Because It Is My Blood

  I did kind of mind, but Scarlet was my best friend, so what could I do.

  We went into the living room, where Gable stood by the window. He was leaning on crutches, and there was no wheelchair in sight. In other respects, he was also much improved. His complexion was beyond pale, nearly white, but there was no obvious scarring where the skin grafts had been. Black leather gloves covered his hands so I couldn’t see what had become of his mangled fingers.

  “Arsley, you’re walking again!” I congratulated him.

  Scarlet applauded. “I know,” she said. “Isn’t it great? I’m so proud of him!”

  With some difficulty, Gable maneuvered himself toward me. “Yes, isn’t it wonderful? After months of physical therapy and countless painful surgeries, I can now accomplish what most two-year-olds manage much better. Aren’t I a miracle of modern medicine?”

  Scarlet kissed him on the cheek. “Don’t go into that dark place, Gable. Stay in the light with Anya and me!”

  Gable laughed at Scarlet’s joke, and then he kissed her, and then she whispered something in his ear, and he smiled, and she helped him over to the love seat where they both sat down. OMG, as Nana would have said, Scarlet and Gable might actually be in love! For a moment, I almost felt jealous of them. I didn’t want to be with Gable again—certainly not! After everything Scarlet had done for my family, I could not begrudge her a boyfriend. The plain truth was, I missed being in a couple.

  I curled into the familiar burgundy chair.

  “Seriously, Gable,” I said. “You look amazingly good.”

  “You look awful,” Gable replied.

  “Gable,” Scarlet admonished him.

  “What? She looks like a little boy or a long-distance runner. Didn’t they feed you anything in there?” Gable continued. “And your hair is scary.”

  My hair was indeed tangled and frizzy. There hadn’t been conditioner or gel or even a proper hairbrush at Liberty. As soon as Gable and Scarlet left, I would begin addressing the situation.

  “How’s Trinity?” I asked by way of changing the subject. Gable was repeating his senior year because of how much of the previous one he’d missed.

  “Boring now that you’re not there,” Gable said with a shrug. “No one’s been shot or poisoned for months.”

  One of Gable’s qualities was his sense of humor.

  “Gable Arsley,” Scarlet said with a furrowed brow, “you are being awful and you are making me regret having brought you today.”

  “Apologies, Anya, if I caused offense.”

  I told him that he hadn’t, that I was pretty hard to offend these days.

  Scarlet stood up. “We should go. Imogen made us promise that we wouldn’t stay long.” She gave Gable her hand, and he rose somewhat awkwardly to his feet. That was when I remembered the elevator. Gable had trouble walking across the room. He was never going to be able to make it down thirteen flights on crutches.

  Upon consulting with Imogen, who then consulted with the building superintendent, it was determined that the elevator wouldn’t be repaired until the next morning. Gable would have to spend the night, a scheme that did not thrill me. If Gable was staying, Scarlet’s parents wouldn’t allow her to, and the last time Gable Arsley had almost spent the night in this apartment, it had not gone well.

  I decided that Gable should sleep on the couch. I didn’t want him in Leo’s old room.

  After these arrangements were made, I was finally able to slip away to my bedroom. I had been meaning to clean myself up, but instead I fell asleep on my bed. When I awoke, it was two in the morning, and the apartment was silent. I slipped out of my room and went down the hall to the shower.

  I didn’t care how much water cost these days. I figured I was owed three or four showers. Of course, I lavished extra attention on my hair. O conditioner—an ugly word for such a beautiful thing!

  After my shower, I detangled my hair and gave it some proper product and when I looked in the mirror, I thought I looked almost normal again. I wrapped my flowered bath towel around myself and went back to my bedroom.

  The light was on. I wondered if I had forgotten to turn it off.

  When I opened the door, Gable was sitting in the chair by my bed. He was dressed in a pair of Leo’s pajamas that Imogen must have lent him, and his crutches were propped by the dresser.

  “Arsley,” I said, checking that my bath towel was secured under my arms. “You shouldn’t be in here.”

  “Oh, Anya, don’t be so paranoid,” Gable said. “I heard you were awake, and I was awake, too, so I thought I’d keep you company.”

  “I don’t want company after I get out of the shower, Arsley.”

  “I … I won’t try to do anything to you, Anya, I swear. Just don’t make me get up yet. My leg swells at night. Let me sit here a bit. I promise I’ll keep my eyes closed while you change.”

  “I’ve been in prison, Arsley, and if you try anything, so help me…” I opened my closet door so that I could discreetly put on my pajamas from behind it, and then I sat cross-legged on my bed. “So,” I said.

  “I was thinking of the last time we were alone together in this room,” Gable said. “I know you think I behaved badly and I’m sorry for that. I did want to sleep with you that night, but I never would have forced you.”

  I shook my head. “Is this you apologizing?”

  “Yes, I guess it is. I’m almost glad the elevator broke because otherwise I never would have gotten you by yourself and I’ve wanted to say that to you for such a long time. It’s sweltering in here by the way.” Gable took off his leather gloves and I could see that he had three silver fingertips in place of his amputations. He looked like a robot.

  “Arsley, your fingers!”

  Gable laughed at me. “You’re supposed to pretend not to notice them.”

  “But they’re kind of amazing.”

  He waved them. “Would you like to touch them, Anya?”

  I kind of did, but I didn’t think it was a good idea for me to touch any parts of Gable, even his bionic ones.

  “Come on, Anya. Shake my hand. Friends can shake hands, can’t they?”

  We were not friends.

  “Don’t be boring, Anya,” Gable said. “Do you know what school you’re going to yet?”

  “Wherever will have me, I suppose.”

  “It’s stupid them not letting you come back,” Gable said. “You saved Win Delacroix’s life.”

  It had not escaped my notice that Scarlet had stealthily avoided the subject of Win the entire afternoon. I did not want to hear news of Win from Gable Arsley of all people. Still, I would take what I could get. “Is Win”—I tried to make my voice casual—“back at Trinity this year?”

  Gable rolled his eyes. “Oh, I can see exactly how much you don’t care about him. You’ve always been the world’s worst liar, Anya. Aren’t you talking to him anymore?”

  “We aren’t allowed.”

  “That wouldn’t stop me.” Gable ran his metal fingers through his hair. “He doesn’t eat lunch with Scarlet and me this year, which is fine. I always found him annoyingly earnest. How you could go for him after me, I’ll never understand.”

  I wanted to ask more, but I didn’t want to have to ask, if you know what I mean. Luckily, Gable was delighted to volunteer information. “Listen, Scarlet said we shouldn’t tell you this yet, but you’ll find out soon enough anyway. Win’s with Alison Wheeler.”

  I inhaled and tried not to feel anything. “I know who she is.” Win had taken her to the Fall Formal last year. He’d said he was just friends with her, but that didn’t seem likely now. No wonder I hadn’t seen him in so long.

  “What do you mean ‘I know who she is’?” Gable demanded. “Of course you know who she is. We’ve been going to school with her for years.”

  I had been trying to avoid saying something more revealing about the matter. “How did it happen?” I asked.

  “Boy meets girl. She was helping out on his dad’s campaign, I guess. Someth
ing like that. She’s not bad-looking though. I’d do her.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “You mean if you weren’t with Scarlet.”

  “That is presumed, Anya.”

  “You should go now,” I told him.

  “Why? So you can cry into your pillow over Win? Come here. I’ll let you cry on my shoulder.”

  “Go,” I told him.

  “Help me up, would you?”

  I offered him my hand, and as he was getting to his feet, he whispered in my ear, “You’re prettier than Alison Wheeler, and Win Delacroix is an idiot.”

  Gable was loathsome, but even a loathsome person can make a girl feel better sometimes. “Thank you,” I said.

  I’d finally bounced him from my room when he turned. “Say, do you have any chocolate around?”

  “I can’t believe you’re even asking me that!”

  “What? I haven’t had any in months,” Gable replied. “Besides, it wasn’t chocolate that made me sick. It was Fretoxin. You should know better than anyone that there’s nothing wrong with chocolate.”

  I told him it was too late for me to know anything for certain. “Do you want my help out to the living room or can you manage it yourself?”

  “It’s more fun if you come,” Gable said.

  “Not for me.” I closed my bedroom door, turned off my light, and got into bed. Even though it was stuffy in my room, I pulled the covers over my head.

  I could imagine a pretty little scenario in which Win was with Alison Wheeler just to distract his father from the fact that he was seeing me. The only problem with that theory was the fact that Win was not seeing me. As I have already mentioned, he hadn’t seen or contacted me in over a month. The logical thing to conclude was that Win really was seeing Alison Wheeler.

  Maybe it was for the best, though? If I were still with Win, I would put Natty and Leo in danger. It was easier this way, right? Charles Delacroix’s and my plan had been a success. That moment in August had been an anomaly. Maybe it had really been goodbye.

  So, good. Everyone had moved on. No one had gotten hurt. (Much.) I had served my time. I was a free woman. And Win, obviously, was a free man.

  I wished Nana were here. She would have told me to embrace my freedom. Or maybe she would have told me to have a bar of chocolate.

  * * *

  In the morning, I was woken by the sound of laughter. I pulled on my bathrobe and went out to the living room. I expected that Scarlet had arrived early to escort her boyfriend home, and I was thankful to her. I was more than eager to be rid of my houseguest.

  Gable was seated on the couch. He was gesturing with his silver-tipped hand as he said, “Wait, wait, you’re laughing before I’m even at the good part.”

  I looked over at the burgundy chair. A woman sat there, but it wasn’t Scarlet.

  “Annie!” Natty stood up and threw her arms around me. In shoes, she was slightly taller than me and this was disturbing. “I told myself I was going to give you the cold shoulder, Annie, but I can’t. Why did you lie to me about going to Liberty?”

  “I just wanted you to have a good time at genius camp,” I told her.

  “I’m not a little kid anymore. I can handle things, you know,” Natty informed me.

  “Yeah,” Gable added. “She’s definitely not a little kid.”

  I told Gable to shut up. “She’s only thirteen. And you have a girlfriend.” And yet Gable was right. The change in my sister was undeniable. I held her at arm’s length so that I could look at her. Over the summer, Natty had grown, maybe four inches, and her skirt was too short. The legs that used to be spider legs had a definite curve to them. She had breasts and hips and a pimple on her chin. She was only thirteen but she looked about twice that. I didn’t like the way Gable was looking at her. I debated whether to hit him over the head with a lamp.

  At that moment, Scarlet arrived. “Your hair looks much improved,” she said as she kissed me on the cheek. “Good morning, Natty darling! Doesn’t she look so grown-up, Anya?”

  “Indeed,” I said.

  “It’s a good thing, too, now that she’s skipped into tenth,” Scarlet continued.

  “Wait, what’s this?” I asked.

  “I told Imogen I wanted to tell you myself,” Natty explained to me.

  Scarlet nodded. “Come, Gable. The elevator is working again. We should go before you’re stuck here another night.” Scarlet turned to me. “I hope he behaved himself.”

  “Don’t lie, Anya!” Gable said.

  I told Scarlet that Gable had behaved exactly as I’d come to expect, a remark Scarlet chose to take at face value.

  Scarlet helped her appalling boyfriend to his feet, and finally they were gone.

  I turned to my sister. “You skipped two grades?”

  Natty worried the pimple on her chin with her pinkie. “Miss Bellevoir and the people at genius camp thought it was a good idea, and, well…” Her voice turned cool. “You weren’t around to discuss it.”

  My baby sister, a sophomore at Holy Trinity?

  I sat down on the couch, which still reeked of Gable’s cologne. After a bit, Natty sat down next to me. “I missed you,” she said.

  “Did you have nightmares this summer?” I asked.

  “Only one or two or three or four, but when they’d start, I’d pretend I was you. Brave like you. And I’d say, ‘Now, Natty, you are just having a dream. Go back to sleep.’ And it worked!” Natty put her arms around me. “I honestly hated you when I found out you’d gone to Liberty. I was so mad, Annie. Why did you do it?”

  I explained to her in the simplest terms possible the deal I had made with Charles Delacroix to protect her and Leo. She wanted to know if ending my relationship with Win had been part of that deal. Yes, I told her, it had been.

  “Poor Annie. That was the hard part, I bet,” Natty said.

  I smiled. “Well, I’d wager that Liberty isn’t as fun as genius camp. It doesn’t help that everyone keeps telling me how horrible I look.”

  Natty studied my face. She held my cheeks in her hands, hands with disarmingly long fingers. “You look strong, Annie. That’s all. But then you’ve always been strong.”

  She was a good girl, my sister. “Arsley said that Win has a girlfriend?”

  “He does,” Natty admitted. “But I don’t know, Win’s so different. He seems angry all the time. I tried to talk to him the first day of school. I wanted to know if he’d heard from you, and he kind of blew me off.”

  I reminded her that she’d promised to hate Win Delacroix for the rest of her life.

  “That was before I knew you’d lied about Liberty,” Natty said. “Anyway, his leg seems to have healed. He’s still got a cane, but he’s not like Gable or anything.”

  “Natty,” I said, “tell me honestly. You weren’t flirting with Gable this morning, were you?”

  “That is gross, Anya,” Natty said. “We’re in the same math class. He was telling me a story about the teacher. I was laughing to be polite.”

  “Thank God,” I said. I didn’t think I could handle Natty flirting with Gable Arsley. Later, after I had been home a while longer, Natty and I would need to have a serious discussion about boys.

  Natty stood and offered me her hand. “Come,” she said. “We need to go to Saturday market. We’re out of just about everything. And Imogen says thirteen is still too young to go by myself.”

  “She’s right,” I said.

  “You went at thirteen, didn’t you?” Natty insisted.

  “I was almost fourteen. And that was only because no one could take me.”

  Natty and I rode the bus down to the market at Union Square. You could purchase or trade for just about anything there. Toilet paper or T-shirts. Turnips or Tolstoy. Things that start with T and every other letter of the alphabet. As usual, it was a madhouse. Tables and tents everywhere. Every possible space was filled with a human being, and all those human beings wanted and they wanted now. Or actually, a week ago. Occasionally, someone died in a st
ampede. Nana once told me that when she was young, there had been grocery stores where you could buy anything you wanted, whenever you wanted. Now, all we had were irregularly stocked bodegas. Your best bet really was the Saturday market.

  That day, our list included: laundry detergent, hair conditioner, dried pasta, a thermos, fruit (if we could find it), a new (longer) wool kilt for Natty, and a paper book for Imogen (it was her thirty-second birthday the following week).

  I handed Natty a pile of cash and ration coupons. Then I assigned her the book and the kilt. The price was usually the price on those items, so you didn’t have to be an experienced marketer. I would take care of everything else. I had come armed with several bars of Balanchine Special Dark, which I had been surprised to find while taking stock of our mostly barren pantry. Though I had lost my taste for chocolate, it could still be useful when negotiating.

  As I made my way through the crowd to where the household chemicals stand usually was, I passed a group of college students who were demonstrating. (Political activity was common at the markets.) A malnourished-looking girl with greasy brown hair and a long flowered skirt jammed a pamphlet into my hand. “Take one, sister,” she said. I looked down at the pamphlet. On the front cover was a picture of what I thought was a cacao pod and the words Legalize Cacao Now! “All the stuff they tell you about chocolate is a lie,” she continued. “It’s no more addictive than water.”

  “Trust me, I know,” I said as I slipped the pamphlet into my bag. “Where’d you guys get the paper for the pamphlets?”

  “The paper shortage is a lie, friend,” a man with a beard replied. “They’re just trying to control us. Always plenty of paper for good old American dollar bills, ain’t there?”

  These were the kind of people who thought everything was a lie. Best to be on my way before one of these pro-chocolate folks noticed who I was.

  I lucked out and was able to get everything but the fruit and the pasta at the first chemicals stand I visited. I found a pasta vendor a couple of rows down, and he gave me a good deal on penne after I threw in a meat ration coupon and a bar of chocolate. I traded a woman selling flowers two chocolate bars for a bouquet of roses—it was extravagant but I longed for something sweet-smelling and colorful after the summer I had had. The only thing left was the fruit. I’d just about given up on getting anything except the canned stuff when I spotted a sign that read: