Oh My Goth Read online

  I’ve never believed a fresh start is truly possible. Too many memories. If you cannot forget your past, you cannot help but drag it with you everywhere you go. But there’s no way I’ll share my assessment with Clarik.

  My best guess is the heartache springs from his breakup.

  We stare at each other for a long while, as if we’re lost. Lost and never want to be found. The air grows even thicker, breathing even more difficult. I have one move—holding my breath as long as possible, refusing to inhale any more of that tantalizing vanilla scent.

  A muscle jumps underneath his eye. Finally, he releases the hem of his shirt, the material falling, covering a chest I will forever see in my dreams.

  “Do you think we’ll remain friends after tonight?” I ask. I don’t know why. “Talk and text and hang out?”

  “No,” he replies, as blunt as always. “I don’t.”

  I shove my disappointment inside my heart and twist the lock. “Yeah,” I say, my tone deadened. “I figured.”

  Bang, bang, bang. Following the loud, erratic knock, Linnie soars into the room. Her cheeks are pale, waxen, and she’s trembling. “Jade, you need to leave. Leave now. You can crawl through the window.”

  I don’t have to wonder what’s going on. Mercedes has followed through with her threat.

  Clarik steps in front of me, as if to shield me, and I’m taken aback. “What’s going on?” he asks.

  She wrings her hands together. “Well...”

  I stalk down the hall, around a corner, and enter the living room, where the entire party has congregated. Almost everyone is holding a piece of paper. My hand trembles as I yank one out of some boy’s clasp.

  My name is doodled at the top, and a broken heart that matches the one on my wrist decorates the margin. The text reads:

  I am a sea of nothingness. My life is a series of hurts—for others. Perhaps my dad would be better off without me.

  This is a photocopied page from one of my journals. A passage I wrote while my dad and Nadine were dating. Mercedes must have kept it.

  Mercedes, who wants to see me cry, who is angry about what might have happened between our parents and is lashing out at me. Who wants me to look like a fool in front of Clarik even if it blows her chances with him. Because she hates me more than she likes him.

  At first I think I’m too shocked to react. We stare at each other, neither of us blinking. Like me, she’s trembling. Her color is high, so high she looks sickly, but she doesn’t back down. No, she winds up, bracing for a counterattack.

  And I will attack. She’s welcomed the entire school into our private war.

  “You’re right,” Charlee Ann says and snickers. “We’d be better off without you.”

  Heaven and Nevaeh begin snatching papers. Heaven says, “Are you the one who did this, Charlee Ann?”

  Nevaeh adds, “Because it’s vile, even for you.”

  “Nothing to see here,” Heaven tells the crowd as Charlee Ann sputters out a denial. “Go about your business.”

  If I am an angel of death, Clarik is an avenging angel. He works alongside the twins, a menacing presence no one dares question. Not even Bobby and his cohorts in crime.

  Linnie, who found Robb as well as Kimberly, rallies around me with the others. Linnie and Robb try to hug me, but I shrug them off. Kimberly gets busy helping Clarik and the twins.

  I stand there like an idiot, my ears ringing, my calm facade cracking. My tremors intensify. I’m the girl who thinks Robb should stop caring what other people think, yet here I am, feeling as if I’m a raw, open wound exposed to air for the first time.

  This doesn’t matter. These people do not matter. They mean nothing to me. Their opinion means less than nothing. I won’t give Mercedes the satisfaction of watching me cry.

  When Clarik gets an up-close-and-personal look at me, he abandons his efforts to destroy the evidence and barks an order to Robb. “Make sure Linnie and Kimberly get home safely.” Then he takes my hand and ushers me out of the cabin, going straight to his truck.

  I buckle up and slouch in my seat, the shoulder strap rubbing against my neck.

  He stuffs the papers behind his seat and drives down the road. “I’m sorry.”

  “Not your fault,” I mutter. “You did nothing wrong.”

  “I didn’t apologize because I think I did something wrong, Jade. I apologized because I hate that something has hurt you.”

  “I’m not hurt.”

  He leaves that statement alone, saying, “The pages were from your diary, I’m guessing.”

  “It’s from the summer before I started junior high, when my dad and Mercedes’s mom were dating. Mercedes had access to my things.” I thought I’d misplaced the diary, so she helped me search for it. Most likely she’d stolen it. And she’d kept it, all this time, waiting for the perfect time to strike. “We could have had our own bedrooms, but we decided to share one, because that’s what sisters do.”

  “I had two stepbrothers, one older, one younger,” he says, and I know he’s doing his best to distract me. “I got along with the younger one at first, but never the older one. His dislike was contagious, I guess, because it wasn’t long before the younger one began to avoid me, too.”

  “Were you sad? I bet you were sad. You’re as far from a robot as a person can be.”

  His hands tighten on the steering wheel. “You’re not a robot. You feel.”

  “Maybe. But I’m still a bad bet.”

  Silence overtakes us as his truck eats up the miles. It isn’t long before he’s parked at the side of my house. I unbuckle and open my door, certain I’ll never see the inside of this truck again. I’ll never go on another nondate date with Clarik, and that’s okay. I’ll be okay.

  “Goodbye, Clarik.”

  A tension-laden pause. Then, “Goodbye, Jade.”

  My cheeks heat as I rush inside the house. My dad is in the living room, splayed on the couch and watching TV.

  When he spots me, he jolts upright and frowns. His hair is messy, his shirt wrinkled and his sweatpants cut into shorts. “You’re home early. Too early.”

  “Yes.” I offer no more and move toward my room. I can’t bring myself to look at him.

  He pats the seat next to him. “Come here. Sit. Tell me about your evening.”

  Deep breath in...out... I close the distance and ease down. “What do you want to know?”

  “Did you have fun?”

  “Yes.”

  “What did you do?”

  Had a little chat with Mercedes and found out you might or might not have hooked up with Nadine. And you? “Ate a burger, made an appearance at Clarik’s welcome party and came home.”

  He heaves a weary sigh. He’s disappointed. He’s disappointed in me.

  “Did you spend the night with Nadine Turner?” The words rush from my tongue before I can stop them.

  “What? No!” He appears properly horrified.

  Good, that’s good. “Did you visit her bright and early this morning?”

  Now he pinches the bridge of his nose. “Mercedes spotted me, I suppose.”

  Whack! A slap of shock, directly across my face. He did. He visited Nadine and kissed her goodbye. A sense of betrayal floods me. Almost...can’t...process...

  “Are you cheating on Fiona?” Does he hope to get back together with Nadine?

  “No. Never. Yesterday Fiona had contractions. It’s far too early, and I was worried. I wanted to speak with a doctor who wouldn’t share my concerns with Fiona and freak her out. Nadine is my friend, so...” He shrugs.

  “Since when are you two friends?”

  “Since yesterday. Look, I wasn’t around your mom much when she was pregnant with you, so I don’t know what’s normal and what isn’t. Nadine assured me both Fiona and the baby are fine.”

  I’m not relieved, not
even close. “Does Fiona know about the visit?”

  His lips compress into a thin line. Yeah, I thought not.

  I’m so over this night. Everything is about to change.

  “If you can’t talk to her about it, you probably shouldn’t do it.” I stand on unsteady legs and walk away.

  There’s a pause before he calls, “I love you, Jade.” His voice is as hollow as mine.

  Once I’m sealed inside my bedroom, I dress for a run rather than bed. I need to think, need to breathe. Giggles is perched on my bed. As I sneak out the window, unwilling to deal with my dad, he meows. Loudly. Sounding the alarm?

  “Shh.” I’ve done this a thousand times before. I’m sure I’ll do it a thousand more.

  I circle the neighborhood once...twice...five times, sticking to the sidewalks. My mind refuses to settle. Tomorrow I’ll be breaking up with Robb, Linnie and Kimberly, as planned. I’ll have to be direct and firm.

  Linnie will probably cry. Kimberly will act like she doesn’t care. Robb will definitely take it personally.

  I suck.

  I don’t have to worry about cutting ties with Clarik. He’ll go back to ignoring me, no doubt about it. Or maybe he’ll nod a greeting every so often. What he won’t do? Take a chance on a bad bet.

  My dad... I don’t know how to feel about him. He might not have cheated on Fiona, but he didn’t do right by her, either.

  “Why can’t you stay away from me? Argh! Obsessed much?”

  The familiar voice stops me in my tracks, and I come face-to-face with Mercedes. She left her own party? Why? Why would she do that?

  She’s in her front yard, sitting under a tree that towers next to the curb, mascara streaked down her cheeks. After pounding her fist into the ground a few times, dirt flying, she stands.

  The sight of her tears only adds fuel to the fire of my rage.

  I’m not ready to deal with her. I kick into a run, but she follows me.

  “I hate you,” she snarls.

  “The feeling is mutual, I assure you,” I snarl back. “What are you doing out here? No, you know what? It doesn’t matter. I don’t care. You do not want to be around me right now, Mercedes.”

  I turn the corner, and she follows.

  “I told you to leave the party,” she says between huffing breaths. “Why didn’t you leave?”

  “Are you trying to say what happened is my fault?” Rage, boiling over. I stop to glare at her. “How about this, then? Tomorrow I’m going to tell everyone about your bingeing and purging. I will give details. I haven’t forgotten the way you used to hide junk food wrappers under our mattress and—”

  Tremors sweep over her, and she crosses her arms over her middle. “N-no one will believe you.”

  Up ahead, headlights flash as a car turns the corner; those lights are closing in on us way too fast, as if there’s a high-speed race in progress, and we are the finish line.

  My heart jacks into a matching speed, and I move into a yard, next to Mercedes. Music is blasting. Laughter rings out, followed by a high-pitched, “Whoo-hoo!”

  We’re away from the road and should be safe, but they still seem to be barreling straight for us.

  Tires squeal. Those lights! So bright! I grab Mercedes’s arm and yank her out of the way. Together, we fall into a dewy flower bed—

  Pain explodes through my head. For a moment, my vision goes black. So does my mind. Then stars wink into my line of sight, and my brain comes back online. The back of my skull must have banged into a rock. The pain shoots through the rest of my body, muscles clenching and knotting. My stomach threatens to rebel as the taste of old pennies coats my tongue.

  A car door slams. Someone curses. I recognize his voice. Bobby Bay, no doubt about it. “They’re dead. I think they’re dead. What do we do?”

  Other kids mutter replies, their panic making their words incoherent. Footsteps sound, followed by the roar of an engine and the squeal of tires.

  The kids are driving away, leaving us to fend for ourselves? Great! This is the perfect end to my day, it really is.

  Moaning, I sit up. My muscles and bones protest. My line of sight is hazy, but at least the world is coming back into view as I blink.

  Mercedes rubs her chest and lumbers to her feet. “Stupid Bobby! I’m going to kill him.”

  “Why? Because he failed to kill me?”

  “Jade—”

  “Just...shut up.” I’m tired and sore, and I’m done for the night. Done with everything.

  “Thank you,” she calls, her voice trembling. “For pulling me out of the way.”

  Whatever. I limp home, wincing with every step, and sneak through my window. Giggles is gone. I shower, pull on a tank top and clean underwear and crawl into bed. Despite my aches and pains, I drift into a fitful doze...

  Once again, I dream of my mother. We’re outside. I’m standing, but she’s swinging on the swing set. I cross my arms and lean against the pole. The metal is cool against my skin, making me gasp. This feels so real. I can even smell burning wood, as if many of my neighbors are finally using their hearths.

  “I made mistakes, but this is my chance to fix them,” she says. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you have an ally.”

  My brow crinkles with confusion. “An ally for what?”

  “I’m not going to let you destroy your life,” she continues. “If you continue to hide from your pain, you will never live, never find happiness. I want you happy. So look at the world around you, my sweet. See how it has become a cold shell of itself. Without heart, it is twisted and wrong.”

  “What are you talking about, Mom?” The world around me is the same as always.

  She flashes me a smile so sad that it makes my chest hurt. “Remember that I love you. I love who you are—always have, always will. You don’t have to hide that girl away anymore, as if you are ashamed of her. It’s time you love her, too, and let her live.”

  A second later, she’s gone.

  Chapter 6

  I can make it one minute...hour...day...week...year.

  I can make it one step at a time.

  —Miranda Leighton

  I blink open my eyes, an intense flare of light causing them to sting and water as if I’ve been in a dark cave for years and have only just now awakened. There’s a terrible taste in my mouth—I can imagine that tiny woodland creatures have crawled inside and died. What’s wrong with me? Am I sick?

  Wait. Mercedes...the near accident...slamming into the flower bed. At least I wasn’t hit by the car. Then my mom appeared in my dreams and told me to love myself, to find happiness.

  A knock sounds at my door—or is the knocking coming from inside my head? I groan as my temples throb.

  “Jade,” a deep voice calls.

  My dad. I groan again. If I ignore him, he might go away, and I’ll be able to sleep a little longer. I can—

  “Jade, honey. Come on.” No, he won’t be going away. “We’re going to eat breakfast like a real family.”

  “I’m not hungry,” I grumble.

  “You’re never hungry. Get up, anyway.”

  Ugh. I’m not ready to face the day and say goodbye to my friends...or endure teasing from other students about what I wrote as a newly minted teenager.

  “Nadine is in the process of making pancakes for the rest of us. She’s already whipped up your protein shake.”

  Nadine? He’s seriously teasing me about spending time with her? And what does he mean, the rest of us?

  Something’s wrong. First, my dad is mega cheery. After last night he should be distant, even angry with me. Right? Second, he wouldn’t tease me about Nadine with Fiona nearby.

  I scramble from bed, my hair tumbling over my shoulders and into my eyes. A wave of dizziness makes me sway, and I rub my temples. My room—

  Oh. My. Goth. My room has
been transformed. My things are in boxes, and most of my furniture is gone. There isn’t a vanity or a dresser. Just a bed and some boxes filled with my clothes. The walls are painted black with pinpricks of white—stars?—and the curtains that frame my window are black and ruffled, a perfect match to the comforter on the bed.

  I like it, I like all of it, but nothing is mine, and it creeps me out. Did my dad and Fiona sneak into my room and redecorate while I slept? But...why?

  Confusion mounts. The action must have dislodged a memory. I see my mother on the swing, smiling at me with a tinge of sadness.

  Remember that I love you. I love who you are—always have, always will. You don’t have to hide that girl away anymore as if you are ashamed of her. It’s time you love her, too, and let her live.

  It’s time you love her...

  It’s. Time.

  Everything is about to change.

  Look at the world around you. See how it has become a cold shell of itself. Without heart, it is twisted and wrong.

  I’m not going to let you destroy your life. If you continue to hide from your pain, you will never live, never find happiness. I want you happy.

  Nauseous now, headache growing worse by the second, I yank on the first T-shirt and jeans I find. There’s nothing odd about my clothes at least. That’s a good sign, right?

  I anchor my hair into a ponytail using a black scarf I never bought or received as a gift, because there isn’t a rubber band anywhere. What else is different?

  A quick search reveals my journals are gone. Mom’s journals, too. Jaw clenched, I throw open my door, ready to wreak hell—and halt while gasping.

  The hallway walls are painted black, and there are no pictures. This is... This is...

  Argh! This is so wrong.

  “Dad,” I shout, launching forward—only to grind to a halt again. Nadine Turner is here, and she’s bustling around the kitchen. But she’s not the Nadine Turner I remember. Her once-sleek blond bob is now long, tangled and dyed black. Instead of yellow or red, her favorite colors, she’s wearing black from head to toe. Even her lipstick is black.

  My dad is sitting at the counter, watching her bustle here and there. Like Nadine, he’s wearing black. He never wears black. I’ve always considered it a silent protest to my overuse of it. But...but...