8
Mrs. Harold waved me right into their house when I arrived at seven thirty. One of the ups about being family friends with them was that they were so warm. Mr. and Mrs. Harold were still eating, but they insisted that I come in when I knocked.
“I’m really sorry to come at this time of day,” I warbled, feeling embarrassed as Mrs. Harold offered to get me a plate of baked potatoes and Spanish rice. “No, really, I’m fine, I just ate at home. I’m er, kind of looking for Jacoby.”
I blushed as she raised her eyebrows. Mrs. Harold was a kind woman…as long as nothing strayed out of the ordinary. Which was really ironic, since Jacoby was anything but.
“May I ask why?”
“I just have something to talk to him about.”
“This isn’t about Iliadys, is it? Did he do something to hurt you, Jasslyn?”
I blinked. I had never heard Jacoby’s mother speak about him like that. Normally she had nothing but good to say about her son. You could call him our school’s golden boy. “No, no, Mrs. Harold, nothing like that. I just have something really urgent to talk to him about, that’s all,” I said, hoping it would deter her.
“Is that really all?”
I was bewildered at her odd behaviour.
“Really, Mrs. Harold, Jacoby hasn’t done anything!”
Why was I defending him so adamantly?
She hesitated a little, while her husband sat quietly at the dinner table, taking sips from his glass of water. “Emma told me before we went camping that you complained about him on several occasions,” she said carefully. “I just wanted to make sure nothing bad was happening behind our backs.”
I shook my head. “Oh, no, Mrs. Harold, I just happened to be, well, a little grumpy all those times.” I fixed a smile on my face. “Really, it’s nothing.”
“All right. He’s in the backyard with Emma.” She turned back to the table, ready to sit down. Just when I thought I was scot-free, she added, “I talked to him about it anyway, just in case.”
My heart sank at that. How could I wrench the truth from him now when I had—albeit unknowingly—gotten him in trouble?
“Uh, thanks, Mrs. Harold,” I said weakly.
I stepped closer to the backyard. I could hear a set of voices travelling from the yard, into the living room, and into the kitchen. On the other side of the large screen door, Jacoby was speaking to his cousin.
“Emma. No. You can’t have a horse.”
“Why not?” she whined.
I peeked through the screen at the two of them. Jacoby was lying on his massive lawn, vivid purple flowers curling around him. They had the shape of electrical plugs, right down to the prongs. Six of the flowers grouped together and reached for Emma, like they wanted to strangle her, or perhaps electrify her.
“Because it makes no sense to own a horse.” He sat up, bits of grass clinging to his tidy hair. No matter what he did to it, it always seemed to fall back into its original, orderly state. “Where are you going to keep it, huh?” His eyes searched his cousin’s imploringly. He raised his eyebrows until they disappeared underneath his red-brown fringe.
“That’s a stupid question,” Emma snorted, closing her fists—which, from here I could already see were unclean— around two poor patches of grass and ripping them up. She tossed one handful into the air and one at Jacoby’s face. “I’m going to keep it right here, in this backyard.”
They had a large backyard; I could only see a fraction of it from the back door. But it was obvious that Emma had overestimated its vastness.
The flowers curling around Jacoby shot sparks at that remark. He shook his head like a wet dog, sending bits of green spinning into the air. The look on his face was typical Jacoby: incredulous and annoyed.
“Because that makes no sense,” he repeated. “A horse can’t live here. This backyard is way too small to keep it healthy. Think about how much food a horse will need!” Jacoby leaned down so he was eye-to-eye with Emma. “And besides,” he said, “this isn’t your house.”
“So?” Emma replied.
In that simple, one syllable word, Jacoby turned red. It had either stumped him so badly he was at a loss of words, or it had sent him teetering over the Raging Precipice of No Return. At any rate, it caused him to raise his voice to a shout while an orange mass of something-or-other popped into view, morphing into a shape of…
Is that a cat?
“It just won’t work, Emma! Have you thought of how expensive it’ll be to take care of a freaking horse? Not to mention how much it’ll sh—”
“Er, hi.” I decided it was about time to make myself known. I slid open the screen door with a care similar to handling a bomb, and stepped outside.
Jacoby stopped his yelling and looked at me like I had struck him dumb. Emma twisted around and her face brightened.
“Jasslyn!” she shouted. She patted the space beside her. I arranged my skirt before sitting down between the two of them.
“I want to get a horse, but Jake won’t let me,” she said, getting right to the centre of the issue. My mouth twitched at her serious expression. I looked from her to Jacoby, wondering how long they had been at this. It took a lot to make Jacoby shout the way he had. I figured that these explosions were rare for him; he kept nothing bottled up, always letting people know he was frustrated the moment he was frustrated, giving him no reason for an outburst, really.
“Jasslyn?” To my displeasure, Emma’s hand found mine.
I pondered the thought before answering. My hesitation caused Jacoby to look at me wildly. He mouthed something that I couldn’t decipher. I said casually, “Why do you want a horse, Emma?”
I heard a groan from my right. Jacoby had his face covered, so all I could see was his auburn mop of hair.
Emma looked like she had just been given a large lollipop. She grinned wide and said excitedly, “‘Cause I want it to turn into a unicorn!”
“What?” Jacoby spat, peeking through a gap in his fingers. Even with only one eyeball showing, I got the feeling that a million voices in his head were saying, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“And how are you going to manage that, Emma?” His voice had taken a turn, making him sound tired instead.
Thank gosh for that, I thought. He was getting a little on the wacko side. And at least the orange thing’s gone. That’s got to be a good sign.
Emma fixed him with a gaze that was startlingly similar to his own. She sighed and said, “I’m going to stick an ice cream cone on it, Jake! What else would I do?” She gave a laugh and shook her head, saying, “Silly Jake.” I stifled a laugh when she gave his shoulder a pat, as if reassuring him he wasn’t that stupid.
He gritted his teeth, threw his hands into the air and shook his head. “I’m out of here.” He turned to me. “You can tell her why ice cream cones won’t work.” With that, Jacoby stood and dusted off his jeans, preparing to walk back into his house. The purple flowers were back, but this time, much smaller.
Wait! a voice squeaked inside my head. I still have to talk to you!
I’ll at least set one thing right with him before he goes, another voice piped up.
I grabbed his wrist as he made to leave. I pulled him down so that I could mutter into his ear, “I’m sorry if you got into trouble because Emma said some stuff to your mom about us.”
Jacoby looked at me flatly. “Yeah, that was a pleasant car ride home.”
“I’m sorry. You know how it is…” I let my voice trail off, hoping I wouldn’t have to explain myself. My heart sank when his gaze didn’t waver. “You know… People always blow things out of proportion when they talk.” This was about to get uncomfortable. “So, say I blew some things up while I was ranting, and then Emma blew things up even more when she told your mom…” I trailed off again, clinging onto the frail hope that he would save me the embarrassment and nod.
When he did, I let out a sigh of relief.
“So you’re a bit of a liar, then?”
My sigh turned into a choke. “What?”
“Come on, let’s go out front.” He tugged me along after him, calling over his shoulder, “Emma, come inside.”
We heard Emma scramble to her feet and bang through the screen door after us. “What are we doing now?”
“We, are not doing anything,” Jacoby corrected. “And for the record, you can’t just smother a horse with ice cream.” He quickly ditched her in the kitchen, calling out to his mother that he and I were going to sit outside and talk.
I felt a prickle run down my back. It gave me an uneasy feeling.
“Do you two want any snacks?” Mrs. Harold called from the kitchen.
“No, I’m fine, Mrs. Harold, thank you!”
“Hurry, before she comes after us with a pantry’s worth of power bars,” Jacoby muttered next to me, opening his front door and shutting us outside. The flowers were gone now, had gotten smaller and smaller the farther away he got from Emma, until they disappeared completely. I fought the urge to nudge the small pile of dirt they left.
We sat down on the steps, letting the cool night air fan at us; it pushed away Jacoby’s annoyance and soothed the uncomfortable feeling I was having.
“What is it you wanted to talk to me about?” he said, getting right down to business like Emma.
“Oh, er…” I hadn’t been expecting this upfront-ness. I was going to bring up the topic of Lissy and Jack, then sidle over to his flowers, where I would casually reel them into the conversation. Now, my plan had a giant gaping hole in it, and I was left looking like a bumbling idiot.
“You can’t expect me to believe that you only came here to apologize,” he continued, filling the silence.
“Um…”
“It wasn’t a big deal, anyway.”
I always revered guys’ readiness to let things go. Girls could get snarky over the littlest things, while guys could get into a brawl but still shake hands over it in the same day.
“Are you sure? Your mom kept asking me if you did anything to me.”
Jacoby made a face that disappeared just as quickly as it had come. An ugly, mustard-coloured fungus started to grow between his worn Chucks. It looked more like a moulting slug than anything, but since I had seen nothing but flowers around him, I assumed there were limitations to his “magic tricks”, meaning yes, indeed, this gooey monstrosity was somehow a plant. The thing flopped around the steps, even trailing a bit of…
Oh my—Eeeewwww, that thing has pus coming out of it!
I gave a shudder and closed my eyes.
It seemed to deter Jacoby from whatever had made the slug-plant appear. It made a sizzling sound and melted like a pat of butter.
“Cold?” he asked, looking down at my skirt and short sleeve. The days were barely slinking into autumn; it wasn’t cold at all.
But I played along with it anyway, knowing there wasn’t any other explanation I could think of on the spot. “Yeah.”
“What was it, Jasslyn?” he asked quickly, before we could succumb to our usual awkward silence.
I was at a loss for words, unsure where, and more importantly, how to begin. So I decided to start simple, with a topic that Jacoby could link to his…magical aspects, but still pass off as just a conversation starter.
“Did you hear on the radio, that man who was looking for his wife and friend?” I said, staring down at my flip-flops and wiggling my toes. “Pretty depressing, isn’t it?”
Jacoby was silent for a while. “Yeah.”
Yeah? That’s it? Just “Yeah”?
“So you did hear it,” I prompted.
He narrowed his eyes at me. “Did I ever say I didn’t?”
“No, no, you just didn’t.”
He shrugged.
“Hey, d’you remember their names? The two people, I mean.”
He paused for a bit, toying with his shoelaces, plucking and pulling at them. He was silent for such a long time that I thought he might actually be trying to remember. But then he shook his head and said, “No, I don’t. Wasn’t that broadcast a while ago?”
“Friday, actually.”
He shrugged again.
“Think they’re having an affair or something?” I blurted.
His eyes found mine and he squinted. “Why are you so interested in those two?” he asked. A fan of dark blue flowers—probably tulips—whirled into place.
“I don’t know, they seem…” This was it. Time to drop the bomb. If Jacoby couldn’t take the hint now, then I had to say it outright. “…special. Different, in a way.” I let my eyes wander over his feet, focusing ever so slightly on the flowers.
I couldn’t even hear him breathe in the silence that followed.
Finally, he said, “Really?”
I didn’t dare look at him. I stayed focused on his shoes, waiting for him to say something.
He knows I know. He has to.
It was just a matter of whether he was willing to tell me or not.
“Well.” His voice was deathly quiet. He stood up and shielded his flowers in the same motion. But still, to anyone watching, he merely looked like he had taken a step. “Aren’t we all special in our own way?”
I bundled up my nerves and pushed them aside. I stood up, took a breath, and faced him. “Yeah. But some more so than others.”
His set his jaw and held my gaze. It seemed like eons before he said quietly, “I think you should go home, now, Jasslyn.”
There wasn’t anything I could do. He was asking, no, telling me to leave, and what position was I in to say no?
I turned around and walked down his steps. When I got a couple feet down the sidewalk, he called out to me.
“Jasslyn.”
I looked over my shoulder at him, standing at the foot of his steps.
“What?”
“My mom’s having a little…get-together next Friday. She just got a promotion and wants to celebrate with all of our family friends. Starts at four, ends at nine, and we’re all having dinner out back.” His words sounded memorized, like his mother had put him up to it. She probably had.
I sighed. If my mother heard—which she most certainly would—I’d have no say in it. Even if I acted like the dinner was the plague, she would still force me into the only dress I owned and cart me off to the Harolds’ house.
“Okay. Thanks for telling me, Jacoby.”
I avoided looking at his flowers or even his feet. This confrontation was enough to make me keep my head down. If Jacoby didn’t want to talk about it, he certainly let me know today.