Curse of Arachnaman (7 page)

A week ago? Mom shouldn't have kicked up a fuss about that. So we settled on the what, where, how, and how much before I reluctantly let him go. I waited a while, still lying on my stomach and enjoying the blissful pressure of a boner against my mattress, and reflected on the conversation I'd just had with Peter. Thank God I'd taken care to lock my bedroom door. If Liz were to barge in to get me downstairs for dinner and then catch me dry-humping my bed...

I remember Wade, when she first introduced herself to me, saying, “I think Peter's a really lucky guy.” She wasn't pulling my leg; Wade's just not capable of being a real jerk like that. She actually sounded slightly jealous, not in the sense that she had a crush on me or something, but that she seemed jealous that Peter and I were together. Of course, I also wondered what Peter had told her about me, and no matter how much I'd been prodding him, he kept that a big secret. It'd been pretty easy to throw me off the scent, anyway. All it took was a kiss and a hand down my jeans. Peter had persuasion down to an art form.

It was that one thought that sprang to mind whenever I reflected on any conversation I had with him. To wit, how lucky we'd been.

Now if I could only play matchmaker for both Wade and Althea without them killing me...

I was so brilliant, I could marry myself and spawn forever. I took a shower after Peter's call and then did the laundry. Only mine, though. Jeebus, I got enough problems, and handling my family's dirty underwear would be the proverbial straw on the proverbial camel's proverbial back. While waiting for things to dry, I went to the kitchen and prepared a part of tonight's dinner. That is, I snagged the bag of salad from the vegetable crisper and dumped the stuff in a big bowl.

I set it down on the table with the bottles of dressing neatly lined up next to it, and the icing on the cake was my livening up the table
with napkins
. Yeah, those napkins that we only saw during holidays. I was seriously good.

When everyone got back home, I was fresh and tidy, my laundry was neatly folded and put away, and I greeted everyone with an offer of ice, cold water to soothe frayed nerves after a hard day in the office.

"I've got a feeling that you're about to be hauled off to jail, and this is your way of saying goodbye,” Liz said when I gave her a glass of water with a slice of lemon tossed in. She just stared at it. Then she stared at me. I mean, what the hell? That was gratitude for you.

"Oh, God, don't tell me you failed your Chemistry quiz,” Dad croaked as he stood just inside the foyer. I didn't even bother to wait for him to settle down. He still had his hat and coat on, his briefcase still dangling from his limp hand, and I could still smell the familiar scents of old leather car seats and carbon monoxide on him.

"Honey, I'm not bailing you out of jail if that's what you're wondering,” Mom sighed as she shuffled past me in the direction of the stairs. At least she took the glass of water with the lemon slice and nursed it on her way to her bedroom. “I didn't raise my children to be juvenile delinquents. And the answer's no."

Man. I lived with a tough crowd.

So I upped the ante and made dinner. Like frozen pizza that had been sitting in the freezer for a couple of weeks now because apparently Mom forgot about it, and I figured it was high time to put some factory-made goodness out of its misery.

Good thing it normally took everyone at least half an hour to wind down before shuffling off to the dining room. By the time they got there, everything was set: plates, silverware,
napkins,
glasses, salad, salad dressing, and pizza. I even cut the damn thing into nearly equal portions, fer chrissakes.

"Oh, God,” Mom gasped as she froze at the dining room door. “Oh, Eric, please tell me you're okay. I don't think we can afford therapy right now."

I narrowed my eyes at her. “I'm fine, Mom."

"What do you need? Just tell me now."

"Can I go out with Peter tomorrow for a nighttime date?” Flash perky, dimpled grin. Exude squeaky-clean teenage innocence (whatever
that
means). Widen eyes very slightly to complete squeaky-clean teenage innocence look. Hope like hell that everything was working its magic. Remind self to vomit before eating.

"Mom, say yes and be done with it,” Liz said as she cautiously sat down at her usual place. She never took her eyes off me, either, and she didn't blink. Maybe she didn't
dare
blink. “I don't think I can survive another creepy Eric moment like this again, and that's saying something."

From where I stood near the stove, I could feel the maternal energies vibrating in Mom. I could easily sense the yes-no battle going on in her head. Another five minutes of that, and her skull would've popped like a zit.

"But you just went out, what, a few days ago,” she said. I figured as much.

"It was a week ago, actually. And we were together for only two hours, in a family-friendly burger joint, with creepy children running all over the place."

"Wow, that must've been a real threat to your manhood,” Liz said, still looking uneasy as she scowled at me.

"Come on, Mom, it's not like we go against your curfew. We don't go to the same school anymore, either. By the way, would you like some red wine with your pizza? Hard day at work, you know..."

"Mom!” Liz cried, panicking. “Do it!"

"Okay, okay, yes, you can go out with him!” Mom actually pinched her eyes shut and flapped her hands in front of her as if she were warding off a swarm of flies.

Broaden perky, dimpled grin at confused mother. “Thanks, Mom. You're the best. One glass of red wine, coming up."

"Forget the wine,” she growled, rubbing her temples as she sat down. “Do we have whiskey anywhere?"

I rocked.

So I celebrated my victory by staying up late after doing my homework, sorting through my growing pile of hot gay ads, ogling the models, and letting my imagination do the rest. Then I cleaned up and sat down to write in my journal. The night was a little on the cool side, with the usual acidic fog forming up and down Vintage, so it was perfect for setting the mood. My lights had all been turned off, and I sat by my window, looking out and finding inspiration in darkness and urban grime. Once in a while, I'd hear police sirens wailing. I figured that my superhero buddies were all out there, up to their ears with cleanup work.

I also wondered what the Sentries were doing, besides setting up the usual training grounds for the heroes. I knew better than to ask Dr. Dibbs for specifics, and Brenda sure wasn't going to let me in on anything, even though she was like my other sister. During moments like these, I couldn't help but think back on my adventures when the Trill was still alive, and I wondered how things would've turned out had I not let myself get suckered by my own demons. On the one hand, I'd have spared my family all that pain and grief. On the other hand, I wouldn't have learned anything about myself, even if those lessons came at a pretty high price—though I wouldn't call private tutorials a high price; I kind of liked being given undivided attention when it came to my education, and I didn't have to put up with high school drama and status quo crap.

I did miss hanging out with my friends, though, but since these tutorials were only to see me through the rest of the year, I was still set to return to the old high school environment afterward.

When I got tired of writing, I fired up my computer and checked out the local news. “International Crime Ring the Masterminds Behind Stolen Computers!” I grinned. Way to go, Althea! One of the things that I started doing was checking online news for tidbits on what my friends were doing. It didn't matter how small it was: mugging, carjacking, whatever. I guess I was really going through some kind of maturing, enjoying those stories and taking pride in what they did, rather than sulking over what would've been, had I been born with superpowers like them. I still had to remind myself of what Peter told me: “You ground me, Eric. At the end of a crazy day, when the world seems to have gone to hell, I turn to you for a reality check."

That had to be the best thing he'd ever said to me. Okay, it was actually second to “Your jeans are in the way."

"I know these guys!” would always be at the tip of my tongue while reading or watching the news, but of course, I couldn't say that to just
anyone
. Mom knew about Peter as Calais, but neither Dad nor Liz did. Beyond Peter, my family didn't know anything about Althea and the others beside the fact that Trent was Peter's older brother, Wade was Peter's good friend from another school, and Freddie was some kid I met while under the Trill's influence. They knew about Brenda, Dr. Dibbs, and only a few hazy facts about their role in saving me, but they were still ignorant about the Sentries, and I didn't want them to know any more than that.

So, no, even to my family, I couldn't admit to knowing the heroes. “I'm going steady with one of them!” always came a close second, but that was even more of a no-no.

Maybe someday, I'd be able to brag like that. For now, I found myself deep inside a different closet, and it was kind of hard, not being able to come out.

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One of those cosmic laws defining my existence involved paper-thin slices of red onion finding their way into my burger, even though I specifically asked for none. I really shouldn't have thought badly of fellow human beings, especially if they worked at some crummy, dead-end job in a fast-food joint. I ignored the possibility that they either forgot my request or decided that something in the way I looked said that I deserved to spend my entire date night blowing sewer breath down my boyfriend's throat.

Nope. I wasn't going to go there. Because I figured that I screwed up so much as the Trill's Worst-Sidekick-Ever and needed to balance my cosmic IOU with good deeds, I decided to believe that paper-thin slices of red onion slithered like gross, stinky, slithering things into my sandwich when the burger-making dude wasn't looking because red onions just sucked that way.

Now would that make an awesome horror movie or what?

The long and short of it was that I asked for no red onions on my turkey burger and got them, anyway. I spent the first five minutes of my date with Peter carefully taking my sandwich apart and lifting out drooping slices of those gross, stinky, slithering things with a plastic spork. Peter had to spend the first five minutes of his date with me watching the window beside our table, blinking and frowning. He tried a few times to take a bite out of his burger, but the distraction that came from the window pretty much kept him from progressing in his meal. In the end, he just set his sandwich down, sat on his hands, and looked all confused.

I also knew exactly what was outside the window, but I totally ignored it and pretended that nothing was out there. “How's your cheeseburger?” I asked without looking at the window.

I'd already gotten all the stupid onions out and raked them as far, far away from my sandwich as I possibly could. Much good that did. I took a bite of my turkey burger and had to ignore the residual onion taste in the lettuce.

"Um...can't say for sure."

"Try mayonnaise instead of catsup with your fries. Europeans do that all the time, and it's not as gross as it sounds."

He wasn't listening and just answered me with a series of “Err...” or “Uh...Eric?” When I continued to chatter away and pretend like everything was all normal, he cut in, “There's a very pissed-off girl giving you a pretty nasty look just outside the window."

I shrugged. “I don't know any pissed-off girl except for my sister, but she was born pissed off."

Peter frowned at me now. I could see realization dawning. “What did you do, Eric?"

"Nothing. Go on and eat. Your fries will get all soggy and stuff, and you know how cold French fries tend to taste.” I stuck my tongue out and made a face.

I could also feel Althea's death glare. I didn't need to look at her to know how she stood outside, pinning me with her eyes and brain waves. I
did
mess around with the mental image of her being pressed so tight against the window so that she looked like one of those stupid Garfield plush car window hangings, arms and legs splayed out against the glass, eyes bulging out of their sockets, pupils small and frozen in that crazy-ass stare. I made a mental note to mention that to her once she'd calmed down—and then run like hell.

Anyway, even with the thick, industrial-strength glass that the little burger joint used for its windows, she was pissed enough to send all those “I'm gonna whoop your skinny ass till your sphincter fuses shut, gay boy!” heat waves through the window and right at me. Seriously, if I'd needed to get a tan, and trust me, my family would've killed to see that, all I would've had to do was sit there, naked, and get blasted by Althea's Death Glare Waves. Maybe rotating a quarter of a turn every five seconds or something.

I guess Peter tried to ignore her and even made another valiant attempt at taking a bite of his burger. No could do. He set his food down again and sat back. “Eric, I can't. She's really creeping me out."

"I can have her arrested for disturbing the peace,” I offered, but he wouldn't have any of it. Sometimes Peter was a little too rational for his own good. Unless he was horny. Or pissed at me.

One of the employees appeared off to our side, wet towel in one hand and a growing stack of grimy plastic trays in another. As she walked past our booth, she stopped and gaped at the window, tickling my nostrils with that familiar scent of Eau de Grease that was the curse of fast food workers all over the globe. I wondered how many super-scented fabric softeners she went through to exorcise her uniform of its grill demons.

"Excuse me,” she said. “I think you forgot your friend. She looks a little, um, upset. I mean—I'd be, too, if my buddies dumped me and had, like, burgers and stuff on their own."

I waved a hand and fished out a couple of French fries, dipping them in the blob of mayonnaise that I squirted onto my plate. “No worries. She's always upset. She was born on the rag, you know.” Liz would have to forgive me for applying my favorite description of her to my best girl buddy.