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Book One: The Boy in the Black Coat
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Although he’d outwardly rejected his friend’s suspicions, now that they were alone together Zac couldn’t help but notice all the unusual things about John Gervais. His car, for example, was at least a decade old yet was in such good condition that it had either been immaculately maintained or seldom used. Probably it had been the latter, Zac decided, as a sports car seemed a highly impractical choice for someone who’d lived on a tiny island most of his life. Like its owner, the vehicle betrayed little about its history. There were no discarded fast food wrappers or empty soda cans scattered across the floorboards as Zac would expect from any teenager’s car. The door pockets and cubbies in the console below the stick shift were all empty. No decorations hung from the rearview mirror. In fact, the only extraneous item was John’s cell phone — a device which was probably as old as the car but not nearly in as good shape. Its silver-blue metallic shell was heavily scratched and Zac suspected it may be one of those pay-as-you-go devices you can buy at any grocery or drug store. Regardless, John didn’t seem to use it other than to check the time or glance at, but not reply to, the barrages of text messages he periodically received from parties unknown.
Upon leaving the student parking, Zac noticed Kasira Vang watching them from her Matrix, surrounded by her usual contingent of young female cronies. She frowned as they passed, which gave Zac a curiously pleasant feeling. At the road, John turned left and immediately headed toward the Stitchwort Bridge. But by the time they passed over the narrow metal span, it was clear that John had no familiarity with his new home whatsoever and had to rely on Zac to navigate.
“How long have you lived here?” Zac asked.
“Almost a month,” John replied.
“And in all that time you haven’t been over to this side of the river?”
“Nah. You’re like the first person I’ve really met here and my mom’s not the exploring type.”
“So what’ve you been doing with yourself? Just sitting around your house?”
“Pretty much.”
“And you don’t even play video games?”
“No.”
“Dude, what do you do then?” Zac exclaimed.
John shrugged. “I don’t know… I read a lot.”
“What do you read?”
“Mostly non-fiction. Books about history,” John answered. “Most people think that stuff’s boring. Probably you think that’s boring, too?”
“I wouldn’t say that. Old stuff can be interesting I guess, depending on what it is. I don’t think my interest rivals yours or my father’s, but I get it.”
“You’ve never wondered why things happened a certain way or how a person could change the world just by making one decision over another?”
“Not usually. Since it already happened, who cares? It doesn’t have anything to do with me or with my life so I guess I don’t pay it a whole lot of attention.”
“Maybe it could have something to do with your life, though?” John suggested, biting his lower lip. “Past is prologue, Zac.”
“Ha! Now you really do sound like my dad.”
John didn’t reply, but he did smile slightly.
“So you’ve really read his books?” Zac inquired, although it came out sounding more incredulous than he intended.
John nodded. “I’m surprised you haven’t. Aren’t you curious about what your own father has to say?”
Zac sank down in his seat and frowned. “I get that my dad’s this amazing expert on a bunch of stuff I don’t understand, but it’s always been his thing, y’know? I mean, we talk about it occasionally, and when I was younger I spent a lot of time at the university with him, which I admit was pretty cool. There was this big laboratory-like room where he and his students examined all these artifacts. While he was teaching classes I got to poke around in all that. It was fun, kinda mysterious you know, but I guess it didn’t rub off as much as my dad would’ve liked. So you’re interested in that, huh? In ancient, ancient history, I mean? Like the Greeks and the Romans and shit?”
“I am.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but why?”
John bit his lip and hesitated. “I guess because that’s the point where civilization began. It’s when all these tribes who used to live in caves and wear animal skins decided to actually form communities, to form culture, to build cities and create art. Nothing we have today would exist if it weren’t for them.”
Zac shrugged. “I guess, but do you really think any of that’s relevant to our lives today?”
“Oh, yes!” John enthused. It was the most animated Zac had seen him so far. “Probably in more ways than most people know.”
“Yeah, you and my dad should totally get together,” Zac laughed. “Bring your books over sometime and I’m sure he’ll sign them for you.”
This pleased John more than he let on and he resisted asking if this meeting could take place before the day was over. He settled by saying, “That would be amazing. Thank you.”
Zac nodded and pointed ahead. “Turn left up here and I’ll show you where he works.”
Upon leaving the student parking, Zac noticed Kasira Vang watching them from her Matrix, surrounded by her usual contingent of young female cronies. She frowned as they passed, which gave Zac a curiously pleasant feeling. At the road, John turned left and immediately headed toward the Stitchwort Bridge. But by the time they passed over the narrow metal span, it was clear that John had no familiarity with his new home whatsoever and had to rely on Zac to navigate.
“How long have you lived here?” Zac asked.
“Almost a month,” John replied.
“And in all that time you haven’t been over to this side of the river?”
“Nah. You’re like the first person I’ve really met here and my mom’s not the exploring type.”
“So what’ve you been doing with yourself? Just sitting around your house?”
“Pretty much.”
“And you don’t even play video games?”
“No.”
“Dude, what do you do then?” Zac exclaimed.
John shrugged. “I don’t know… I read a lot.”
“What do you read?”
“Mostly non-fiction. Books about history,” John answered. “Most people think that stuff’s boring. Probably you think that’s boring, too?”
“I wouldn’t say that. Old stuff can be interesting I guess, depending on what it is. I don’t think my interest rivals yours or my father’s, but I get it.”
“You’ve never wondered why things happened a certain way or how a person could change the world just by making one decision over another?”
“Not usually. Since it already happened, who cares? It doesn’t have anything to do with me or with my life so I guess I don’t pay it a whole lot of attention.”
“Maybe it could have something to do with your life, though?” John suggested, biting his lower lip. “Past is prologue, Zac.”
“Ha! Now you really do sound like my dad.”
John didn’t reply, but he did smile slightly.
“So you’ve really read his books?” Zac inquired, although it came out sounding more incredulous than he intended.
John nodded. “I’m surprised you haven’t. Aren’t you curious about what your own father has to say?”
Zac sank down in his seat and frowned. “I get that my dad’s this amazing expert on a bunch of stuff I don’t understand, but it’s always been his thing, y’know? I mean, we talk about it occasionally, and when I was younger I spent a lot of time at the university with him, which I admit was pretty cool. There was this big laboratory-like room where he and his students examined all these artifacts. While he was teaching classes I got to poke around in all that. It was fun, kinda mysterious you know, but I guess it didn’t rub off as much as my dad would’ve liked. So you’re interested in that, huh? In ancient, ancient history, I mean? Like the Greeks and the Romans and shit?”
“I am.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but why?”
John bit his lip and hesitated. “I guess because that’s the point where civilization began. It’s when all these tribes who used to live in caves and wear animal skins decided to actually form communities, to form culture, to build cities and create art. Nothing we have today would exist if it weren’t for them.”
Zac shrugged. “I guess, but do you really think any of that’s relevant to our lives today?”
“Oh, yes!” John enthused. It was the most animated Zac had seen him so far. “Probably in more ways than most people know.”
“Yeah, you and my dad should totally get together,” Zac laughed. “Bring your books over sometime and I’m sure he’ll sign them for you.”
This pleased John more than he let on and he resisted asking if this meeting could take place before the day was over. He settled by saying, “That would be amazing. Thank you.”
Zac nodded and pointed ahead. “Turn left up here and I’ll show you where he works.”
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The Eclipse entered the Grand Oaks University campus along a narrow, tree-lined avenue. The grounds were a pleasing fusion of neoclassical architecture set among the remains of old pasturelands and apple orchards. Most of the classes had ended for the day so the streets and sidewalks were choked with students. Two girls passed in front of the Eclipse with electronic wheels strapped to their feet, inducing an almost childlike gasp from John as he watched them quickly disappear down the sidewalk. |
“What the hell are those?” he asked urgently. “What are those called?”
“Hoverboards,” smiled Zac.
“But they don’t hover.”
“I didn’t name them, dude. That’s just what they’re called. I assume no one had one on that island where you lived?”
“Nah. Very few of the streets were even paved. Everyone got around by walking or on a bike, mostly. Plus there were horses.”
Strangely, this image pleased Zac. The thought of horses on Sheridan’s Island made it seem less like the survivalists’ camp Ben had imagined and more like a medieval keep. “So you had this car and no place to drive it?”
“Sorta,” John answered, but offered no further details.
“I wish I had a car,” Zac said wistfully.
“You’re father’s a famous author. Why doesn’t he just buy you one?”
“It doesn’t work that way with him. He’s trying to teach me to be an independent young man, you see. Apparently how you do that is insisting I buy something I couldn’t possibly ever afford.”
“You could get a job,” John suggested, once again missing evident sarcasm as though it was a concept he just didn’t understand.
Zac groaned melodramatically. “Yeah, I’m trying to put that off as long as possible.”
“So where does your father work?”
“We’re almost there. Next intersection, left again.”
The vehicle crept along the curb until they pulled to a stop in front of an ornate building with a broad flight of steps leading up to giant patinated doors flanked by Corinthian columns. In the small courtyard at the bottom of the steps was a bronze statue of Zeus. The Greek king of gods was naked, rolling back onto his right leg as he prepared to hurl a great metal spear. Over his back, a golden eagle was descending with its wings outstretched. From its posture, John couldn’t tell if the bird was attacking or protecting the deity. The sculpture was a modern recreation in an ancient style and might’ve seemed more regal had the group of squawking crows perched
on Zeus’s head and shoulders not painted him with dollops of white feces. A large sign at the base of the statue read The A. A. Arthur Adams Museum of Hellenic and Cycladic Culture.
John looked confused and asked if Dr. Dryden ran the museum.
“No,” Zac answered, “but a lot of the things he’s excavated are in the exhibits. The building behind it, the taller one there, that’s the history department. That’s where my dad’s office is.”
“Who’s A. A. Arthur Adams?”
Zac shrugged. “Some old rich guy whose parents loved alliteration. He gave a buttload of money to the museum but now he’s dead. Not that those two things were connected. I’m just saying he helped fund the museum a long time ago.”
“Oh.”
During their conversation, a number of cars had pulled up behind the Eclipse and the drivers were now leaning on their horns. John reluctantly pulled away.
Their drive south ran parallel to a shaded riverwalk which connected the university campus to the downtown business district. Clearly catering to the large student population, the streets were lined with an inordinate number of taverns and microbreweries. For those who cared little about regular inebriation, or were simply too young to indulge, there were also some excellent restaurants, coffee shops, book stores and a movie theater built in the art deco style and rumored to be haunted. But Zac bypassed all of these and directed John toward a 1980s style retro arcade called Major Tom’s.
“Hoverboards,” smiled Zac.
“But they don’t hover.”
“I didn’t name them, dude. That’s just what they’re called. I assume no one had one on that island where you lived?”
“Nah. Very few of the streets were even paved. Everyone got around by walking or on a bike, mostly. Plus there were horses.”
Strangely, this image pleased Zac. The thought of horses on Sheridan’s Island made it seem less like the survivalists’ camp Ben had imagined and more like a medieval keep. “So you had this car and no place to drive it?”
“Sorta,” John answered, but offered no further details.
“I wish I had a car,” Zac said wistfully.
“You’re father’s a famous author. Why doesn’t he just buy you one?”
“It doesn’t work that way with him. He’s trying to teach me to be an independent young man, you see. Apparently how you do that is insisting I buy something I couldn’t possibly ever afford.”
“You could get a job,” John suggested, once again missing evident sarcasm as though it was a concept he just didn’t understand.
Zac groaned melodramatically. “Yeah, I’m trying to put that off as long as possible.”
“So where does your father work?”
“We’re almost there. Next intersection, left again.”
The vehicle crept along the curb until they pulled to a stop in front of an ornate building with a broad flight of steps leading up to giant patinated doors flanked by Corinthian columns. In the small courtyard at the bottom of the steps was a bronze statue of Zeus. The Greek king of gods was naked, rolling back onto his right leg as he prepared to hurl a great metal spear. Over his back, a golden eagle was descending with its wings outstretched. From its posture, John couldn’t tell if the bird was attacking or protecting the deity. The sculpture was a modern recreation in an ancient style and might’ve seemed more regal had the group of squawking crows perched
on Zeus’s head and shoulders not painted him with dollops of white feces. A large sign at the base of the statue read The A. A. Arthur Adams Museum of Hellenic and Cycladic Culture.
John looked confused and asked if Dr. Dryden ran the museum.
“No,” Zac answered, “but a lot of the things he’s excavated are in the exhibits. The building behind it, the taller one there, that’s the history department. That’s where my dad’s office is.”
“Who’s A. A. Arthur Adams?”
Zac shrugged. “Some old rich guy whose parents loved alliteration. He gave a buttload of money to the museum but now he’s dead. Not that those two things were connected. I’m just saying he helped fund the museum a long time ago.”
“Oh.”
During their conversation, a number of cars had pulled up behind the Eclipse and the drivers were now leaning on their horns. John reluctantly pulled away.
Their drive south ran parallel to a shaded riverwalk which connected the university campus to the downtown business district. Clearly catering to the large student population, the streets were lined with an inordinate number of taverns and microbreweries. For those who cared little about regular inebriation, or were simply too young to indulge, there were also some excellent restaurants, coffee shops, book stores and a movie theater built in the art deco style and rumored to be haunted. But Zac bypassed all of these and directed John toward a 1980s style retro arcade called Major Tom’s.
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If you visited Major Tom’s prior to 7:00 p.m., most of the denizens creeping about in the dimly lit rooms were either high school students or middle aged businessmen reliving their youth through classic arcade games like Pac-Man and Galaga. After 7:00, minors were kicked out and the entire place transformed into a nightclub complete with gourmet cocktails and New Wave music pumped out at high volume. Zac enjoyed the video games, but he went mostly for the atmosphere, a strangely effective combination of an old English pub tinted by neon and smelling of barbecue sauce. |
Although the door was at street level, the arcade was actually located in the basement of a large, multistory building. After crossing the threshold, the boys descended a short flight of metal stairs to a lounge area partially ringed by an antique wooden bar and lit by dozens of suspended glass orbs which morphed in color from pink to blue to lavender. The effect immediately reminded John of the nighttime sky. Beyond this was a labyrinth of smaller and strangely configured rooms packed with electronic consoles, pinball games, change dispensers and vending machines. Its peculiar floor plan made Major Tom’s ideal for both people who wanted to be seen and those who wanted to hide. You could affect either outcome simply by moving from one room to another.
Almost immediately Zac regretted bringing John. After all, this was a guy who didn’t play video games and whose favorite pastime was reading books. But if John was disappointed, it didn’t show. In fact, he seemed amused by Major Tom’s idiosyncratic flavor.
Zac led him to the bar which was being tended by a beautiful black woman, who, like Major Tom’s itself, was collection of contradictions. Her high-necked blouse with billowing sleeves seemed more appropriate for a character in a Victorian novel, while her multicolored hair suggested a low-budget science fiction movie. The skinny jeans with holes deliberately cut into the knees indicated a woman in her twenties, but creases around her eyes and the rough texture of her hands betrayed her as someone closer to forty. She called Zac by name, which came as no surprise to John because it was now clear that everyone in this town seemed to know him.
Zac sidled up to the bar like he was doing an intentional parody of a cowboy in an old western. He grabbed John by the coat sleeve and pulled him over. “Shayna, say hi to my friend John,” he said to the woman. “He’s new. He just moved here from the East Coast.”
“Hey, there,” Shayna smiled warmly. “Zac showing you all the sights around here… all three of them?”
John was terrible at small talk so he just nodded stiffly and replied, “Yes, he is.”
“We’re gonna eat,” Zac announced although Shayna had clearly anticipated this by sliding laminated menus across to them. He turned to John: “Do you like fried pickles?”
“Never had them,” John replied.
“They’re amazing. Shayna, what’s the sauce you dip those in?”
“Chipotle mayo,” the woman answered.
“We’ll have a big basket of those,” Zac said. “and a Ruben sandwich and Pepsi for me. What you want, dude?”
John was having a hard time concentrating on the menu between all the audio and visual minutiae around him. Finally he chose a cheeseburger and a large ice water at random. Zac quickly slid a twenty dollar bill across the countertop. “I have money,” John protested.
“No worries, it’s on me,” Zac grinned. “Let’s find a seat.”
The Edgewater High School student body was already well represented in the arcade and Zac paused to say hi to several classmates before he and John chose chairs around a low wooden coffee table.
“You can remove the circus tent if you want,” Zac joked, indicating the heavy black coat the other boy was still tucked snuggly inside.
John didn’t answer, but by the time their basket of fried pickles arrived, the coat had been unbuttoned; and by the time Shayna presented their sandwiches, it was carefully draped over the back of his chair and a strange, fragrant warmth radiated off of him. The smell was unexpectedly pleasant for a teenage boy and reminded Zac of an aroma therapy candle — sandalwood to be specific. Even more surprising than his scent was how John was constructed. Zac had never seen him without his bulky wool cocoon, and the garment had done an excellent job of concealing a slender but perfectly proportioned body accentuated by simple, tight-fitting clothes. His shoulders and arms were bands of knotted muscle with a broad chest, a flat stomach and narrow hips. Zac immediately thought he looked like a competitive swimmer or long-distance runner, another curious inconsistency as John had never mentioned participating in any sports outside of SCUBA diving. Now free of the coat, John took a moment to reposition himself on the chair. He kicked off his shoes, sat cross-legged with his feet under his buttocks and placed his plate of food in his lap.
“Comfy?” Zac laughed. John shrunk away almost immediately so Zac quickly kicked off his own shoes and assumed a similar position.
“Comfy?” John parroted.
Zac nodded. “Yes, although it feels like I’m putting my feet to sleep.” He pulled his plate into his lap and toyed with his Ruben sandwich. “Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask you,” he said cautiously, “where do you hide at school?
John frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Well, other than Pembroke’s class, I never see you. You’re never in the hallways and I never see you at lunchtime. You go to class, right?”
John’s reply was typically circumspect. “I do. But I don’t like crowds so I tend to avoid those places.”
An image of John in his giant coat creeping from class to class through side doors or tip-toeing around buildings just to avoid other students popped into Zac’s head and it was simultaneously hilarious and sad. “And what about lunch?” he inquired.
“I eat in my car.”
“That’s depressing, dude.”
“Not as depressing as hanging out with a bunch of stupid teenagers.”
“Not all of us are stupid. You can come eat with me if you want, because I’m delightful.” At this, Zac grinned so broadly it was possible every tooth in his mouth was visible.
John returned the smile — weakly — but didn’t respond. Zac had already figured out this was the boy’s way of being polite but noncommittal. There was a name for people who disliked other people, but he couldn’t immediately recall what it was. Some kind of anxiety, maybe? If John was so afflicted, then maybe Zac wasn’t doing him any favors by bringing him to an arcade or trying to talk him into eating in the school lunchroom? Yet, at the moment, with his legs crossed and his burger plopped in his lap, John appeared to be at ease and even enjoying himself. Maybe the antisocial stuff was a preference rather than a condition? Not knowing irritated Zac, but speculating too much seemed both unfair and unkind. At the moment it didn’t seem to matter anyways, as John was comfortable enough to chat about the town, about school, about his taste in music which, compared to Zac’s, was narrow and uninformed.
Zac was in the middle of explaining dubstep to him when the front door of the arcade swung open and a large group of teen girls led by Kasira Vang filed down the stairs. Since it was unlikely Kasira had ever played a video game in her life, there was little doubt why she was there. Zac felt a sudden pang of sympathy not for himself, but for John. If the kid didn’t enjoy the company of other teens, he certainly wasn’t going to enjoy the next few minutes as Kasira delighted in vivisecting new students. Zac immediately began to form an exit strategy, but it was already too late.
“Do you spend all your free time in here?” Kasira asked with that fake nonchalance which so irritated Zac. “It’s like you’re always in this place.”
“Only when I’m not in other places,” he replied smoothly.
The other girls clustered around them quietly, every single one of them looking like they’d been cast from the same mold with only superficial differences painted on. Ben had once compared Kasira’s entourage to department store mannequins — perfectly posed, immaculately dressed and utterly plastic. Two-thirds of them had crushes on Zac, although none would dare express that in front of Kasira who was always quick to suppress any competition in that area.
“It’s so dark and gloomy in here,” she commented, glancing around the room more to see who was in attendance than to assess the ambiance.
“Well, it’s an arcade, Kasira,” replied Zac. “If it had a lot of light you wouldn’t be able to see the video game screens.”
“You should come down to my restaurant instead. It’s much cheerier. Do you like Chinese food? I can arrange it so you eat for
free.”
The shame of it was that Zac loved Chinese food and the Vang restaurants had the best menus in town. Still, his aversion to spending any time with Kasira, or giving any illusion that he wanted to spend time with Kasira, meant he bought his chicken lo mein from inferior fast food joints near the university instead. In Zac’s book, bad noodles and massive heartburn were a small price to pay to avoid the girl.
“What’re you looking at?” Kasira’s voice was suddenly so loud and harsh that it actually made Zac jump.
It took him a second to realize the comment was directed toward John who was staring open-mouthed at her. It was a rookie mistake. John would learn that knowing Kasira was understanding that she loved attention but hated being looked at.
She locked eyes with John and repeated the question, although surprisingly with less savagery the second time. When John didn’t reply again, she tried a third time with an almost birdlike twitter to her voice: “Like what you see?”
Zac couldn’t help but be impressed. Lesser men would’ve fled by now, but John was not only holding his place, he was completely unresponsive to her.
Kasira pointed to his chair. “Can you get up so I can sit there, please?”
“No,” John replied.
Almost immediately Zac regretted bringing John. After all, this was a guy who didn’t play video games and whose favorite pastime was reading books. But if John was disappointed, it didn’t show. In fact, he seemed amused by Major Tom’s idiosyncratic flavor.
Zac led him to the bar which was being tended by a beautiful black woman, who, like Major Tom’s itself, was collection of contradictions. Her high-necked blouse with billowing sleeves seemed more appropriate for a character in a Victorian novel, while her multicolored hair suggested a low-budget science fiction movie. The skinny jeans with holes deliberately cut into the knees indicated a woman in her twenties, but creases around her eyes and the rough texture of her hands betrayed her as someone closer to forty. She called Zac by name, which came as no surprise to John because it was now clear that everyone in this town seemed to know him.
Zac sidled up to the bar like he was doing an intentional parody of a cowboy in an old western. He grabbed John by the coat sleeve and pulled him over. “Shayna, say hi to my friend John,” he said to the woman. “He’s new. He just moved here from the East Coast.”
“Hey, there,” Shayna smiled warmly. “Zac showing you all the sights around here… all three of them?”
John was terrible at small talk so he just nodded stiffly and replied, “Yes, he is.”
“We’re gonna eat,” Zac announced although Shayna had clearly anticipated this by sliding laminated menus across to them. He turned to John: “Do you like fried pickles?”
“Never had them,” John replied.
“They’re amazing. Shayna, what’s the sauce you dip those in?”
“Chipotle mayo,” the woman answered.
“We’ll have a big basket of those,” Zac said. “and a Ruben sandwich and Pepsi for me. What you want, dude?”
John was having a hard time concentrating on the menu between all the audio and visual minutiae around him. Finally he chose a cheeseburger and a large ice water at random. Zac quickly slid a twenty dollar bill across the countertop. “I have money,” John protested.
“No worries, it’s on me,” Zac grinned. “Let’s find a seat.”
The Edgewater High School student body was already well represented in the arcade and Zac paused to say hi to several classmates before he and John chose chairs around a low wooden coffee table.
“You can remove the circus tent if you want,” Zac joked, indicating the heavy black coat the other boy was still tucked snuggly inside.
John didn’t answer, but by the time their basket of fried pickles arrived, the coat had been unbuttoned; and by the time Shayna presented their sandwiches, it was carefully draped over the back of his chair and a strange, fragrant warmth radiated off of him. The smell was unexpectedly pleasant for a teenage boy and reminded Zac of an aroma therapy candle — sandalwood to be specific. Even more surprising than his scent was how John was constructed. Zac had never seen him without his bulky wool cocoon, and the garment had done an excellent job of concealing a slender but perfectly proportioned body accentuated by simple, tight-fitting clothes. His shoulders and arms were bands of knotted muscle with a broad chest, a flat stomach and narrow hips. Zac immediately thought he looked like a competitive swimmer or long-distance runner, another curious inconsistency as John had never mentioned participating in any sports outside of SCUBA diving. Now free of the coat, John took a moment to reposition himself on the chair. He kicked off his shoes, sat cross-legged with his feet under his buttocks and placed his plate of food in his lap.
“Comfy?” Zac laughed. John shrunk away almost immediately so Zac quickly kicked off his own shoes and assumed a similar position.
“Comfy?” John parroted.
Zac nodded. “Yes, although it feels like I’m putting my feet to sleep.” He pulled his plate into his lap and toyed with his Ruben sandwich. “Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask you,” he said cautiously, “where do you hide at school?
John frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Well, other than Pembroke’s class, I never see you. You’re never in the hallways and I never see you at lunchtime. You go to class, right?”
John’s reply was typically circumspect. “I do. But I don’t like crowds so I tend to avoid those places.”
An image of John in his giant coat creeping from class to class through side doors or tip-toeing around buildings just to avoid other students popped into Zac’s head and it was simultaneously hilarious and sad. “And what about lunch?” he inquired.
“I eat in my car.”
“That’s depressing, dude.”
“Not as depressing as hanging out with a bunch of stupid teenagers.”
“Not all of us are stupid. You can come eat with me if you want, because I’m delightful.” At this, Zac grinned so broadly it was possible every tooth in his mouth was visible.
John returned the smile — weakly — but didn’t respond. Zac had already figured out this was the boy’s way of being polite but noncommittal. There was a name for people who disliked other people, but he couldn’t immediately recall what it was. Some kind of anxiety, maybe? If John was so afflicted, then maybe Zac wasn’t doing him any favors by bringing him to an arcade or trying to talk him into eating in the school lunchroom? Yet, at the moment, with his legs crossed and his burger plopped in his lap, John appeared to be at ease and even enjoying himself. Maybe the antisocial stuff was a preference rather than a condition? Not knowing irritated Zac, but speculating too much seemed both unfair and unkind. At the moment it didn’t seem to matter anyways, as John was comfortable enough to chat about the town, about school, about his taste in music which, compared to Zac’s, was narrow and uninformed.
Zac was in the middle of explaining dubstep to him when the front door of the arcade swung open and a large group of teen girls led by Kasira Vang filed down the stairs. Since it was unlikely Kasira had ever played a video game in her life, there was little doubt why she was there. Zac felt a sudden pang of sympathy not for himself, but for John. If the kid didn’t enjoy the company of other teens, he certainly wasn’t going to enjoy the next few minutes as Kasira delighted in vivisecting new students. Zac immediately began to form an exit strategy, but it was already too late.
“Do you spend all your free time in here?” Kasira asked with that fake nonchalance which so irritated Zac. “It’s like you’re always in this place.”
“Only when I’m not in other places,” he replied smoothly.
The other girls clustered around them quietly, every single one of them looking like they’d been cast from the same mold with only superficial differences painted on. Ben had once compared Kasira’s entourage to department store mannequins — perfectly posed, immaculately dressed and utterly plastic. Two-thirds of them had crushes on Zac, although none would dare express that in front of Kasira who was always quick to suppress any competition in that area.
“It’s so dark and gloomy in here,” she commented, glancing around the room more to see who was in attendance than to assess the ambiance.
“Well, it’s an arcade, Kasira,” replied Zac. “If it had a lot of light you wouldn’t be able to see the video game screens.”
“You should come down to my restaurant instead. It’s much cheerier. Do you like Chinese food? I can arrange it so you eat for
free.”
The shame of it was that Zac loved Chinese food and the Vang restaurants had the best menus in town. Still, his aversion to spending any time with Kasira, or giving any illusion that he wanted to spend time with Kasira, meant he bought his chicken lo mein from inferior fast food joints near the university instead. In Zac’s book, bad noodles and massive heartburn were a small price to pay to avoid the girl.
“What’re you looking at?” Kasira’s voice was suddenly so loud and harsh that it actually made Zac jump.
It took him a second to realize the comment was directed toward John who was staring open-mouthed at her. It was a rookie mistake. John would learn that knowing Kasira was understanding that she loved attention but hated being looked at.
She locked eyes with John and repeated the question, although surprisingly with less savagery the second time. When John didn’t reply again, she tried a third time with an almost birdlike twitter to her voice: “Like what you see?”
Zac couldn’t help but be impressed. Lesser men would’ve fled by now, but John was not only holding his place, he was completely unresponsive to her.
Kasira pointed to his chair. “Can you get up so I can sit there, please?”
“No,” John replied.
|
Zac held his breath as the girls flanking Kasira stirred nervously. For many of them, this was the first time they’d seen their leader so blatantly rebuffed — and by a stranger nonetheless. Kasira continued to look at John, and he continued to look back at her. It was beginning to feel like two wild animals sniffing at each other across a meadow, trying to determine if the other was a potential foe or a prospective mate. Zac understood this. There was no way Kasira could’ve ignored just how handsome John was now that he was relaxed and free of that damn coat, just as there was no way John could deny that Kasira was… |
Kasira was…
Kasira was — what?
For the first time ever, Zac was suddenly aware that being inoculated against Kasira Vang’s beauty was quite different from being immune to it. Maybe Ben had been right all along, he told himself? Maybe experiencing her as something besides an adversary would be — incredible? After all, Zac could take what almost every other boy in school wanted and he wouldn’t even have to try. An intense heat rose off his body, pushed up through his shirt collar and rippled across his cheeks and ears. His head swam as the lounge grew darker and the movements of everyone around him slowed, slowed, slowed… Even the speakers playing David Bowie’s “China Girl” and the incessant warbling of the video games had faded away until they were producing no more than a soft, agreeable purr. He glanced back at Kasira as she pulled gently at her long, straight tresses. She had a French manicure, which Zac had never noticed before but suddenly found fascinating. Shiny white nails slipped in and out of her black hair and a few errant curls recoiled as if in slow motion to bounce and then dangle lazily across the tops of her breasts. Every muscle in Zac’s body was tightening and he was suddenly very happy that his plate of food was hiding his lap.
What the fuck is going on, he asked. Or maybe he just thought it? Either way, no one answered as one by one, starting with Kasira and her girlfriends, then radiating outward, everyone in the arcade began to gently drop to the floor. He saw Shayna slump across the bar just as his own eyelids fluttered. His head tipped back and suddenly there was a dark shape hovering above him. He felt a hand on his shoulder, which was strangely comforting under the circumstances.
“John,” he was able to squeak out. “What’s—”
“I’m sorry,” he heard John say as the hand tightened on his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
Zac’s eyes closed and his mind slipped away into darkness.
Kasira was — what?
For the first time ever, Zac was suddenly aware that being inoculated against Kasira Vang’s beauty was quite different from being immune to it. Maybe Ben had been right all along, he told himself? Maybe experiencing her as something besides an adversary would be — incredible? After all, Zac could take what almost every other boy in school wanted and he wouldn’t even have to try. An intense heat rose off his body, pushed up through his shirt collar and rippled across his cheeks and ears. His head swam as the lounge grew darker and the movements of everyone around him slowed, slowed, slowed… Even the speakers playing David Bowie’s “China Girl” and the incessant warbling of the video games had faded away until they were producing no more than a soft, agreeable purr. He glanced back at Kasira as she pulled gently at her long, straight tresses. She had a French manicure, which Zac had never noticed before but suddenly found fascinating. Shiny white nails slipped in and out of her black hair and a few errant curls recoiled as if in slow motion to bounce and then dangle lazily across the tops of her breasts. Every muscle in Zac’s body was tightening and he was suddenly very happy that his plate of food was hiding his lap.
What the fuck is going on, he asked. Or maybe he just thought it? Either way, no one answered as one by one, starting with Kasira and her girlfriends, then radiating outward, everyone in the arcade began to gently drop to the floor. He saw Shayna slump across the bar just as his own eyelids fluttered. His head tipped back and suddenly there was a dark shape hovering above him. He felt a hand on his shoulder, which was strangely comforting under the circumstances.
“John,” he was able to squeak out. “What’s—”
“I’m sorry,” he heard John say as the hand tightened on his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
Zac’s eyes closed and his mind slipped away into darkness.
