Sweet Venom mg-1 Page 3

  For some reason I also starred Ancient Greek and Tae Kwon Do. When Ms. West suggested languages and athletics this morning, they didn’t sound appealing at all. But as I read over the list, they started to look kind of interesting. Now, in the quiet of our apartment, they seem weird again. When would I ever use Greek? And my trying martial arts would probably only lead to injury—mine or someone else’s. I erase both stars.

  The last star is on Pottery and Sculpture. When I was in elementary school, I always loved art classes when we got to be hands-on with clay. I was never any good at it, but it was fun. It might be a nice reprieve from the rigorous academics at Alpha. It wouldn’t do anything for my college applications, though.

  I’m about to erase the remaining stars and circle Yearbook when the lock on the front door clicks open. There is no other sound, just the whisper of a breeze against my back as the door soundlessly swings open. I know it’s Thane. No one moves as quietly as my brother. He’s like a ninja cat burglar.

  If we paired his stealth with my computer skills, we could be an epic spy team.

  “Hey, Thane,” I say without turning around. I draw a dark circle around my elective choice. “How was school?”

  “Fine.”

  Did I mention that Thane isn’t big on talking either? Some days I think he’s a recovering mime. But I know he’s just really thoughtful. He spends a lot of time in his head. He also has some emotional baggage—protective walls that none of us have been able to fully crack. We chip pieces away from time to time, but mostly his life before he came to live with us is a well-guarded mystery.

  “You must be Grace,” another, brighter boy voice says. “Thane told me all about you.”

  Jerking back from the table and nearly knocking my chair over, I turn to see who Thane has brought home.

  My breath catches in my throat.

  The boy standing at my brother’s side is, in a word, adorable. I’m completely struck. He’s taller than Thane by a couple of inches, making him about six foot. His dark hair falls in haphazard curls over his brow, his ears, and the collar of his rugby shirt. His eyes are a pale mint green with a light-brown ring around the pupil. And his mouth is spread in a wide, curving smile, showing bright teeth and a charming set of dimples.

  Maybe adorable doesn’t cover it.

  “H-h-hi,” I manage, looking away from his beautiful eyes.

  I know I haven’t got much of a backbone in general, but I don’t usually lose the ability to speak complete words. There’s something about him, about the whole package, that makes my skin tingle all over.

  I’ve never reacted like this to a boy before. Sure, I’ve had my share of crushes and loves from afar, and even a quasi sort of boyfriend freshman year. None of them caused this whole-body reaction.

  “This is Milo,” Thane says, seemingly oblivious to my transformation into girl drool, thankfully. “He’s a goalie.”

  Holy goalie.

  Well, soccer explains Milo’s presence. Thane may be quiet and shy and reserved in real life, but he comes alive on the soccer field. He’s a completely different person when he’s chasing down a ball or taking aim at the goal. Soccer is practically his life.

  He says he doesn’t want to play professionally. I don’t know why not. I’m pretty sure he could if he wanted to.

  “We have physics together,” Milo says, dropping into the chair at the head of the table. “Homework on the first day.” He shakes his head. “What kind of teacher does that? Pure evil, I’m telling you.”

  Thane slips through the kitchen to tell Mom he’s home, and I’m still struck silent by Milo’s presence when my brother gets back. Thane takes the chair across the table from me and pulls out his textbook. He grumbles, “Homework.”

  “Uh, yeah,” I say, my brain suddenly demanding that I figure out a way to stay here at this table. No matter what. “Me too.”

  Wait. Why did I say that? I don’t have any homework. I don’t even have any textbooks. I’m losing my mind.

  “We were going to do our homework and then, after dinner, go on a tour of the neighborhood. I’m kind of an expert.” Milo sets his homework out on the table. “You interested?”

  Uh, yeah!

  No, keep it cool, Grace. Don’t act like a total freakazoid.

  “Sure,” I say, forcing myself to sound casual and not insta-stalker scary. “Sounds fun.”

  Milo smiles and then flips open his physics book and starts on his homework. I glance up to find Thane staring at me, his dark-gray eyes unreadable. I raise my brows. He shifts his attention to his textbook.

  After living in the same house for so long, I’m pretty much used to Thane’s odd, silent behavior. If he has something to say, he’ll say it. He just doesn’t have much to say very often. I shrug it off and instead focus on trying to find something in my backpack that can pass for homework.

  Finding nothing, I dart to my room and grab my laptop off the desk. I can always find something to do with a computer.

  Back at the table, I wake up my laptop and click open the word processor. In a new document, I start composing a list of things I want to change about my life. Starting with finding the ability to talk to cute boys.

  I’m a little amazed that Mom approved this evening field trip. Thrilled, but amazed. She’s always been a little more on the overprotective-of-her-chicks side, and letting us both out into the big bad city after dark is uncharacteristic.

  But then again, I’m sure she and Dad could use a night alone. They haven’t had a moment of peace since we started packing up the old house.

  Plus we both have cell phones, bus passes, and—I steal a glance at Milo—a native guide. Of course, Mom didn’t know that, instead of walking around our neighborhood, we’d catch the bus heading to Fisherman’s Wharf to join the sea of tourists.

  “Coach Guerrera likes to run the forwards into the ground for the first week,” Milo tells Thane as the bus bounces down the street. “But after that he lets up. I think he just wants to weed out the quitters.”

  Thane nods.

  Apparently that is enough of an answer for Milo, because he keeps on talking soccer. “He used to play professionally in Argentina, so he’s got the legs to back up his demands.”

  I kind of tune out the words. Other than to watch Thane play, soccer is not really of interest to me.

  Milo, on the other hand, is definitely of interest. And talkative—especially when Mom was peppering him with questions over dinner. Already I know he is a Bay Area native, is a senior like Thane, has three older sisters, and hates mushroom pizza and avocado. Oh well, he can’t be one-hundred-percent perfect.

  With each bump in the road, Milo’s dark-brown curls bounce as if gravity has no control over them. It makes me smile every time.

  “This is our stop,” Milo says as the bus pulls up in front of a hotel.

  I jump up to follow him and Thane to the door, not wanting to get stuck on a bus for a second time today. The street we’re on is practically deserted, but one block north we step into a churning ocean of people, all ages and sizes and nationalities.

  Distracted from my Milo watching, I gawk at the bustle of activity. There are street performers dressed as break-dancing robots or playing unrecognizable exotic instruments beneath giant crab sculptures. A woman in a long, exotic print dress with a shawl over her head tries to give me something, but Milo waves her off. He doesn’t stop the man who hands me a brochure for a Bay cruise. It’s utter chaos, but somehow everything flows perfectly together, like some kind of crazy, hectic ballet.

  I’m surrounded by energy and I try to absorb as much as I can.

  I follow the boys onto the pier, sticking close so we don’t get separated. I’m pretty sure I’d never find them again. As we push through the Thursday-night crowd, I marvel at all the shops: seashells and pearls, souvenirs, socks, bath salts, candy, and crystals, restaurants serving seafood and ice cream and a hundred kinds of crepes.

  No wonder this is such a popular tourist attractio
n.

  “Watch out,” Milo says, tugging me against his side as a tourist with a camera the size of my head nearly knocks me over. “You okay?” he asks.

  I nod, dazzled by the feel of Milo against me. “Yeah, thanks.”

  “No problem.” He beams, and for a second it feels like we’re completely alone in the crowd.

  “I’m hungry,” Thane says, killing our moment.

  “We just ate,” I complain, mostly because Milo’s attention—and his hand—is now off me.

  “Me too.” Milo agrees with Thane. “Everything here is overpriced for the tourists. Have you guys ever had dim sum?”

  Had it? I’ve never even heard of it. Still, even though I know it’s a bonehead answer, I’m on the verge of saying, All the time, because I don’t want Milo to think I’m an uncultured hick. “Sure—”

  Before I can finish, Thane says, “No.”

  “Excellent!” Milo’s eyes light up brighter than before, and I’m really glad I didn’t get the chance to fib.

  “—I haven’t,” I finish quietly.

  The look Thane throws me suggests he knew what I’d actually been about to say.

  “Then I’ll get to introduce you to it.” Milo starts walking back in the direction we’ve come from and then off to the west. “The best all-night dim sum in town is only a cable car ride away.”

  I have to practically jog to keep up with his long strides. We cross to a dead-end street where a line of people stand waiting. They’re all looking expectantly up the hill. I turn and see an ancient-looking cable car gliding down toward the dead end.

  When I knew for sure we’d be moving to San Francisco, I researched the city online. I read a lot about the cable cars and their history and construction. I know the ropes and brakes are supposed to be safe, but I’m not entirely convinced. As I watch the people climb off and the car execute a complicated, man-powered turnaround, I’m getting a little apprehensive.

  “Don’t worry,” Milo says quietly in my ear. “It’s fun.”

  A warm, melty feeling spreads from my ear to the rest of my body. I smile and let him lead me to a seat while he and Thane stand, hanging out over the street. I look around and see that other riders are hanging out over the street too, but it doesn’t make me any less nervous.

  My eyes stay squeezed tightly shut most of the ride, so I don’t remember much. There are a lot of jerks and stutters, and one time, when the car stops for a couple minutes, I hear a lot of shouting. I force one eye open and find Thane and Milo gone. Panicked, I lean out to search for them, only to find them—and a bunch of other passengers—actually pushing the car up the track. I keep my eyes open long enough for Thane and Milo to return to their spots, and then clamp them shut again.

  Two stops later, as the car slowly climbs up a hill, I feel a warmth on my cheek just before Milo whispers, “You’re going to miss the best part.”

  Despite my fear, I force my eyes open. For a second, Milo fills my vision. Then he leans back and reveals the view. We’re at an intersection at the high point of a hill. Straight in front of me is a narrow street leading steeply down to a wider one, full of light and lanterns and activity. It’s beautiful.

  I smile at Milo for making me open my eyes.

  I smile even bigger when he smiles back.

  At the next stop, Milo’s hand wraps around mine and tugs me to my feet. We’ve survived. Next time, I’ll keep my eyes open the whole time.

  “This is the world-famous Chinatown,” he says, still holding my hand as he leads me down a very steep street.

  My heart is racing, and not just because of the harrowing ride.

  “And this,” he says, pulling up in front of a glass storefront full of hanging meats and birds and unidentifiable things, “is the world’s best dim sum parlor.”

  Although I can sort of see through the windows, they have layers of dirt caked at the corners, as if every so often someone grabs a rag to wipe only the centers. It doesn’t exactly scream Great Place to Eat. Or even No Health Code Violations.

  Milo throws the door open wide, flashes me a brilliant grin, and says, “Wait until you taste it.”

  Shoving my hesitations about the sanitary conditions aside, I follow Thane through the door and to a once-white Formica table with chipped edges. I take the seat opposite Thane, which means that—deep breath—Milo is sitting next to me. My blood is pounding in my ears, and I have to make the hostess repeat her request three times before I finally hear her ask, “Hot tea?”

  “Yes, please,” I say, ducking to hide my blush.

  “No menus?” Thane asks.

  “Not with dim sum,” Milo explains. “The waiters will bring around trays of dishes, and if we see any we like, we get them.” He spins a small piece of paper beneath his finger. “They stamp this order sheet to keep track of what we eat.”

  “Sounds complicated,” I manage.

  “It’s great,” Milo promises with a wink.

  I’m not so sure. But when the first trayful of goodies comes by, my mouth waters at the wonderful smells. It’s like I never even ate dinner.

  “Barbecue pork buns are the best,” Milo says, pointing to a metal tin containing three puffy white balls of dough. “Just don’t eat the paper stuck to the bottom.”

  The waiter sets the tin on our table, pulls a stamp from his apron, and marks a symbol onto our order ticket.

  “Oh,” I say, eyeing the pork buns. “I, um—”

  “Grace is vegetarian,” Thane explains, so I don’t have to.

  Milo gives me a serious look. Great, now he thinks I’m some kind of hippie-granola weirdo. No, I’m just eco-conscious and doing my part to lighten my footprint. I wave a mental good-bye to my very slim chance with him.

  But then he says, “Why didn’t you say something?”

  He calls the waiter back over, and soon there is a tin of doughy buns—these filled with barbecued veggies—sitting next to the pork.

  “Thanks,” I say, and then drop my gaze to the food. Cute and considerate. As if Milo weren’t already my dream guy.

  It takes only a quick tutorial from Milo for me to manage the chopsticks well enough to pick up my bun and lift it to my mouth.

  “Uh-oh,” he says, as I’m about to take a bite. He reaches toward me and, for a heartbeat, I think he’s going to touch my cheek. Instead, he peels a thin piece of waxed paper off the bottom of my veggie bun. “Trust me, this does not add to the experience.”

  I laugh at his teasing comment, but inside, my heart is doing cartwheels. Play it cool, Grace. Don’t want him to think I’m totally boy-illiterate.

  As if I’m totally together, I lift the bun the rest of the way to my mouth and am about to bite in when a repulsive smell washes over me.

  Instant nausea.

  I clap my free hand over my mouth as the bun drops and rolls, forgotten, to the floor.

  Milo asks, “What’s wrong?”

  “Grace?” Thane’s jaw clenches into a block of stone. “What is it?”

  If I weren’t on the verge of heaving the remains of Mom’s veggie stew, I’d appreciate Thane’s protectiveness. He’s always been that way, ready to throw himself into anything if he thinks I’m in danger. But then I guess that’s what big brothers are for.

  At this moment, though, it’s all I can do to keep my stomach contents where they belong. I close my eyes and shake my head.

  “We should go,” Thane says.

  Milo nods. “You get her outside and I’ll pay the bill.”

  “No,” I whisper, swallowing down the nausea as best I can. I don’t want to ruin this night. “I’m—I’ll be fine. Just give me a—”

  The front door to the restaurant opens with a whine and the stench hits me tenfold. I feel my eyes roll back as my body tries to reject the smell. Or to protect me from whatever’s causing it. I’ve never had such a violent reaction to an odor before.

  “Maybe we should—” I force my eyes open, but instead of Milo’s adorable face or my brother’s strong one
, my gaze focuses on the thing that has just walked in the front door. The creature.

  The body looks like a normal man, with arms and legs and everything in between. The head, though. . . . It’s the head of a bull.

  I’m not joking. A man with the head of a bull has just walked into an all-night dim sum restaurant as if it were normal.

  I look at Thane for reassurance, hoping the panic I’m feeling shows in my eyes, telling him everything he needs to know. He turns to look at the door then back at me, jaw clenched and eyes wide. “Let’s go.”

  I nod.

  “What’s going on?” Milo turns and looks too. “Do you two know that guy?”

  “Guy?” I choke. Is he blind? Can’t he see?

  For that matter, can’t everyone see? Why isn’t anyone screaming or running away? Slowly, I scan the rest of the tables. No one else seems to have taken notice of the man-bull, who is now crossing the main floor and heading for the back room.

  I look at Thane, certain he must have seen it.

  But no, the look in his eyes now is simply concern for me. Did I just imagine the look of recognition I saw a moment ago? Milo doesn’t see it, and neither does Thane. No one does. I’m the only person who saw a slobbering beast instead of a man.

  Which can only mean one thing.

  “I’m just—” I shake my head. “I don’t feel great.”

  Both boys nod, as if it’s totally normal and logical and not at all out of the ordinary, when it’s anything but. There’s only one possible explanation for this hallucination. I must be going crazy.

  Chapter 4

  Gretchen

  Even twenty minutes in a scalding shower can’t completely wash the stink of minotaur off my body. I lather-rinse-repeat five times, hoping to purge the lingering residue from my hair. Getting up close and personal with a monster is never pretty, but sometimes it’s worse than others.

  By the time this one popped back to wherever he came from, my pores were plugged with his toxic odor. Dis. Gust. Ing. I might have nightmares.