Imaginary Enemy (14 page)

Electricity

A
s tenth grade unfolded, I found myself so caught up with my friends, many of whom now had driver’s licenses, that I hardly saw the deMichaels—not even Jazz and Harmony, who spent about half their time at our house. I distanced myself from my own family, too. I dashed home to change clothes, slept there, and shared the occasional meal with them, but my focus was elsewhere.

Sometimes, I felt an empty sort of loneliness—like my hours were filled but my essence wasn’t. It was as if some crucial wire had been disconnected, so that even though other wires were snaking their way into my system, without that essential wire, the current wasn’t as smooth as it should have been.

On those lonesome days, the end of the pier next to the
Annika Elise
became my cocoon. I’d dangle my legs over the side and watch the bayou meander past and the birds overhead swoop and soar. Almost by accident, I came to relish the sound of the water lapping on the banks and the cries of the birds. I found the rustle of the wind in the reeds comforting. Oddly, at those times I felt close to Elliot and Sharp, whose obsession with sound defined them.

I was with Emma and Madison at the music store when who should walk up but Chase McClusky. He still looked basically the same. He was wearing a navy blue blazer emblazoned with the coat of arms representing the private school he now attended. Sure, he was taller, and his face was more sculpted than it had been in eighth grade, but not radically so.

He approached us with a big smile and wrapped his arm around me like we’d been the best of friends. He had someone with him—a kid who reminded me of Bryan Latham. “Jane, we sure had some great times back in the day, didn’t we?” Chase asked. The puzzled look on Emma’s face told me she was just as surprised as I was.

“Hi, Chase,” said Madison.

“Girl, you look fabulous,” he said. “Love what you’ve done with your hair.”

Madison blushed and feathered her bangs with her fingers. “Thanks.”

“This is Dylan,” he said, gesturing toward his friend. Then he swept his arm to include the three of us. “These beauties made middle school bearable. Emma, Jane, and…um…um…”

“Madison,” said Emma, touching Madison’s forearm.

“As in Madison Avenue,” laughed Chase, but no one else did, not even his pal, who seemed confused.

I looked at Chase like he was a space alien. Suddenly, the hero-worship I had channeled his way all through middle school evaporated. This guy, who I’d built up to be some Adonis, was so impressed with himself he made me want to barf.

“Hey, Jane, didn’t you have a fling with my man Bry somewhere along the line?”

“No. You must be thinking of someone else,” I said.

“But Jane—” Madison began.

“Bryan was never my type,” I interrupted. “He tried too hard to be you, Chase.”

Emma’s eyes got huge, and I saw her suppress a giggle. Madison simply looked lost, so I knew we’d have to explain it to her later.

I glanced at my watch. “We’re late, ladies. Let’s go.”

I marched out of the store, leaving Emma and Madison with no option but to follow me. We all burst into laughter and exchanged high fives as we headed for my mother’s car.

“What was wrong with me?” I asked as we were pulling out of the parking lot. “I actually thought he was fabulous! He’s so pathetic.”

“He’s still cute—you have to give him that,” said Madison.

“Till he opens his mouth,” said Emma. “Too bad he doesn’t come with a Mute button.”

“You rock, Emma,” I said, laughing.

“Yay! I love chili,” said Carmella.

“Put that spoon away. This isn’t for you. It’s for the tournament this weekend. Not expensive to make, but I can sell it for three dollars a bowl. Add fifty cents for garlic bread. Twenty-five cents for grated cheddar. Another fifty for cole slaw. It’s quite profitable. And it’s less labor intensive than hamburgers and hot dogs because all the cooking is done in advance. A big pot of chili is a worthwhile undertaking.”

“So let me have one bowl,” she said.

“For three dollars.”

“Oh, come on, Jane.”

“Okay then, I’ll give you the family discount. Two fifty.”

“Just forget it.” She tossed her head and snatched a pear from the fruit bowl. “And for your information,” she added, “you spend so much time in the kitchen that you don’t know anything that goes on around here.”

“Excuse me? That’s not your attitude when you’re grabbing a fork and digging into one of my creations.” I put the lid on the bubbling pot of chili. “Besides,
nothing
goes on around here.”

“Yeah, what about Harmony and Zander?”

“Harmony and Zander?”

“She thinks he’s cute.”

“He probably doesn’t even notice her.”

“They played cards yesterday. Just the two of them.”

“Oh brother. I guess that left you with Jazz, eh?”

“Actually, I’ve got my eyes on someone else.”

“Who?” The process of elimination took only a moment, considering the two twelve-years-olds were still homeschooled.

“Jason Blackshire,” she announced smugly.

“Jason Blackshire?”

“You know…at the corner. He’s so nice, and he’s funny, too.”

“That skinny kid?”

“Lean, Jane, lean. Don’t tell anyone. It’s a secret.”

“There’s no such thing as a secret with you and Harmony around.”

Renaissance Man

“I
love baseball season,” Emma said with a sigh. It was spring of tenth grade and we were sitting in the hot sun on the bleachers watching a scoreless baseball game.

“Since when?” I asked.

She grinned. “Since I started seeing Tony. When else?” Tony was an outfielder for the team. It had surprised me when Emma admitted to being attracted to him. I’d always imagined her hooking up with the chess club type, not a center fielder with an average IQ but fabulous shoulders. “He’s throwing a party tomorrow night. Wanna go?”

“Sure, I guess.”

So there I was at Tony’s backyard bash, feeling awkward because the only person I knew well was Emma, and she was mostly occupied with Tony. I was talking to some kids when something hit my hand. “Yuck!” I cried as I dropped my drink, which splashed on my hand, jeans, and shoes. I turned around to see an orange Frisbee rolling across the grass.

“Oops.” A dark-haired guy was standing a few yards away looking embarrassed. His smile was illuminating. I’d seen him around school and knew he was a junior, but I’d never met him. He picked up the Frisbee, then said, “Sorry,” rolling his
R
s with a lyricism that charmed me to my toes.

Tony laughed. “Raphael, you’re such a klutz.”

Raphael (who I came to call Demonseed as our relationship regressed) had straight white teeth and eyes like black coffee. “Not all of us were born to be ballerinas” was his reply. Everyone laughed. He grabbed some napkins from the table and wiped my dripping hand, an act I found oddly intimate but not offensive. Tony made introductions, and somehow, by the time Emma and I were piling into her car, Raphael was holding my hand and making plans to see me the following night.

My first evening with Demonseed was pretty standard. We went to a movie and for a bite to eat. But to me, it was anything but standard. I thought he was the handsomest, funniest, nicest guy on earth. And he liked me!

That night was the first time I’d been kissed since that awful graduation party where I allowed Bryan Latham to put his mouth on mine only because it was on my goal list. Raphael’s kiss was nothing like Bryan’s. This one sent sparks flying through me.

For our second outing, along with Emma and Tony, we met a bunch of other kids at the bowling alley. I didn’t even have to be embarrassed about my pitiful bowling scores, because Rafael’s were worse than mine. Tony kept calling him Gutter Ball. Emma kept saying I was distracting him. The whole evening was very entertaining and I couldn’t wait to see Raphael again.

Our third time out, I affectionately called Demonseed Rafi. “Raphael,” he said firmly. Turned out he was awfully vain about his name. “Raphael was one of the greatest artists of the Italian Renaissance.”

“Raphael was also a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle—a hero on the half shell,” I replied, remembering the endless childhood hours I’d spent at the deMichaels’ watching their DVD collection of those sewer-dwelling turtles and fighting over who got to be which turtle when we played in their backyard. “And one of the archangels,” I added in tribute to the celestial companion of my alter ego, Gabriel.

Demonseed laughed. “Either way, it’s Raphael, not Rafi, understand?”

“Sure, I understand.” I started humming the theme song to the
Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.
Raphael covered my mouth with his hand, then with his lips. Wow!

Dear Bubba,

I’d rather be named after a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle/archangel in heaven/Renaissance artist than some fossilized aunt who drools in her soup. Can I change my name to Donatello?

Cowabunga, dude!
Gabriel

“Jane made cookies,” Zander said to the deMichael boys. “Her own special recipe.” He grabbed the platter from the counter and took it into the family room.

“Careful you don’t break your teeth if Jane made them,” cautioned Chord.

“That’d be fangs, in your case,” I snarled at him from the kitchen.

“I’ll chance it,” said Sharp. “Pass ’em here.”

“Me too,” said Jazz.

“Hey, Jane, although it pains me to admit it, these are great,” called Chord “You’re getting crumbs everywhere. Geez, Chord, chew with your mouth closed,” said Jazz. “Don’t you have any home training?”

I walked into the room just in time to see the last cookie disappear. “Glad you guys held back,” I said sarcastically.

“Make another batch,” said Sharp.

“I’m going to have to. Those were actually for someone else.”

So I returned to the kitchen, where I measured, mixed, beat, and baked another batch of cookies, which I carefully packed into a box for Raphael before the neighborhood gluttons struck again.

I slipped through the front door, wishing I could have stayed out even longer, but Mom and Dad were super strict about my curfew. On my way down the hall, I heard Harmony and Carmella giggling. “What’s so funny?” I asked. Their giggles turned into hysteria. “Carmella?” I grabbed her arm. “Were you and Harmony spying on me again?” Their facial expressions gave them away. “You…you brats!”

“You were kissing him,” said Carmella.

“So what? You were watching—that’s the psycho thing. Geez, you two are twelve years old. When are you going to outgrow this annoying behavior?” I stomped away, resisting the urge to strangle those two sneaky little spies.