Chapter #41Green Meanies by: Seuzz   Blake is waiting for you out front when you arrive at Freezin' Squeeze, the juice bar you suggested as a meeting place. His eyes crinkle up when he sees you, and he puts out his hand to catch you around the waist.
But you squirm away. "I wish you wouldn't do that," you tell him as you dance around him to the door.
"What's wrong?" he asks, sounding hurt. "I thought when we got these masks it was so we could—"
"We can, but not here, not out where anyone can see us." Anxiously, you glance up and down the street. Not that you'd be able to spot anyone. They'd be in a car, and they'd be gone now. "We're going to order separately when we get inside," you tell him as you pull the door open, "and when we sit down, it's going to be like we just, you know, casually ran into each other."
He doesn't bother to hide his disappointment.
* * * * *
Once you've got your drinks you take a seat in a corner away from the plate glass windows. Blake swallows half of his blueberry smoothie with a satisfied pant, then smirks as you sip demurely from your "Green Meanie" (a blend of kale, spinach, romaine, parsley, cucumber, celery and lime).
"Jesus," he groans, "I'm having a blast imagining you pretending to like that shit. It's gotta be like drinking grass clippings."
"Who says I'm pretending to like it?" In actuality, it is a bit much to swallow. You suppose you've got Andrea's palate now, so you don't choke; but you are conscious that it's a weird choice for someone who is still "Will Prescott" somewhere down inside. "But what's the plan? You sound like you've got a real hard-on for one of my friends."
"Oh, I've got a hard-on for someone, alright. You know I've got work tonight. You coming out?" His Adam's apple bobbles. "Love to see you out there."
"I'll think about it."
"Well, come on out with me when we get done here. We can go upstairs and—" A dark flush runs up the side of his neck, and he stares at you hungrily.
"I said I'd think about it. But right now," you continue as he groans, "you want to talk about who we're going to add next?"
He makes a face and falls back in his chair. "Don't you want to have some fun with Andrea and ol' Blakey first?"
"Sure. I'm in no hurry." You sip your juice. "But it sounded like you were."
"When did it sound like I was in a hurry to add more people? If anything, I'm in a hurry to—"
"Will you stop talking about the raging boner I'm giving you under the table? Jesus. You might as well take it out and wave it in my face."
His grimace deepens. "If you don't like it, help me get rid of it. We need to go to your place anyway."
"I told you to stop it. And we can't—"
"I'm not talking about that!" he hollers, then catches himself. "We need to go to your place so we can open a portal."
"A portal?" you echo.
"Yes." He looks around, then leans over the table. "For the Brotherhood," he murmurs. "Every brother needs to have a portal inside their house. For—" He glances around again. "For Baphomet."
A shiver runs through you. "What do you mean?"
"I'll explain as I make it. In your bedroom, preferably. In your closet or someplace like that," he adds with ill-humor. "I brought the tools we need."
You regard him doubtfully. "And what happens when we make it? Does, uh, something come through it?"
"Well, that's a question, isn't it?" He sits back. "I mean, it's not going to actually open a hole in the wall and let a bunch of screaming meemies or whatever out. But you have to make a portal if you're gonna open yourself to the influence."
You take a long, deep drink from your cup.
"You're not chickening out on me, are you, Will?"
"No." Maybe, you inwardly confess. A sick feeling is spreading out from your gut and into your limbs.
"Well, I need to come over so I can—"
"It can't be tonight. My mom's home right now, and a bunch of people will probably be showing up later. Besides—" You rub your arm. "Can I have a day and a night at least to get used to this ... new situation?"
His mouth twitches into half a smile. "Sure. But if I can't come over to your place to help you get used to it, can you at least come out to the Warehouse to see me tonight?"
You already know that the answer is going to be no. Apparently the answer is easy to read in your expression when you reply, "I told you, we'll see," because his expression falls.
* * * * *
If she didn't have Blake's work to cover for, you'd go off with Sydney in a heartbeat, and as you part outside Freezin' Squeeze, you almost scamper off after her, to grab her by the arm and tell her that you will come out to see her tonight.
But he works at the Warehouse, and there are two people pretty close to you who wouldn't want to go out there: Andrea Varnsworth and Will Prescott.
Andrea's got friends who go out there all the time, and two of them—Jelena Petrovic and Sienna Goldman—play in bands that perform there, and when they're playing she will allow herself to be taken out. But she prefers to stay backstage when she's there, and she hardly ever goes out unless it's to see and hang out with her friends. The Warehouse—the city's most dangerous party spot; it's an unlicensed dance and music club where only high school students get to hang out—reeks of alcohol, weed, sweat, and semen, and everyone who goes there is either looking to get laid or assumes that everyone else there is looking to get laid between vodka shots, fist fights, and dance sets. Andrea gets enough of that kind of attention at school.
And Will Prescott has never been out there. If he's too chicken-shit to go out in his own skin, he's even more reluctant to go out in Andrea's.
So you go home.
Andrea lives in a part of town that hovers just between being cheap and being "government lower-class housing." The house is small and huddles up close to its neighbors; the porch is warped; but it is freshly painted and the front yard is tidy, for Andrea and her mom make a point of keeping up appearances as best they can.
Her mom is on her way out the door as you walk in. "I left a frozen meal out for you, hon," she says as finishes packing her purse. You nod and study her quietly while trying not to stare. She's like a slightly older and bouncier version of her daughter. She is dressed in a crisp white blouse and black trousers; her brunette hair is pulled back in a braid and she wears a red bow tie. It's the uniform of the chief waitress and co-manager of Restaurante Locarno, the highest-class eatery in the city. "You gonna have friends over?" she asks, and looks up with a harried expression.
"I don't know. Someone might show up."
"No boys," she says. "You know the rules. No boys, unless they're really cute and will give me beautiful grandchildren." She gives you a quick, mischievous smile as she strides past you and out the door.
Not likely, you think as you lock the door behind her. Andrea's mother was only sixteen when she gave birth to Andrea; her father dropped out and disappeared while Andrea was still a baby; growing up with a single mother has not instilled in Andrea a desire to follow that path.
You kick off your flip-flops and pad into the kitchen. The frozen dinner is an organic Thai meal of soy, basil, and vegetables. You sniff as you look at it: Andrea's mother taught her to eat local, organic, and healthy, and she taught Andrea to be better at it than she was. But she left it out for you, so you soak the box a sink of warm water to hasten its defrosting. Then you return to the living room, where you do your best to lose yourself in one of the fantasy paperbacks that Andrea's mom buys, reads, and sells back to the used bookstore.
You hardly see the words.
Instead, you worry over the talk that you and Sydney had before parting:
How about Andrea's friends? she'd said. If I can't come over because they'll be at her place, how about we turn them into our Brotherhood, turn her house into our headquarters? Then I, then Blake, can come out whenever he wants.
Or how about the swim team? If they're up at the school every weekend, how about we turn them into our Brotherhood? If we turned the swim team, or even just most of them, into our Brotherhood, they could all hang out and it wouldn't look weird.
Even if we don't turn the whole swim team into the Brotherhood, we could probably find some good candidates there. Tell me who you like on the team.
That kid with the frosted hair, what's his name? Really, he's a sophomore? Hey, what about making our Brotherhood down there, in the sophomore or freshman class? No one would expect kids like that to be organized into a Brotherhood.
Okay, sure, I guess no one expects any high schools kids to be a Brotherhood. And between Blake and Andrea, I bet we could get anyone!  indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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