I pull away from our hug, double check our locks and pull the curtains tight. “You can stay as long as you like.”
“Thanks,” Danny says. He twirls his ring some more. His eyebrows almost collide, his index finger pressed to his temple. “Shit,” he says. “I know what that saying means now. You know, ‘The Devil Marks His Followers.’ I just...” He ruffles his black hair in his hands and stares at the hardwood floor.
“You mean they didn’t just get crazy with some posters and bible school markers after having too many donuts at Sunday school?” I ask.
He doesn’t laugh. “It’s this book, The Devil’s Followers. I read it a few years back. It’s weird,” he says, shaking his body like he’s trying to shake out the weird. “But, anyway, in it, the people who follow the devil have purple eyes.”
“Well shit,” I say. I’m aware of the book. It was written by some thriller writer in conjunction with a minister. Conrad talked about it once. It sold a gazillion copies, probably because it’s so controversial. Apparently the authors weren’t shy about sprinkling in subtle homophobic rants, along with anti-Semitic and misogynistic remarks. And I think Conrad mentioned something about anti-Catholic stuff too. They sound like real charmers. Maybe that’s why Danny shivered a little.
Danny continues, “Yeah, but I don’t get why they would think our purple eyes are related to that. I mean, it’s fiction. And anyway, a bunch of other things don’t make sense even if you wanted to take it literally. In the book, only true followers of Christ can see the purple eyes. It’s a gift to them, you know, to warn them. And the people with the purple eyes, well...” He sort of twists and twirls around. “They’re really bad. They do all sorts of horrible things, I mean, like raping kids and slitting people’s throats in the shower and setting up altars to the devil. I know I’m a sinner, but I’m not a bad person.” He presses his fingers to his heart and looks at me with wide, pleading eyes.
“It’s just a book, Danny,” I say. A rather unsophisticated book from the sound of it. Beat me over the head with black-and-white religion and morality why don’t you? But I don’t add that on.
He nods. “I know that. It bothers me that they don’t.” He points to the curtains. We can still hear the vague hum of their chants.
“Look, let’s just forget about them for now.” I make peach tea, in honor of our new friend, and we sip it while I put on some distracting Spanish soaps. They’re a lot more useful than most people think. I learned more Spanish watching telenovelas with one of my Latina friends back home than I did in class. It also gives you perspective. Life is easier to handle when you consider you could have a long lost twin who’s pregnant with your husband’s baby and wants to poison your mint brownies at a holiday party where, just to pile it on, you wear identical dresses. The horror.
Danny and I only have purple eyes. Well, and maybe some funky stuff going on with our white blood cells. And maybe a contingent of students who think we’ve been marked by the devil coming after us. And some townies who think we’re ruining their community.
Nothing we can’t handle.
As I let the warm liquid coat my throat and stare at my chipped pedicure, I find myself thinking that over and over. Nothing we can’t handle. Nothing we can’t handle. “Nothing we can’t handle.”
“What?” Danny looks up. He sits across from me, cross-legged on the couch as he clutches the mug with both hands. Whoops, I mumbled the last bit out loud.
“This,” I say. “It’s nothing we can’t handle.”
He twists his neck around. “I don’t know, that Peachy guy didn’t exactly instill confidence.”
I love that he’s using my nickname for Mr. Jenkins. Love it. It makes me feel closer to him than I should. But maybe that’s what strange life events do. I feel like if I had a little brother, it could be Danny. And maybe I need a little brother. Maybe he needs a big sister.
I plant my feet on the ground and lean forward and decide it might be my mission in life to make sure Danny never looks so goddamn desolate again. He can’t stop messing with the high school ring and his knee bounces up and down.
“Well, we don’t need Peachy,” I say. “We can figure out what’s going on together.”
He leans forward, his hands shaking in excitement as he sets his mug down. “You mean like figure out the scientific cause of this disease so we can prove to all of them we aren’t marked by the devil?”
That wasn’t precisely what I meant, but the smile on Danny’s face makes me say, “Yeah, that.” Plus, if we can figure out that the root of this isn’t tied to the college at least that will show Natalie and them that, you know, shit happens. We can’t be their scapegoat for everything.
Danny beams. “My mom sometimes jokingly equates me to those mothers in made-for-TV movies. You know, the ones who hover around at the police station and somehow make their way into stakeouts to catch their kid’s murderer.”
I laugh, remembering more than a handful of nights curled up with my mom and caramel popcorn as we half-laughed at and half-devoured a sappy movie. “I know exactly what you mean. And yeah, let’s do that. Let’s get to the bottom of this.”
“Yes,” Danny says, the fear in his voice pushed away by determination. “Look, I know I’m just a freshman, but I’m going to major in biology.”
I flinch ever so slightly. “Biology? I thought you wanted to be an art major, hence wanting an art mentor? Meaning me?” I point to my heart.
He tilts his head. “Yeah, I’m going to double major.”
“In art and biology?”
“Yeah,” he says, frowning at my confusion before rushing on. “Anyway, I know a lot about biology and we’re at a university. There are loads of experts here. On drugs, diseases, mutations caused by pollution. And we can talk to them.”
He lifts his mug up in triumph and I play along, clinking it with mine in a celebratory cheers. Then I hold the mug closer to my lap and twist and turn the little paper tab and stringy part of the tea bag. I roll my lips together thinking about the drug Zachary said causes this. “Danny,” I say softly, “before we get into all that...be honest, have you tried any strange drugs lately?”
Danny’s eyes furrow, and he looks into his tea. “I smoke pot, like I told you.”
I flick my wrist. “No, not pot. I mean have you snorted anything or swallowed anything? Serious stuff.”
He shakes his head. “Oh no, nothing like that. But, I mean, I know that pot is illegal and—”
“Smoking pot might not be the best extracurricular activity, but it didn’t cause this, okay?”
And neither did Zachary’s mystery drug.
It has to be something else.
And, with Danny’s help, maybe I can figure out what that something else is. “Now, what else do we know?”
Danny grips his chin. “We know about the Solo cup. We know Mandy was the first person to show symptoms. And we know there may be something off with our white blood counts.
“Yeah,” I jump in. “I overheard some doctors saying Mandy—well, I’m pretty sure they were talking about Mandy—has like 100 white blood cells per...um...”
“Mcl.” Danny runs his hands over his hair. “100 white blood cells per Mcl, that’s insane, that’s just—”
“What does it mean?”
“Well, your white blood cells are constantly fighting off outside viruses and bacteria. With that few, well, we should all be in bed with colds and infections and...that is way too low.”
“Maybe I misheard,” I say. “Or maybe there was a lab error or something.”
“Maybe,” he says. He doesn’t say the maybe very convincingly. He’s up and pacing now, scruffing his hair as he shakes his head. Seeing him like this makes something hurt in my stomach. I need to veer this train back onto the we-can-do-it tracks.
“Look,” I say. “I have a friend who studies diseases. I’ll talk to him. Maybe he can help.”
Danny stops pacing. “What kind of diseases? Bacterial or viral?”
“Um.” I pinch the bridge of my nose and close my eyes. I didn’t think I’d ever need to get into the different kinds of diseases, but here I am. “I’m pretty sure bacteria. Yeah, he’s studying this one kind of bacteria in rats.”
“Okay, you talk to him,” he says, and breathes. “You know, I overheard my TA talking to someone just a few days ago. He was talking about how he just got a paper accepted in the Journal of Virus Research. So I know who can help us there.”
“The Journal of Virus Research,” I say. “I guess scientists don’t like creative names for journals.”
His muscles ease and his smile returns. “No, they like to be pretty straightforward. Anyway, one of my professors is researching the side effects of some pharmaceutical products, so I can see if she’s ever heard of a drug that can change eye color.”
“I know a professor who studies the local environment,” I say. Rashid had asked me to come with him to a special lecture given by Professor Klip last spring. I don’t know why I went, the topic was how fish in a nearby river are developing both boy and girl parts. But it was sort of interesting. “I’ll talk to her.”
“We’ll figure this out,” Danny says to the air.
Actually, I don’t think we will. But it feels better to have a plan than to not have a plan.