8. I Don't Want To Believe
Gaz was glad that Dib and his guest had finally left. It was half past nine PM and she had not once had a break from her older brother's annoying voice through the entire drying cycle he'd put on. She'd hardly heard the other worthless idiot for most of the time they were upstairs, but she didn't care. Both of them were going to pay for talking to each other and ruining her gaming concentration.
The Other New Kid obviously was not another smart kid. Dib's younger sister orchestrated all the signs a normal student would have seen to stay away from Dib, and gotten ignored after all her suggesting. She, Gaz. Blown off.
Growling into the mirror, she fantasized about standing in front of Laura and pummeling her fucking head in with the stick she used for Dib - or better yet, her own hands. A tall, wiry girl wearing a cute black dress glared back at her, through her, from the other side of the mirror. Her straightened, waist-length hair floated eerily without wind, a reflection of her emotions.
Did Dib's first-ever friend even think about how dangerous it was to be in her house, unsupervised, with no adult to prevent either of them getting into an unfortunate scuffle? ...Even if something was a bit different about her. Gaz didn't care very much for the extra shadow clinging to the pipsqueak. It could have been anything - a hitchhiking phantasm - whatever. But it looked scary enough to give her pause when Laura did the unthinkable and got into her personal space today.
"I'll mention her to you soon, Dib," she vowed as she reached for a stylus emblazoned with a game logo, nearly crushing it in her attempt to hide her own nerves. "Just to nip it in the bud."
The "little over a mile" walk back to Laura's place proved to be longer than she really cared to measure. But it didn't matter anyway, as she currently had the best company she'd ever experienced to enhance the journey back.
"...And so that's how I raised the dead and why there's a big lever back home in case I take out the entire city's power again, probably sometime soon. Gee, I've never had the chance to go this direction of the City," noted Dib. The two made steady progress into a sketchier and sketchier place. "Lots of liquor stores and auto body shops here..."
"And trash and alleys and nasty old men who will touch you and weep drunkenly about how they need a woman if the bus doesn't stop for you," Laura added, punctuating with a soft retching noise.
"Oh... um... sorry to hear that. I guess we're in that kind of neighborhood."
"It's about the same as where I was before, but that doesn't mean I'm used to it." Her face was hidden underneath her umbrella. "Just don't stay too long on our main street with all the businesses and you won't be a target. Nobody's bothered me yet, but running fast is good."
"When did you move here?" The two hurried down the darkened main street, their voices becoming noticeably breathier from the brisk walking pace and puddle-dodging. Most of the fronts had closed their metal shutters and security screens, barring the odd shifty bar or hole-in-the-wall club. To Laura, everything was a menace, from the portly men having a smoke outside a lounge, to the beggar woman on a wheelchair who she swore was a con artist.
"Fine, I guess you can know. Few days ago. I'm from the other side of this City, and before that, another City, another coast. Property values are the cheapest in this Ethnic District. That's the only reason why we're all here."
"All here? How big is your family?"
"I'm the oldest of seven kids, so there's nine of us. And I am being a very bad role model for them 'cuz of everything that's happened today."
A tendril of lightning lit up the clouds above them and the thunder drowned out half of what she said. He bent down closer, straining to hear her. "What?"
"Imma get in fucking trouble for being a troublemaking callejera, Dib. It's dark, man, look around you. We got, like, fifteen minutes left of jogging to get to my house."
"Umm... I'm sorry, I don't speak Spanish..."
"Yeah, yeah, I'm surprised you guys even let me into your schoo- skoool... whatever. Hardly anybody else who looks like they speak another language that I saw. And I don't even know what that word is in English, actually. My mom uses it all the time when I'm not at home enough. It's not a good word."
Another silence passed, punctuated only by nearby sirens, the raindrops, and Dib's lame attempt at a joke: "Hah, at least you've got a mom."
Laura's high-pitched, dismissive titter threw him off. "Please, if you ever need a mom, I'll lend mine to you for free. She's fantastic at cooking, just really strict and conservative... although she's actually the one who raised us to believe in the demons of this world, and who knows about things like hexes and curses. Only from Mexico."
"That's actually relevant to my non-Irken research! I should interview her-!"
"No, you don't wanna meet her. And she doesn't wanna meet you. My family doesn't like strangers. 'Specially not boys I know." Dib visibly deflated for a reason he couldn't discern at the moment.
"Oh. Well alright, then." Your family is sounding more and more difficult as you go on, he wanted to say, but he decided to keep that to himself.
"...But I've learned some stuff from her, anyway! So don't feel bad for not being special, it's good that you don't stick out to them for now. You don't want to stick out to them. Just a few more blocks this way, by the way."
Laura led the way into a turn with her umbrella leaning into the wind. It was looking to be a good walk for her, until a brutally cold feeling wrenched her gut.
I haven't checked the time in a while.
Stopping short caused Dib to bump into her accidentally, but she didn't care. Pressing on her watch's glow button lit up its face and hers in a synchronized, split-second display of horror.
"We took too long. It's freaking ten!" her voice rose two octaves in the moment.
"That didn't seem to matter when you came out of detention, so I thought-"
"Eep, that's perfect! No, shh, don't say anything. Your skool is fucking nuts. I'll just say I was in detention this long. They'll have to accept it." Her slouching posture gave him reason to doubt it.
"Are you sure that's the way to go? Aren't they going to be a bit... upset, anyway?"
"Yeah. But like hell I'm gonna tell 'em the truth. It never pays off. We just have to run fast!"
Dib groaned, as he'd already broken into a sweat and huffing. "We're practically jogging, already. I'm at my upper cardio limits."
Laura broke into a run. "Then don't talk! Come on." And Dib had no choice but to follow.
A nondescript craftsman-style house painted an off-yellow stood out between two apartment complexes. Dib and Laura had stopped loping and sprinting, respectively, in front of it. The chilly air almost cracked his throat, it felt like. Oh man, I'm not used to this at all...
"We're here," she whispered after catching her breath.
It took longer for Dib to be able to respond, "This is it?"
"Yup. You can go back now. Stay off the main road, like I said. Stay safe." Laura surprised him with a delicate, icy double-handshake. "I gotta get in now. Go before they see you."
At a loss for words, Dib merely waved goodbye and watched her jog up to her home. Walking out of sight, he observed her ring the doorbell and knock on the security door. She kept her head down. Minutes later, an adult's hand appeared from the cautiously-opened doorway, beckoning her inside with an austere finger. She shook the drops off her umbrella, rolled and tied it up, and took a step over the threshold - only to be grabbed firmly by the arm and taken inside. She seemed as surprised by the arm as Dib was.
Both doors closed with a moderate clunk.
Something's not quite right, Dib thought - but he turned and began walking in the rain back to his neighborhood. He was just out of earshot when the yelling started, but he was focusing more strongly on what a mixed bag the day had been, and the new experiences he needed to think over.
A floating monitor greeted the young Membrane as soon as he returned home. A recording of Professor Membrane reminded him, "Don't forget to add your nail clippings to the newly-replaced protein-emulsifying waste receptacles! I need samples from genetically identical sources for a research project." and zoomed away to another room in the house. Dib rolled his eyes. Those were replaced months back with some other prototype.
Trudging upstairs to his room with heavy feet, he closed his own door and undressed for bed. His trench coat went to hang dry behind the door. He placed his boots perpendicular to his bed, facing away from the windows his guest apparently hadn't noticed. Between going shirtless and pajama-clad, he opened the seamless blinds that appeared to meld into the walls and opened the slits until they were fully horizontal.
The rain fell straight down, drumming softly onto the roof. He sat at his computer again, as he tended to do most nights, and thought about things while kicking back to a sparse assortment of music. Tonight's good for some System of a Doom.
Laura still needs to know more about Operation: Impending Doom II. And I have to show her Tak's ship, and tell her what I've accomplished with it, what Irken Invaders are capable of, the signs of an impending attempt in Zim's eyes and mannerisms, how to counter his own surveillance...
"Ah!" I forgot something else! Dib broke out of his reverie, remembering that he needed to gather data for an upcoming presentation to his Swollen Eyeball network. Their inflexible Halloween deadline was approaching fast - he'd procrastinated for a few weeks and consequently halved the allotted work time all on his own.
"There's something in the urban lore of the local cemetery... something about souls. What was it?" he spoke to himself, leaping for his Proof vault and digging through a metal file cabinet with alphabetized folders. Reams of paper were strewn about on the vault floor around this particular cabinet; they had yet to be sorted.
"Cemeteries... gravestones..." I'm looking for a local haunt. Something easy to get to, he reminded himself, something undeniable. Even if it's the smallest orb of light, or freshly turned grave-dirt... "Fair-Weather Phantasms? No... Mysterious Orbs In Wake of Wake? No... Unseemly Creature Spotted Innawoods? Darkbootie might have that covered... actually, this isn't even the right folder for that..."
"Dib." Something hard poked the back of his head as he heard his name. Sprawling forward to duck and slamming the drawer shut in one fluid motion, he turned around too fast and ended up on his butt.
"Gaz! What-? What are you doing in my room?" His sister stood out of arm's reach, armed with her Quiet Stick. It quivered inches from his face, making his eyes strain trying to focus on the end. He winced and shut his eyes. What's gotten into you this time-?
"There's mud all over the living room and stairs. All your footprints. The light in the laundry room was left on, the closet door's open and it looks like it's been completely ransacked. You're fucking disgusting. Clean it."
"I'm in the middle of some research, Gaz. I'll do it soon enough." Placing one hand on the stick now, he opened his eyes to glare at his sister.
"And you were being loud. I don't want to see that thing- that... new kid- back in the house. There's something wrong..."
Gaz's face remained the hard mask she wore to express her intense distaste, but he sensed the stick shifting slightly as she clenched her hands out of stress.
"You're joking, right?"
"She's weird, Dib. Weirder and lamer than even you. She looks like a rat carrying the Black Plague. She's pathetic."
"Look, Gaz, I know you're antisocial and all, but-"
"I don't like her."
"She's smart enough to accept the truth about-"
"Don't bring her back."
"But-"
"Shut your mouth, Dib." Gaz bared her teeth. "There's something... nasty... about her. You're not the only one sensitive to these things."
Dib furrowed his brow, simmering. "And it had to be the only person in the City who's treated me like a person in a while? Why should I believe you?"
His sister sneered, looking down at him on the floor still. She finally lowered the stick, clenching both fists.
"I've been doing my part to keep you from ruining Dad's image any more, and you continue to surpass my calculated efforts. She's going to abandon you soon enough, and more. Remember Tak? You're willingly blind if you don't see it, idiot," she spat. "I'm done."
Dib watched her stalk out of his room, dark thoughts swimming in his head as he began his searching procedure anew.
I can't believe my luck. Already, everything's threatening my progress. What does she even mean? Does Gaz hate me so much that she's actively tearing down my attempts to strengthen the anti-Irken network? Why was she so tense? She's just a bitch. There's no way the new kid could be a threat herself. She's not as interested in Zim as Tak was...
Another haphazard notion emerged from the murk of his mind.
...I should bring her along for my Swollen Eyeball field research! She said she was interested in other things besides the Irken Empire. And now that she knows about the terrestrial mysteries, she won't refuse. She could even excel in the field with enough experience...
"I know what I'm doing tomorrow," he finally declared, and sighed with relief. He finished gathering a stack of his best current leads and placed them in a secure folder inside his own messenger bag before rushing to tidy up his tracks all over the house. It was only his determination to end the night prepared that cut through the boredom of housework. He even remembered to shove his lent clothes into the wardrobe so it wasn't on the floor.
By the time he brushed his teeth and exited the restroom, it was past midnight. The rain had stopped, or so it sounded like - he was too focused on entering his bed to care to check. Closing the blinds, he set his glasses down next to his alarm and crawled under the sheets.
Dib attempted to focus on visually exploring the interior of Tak's ship to settle into sleep, but doubt and thoughts of Gaz's strange behavior intruded. They melted into recalling the ugly, cracked pavement and potholes he'd braved on the way back home, and the bass-heavy drone of hip-hop from apartment flats and revving engines of street racers. His lower back and legs felt tingly and loose from the walking, and he was still tense from his latest confrontation with Gaz. He recalled Zim suffering from contacting the pigstuff with his real skin and smiled.
After several fitful attempts, he finally slipped from the uncomfortable current of his waking thoughts with a pleasant mantra: Gaz is full of shit.