Chemistry Read online

  I shift uncomfortably in the dark. I should have expected this from Peter. He never comes to the point. But if I want to learn anything from him, I’m going to have to put up with his meandering. I try to give him a push in the right direction. “What has any of this got to do with Esmeralda?”

  “Well, it’s Em’s goat, isn’t it? And it led me straight to her.” He grins. “How stupid do you think I felt? Following a goat. So I just kept quiet and followed them both.”

  “You did what?”

  “I didn’t mean anything by it. I was kind of scared, you know? To be alone. And this was someone I knew. Esmeralda… Everyone says she’s nice. I thought maybe she’d give me a place to stay, at the very least. Plus, I was curious about where she lived.”

  “So you were stalking her.”

  “Oh, come on. It wasn’t like that.” He’s beside himself. I can almost feel the heat coming off him he’s so ashamed. “Okay, maybe it was like that. But you know me; I didn’t mean any harm by it. I wouldn’t have touched her.” He waits to see whether I’ll calm down before he continues. I’m far from calm, but I manage to fake it. “Anyway,” he says, “she’s not so helpless as you think.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “I mean she’s a wasp. She’s got a stinger she carries around with her at all times.”

  “A stinger?”

  “A knife.”

  I glare at him. He’s been at her, and now I know it. Because why else would she have shown him her knife? And while I should be questioning my own conclusion—that Peter would put effort into getting anything from a girl, that anyone would ever need to attack him in order to quell his enthusiasm—I’m not. My mind has stopped processing reality. It’s running on pure fantasy now.

  Peter backs away from me and almost runs into the trophy cabinet behind him. “Look, I know you’re disappointed in me. I know I’ve let you down after all you’ve done for me, and I’m sorry. But for God’s sake, Claude, I’m not a saint! No one is. And I swear I didn’t break any laws. How could I after what happened to Valentine? I wouldn’t do something like that.”

  He completely misunderstands the situation. He thinks I’m angry with him for getting himself into trouble. The old me would have been. “Peter.” I take a step back and show him my hands. “Just finish your story, please.”

  He shakes his head. “Why am I so scared of you right now? You look like a tiger.” Then he sighs. “Well, it turns out she wasn’t heading to her home or any place I would have wanted to go had I known. Following her led me straight to the Court of Miracles.”

  The Court of Miracles. I am aghast when I hear those words. At first, I don’t believe it, but then, this is Peter. Peter doesn’t lie. The Court of Miracles, I should probably explain, is where the high school dropouts or soon-to-be dropouts gather together to experience their preferred chemical high. Dealers, buyers, addicts of all shapes and colors. And it’s never in the same place twice. It moves through town like a monstrous snail, leaving a trail of garbage and hypodermic needles in its wake. If Esmeralda was there…

  I take Peter by the shoulders. “What was she doing there?”

  He shrugs out of my grasp. “She’s got friends who live there. Homeless people. People like…” He pauses and turns a brilliant shade. “People like me. She’s not like they say she is, Claude. She’s not an exchange student or anything like that. She just moves around a lot. She grew up in Spain and then moved to France. Now she lives here, in a cheap studio apartment downtown. Everywhere she goes she befriends the worst of us. She’s the jewel of the nobodies, a Madonna to the broken…”

  “Stop talking like a poet and tell me what happened.” I only half mean this. I could listen to him praise the virtues of Esmeralda forever. I so need them to be true.

  He clears his throat. “Things didn’t go so well once they spotted me.” He starts to unbutton his shirt, and I wish I had the courage to tell him to stop. I half know what he’s going to show me. I’m sure I don’t want to see it. “They called me a faggot among other things.” He drops his shirt to the floor, and I shudder at the sight of the welts on his body. Peter’s been beaten, badly.

  “Damn them to hell,” I say, and I mean it. I really do. “Who did this?”

  “Rym and Kevin and some others. Sidney Clopin was there, but he pretended not to know me.”

  For a moment, my diseased mind clears and I can only think of one question to ask him—one question that has nothing to do with either Esmeralda or Valentine. It’s the question I should have been asking all along. “Peter,” I look him in the eyes, though I’m afraid to hear his answer, “was my brother there?”

  Peter’s relief is apparent. This is the Claude he knows, after all. He smiles and pulls his shirt back over his shoulders. “I didn’t see him. I don’t think he’s that far gone. He and Phoebus have a joint together every once in a while is all—”

  “Phoebus?” My moment of clarity vanishes as quickly as it came. “What’s Gene doing with an asshole like him?”

  Peter laughs. “Ah, Phoebus isn’t such a bad guy. Sure, he’s a cocky bastard and he gives in to pressure a little too much, but he’s decent overall. He won’t steer Gene too far off course.”

  “Gene doesn’t need any help getting off course,” I say. “But tell me, how did you get involved with Esmeralda?” I’m desperate to know.

  “Well,” his eyes light up like he’s just seen an angel hovering over my head, “she’s my savior. She stepped between me and my abusers and shouted, ‘Leave him alone!’ And then she pulled out her little knife. ‘You’ll kick his ass before you even ask him why he’s here? He’s my boyfriend! I invited him!’ And did they ever back off after that.”

  “She doesn’t talk like that,” I say and immediately regret saying it. I’m giving myself away.

  But Peter doesn’t seem to notice. “She does, though, when she has to. She’s a dangerous kind of sprite, I’m telling you. You should have seen the way the others backed away from her little knife. They were scared of her. They adore her, and they’re afraid of losing her. She’s the brightest star in the Court of Miracles.” He grins at his own flowery speech.

  I can’t help rolling my eyes.

  “And everyone loves her,” he goes on. “She knows it, too. I once asked her whether anyone hated her, and she said she could only think of one person. She calls him ‘the priest.’ Hell if I know what she means by that.”

  But I know exactly what she means. I’ve heard how the other girls talk. They’ve given that nickname to only one person in our school: me. My heart is breaking because Esmeralda thinks I hate her, and she probably hates me, too. But why? We don’t even know each other. If only there were some way for me to tell her how I really feel without sounding like a creep. But there isn’t. So she’ll just go on thinking I hate her forever. And the only girl in the world I could possibly fall in love with will be lost to me before I’ve even had a chance.

  “So now she’s your girlfriend,” I say, trying to hide the tremor in my voice.

  “I suppose so.” Peter shrugs. “At first, I thought she’d saved me because she liked me, but I quickly learned otherwise. I couldn’t even kiss her without finding myself at the other end of her knife. And believe me, I wouldn’t want to risk getting stung by that girl. She guards herself fiercely. She’s crazy religious—thinks God will reunite her with her mother if she just keeps herself pure.” He chuckles. “Whoever told her that did the world a disservice, though, let me tell you.” Then he leans in and whispers, “I walked in on her in the shower once. It was embarrassing as hell, but man, I wouldn’t take it back for all the world.”

  And just like that, I disappear. I don’t even exist any more. Someone else is grabbing Peter by the collar and pushing him back into the trophy case. Someone else is hissing at him. “You went that far? You went that far after all she did for you?”

  Peter is too shocked to struggle. He gasps, and his eyes widen. “Jesus Christ, Claude,” he says
between breaths. “It was an accident. I never laid a hand on her.”

  “Swear it!” I don’t care that I’m not behaving like a sane person any more. “Swear you haven’t touched her, and swear you never will!”

  “I swear! I swear!” He pushes me off. “I swear on the grave of Shakespeare if that’s what it takes. But, Claude,” he pauses to straighten his shirt and give me the most withering look he’s ever given anyone, “how is it any of your business?”

  I’m so close to madness I can almost taste it. I’ve got to regain control. I pretend to laugh. “Sorry. I get touchy when I drink.” It’s a lie. I haven’t had a drop.

  Peter smiles warily. “Don’t we all?”

  “And I do worry about you. I know I shouldn’t, but you, Gene, and Valentine are all the family I have. I mean we’ve always looked out for each other, haven’t we?”

  He nods. Though, if we were being honest, I’m sure Peter and I would agree that Gene looks out for no one but himself.

  “Anyway, I’ve just heard some things about that girl. The last thing I want is for you to end up with a broken heart.” Good, Claude. Turn it around. You’re only concerned with his well-being, as always. This is not your unhealthy obsession over a girl you barely know. Not at all.

  “You don’t have to worry about that.” Peter starts righting Phoebus’ trophies, which makes me cringe. I would rather break them all and leave them as evidence of this most likely unsanctioned party. “Em’s got her heart set on only one person, and it’s not me.”

  “She does?” I wish my heart would beat more discreetly. “Who?”

  Peter grins. “Oh, you’ll like this. If you really think she’s as awful as all that, you’ll say he more than deserves her.”

  “Peter.” I dig my fingernails into my palms in order to keep from screaming. “Who is it?”

  “It’s Phoebus.” He laughs like this is some sort of joke.

  “She likes Phoebus?” I think I hear my insides burst. “How do you know?”

  “Well,” he says, “whose name do you think we spent all last week teaching Djali to spell with her little tiles?” He sets up the last fallen trophy. Then he unlocks and opens the office door. “Funny, huh? I wouldn’t have guessed it. But who can tell what some girls will like, anyway?” And then he’s gone.

  Silently, I count to twenty as Peter walks away. Then I take the largest of Phoebus’ trophies, break its arms off, and throw it out the window.

  II

  I have always believed most of the world was mentally ill. Now that I’ve determined romantic love to be little more than a mental illness, I’m one hundred percent certain of my initial prognoses. We’re all raving mad, aren’t we? I was sane for a while, and I believed I might accomplish something one day. Now I’m convinced I will die before I’ve done a damn thing. I’ll go to meet my maker, and when He asks me what my successes were, I’ll say, “Successes? I fell in love. The day that happened, any chance I had for meaningful success flew out the window with my sanity and Phoebus’ stupid trophy.”

  Outside, the crowd has dispersed, and as soon as I see why, my heart starts to stutter. Esmeralda is gone. Her blanket still lies in the same spot on the lawn, but it’s conspicuously empty of both girl and goat. Once upon a time, this wouldn’t have bothered me. But I know the awful truth now, or anyway, I imagine I do. And in my imagination, Esmeralda is caught in Phoebus’ arms and in his trap. I can’t do anything but find her and untangle her, not because I want to free the poor hummingbird from that terrible web, but because I want to see her tangled in mine instead.

  I’m not all rotten inside. My motivations may not be pure as a mountain spring, but I’m no monster either. At least, I don’t think I am. Part of me would rather see her free and safe than entangled with either of us. There’s just this… infernal thing in me that won’t stop fighting to have her. But it’s all right just now because, just now, my goals are not conflicted. No matter what I choose to do after, I have to get her away from Phoebus first.

  I push through the crowd and head back into the house. They don’t even see me, which is fine by me. I’m nobody and I accept it, as long as I can, one day, be someone to her.

  On the way up the main staircase, I’m accosted by Lily Darling. I put up my hands to slow our collision. She doesn’t notice me. Her black mascara runs down her bright red cheeks, and she runs right into me. She looks up and sees me for perhaps the first time in her life. And for the first time in my life, I notice something about her. She is gorgeous like this: miserable, passionate, murderous. I can’t help but hold her by the shoulders, so I can stare at her a little longer. It’s as if Esmeralda has opened my eyes to the beauty of the world. “Hey,” I say to mask my true intentions. “Are you okay?”

  She blinks. “You.” She recognizes me, though she most likely can’t recall my name. Then she sobs and pushes past me. “I don’t care any more! Let him have her! He deserves that… that slut!”

  Just like that, Lily is gone, and she’s taken the beauty of the moment with her. My stomach turns with every breath I take. I want to fool myself into believing her vague pronouns could refer to anyone, but I can’t. It’s Phoebus and Esmeralda. Dear God, it’s Esmeralda.

  I half-run, half-stumble up the staircase. Phoebus is here, somewhere, preying on my destiny. I pray she won’t give in to him, and I start opening doors. They have to be here somewhere. Then Phoebus comes storming down the hall. “Lil!” he calls. “Lily, come on! You’re overreacting!” He brushes past me without even seeing who I am.

  I rush in the direction he came from, but my feet won’t cooperate. I stumble over something in the dark and hear a familiar groan. It’s my brother, half-conscious and sprawled out on the floor.

  “Gene,” I mutter.

  He says something incomprehensible back and then passes out. For a moment, I’m conflicted. I bend over him and catch the smell of vodka on his breath. He’s soaked.

  Then I hear Esmeralda say, “It’s okay, Djali,” and my concern for my brother vanishes.

  At the end of the hallway I catch a glimpse of her, crouched down in the master bedroom. She’s petting her little goat, stroking it between its horns. She’s only a silhouette, but still she turns my blood to fire. I’m so close to her. So close, I can almost touch her. And the way she moves—it’s like she’s dancing, even now.

  I stand behind her, but she can’t tell I’m there. The rattle and boom of the music downstairs penetrates everything. The night wind sweeps into the room through an open balcony door, pushing past the sheer curtains like a ghost. The moon is so bright I need no other light to read what’s written on the tiles Esmeralda crouches over. Phoebus, they say. And I know that her little goat has spelled the wrong word for the wrong person, that it has unknowingly unleashed the storm in Lily Darling. A broken lamp lies in a heap on the floor just beside a slatted closet door. Lily must have thrown it. Who would have guessed that girl could be such a force of nature?

  “It’s okay, Djali,” Esmeralda says again. She sniffs, and I can tell she’s trying not to cry. “You didn’t know. You only did what you were taught.” She scratches its little head. “Good girl,” she says. “Good girl.”

  I close my eyes to savor her voice like it’s one of Valentine’s compositions. For a moment, I want to tell her I’m here. I imagine myself touching her shoulder, assuring her that everything’s going to be fine. I imagine her tucking her head under my chin, wrapping her arms around my waist, weeping into my shirt.

  So sweet and weak and mine.

  But then I hear Phoebus cursing in the hallway. He’s lost Lily and now he’s coming for Esmeralda. She stands, and she’s so close I have to take a step back so I don’t touch her. But I shouldn’t have taken that step. I should have taken her by the hand and marched her out of this place. I should have told her everything. I’m such a coward. I tell myself how cowardly I am with every backward pace. Even as I close myself behind those slatted closet doors, I whisper the word coward again and
again until I’m sure I’ll never believe I am anything more than that.

  Phoebus is here. “Emily,” he says, “I’m so sorry about that.” Emily? He still doesn’t know Esmeralda’s name? “We broke up a few days ago. She hasn’t taken it very well.”

  He’s such a liar. I know, not because I have some unusual insight into his relationships, but because Lily is still wearing the ring he gave her. And she wouldn’t be if he had cast her off.

  “I’m sorry.” Esmeralda picks up her tiles and slips them into a little bag that hangs around Djali’s neck. “I swear I didn’t do it on purpose.” She’s no idiot. She knows why Lily reacted so violently. She knows there’s no way Phoebus already ended the relationship. And I want to be sure of her strength, but the tremor in her voice gives me reason to doubt. “You… You must hate me now.”

  I can’t believe it. She’s weak. She’s weak for him.

  Phoebus grins, and in the moonlight, his teeth practically glow. “You’re right.” He pauses long enough for Esmeralda to hang her head. “I hate you because you took so long to talk to me, and I might never have known how you felt about me.” Then he pets her hair like she’s his favorite dog. “Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

  It’s everything I can do to keep quiet. I think I’m going to punch ten holes into my thighs with my own fingers because he’s wrapping his arms around her waist, she’s tucking her head under his chin, and she’s weeping into his shirt. He tells her not to cry. He tells her everything will be okay. His hands drift over her body. He bends over her and kisses her mouth.

  It’s maddening to watch and do nothing. Whatever bars hold the beast in me at bay groan and bend under the pressure of this madness. And I’m sure I’m going to lose myself completely until Esmeralda pulls away.

  Phoebus mutters something gentle to her. I don’t believe in his gentleness at all. And she apologizes to him again. I wish she would stop. He doesn’t deserve it.