What Curiosity Kills Part 13

Nick asks her, "What are you doing here?"Ling Ling asks, "What are they doing here? You're my boyfriend."

"I'm not your boyfriend."

"Until you give me what I want, you are what I say you are," she says, marching over to the stereo and shutting it off.

Papou says, "Children, be civil. You are not animals."

"At least, not right now," Ling Ling mutters.

Nick glares at her. She's. .h.i.t a nerve-for me too. Does she share our bond too? Is she wearing his scarf to cover up proof that she's turning like me? I have to find out! I have to see her hidden skin! I lunge at her.

I don't know how I get hold of her scarf. I wanted the scarf; the scarf is in my hand.

It tightens like a noose around Ling Ling's neck.

She's so light, I jerk her to her tiptoes.

She pulls back.

I jerk her to me.

She clamps her hands on my forearms. She's no match for my strength, but her nails are filed to sharp points. She sinks them into my flesh. I grit my teeth. I won't let her drive a scream out of me. Nick grabs me from behind. Papou grabs Ling Ling. They try to pry us apart, but we won't be separated. I want her scarf off! I cling to it with both hands. She wants to make me scream. Nick and Papou persist at trying to break up our fight, but then Ling Ling drags her nails along my arms.

I cry out and let go of her.

Her body goes limp.

Papou unhands her.

She comes at me again.She grabs MY scarf. It comes off my neck with her weight when she drops to the rug. I drop with her. She scrambles on top of me. She straddles me. Her fingernails fly. I s.h.i.+eld my face. She bends forward, her face so close to mine, I smell gummy cherries on her hot, ragged breath. Her bleach-blond bangs blind me as she scours my skin. Ling Ling knows what I've been looking for on her because now she is looking for it on me.

I stop fighting. Let her find it.

She wraps her hands around my throat. When her fingers touch the fur on the nape of my neck, she tips off of me, lands on her side, and cries. Hysterically. She becomes a blubbering mess. I swear I think she'll drown in her tears. She chokes as she screams at Nick: "Whyyy?"

Nick reaches into the heap that is Ling Ling and me. I raise my injured arms. Rivulets of blood roll from my wrists toward my elbows and pool in the bunched cuffs of my school s.h.i.+rt and cardigan. I feel like I'm eight again and testing Dad's love. But Nick chooses Ling Ling. He hooks her hands around his neck, cus.h.i.+ons her head against his chest, scoops her up, and carries her to the couch.

I want to disappear. I want to go home.

Octavia takes me by the elbows and helps me stand. She steers me to sit in the chair in front of Ben. Papou places the desk blotter across the arms of the chair. He rests my ruined arms on giant sheets of notepaper. Blood seeps from my wounds onto doodles of turtles and snails. Papou presses an intercom b.u.t.ton that leads to the kitchen.

"Nai?" Yiayia's crackling voice blares.

Papou says what I a.s.sume are the Greek words for peroxide and bandages.

Nick sits beside Ling Ling and rocks her. She's still got his scarf around her neck. She covers her face with the fringe ends and sobs. Nick says, "Shh. Don't cry. I can't stand it when girls cry."

As soon as Ling Ling hears this, she completely loses her s.h.i.+t.

Nicks looks to me. "She's just jealous."

Ling Ling cries, "I am not!"

Nick gets up, and Ling Ling falls onto the warm spot he left. She grabs his wrist and pulls, but he won't sit back down. She cries, "Okay, I am! I'm jealous! Is that what you want to hear? Is that what you all want to hear?" She begs Nick, "How did you do it? Tell me! You said you couldn't give it to me, but you gave it to her!"

"Mary had it before we got together."

"You got together?" Ling Ling's face slackens. Her contraband lipstick darkens as her skin drains of color. She's sickened by her visions of our kisses, searching hands, partial nakedness, and much, much more than what went on between us. She drops her head between her knees. She moans, "How could you?"

Nick says, "I didn't have any choice."

"There's always a choice."

Octavia says, "What makes you so sure?"

Ling Ling turns her anger on my sister. "Just who do you think you are all of a sudden? You don't belong here. There's nothing special about you. Your birth mom didn't want you enough to even give you a name. You were number eight, Octo-avia, so that's what she called you." Octo-avia, so that's what she called you."

Octavia says, "Your birth mom was too stupid to remember your name, so she named you twice."

Papou says, "Please! Ladies, civility. You're not-"

"Animals? We know," says Ling Ling, "but the rest of them are."

"The rest of them?" says Octavia. She looks at me.

I look at Nick.

He looks at Ben. Ling Ling looks at the skinny, kid squirreled behind the chair too.

Ben shrugs. His hands disappear behind the suede backing. His belt buckle clanks as he unhooks the catch and pulls out the strap. His b.u.t.ton fly pops open. He s.h.i.+fts his weight from foot to foot and slips off his jeans. When he steps out, his monogrammed Seize sur Vingt boxer shorts read BS. His rope burns have healed overnight. All that's left, from his thighs to his ankles, are faint lines highlighted by dense stripes of silvery blue cat fur.

chapter nineteen.

Ben's a Russian Blue," says Nick.

"Just the once," says Ben.

"Dude, check your legs. You're turning again."

"How?"Nick raises his eyebrows. He looks from me to Ling Ling. My busted oxford s.h.i.+rt is open to reveal the front clasp of my bra. Ling Ling's tank top is drooped over one shoulder. We're disheveled. We've fought a girl fight. Ben can't help how his body has reacted. Although not specific to boy human or boy cat, he's had an urge.

Ling Ling says, "Perv."

Ben turns his back to us and hops into his jeans.

Octavia walks right over to Ling Ling and slugs her in the arm. I guess my sister's been shocked and scared by so many cats so many times today that she's not overwhelmed by Ben's ta-da ta-da. Or maybe, no matter what form he takes, he'll always look the same to her: a picked-on kid who could use some friendly support. Or maybe she's moved on from fear to unadulterated anger and decided to take it out on Ling Ling.

I wish I'd hit Ling Ling myself.

Ling Ling cries, clutching her arm. "It should be me, not Ben! Not Mary! It's meant to be me! I was adopted for a reason! It was fate I was at Kropps & Bobbers getting my hair dyed when I was! I saw what happened out back because it's supposed to happen to me!"

I say, "You saw a kid murdered."

"No," Ling Ling chokes out. "I saw Nick turn."

"She saw?" Now it's me who's close to crying. This is more than Nick sharing an identical scarf. This is him sharing what and who we are at our core. I yell at him, "You stole my breath so I wouldn't see!"

Nick says, "I didn't mean for it to happen. Country Club killed the king, and we all turned and ran. Turned, as in turned. Then, I had an asthma attack. I only have them when I'm a turn. When I get asthma, I can't move, Mary. My body seizes up. I'm stuck wheezing in place until the attack goes away. I looked up, and Ling Ling was standing in the back salon doorway, and I heard sirens coming. I was helpless! She picked me up and shoved me in that big-a.s.s bag of hers. She took me home and made me tell her everything and give her the nip with the hope that it would trigger something inside her that isn't there. She's been threatening to expose me, to expose all of us, if I don't turn her too."

"Can you? Is there a way?"

"No. But Ling Ling won't believe me because Country Club's strays have been leading her on."

Ling Ling asks a very good question. "Why would they promise me the impossible?"

Nick looks at her coldly. "Why do you think?"

I flash back to Ling Ling being pa.s.sed between Nick and three boys, apparently three stray turns, outside my parents' bathroom window. I wonder if Nick was with her to protect her or if she blackmailed him into coming along. I can see by her expression that she remembers doing more than spooning with those boys. The stray turns must have had an unending list of requests. Ling Ling must have made her own list for Nick. Slumped on the couch, she looks ashamed of herself. She readjusts her tank top to cover her bra strap. She removes Nick's scarf from her neck and modestly wraps it around her shoulders.

I ask Nick, "How could you not tell me about Ben?"

"Same reason I didn't tell him about you. It's his news to tell."

"Well, he obviously knew about me or he wouldn't have tagged along."

"Nick didn't tell me," Ben says, stepping out from behind the chair. "I figured it out at the deli. After you left, Yoon confirmed it. I guess he's not as discreet as Nick, but he is the one who helped me turn the first time."

"When?" asks Octavia.

"Last night, before poker. I stopped by the deli on the way to a club. This cat comes out from under the potato chip rack and starts circling my legs. He pushes his face up under my pants cuffs. Then, I start..."

"Tingling?" I suggest."Yeah! Then itching like crazy. The rope burns were like highways for the fur. It was like my legs were dipped in-"

"Fire ants?"

He laughs, overcome with relief that someone knows what he's been through. "I was going to say hornets, but fire ants are good. Next thing I know, I've blacked out. I come to in an alley. I thought I was hallucinating. Like maybe that Jamaican lunch lady finally flipped her lid and hoodooed the fruit punch. But then Yoon helped me turn back to my regular self. He explained a lot. Then, Nick showed up."

I ask Nick, "You said you picked up my scent at PurserLilley. You must have smelled Ben's. How could you let Yoon get to him first?"

Nick says, "Yoon got to you first. And as far as scents go, he'll always be able to track you. Like onions in a flower bed."

"Do I stink?" I ask, humiliated.

"No, Mary, you smell incredibly good. Your scent is stronger than any I've ever smelled. At school, I didn't know about Ben because your scent overpowers his."

"Mazel tov," says Ben.

Yiayia appears in the doorway with a tray. On it sits a large mixing bowl, a bottle of white wine vinegar, fabric scissors, cheesecloth, two kinds of tape-masking and Scotch-and a spiny aloe leaf. She comes toward me. Water sloshes. The dull scissors glint under the dimmed overhead light.

She gives the tray to Ben and says, "Ela, you're the nurse."Yiayia eases down onto her knees to doctor me, and I cringe before she even lays her eyes on my arms. I flinch as Octavia pulls the tiny Greek book out of her cardigan pocket. I cringe as she walks across the room to Papou. Flinch as Ling Ling leans so far forward she's going to fall off the couch. Cringe as Ben's nervous hands rattle the operating tray. Cringe, flinch, cringe, flinch. I'm having a slow-motion seizure.

Papou cradles the book on the wide expanse of his palm.

"What is this you have?" Yiayia asks him. She cuts a strip of cheesecloth and dips it in the mixing bowl. She wrings out the water and dabs dried blood from my arm.

Papou extends his palm toward her. Yiayia regards the coverless miniature book.

Papou reaches under his sweater and removes a pair of drugstore gla.s.ses from his s.h.i.+rt pocket. He slips them on his nose, slides them to the exact right spot on the bridge. Settles into the Eames chair. Props his feet on the ottoman. Adjusts the lamp over his shoulder. Sets the brightness to the perfect setting.

Yiayia sighs with impatience. She's already cleaned the blood from my arms. The mixing bowl water is swirling with red. She cuts more cheesecloth and applies the vinegar. It's pure acid. I bite my lips to keep from screaming.

"Good girl," she says.

Since entering the study, Yiayia has not acknowledged Ling Ling. She's kept her back to the bleach-blond bombsh.e.l.l: a maybe or maybe not so nice sur prise. a maybe or maybe not so nice sur prise. Me, I'm Me, I'm poofu, poofu. Yiayia predicted our fine mess: two girls in he poofu, poofu. Yiayia predicted our fine mess: two girls in her grandson's scarves. If pressed, I'm not sure which one of us she'd choose for Nick. I doubt anyone is good enough. Maybe my endurance will better her opinion of me.

Papou opens his mouth to read from page one. He is proud of his education. His brows furrow as ancient Greek filters through his brain. Understanding comes letter by letter. He mouths the English equivalent before speaking aloud. But he doesn't say anything.

I can't read his lips. Digital time blinks by on the side table Bose stereo.

"Papou, what?" Nick asks.

Yiayia breaks the tip off the aloe leaf and squirts green gel along the outlines of my scratches where my skin is raw. She cuts more cheesecloth and tapes the rectangles directly to my arm. She blows cool air through the gauzy pores. She says to Papou, "Speak. Your grandson asked you a question."

Papou says, "Oh, Nick. Nico mou. Forgive me. I am so sorry. You have to believe your yiayia and I didn't know."

"Know what?" Panic creeps across Yiayia's face. "Sorry for what?" She waves for Nick to help her stand, grabs his hands, and hoists herself to her feet. She hugs him and then rears back to look at his face. She presses her hands to his cheeks, pulls down his lower lids and studies the whites of his eyes. She plucks a hair from his head and rolls the root between her fingers. Nick looks scared. Yiayia screams at her husband, "Sorry for what? Tell me, you old fool! What have we done?"

Papou points at the little library book.

Yiayia rushes to him and hovers over his shoulder. She leans her body into the lamplight. "Oxi!" she cries as she reads. "No, no, no! I don't believe it! I won't believe it! Nico mou, where did you get such garbage?"

"I didn't get it. Mary got it."