I slink back to grab the phone from her and my mother furrows her brow. “Oh,” I say, “I’m letting Ricki use mine to map the way to Aunt May’s.” I hold out my hand and accusingly add, “Keys please?”
Grudgingly, Mom pulls the pom-pom key chain from her pocket and I take it.
The Chihuahua sees an opportunity to go for blood and I quickly shut the bedroom door just as Evil Z charges for my toes. I hear a small thump and tiny yelp.
Handing my phone to Lana, I say loudly, “Here you go, cuz. I can’t believe you almost left without it.”
“Sorry.” Lana takes my phone and stacks it underneath hers. “I’m not feeling myself today.” She laughs at her own joke.
“So not funny.” I wave the pom-pom key chain in the air and sprint outside. “I call driver!”
I expect Lana to move slow in the high heels, but when I turn back at the walkway she’s right behind me. We both dash for the car and reach for the driver’s door together. I give the keys a shake. “I called driver.”
Lana towers over me. “Really, Ricki? You’re going to turn this into a thing? I’ve had my driver’s license longer and have more experience, so—”
I cut her off. “Don’t you remember the big spark? When the random movies started playing?”
“Hmm . . . let me think a second . . . OF COURSE I remember,” Lana scoffs. “That had to be the moment our switch began.”
“Exactly.” I smile at her. “So maybe we should, you know, sit on the sides where we were? Try grabbing the wheel again?”
“Good idea,” Lana says as she gestures for me to walk around to the passenger side.
“Actually,” I say, “I was in the driver’s seat at the time, so . . . ?”
I wait.
Lana doesn’t move so I gesture with a nod to the passenger seat. I have to point my head so hard I can feel the fake pus on my cheek trickle slightly toward my jaw.
Finally, she rolls her eyes, hands me my phone, and stomps around to the passenger door like a surly toddler forced to go to her room.
I climb in the driver’s side and Lana slides all the way in close. When we’re both in position I count down slowly, “Three. Two. One,” and the two of us reach for the steering wheel at the same time. And . . .
Nothing happens.
I try to imagine the weight in my chest being released out into the open air as I turn the key, but there’s no breakthrough of relief as the engine rumbles to life. In fact, I’ve never felt so trapped.
I put the Skylark into gear. “Hopefully Aunt May can help us.”
Lana slides to the passenger side as we roar away from the curb and says, “Well, at least we’re road tripping in style.”
“Right,” I say. “Tripping in style.”
The Skylark picks up speed, and the fresh air kneads at us.
Finally, Lana flings her arms wide and stands so she’s hugging the wind that wildly whips her now-dark curls. She calls out, “I may be crazy, but I feel so free!”
“Well, I feel like I’ve had something sitting on my chest ever since I woke up this morning.”
Lana sits back down and looks at me. “Is it like an invisible crushing that makes it so hard to breathe that you feel like you might suffocate on just plain air?”
“Why?” I ask. “Have you felt it before?”
“No. No reason.” Lana reaches for the radio dial and turns up the music. “Maybe a little car dancing will help you feel less anxious.”
She makes twisting arm motions to the beat of the song she’s put on. Turning to me, she unsticks a clump of her hair from the thick glamour makeup layered on her face. “Car dance!!”
Lana gleefully moves to the music, and I think about the heavy weight I’ve inherited. She definitely knew what I was talking about. I can’t imagine what it could mean, but I do think my mom’s theory may be right about our bodies manifesting tension as we hold on to stress.
And I suspect Aunt April’s firing isn’t the only secret Lana is holding back.
As Lana’s front seat rave continues, a Volkswagen SUV filled with cute guys approaches us on the passenger side. Lana flirtatiously shimmies her shoulders in their direction and the young men woot and cheer in a way that surprises me, since I’ve never in my life been “wooted” at by a carload of boys.
Lana eats up the attention until we stop at a light and I put the car in park so I can lunge all the way across the car to her side. I stretch past her, grasping at the air and reaching for the guys with zombie hands.
I call out, “Brains!! Braaaaiiiins!” and the boys immediately stop flirting and speed off ahead of us.
Rubbing at the pressure in my chest as I slide back to my seat, I shift back into drive and turn the music to an indie rock song that better matches my mood. “While you’re me, you might want to try staying in character,” I say. “I would never flirt with strangers that way.”
Lana crosses her arms and makes a pouty face. “Fine. Now I’m you.”
“Yeah. That’s the problem,” I say, and gun the motor, speeding faster toward Aunt May’s yurt.
chapter 11
In case you don’t know what the heck a yurt is, it’s basically a round tent serving as a living space, that’s big enough to fit a bed, a couch, and an entire kitchen, but is in no way designed to house three wolf dogs.
We can hear the dogs barking before we even pull up to Aunt May’s, but her pickup is nowhere in sight. I park the Skylark on the front section of lawn that serves as a driveway and cut the engine.
“I guess she’s not here,” Lana says. “But doesn’t she usually bring her dogs everywhere with her? She’s like your mom that way.”
“Yes, because carrying Zelda, the evil purse dog, is exactly the same as running errands with three wild wolf dogs.”
Lana laughs. “I guess Aunt May’s wolves aren’t welcomed everywhere.”
“Hardly fair since they’re so much friendlier than that cranky Chihuahua will ever be.” I step out of the car and make my way toward the yurt.
Lana dials her phone as she follows me. “Aunt May could be at the supermarket, or the doctor’s, or basically anyplace you’re not allowed to have wolf dogs.”
“It’s safe to assume she didn’t leave them to go hiking in the woods by herself.”
I see the indents of fist-sized paws punching the tent walls as we approach. As if the three of them want to claw through the canvas to give us giant big-dog hugs.
Lana hangs up her phone. “Still going straight to Aunt May’s voice mail.”
We both call out “Hello!” and knock on the wood door frame, which only makes the dogs go completely nuts and bash the tent harder.
I pat the soft outer wall. “It’s okay, puppies! It’s just us.”
Lana reaches for the door handle.
“No, no, no . . .” I say, but it’s too late. She is immediately knocked down by a massive collection of hair and paws and wet noses that sniff and huff and lick her face all over.
“Ugh, dog slobber,” Lana wails while using both hands to push away the overwhelming degree of affection. One of the pups calmly walks over to me, places his head underneath my hand, and sits at my feet.
While struggling to dodge canine kisses, Lana blurts out, “I was just testing the handle! Ugh—I thought it—mph—would be locked.”
“Ha! I guess Aunt May trusts her place is secure.”
“She is not wrong.” Lana laughs.
I help lift my cousin up off the ground and the dogs run to the convertible to inspect it as if they’re the pit crew.
“Maybe they can feel it’s magic,” Lana says.
One of them lifts his leg and pees on the back tire.
“Yup. Magical,” I say. “Come on, let’s look around. Maybe we can figure out who Aunt May bought the car from.”
Lana reaches up and touches her face. “I hope dog slobber doesn’t make your skin break out.”
Aunt May’s yurt is warm inside and smells of spices and dirt. The sun s
hines through the window and onto a large dreamcatcher hanging from the center ceiling beam. The only thing it seems to be catching successfully is dog hair.
Lana walks over to the desk against one angled canvas wall and starts rifling through the uneven papers piled high on top of it.
I kneel in front of the long, low bookcase that’s bursting at the seams with books. Most of the titles are related to either self-help, peace of mind, or dog training.
“I guess Aunt May never heard of feng shui,” Lana says as she adjusts a huge stack of papers threatening to topple.
“Oh, she’s heard of it,” I say, pointing. “In fact, she has four books devoted to it right here. They’re all covered in dust.” I pick up a fat volume titled Declutter Now! and blow a cloud in Lana’s direction.
Lana giggles, and the dogs come running back inside to see what’s so funny. One immediately recommences giving her a slobber makeover while the other two take turns leaping up to gently nibble at my phony wounds.
We both squeal and fight them off, which only makes them more determined to prove their love to us.
“Ack.” Lana lunges over one of the dogs and she and I go back-to-back to ward them off more effectively. It’s a trick we developed years ago when the wolf dogs first reached maturity, and as Aunt May would say, “The babies give big cuddles!”
Lana reaches down and grabs a large book off the shelf. Holding it in both hands, she uses it to block one of the dogs and says, “Is this how these dog training guides work?”
“Actually, Aunt May taught me a little trick the last time I came by.”
Seizing the closest dog, I firmly take one of his ears in my hand and start massaging it. The dog immediately sits, tilts his whole head toward my hand, and gives a groan.
“What are you doing, hypnotizing him?” Lana asks.
“Just forcing him to relax,” I explain, and she immediately begins massaging all the dogs’ ears one after another. Soon the pups are well-behaved putty in our hands, moaning and writhing on the ground.
Lana laughs. “I didn’t realize you still came out here to visit Aunt May.”
“Yeah, some of us didn’t get too busy for family,” I say.
“I didn’t get too busy for family,” Lana says. “I just . . . Hey, what’s that?” She points to the bookshelf, where a faded red leather volume is partially visible behind the space left by the dog training book. “It looks like a diary!”
Pulling out the thick journal, she brushes a layer of dust off the front, revealing it’s embossed with a drawing of silver kissy lips.
“That is none of our business.” I take the diary from her hands.
Lana immediately snatches it back from me. “This might hold some answers for us.”
She opens it and starts running her finger down the page, her brown eyes darting quickly until I grab the book back again.
“If Aunt May wanted people to read her diary, she wouldn’t have hidden it in the back of her bookshelf.”
Lana grabs one end of the journal and pulls with all her might. I won’t let go until she drags me toward her and gives me a hip check that knocks me down flat.
The wolf dogs immediately come over to inspect me as if they’re now an EMT squad.
“Whoops.” Lana snickers. “I didn’t realize a set of hips could be weaponized.”
“I miss my hips!” I wail. “Fine, just take a quick look.”
Opening the diary, Lana scans the page a moment before reading aloud, “We won Star Search!”
“What? Let me see that.”
Lana holds the thick book between us. The wolves act as if they’re reading over our shoulders as we scan pages of notes detailing dance moves and sketches of ripped fishnets and big 80s teased-out hair.
Lana says, “Here’s an oath, vowing to practice every day after school, and it’s signed April, May, and June.”
“It looks like they entered a local talent competition.” I turn the page, whispering, “Please have a photo . . .”
Sure enough, taped in the center of the next page is a blurry Polaroid of all three sisters rocking out like big-haired 80s pop stars. The lyrics to “Love Is a Battlefield” are scrawled underneath in black Sharpie.
Lana looks at me. “They lip-synched a Pat Benatar song—in public!”
“And they must’ve been amazing!” I point to the gold-embossed first place ribbon tucked into the diary’s page crease.
We both squint at the photo, but the idea of our aunt and moms punching lace-covered fists into the air in time to music fails to develop.
I turn the page and find a double-page spread of colorful stickers. “Well, this book serves as a nice eighties time capsule, but it’s pretty useless. Let’s put it back.”
“Authentic vintage scratch and sniff!” Lana squeals. “I need to do a video of these stickers for my channel.”
“I don’t think our moms and Aunt May would appreciate you making their diary public.”
“I’m just making a scan of the sticker page for my story,” Lana says as she pulls out her phone and starts filming. “I haven’t posted anything all day.”
She points a finger at one of the “grape” stickers like she’s about to scratch it. Then she sees her short, stubby nail and says, “Oh, right. Can you come over here and scratch this sticker for the camera really quick?”
I point to the analog clock on Aunt May’s bookcase. “Lana,” I snap. “You’re supposed to leave for Digifest in seven hours and we still have an hour and a half drive back to Fresno.”
She makes a sad face as she slowly raises the open page of stickers so it’s right in front of her nose. She sniffs loudly and brightens. “Still grapey!”
Aiming her phone at the page, she draws it across, careful to keep her hands out of the frame as she captures each colorful row of stickers.
“Could you please just put that stupid phone away and help me look for clues,” I say. “Maybe the bill of sale for the Skylark, or at least a receipt for the pom-pom key chain.”
“I think it came from Claire’s,” Lana says. “Hang on . . .” She checks her phone.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I grumble.
“Oh no!” Lana wails. “Erik is trying to FaceTime me. What am I going to do?”
“You’re going to ignore that call, help me clean up all these books, and get out of here so we can figure out how to fix this switch. I am not missing opening night at the Starlight so I can pretend to be you, singing badly on some stage . . .”
Without warning, Lana swipes her phone to answer it. “Hi, Erik,” she says with a giant grin on my face.
“Um, hello?” The confused voice comes from the speaker on her phone.
Lana grins. “I’m Lana’s cousin, Ricki.”
“Hello, Ricki,” he says. “You’ve got something on your face there.”
The wolf dogs have succeeded in spreading Lana’s bloody lips over most of the lower half of her face. Lana can see this on her phone’s screen but pretends to dab at one tiny corner. “Here? Did I get it?”
“Nope.” Erik laughs and gestures to his chin as if stroking an imaginary beard. “It’s a little more . . . all over.” She wipes a tiny bit more and he says, “A little to your left . . .” and the two of them go back and forth flirting like that until I clear my throat.
Lana turns her phone to face me and the screen shows a handsome boy with a flop of blond hair.
His pained expression changes to happiness at seeing my face. That is, Lana’s face.
“Zombie. Nice,” Erik says. “I can’t believe you let your cousin answer your phone. Quite the kidder she is.”
Lana aims the phone back at herself. “Look who’s talking,” she says. “I know all about your epic pranks.” She hands me the phone. “Here, I need to find a sink to wash my face.”
“I think that’s the kitchen area,” I say, gesturing to the pile of dishes that hopefully signify a sink buried underneath.
“Where are you right now?” E
rik asks me. “Did you forget we’re doing a livestream together today at noon?”
“OhmyGee,” Lana says from the kitchen, “I did forget.”
“Ricki? Is that you?” Erik sounds confused.
I turn the screen toward Lana again. She’s leaning over the pile of dishes and wetting a paper towel. She calls out, “I mean, I was supposed to remind Lana about the livestream.”
“Yeah,” I say, turning the phone back toward myself. “She forgot to remind me. We’ve had a lot going on this morning.”
“Truth!” Lana shouts.
“Well, you’d better head over here,” Erik says. “We’re scheduled to go live in a half hour.” He lowers his voice and asks me, “Did you catch the new post from Her Highness? She’s ruthless.”
“Who’s Her Highness?” I ask.
Erik grins. “That’s the right attitude. Don’t let her get in your head.”
Lana calls from across the yurt, “We can be at your studio in about an hour and a half to film. Let your followers know we’ll be an hour late! Sorry.”
I think fast. “Wait a second, Erik,” I say. “What do you think of us meeting at the Starlight Drive-in over on Route Eight so we can do our streaming from there?”
I wink at Lana, and she narrows her eyes at me.
“I can grab my portable setup, no problem,” Erik says. “What are you planning?”
“Yeah, Lana,” Lana says. “What’re you planning, cuz?”
Cheerfully, I say, “You’ll see!” I look at Erik on the phone. “Meet us at the concession stand at the Starlight at one o’clock.”
As soon as I hang up Lana snaps, “What the heck are you doing?”
“What? Was I supposed to blow him a kiss goodbye?”
“Not that,” she says. “The drive-in. Are you still really that desperate to win the convertible for the reopening tonight?”
“Seriously,” I say. “You do not let things go, do you?”
“You’re the one who just manipulated things to get the Skylark back to the Starlight.”
I say, “I’m hoping that taking the car back to the drive-in will shake something loose in the stratosphere or something.”
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