Feral Youth

  And things would soon become even more official because Ben was going to adopt her. They’d all talked about it right before they moved. Ben had brought it up shyly, like he was afraid she’d say no. She had cried from happiness when he asked if it was okay, if she wouldn’t mind him being her father, too. He’d always been so good to her; if anything, she felt like she should be asking him if he was sure.

  “I’m glad you’re settling in.” He walked over to kiss the top of her head. “I just want you to be careful.”

  She spooned up another bite of oats. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

  “Let’s make that a promise, Sun,” Ben said, stealing a blueberry from her bowl.

  * * *

  Micah met her at her locker after the last bell.

  “Ready?”

  Sunday put away the books she wouldn’t need over the weekend and slammed the door shut. “Yeah, where are we going?”

  “My house,” he said, leading the way to the parking lot. “I told everyone to come over in, like, an hour.”

  “Are your parents out of town?”

  “No, they’re just never home and don’t give a shit what I do.” He shrugged. “They don’t really give a shit when they’re home, either.”

  Sunday couldn’t imagine a life like that. Her dad and Ben seemed to be aware of everything she was doing at all times, even though she was never really doing anything they’d object to.

  Micah slowed in front of a silver Mercedes. A black guy Sunday had never seen was leaning against the hood, arms crossed and brows furrowed. He turned his glare on Micah as they approached.

  “Is this your car?” She didn’t mean to sound so incredulous. After all, this was Los Angeles, and the rest of the cars in the parking lot certainly weren’t shabby by comparison. But Micah had been so strange about admitting he lived in Beverly Hills, she was surprised to see he drove such an obviously luxurious car.

  “About time you showed up,” the guy grumbled.

  Micah ignored her question and the guy’s comment and sighed. “Meet my brother, Eli. E., this is Sunday.”

  The frown on Eli’s face relaxed into an almost-smile as he looked at her. “Hey.” He paused. “Your name is Sunday?”

  It wasn’t the first time she’d gotten that question this week, and it wouldn’t be the last.

  Sunday shrugged. “I sit next to a girl named Whisper in studio art.”

  He gave her a full smile this time and an almost-laugh. “Touché. You rolling with us?”

  Eli didn’t look so much like Micah. He was bulkier and missing a dimple, and he seemed cranky for no reason. But she instantly liked him, just as she’d instantly liked Micah.

  As it turned out, Micah’s definition of fancy varied vastly from hers because their house was exactly the type of home she pictured when she thought of Beverly Hills. They had to pass through a set of security gates, where the guard at the booth greeted Micah like they were best friends.

  Their house wasn’t the biggest on the street, but it was objectively impressive. There was a sprawling emerald-green lawn and a long circular drive and elaborate detailing on the outside that made her think the inside was probably even more gorgeous.

  “This is totally Beverly Hills fancy,” Sunday said accusingly as she got out of the passenger seat.

  Eli climbed out behind her. “Micah likes to pretend we’re poor. It’s better for his image.”

  “Shut the fuck up, E.,” Micah said, slamming his door.

  Sometimes Sunday wondered what it would be like to have a sibling. Her father and Ben had considered adopting a child from the foster care system years ago, and even went so far as to discuss it with her, but they ultimately decided they were happy with one child. They always said she was such a good kid they didn’t want to jinx it. Most of the time Sunday felt glad, but sometimes even sibling rivalry made her a little envious. Having a brother or sister was a connection she’d never know.

  Micah left her alone with Eli while he went upstairs to drop off his backpack and the bag with all his dance gear that he lugged back and forth each day.

  “Your house is great,” Sunday said, gazing around the foyer. Her voice echoed back to her.

  “Yeah, it’s one thing our parents didn’t fuck up,” Eli said.

  She followed him to the kitchen, which was three times the size of the one at her new house. Eli opened the door on the giant refrigerator and waved her over. “Want something to drink?”

  The fridge was fully stocked. Sunday felt almost dizzy as she stared at all her options. It looked like they were throwing a full-on party later. She finally chose a can of ginger ale and stepped aside as Eli slipped a bottle of Bud Light off the shelf. He twisted off the cap and took a long swallow.

  He noticed her staring and raised an eyebrow. “You want one?”

  Sunday shook her head.

  “You don’t drink?”

  “Not as, like, a statement. I just never have.”

  “That’s cool.” He took another sip, then said, “I only drink.”

  “What?”

  Eli hopped up on the counter next to the sink, swinging his legs back and forth so the heels of his sneakers bumped against the cabinets. “I mean, I don’t do anything else. Like smoke weed or take molly or whatever.”

  Sunday sipped her ginger ale and nodded. Eli was still watching her, and she got the feeling he wanted to say more. But then Micah walked in.

  “I’m fucking starving,” he said, scratching the back of his head. “You guys want to order pizza or something?”

  Eli looked away.

  * * *

  People started trickling in about an hour later. Most of them Sunday knew from her lunch table, and she felt a little more at ease when she realized she wouldn’t have to sit in a room full of complete strangers.

  Eli was friendly enough with everyone, but he didn’t seem to have any friends in the crowd, and she suddenly wondered how old he was. He didn’t look significantly younger than his brother, but he seemed to instinctually defer to whatever Micah wanted. Then again, he’d seemed totally comfortable cracking open a beer earlier, and he hadn’t stopped drinking.

  They moved the pizza boxes and a bunch of drinks to the game room. Sunday’s eyes widened as she took in the enormous screen where they projected TV shows and movies onto the wall like a small cinema, the various game consoles in the cabinet beneath it, and the pinball machines and shuffleboard and poker tables scattered throughout. She wondered what her dad and Ben would think about this room. Her house had plenty of space for the three of them, with big, open rooms and a huge backyard, but the lack of a fourth bedroom meant they had to combine the guest room with Ben’s home office.

  “Having fun?” Eli strolled up behind her just as she’d lost another game on the Twilight Zone pinball machine.

  Sunday startled. No one had come up to her all afternoon—they waved from across the room or smiled when she squeezed past them, but that was it. Nobody besides Micah and his brother seemed remotely interested in getting to know her. And Micah had been hard to keep up with all afternoon. He kept disappearing, sometimes alone but often with one or two people.

  She shrugged, unsure of how to respond. Eli seemed like the type of person who would call bullshit when someone lied to his face. And besides, Sunday wasn’t exactly the best liar around. She was pretty terrible, actually.

  Eli was holding two beers. He tipped the unopened one toward her. “Want one?”

  “I still don’t drink,” she said, frowning.

  “Cool, cool. Thought you might have changed your mind. It sure makes these things more tolerable.” He sipped from his bottle. “Want to take a tour of the house?”

  Sunday wondered if this was some grand excuse to get her alone. But Eli didn’t seem like a creep. A little more serious than Micah, maybe—and certainly more surly—but not a bad guy.

  “Okay,” she said, and followed him out of the game room.

  The Richmond home was probab
ly the nicest house Sunday had ever been in. The art alone was enough to ease her anxiety of being at a party where she felt so out of place. Some of it was created by artists she didn’t know, but she spotted an original Rothko, an Andy Warhol sketch, and a painting by Aaron Douglas that she’d never seen but instantly recognized as his.

  “Your parents have incredible taste in art,” she murmured, taking her time to look at it all as they wandered through the house.

  Eli shrugged. “I don’t know anything about art.”

  “I do.”

  They were on the second floor now, wandering the halls that she figured must hold the bedrooms.

  “What’s so special about it?” he asked, taking a long drink. He was on the second bottle he’d brought along, having abandoned the first one on a side table earlier, as if he knew someone would clean it up for him.

  “Art?”

  “Yeah. I mean, my parents bid on all this expensive shit, and then it just hangs here and they don’t even look at it.”

  Sunday shook her head. “We go to an arts-and-sciences school. You really feel that way about it?”

  “You’re an artist?”

  “Sort of. But I mostly want to work with it. I’m interested in the artists and the time periods and genres they worked in. And the mediums they preferred and their inspiration and—” She cut herself off, embarrassed. Those were practically the most words she’d spoken since she’d arrived. “Sorry.”

  Eli grinned. “I’m a math guy. Tell me more.”

  They were sitting on the floor of his bedroom when Micah stuck his head in.

  “You okay here?” he asked Sunday, not looking at his brother.

  Beside her, she could feel Eli’s body tense. They weren’t even touching, just sitting cross-legged on the rug in front of his bed, but she felt the change in him instantly.

  “Just trying to explain to your brother why art saves lives,” she said, only half joking.

  Micah rolled his eyes. “Good luck with that. This one avoids culture like it’s a fucking disease.”

  “Oh, just because I don’t want to go to all your little dance performances, I’m uncultured?” Eli narrowed his eyes. “Fuck off, Micah.”

  Sunday had been in the middle of arguments before, but she’d never felt this level of animosity. Her father and Ben rarely disagreed in front of her, and the church kids back in Chicago didn’t argue like this. Sometimes they’d raised their voices, but it never got to the point where she was worried they might start throwing punches.

  Micah ignored Eli, letting him have the last word. “Gonna go on a beer run,” he said, looking at Sunday. “Want to come with?”

  There didn’t seem to be a right answer here. If she left with Micah, Eli would clearly be pissed. But he seemed so easily angered, and she didn’t really feel like being around that energy now. And she was here because Micah had invited her.

  She slowly stood, avoiding Eli’s eyes. “Want us to grab you anything?” she asked, but he never answered her, and after a few seconds of silence, Micah nodded toward the hallway, signaling they should go.

  Sunday couldn’t believe he would just leave all his friends to fend for themselves in that huge, nice house. She wasn’t sure Eli could be trusted to oversee things, especially in the mood they’d left him in. The art alone was worth millions of dollars. Did Micah trust all of them, or did he just not care?

  “Do you guys ever get along?” she asked, looking out the windows. It was completely dark, and the neighborhood appeared different now that the sun had gone down. The houses were cast in haloes of light that made everything look even bigger and more ornate.

  “Used to.” Micah sighed. “He’s a couple of years younger than us. I think he sort of expected everything would be the same once he got to high school—that, you know, we’d still hang out all the time.”

  “What changed?”

  “I don’t know. He doesn’t really like my friends, I guess. They don’t like him much either,” he added with a wry smile. “And I think the dance stuff freaks him out.”

  “Maybe he’s jealous.”

  “He’s not jealous. We both used to do everything—play every sport, dance, play instruments. When we got older, I dropped everything but dance. Honestly, I think he stopped taking lessons because some of the guys at school were talking shit. Like, that he was gay or whatever.”

  “Oh.”

  Sunday wasn’t immune to some of the looks her father and Ben got when they were around certain people. They were different looks from when people seemed surprised or annoyed to see a black person in their presence. She could always tell when it was about her dad and Ben’s relationship because the glares ignored her and included Ben, who was white.

  “I don’t give a shit about any of that,” Micah almost spat out. “I like to dance, and I’m good at it, and fuck anyone who’s bothered by it.”

  “Are you?”

  “What?”

  “Gay,” she said quietly, suddenly aware of how rude a question that was. It was personal, and even though he’d been exceedingly kind and welcoming to her the past week, she didn’t know if they were actual friends yet.

  He looked at her from the corner of his eye. “Are you one of those people who’s bothered by it?”

  “No, I . . . My dad is gay. I live with him and his husband.”

  Soon she’d be able to say she lived with her dads—plural. Sunday wondered how long it would take to get used to that, but she liked the sound of it.

  Micah nodded, back at ease. “That’s cool. And no, I’m not. But I’m probably going to spend the rest of my life answering that question because people can’t wrap their head around the fact that dancing has nothing to do with sexuality.”

  At the store Micah told her to stay in the car while he got the beer. “They always take my fake here, but you look young,” he said. “No point in pushing my luck.” He came back with three twelve-packs and a bag of chips and beef jerky.

  They were quiet on the ride back to the house. Micah pulled into the drive, stopped the car, and turned to her.

  “You’re the first person I’ve seen him talking to in a long time,” Micah said. “Eli. He doesn’t get along with a lot of people.”

  “Okay.” Did he want her to be nice to his brother as a favor? She appreciated how kind Micah had been since her first day at Brinkley, but she didn’t owe him.

  Micah didn’t say anything else. Just nodded and opened his door. So Sunday did the same.

  * * *

  The next week, Sunday saw Eli walking toward her in the hallway after the last bell. He was loping along with his head bowed and his thumbs looped through the straps of his backpack, elbows pointed down. She wasn’t sure if he was still mad at her, but she didn’t want to make things any weirder.

  “Hey, stranger,” she said to get his attention before he passed.

  Eli looked up, his face cycling through a range of emotions as he stopped and looked at Sunday: surprise, scorn, and then a resigned sort of happiness that she knew meant he was pleased to see her, even if he was doing his best not to show it. “What’s up?”

  “Just heading to the studio,” she said, nodding toward the room across the hall.

  “You have to make up an assignment?” He looked skeptically toward the door as if he thought the room might turn into a pumpkin after the last bell.

  “No, some of us just go in there to work after school sometimes.” She paused. “Have you never been in there?”

  “I don’t have art until next semester,” he said, and by the tone of his voice, he clearly wasn’t looking forward to it.

  She smiled, shaking her head. “I mean, I know it’s not a chalkboard full of theorems or whatever, but you should come check it out sometime. It’s peaceful. All good vibes.”

  He brushed a hand over his head and looked across the hall again. “Maybe some other time.”

  Some other time turned out to be the next day and the next day and then the day after that. Sun
day went to the studio immediately after her last class, and within five minutes, Eli had joined her. He didn’t talk much. When other people were there, he’d wander the studio, looking at the works in progress from other students—oil paintings propped up on abandoned easels, incomplete sculptures sitting on tables, and a whole mess in the corner that Sunday explained wasn’t actually debris but the components of collages.

  When they were alone he sat beside her at the table, watching her work on her drawing. “You don’t get bored?” he asked as he took in the deliberate, detailed strokes she made with a stick of charcoal.

  “Bored?”

  “You have to do so much to get it right. It looks so tedious.”

  “And math isn’t?”

  “Math is fun,” he said with a grin.

  Later, she walked with him to the performing arts building to wait for Micah, who was wrapping up a practice session in the dance studio. He also stayed after a few times a week, and since Micah was his ride, Sunday wondered what Eli had done to pass the time before he started hanging out with her.

  Long horizontal windows ran down one wall of the studio. Sometimes the blinds were drawn across them, but today they were open, so Sunday and Eli could see right in. Micah was alone, and it looked like he was talking to himself as he worked on a routine.

  He wore tear-away track pants and a white T-shirt drenched in sweat. His feet were bare. Sunday felt a little guilty watching him. She didn’t mind when Eli sat in the studio with her as she worked, but Micah’s choreography seemed too private. It didn’t feel like the sort of work that would be appreciated if someone saw all the moving parts, but rather something that should only be viewed once it was absolutely perfect.

  “Why did you stop dancing?” Sunday turned toward Eli.

  His shoulders went stiff. “What do you mean?”

  “Micah said you used to dance. And now you don’t. Why?” She didn’t exactly think he’d admit to what Micah had said, that he’d quit because he was worried about how people would view him, but she wanted to hear it from him. Maybe it would help her understand him a little more.