Free Song of Teeth 1: The First Voice by Eve Hathaway Page B

wave of guilt, as if she was accusing him of invading her privacy, but she quickly continued around the corner out of sight.
     
    Both Mark and Aaron exhaled at the same time. "See what I mean?" Aaron raised his eyebrow. "Kind of...off."
     
    "Um, I guess." Mark nodded slightly, still watching the alley entrance. "What's her name?"
     
    Aaron scrunched the corner of his mouth. "Her name? She's just the weird girl. It's too bad you're not in my biology class, so you can hear the bizarre questions she asks."
     
    "What kind of questions?"
     
    "Ah, I can't remember. Always about lizards or something. No, crocodiles! Yeah, she's always going on about crocodiles, no matter what the teacher's talking about. The other day we were starting the chapter on ' reproduction ,'" Aaron drawled the word out for emphasis, "which is pretty much the only time we get to talk about sex, right? And there's lizard girl interrupting to ask how alligators lay eggs or something. What a weirdo, right?"
     
    Mark tilted his head in commiseration and chuckled. "Very strange. Maybe not as weird as you, but then again, she is prettier than you."
     
    Aaron gasped melodramatically. "Me, weird?" Switching into a high-pitched British accent, he whined, "Why, whatever gave you that idea, good sir?"
     
    "Oh, just a gut feeling I've always had about you. Plus, I've watched you snort a packet of mustard for a dollar."
     
    "Now, now, wait; let's not get distracted by my talents here. Back up. I think you just said lizard girl is pretty! Do you have a crush on her now?"
     
    Mark rolled his eyes and quickly slurped his ice coffee, wincing at the cold jab to his forehead. "Whatever. Let's get back to studying. My test is tomorrow, and I have to be at work in an hour."
     
    Always quick to be distracted, Aaron went back to quizzing him on battles of World War II. Mark tried to concentrate on pronouncing French names, on the sweet chill of vanilla coffee and on the heavy sun; but a pair of eyes kept cutting through his mind-their vivid clarity against the damp afternoon.
     

     
    AS MUCH as he hated the lingering stench of ketchup that clung to his clothes after work, Mark hated even more the stale, faintly rotten air that always drifted up when he opened his front door. Old mildew, tired carpets, fetid remnants of food long since thrown out of the fridge. It was the unmistakable odor of a house that had stopped caring long ago.
     
    Dropping his keys in the hideous ceramic bowl he had made in first grade, Mark called out, "Hey, I'm home. Anyone here?"
     
    No one answered, but he heard the creak of his brother's steps in the hallway and the careless thud of the bathroom door closing. Sighing at what he knew would be a long wait for the shower; Mark went to the kitchen to make himself a sandwich. There was just enough peanut butter left for one or two more sandwiches-he would have to remember to pick some up tomorrow. He could barely taste that sweet earthiness that he loved over the scent of burnt hamburger clinging to his nostrils.
     
    After nearly 20 minutes, Mark heard a flush, the bathroom door click open, and his brother creaked in. Maybe because he had always been so tall and gaunt, Jacob always twisted and stooped as low as possible when he walked, barely lifting his feet, as if he was embarrassed to take up any space.
     
    "Hey," he muttered to Mark as he shuffled to the refrigerator. A sickly, oily sweetness wafted after him.
     
    "Ugh, Jake, have you been smoking again?" Mark wrinkled his nose. "You reek."
     
    "Yeah, well, so do you." Jacob grabbed a sports drink and chugged the entire bottle while holding the refrigerator door open. "'Sides, it keeps me relaxed."
     
    Mark snorted. "What, relaxed from all that school and work you don't have?" Jacob ignored him.
     
    The doorbell rang. Mark got up to answer it, since Jacob was very skilled at ignoring everything around him when it was inconvenient.
     
    At the door was a petite woman whose heavy makeup