When Sal and Carl were kids, they used to watch horror flicks and pretend the world was ending, as they fought zombies and other creatures outside. The treehouse in the garden had served as a shelter from the world’s horrors. Their heroic deeds were highly regarded and highly rewarded by the lost population—those who could not defend themselves—around them.
Lately, the air between them had cooled a bit. Carl had somehow changed, or maybe it had been him. Words unspoken had become a barrier between them, making Sal uneasy, because he didn’t want to lose Carl.
Sal ran upstairs to change his t-shirt, grabbed his bag, and went out to the blue Volkswagen microbus in the driveway to head to school. It was the type of vehicle hippies had driven back in the sixties or seventies. Sal had gotten it for his sixteenth birthday. It had been cheap, a real bargain, in fact, since he'd done the former owner a huge favor. The freaky owner—who lived in 26B—was more than happy to see it go. He and his father had it restored, and now it was Sal’s loyal companion, taking him wherever he needed to go.
Because he was so humongous, he had to have it modified so he could fit inside. It looked weird with the extra head space, but it worked. The bus also made his love life a hell of a lot easier.
Before the bus, he used to show his dates the locker rooms at school. It was a room furnished with lockers, perfumed by the mild smell of sweat. The showers had ugly, non-slip tiles and the buzzing from the fluorescent lights did nothing to help the mood. Candles and music made only a slight difference, but his dates usually found the atmosphere intriguing, especially when he whispered sweet nothings in their ears.
He'd "borrowed" the gym keys from Coach Heffernan and had a copy made. For some reason, the gym didn't have an alarm. Still, Carl was considered the "bad kid"—Sal always hid behind his charm.
After he and his dates had made out, he'd walk them home, never to see them again. He cared about them—he just didn’t care enough.
When Carl turned sixteen, he got a dirt bike. He was allowed to keep it, provided his grades changed for the better. When he failed to do so, their parents had confiscated the bike, thinking it would encourage him to improve; it did not. Instead, Carl disappeared for a day. “I didn’t want you to know, Sal,” was all he'd said when he'd come back. “You’re like the fucking government—you notice everything.”
Sal got into the bus drove to school. He turned the radio on. A local band was singing something about a scary ice cream clown. He blew kisses to a bunch of people waving to him from the sidewalk, smirking.
He parked the bus n the school parking lot. As he got out of the car, a football came flying in his direction. Someone called, “Yo, Sal, heads up!”
Sal caught the ball. He grinned, exposing his pearly white teeth.
“Make us proud on Friday, Sal,” captain of the football team, Jeremy Bell, shouted. Jeremy was tall, dark, and handsome. Like Sal, Jeremy had quite the knack for sweeping ladies off their feet.
Sal threw the football back to him. “Always.” He winked at Jeremy.
It was a big game for the basketball team on Friday. They were playing for the champion trophy in the school's cup. The team had been practicing every day for the past few months. His parents hoped Sal would get a sports scholarship—they were so freaking results-oriented, they never did anything for the pleasure of it. Sal didn’t really care about the scholarship. He just liked to play.
Sal shook a few hands as he walked up the stairs leading to the school's entrance. Strong Edge High was a historic school building. The H-shaped, two-story, brick, Art Deco building had been constructed in several stages between 1920 and 1940. The gymnasium had been the thing built. Green areas served as recreation spots for students between classes. The school was one of the few places where he didn’t have to stoop over to fit under ceilings and go through doorways.
Sal entered the school, and the heat hit him like a ton of bricks. The hall was buzzing with people sizzling and roasting in their own juices. He spotted Robin in the distance, talking to some people from the chess club, and his heart melted in the split second before he decided to head to his locker.
When he neared the locker, a dry voice sounded behind him: “Hey, emo.” Rosie.
He turned around to see a female with pale skin, hair dyed red, wearing dark eyeliner, fingernails painted black, and wearing black clothes standing before him. Her t-shirt read, "The Cure"—she was into art and gothic architecture. “Hey, Rosie.”
Rosie, the school Goth, had been Sal’s friend since kindergarten. They had been two peculiar children who had found each other. Rosie, too, had been accused of being in league with the paranormal, a devil worshipper who had unleashed demons from Hell.
She nodded in Robin’s direction. “You do know that love's just a fantasy for Justin and Britney wannabes, right?”
“Going down that path would be so conformist, right?” Sal replied.
“Fifth circle of Hell.” She looked him directly in the eye. “You look tired.” Rosie had never doubted that he was different—she'd always encouraged him to pursue it—but Sal never had the courage to discuss the unspoken with her. He was afraid of what he might find.
“I am. I just had an eerie dream.”
Before she had the chance to answer, a scruffy-looking guy with long, blond hair dressed in ripped jeans and a flannel shirt showed up. “Sal and Wednesday, good morning to ya.”
“Maybe if we don’t make eye contact it'll go away,” Rosie retorted. She hated the nickname Wednesday.
“Mornin’ Jack.” Sal and Jack had been inseparable since the episode with the Black-eyed Kids. Jack always seemed to have his back up when Carl was around. He played in a grunge band. They were called "Appropriately Wicked," and they were pretty decent.
“Sal, I have a problem.” Jack grabbed his shoulder.
“You could probably get an ointment for that, sweetheart.” Rosie gave Jack a toxic smile.
Jack turned his head toward Rosie. “How is Uncle Fester?” He turned back to Sal. “I need you to take me to the music store. I broke my guitar.”
“Yeah. Sure. Text me later.”
Rosie lifted an eyebrow. “Are you sure that’s all you broke?”
The school bell sounded.
“It is time to get in line and walk amongst the dead.” Rosie pointed two fingers to her temple and walked off.
“Later, Sal. I gotta go flunk Spanish.”
He smiled. Sal had a lot of acquaintances, but only a few close friends.