Little Beasts
Page 3
“Let’s let Spybot lead the way,” said Dallas, stepping aside.
The dog led them back up the hill as Dallas guarded the rear of their small platoon. Spybot plowed through the sticker bushes without giving a thought to the person he was pulling behind him. He leaped over small logs and scurried under thick beds of thorns without a single stem touching him. He rounded trees and made trails of his own until he reached the top of the hill. James was dragged through it all mercilessly, thorns whipping across his face. He tripped over a fallen limb, smacked his head into a tree, and stepped into a hole.
At the hilltop, James tied the dog’s rope to an old stump and sat down to catch his breath. The other two quickly joined him. James was just about done with being Luke Skywalker.
The interruption of the game, and wrestling with Spybot, had taken some of the fantasy out of them all. James could see it on their faces. The top of the hill leveled off at the sandy shoulder of River Drive, where James and Dallas lived. Dallas looked up at the old utility pole, where the men had come to clip the wires. He reached down and grabbed two short pieces of purple and white wire. Twisting the two together, he quickly formed a small man—a loop representing his head and the stray ends for his arms and legs. Then he wound the leftover wire tightly around the middle section for his torso. He handed it to James, who smiled and tucked it into his pocket.
“A little man right next to your little man,” Dallas said, laughing. “Let’s cross the street and cut through my backyard for a soda at Nino’s.”
James rose to his feet and untied the rope from the stump. Felix straightened up from his Chewbacca pose. The boys spilled out of the woods and looked both ways. Dallas and Felix ran across River Drive and hopped Dallas’s front fence. James dropped the leash and left Spybot to fend for himself. The dog paced back and forth looking for a way to join the boys, and eventually leaped over the chain-link fence, racing ahead of them through Dallas’s backyard.
One corner of the fence had been squeezed through so many times that there was a wide opening for Spybot and the boys to slip through into another section of woods. A trail led to Mayflower Avenue. Across the narrow street, the trail snaked between Zambrini’s Brick and Masonry Yard and Tommy Means’s house.
Tommy was gone. Left with his parents when they were evicted. The boxes of belongings remained in a pile at the edge of the street like a graveyard of animal bones. The back of the masonry yard was a thick sand trap that stretched almost the length of a football field. A faint path picked up again on the far side and led to another fence. Through the hole in that one, the boys could reach the parking lot between Nino’s Deli and Zambrini’s.
These were the side trails, the back ways, the hidden alleys. Adults were forced to stick with the main roads to get where the boys could go in a matter of minutes. As a test one day, James had set out for Nino’s at the exact same time his father got behind the wheel of his truck and headed to the same place for a six-pack. James was sitting there waiting for his dad when he finally stumbled up to the entrance. His father fixed his blurry eyes on him and sent him home to his mother with a parting swat across the top of his head.
The boys ambled across Zambrini’s sandy lot. James had regained his grip on Spybot’s makeshift leash. Felix’s shoelaces had come undone and flopped around his feet. He was still laughing and marveling over the way Dallas had caught the dog. The boys knew Dallas was lightning fast, faster than either of them by far. But to catch a dog was remarkable.
As they neared the entrance to the small path, all three boys instinctively grew silent. They spotted three teenagers sitting on the concrete bumpers bolted to the parking lot. The teenagers noticed them immediately. One was smoking a cigarette. He stood up and dropped it to the ground.
“That’s those kids Matthew and Nick,” Felix mumbled. “The kids who work in the video store by the library. They’re jerks; one time they chased Tommy Means all the way—”
“Shh,” Dallas whispered. “Be cool about it.”
A small airplane roared overhead, just yards above the treetops. The boys looked up at its white underbelly as it soared north toward the small airport just outside of town.
They stepped through the hole in the fence and came out of the shade, into the burning sun. Felix tried to avoid eye contact, something his older brother Bob had taught him to do whenever he found himself outnumbered or outsized. James, however, glanced up at the boy who wasn’t smoking. The teenager glared back at him and then down at the dog tied to the rope. Dallas quickened his pace, feeling all six eyes burning into his scalp; the heat of the day turned cold.
James tried to smile but he could no more feel the muscles in his face than the rope in his hand as Spybot strained ahead, unimpressed. When they reached the corner of Nino’s store, it occurred to all three at once that the teenagers were only staring the way everyone did in Turnbull. They’d said nothing. Made no sudden moves. A collective exhale gave way to the joy of soda and snacks that awaited them inside.
CHAPTER THREE
FIFTEEN-YEAR-OLD DAVID WESTWOOD kicked an empty soda bottle across Nino’s parking lot, stupidly tough. One hand jammed into his jeans pocket as he watched the bottle dance across the cracks in the lot and spin like a ballerina. It tipped over, rolled off the edge of the lot, and came to a soft rest in the grass. If he kicked it again, it would do something different. David knew this. A third time would produce a new result—the random outcome of an object put in motion by an outside force. What would it take to get an action to produce the same result every time? he wondered. A team of gods, working around the clock. He stood away from his friends, ignoring their conversation.
“She’s waiting for you to say something to her,” Nick Darcy said as he smoked his cigarette and swiped hair from his face. Beneath the shaggy, unkempt mop of brown peered a narrow set of eyes, set deeply into a hooded, distinguished-looking brow. Nick had taken it upon himself to speak for Rachel Saint James, the head of the yearbook committee.
“You’re full of it,” Matthew Milton replied.
“I swear to God, I would never mess with you like that.”
“What am I supposed to do, go ask her about my picture?” He took a drag from his cigarette.
“Yeah, go tell her that you want to make sure it’s the one your mother picked out.”
Matthew made an instant frown. “No way. I’ll sound like a spaz.”
“Or whatever . . . just go talk to her. Ask her out for a cup of coffee.”
“Never,” Matthew protested, though beginning to believe him. “Coffee’s cheap,” he added.
“An insult,” David Westwood suddenly interrupted. He was facing away from them, looking at the corner of the building where the three kids and their dog had just disappeared. He glanced now at Nick and Matthew. “On the island of Triobrand it’s customary for a man to bite off the eyelashes of a woman he’s trying to court. To take her out to dinner or coffee is considered an insult.”
“Don’t bite her eyelashes, dude,” Nick said to Matthew. He made a face, even though he was secretly impressed by David’s random knowledge. They’d both heard these kinds of things from David before. His calling card or something.
“What’s the problem today, freshman?” asked Matthew, his brow loosening, revealing the chubby mirth that always lurked behind his brown eyes. Matthew always made it a point of reminding David that he was a year younger than him and Nick.
David held up a defiant middle finger. Nick laughed through his nose.
“Davey’s in a mood because he didn’t get a phone call from his little Julia,” Nick said.
“Oh, we’re back at this again?” said Matthew. “The missus not treating you right?”
David turned away and looked for something else to kick across the parking lot. He got defensive when his friends made fun of his love for Julia Dawson. They hadn’t the slightest idea what she did for him. Didn’t know the murmurs of fear and doubt that filled his head—that voice which seemed always to ch
ant, You’re ugly. A no-talent. You’ll always be poor, no one will ever love you. A voice her smile could silence. Didn’t know how much she inspired his paintings, those lonely moments at the canvas, when his mind would search for some kind of focus. They hadn’t walked in the wake of her perfume and felt dizzy in its scent—hadn’t wanted to be the person he wanted to be when he was around her. They were not complete, not at ease inside their own skin, the way he felt when he listened to her violin practice. Watched the instrument jump to life beneath her chin, while her long, slender fingers worked the fingerboard. They didn’t understand the small indent where the instrument met her collarbone, and how this soft nook cradled all the things he’d ever felt. Just as they could never understand his torment when she became mischievous and whimsical, brushing aside his company whenever she felt like it. The two of them would never know the hardness of her cruelty. So much so that David privately wished they’d never get girlfriends. Never suffer the way he did, her name bobbing like an apple in the turbulent ocean of the day’s thoughts. I should get dressed . . . Julia. I wonder what’s on TV tonight . . . Julia. If Mom and Dad can’t pay the oil bill, I’ll need another blanket in the studio . . . Julia. Matthew and Nick are lucky, he told himself. They don’t know what love is. David breathed deeply. His friends laughed and changed the subject.
“Check it out,” said Matthew, nudging David’s shoulder with a fist. “Tomorrow Darryl Knight’s having a party. His mom’s actually supplying the beer.”
“Nice,” David replied, “another thing to help us forget we’re actually alive.” Julia. He wondered if she would be there and what she would wear.
“Heyyy!” a voice boomed near the entrance to the parking lot on Turnbull Road. The three boys turned and saw Darryl Knight heading toward them. The large varsity offensive lineman’s arms were stretched open, a wide smile smeared across his face. Darryl had sweat rings under the arms of his T-shirt, and his hairline was damp.
Matthew’s face lit up. “Speak of the devil!” he shouted, heading toward him. The two embraced for a second and backed off. Nick followed suit, but David kept his distance, giving Darryl the military salute.
“You talking nonsense about me, Matty?” asked Darryl, holding his smile. “You coming to my house tomorrow night or what?”
“Absolutely, are you kidding?”
“Bring these two losers with you.”
Nick and David looked at him to make sure he was kidding. He was.
“Don’t bring beer, my mom’s taking care of it,” Darryl added.
“We heard,” Nick said.
“Nothing. You heard nothing, got that?” Darryl was suddenly serious, pointing a finger at him. Nick nodded. “Get there around six or seven, and get rides so you can crash if you need to.”
“No way, Darryl,” replied Nick, “I’ve heard things about your mom. I’m trying to keep my virginity, you know.”
“Keeping your virginity’s easy for you, try keeping your head attached to your shoulders.” Darryl took a couple of mock swings at Nick, who smacked wildly at the air in defense.
A car pulled into the parking lot, and the four boys wheeled around. Through the window, David could see the long-haired heads of two girls. One of them was Julia. She stepped out of the passenger seat and waved. She gave David an extra look, with a tight grin, before she closed the door and disappeared around the corner and into the store.
The other girl got out. It was Krystal Richards. An incoming junior, and one of the front runners for junior homecoming queen. Krystal was a track star, and an honor student, acquainted with the boys from their long sessions of tutoring in math and social studies. Her hair was the color of vanilla ice cream, and she wore it back away from her face in a loose ponytail. Large blue eyes like a robin’s egg framed by long, blinking lashes and a round, pouting face. She looked like one of the surfer girls that graced the magazines on the racks at Nino’s. Lips pursed, or smiling out from behind the surfboard. Didn’t matter.
Krystal was the most popular tutor in school and the administration loved her. They were convinced she was destined to become a great teacher. It would seem the administration would have caught on that all her students were boys, foaming inside their heads and dreaming about her when they hit the pillow, but for some reason they thought it was her teaching methods. Krystal had no reason to get out of the car, but she did, and leaned against the door, her long muscular legs bronzed and smooth, extending from her short shorts. Her legs told the whole story, a symbol of her determination, like when she took a stumble in the 440 sprint event, got back to her feet, and managed to pull out in front of all the other girls just before the finish line.
“Another exciting day in Turnbull,” she said.
Darryl looked her up and down. “Town ain’t so bad,” he said. “Just got a lot more exciting.”
“Hey, David!” called Krystal, as if Darryl and the other two boys didn’t exist. David nodded at her. “When are you going to take some pre-sophomore lessons with me, huh?” She swung her left knee from side to side.
David started walking toward her, but turned to follow after Julia. “When I become as stupid as these guys,” he said, and disappeared around the corner.
His mind swam. He didn’t know how to interpret Julia’s little grin. He wasn’t sure what she was doing, brushing him off and heading into the deli. Was she saying something without saying anything? He walked up to the door and leaned against the wall. Waited for Julia to come out.
She stepped out carrying a Coke bottle in each hand, and stopped short when she saw him.
“Hey,” she said, brushing her black hair away from her face with three fingers while the other two gripped a bottle. Her nails were bitten to the quick, a habit she’d formed in middle school, when she still had braces and worried over everything. She had a small, upturned nose that drew attention to perfectly round, deep blue eyes. Like the sea, David always thought, and when he looked into them, they always seemed ancient, and tragic. Her head was held high by a long white neck, smooth but muscular—so that whenever she threw her head back to laugh, she revealed the ribbed tube of her throat. And her laugh. David could sit for a moment in the noisiest of places and still conjure her laugh. It both maddened him and filled his heart with lust, to see those straight rows of teeth gleaming white beneath her red lips.
“You know, it’s been scientifically proven that Canadian porcupines actually kiss on the lips,” he said.
Julia seemed to sense something was on his mind.
“Why haven’t I heard from you today?” David asked, looking at the ground.
“I was out with my dad all morning. He wanted me to run some errands with him.”
David shook his head. “Why are you always spending time with him when you could be talking to me? Does he do it deliberately to keep us apart?”
“I doubt it,” she said, frowning.
“I know, because you don’t see it, but I do. You’re too close to the whole thing to see what’s really happening. He’s trying to hold you back. That’s why you have to make sure you keep me around him, so he doesn’t think I don’t matter to you.”
“He doesn’t even know about you, David.”
“See what I mean?”
“I’m not even supposed to be dating anyone; he’d kill me if he knew about you. What’s the big deal if I don’t call you every day?”
“Because that’s not us, Julia. I feel like I’m speaking to your dad right now, it’s like he’s taken over your mind.”
“You don’t even know my dad,” Julia protested as she began to walk away from him.
“I know his type. He’s like all the other fathers in the world.”
“You’re being a silly boy,” she said, and laughed. “And I have to go. I’ll call you when I call you.” She smiled that awful, cruel, and beautiful smile, and got back into Krystal’s car. The passenger window was open. David stormed after her.
“I’ll call you tonight, so be up,” he said.
“Bye, David,” she said, wriggling her fingers at him. He ignored her and walked around the hood of the reversing car to rejoin his friends. Darryl was still there, following Krystal’s car with his eyes, until it disappeared up Turnbull Road. He turned back to David.
“What’s your story? I’m telling you, we work overtime on that girl. Talk her up, take lessons with her. You just stand there and she’s panting all over you. Son of a bitch looks like somebody just kicked him in the balls too. I should have your problems, Red.” Darryl turned to Matthew. “He should tell Julia, Listen, your friend is hotter, give me a pass here.”
“She’s a troll, Darryl, you can have her,” David replied. He wandered toward the hole in the fence and kicked a large stone across the ground and into the woods. Red. That stupid nickname. His mood was mounting, he could feel it. It was that old feeling. Julia used to make it go away. Now she was making it return. He wanted to do something that even screaming, punching, and kicking could not satisfy.
“What are you guys doing? Go home to your fadders,” David heard Nick shout behind him in a jovial mock-Italian accent. He wheeled around and noticed the three little kids heading toward him. The one with the dog was holding a brown paper bag.
“Lunch money. Gimme your lunch money!” Matthew demanded and grinned wildly.
“Nick, I’ll put twenty dollars down, says that little one with the dog kicks your ass,” Darryl challenged. David could see from the kids’ faces they weren’t getting the jokes.