They Laugh At Tragedies

I listen to the quiet chattering of the new girl who just moved into the house next door. My dad’s terrible attempt at being more “involved” in his daughter’s life—or life in general—resulted in me sitting in the new neighbors’ living room, in between the girl and her older brother, my dad and their parents sitting across from us.

And all I could think throughout the whole ordeal is, Really, dad? Really? This is how you choose to be more involved?

The girl is a sporty, short and skinny little thing. She’s very tan, with chestnut brown hair, and makes me think of an Italian Barbie doll. I think her mom mentioned that she was 14 years old or something. I don’t really care.

Her brother has the same characteristic thinness that seems to run throughout the family, except he’s not quite as lacking in height as his sister is. He’s very tall, and has pretty dark features. Tousled dark brown hair, brown eyes, five o’clock shadow, fairly tan skin. He has a blatantly aloof and disinterested expression on his face that somehow has me very irritated with him.

They’re both very quiet, thankfully. Although whenever someone mentions sports, the girl—I think her name is Marissa—launches into a very long, very boring conversation about her favorite soccer player, and why, and a bunch of other sport-related things I couldn’t care less about.

It seems like nothing excites her older brother Vincent, though. He sits there, like a statue, literally not one word coming out of his pouty lips the entire time. The bastard.

Marissa looks at me then. “Alexa, what grade are you in? Oh, what school do you go to?” she asks in that annoyingly mousy voice of hers.

I stare at her while she twirls a strand of her curly hair for a moment before answering, “11th grade. E.S. High.”

“That’s the school me and Vince are supposed to be attending, too. I think,” she says quietly, pondering this new bit of information for a second. She looks up, grinning cheekily. “I’m a freshman, and Vince is a senior.”

I don’t know why she thinks I'd care, but I smile anyway. “Cool.”

“What kind of name is E.S. High?” I hear a gruff voice next to me and turn around, momentarily shocked that Vincent finally decided to grace me with his voice.

“I don’t know. People are stupid,” I reply, as if that’s the answer to everything.

Vincent smirks at this long enough for me to wonder if it was just my imagination before going back to his annoyingly standoffish expression. He stands up then, walking out of the living room. I catch a glimpse of him retrieving a cigarette from his pocket. A moment later, I hear the front door close. My annoyance towards him is fueled.

* * *

I stare at the rows upon rows of gravestones, at peace with the dead surrounding me. I hear someone clear their throat behind me, breaking the temporary peace I found here. I turn around in annoyance and come face to face with the guy I met here a week ago…Dante? Yeah, I think that was it.

“Yeah?” I ask, my voice a little sharper than I intended it to be.

He chuckles, moving closer to me. “Someone’s in a bright mood…” he says in that deep, smooth voice of his. For a moment, I find myself comparing his smooth voice with Vincent’s clipped, brusque one.

“Nah,” I say, smirking briefly at him.

“No?” he asks, moving closer to my spot under the willow tree.

“Nah,” I repeat.

Dante sits down next to me, surprising me when he slings an arm around my shoulder casually. “Say…Alex—you don’t mind if I call you that, do you, Alex?” I shake my head indifferently.

“Anyway, Alex, do you want to hang out sometime? Say, I dunno, today?” There is a mischievous glint in his eye that makes me want to say no, but instead I find myself nodding, giving him a tiny, hesitant grin.

He takes his arm from around my shoulder and claps me on the back once. “Excellent!”

He stands up then, holding his hand out to me. “It’s getting kind of cold, don’t you think? You want to get moving?” he asks, helping me to my feet.

“Um…get moving where?” I ask.

Instead of answering me, Dante gives me a once-over. “What are you wearing? I bet you’re freezing in that. Here,” he says, slipping out of his trench coat and handing it to me. I take it without protesting, seeing as I was careless enough to go out in a t-shirt knowing that it would be cold out today.

After putting his coat on and noting that it smelled of men’s cologne and cigarette smoke, I notice Dante’s arms. Both are completely covered in tattoos. The tattoos are strange and eerie. Indecipherable.

“Thanks. Where are we going?” I ask edgily.

“Somewhere,” Dante replies vaguely.

“Sorry, Dante, I’m not coming until you tell me exactly where we’re going,” I say doggedly.

“Aw, come on, Hannagan; live a little!” he turns around, looking at me with imploring eyes.

I consider it…before replying with a vague, “Nah.”

He rolls his eyes. “So, what, you’d rather sit here and stare at gravestones for the entire day?”

“No, I just won’t go anywhere with a stranger,” I say indifferently.

He gasps mockingly. “Me? A stranger? You’ve known me for a week… And you know my full name,” he adds as an afterthought.

“Okay, fine, I’ll come. Sheesh,” I say, as if I’m about to commit a terrible crime.

Dante smiles wickedly and puts his arm around my shoulder, giving it a little squeeze. “Atta girl.”

* * *

Dante walks me to the local park, where a bundle of shady looking people are huddled together at one of the tables. A cloud of cigarette smoke surrounds them, as if each one of them is holding a cigarette.

What surprises me is the fact that Dante seems to be leading me towards them.
I look at him warily. “Ah… Dante, are these your friends?” I ask hesitantly.

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he pats one of them on the back, yelling “Guys! This is Alexa. She’s cool, don’t worry.”

The word, “cool” seems to have a different meaning in Dante-and-friends-land. Most of his friends continue whatever they were doing, but a few of their heads snap up to look at me curiously.

I wave cautiously at the few who are staring at me, but they don’t respond. I shrug, following Dante, who sits down next to one particularly menacing-looking guy and starts a hushed conversation with him.

I look around, observing everyone surreptitiously. Most of them look pretty similar; intimidating, rugged, dark. Something that strikes me as odd is the fact that a good deal of them look like the guys you’d find on your soccer team—buff, smoldering, insanely attractive. But what really captures my attention is the fact that there is not one girl in sight.

Then I notice him. That bastard. Vincent is sitting at the edge of the group, looking as detached as always, a cigarette sticking out of his mouth. I don’t really know what irritates me so much about him. He hasn’t really done or said anything to me. But maybe that’s it. He hasn’t done anything.

He decides to turn his head at that moment, and our eyes connect. We have a mini staring match, which apparently amuses him, because he gives me a crooked smirk before gesturing for me to go to him. I shake my head. He rolls his eyes. I get up. Walk closer to him.

He smirks in satisfaction. The bastard.

I stand in front of Vincent. “The fuck do you want?” I ask, attempting to make my voice sound menacing.

“What’s a pretty thing like you hanging around these thugs for?” he asks quietly. I think that’s the most he’s ever said to me. Ever.

What he says has me indignant, though. A pretty thing? It’s as if he knows exactly what to say to annoy me. “I resent that,” I say.

Vincent doesn’t argue, though. He smirks smugly, as if he’s achieved something. I’m about to tell him to get off his high horse before he points behind me.

I turn around. Dante is crooking his finger at me. I turn around, give Vincent a look, turn back around, and walk over to where Dante’s sitting alone now.

“I see you’ve met Vince,” he tells me.

“Yeah. So?” I ask coolly.

“Nothing, nothing. Anyway, I realized I haven’t exactly explained anything to you about these guys,” he says, scratching his chin contemplatively.

“No, you have not…” I say lazily.

He opens his mouth, shuts it, then opens it again. “Well, you’ll figure it out soon enough,” he murmurs elusively.