Oh My Goth Read online

  In her pretty pink dress, Mercedes is as gorgeous as ever and sure to mesmerize. Her blond hair floats around her delicate shoulders, making her the picture of perfection and innocence.

  Well. There goes any budding friendship Clarik and I may or may not have had. Mercedes will tell him to hate me, and he’ll obey her because he’ll be clouded by a fog of teen-boy lust.

  Do you care?

  No. No, of course not. Not really. Or at all. We’re basically strangers. And it isn’t like I took one look at him, fell in love, decided to marry him and have a million babies. I’m not that girl.

  My attention returns to Clarik, who is looking at—No way. He’s looking at me with what might be...affection? “It was nice meeting you, Jade.”

  Yeah, yeah, yeah. “Don’t be too sure about that.”

  He smiles at me. “I’m already certain.”

  I can think of nothing to add, so I nod. For the first time in...ever? Someone has actually shocked me. He hung back to tell me goodbye rather than rushing off to meet Mercedes.

  He might be a brawler, but he’s also kind, and he’s polite. I like him.

  As he moves around the desk and heads for Mercedes, her eyes widen.

  A pink flush stains her cheeks. “You’re Clarik?”

  “I am,” he says.

  I can almost hear her heartbeat, and it sounds a little something like Hubba, hubba. Hubba, hubba. A word my stepmother uses to describe my dad. Great! Now I’ve grossed myself out.

  “Well, slap my head and call me silly.” Mercedes curls a silky lock around her finger, all coyness and charm. “I’ve got to be the luckiest girl here.”

  Ugh. Not the Southern accent. Her biggest tell. She’s attracted to him, and Bobby is nothing but a memory.

  She flashes me a hands-off glare before linking her arm with Clarik’s. “Come on, cutie. We need to get you out of this office before you’re contaminated by the trash.”

  The doors close behind them, cutting off his reply. Then they turn the corner, and suddenly they are out of view.

  I drag my feet back to Martha’s desk, wondering if Clarik will fall under Mercedes’s spell like everyone else...if they’ll start dating, becoming the new “it” couple...if I will be forced to watch them make out in the halls...

  A tremor slides down my spine, and a slow burn spreads through my chest. My hands fist. Whoa. Hold up. I’m upset about a boy I just met dating a girl I don’t like? That makes zero sense.

  Martha pats the top of my hand. “You’re better off, hon. That boy is pure trouble. He was kicked out of two schools for fighting. We’re his last chance.”

  I can’t believe I have to remind her of this, but here goes. “We don’t know the whole story. The students could have provoked him.”

  “Do we need to know the whole story? Bottom line, he has a temper he can’t control.”

  “Maybe he was protecting others from bullies. Maybe he stopped a crime from occurring.” Hey. It’s possible.

  She twitters under her breath, and I think I detect the words “fool girls” and “bad boys,” before she sighs and type, type, types, ignoring me.

  My curiosity about Clarik grows by leaps and bounds...until I bury it just like everything else, lock up my heart and return to my default setting.

  Numb.

  Chapter 3

  You can’t hide from pain.

  One way or another, it always finds you.

  —Miranda Leighton

  Turns out, avoiding Clarik is the key to my continued calm. I make it through two classes without a hitch. Out of sight, out of mind. However, when I spot him at lunch, sitting next to Mercedes, I backslide. Anger sparks to life once again.

  Inhale, exhale. Once I focus on my friends, the spark dies and all is well. With me at least. One of the boys Linnie slept with not too long ago snickers as he accidentally-on-purpose knocks over her tray, sending her running from the cafeteria, sobbing.

  When I purposely-on-purpose knock over his tray, he actually fronts on me as if he’s going to coldcock me. Go ahead. Try. I’ve taken self-defense classes. I can take a punch. Better yet, I can throw a punch.

  A few years ago, my therapist recommended I sign up for some type of physical exercise that involved other people, possible new friends. My options were limited. Rock climbing, tandem biking, rowing or self-defense courses. I chose self-defense, and I’m quite good.

  Robb and Kimberly step up to my side, acting as backup. Robb eschews violence, but he will go to the mat for his girls. Kimberly will fight anyone, anytime, and doesn’t even need a reason.

  The boy fronts on my friends, too, only to pale and back away. Then he turns and runs, taking the same path as Linnie.

  I turn, wondering what changed—and find Clarik. He’s standing behind me.

  So Linnie’s former hookup wasn’t afraid of my crew but nearly peed his pants at the sight of our new bruiser?

  “You guys okay?” Clarik asks.

  Robb stammers incoherently, his cheeks flushing. Finally he ducks his head and scampers away as if he’s too flustered to deal. Kimberly flicks me an I’ve got this look before following him.

  I so get his turmoil. My heart rate speeds up, making me wonder if I’m crushing again, or nervous. “We’re, uh, fine. Thanks.”

  “Did I do something wrong?”

  “Nope. He’s shy, and you’re cute, so...” I hike my shoulders in a shrug.

  Clarik goes still. “You think I’m cute?”

  “Yes, but only because I have eyes. And get real. Like you don’t know every girl in this school has to wipe away drool whenever you walk by.”

  “Do you? I mean, you’re a girl. And you go to this school. So...”

  “Don’t get too excited. I drool over leather-bound notebooks, too.” Notebooks, journals and diaries with a cool design are my one obsession. “All right. Goodbye.” I motor off without another word.

  Out of sight, out of mind.

  “That was brutal, man,” Kimberly says when I catch up.

  “Those eyes.” Robb is wide-eyed and shell-shocked. “He looked at me with those eyes, and I forgot how to breathe.”

  “Trust me,” I mutter. “I know the feeling.”

  We forgo lunch, using the time to track down and soothe Linnie. She’s hiding in the band room, sitting in a shadowed corner, her knees drawn up to her chest. There are pink tear tracks on her cheeks.

  “Why are people so cruel?” she says between ragged breaths. “What’s wrong with me? Why does no one like me?”

  “There is nothing wrong with you. And there are people who love you. I know, because I’m one of them. I will be here for you always.” Robb eases beside her, takes her hand and kisses her knuckles. “Those boys...their rejection...it doesn’t speak of your worth but theirs. And guess what? They aren’t worth a moment of your time.”

  Kimberly sits on her other side. For once, the gruff, tough scrapper has a soft expression. “There are always going to be people who look at us and decide we’re weird. As if weird is a bad thing! Average people have average lives. Extraordinary dreamers like us? We live, what? Say it with me. Extraordinary lives.”

  These two are dropping wisdom like it’s hot, and pang after pang is cutting through my chest, cracking my armor. Different emotions attempt to break free of the hidden pile in my heart.

  Robb catches my gaze and motions me over. “Come on, Jade. Get in on this.”

  I have to go. I have to go now.

  I race from the room, his sadness boring holes in my back. I don’t want to hurt him. I don’t want to hurt any of my friends. But let’s be real. I’m not needed, and they are better off without me. I tend to sprinkle a whole lot of awkward on any emotional situation.

  Though I’m tempted to walk home early to avoid...well, everyone and everything, I stick it out for the day.
I manage to steer clear of my friends, and I don’t see Clarik again until our shared class. Good news! I barely react to his presence...or the fact that he smells like the sweetest summer rain.

  He doesn’t glance my way—before, during or after—and I’m glad. Superglad. Really.

  As soon as the bell rings, he’s out the door. On my way to detention, however, I run into my friends, and there’s no avoiding them. They are camped out in front of my locker, discussing a rock concert they plan to attend over the weekend.

  Last weekend they spent the night in a cemetery, taking and posting pictures. For the first time in...ever, I almost joined them for an after-school activity.

  “You wanna go to the concert, Jade?” Linnie asks, sounding hopeful. She doesn’t mention my lunchtime disappearance, but then she’s gotten used to my swift getaways.

  “Of course she doesn’t,” Kimberly grumbles at the same time I say, “No, thanks.” Crowds and loud noises aren’t my thing. I prefer quiet, peaceful nights.

  Kimberly tosses her arms up. “Told you!”

  Robb is quiet and doesn’t even glance in my direction.

  Pang. “I’ve got to get to detention,” I say, storing my books and making my exit.

  Detention takes place in an underclassman room, and there are only four other students present. I spend the allotted hour introspecting—a rare activity for me.

  Will there come a point when Robb, Linnie and Kimberly wash their hands of me?

  And why did Clarik not want to laugh this morning? Why did he tense up around me? That’s odd, right? Unless he hates emotion, like me—which is totally possible and perhaps a means of controlling his temper.

  But that raises another question. What do I make him feel? Besides amusement, I mean.

  Argh! This has to stop.

  After detention, I stalk outside, ready to walk home and shut myself in my room. The sun is bright—too bright—the air too hot for early November. Cotton-ball clouds fill a baby blue sky.

  The parking lot should be empty, but cheerleaders and football players are climbing into their cars. Practice must have ended prematurely.

  For the sake of time and energy, I avoid everyone...until a pearl-white Mercedes squeals to an abrupt stop in front of me. The girl Mercedes is perched behind the wheel. Yes, Mercedes drives a Mercedes. Yes, it’s as cheesy and ridiculous as it sounds.

  She rolls down the window and snaps, “You want a ride or what?”

  So she can grill me about whether or not I told anyone I saw her crying? “I’d rather walk.”

  “Suit yourself.” She’s about to pull away when Bobby throws open the passenger door and slides inside the car.

  He leans over to press a kiss into her cheek. “What’s this I hear about you breaking up with me?” His tone softens, surprising me as he says, “You know we belong together, babe.”

  “Actually, I know I belong with a guy who adores me,” she says in a singsong voice. “That’s not you.”

  Has she finally wised up? Good for her. I don’t like her—might even hate her if I bothered to feel anything—but I don’t want anyone else messing with her. Her misery is mine to dish. “If you belong together,” I say, “why can’t you keep little Bobby in your pants, eh?”

  A vein throbs in his forehead. “Stop trying to hurt Mercedes with your lies. She deserves better.”

  “She doesn’t deserve the STD you’ll surely give her.” I bat my lashes innocently. “They don’t call you Bay the Lay and Bob Has a Sore on His Corncob for nothing, amirite?”

  I think that vein in his forehead bursts. His face turns beet red, and he reaches for the door handle as if he has every intention of crossing the distance and raging. Bring it.

  Mercedes says, “Let’s get out of here and talk in private.” She flips me off and peels out.

  Whatever. I resume my walk, sticking to the shadows as best I can, just in case Clarik lives in one of the houses I pass. I don’t want to see him, because I do, in fact, want to see him.

  At home, I’m able to relax my guard at last. I’m not the biggest fan of the interior, the walls and rugs a little too colorful for my taste—blue and pink here, yellow and green there—but I never complain. I’d hurt Fiona’s feelings, and I do not want to hurt Fiona’s feelings. She’s a snot-crier. Her entire body heaves, her eyes swell and her skin turns red and blotchy. Tears rain down her cheeks, and her nose pours.

  Apparently decorating is her “specialty,” meaning she has taste and I don’t. She stages homes for local real-estate agents. That’s how she and my dad met, anyway. Dad was desperate to sell my childhood home, but the agent struggled to close a deal and called Fiona, who came over to assess the layout. She and my dad hit it off right away and married soon after.

  I find Fiona in the kitchen, cooking dinner. Spotting me, she offers the semblance of a smile. “Hello, Jade.”

  “Hello.” Anytime I wonder how and when she’s going to die, I can’t help but imagine my dad’s reaction. Will he suffer a major breakdown or carry on as usual? With my mom and then Nadine, he had a few bad weeks but seemed to pick up the pieces quickly.

  Steam rises from the chicken Fiona is shredding. I’m not sure what my dad sees in her. And I don’t mean that in a cruel way. She’s beautiful, and she’s sweet. It’s just...she looks nothing like my mother, who was short and curvy with pin-straight platinum-blond hair, just like mine. She looks nothing like Nadine, who could have passed for Mom’s sister. Fiona is tall and slender with curly brown hair.

  Well, usually slender. Right now she’s six months pregnant and big as a house, and prettier because of it. She glows.

  I sometimes wonder if my dad settled for her simply because she’s the only person who could stand to be around me.

  “How was your day?” she asks.

  “Fine.” When I say no more, disappointment flickers in her eyes. “What are you making?”

  “Chicken and mushroom casserole.”

  My dad’s favorite. My nightmare. Mushrooms are fungus, and I would rather eat toenails.

  “Don’t worry,” she adds. “I’m making a second dish for you. Chicken casserole, no mushrooms.”

  Pang. Great! Now I have to be on guard at home, too? “I’m not really hungry,” I say with more force than I intend.

  “Oh,” she says, once again projecting disappointment. “All right.”

  Pang, pang. Inhale, exhale.

  Giggles the cat winds around her ankles and purrs. Fiona rescued him before she married my dad. The feline never giggles, but I have to admit he seems suspiciously gleeful anytime he pushes food or fine china off the countertops. Whenever I try to pet him, he claws my hand as if I’m attempting bloody murder.

  I like him.

  Fiona, I’m not so sure about. She’s not a bad person. Actually, she’s really nice. She’s just...not my mom.

  Gasping, she presses her hands against her rounded belly. “Your sister is kicking up a fuss.”

  When I first found out about the pregnancy, I experienced a blip of excitement. Before the accident, I’d wanted a sibling more than anything else in the world. Then I looked up infant mortality rates and found out they were shockingly high.

  Fact is, everyone in the world is going to die at some point. No need to get attached.

  “I’m going to change and go for a run,” I mutter, and shut myself in my bedroom. A “paradise” Fiona decorated for me as a gift. Pink walls. White covers, floral sheets. A vanity stenciled with roses.

  I drop my bag by the door and step into my closet where I change into a grunge tank and too-short shorts and pull on tennis shoes. Running helps me clear my head.

  As I head to the front door, Fiona calls, “I know you’re not hungry, but I’d like you to join us for dinner. Half an hour.”

  “No, thanks.” I’m out the door before she can comment.


  I run on the shoulder of the street, and I swear I smell the sweet scent of pumpkin and spice. Every lawn I encounter is manicured, despite the late season, every house in the neighborhood old but cared for.

  Which house belongs to Clarik?

  Ugh. Why am I still thinking about him?

  Mercedes lives around the corner...there...in one of the bigger two-stories. She’s standing in the driveway, Charlee Ann with her, the two yelling at each other.

  “—can’t have both boys,” Charlee Ann is grumbling. “You have to pick so the rest of us can have a shot at the other one.”

  Mercedes spots me and narrows her eyes. “Run along, freak. You aren’t wanted here. Or anywhere!”

  Charlee Ann whips around to face me. Her eyes narrow, too. “Trying to get healthy so you’ll live longer? How unfortunate for the rest of the world.”

  Whatever. I maintain a steady pace as I round the cul-de-sac.

  The girls are long gone by the time I return, circling the entire neighborhood a second time. The sun is setting on the horizon, the sky ablaze with pink, purple and gold. I should probably return home and—

  An old beat-up truck pulls up behind me and slows to a crawl, driving in the same direction I’m running. I slow, too, as the passenger-side window rolls down. Is some creep about to offer me a ride? Go ahead. Go for it. I’ll punch him in the throat and break his voice box so he won’t be offering anyone anything for a while.

  Clarik!

  Avoid! Avoid! Run faster. Tell him to get lost. Something!

  Too late. He rests his elbow on the window ledge, and my heart actually skips a beat. Hmm. I must have overexerted myself. “Hey,” he says.

  “Hey.” There’s no playing cool in this situation. I’m currently drenched in sweat, and it’s not exactly my best look or even a top one hundred contender.

  “I never would have pegged the girl with bone tattoos as a runner.”

  He never even glanced in my direction during Norfield’s class either, yet he noticed my tattoos. Besides an entire skeleton etched along my spine, I have individual bones scattered over my arm, like puzzle pieces, hidden inside other images. Doesn’t take a genius to figure out why I chose them to forever decorate my skin; they’re an extension of my “death obsession.”