Cash and the Sorority Girl

by Ashley Bartlett

  “Totally. I want her to have a badass stereo, but also not over-the-top because she’s a kid. She’ll be pleased with anything above average. That said, the chances someone will steal it because she forgot to lock the door are decent.”

  “Why didn’t you say all of this an hour ago?”

  I shrugged. “You were asking complicated questions?”

  “Are you asking me?”

  “Yes?”

  Lane laughed and huffed all at once. She turned back to the kid and pointed at one of the subwoofers built into the wall. “That one. Will you bring the box up front for us?”

  “You got it.” He leaned close to read the item number, then disappeared into a back room.

  “Come on.” Lane led me back to the car stereos.

  “I thought we already picked out a stereo,” I said.

  “We did.” She took the box from me and put it back on the shelf. After a quick scan, she picked up a different stereo box. “I picked a decent sub, but nothing too excessive, which means we are getting her a better stereo because she’ll play with that more anyway.” As she spoke, we went down the next aisle and swapped the box of speakers for two boxes of speakers.

  “Will the stereo light up in pretty colors?”

  That earned me a look. “It’s not 2005, Cash.”

  “Okay?” I drew the word out in confusion.

  “The stereo is a touchscreen.”

  “That’s awesome.” I reached over and turned the box in her hands. It was, in fact, a touchscreen.

  “What exactly was your plan for getting a stereo for Andy before I offered to help?” Lane asked.

  I shrugged. “I hadn’t given it much thought. Maybe ask Nate. He’s good at this stuff.”

  “But Beverly and her whole setup is pretty complex. How did you manage that?”

  “Well, yeah, but she started out as just a TV. From there it was research, trial and error. It took years. I need this done now.”

  We got to the register and piled everything on the counter. Lane did a quick count to make sure we’d grabbed all thirty-seven necessary packages. After the cashier finished scanning, Lane frowned at the total.

  “Oh, we’re missing the sub.” Lane pointed at a bigger box on the back counter. “You guys are holding it for us.”

  The cashier nodded and scanned the subwoofer.

  “We good?” I asked. Lane nodded and I handed over my credit card.

  We loaded our haul in the back of my car. Lane didn’t say anything until I was almost downtown.

  “I missed all my classes last week.” Her tone didn’t give anything about her state of mind away.

  “I assumed. Did you email your professors?”

  “Yeah. I didn’t give any information though.”

  “Are you planning on it?”

  She started to shake her head, but stopped and shrugged instead. “Maybe?”

  “You’re not required to. You know that, right?”

  “Yeah. I don’t feel obligated. But I also don’t want it to be some secret. Not in my academics, but my whole life. It’s a thing that happened. It colors my perception. But it isn’t who I am.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I don’t know if that makes sense.”

  “It does. You seem pretty contemplative. Self-aware, I guess. So that seems like a very Lane response.”

  “I’ll take that.” She half smiled.

  “Since we are analyzing, do you want to go back to school?”

  She took some deep breaths in what I’d started to recognize as one of her breathing exercises. “Yes. I think the routine will be good for me.”

  “That’s logical.”

  “And my therapist thinks the routine will be good for me.”

  “If you both think so, then it’s clearly a winning plan.”

  She laughed. “Thanks. I figure between four classes, one lab, two therapy sessions, and group therapy, my week will be plenty full. Less time to think.”

  “I’m a little relieved. Netflix is running out of nature documentaries. I was afraid I’d need to order BBC or something.”

  “It’s fine.” She waved her hand. “I can rewatch once I get through them all.”

  “So are you nervous about going back on campus?”

  “Not really. I mean, the main campus is way different from the residential buildings. I don’t think it will bother me.”

  “I take it you don’t want to move back into your dorm.”

  She shook her head. “No. I don’t think I can right now. I guess I’ll have to eventually.” She stole a look at me. “But I’ll go back to Laurel’s. You don’t need to keep putting me up.”

  “Nice try. You’re not ditching out on me that easy.”

  She huffed. “Cash.”

  I looked away from the road long enough to make eye contact. “I really don’t mind.”

  “Thanks.” She turned back to the windshield. “But it’s okay.”

  “Don’t your parents keep showing up at Laurel’s unannounced to try to find you?”

  “Yeah, but I can’t keep imposing on you just because I’m afraid of talking to my family.”

  “You totally can. It’ll be better for your mental health, which is better for Laurel’s mental health, which is better for my mental health so really I’m being selfish.”

  Lane laughed. “Fine. But you have to promise to tell me when you get tired of me. I’d rather leave when you still like me than have you resent me.”

  “Deal.”

  “Thanks. I know I’m going to need to see my parents at some point, but I’m just not ready for them yet.”

  “That’s valid. See them on your terms.”

  “Shit.”

  “What?” I asked.

  “What if my parents show up at Laurel’s when we’re installing the stereo?”

  “Hmm.”

  “That’s your response?”

  “Calm down. I’m thinking.” I turned onto Laurel’s street. Lane studied the cars parked along it. “If they show up, tell them you have something disgusting like oil grime on your hands and you need to wash. Then run away out the back door like last time.”

  “That sounds complicated.”

  “Or does it?”

  “It does.”

  “I don’t know, man. I’ll just keep an eye on the street. If we see them, hide. Avoidance is sometimes the healthy option.” I parked behind Andy’s truck.

  “I feel like you’re probably really good at justifying almost anything.”

  “Your sister once compared me to your parents and their ability to argue any side of a debate. I’m pretty sure it wasn’t a compliment.”

  “No. It wouldn’t be.”

  We climbed out. Lane directed me to carry the bags upstairs. I dropped them on the porch so I could unlock Laurel’s door. Lane started sorting through them before I could pick them up again. I grabbed the ones she wasn’t digging into and put them inside. Lane followed. She started to unpack the bag she was holding onto the coffee table. I followed suit, but she appeared to be sorting according to a system I couldn’t decipher.

  “How can I help?” I asked.

  She looked at me and pursed her lips. “There’s no way to say this without sounding like a dick, but you can help by staying out of my way.”

  “Dude, Lane, I’m excellent at staying out of the way.”

  She laughed. “But maybe stay within earshot so you can retrieve shit and hand me tools?”

  I gave a half-assed salute. “Tool bitch, at your service.”

  “Great. Laurel keeps her toolbox under the kitchen sink. There’s also a drill. Will you grab both?”

  “On it.”

  I grabbed the toolbox, the drill, a beer for me, and a gay water for Lane. Carrying everything down to the street proved to be a challenge. I thoroughly shook both drinks in the process so that was chill.

  Lane already had the passenger door opened wide. She was lying on the floorboard to look under the dash. Her sneakers hung out the
open door. They were retro with an early eighties vibe. They were real on point for the task of the day.

  “Cash?”

  “Yeah?” I set down the toolbox, put our drinks in the truck bed, and set the drill on the bench seat.

  “Will you run back up and get a flashlight? Laurel has a couple of mini Maglites in the junk drawer. I think.”

  “You got it.” I jogged back up the stairs, remembered why I didn’t jog when I got out of breath, found the flashlight, and returned to the truck at a normal pace.

  “Thanks,” Lane said when I put the flashlight in her hand. She spun it on and directed the beam under the steering column.

  After a solid two minutes of watching her, I was thoroughly bored. I climbed into the truck bed, stretched out my feet, and opened my beer. It didn’t explode everywhere so I thought I was doing pretty well. It was only when I bent my leg and reclined against the corner of the bed that I realized the layer of dried mud coating the wood slats had transferred to my jeans. I brushed at one leg. A cloud of dust floated up and left me with the faint outline of my hand on the fabric. The dirt was still solid. And my palm was dark and chalky.

  “Awesome,” I said.

  “Huh?” Lane’s voice was muffled.

  “Nothing. I’ve got a La Croix for you when you want to take a break.”

  “I just started.”

  “So don’t take a break right now.”

  “Thanks for that,” she called. She didn’t sound very thankful.

  “How much would it screw up your vibe if I washed the truck?” I asked.

  “As long as you don’t spray me with a hose, I don’t care.”

  “This isn’t suburbia, kid. There’s no hose. I have to use a bucket.”

  “Then it really doesn’t affect me.”

  I dug out my phone to text Laurel.

  You have a bucket? And car wash supplies?

  I lounged as I waited for a response. My clothes were already covered. No point in avoiding the dirt anymore. At least I’d traded my sweater for a hoodie.

  The condensation from my beer melted circles in the filth and turned to delicate rings of mud. I spun the can, slowly widening each ring before starting a new one. I had marked each individual slat by the time Laurel texted back with directions to her storage space out back.

  “Lane?” I called.

  “Yeah?” Her voice was less muffled and seemed like it was coming from the curb.

  I glanced over the edge of the bed and found her crouched by the open door, prying the panel off. “I’m going to run around back to get supplies to wash the truck.”

  “Cool.”

  “If you see your parents, roll under the truck. That’s a normal response.”

  “You’re so helpful. Thanks.”

  I climbed out of the truck bed. As I walked, I tried to beat the dust out of my pants, but it was useless. Laurel’s storage locker was clearly marked like she said it would be. Buckets and rags were stacked under the narrow counter. I filled the buckets with icy water at the back spigot.

  I alternated scrubbing and rinsing, rotating around the truck so I wouldn’t drip on Lane as she worked. It took a good six buckets before I bothered adding soap. My nails steadily turned dark. It was pretty funky.

  “Oh my God.”

  I straightened at the sound of Robin’s voice. She was standing in the bike lane, grinning.

  “What do you think?”

  “It’s gorgeous.” She slowly rounded the truck bed. “This is perfect. God, how did Laurel find it?”

  “I helped.”

  “Did you?” She smirked.

  “Okay, no. Not really.”

  “Hi, Robin.” Lane rolled out of the cab. She was surprisingly graceful.

  “Hey, Lane. What are you doing?”

  “Installing the stereo,” Lane said.

  “Kind of looks like you’re just dismantling the truck,” I said.

  Lane gave me a look. “Should I just balance the speakers on the dash?”

  “How complex is this stereo going to be?” Robin asked.

  “It’s more simple than it looks right now. Cash said she wanted above average, but not world ending in the event that it’s stolen. It’s a good stereo for a teenager. Like better than her friends will have, but not excessive,” Lane said.

  “Okay. Super.” Robin look at me and shrugged. I shrugged back. “How long until you guys are finished?”

  “I’m done.” I drained the end of my beer. “I was washing it enough to get the first twelve layers of dirt off, but I’m bored now and you’re here to play with me.”

  “I’ll be working for a few more hours,” Lane said.

  Robin turned to me. “Then I need a beer.”

  “Follow me,” I said to Robin. I turned to Lane. “We will be back in a sec.”

  “Grab me another La Croix?” Lane asked.

  “You got it.” I headed for the stairs.

  Robin trailed after me. “Where’s Laurel?”

  “She’s working. I don’t know when she’ll wrap up.”

  “It’s Sunday.”

  “Apparently, police officers work weekends.”

  “Who knew.” Robin followed me to the kitchen.

  “Grab a beer. I’m going to change my clothes.”

  “That’s probably wise.”

  I ducked back around the corner to Laurel’s bedroom. I switched my jeans and stole a fresh hoodie from Laurel’s drawer. When I got back to the kitchen, Robin was sipping on a beer and waiting for me. I grabbed a beer of my own and another water for Lane.

  “So what about Andy? Where is she?” I asked.

  “At Sloan’s for dinner. They’re studying.” She paused a beat, then asked, “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Sure.” I already knew what was coming.

  “Sloan uses they pronouns?”

  I didn’t bother pointing out that she hadn’t really asked a question. “Yes.”

  “Is that common?”

  “More common with younger queers. There are other gender neutral pronouns, but ‘they’ is the most popular at the moment.”

  “But it’s plural.”

  “It is, but we use it as a singular and have for a centuries.”

  “We have?”

  I nodded. “Like if one of Andy’s friends left a backpack at your house, but you didn’t know which friend, you’d say ‘someone left their backpack here.’”

  “Oh.” Robin contemplated that for a minute. “Oh,” she said with more conviction.

  “Does that make sense?”

  “Yes. I think I get it now.”

  “You ready to go back out and heckle Lane?” I asked.

  “Absolutely.”

  The moment we got downstairs, Lane sent me back up for various stereo components. We watched her for five minutes, growing steadily bored. When my phone rang it was an exciting reprieve. The readout showed Laurel.

  “Hey. You finally done?” I asked.

  “Yeah. Where are you guys?”

  “Your place. Lane is still deep in her installation extravaganza. Robin just got here.”

  Laurel made an excited noise. “What did she think?”

  “Of the truck?”

  “Yeah. What else?”

  “She thinks it’s pretty and also that you walk on water.”

  “That’s true. I do walk on water.”

  “Are you coming home? Watching Lane install a stereo is really boring.”

  “Yes, I am. And I warned you,” she said. I huffed. “You want me to bring pizza?”

  I moved the phone away from my mouth. “You guys down for pizza?”

  Lane leaned out from under the hood. “Always.”

  Robin nodded and saluted me with her beer.

  “That’s an affirmative.”

  “Cool. Be there in twenty.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Laurel settled into her favorite corner of the couch, her sock-clad feet perched on the lower edge of the coffee table. Robin
was similarly tucked into the opposite corner. Pizza, beer, and plates were perfectly spread out across the coffee table.

  “Someone needs to get Lane,” Laurel said.

  Robin nodded. “It’s too bad we don’t have shoes on.”

  “You guys suck.” I pushed myself out of the square, mod armchair that shouldn’t have been comfortable, but was infinitely so.

  “Aw, thanks. You didn’t have to do that,” Robin said.

  Laurel laughed. “Yeah, that’s sweet.”

  I rolled my eyes and headed down to the street. Lane had the hood closed and was back on the floorboards. She was rapidly losing daylight.

  “Lane,” I called.

  She rolled to her back and half sat up. “I’m almost done.”

  “Finish it later. We’ve got pizza.”

  “Fine. Will you look around and make sure I didn’t leave out any tools?” She dropped the screwdriver she was holding onto the small pile of wire cutters and socket wrenches on the bench seat.

  I walked around the truck, looked in the bed, glanced underneath, but I didn’t see any forgotten supplies. “I don’t see anything.”

  “Cool. You think everything will be okay locked in the cab?”

  “Yeah. You’ll be back down in thirty minutes.”

  She followed me back upstairs. Laurel and Robin were serving pizza. Robin handed me a plate. Laurel did the same for Lane. I reclaimed my chair. Lane went to sit between Laurel and Robin.

  “Oh, no. You’re disgusting.” Laurel smacked Lane’s ass. “You’re on the floor.”

  “What?” Lane looked back and forth between Robin and me like we had the answers.

  “You’re covered in dirt and spiderwebs and weird patches of grease.” Laurel pointed at the floor.

  “I am not.” Lane looked down. Her jeans did look patchy with filth. She sighed and set her plate on the table. “I’m going to go wash my hands.” Instead of going into the kitchen, she went down the hallway toward the bathroom and Laurel’s bedroom. The sound of the water running carried. Two minutes later, Lane returned. She had removed her borrowed flannel and was pulling on a newer, cleaner flannel over her tank top.

  “So you’re almost done installing?” Laurel asked.

  Lane nodded and swallowed her bite of pizza. “I’m securing the sub. The wiring is all in place so I just need to hook it up and make sure everything is working.”