I’m on my knees in the woodchips, trying to make sense of the Penny messages. Josh steps over to me. “May I speak now?” I nod. “What?” he prods.
“That was Penny. She was at an airport. I mean, I assume because she said she’s flying out in a few minutes. But she didn’t say to where. I wish I was a better listener. I mean, not like I care normally, but this time…We would have a lead!” Josh snickers at my detective-speak. “Work with me here. I know she has cousins in L.A. that she was kind of close to as a kid. And she once told me her mom has a sister in Austin, but they never speak. But that Portland guy…She seemed to really dig him.”
“Enough to fly away into his arms?” Josh considers.
“Maybe.” I’m stumped. “She said she doesn’t have her cell phone and made me promise not to tell anyone where she’s going. Which shouldn’t be hard since I don’t have a solid idea myself.”
“So you’re not going to tell anyone what you don’t know.”
“I don’t think I’d tell anyone if I did know anything.”
“But you kind of know something.” This circular conversation is making my head spin. “You know she’s going wherever she’s going and you know she doesn’t want anyone to know that.”
“Right. What?” I feel exhausted by the brain over-exertion when my phone rings. “Maybe that’s her,” I gasp and fumble with the answer button before I get a look at the caller ID. “Hello?” I anticipate a hushed Penny on the other end. But it’s not Penny.
“Lillian? This is Mrs. Nelson.” Penny’s mom. Something about her voice makes me look around, as if she’s somewhere nearby, watching. She doesn’t sound like the old film diva that I expected, but more like a tired housewife. “I’m looking for Penny,” she says, continuing when I don’t reply. “I don’t know if I should be worried, but I checked her room to see if maybe she was just sleeping in, and her clothes were everywhere. Maybe that’s just how messy she always is and I never noticed. I’m probably just worrying for nothing.” That hits me right in the gut. Her mom is already worrying. And she thinks it’s for nothing. But it really is for something. That must be that whole mother’s intuition thing.
“Do you know where Penny is?” she asks. I try to remind myself of Penny’s plea, and I convince myself that everything I do from now on is in Penny’s best interest. Remember the Hummer? QVC? The babysitting for a mom who should just be there? I ask myself.
“Um, sorry, no,” I finally manage to answer. Can she tell I’m lying with her mother’s intuition? Am I even really lying? I don’t know where she is at this moment. Not a lie.
“Oh, OK. Do you think she’s with Gavin?” She doesn’t wait for my answer. “She doesn’t want us to call her when she’s with him, so I don’t even know his number. Do you have it?”
“No, I don’t, sorry. We’re not really friends.” I wonder if she can detect the disdain in my voice.
She doesn’t let on, but sounds distracted. “Well, when you see her, can you have her call me?” When I see her? Does she think I’m in on this? That I know where to find her? I’m worked up when I realize she just means that I’ll probably see Penny before she does, since, well, she doesn’t really see Penny.
I nod at the phone before I manage a “No problem.” We say goodbye and hang up.
Josh is looking down at me, waiting for the story. I stare at nothing. “Penny’s mom. Looking for Penny. Don’t know where she is, Mrs. Nelson. I’ll let you know if I see her, Mrs. Nelson.” Josh extends his hand to help me off the ground. I brush woodchips off my knees and note the blemished pattern they left on my legs. Still holding Josh’s hand, I say, “We’re accessories, you know.”
“What? Have you been watching Law and Order marathons again?” He squeezes my hand and says assuringly, “Lil, how can we be accessories? As far as her parents know, nothing is even going on. And we don’t really know anything anyway. You’re making a big deal out of nothing. It’ll blow over while we eat our pancakes. No worries.”
We walk over, hand in hand, to Josh’s car, a surprisingly old and beat-up Chevy Eurosport, boxy and white with slick red and black trim on the sides. His dad has offered to buy him something newer and nicer, but Josh doesn’t think he’d look right in a new car. Of course his dad paid for this one, too, but Josh’s excuse is that he saved him money. I’m just glad one of us has a car so we can go places other than the local jungle gym.
I slide onto the velvety blue seat, chewing the inside of my mouth nervously. Josh starts the car, and the engine roars like a sports car. He turns to me, puts his hand on my shoulder, and looks into my eyes. “No worries. Right, Lil?”
I’m not so sure.
CHAPTER FIVE
Josh and I are finishing up our Festival of Grease (apple pancakes, chocolate chippies, turkey sausage, hash browns, home fries, and coffee). Breakfast convo consists mostly of Josh selecting the fantasy-tour lineup for his hypothetical band situation this fall. I nod a lot, slurp my coffee, and try to look like I’m listening. “…And that’s when I stuck my foot up that tiger’s butt,” I hear Josh punctuate a sentence.
“Wait, what?” I shake my head, confused.
“Yeah, not listening.” He sips his coffee and looks away, faux offended. He’s wearing one of my favorite T-shirts (forced to put on after the perky hostess politely flirted with him but before the gelatinous manager kicked him out for the no-shirt issue), a Bob Dylan concert T of his dad’s, complete with genuine holes and fading from years of love and wear. No Urban Outfitters imposter here. I love how the frayage on the neck highlights his Adam’s apple and the barely there sprouts of chest hair that make him mannish enough, but not old man furry. What am I going on about?
I break my thought pattern by stuffing the last bite of apple pancake into my mouth, fully aware that my shorts are already screaming against my loaded stomach. I groan. “Must. Get. Up. Stomach about to connect with booth…”
Josh and I stand up to leave, and he drops some cash on the table for the check and tip. I used to think when Josh paid it was something of a date, but not after I watched him pay for everyone else he has ever eaten with. “Thanks for the grub, Dad,” I say. Josh wraps his arm around my shoulder, something he does often and not in any way that means anything but good friends, and we walk into the summer warmth.
“What do you wanna do?” I ask, sliding on my gigantic brown sunglasses. Josh and I made a decision a while back when a lot of our friends were “borrowing” designer sunglasses from the mall that we should only purchase our sunglasses from drugstores, thus ensuring that they will always be just a little out of style, but consistently hilarious. Josh’s are what we refer to as “dick shades,” alluding to the fact that they could be detective/cop sunglasses, but more because they look like something a dick would wear. I check out my reflection in his big, square, silver lenses.
“Why don’t we go for a drive?” he suggests. I love being with Josh in the car. Sometimes we drive for hours, going to towns far away just to check out the snack array in their gas stations. Other times we drive nowhere all day, just to watch the town move around. And sometimes we just park and talk. Magic always happens in his car. Well, not that kind of magic. At least not with me. And I refuse to prod about any of his past girlfriends, particularly because I know all of them. I don’t ask, and he don’t tell.
As we drive around, I feel antsy. Something isn’t sitting quite right. Maybe it’s the chocolate chippy/double potato combo. Or maybe it’s the fact that, as much as I love the freedom I have declared for summer, there’s still the loom-age of college in the back of my mind. But, really, I’m thinking about Penny.
“I feel like a turdball from outer space,” I announce.
Josh turns down the radio, some college station playing obscure and unpleasant ambient noise that Josh thinks is music. “Don’t. You made a promise to Penny. That’s very commendable in this day and age.” Josh must also have Penny on the brain, since he knew what I was thinking about without explanation. Great m
inds.
“As opposed to another day and age, oh wise one?”
“I’m just saying that she didn’t have to trust you and you didn’t have to be trustworthy, but you chose to be and that’s really cool. I totally respect you for that. Among other things.”
“Really?” Compliments are supposed to be warm and fuzzy, but there’s no need for my cheeks to feel so heated. Josh’s smoothness always catches me off guard. Perhaps it’s the fact that he actually causes a complete physical reaction, something I can’t hide. But back to the matter at hand. “I don’t know what else I could have done. Why would I tell her parents if I knew anything anyway? The only reason they give a crap about Penny is because they’re out one babysitter. I’m sure they’ll forget all about her once they find a replacement.”
“A replacement daughter?” Josh laughs.
“You know what I mean. Penny told me that for her sixteenth birthday, her parents gave her a brand-new Honda Civic. She was so stoked until the follow-up gift was a calendar of all of Annabelle’s gymnastic, voice, and piano lessons. She’s like Annabelle’s personal chauffeur. Hey—speaking of, I wonder if she took her car to the airport.” Then they could just find her car, and I’m off the hook, I hope.
“Let’s do a drive-by.” Josh knows the way to Penny’s because he’s dropped me off for numerous consolation occasions. She lives in one of the nicer subdivisions in a house big enough to have a three-car garage and enough pimped-out parent cars to play with that Penny always has to park in the driveway.
We drive for five minutes through the gridded streets, homes perfectly alternating gray, tan, white, gray, tan, white, when we turn down Penny’s street. Already I can see a swarm of cars down the block. As we creep closer, I recognize they’re not just parent cars. There’s a police car there, too. Lights on. Two cops stand on the driveway. I watch her mom and dad and Annabelle, wrapped in the mom’s arms, talking to the police, a man with a mustache (duh) and a woman with a low ponytail. They both wear sunglasses comically similar to Josh’s. Penny’s car is there, and the passenger door is flung open.
“I don’t want them to see us!” I yell.
“Calm down. They won’t see us.” Josh is driving slower than the already-slow twenty-five mph speed limit.
“Dude, accessories, remember? Go faster!” I’m panicked that if they see me, they’ll suspect I know something. Not that I’m chock-full of info, but it’s more than they have. Or more than they think I have.
“Chill. If I go faster, they’ll definitely see me. If I keep going slow, I’ll just look like some nosy neighbor.”
“Just get me out of here.” I want to duck, but they might see that, too. So I just face Josh and pretend to play with the stereo while minimizing the amount of my face they can see. Thank god for my gigantic Walgreen’s sunglasses. “Have we passed them yet?”
“Uh-oh. They’re flagging us down. They want me to stop. What should I do?” Josh asks wildly.
I look up, only to see that we’re already a block and a half away. Josh is smiling a big ol’ cheesy grin. “Turdsicle,” I say, relieved. “What do you think the police were doing there?”
“How do you think she got to the airport?” he counter-asks.
“Do you think they saw us?”
“Do you think the cops got their sunglasses from Walgreen’s, too?”
“Can you please just get me as far away from Penny’s house as possible?”
We drive for a while, and I let the whooshing of the wind competing with the music on the radio drown out my thoughts. The Eurosport has no AC, so open windows are a must. We glide onto the highway, and I relax a little with the speed and distance.
The yellow dashes zip past, and I bite my teeth in between each line, making a clicking rhythm in my brain. We’re going so fast that I can’t keep up, so I quit and allow my eyes to close.
The carb coma kicks in, and I fall asleep for I don’t know how long. I’m jolted awake by the vibrating in my pocket. Damn cell phone. I pull it out and see a phone number, still our area code, that I don’t recognize. “Who is this?” I hold the phone in front of Josh’s face, and he tries to decipher the number while trying to stay in his lane.
“Not sure,” he says. “Just let it go to voicemail.” I let it and wait for the message buzz.
“How long was I out?” I ask.
“About an hour. We’re in Wisconsin now.” Josh laughs.
“We made it across the border,” I joke. “Did I miss the Mars’ Cheese Castle?”
“Nope. We’re just about there.” The Mars’ Cheese Castle is a landmark just over the Illinois-Wisconsin border. It’s actually a major letdown if a castle is what you crave, although cheese fans will not be disappointed. When I was little, I used to believe it was an actual castle built entirely of cheese and inhabited by a glorious cheese-making princess. Josh and I finally stopped there after a day at the Britsol Renaissance Faire last summer, and my cheese fantasy was broken. At least their cheese curds are tasty.
“Shall we stop for some curds?” I ask.
“I gotta whiz,” Josh proclaims.
“Then that’s a yes?”
We pull into the parking lot, which is packed with cheese enthusiasts. Josh heads to the bathroom while I step inside and browse the freezers of cow-shaped cheddar. I purchase a pack of cheese curds, which is kind of like wet cheese nuggets in a bag. I know it doesn’t sound it, but they’re really good. Like concentrated cheese.
If I hadn’t been here already, I might feel the need to peruse the tchotchkes and cheese tidbits, but once you’ve seen the inside of this so-called castle, the cheese curds are all you need. I wait for Josh back at the car. I hop in and see my cell phone on the seat where I must have left it. There’s a message.
I hit the listen button and pray for a message from old man Hoyt. Instead, I get, “Ms. Erlich, this is Sergeant Sundstrom of the Deer Grove police. I’m calling about Penny Nelson….”
Crap.
Waiting outside for Gavin to get out of detention. I need to get home to watch Annabelle, but I don’t want to leave without seeing Gavin. It’s our end-of-the-day ritual. Even if he has detention, I promised to wait at school to say goodbye, one last kiss before we go our separate ways. He won’t come home with me when I babysit, and I won’t go home with him. So I’ll wait.
Lillian and Josh are in the parking lot. I feel like I know them more now. I see them all the time. Even if we don’t actually talk. Now I’m not sure if they’re going out. Maybe they’re just friends. ’Cause I saw him with Zoe Butterman. But maybe that was on the side. Maybe Lil doesn’t know. Maybe I should tell her, and then we’d be friends. Or maybe she’d hate me. So I won’t.
Josh’s hood is open. Smoke coming out. But he doesn’t look mad like that one time that Gavin and I were late for a movie and his car broke down. Ended up busting a window, too, when all was done. Not Josh and Lillian. They’re laughing. Laughing at the smoke and the broken car. So instead, they walk. Holding hands. Maybe they are dating. They look so good together.
I watch them until I can’t see their perfect, tall, beautiful bodies anymore. I watch the spot where they used to be until Gavin grabs my shoulder and spits his gum into the parking lot.
CHAPTER SIX
After I listen to the message, I’m in stun mode. Penny really did it. Did she do it? She must have done it.
“Your face looks weird,” Josh says to me, and I’m too shocked by the message to reply in any sort of annoyed way. “Hello?” he asks, poking my shoulder with his finger.
“We completely underestimated this freak.”
“Which freak? That guy waiting in line for the bathroom with all those packages of cheese curds? I’m glad I was ahead of him. Who knows what he planned to do with those things.”
“No,” I interrupt Josh with a bite. “Don’t speak for a minute. I need to process.” Josh opens his mouth to say something, then reads the seriousness on my face and shuts himself up. “That was a message from th
e police. Apparently, Penny’s purse was found in her car, with her wallet and cell phone inside, although her license was missing. Her car keys were in the ignition and the driver’s door was ajar.”
“The door was a jar? But how can that be?” Josh jokes this pathetic joke we’ve made a million times before, at the absurdity of anyone using the word ajar. I only now used it because the cop did, and it’s pissing me off that Josh is being so goofy about all of this.
“I’m just reporting what the officer said. The police officer? Who called me on my phone?” I emphasize the words to drill it into his brain that police are now calling me to ask where Penny is.
“Wait—the police called you about Penny. So that means that they think…What, exactly?” Josh is more serious, as if he finally recognizes the possible weight of the situation.
“I don’t know if they think anything. He said he was calling to let me know that Penny is missing and that if I have any information I should call him.”
“But why you? Why’d he call you?”
“Because I was the last phone number that Penny called from her cell phone at four thirty in the morning.” I sigh at the idiocy of it all. Not only did Penny seriously make it look like she may have been kidnapped—abducted? I don’t know what to call it, since she’s not technically a kid—by leaving her car, purse, and phone, but she’s implicated me by calling.
“So how do we know she didn’t actually get taken somehow? Like, if you were going to run away, wouldn’t you take your purse? Or at least your phone?” Josh doesn’t seem to get the illogical way Penny’s brain works. Or doesn’t work.
“The whole mad scheme was because she didn’t want people to know where she was going. And, I gotta say, I’m sort of impressed. Leaving her purse, the door open. Very believable. But her license was missing, so isn’t that like a dead giveaway that she took it out? Who kidnaps someone and is, like, ‘I better take their ID in case we need to rent a DVD or something’?” I’m wavering between kind of annoyed and kind of in awe. Annoyed that I’m the keeper of secrets and awed by her follow-through, albeit a shady one. “She’s usually so passive.”
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