, if they’re fun enough, if they’re interesting enough. There’s time to worry about boys later. All I care about is playing video games with Toby. We’re the most badass nightelf couple in
World of Warcraft
.

“Because when you snuck out to the woods after your party, that was the happiest day of your life, right?” I tease back. He’s never come close to having a girlfriend. The poor guy. He really wants one. Not that he’s ever admitted it—I just know.

“Guys don’t care about birthdays like girls do.”

“Come on.” I elbow him. “Your mom threw you the most extravagant party ever.”

He scratches the back of his head. “Whatever.”

He has two older brothers and no sisters, so his mom tends to—how do I put it?—feminize him. It pisses the heck out of him. His parents are thinking of adopting a little girl.

“Aw, cheer up. You’ve had three slices of cake, you won charades, and you gave me the awesomest present a gamer could want.”

He smiles, his cheeks getting a bit red. “Wanna go up to install the game?”

“Hell yeah.”

We race to my room.

“Keep the door open!” Dad calls from the kitchen. I cringe. How many times do I have to tell him that Toby isn’t a boy? Okay, duh he’s a boy, but he’s not a
boy
. He’s just Toby. Best-friend-almost-like-a brother Toby. The worst that could happen with the door closed is me talking him into secretly playing with my dolls like we did as kids.

Toby drags a chair to my computer and sits down while I tear the plastic off the video game case. I sniff it. Nothing beats the smell of a brand new game. I join my best friend at the computer and pop it in.

He tells me about this awesome race they created in
Triumph
. I listen for a few minutes before my mind drifts to something else. Something I try to avoid every year on my birthday. It’s been on my mind since last week and hasn’t left. Like a parasite that’s nestled in my brain and is sucking out all my life force.

The anniversary of Mom’s death.

“You have that look again.”

I blink. “What?”

“The look you always get on your birthday,” he says in a low voice.

Birthdays are meant to be days of celebration, and it’s no different in my house. But we can’t celebrate mine the way we’re supposed to, not really. My mom died giving birth to me. What’s more important—remembering her death, or celebrating my life? After fifteen years, we still don’t know. Dad tends to overcompensate, tries to make my day special because it’s not my fault Mom died. Even though it is.

When I was very young, I didn’t feel the lack of a mom too strongly because I grew up not knowing her, so it’s not like I grasped what I was missing. But in fourth grade, we had a mother/daughter slumber party at a classmate’s house. I was the only one to come with a dad. While all the moms braided their daughters’ hair, painted their nails, and had fun with makeup, my dad fumbled with my hair and spilled nail polish on my pajamas. One of the mothers felt bad and took over. Even though I wanted to have nothing to do with makeup or painting my nails, because Emily doth not dig the girly stuff, I realized I was missing someone very important in my life.

Toby’s green eyes meet mine. They’re overflowing with worry. “Wanna talk about it?”

I slump in my seat, staring at my hands that I’m wringing on my lap. “This game is taking so long to install.”

He studies my face. Opens his mouth to say something, but shuts it. Opens it again. We’ve been friends since kindergarten, but he still doesn’t know how to broach the whole Mom’s death topic. He’s not the only one. It’s kind of a thing in my family. That’s why Meg’s never really around on my birthdays. I’d like to attribute today’s absence to my lame party, but the truth is she ran to escape. I can never escape.

“It’s the updates,” Toby says, his eyes on the screen. “Bugs they had to fix before the game officially releases.”

“Oh. Cool, I guess.”

Toby glances at me. “You’re not okay.”

I shrug. If I say a word, I’ll start to cry. I lean my head back and stare at the ceiling, pretending to look bored and impatient.

I shouldn’t be upset. I never knew her.

Tears prick my eyes. Damn.

I fidget in my chair, kicking my desk’s leg. “Toby, isn’t it getting late?”

He peeks at his watch. “Guess so.” He looks at me, concerned eyes circling my face. “We’ll play tomorrow?”

“Sure.” My voice sounds weak.

“Okay.” He bends forward to give me a hug. “Happy birthday.”

I hold onto him a little longer than necessary, enjoying the comfort and security only a best friend can give. When we finally pull apart, I see the concern in his eyes has quadrupled. I force a smile and say, “Don’t even think about playing
Triumph
when you get home. The next time you enter the world will be with your demon love by your side.”

He grins, his shoulders sagging with a bit of relief. “Okay, okay. I promise.”

“Good.”

Giving me another quick hug, he wishes me a good night and exits my room. As soon as he’s gone, emptiness engulfs me, making me feel lonely and vulnerable. I’m alone in my room a lot, either doing homework or gaming, but now I feel really lonely, like a black cloud swallowed me up.

I stand and head to my closet, get down on my knees and rummage through the bottom drawer. It’s where I keep all my private things. I find the faded, wrinkled, tear-stained, yellow envelope and pluck it out.

Dropping down on my bed, I slowly lift the flap and pull out the single photo inside. Dad gave it to me on my twelfth birthday. I remember how happy I was to finally have a picture of my mom all to myself. The other photos I’ve seen of her are in albums or in the drawers in Dad’s office. Those are the best, the ones he thinks Meg and I don’t know about. We once snuck into his office when we were younger and snooped around until we found them. They were so romantic. Dad and Mom, so in love and full of life, eager for a future together.

Tears splat onto the photo in my hand. It was taken about a month before I was born. Mom looks so happy, and there I am inside her. Sometimes when I study this photo, I want to crawl into it, go back in time and
do
something. I don’t know what. But just something.

My fingers trace Mom. She had blonde hair and blue eyes like me. Dad says I’m the spitting image of her, even in personality. Mom was a tomboy, too, and she wore glasses until she went to college.

Wiping my eyes with my shirtsleeve, I deposit the photo back in the envelope and return it to its place. I head to the bathroom and splash water onto my face. When I lower my hands to cup more, I jump back, splattering water onto the sink and my shirt.

Something is on my skin.

My blood begins to race as I examine my inner arms closely. These shiny, yellow, green, and black markings that look like pumpkin seeds run from my wrist up to my mid-forearm. My toes grow numb and my heart pounds in my ears.

I flip my arms around to check the other side. Nothing. I twist them back to inspect my inner arms. They’re back to normal.

What the hell?

I rub my eyes. I must be hallucinating. I’m exhausted and emotionally drained. Not to mention I didn’t sleep much last night.

I examine my arms one last time and then stare at myself in the mirror. Definitely losing it.

After washing my face a few more times, I take a shower and climb into bed.

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Dee J. Stone is the pseudonym of two sisters who write young adult novels.
No Ordinary Hero
, the first book in the Keepers of Justice series,
Snake Girl
, and
Cruiser
are now available on Amazon Kindle. You can email them at
[email protected]
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Stay tuned for more books in the Keepers of Justice series and other titles, coming soon.