What Lies in the Woods(72)

“Did a bee sting you?”

“Ooh, little Naomi’s a woman now. You bleeding yet?”

If Cody was there, he’d jostle Oscar’s shoulder. “Shut up, man. She’s just a kid. Jesus.”

Dad told me to laugh it off. Think of something clever to say in return. Cass told me to ignore it, that he didn’t mean anything by it. Anyone else who overheard tended to chuckle—That Oscar, such a rascal, but such a good boy at heart. Cody was the only one who ever acted like it was Oscar who ought to change his behavior.

I put my head down and ignored him. Day after day. Until that day. Sweat sticking my shirt to my back under the sweatshirt I wore to try to hide the slight swell of my breasts.

I had Persephone’s knucklebone in my pocket like a talisman and Cass’s instructions on my mind. “Today, we must make an offering of a particular sort. Something taken, not given. Something of value. That means it has to cost money, but you can’t pay for it.” Eyes sparking with mischief. “Go forth, Artemis. Fetch the offering for the Queen.”

I’d stolen about a hundred Snickers bars from Marsha, but perishables were a no-go. We’d decided that after the initial offerings of bread and milk made the Grotto smell like, as Cass said, “a football player’s ass crack.”

So it had to be something else. Something with meaning. Marsha kept a little rack of cheap bracelet charms by the register. I nipped in, paid for the Snickers for once, and pocketed a silver dolphin the size of my pinky nail. Even then I was good at lying. I spent forever counting out coins and shuffled off like I was embarrassed to have to scrounge for the last five cents, and Marsha was so exasperated she never noticed what I’d taken.

I came around the side of the building, away from the road—the fastest way back to the trail that would get me close to Persephone—and Oscar was there. He had a cigarette pinched between his fingers, the glowing end ready to kiss his fingertips if he took another drag. He flicked it onto the ground and looked at me with hooded, lazy eyes.

“Got milk?” he asked, and laughed at his own shitty joke. I started past him. “Come on, little girl. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Fuck off, Oscar,” I said. It was maybe the first time I’d spoken to him in more than a mumble, and it came out feral.

“Pussycat’s got claws,” he said with a chuckle. He ambled toward me, hands in his pockets. “You want to bite and scratch, is that it? Grrr.” He swiped at me with a lopsided grin. I danced away.

“Leave me alone.” Still trying to sound fierce. Still failing.

“Come on,” he said again. He grabbed my wrist, spun me around like we were dancing. Like we were playing. “You know when a guy is mean to you, it just means he likes you.”

“You don’t like me,” I told him, knocked off-balance in more ways than one.

“Maybe I do. Maybe I don’t. Want to find out?” He tugged me in closer. I could smell the booze on his breath. It was eleven in the morning and he smelled like liquor. I knew the smell, and I knew the way it made my dad, maudlin but harmless. I didn’t think Oscar was the same kind of drunk.

“Just let me go,” I said, barely a squeak. It only made him laugh again. He swung me around, one hand on my waist, and then my back was up against the wall of the convenience store. The scents of malt liquor and tobacco and gasoline mixed together. I felt sick.

“We are destined to be together, did you know that?” Oscar asked. His head tilted, a sly smile playing over his lips. I looked at him in mute incomprehension. “Oscar the Grouch loves trash, see? I’m Oscar, you’re trash. You and me were meant to be.” He said the last sentence in a crooning song, a leer on his lips.

“You wish,” I bit out. Stupid thing to say. He just grinned wider.

“You mean you wish, don’t you?” he said. His hand snaked up under my sweatshirt, scrunched up the fabric of my T-shirt. “Do you even really have anything under there?”

His questing fingers dug into my ribs. I didn’t move. Didn’t fight back, didn’t scream. I’d tried to be Artemis, the fearsome huntress, since the summer began, but there was none of her in me now. Only the quailing fawn before the hunting dog’s snapping teeth. I froze, not fear but numb surrender washing through me.

And then Oscar was hauled backward. “What the fuck are you doing?” Cody demanded, yanking Oscar off me.

“Just kidding around,” Oscar said, laughing, hands held up in surrender.

“She’s eleven years old!” Cody shouted. His face was red with anger. He shoved Oscar hard in the chest, knocking him back a step, and moved up to match. “What are you, a fucking pedophile?”

“I wasn’t going to do anything. Fuck! Relax, Benham,” Oscar said. “Not like she has enough under there to actually cop a feel.”

Cody swung. Oscar didn’t even put up his hands, like he couldn’t believe Cody was going to do it. Cody’s fist connected with his jaw, and Oscar reeled, blood bursting from his split lip. He gave Cody a level look, one hand up. A look like Cody had made his point.

But he wasn’t done. “Do not. Fucking. Touch her,” Cody said, and then he was on Oscar again. This time Oscar tried to fend him off, swing back, but Cody had been in just as many fights as he had. Was just as big as he was. And the fury in his eyes was like a wildfire. He slammed Oscar against the wall. “You piece of shit—”