Read Online Beautiful City of the Dead by Leander Watts - Free Book Online
Authors: Leander Watts
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what does it mean?"
I felt like a slug, and Jerod was the guy with the salt.
In two seconds he'd pour the salt over me and I'd melt down to a nasty little puddle of goo.
"Well?"
"Hellebore is a poison plant. But in the olden days they used it to cure people who were crazy."
"It's a poison and it's a cure?"
"I don't know if it really works. Anyway, it sounded good and it fits in the song. And it rhymes with 'farthest shore.'"
"Yeah. I guess." It seemed like he really wanted to understand. My words and me too. He looked me over, from head to toe, like he'd never even noticed I was a girl before.
"It's no big deal," I said, getting more embarrassed by the minute. "If you don't like it, we'll change the words."
"No, no. It's OK. I don't care." Maybe he had really wanted to make sense of the song. But now it was too much work for him. So, with a shrug, he went back to being Cool Sneering Guy again.
He went to a way-better school than the rest of us, out in Pittsford with the other rich kids. He drove his dad's BMW. His dad was a big-deal lawyer and his mom wasn't a drunk like Butt's or gone off with a new husband and new family, like mine. He was headed to Cornell, like his father and his grandfather. Straight Ivy League. Upper crust. He let us know that whenever he could.
Relly had gone through three other singers before he
found Jerod. He was just what the band needed. Relly had that wispy, warlocky look. Butt was like a caveman. And I was me, invisible, behind and way down below. We needed somebody who looked great and loved to show off what he had.
So we put up with his whining and his rich-kid snottiness. And he put up with Relly's weirdness most of the time.
We did my new song, "The Rising Sigh," which was a phrase I got off a tombstone. Above the beautiful, terrible noise, Jerod poured out my words. I especially liked it when he closed his eyes and reached real high, like his brain was about to explode. I watched him from the side: his sleek shoulders, his gorgeous hair, the power in his arms as he clung to the mike stand, wailing.
Thirteen
I WAS SORT OF SLEEPING in English class, when there came a knocking on the door. I think we were supposed to be doing something with adverbs. Only, my worksheet was still untouched. I was floating in and out of dreamland, I guess, thinking about Mount Hope and Relly and the way his voice got real quiet and serious when he said, "Someday we'll be huge."
"Zee?" Mrs. Pelkey said. "Zee, you're wanted at the office by Mr. Franken."
I headed down to Frankengoon Central. I didn't even see who brought the note. Whoever it was had vanished by the time I got my stuff together. The halls were empty. It's always weird walking through a building that you know is full of people, but you can't see any of them. Voices behind closed doors, the whack-whack-whack of balls as I went by the gym, a nasty burning smell leaking out of Knacke's classroom.
I went to the main office. "Somebody said Mr. Franken wanted to see me." The lady behind the desk looked over her glasses, scowling like I was a wriggling little bug. Her lipstick was bright red and kind of smeared. There was a bluish wart on the side of her nose. She didn't even speak, just pointed with her well-chewed pencil to the open door.
So I went in and Frankengoon told me to have a seat. He was a huge man, way over six foot tall. He stooped a little, like it was hard to keep all that chest and shoulders and bulging head upright.
"You're not doing well in your academics, Zee. You know that, correct?" His voice sounded like it came from a deep black hole in the ground. "Your grades have been slipping steadily this year. And now I have heard some very disturbing reports from Mr. Knacke."
There was no point in me denying it. Whatever he said, whatever lies Knacke made up, Frankengoon would believe them. Did he claim I was selling drugs in class? Making out with some guy in the back of the library? Coming to school with Cream Ale on my
I felt like a slug, and Jerod was the guy with the salt.
In two seconds he'd pour the salt over me and I'd melt down to a nasty little puddle of goo.
"Well?"
"Hellebore is a poison plant. But in the olden days they used it to cure people who were crazy."
"It's a poison and it's a cure?"
"I don't know if it really works. Anyway, it sounded good and it fits in the song. And it rhymes with 'farthest shore.'"
"Yeah. I guess." It seemed like he really wanted to understand. My words and me too. He looked me over, from head to toe, like he'd never even noticed I was a girl before.
"It's no big deal," I said, getting more embarrassed by the minute. "If you don't like it, we'll change the words."
"No, no. It's OK. I don't care." Maybe he had really wanted to make sense of the song. But now it was too much work for him. So, with a shrug, he went back to being Cool Sneering Guy again.
He went to a way-better school than the rest of us, out in Pittsford with the other rich kids. He drove his dad's BMW. His dad was a big-deal lawyer and his mom wasn't a drunk like Butt's or gone off with a new husband and new family, like mine. He was headed to Cornell, like his father and his grandfather. Straight Ivy League. Upper crust. He let us know that whenever he could.
Relly had gone through three other singers before he
found Jerod. He was just what the band needed. Relly had that wispy, warlocky look. Butt was like a caveman. And I was me, invisible, behind and way down below. We needed somebody who looked great and loved to show off what he had.
So we put up with his whining and his rich-kid snottiness. And he put up with Relly's weirdness most of the time.
We did my new song, "The Rising Sigh," which was a phrase I got off a tombstone. Above the beautiful, terrible noise, Jerod poured out my words. I especially liked it when he closed his eyes and reached real high, like his brain was about to explode. I watched him from the side: his sleek shoulders, his gorgeous hair, the power in his arms as he clung to the mike stand, wailing.
Thirteen
I WAS SORT OF SLEEPING in English class, when there came a knocking on the door. I think we were supposed to be doing something with adverbs. Only, my worksheet was still untouched. I was floating in and out of dreamland, I guess, thinking about Mount Hope and Relly and the way his voice got real quiet and serious when he said, "Someday we'll be huge."
"Zee?" Mrs. Pelkey said. "Zee, you're wanted at the office by Mr. Franken."
I headed down to Frankengoon Central. I didn't even see who brought the note. Whoever it was had vanished by the time I got my stuff together. The halls were empty. It's always weird walking through a building that you know is full of people, but you can't see any of them. Voices behind closed doors, the whack-whack-whack of balls as I went by the gym, a nasty burning smell leaking out of Knacke's classroom.
I went to the main office. "Somebody said Mr. Franken wanted to see me." The lady behind the desk looked over her glasses, scowling like I was a wriggling little bug. Her lipstick was bright red and kind of smeared. There was a bluish wart on the side of her nose. She didn't even speak, just pointed with her well-chewed pencil to the open door.
So I went in and Frankengoon told me to have a seat. He was a huge man, way over six foot tall. He stooped a little, like it was hard to keep all that chest and shoulders and bulging head upright.
"You're not doing well in your academics, Zee. You know that, correct?" His voice sounded like it came from a deep black hole in the ground. "Your grades have been slipping steadily this year. And now I have heard some very disturbing reports from Mr. Knacke."
There was no point in me denying it. Whatever he said, whatever lies Knacke made up, Frankengoon would believe them. Did he claim I was selling drugs in class? Making out with some guy in the back of the library? Coming to school with Cream Ale on my
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