Freeks, Page 2

  A brand-new Mercedes squealed to a stop at the end of the driveway, and I took that as my cue to move on. The passengers tumbled out of their car, laughing loudly, and I stepped away from the driveway.

  As the couple from the Mercedes walked toward the house, the guy stumbled, but his female companion held him up so he wouldn’t fall. He wore dark sunglasses even though it was past ten at night and smiled at me as they approached.

  I smiled politely, meaning to just continue on my exploration of Caudry, but as I slid by, the guy reached out and grabbed my arm.

  “Where are you going?” He’d turned to face me, and he let go of me so he could push down his sunglasses.

  “Logan, we don’t know her,” the girl said, sounding annoyed.

  Her black hair was permed and fluffed into a perfect coif, and her crimson lipstick stood out against her light brown skin. She wore a skin-tight leopard-print minidress with shiny red pumps, and I’m not sure how she managed to keep her footing while steadying her friend.

  “Are you sure?” He tilted his head, looking up at me.

  “No, we haven’t had the pleasure of meeting. I’m Mara, and I’m assuming that you’re Corey Hart,” I said with a wry smile.

  “Funny.” He glanced back at the girl in the leopard-print dress. “She’s funny.” He straightened up and turned back to me. “It’s a party in there, and you should go in.” Then he gestured wildly to the neighborhood and shouted, “Everyone should come!”

  “Logan!” The girl tried to hush him.

  “You see her?” Logan pointed to the girl. She stumbled as she tried to hold him up, and I reached out, grabbing on to his arm to help steady them before they both fell back. “This is my beautiful girlfriend Selena, and tonight is her twenty-first birthday. So everyone should help her celebrate, even you … strange girl I’ve never seen before.”

  I’d only wandered out with the intention of seeing Caudry and clearing my head, and I shouldn’t stay out too late since we’d have even more setting up to do in the morning. But it would be a nice change to spend time in a house instead of a stuffy old trailer.

  “If I wouldn’t be an intrusion,” I said, looking to Selena to confirm that it was okay.

  “My boyfriend is a drunken mess,” Selena said with a half-smile. “But he’s right. This is my big party, so if you want to join, you can. If not, I’ll just drag this idiot in myself.”

  “Well, since it’s your birthday, I should at least help you get him to the house,” I said.

  “Thank you.” Selena offered me a grateful smile as Logan threw his other arm around my shoulders.

  “The more, the merrier!” Logan laughed as Selena and I started leading him up to the house.

  I glanced up at the balcony to see if the guy was still up there, but I didn’t get a good look. Helping Selena with Logan required all my concentration, since he barely seemed capable of standing on his feet. I had no idea how she would’ve managed it on her own, even without the heels.

  “Logan decided to start with birthday cocktails early tonight,” Selena explained as we weaved between the cars parked in the driveway. “Even though it’s my birthday, he thought he needed to go celebrate out at the bar while I was having a party here. And then he called me to pick him up, so I had to leave my own party to get him.”

  “Hey, hey.” Logan held up a finger and tried to defend himself. “Happy birthday.” He tried to kiss her on the cheek, and she leaned away.

  “You’re still gonna be in the doghouse when you sober up,” Selena told him.

  When we opened the front door, we had to push through people to get to the living room. The entry opened into a massive front hall, with a curved staircase and a chandelier, and even that area was filled to capacity.

  As we walked farther into the house, it didn’t get any less crowded. If I had to guess, I would say that Selena had invited the entire teenage population of Caudry, along with a chunk of southern Louisiana.

  When we finally made it to the living room, Selena dropped Logan unceremoniously on a white leather sofa.

  “There,” Selena said, speaking loudly to be heard over the music and the people talking. She smoothed out her dress and stared down at her boyfriend, who appeared to be on the brink of passing out.

  “At least he can’t cause trouble when he’s sleeping,” I said.

  “You would think so, but knowing him, he’ll find a way.” Selena turned and smiled at me. “You have to at least have a drink, for helping me.”

  “No, that’s okay.” I shook my head and smiled. “I don’t really drink anyway.”

  “I’ll get you a soda or something, then,” Selena said. “Lugging that idiot around was hard work.” She gestured to Logan, who had already begun to snore. “You deserve at least one drink.”

  I’d been to parties before, but never ones like this. Not only was it packed, but everyone here was dressed like they came off MTV or out of a teen magazine. They were all flashy and bright, while I wore a flowing skirt and a denim jacket almost as old as I was.

  “Just one drink!” Selena was backing away. “Stay right here, and I’ll be right back.”

  She disappeared into the crowd, presumably running off somewhere to get me a soda. I’d planned on waiting for her to return with it, but people kept bumping into me as they tried to get by.

  From the outside, the house had looked glorious—albeit foreboding—and now that I was inside, I was thrilled at the prospect of being able to see it on my own. After spending the past decade living in a motorhome, one of my guiltiest pleasures was looking around actual houses, and I’d never been in one quite as nice as this.

  It was a strange setup. The classic antebellum architecture clashed against the ultra-modern plastic furnishings, looking more like they belonged in a showroom in New York than in a two-hundred-year-old house in the Deep South.

  Next to the plantation shutters was a round sofa in bright red. A giant shiny white sculpture sat in one corner, but I hadn’t the faintest idea what it was supposed to be. An Andy Warhol print hung on one wall, with a Piet Mondrian on another.

  Many of the pieces I recognized from the books I’d picked up in my travels. There wasn’t much to do on the road, so I spent most of the time with my head in a book.

  I’d edged my way out of the living room and went into what I can only guess was another sitting room—this one furnished as garishly as the last—but stopped when I caught sight of another painting.

  It was an anarchist drawing of graffiti-style writing and paint smeared haphazardly across it, with a cartoon wolf in a top hat lusting after sausage. The only colors were beige, black, white, and red, and there was something abrasive yet captivating about it.

  “Wolf Sausage,” a guy said from behind.

  When I turned back to see who was speaking, my heart skipped a beat. It was him. The guy from the balcony.

  The first thing I noticed—after his eyes, which I could finally see up close were an amazing dark golden brown—was how tall he was. While I’m on the short side, he stood nearly a foot taller than me, and the way he kept his chestnut hair pushed back probably added another inch to him.

  He had this imposing presence to him, even though his tone had been friendly, and part of me felt like I should be afraid. It wasn’t that he was handsome—though he was. Dark arched eyebrows, high cheekbones, and a hint of something devilish playing on the smile on his lips—almost like Jim Morrison but with his short hair tamed instead of Morrison’s uncontrolled mane.

  I couldn’t really define it—not what should’ve frightened me about him, and not what made me defy that fear. But it was there, quickening my pulse and heightening my senses, and I found myself smiling back at him.

  “What?” I asked before I’d gone too long staring at him without speaking.

  “The painting,” he said, but he kept his eyes on me. “It’s by Jean-Michel Basquiat, and it’s called Wolf Sausage.”

  I glanced back at the picture and noticed that
both the words “wolf” and “sausage” had been written on it several times. “That seems like an apt title.”

  “Yeah, it is.” An amused smile curled up at the edge of his lips, but his eyes narrowed slightly, as if inspecting me. “I saw you outside.”

  “You may have,” I said, pretending not to know what he was talking about. “I was enjoying the night air.”

  “Are you a friend of Selena’s, then?” he asked.

  Before I could answer, he reached out suddenly and pushed me to the side so a few people could get by. They were laughing loudly and liquid sloshed out of their plastic cups. I would’ve found myself covered in beer if he hadn’t moved me out of the way.

  To save me from getting soaked, he’d put his arm around my waist, pulling me closer to him. Our bodies weren’t touching—not exactly, but when he breathed deeply, his chest pressed against mine.

  I considered staying in his arms, but that would probably seem creepy and weird since we’d just met. As soon as the people had gone by, I moved away from him, and he dropped his arm.

  “So you never answered my question,” he said. “Are you friends with Selena?”

  “Kind of, I guess. I just met her.”

  “Hmm,” he said, almost as if he didn’t believe me, and I met his gaze evenly. “How did you get invited to this party exactly?”

  “There you are!” Selena shouted, saving me from an explanation, as she hurried over to us with a can of Pepsi. “I was afraid you’d left.”

  “Nope. I’m still here,” I said.

  She handed me the can. “I wasn’t sure what kind you’d like, so I hope this is fine.”

  I smiled. “Pepsi is great, thanks.”

  “So. I see you met my little brother.” Selena put her elbow on his shoulder, attempting to lean on him, but since he was much taller than her too, it left her at a comically awkward angle. “I don’t know what Mom and Dad fed him as a kid, but he just wouldn’t stop growing.”

  He glanced down at his sister. “We were just talking about how you two know each other.”

  “Logan is completely smashed, and she helped me haul him inside,” Selena explained, straightening up so she wasn’t leaning on him so inelegantly.

  “And yet Logan is still the best boyfriend you’ve had so far,” he said with a thin smile.

  Selena swatted him on the arm, but kept her attention on me. “I know you said your name outside, but I’m sorry, it’s totally slipped my mind.”

  “Mara,” I said.

  “Mara?” her brother repeated.

  I nodded. “Mara Beznik.”

  “Gabe Alvarado.” He held his hand out for me to shake. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Likewise,” I said as his hand enveloped mine.

  “And I’m Selena Alvarado.” She leaned forward, interjecting her hand, so I shook it. “Anyway. This is my party, so I should mingle. But I do hope you stay and have fun.” She stepped back, then clapped Gabe on the arm. “Play nice.”

  “I always do,” he told her.

  “Well, I don’t want to be a party crasher,” I said after Selena had disappeared into the party. “I should probably head out.”

  “You’re not crashing,” Gabe insisted. “You promised my sister you’d stay for a drink, so you should at the very least do that.”

  “I guess I can.” I opened the soda and sipped slowly from it. “So this is your house?”

  “Well, my parents’ house, but yeah, I live here with them and my sister.” He looked around, as if noticing how grand the house was for the first time.

  “It’s a nice place,” I said, admiring it. “Your parents don’t mind that you’re having a party?”

  “Well, they’re out of town for tonight,” he admitted, looking around. “But they’re used to there being huge parties. My uncle Beau used to have these big blowouts every spring, and people from all over the country would come.”

  My eyes widened. “Wow. And I thought this party was big.”

  “Yeah.” He leaned closer to me then. “It’s kind of noisy down here. Why don’t we go someplace quieter so we can talk?”

  I’d been taking a drink from my Pepsi, and I had to put my hand over my mouth when I started laughing.

  “What?” Gabe straightened up, a confused expression on his face.

  “I didn’t know people actually used that line.” I wiped at the soda from my mouth and smirked up at him. “Does it usually work?”

  “Sometimes, yeah.” He nodded. “So?”

  “So what?” I asked.

  “So I do want to talk to you.” He stared down at me, a smile playing on his lips, but his eyes were hopeful. “And it is awfully loud down here. Will you go someplace quieter to talk? I promise I won’t try anything else.” He paused. “Not unless you want me to.”

  I looked up at him and considered my options. I could leave this party and walk back to my trailer, where my mother and Blossom would already be asleep, and I’d either finish my V. C. Andrews novel or go to sleep myself.

  Or I could stay here at this party and talk to this guy with bedroom eyes. Maybe he’d try to kiss me, and if he was nice enough, I might even let him. Or not, but the option of a real kiss was almost always better than a night in bed with a book.

  “Okay,” I said finally. “Let’s go someplace quiet.”

  “Excellent.” He grinned.

  3. arcana

  “Your bedroom?” I asked with a cocked eyebrow. “Really?”

  Gabe stood in the doorway with a look of exaggerated innocence. He’d flicked on the light and gestured back to the room behind him.

  “It’s just quiet. That’s it,” he assured me. “And there’s plenty of room. So you don’t even have to sit anywhere near me.”

  I leaned forward, peering into his room, surprised by how spacious it was. It was probably bigger than my whole trailer, but I would never tell him that. His unmade bed had to be at least twice the size of the narrow twin mattress I slept on every night.

  A small TV with a Nintendo hooked up to it sat on a dresser, and a beanbag chair sat in front of it. Band posters covered the walls, mostly for INXS and The Smiths, but there was one of a scantily clad Madonna. The stereo in the corner was buried underneath cassette tapes and records.

  Dirty clothes were overflowing from a hamper. Otherwise, it looked fairly clean for a teenage guy’s room. Or at least compared to the guys’ rooms I’d seen.

  “What do you say?” Gabe asked, leaning on his door with an imploring look in his eyes. “Are you in or are you out?”

  “Well, I have come this far already.” I sighed dramatically, causing Gabe to laugh a little as I stepped into his room.

  “You made the right call.”

  He shut the bedroom door behind me, instantly muffling the noise of the party. The voices were almost silent, but the thumping bass from Run-D.M.C. still made it through the walls.

  “Why don’t I put on music?” Gabe suggested. “But at a much more reasonable decibel.”

  I slipped off my jacket and tossed it on his bed, while he rummaged through his cassettes. “Sure.”

  “Do you like U2?” Gabe asked as he adjusted the volume.

  “I don’t know,” I admitted. “I haven’t heard that much by them.”

  While he played around with his stereo, I walked around, admiring his room.

  The sense of permanence I felt in this room was something I would never feel in my trailer. No faux paneling. No crank-operated skylights that leaked whenever it rained. This was a home, and I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of envy. Not necessarily of Gabe, but just of being able to have a life like this, of having a home that didn’t change location every week.

  “So,” Gabe said when he finished adjusting his stereo, and music played softly.

  I stood at the far wall and looked back at him over my shoulder.

  His mouth was open slightly, and he stared at me with the strangest expression on his face. I waited a moment for him to say something, but when
he didn’t, I began to feel self-conscious and rubbed at my arms left bare from my sleeveless lace top.

  “What?” I asked finally.

  “Nothing.” An embarrassed smile broke out on his face, and he shook his head.

  I sat down on the bed, and he waited a beat before sitting beside me. “Have you lived here a long time?”

  “Not really. I was actually born here, but we moved away for a while. We just came back this past summer.” He motioned around us. “This is actually the family home, like, my grandparents owned it, and their parents before them, and on and on.”

  “I thought I hadn’t detected a Southern accent,” I commented.

  “No, I grew up in upstate New York. My mom has a strong accent, but the rest of us don’t.”

  “So are you glad to be back down here?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. If I’m being honest, I didn’t really wanna come back. I was supposed to be starting college this past fall, and I had everything all planned.”

  “How did you end up here?”

  “My mom’s brother died, and he left us the house and everything. Since it’s the family estate, my mom refused to sell it, and she insisted that I postpone all my plans for higher education and come back here. Selena was more than happy to drop out, but I’d been looking forward to NYU.”

  “That seems like a weird thing for a parent to insist,” I said. “I don’t have any experience with higher education, but I thought that parents usually pushed for you to go.”

  “Yeah, my mom can be strange sometimes.” He shook his head. “What about you?”

  “I’m mostly just passing through.” I evaded the question as best I could. Things always went much better when people didn’t know I lived with a traveling carnival.

  He leaned back, and I felt his eyes searching me again. “So, what are you, some kind of vagabond?”

  “What?” I laughed to cover up how caught off-guard I felt. “Why do you ask that?”

  “I don’t know.” He shrugged. “You implied that you’re traveling soon, and you kinda look bohemian.”

  “How do bohemians look?” I asked.