Grey

5. Sink or Swim

I considered skipping school the next day, but there was no point. I’d already seen Josephine Romany – and thoroughly embarrassed myself in the process – so that was over. Things could go back to normal now.

But I found myself constantly thinking about her, and the more I tried not to think about her, the more it happened. I wanted to see her, to somehow make up for my awkward reaction – which made even less sense to me than it did the day before – but then I’d feel mortified at the thought of seeing her – and I realized it was because I didn’t want to see her, which made absolutely no sense.

Feelings like this couldn’t be normal.

I transferred my lunch tray to one hand so I could massage my aching shoulders. Much to my dismay, and despite aspirin and a tube of muscle cream, they hadn’t loosened at all. If anything, the cramping tightness had gotten worse. Avery shifted closer as we walked through the courtyard.

‘Did somebody go to the gym last night?’ he asked hopefully.

‘Sorry, Avery,’ I replied, covering my irritation with a smirk. ‘I’m not going to join your fitness club, even if they do have really good smoothies.’ He tried to look wounded, but I wasn’t buying it. ‘I’m just a little stiff today,’ I added. ‘The weather, I guess.’

Avery glanced at the sky and cocked an eyebrow. ‘The weather?’ It was a perfect autumn day – one that begged for football and bonfires – not aching joints and muscles. ‘Look, Sebastian, I know you’ve got a full year on me, but that’s old people talk, man.’

‘I said it’s the weather, okay?’ I grinned under my hood. ‘Now shut up or I’ll beat you with my cane.’

‘Yes, sir.’

The gang was assembled in the courtyard, but with one addition: Josephine sat atop the table, chatting with the others. I instantly put on the brakes, my blood pounding in my ears. All attempts at normalcy crumbled. Avery pushed ahead, oblivious to my reaction.

‘I was so excited when my parents said we were staying in Sixes,’ she said to Katie. Her face lit up as she talked. ‘I really like it here.’

‘Well, it’s cool to have the Circe back in town,’ Mitchell squirted a packet of ketchup on his hot dog. ‘It’s been pretty boring around here.’

‘I’m glad you got switched into drama, Josie,’ said Katie. ‘I barely see you all day.’

I grimaced as Katie called her Josie. It seemed too plain for someone like her.

She was sunlight reflected on a pond.

‘Speaking of hiding out,’ said Avery from across the table, ‘where’s Francis? Did he register for drama, too?’

Josephine laughed. ‘My brother wouldn’t be caught dead in a drama class. You know what a big jock he is.’

Avery straightened, bowing out his broad chest. ‘And what’s that supposed to mean? You can’t be a jock and participate in the theatrical arts?’ He flexed his broad arms for emphasis. ‘Is that what you’re saying?’

‘Of course you can,’ Josephine replied, clearly entertained. ‘But trust me, you don’t want Francis anywhere near the stage. He claims he’s too much of a tech-head for the artsy stuff.’

‘Yeah?’ Brandon set down his soda and leaned forward. ‘So what does that make us?’

Katie smiled. ‘Well-rounded.’

Josephine propped her chin in her hand. ‘So, my birthday’s on Monday.’ She was met with a chorus of well wishes and she laughed. The sound gave me a pleasant rush. ‘Thanks, guys,’ she continued, ‘but my parents are insisting on throwing me a party…turning eighteen and all that. I have to humor them, but spending a whole evening with my troupe is not exactly what I’d call a party. I mean, honestly, I see them every day.’ Everyone was listening and, like a seasoned performer, Josephine milked every moment of their attentive silence. ‘I asked my parents if I could bring some friends from school, that is, if anyone is interested.’ She tilted her chin, looking around the table innocently. ‘I’d love it if you all could come. It’s at the Circe, of course. Monday night at seven. What do you say?’

It wasn’t really much of a decision. An invitation to a party at the Circe de Romany on a weeknight easily topped the most exciting weekend plans in Sixes. Everyone talked, and Josephine seemed pleased, and I found myself smiling at her. Then I realized I was still standing there, frozen, stupidly holding my tray. Josephine saw me.

‘What about you, Sebastian?’ she asked. ‘Can you come?’

The dancing girl whirls. Green eyes meet mine.

Blinding pain. A shriek in the dark…

Everything snapped into focus. I barely kept my tray from crashing to the ground. I took a step back, clutching the plastic handles, trying to breathe again. All this time, all those zone outs. The image of the Gypsy girl. It wasn’t from the painting in the tattoo shop. It was her.

It was Josephine.

My mouth dropped open before I had the good sense to clamp it shut. All eyes were on me now, and Katie’s were so large that I thought they might pop out of her head. Josephine blinked at me, waiting for my answer. I concentrated all my energies on declining her invitation. There was no way I could attend her party. Not when just looking at her made me freak out.

‘Sure.’

The word escaped my lips completely against my will, and the sensation felt like plunging down a long flight of stairs. Josephine’s expression turned strangely solemn as she stared at me.

‘Good.’

After another dinner of Chinese takeout, I collected the Gypsy Ink trash and prepared to make my nightly pilgrimage to the garbage bin.

‘Don’t be long,’ said Vincent, tossing me another bag from his workroom. ‘There’s another load waiting for you by the counter.’

‘Some Friday night,’ I replied, transferring garbage around until I could get it all in one trip. ‘Most people go to the movies. I’ve got a date with a Hefty bag.’

Vincent followed me to the back. ‘And whose fault is that? I figured you’d be hanging out with Katie.’

‘Nope,’ I said, kicking the door open and shoving myself through. ‘She’s doing something with Josephine.’ My scalp tingled when I said her name.

Vincent raised his brows. ‘The girl from the audition?’

‘Yep.’

My scalp tingled again, growing rapidly into an annoying itch. I pressed the side of my head into my shoulder, trying to scratch without dropping the garbage bags. Vincent watched me with amused curiosity.

‘Problems?’ he asked through quirked lips.

I tried using the other shoulder. The itch just seemed to spread. ‘Hugo’s got to stop buying that cheap crap shampoo.’

Vincent thrust another bag into my chest. ‘What, discount brand not good enough for you, pretty boy? Next you’ll be asking for body wash and those loofah things my girlfriend uses.’

‘At least I take showers,’ I said with a broad grin. ‘You should try it sometime. Really helps with the smell.’

I tucked the bag under my arm and hurried down the steps before Vincent retaliated with more trash. The door clanged shut behind me. So maybe I was sans plans for the weekend, but I didn’t mind. I wasn’t feeling particularly social. With all the weirdness I’d been experiencing lately, along with my teetering emotions, the thought of a couple of days away from everybody at school was pretty appealing.

My feet crunched over the gravel, and the sound echoed off the concrete walls. The lane was wide enough for a car, but the building on one side and the hedge of thick pine trees on the other made it feel enclosed, even stifling. The only illumination came from a sickly orange streetlight teetering precariously from a post.

The glow reminded me of the bonfire in my recurring image. And at that moment, I realized something: I hadn’t seen a single flash of it since lunch. Since I’d realized Josephine was the girl. Another mystery solved, I decided, as I closed the distance between the shop and the garbage area. I’d obviously seen Josephine’s picture somewhere – probably at Katie’s – since they were apparently good friends.

In other words, I was cured of the whatever-it-was – which should’ve been a relief – but I wasn’t totally back to normal. My insides hadn’t felt right since the afternoon before, not to mention my throbbing back, the unexplained slivers of gray hair I’d kept carefully hidden, and the fact that I couldn’t stop thinking about Josephine Romany, no matter how hard I tried.

Or how many chores I hid behind on a perfectly decent Friday evening.

I heaved the garbage bags over the side of the dumpster, determined to ask Hugo for a raise. Maybe his little Gypsy clan wasn’t rich, but I figured enduring the dumpster smell was worth some extra cash. With my hands free, I could finally dig them into my hair for a decent scratch, but my head wasn’t tingling anymore. Or maybe I just wasn’t thinking about it because of the repugnant smell of the alley. I sniffed, wondering when the stench had gotten so bad. It was enough to clear my sinuses. I brushed my sleeve disgustedly across my nose and turned around to head back to the shop.

Then I heard it: a shuffling sound from the other end of the alley. It wasn’t unusual for someone to be behind the building, dumping trash or breaking down boxes. But it wasn’t the sound that bothered me. My skin began to crawl, and the base of my skull throbbed to the rhythm of my steadily quickening pulse. The atmosphere around me felt suddenly dark.

Very, very dark.

I pressed my back against the cold metal and peered around the dumpster. The building was black and ominous. Under the feeble light the rows of doors gaped at me like hollow, fathomless eyes. The alley was deserted.

‘Hello?’ I called out into the darkness.

The only reply was the creaking of an old pine tree as a breeze chilled the October air.

My breath spewed out in white puffs. I set my jaw to stop my chattering teeth, and pushed myself away from the trash bin, eyeing the back door of the shop.

A shadow passed across the alley. No, it was more than a shadow. It was like smoke; blackened and thickly curled. It crept along the ground, clinging to the gravel and trash, enveloping the road. It could’ve been fog, but it moved too quickly. As if it had some kind of purpose.

Fair is foul, and foul is fair. The line from Macbeth ran through my head as I watched the mist slither closer, leaving a translucent trail. Hover through the fog and filthy air.

The air seemed to whisper jumbled sounds; like many voices speaking to me at once…none distinguishable or pleasant. My blood dropped to subzero levels. I could feel my heart crashing against my ribcage. I remained perfectly still, hardly daring to breathe. The mist continued to roll towards me, gaining in breadth until it stretched the width of the alley.

The door to the shop seemed a hundred miles away.

The smoke rose and hovered above me like a storm cloud. I could feel energy swirling inside it; a presence; alive and vibrant, propelling it downward. It drifted against my skin, cold and warm. I crouched, digging my shoes into the mucky ground, ready to make a run for the door. Then a strange female voice whispered in my ear.

We’ve found you…

I shot forward, propelling myself across the alley. But I didn’t get far. A gust of wind slammed into me like a freight train. The impact ripped the air from my lungs. I ricocheted off the dumpster and skidded, face first, across the dirt. Gravel sliced my palms, tore at my knees. My head rattled. Darkness invaded my vision. I felt my body trying to stand, to right itself, but I was losing consciousness. Something registered through the fog: a door banging open. I choked, gasping for oxygen as I crumpled to the ground.

I wasn’t sure how long I lay in the slosh and grime of the alley. I heard the scratching of an animal in the dumpster and the buzzing of the streetlight. But time itself passed out of reach and beyond my comprehension.

Then, arms were around me, lifting me from the ground. Vincent’s hard, lean face was close to mine, his dark eyes worried. I could smell his sweat and the hint of teriyaki on his breath.

‘Are you hurt?’ He sounded scared. ‘What happened to you?’

‘S-something…’, my throat felt coated with sand, ‘…attacked me.’

‘Attacked you?’ Vincent released me and jogged a few paces down the alley. His head twisted back and forth as he examined the road. Or, at least, that’s how it seemed. His form was blurry. I wiped my eyes with the edge of my sleeve. He returned and knelt beside me. ‘Are you sure, Sebastian? There’s no one out here.’

‘It was…’ The words didn’t make it past my teeth. The wind? I glanced at the scraggly pine branches swaying in the breeze. Then I noted the slimy tracks I’d left across the ground. Had I slipped, lost my balance in the mud? I looked at Vincent through narrowed eyes. ‘What are you doing out here?’

‘Looking for you,’ he replied. He didn’t meet my gaze; he was staring somewhat awkwardly at my hair. I brushed it out of my face as he continued. ‘You’ve been gone almost half an hour.’

‘Seriously?’

‘Come on,’ he said quickly, ‘let’s get you inside.’

He helped me to my feet. My palms itched and my right temple throbbed, but the rest of me seemed to be in working order. My lungs felt clear, and there was no trace of the mist anywhere in the alley. I glanced dubiously over my shoulder. Had I imagined it? Already, the details of what just happened felt fuzzy in my head. We entered the shop, and Kris glanced up from the counter. His eyes widened as he looked at me.

‘Um, your hair’s gray.’

I stared at him. ‘What?’

Vincent grabbed a mirror from the counter. I flipped it over and met my reflection. And I couldn’t believe what I saw. Kris was right. My hair was gray, but not the whitish gray of the elderly. It was a vibrant shade of pewter.

Only a few strands of my normally black hair remained. I tentatively brushed my fingers through it. My hair felt the same. But the shade was something out of the paint department at the hardware store. I’d heard of people’s hair changing color due to fright or trauma, but nothing like this.

‘Okay, what’s going on?’ I peeled my gaze from the mirror. ‘Is this another weird Gypsy tradition? First tattoos, then hair dye? Did my brother put you up to this?’

Vincent didn’t blink. ‘You’ll have to ask him.’

As if on cue, the front door banged open. Hugo stomped through, ushering a gust of wind. ‘Did you guys see the fog?’ he said, shedding his jacket. ‘It looks like we’re going to…’ He caught sight of me, instantly registering my new hair color. But he didn’t seem surprised. His face hardened for a moment, then relaxed into an expression I couldn’t totally place.

Almost like satisfaction.

‘Your hair’s gray,’ he said.

‘Yeah, we just covered that,’ I replied.

‘Looks good on you.’ Hugo brushed passed me and chucked his jacket on the counter. ‘Hey, Vincent, can you grab that book for me? I’ve got some research to do on a Gothic tat for a customer.’ Vincent hauled a large leather-bound book from the shelf behind the counter and handed it to my brother.

‘Hold up,’ I said, tossing the mirror aside, ‘is this gray hair part of some kind of initiation thing? I thought you already said I was in the club.’

‘It’s not a club,’ Hugo replied. ‘We’re a clan. And no, having gray hair doesn’t make you Roma.’