Drop Dead Gorgeous

My foot makes contact, and the shadow lets out an unmistakably human ‘oof’. “Shit, Zoey. I think you broke a damn rib.”

I drop the scalpel to the table with a clatter and kick the not-shadow, but a black hoodie-wearing teenage boy. “Jacob! You scared the piss out of me! I could’ve hurt you! I could’ve fallen and gotten hurt!” I’m yelling loud enough to wake the dead, scowling murder, and threatening him with my foot again. “You’re lucky I didn’t slice your carotid or something!”

In response to my potential violence and his own potential death, Jacob is rolling on the floor, laughing his ass off. And people say I’m macabre. But my brother-slash-ward-slash-I’m not sure what to call him is just as dark in his own way, and maybe even weirder.

“Holy fuck, Zoey. You should’ve seen your face.” He mimes the apparent terror I felt a moment ago, his eyes wide and mouth stretched horrifically, seemingly unaware that my adrenaline has quickly morphed to anger. “I got you so damn good!” He licks his finger and then adds a tally mark to an invisible score board. “Winner . . . your boy, Jacob! And the crowd goes wild! Ahhhhh!”

“That’s it. Consider yourself evicted,” I warn. “Get. The. Fuck. Out!”

He isn’t cowed in the least, simply yawning dramatically with one hand covering his mouth and one arm stretching out wide, still lying on the floor. “You wouldn’t dare. You love me too much.”

I pout, arms crossing over my stomach as I glare at him. I hate that he’s right. I would never kick him out. Not after everything he’s been through. Everything we’ve been through.

Jacob is my brother from another mother . . . and father. Well, technically, not my brother at all, but he sorta is. After I went to live with Grandma and Grandpa, they discovered that they liked having some young life in the house again. When a neighbor mentioned a kid who needed a foster home, Grandpa opened up his home to Jacob before the state could swallow him into their impersonal system.

Back then, I hadn’t known how to push people away. My walls weren’t up and fortified like they are now, and Jacob had snuck right into my heart. Which honestly terrifies me even more than his pranks and antics. Because though he’s not blood, Grandma and Grandpa adopted him, which technically makes him my uncle. But after their death, I’d become his guardian, which makes him my son.

And twisted family tree aside, in truth, he’s my brother. Always has been, always will be.

So I give in and soften my glare by degrees.

He rises up, unfolding himself from the floor with at least an apologetic look on his face. He’s tall and lean, a leftover of his youth of neglect even after years of good food and care. About the only thing we have in common is our blue eyes—not the color, though they’re the same, but the ghosts that lurk there. Where I’ve dealt with mine by becoming sarcastic and keeping people at arm’s length for their own good, Jacob has coped by becoming the life of every party.

He’s the quintessential outgoing, playful, fun-loving guy whom everyone flocks to. He’s the rebel with a ‘fuck the world’ grin on his face, and everyone loves him for it.

“I didn’t mean to scare you that badly. But shit, you really got me good.” He rubs at his rib. Only . . .

“I kicked you on the other side, asshole.”

He grins that smile that’s gotten him into and out of more trouble than it should’ve as he switches his hand to the other side. “Yeah, I know. Just checking them all. You got some donkey behind that kick. Hee-haw!”

I can’t help but smile at him and he knows it. “What are you doing here, anyway?” My eyes tick to the clock on the wall behind him and then back to Jacob. “Don’t you have class in an hour?”

“Yes, Mom,” he intones flatly, fully engaged in annoying, sarcastic teenager mode. But I can’t help but feel a little happy when he says stuff like that, knowing that he’s not used to someone caring about him enough to check up on his whereabouts and doings. He pulls a rolled-up stack of paperwork out of his hoodie’s kangaroo pocket. “Need some help with this before class. I thought you could . . . you know . . . look it over? If you have time?”

The papers crinkle in his large hands as he squeezes them. “Or you know what, never mind. It’s fine. I’ll see you at home later, Zo.”

I step in front of him, blocking him even though he could plow right over me if he chose to. I hold my hand out, sighing. “Let me see.”

He looks at the papers once more before he hands them over. I unroll them, but not before I notice that he’s turning a bit red. He rubs at his neck as he turns away from me. “This guy’s younger than your usual DBs.”