Veneer (45 page)

“So I can’t call you,” he explained. “Meet me at the football field at Central. Tonight, ten o’clock.”

Agent Ruiz raised an eyebrow. “You sure you can get him there? You
do not
want to waste my time.”

“He’ll be there,” said Deron, turning on the spot. When he was safely out of earshot, he added, “Either that, or I’ll be long gone by then.”

58 - Sebo

“I miss you.”

The sentiment appeared on Sebo’s palette during lunch as he was finishing up a burrito slathered in chili and shredded cheese. He was sitting at the glass bar, essentially a line of stools under a high table that ran the length of the cafeteria’s outer windows. From his vantage point, he could see the rain falling outside, waning and intensifying every few minutes. Running his fingers through his hair, he smiled at the instant message on his palette.

Sure, Jordan was only sending the message because he had configured her to do so, but it didn’t make it any less important. She missed him and in a way, he missed her. Spending the night with her, watching her sleep in a bed that was ostensibly on the other side of the room, had been strangely comforting. Randomly throughout the night, she would snore a little, not enough to be annoying, but enough to get his attention. Then she’d turn on her side, the covers slipping from her naked body, and give a little moan. Sebo watched contently for a while before falling asleep, happy to know she would be there in the morning.

Jordan was doing stretches when he awoke and as he wiped the sleep from his eyes, he watched her come out of a difficult plough position. With every movement, he delighted in the detail of her body, in the skin that bunched up and released. A doll would have done no such thing. Her imperfections made her more lifelike. Though they were slight, they made her appear as an actual human being instead of a technologically advanced blow-up doll. And though he couldn’t touch her, could only stand next to the wall and stare into her eyes, it was enough.

Sebo grinned and tapped the reply box with his finger. “What are you wearing?” he asked her, but there was no reply. Maybe she wasn’t set up to respond intelligently to queries. He shrugged, pondered whether the omission of conversational aptitude had been intentional or not. Chewing thoughtfully, he stared out the window again, wondering how an assumed intelligence like Jordan would fare in one of his accelerated learning classes.

Outside, a blanket of gray clouds gave Easton a strange atmosphere that was accented by lightning flashing soundlessly in the distance. Sebo searched for the words to describe it.

Dreary. Miserable. That wasn’t what Easton was about. That was what having veneers was supposed to prevent.

The veneer was still there, for instance, on the house across the street, but through the rain it looked muddled. The two-story townhome had been reconciled with red brick, though underneath it was likely evercrete, same as everything else. Each townhome had its own unique flair, whether it brick or siding, giving the row a disjointed feel. At least they had left room for a little natural growth in the form of a park to the right of the row, bordered on both sides by tall Cedars. They towered above the homes, their canopies providing shade for the students that lingered there after school.

A discordant splash of white caught his attention outside. Straining to see through the rain, he thought he spied someone standing in the wooded area, leaning out from behind a tree. It looked like a boy, about the same height as...

“Fuck a duck,” whispered Sebo, lowering the uneaten piece of burrito and pushing his plate away. He slipped his palette into his backpack and hopped off the stool. Without taking his eyes off the aberration for fear of losing it, he made his way over to the double doors that led out to the plaza. One of the lunchroom monitors was sitting on a chair by the exit, but she said nothing as Sebo pushed on the crossbar and stuck his head outside. Without the foggy windows in his way, he had a clearer view of the ghost who resembled Deron. Uncertainly, Sebo waved his hand.

When the white flash waved back, even beckoned him, he broke free from the door and rushed across the plaza, vaguely cognizant of the lunch monitor calling his name behind him. Sprinting across the street, he watched the apparition disappear behind a tree.

“Deron?” he asked, coming to a stop a few feet away. He walked around the ancient trunk slowly until he could see the figure. Its veneer was messed up, but it somewhat resembled his long lost friend. “Is that you?”

“Hey.” He smiled, but it appeared to take considerable effort on his part.

“Are you alright?” It wasn’t difficult to see the goose bumps on Deron’s arms or the shiver that ran up his body every few seconds. “How long have you been standing out here?”

“Not long,” he replied.

“Are you aware that everyone’s looking for you? The police—”

“I know.”

“Does Rosa know you’re back?”

His lower jaw jutted forward. “She knows. She didn’t tell you?”

“I saw her before lunch, but she was already walking into class. When did you see her?”

“Last night.” Pain altered his voice like an accent.

Sebo crossed his arms against the encroaching cold. “What happened?”

As expected, Deron just shrugged, played the tormented soul, and kept whatever injustice he felt he had suffered inside.

“Rosa looked sad today,” said Sebo, recalling the carefully reconciled veneer on her face, the one that was supposed to cover up any real show of emotion.

“We broke up,” he said tightly. “Actually, she dumped me.”

“That bitch!” said Sebo.

Deron laughed and shook his head in disagreement. His eyes drifted away for a moment and then he asked in a serious tone, “Would you look after her?”

Sebo felt his face scrunch up. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. If things don’t go right.” He shivered at some involuntary thought. “Just keep an eye on her for me.”

Listening to Deron ramble made Sebo uncomfortable, anxious. “What are you
talking
about?”

“I need to talk to Jalay. Can you give him a message?”

“He’s not even here today. What would you want from him anyway?”

“Not him. Russo.” His face grew dark and intense.

The new evolution made Sebo smile. Through gnashed teeth, he asked, “You mean...”

“I owe him,” he continued. “I
really
owe him.”

Sebo punched his own open palm. “Fucking yes!” He pulled his palette from his bag, grimaced at the few rain drops that made it through the canopy to land on its surface. “Wait,” he said suddenly. “Why don’t you—”

“I can’t reconcile anymore,” he explained. “Sometimes I think I can touch things in a portal, but I can’t see it so I don’t know if I’m doing it right. I need to get a message to Russo and I don’t want him knowing I can’t see.”

“Is this what you were talking about on the bus?”

Deron shrugged. “It’s gotten worse since then. Or better. I don’t know.”

Sebo nodded and brought up the Easton Central directory. He found Russo’s name on the list and clicked into his mail program. “What do you want it to say?”

“Tell him I want to meet at the football field tonight. Ten o’clock.”

“Excellent,” said Sebo, reconciling the message onto the portal. “Though we can’t be certain he even reads his school mail anymore.” With a quick swipe, he brought up the instant messenger and sent the text to Jalay, instructing him to forward it on to Russo.

“Don’t tell Rosie about this, okay? She might change her mind and show up and that wouldn’t be good.”

Sebo bit his lip. “I can’t believe she dumped you. I wouldn’t have expected that from her.”

“It wasn’t all bad,” said Deron. “There was a parting gift involved.”

It took a moment for him to catch on, but Sebo finally asked, “Third base?” When Deron just smiled, he added, “All the way?”

“Yar,” he replied, drawing out the word.

“How was it?” Suddenly the idea of a naked Jordan writhing on his wall didn’t seem as enticing.

Again, he shrugged. “It was alright. I wouldn’t mind doing it again.”

“Son of a dick!” bellowed Sebo, punching Deron on the shoulder. “If only you could reconcile, you could show me.” He trailed off as his friend gave him an odd look in return. “I mean, not you, but Rosa...” The look changed to a glare. “Huh,” he said, figuring it was as good a time as any to stop talking.

Across the street, a booming voice called out, “Mr. Kahani, you need to get back on campus at once!” It was Principal Ficcone; the lunch monitor had ratted him out.

Sebo waved enthusiastically, causing the principal to put his hands on his hips and intensify his glower. “I need to return to campus at once,” he repeated. “When are you coming back?”

“Tonight,” replied Deron. “Ten o’clock.”

“No.” Something caught in Sebo’s throat; the surprise put him off balance. “I mean, back to school. Back to...” He wanted to say
us
, but Rosalia had made her choice.

A thin smile spread on Deron’s face. “If all goes well, at five past ten.”

59 - Ilya

The interesting thing about Ramsey was that she had the most divine tan lines decorating the back of her neck. Whether reconciled or the product of actual exposure to the sun was anyone’s guess, but sitting behind her in sixth period Biology gave Ilya plenty of time to argue each side. For one, it was a perfect line; a true strap would have moved around a little, creating the smallest of gradients between the tan skin and her true color. Ramsey’s line simply stopped and became another color instantaneously.

It was the mark of poor reconciliation skills.

Ilya sighed, crinkled her nose at the latent scent of formaldehyde. It was warm in the Biology room, in the whole school in fact. Warm and humid such that the students had been shedding clothes all day. Even Mr. Randall had shunned his customary blazer and rolled up the sleeves of his blue button-down. He was handsome in an angular sort of way that was tragically paired with an abundance of body hair, some of which poked out from the top of his shirt.

Desiring something smoother, Ilya returned her attention to the back of Ramsey’s neck. There, a few strands of hair had fallen out of her ponytail and now hung over the back of her collar. They contrasted with the white tee that was blank on the back but veneered with a pink mess of flowers on the front. Ramsey seemed focused on Mr. Randall as he droned on about the day’s project, several times pointing to the microscopes huddled in the center of the lab tables. Ilya glanced over at the materials counter and saw a large beaker full of murky water. They had done this lab before at Dahlstrom, but not with such ancient equipment.

“Today, we’re doing things the old-fashioned way,” said Mr. Randall. “This is how young scientists before you investigated life on a small scale.”

And they used to carry around a thousand little gadgets to accomplish what Ilya could do with her finger and a smooth surface.

As the teacher dismissed the students to their work, Ramsey spun around in her chair and faced the lab table. Her veneer displayed a playful smile, but it was directed at Zachary, who evidently was what passed for a varsity lacrosse player these days. Ilya ignored the longing gaze and instead focused on the two pale lines tracing over Ramsey’s clavicles. They dipped under her shirt, forcing a mental reconciliation. Ilya imagined them bending towards the center of Ramsey’s breasts where they expanded in elongated triangles wide enough to cover her nipples but narrow enough to expose everything else. She looked like the kind of girl who would let the world bask in the glory of her teardrop tits but at the same time drive the boys crazy by covering up the interesting parts. As if nobody knew what was under that tiny bikini.

Grinning, Ilya let her eyes drop and looked through the table to where the other tan lines would have been. She had the urge to pull out her palette and reconcile the image for posterity and for other, more selfish, reasons. After a minute of blissful daydream, she looked up and saw Ramsey fidgeting under the intense scrutiny.

“Your tan lines,” Ilya said, scratching her neck. “Are they real or did you reconcile them?”

“They’re real,” replied Ramsey, trying in vain to get her eyes on them. “I usually lay out a few times a week.”

A lie—part and parcel of every good reconciliation.

“They look good on you. I wish I could get some color like that.”

Ramsey did a quick inventory of Ilya’s body; the attention felt good. “You’d look great with a little more color.”

Ilya’s eyes drifted to the high windows dotted with rain drops. “As soon as the rain goes, maybe.” She had to look past Zachary to see outside and when she focused closer, he was leering something filthy.

“What are you looking at?” she asked.

Zachary licked his lips. “I heard you and Rosalia Collier were making out in the showers this morning.”

Ilya didn’t even blink. “So?”

“Really?” asked Ramsey. “I thought she was with Deron.”

“Things change,” explained Ilya with a shrug. “I guess something came between them.”

“I heard he died,” said Zachary.

The girl next to Ramsey with horrible bangs nodded her head, putting in, “He ran away to Paramel and got killed by some gangbangers.”

Gangbanged to death; it would have served him right.

“No,” said Ilya, “he’s not dead. Rosalia was with him last night.” Then to Zachary, she said accusingly, “He tried to rape her. We weren’t making out in the shower; I was just trying to console her. I’d like to see how you’d react if Deron tried to rape
you
.” Inside, the laughter was tingling all of her muscles. The thought of Deron holding Zachary down on the floor and delivering the business was just too comical.

“That asshole,” said Ramsey, shaking her head.

“Yes!” Ilya pointed to Ramsey as if she’d just won a prize. “That’s exactly right. He’s an asshole. I’m not surprised at all though. Rosalia said he’s always been after sex. ‘Always wanting to fool around’ was how she put it.”

“That’s all guys,” said the girl with the forehead curtain. “
He’s
thinking about sex right now,” she pointed out, gesturing to Zachary.