“Holy cow,” I said.
“No thanks,” he said. “I’m actually a vegetarian now.”
I got to my feet, dusting off the grass and dirt. We shook hands, and then awkwardly gave each other a little hug and a pat on the back.
“Man, look at you,” I said. “You got all respectable.”
Jake shrugged. “After I got out of jail, I moved to LA and cleaned up my act. I’m actually in the entertainment business, can you believe it? Just a lowly assistant to a production assistant, which is just another way of saying coffee boy, but it’s a start.”
“Wow,” I said.
“Sorry I didn’t come sooner. I wanted to, but . . .” He shrugged.
We’d exchanged a couple of letters while we were both in our respective juvie prisons, but I hadn’t heard from him since. “No big deal,” I said.
“So, doing the art thing after all?” he said.
I nodded.
“Going to make a career out of it?” he asked.
“Yep.”
“Cool. Bet your dad wasn’t too happy about that.”
I laughed. “I’m beyond caring what my dad thinks anymore.”
He laughed, and then we were both laughing, and then just for a moment, it was like old times. At any moment one of us could have made a farting noise or crack a joke about jockstraps or panty lines. It lasted only a second, but it made me happy, knowing that those kids were still in us somewhere.
“Damn, it’s hot,” he said, tugging at his collar. “How can you even stand to be out here?”
“It builds character,” I said.
“Yeah, okay, whatever.” He looked away for a second, then, without looking at me, held up something that had been wrapped in newspaper. It was so small I hadn’t even noticed it. “Got you something.”
“Oh man, you didn’t have to do that.”
“Just take it,” he said. “It’s not what you . . . oh, just open it, okay?”
I ripped off the newspaper. Knowing Jake, or at least the old Jake, I expected a gag gift, a rubber chicken or a noisemaker, but it wasn’t anything like that at all. It was small and white, with a tiny screen, and at first I thought it was a cell phone or an iPod. Then I realized what it was, and I laughed.
“A Game Boy!” I said.
“Yeah,” he said sheepishly. “I owed you one. Got it on eBay. It’s . . . it’s the same as the one you had before.” He hesitated and then plunged ahead quickly. “You were right, Charlie. I broke yours. I . . . I wanted to tell you that. It’s been bugging me.”
I didn’t know what to say. I hadn’t thought about the Game Boy in a long time, but obviously Jake had. It was funny, how something could bother you for so long and then you just ended up forgetting about it.
There was so much more I wanted to say. I wanted to tell him that I was glad I had gotten into the Mustang with him. I wanted to tell him that I was glad I’d gone on that road trip and glad that I’d stayed on it all the way until the end. I wasn’t glad about the Tolley kid dying. I’d had a lot of sleepless nights thinking about that one, plus plenty of sessions with the counselors, and it would always be a part of me. But it wasn’t the only part of me. Something had happened during all of that, something that had made me finally realize it was up to me to do something with my life, to be somebody who did things rather than somebody who things just happened to. I wasn’t going to be any doctor. I wanted to be an artist, and I really didn’t care if anybody else approved.
But I didn’t know how to put any of that into words. So much time had passed, and we were so different now, that it didn’t seem to matter. I had a good feeling Jake already knew everything I would have said anyway.
“Well,” he said.
He shuffled his feet. Where could we go from here? Then a couple of girls in tank tops and shorts walked by on the sidewalk path, and then I knew. “I got an idea,” I said.
“Yeah?”
I pointed to the student union and started walking down the grassy hill. He fell into step next to me, our shadows small beneath us, as if they were trying to hide from the blazing sun.
“You know,” I said, “I’m pretty sure they sell latex balloons in the bookstore.”
He gave me the Jake smirk. “Oh really?”
“Yeah. I think it’s time for the Water Balloon Boys to ride again.”
“I think you’re right,” Jake said. And then, after a moment, he added, “Aren’t you afraid of getting caught? I don’t want to get you into trouble at your new school.”
“Trouble?” I said, with plenty of fake dismay. “You think I’m worried about getting into trouble? You’re such a dork.”
“Double dork,” he shot back.
“Dork on a stick!”
“Dork on a stick with a turd on top!” he cried.
We burst into a run, then, both of us laughing, racing toward the student union. The few people outdoors stared at us as if we were freaks, but I didn’t mind. We were freaks, and it felt good. I suddenly remembered the time in Bend almost five years earlier, on a deserted street in the dead of night, and Jake had asked me a question I’d struggled to answer. Are you happy? Running now, the sun hot on my neck, my thoughts only on which bathroom would be best to fill up the water balloons in, I wanted to shout out the answer. I wanted to shout out that your life could be in the toilet, bad things could happen to you, and you could be depressed a lot of the time, but you could still say yes. You could still say yes and mean it. And if you meant it, if you really meant it, it might just be true.
The Last Great Getaway of the Water Balloon Boys Page 17