RECYCLED MEMORY Read online

  “What’s going on here? Aren’t you two supposed to be in class?” Shit.

  Principle Garvey stood in front of us and waited for the explanation I had no time to give. I was fucked the minute she opened her mouth and told him about the fight outside by the bleachers. All he needed was one excuse, an inkling of bad behavior, and my ass was looking at another suspension or possibly expulsion. I waited for the proverbial shoe to drop and my fate to be sealed by a lab-coat-wearing gnome who just so happened to be pissed as all hell.

  “Nothing, Principle Garvey. I was just on my way back from the cafeteria to grab a juice and accidentally bumped into this boy by mistake.” She hooked a thumb in my direction.

  If she was surprised by his sudden appearance, she didn’t show it. She reached into the pocket of the lab coat and produced the bottle that contained the acid. She unscrewed the cap and took a large gulp before showing it to the principle with a knowing smile on her face. I just stood there like a complete idiot as she quickly turned on her heels and walked away from the two of us standing alone in the hallway. She’d fuckin’ played me. That innocent-looking girl had played me for a fool, and I’d fallen for it, just like those idiots who’d tried to jump me. She hadn’t even flinched as she’d stood there and lied right to our principle like it was something she did on a daily basis.

  What the fuck just happened?

  “Get to class, Mr. Mecken, and don’t let me catch you wandering the halls again.” He snapped me from my stupor with a harsh request.

  “Sure thing, Principle Garvey. I was just on my way there now.”

  Who was that girl? And why did she help me? Whoever she was, she’d definitely saved my ass, not once but twice. Something told me I hadn’t seen the last of that little lab-coat-wearing munchkin.

  What a fucking day.

  FOUR

  Maribel

  MOST KIDS MY AGE couldn’t wait for last bell on Friday afternoon signaling the start of their weekend. The constant chatter of who was going out on a date with whom, where the hottest parties were happening, and detailed schemes designed to fool unsuspecting parents while their children planned to break their curfews. That was all my classmates talked about. Not that it mattered; I was never invited to hang out or hit the mall to spend my allowance on high-priced name-brand clothing. Most of the time, they ignored me or considered my presence in their class as one big, fat joke. The child prodigy who looked funny, kissed the teachers’ asses, and was entirely too young to know what really went on in the real world. I never cared what they thought about me. I had plans and goals, neither of which involved boys, sex, or underage drinking that resulted in the loss of brain cells.

  For me, the weekend meant I had two days of extra credit school work to complete before counting the hours until the cycle of a brand-new week started on Monday morning. I spent my time wisely, checking and re-checking my notes from the previous week, everything from physics to calculus just to stay ahead.I carried a full load, and my biggest fear was not putting forth maximum effort and ruining my perfect grade point average. The first thing Ivy League colleges looked for in potential students was your GPA, especially for early admissions. I couldn’t run the risk of failure by slacking off like everyone else who was jockeying to get in, no matter the personal sacrifices I had to make. My father had been admitted to Harvard before the end of his sophomore year of high school. With luck, I’d receive mine well in advance and smash the family record for that scholastic accolade.

  I wanted to make him proud.

  Sadly, the weekends also meant that my parents were usually busy with preparations to attend the next big event that was an absolute must for anyone of importance. Tonight was no exception. I stood silently in the doorway of their bedroom and watched as my mother applied the final touches to her flawlessly made-up face while she waited patiently for my father to arrive home from his office. Being in charge of a trauma hospital meant long hours and the occasional unforeseen emergency, which was more than likely the reason why he hadn’t arrived yet. My father’s tuxedo was freshly pressed from the cleaners and laid out gently across their bed along with socks, underwear, and cufflinks. My mother thought of everything and was never fazed by his unpredictable comings and goings. She knew her job as event coordinator for the Laine family was important to my father’s success and what kept them both in the inner circle.

  She lived for that shit.

  “I see Dad’s running late again,” I said from the doorway.

  “Oh, sweetheart, I didn’t see you there. Why are you skulking around?” She continued to apply her makeup, barely sparing me a second glance.

  “I don’t think I’ll ever be as beautiful as you are, Mother.”

  I walked inside and sat down on the edge of my parents’ bed, careful not to ruin my father’s suit. The sweet smell of her expensive perfume was like a warm blanket of maternal security as soon as I entered the room. It was her favorite fragrance, and she wore it often enough that I could pick her out of a crowd if I were blindfolded. My mother was a natural beauty, and I wanted so much to be like her. She had been introduced to my father during a senior class trip at Harvard Medical School before a lecture she’d been scheduled to attend. He had been in charge of freshmen fellowship and responsible for greeting all of the potential incoming students. She’d ultimately settled on Boston University, but they’d kept in touch, and the rest was history. She loved my father, and he loved her. They were each other’s perfect match, or so I’d been told. She was dressed to perfection in her long sequined gown with just enough of a split to maintain her modesty yet still keep it sexy and classy. She finally gave me her undivided attention with a slight turn from her dressing table. She smiled warmly, and I felt the sudden urge to lay my head in her lap and weep.

  Where did that come from?

  “I hate to break it to you, darling, but you’re already there. A few more years, and you’ll have to beat the boys off with a stick, not to mention the crowd of admirers you’ll earn once they find out how smart you are.”

  “Right, ‘cause smart girls are all the rage now. Just cut the shit, Mother. I know I’ll never be as pretty as you…or her,” I spit with more venom than I’d planned.

  She was taken aback by my sudden outburst but didn’t waiver in her insistence. It was a conversation we’d had many times over the last few years, each one ending in a stalemate of sorts. She continued to insist I was already beautiful, and I fought back with the true knowledge that her idea was bullshit. There were never any winners in this game. Tonight, I felt like the biggest looser ever.

  “It’s not a contest, Maribel, although you insist on making it one. Your sister has her positive traits as well as her negative ones to contend with, just like you do. Can you not see how everyone has room to grow before blossoming into the person they were meant to be?”

  “Room to grow? Look at me, Mother.” I stood from the bed and did a quick turn.

  “My hair is awful, my teeth are crooked, and I’m so blind that I already have to wear bifocals, and I’m only twelve years old. I’m waiting to see what the upside to all of this is, ‘cause from where I’m standing, I’m one step away from wearing a paper bag over my head.”

  The rueful look on her face when I finished my spiel was all I needed to see to confirm I was right. Game over. I was the ugly duckling of the family, the Christmas sweater your sweet old aunt sent you as a gift every year, destined to be overlooked just like the fruit cake. As long as I continued to excel in my studies, I’d fulfill all of my parents’ expectations, which consisted of getting into an Ivy League school and graduating with honors. She, on the other hand, was being groomed to look her best and marry a wealthy man who could afford to take care of her in the manner to which she was accustomed to living. How liberating it must feel to only have to worry about makeup trends every day while education was an afterthought. I envied her freedom, the carefree way she went about her life; it was fascinating to watch sometimes. One flip of her gol
den hair, and the boys would drool all over themselves. She had her pick of where she wanted to sit in the cafeteria during lunch hour; each day, the student body would war over their empty spot at the table. One seemingly innocent giggle from her mouth, and heads would snap just to be a part of her captive audience.

  It was sickening, and I hated her for it.

  Sibling rivalry was one thing; straight-up detestation and animosity were another. Growing up, we’d never played together. Her toys had been off limits, not that we’d ever needed to share. Our parents made sure we had everything we ever wanted and then some; privilege at its finest. My parents’ hectic schedule had meant we’d been left in the care of nannies or service staff most of the time, yet that had never bought us closer as loving sisters. The mountain of differences between our two personalities was so enormous that by the age of twelve, I’d already concluded that I no longer wanted or needed her in my life. How sad was that?

  “Sorry, sorry. I know I’m late. I promise I’ll only need five minutes to get ready.” My father ran into the bedroom and kissed my mother on the forehead while he simultaneously removed his tie from around his neck.

  “Don’t worry, darling, we have plenty of time,” she breathed wearily.

  I could almost hear my mother’s relieved thoughts inside her head once she accepted his kiss. Thank God that conversation is over was written all over her beautiful face, as much as she tried to hide it. She was freed from this round of Maribel’s pity party by the man we’d both been anxiously waiting to see.

  My father truly was the handsomest man in the world, at least in my eyes. Blond hair with just a hint of gray on the sides, courtesy of the hospital, he always said; it gave him that boyish distinguished look. My mother used to gush that it was his eyes that sealed the deal, as blue as the Caribbean Sea; they were a family trait. Too bad someone forget to include me in on that deal. My mother’s side of the family was native to Ireland, so instead of being born with blond hair and crystalline eyes, I was stuck with strawberry-blond hair and brown eyes. My first act of rebellion had consisted of me dying my hair a crimson shade of red by using packages of strawberry Jell-O I’d found in the pantry. I’d been seven years old, and the color had only lasted through one wash, but that hadn’t stopped me. A year later, I’d high jacked the science lab at school and created a more permanent solution to my problem. My father had been none too happy, but the look on her face had been priceless.

  Score one for the ugly duckling.

  “I checked your grades today, Maribel. Looks like you have a test to study for this weekend. I hope you didn’t make any plans; you know how important it is to keep on top of these things. Remember, Harvard only accepts the best, and in order to be the best, you must work hard, harder than anyone else. I’m counting on you, sweetheart.”

  He spoke to me through the closed bathroom door as he prepared for the evening out. It didn’t matter. I’d heard it all before. Like a song played on repeat, it was my anthem, and it was nights like these when I hated it more than I cared to admit. Just once I thought how great it would be if he just walked in and said, “Hello, beautiful daughter. I’m so happy to see you.” He would embrace me in his strong arms, and I would feel loved, the kind of love that only a daughter who adored her father would feel knowing how much he loved her back. The thought of it gave me a warm feeling in the pit of my stomach, and I fled to my room before the first tear fell from my eyes. I threw myself across the pink canopy bed and hugged my favorite teddy bear tightly to my chest. I’d had Doobie since I was a baby, and he often helped me get through some of the rough times, times like these, where I didn’t have anyone else to turn to.

  I could blame my sudden onset of emotion on premenstrual syndrome, except I hadn’t had my first period yet. The only other change to my sadly normal existence was the boy I’d saved from getting his ass whooped today. I hadn’t planned on stepping in, but once I’d gotten a good look at the five-on-one action he was facing, I’d felt as though he needed my help. I was sure that wasn’t what my guidance counselor had in mind when she’d told me to make a new friend. My misgivings had proven to be true once that idiot ball of testosterone hadn’t even bothered to thank me for saving his life. He’d called me a kid and tried to get me to leave my own school because he’d thought I didn’t belong there. He had some nerve treating me that way. Didn’t he know I was the smartest person in that school and well on my way to the Ivy League? What gave him the right to judge me?

  Because he thought you were a child, silly.

  Take a good look in the mirror.

  I knew the answer before my brain decided to let me in on the truth. I didn’t want him to think of me that way, not now, not when I felt all these strange new feelings. One look at his gorgeous face, and my stomach had fluttered as if I’d eaten a thousand butterflies. He was tall and muscular, like the boys on the varsity basketball team, only better. But it was the dimple in his chin that poked out when he’d laughed at me that had made my heart sing. I wanted him to see me as more than just a brain or as a child who didn’t belong. I wanted him to look at me the way other boys always looked at her. For once, I wanted it to be me who was the beautiful golden princess.

  When would it ever be my turn?

  FIVE

  Marcus

  I WAS HAVING A wonderful dream.

  My parents and I were in Paris, France, taking a photo in front of the Eiffel Tower during the last trip we’d gone on together. They’d surprised me with a weeklong getaway during spring break from school, one of the many destinations on our family bucket list. It had been the perfect day filled with sunshine, laughter, and memories to last a lifetime. I remembered it like it was yesterday, the crinkling around the corners of my mother’s eyes when she’d smiled at the stranger who’d snapped our picture. My father’s strong arms as he’d held each of us around our shoulders while we’d faced the camera. It felt so real, as if we were still there. Voices from the other room cruelly woke me from my dream state. The sudden loss of the memory seized my chest with pain; my body felt cold and empty. I tried to go back, closed my eyes and silently prayed for the vision to return. We belonged together, as a family. I just needed a little more time.

  Please come back.

  Please don’t leave me here alone.

  I heard the shrillness of my grandmother’s laugh, and it incensed me to the core. Fury replaced my sorrow in an instant, all consuming. I yanked the covers from around my legs and jumped from the bed, ready to tear into her for having the gall to mock me with her joy. My parents were dead, for fuck’s sake, and she had the nerve to find that shit funny? Fuck that. My hands shook with excited energy as I reached for my bedroom door while my heart rate picked up its pace.I barely made it out the room before I recognized the owner of the second voice and abruptly stopped all movement.

  “Please don’t go to any trouble, Ms. Betty. I’m perfectly fine without them.”

  “Nonsense, Range, dear,” she politely chastised. “Besides, I promised Buck I would make him up a batch as payment for fixing my old rust bucket of a car. Now, sit and talk to me while I get these cookies whipped up.”

  That dirty piece of shit from the junkyard was in my house? My grandmother was the kindest person in the world, but she’d crossed the line by inviting him here. It was one thing to have to deal with that prick when it was out of my control, but I’d be damned if I had to swallow his bullshit in my own fucking house. I made my way into the kitchen just as my grandmother placed the first batch of cookies in the oven to bake. She greeted me the same way she always did, and from the disgusted look in my eyes, she knew I was not happy with him being there.

  “Good morning, Marcus, darling.” She fidgeted with her apron and pointed to the slob sitting quietly at our kitchen table.

  “Range was kind enough to stop by and drop off one of those figurines Buck offered me the other day while we were at the junkyard. Why don’t you go and get dressed, and I’ll have your breakfast ready by the
time you’re done?”

  “Yeah.” I speared him with a heated look. “Whatever, Nan.”

  I faced that asshole Range and gave my ball sack a grab through my sleep pants. A sign I thought he was lower than pond scum. He caught my meaning.

  I crept back to my room to change, determined to look my best, which was more than I could say for the bitch boy. As soon as I left the kitchen, they continued their incessant yapping as if my presence was an unwanted interruption. Curiosity got the better of me, so I hurried to make myself look descent, so I could hear what they were talking about. If it weren’t for that junkyard prick Buck Calhoun, I wouldn’t have to deal with this crap at all. He was the one responsible for setting this whole thing up, like we needed his handouts. I snuck back out and pressed my back against the wall, so they couldn’t see me. Quietly, I listened in on their conversation:

  “So, Range, how are you doing in school? Must be tough working at the junkyard and keeping up with your lessons every day,” Nan asked.

  “It’s okay, Ms. Betty. I love working at the junkyard. I get to meet a lot of nice people, and Buck takes care of me, as if I were more of a son instead of just a worker. Know what I mean? One day, I’ll get to live there permanently just like Buck promised,” he boasted.

  “I’m sure your parents can’t be happy about you spending so much time away from home,” Nan said cautiously.