by Lindy Zart
Jessie’s jaw juts forward, but he doesn’t reply.
“I thought the first destination was Wisconsin Dells,” Dickie says, his naturally quiet voice loud in the silence.
Jessie slaps the back of my head. “What are you waiting for? Speedy Gonzales us out of Taylor Falls and over to Wisconsin Dells. We’ve got sights to see, mayhem to cause, beer to drink. Girls to kiss,” he says to Catherine.
“Don’t be a dick,” I tell him and start the car. I heave a sigh of relief when it starts up after only a minor rattle.
“Get us out of here before your brother finds out you took his car, you mean?” Hannah twists around in her seat, bringing her hair near my shoulder. Soft locks brush my arm and cause the skin to raise.
Catherine asks, “This isn’t your car?”
“It basically is.”
Hannah faces forward, snorting. “Not even.”
“Even,” Jessie retorts.
These people are more than my friends; they’re my family. Dickie’s leaving for college in New York in August—he’s smart, he can do that. Hannah plans on being trained by an airline company in Kansas to become a stewardess. Jessie doesn’t have plans, other than working full-time at the bowling alley his dad owns, and eventually taking it over. And me—I’ll be staying in town, attending the community college and working at the farm I help out at when needed. If I can stick with college, I might veer toward teaching history in some capacity, but that’s a big if.
“Make sure I’m not around when your dad finds out how much beer you took from the bowling alley,” Hannah comments.
“Why would you be?” The unseen sneer is evident in Jessie’s tone.
“I don’t want to be around either. Your ass is going to be grass,” I add, feeling like a human shield between the two.
“Only if the old man catches me.”
Jessie and I will still hang out in the fall, I’m sure, but Dickie and Hannah will be gone, a thought that causes tightness in my throat and a sick feeling in my guts. This is it, the end of our lives being thought of as intermeshed. We’ll all go our separate ways in two months. Four different lives, four different journeys.
As if knowing my thoughts, Hannah lightly punches my shoulder. She winks when I look at her and I smile. Fiddling with the radio, she finds a station that’s playing ‘Brass in Pocket’ by the Pretenders and turns up the volume. Hannah sings along, nodding her head in time to the beat, gesturing to me and herself at the lyrics. She bumps her shoulder to mine and I laugh as we leave Taylor Falls, Minnesota on our last escapade as a foursome, plus one.
The plan is to make it to Wisconsin Dells, Wisconsin before stopping. We do, and I exhale deeply as the sun burns its hello from the sky. It’s after eight, and I’m starving. My stomach’s been grumbling and pitching for the last hour or so. Dickie’s armpits have taken on their own personal stench over the hours and the open windows are blowing it from one corner of the car to the next. It’s like ping pong body odor, each of us cringing when we get a hit.
“Damn, Dickie, didn’t you put on any pit rub?” Jessie complains as the car slows down and the smell lingers, permeating from Dickie’s side.
“I can’t help it. I have overactive sweat glands. It’s worse when I’m nervous.” Dickie ducks his head, his body squeezed as close to the door as he can get.
“Why are you nervous?” Jessie continues. “Afraid Catherine will decide she wants you instead of me?” An evil smirk outlines his lips.
“Jessie,” Catherine softly admonishes, shooting Dickie an apologetic look. He misses it, his eyes trained to the right.
“Everyone, shut up,” Hannah snaps, sitting up in the seat. “You’re all giving me a headache.”
I feel her gaze on me and glance over. Hannah’s brown eyes are dark with anger, her jaw jutted forward. I give her a look and she sighs, fighting to calm down. She always sticks up for Dickie and knowing that, Jessie picks on him. Jessie seems to get some kind of sick pleasure in making Hannah mad, and it’s easy to do. Look at her wrong and someone is getting an earful of insults.
Jessie’s the antagonist and Hannah’s the protector. Dickie’s the victim and I’m—I’m not sure what I am. The conformist? I frown, not liking the sound of that, or what it implies.
“You can’t blame all your bad moods on headaches. That gets obvious.”
“You’re right, Jessie,” Hannah answers, glaring over her shoulder at him. “I blame you for most of my bad moods. You’re a jerk-face.”
Jessie kisses the air, laughing when she flips him off.
“Is she always angry?” Catherine whispers loudly.
Hannah’s head whips around, mouth posed to spew forth vicious words, at the same time I take a sharp right. The tires squeal and Hannah lands partially on me, her elbow jabbing my bicep. A grunt of discomfort leaves me at the sharp sting. A restaurant, its exterior designed with red and orange checkers, stands before us. Hands on the steering wheel as I put a foot on the brake, I wait for the complaints of the passengers to abate.
“Your driving skills suck,” Hannah grumbles, blowing hair from her face.
“Hey,” I tell her as I put the car in park and kill the engine, moving my eyebrows up and down when she lifts her eyes to mine.
“Hey what?”
“Hey nothing.” I smile.
Hannah’s lips curve in the beginning of a smile and I know the beast has been momentarily tamed. “Hey yourself.”
“Sam’s clearly got skills—he drives like an ass and still gets chick falling all over him.” Jessie opens the door and drops out of the vehicle, Catherine scrambling out behind him. When we’re all out of the car, stretching our legs and breathing fresh air, Jessie carries on with a grin, “Not that he has to drive like an ass to get Hannah to fall all over him. She’ll do that all on her own.”
I frown at Jessie.
He shrugs as he meets my gaze. “What?” he says. “It’s not like I’m lying.”
Hannah storms for him like a mini-tornado and I intercept her by hooking an arm around her waist and pulling her to my side. She halfheartedly pushes at my arm, but I don’t let go. It’s like hanging on to a yapping, teeth snapping, Chihuahua.
“Why don’t you shut up before I make you shut up,” she threatens, her firm body wiggling against mine. I want to tell her to stop moving, but that would make it obvious that her proximity is affecting me. It’s normal for a guy to be turned on by a female, no matter their friendship. That’s what I tell myself anyway.
Jessie creeps closer, big and brown-haired and lethal. With his menacing stance and harsh features, he’s still not as scary as a furious Hannah. “Why don’t you try it? You have a big mouth and not much body mass to back it up with.”
“Because I don’t take steroids like you.”
I groan and a sound of dismay leaves Dickie. Catherine watches Jessie, her eyes wary as she backs up a step. That’s the thing about deciding to go on a trip with someone not all that well-known—a person finds out who they really are real fast. I almost feel sorry for her. Almost.
Jessie goes still, a tick in his jaw the only muscle moving. There has been talk, rumors, but Jessie’s laughed it off, saying people are jealous. His mood swings and anger issues make me wonder. He’s always been cocky, but there’s an added edge to him that wasn’t there years ago.
In a voice low and silky, he says to Hannah, “Say that again and see what happens.”
No one moves or speaks. It’s like we’re frozen in a moment of dread, all wondering what Jessie is going to do. His eyes, brown and ablaze with fury, are locked on Hannah, and the breaths that leave him are forceful and loud. He looks like a bull about to charge.
I’m worried Hannah is going to say something he doesn’t like, and that’ll be the end of her. Feeling her tense body shake with indignation or fear, I give her ribs a reassuring squeeze. She relaxes a bit and that’s my cue to break up the scene. We don’t need this to be the way the trip starts.
“Well, I’m s
tarving. Let’s eat.” Without letting go of Hannah, I swing around and walk, only releasing her when she vows to kick me in the balls if I don’t let her go.
The sun is burning a hole through my back as I go, not looking to see if anyone follows. The interior of the restaurant follows the theme from outside with its red and orange checkered décor. Booths line the walls on either side of the room and tables take up the middle. Waitresses bustle past, my ears picking up the sounds of conversation and low-playing country music. It is cooler in here than outside, and my overheated body welcomes it.
A red-haired waitress nods toward a table and I head for it, glancing over to make sure Hannah is close. I sit down at a table and look at my friend. “You know he’s all talk. He wouldn’t really do anything,” I tell her, trying to convince myself as well as her.
“Sure he wouldn’t,” she mutters, eyes darting around the restaurant as she takes in her surroundings.
“For your sake, try to cool it around him.”
Hannah’s lips part and her eyes send sparks of irk my way, aimed fully at me. “Why don’t you tell him to cool it around me?”
“Because we both know it wouldn’t do any good. You’re the more sensible one out of the two of you. Just barely.” I smile faintly.
“Aren’t you a hoot?” Hannah rolls her eyes and picks at the edge of the table with her short fingernails. She’s never dabbled with makeup or nail polish, claiming using products like that are a manmade trap to make women feel inferior about their natural looks. “I think it’s sad that no one but me sticks up to him.”
“That’s just it—you don’t need to stick up to him. You know how he is. He’s just messing around. He wants to make you mad. Don’t let it get to you.”
“What about Dickie?” she rebounds. “He won’t stick up for himself, and you don’t stick up for him. You know it hurts his feelings when Jessie picks on him. He’s sensitive.”
“Dickie doesn’t take it personally, and neither should you.” I hope I’m right. I would hate to find out that all this time Dickie has been gathering up Jessie’s taunts to later dwell on them. That could seriously mess with his head.
“He teases us all equally,” I add to make myself feel better.
“That’s not true and I don’t know why you let him hang out with us. He’s a jerk,” Hannah mutters, her eyes on the table. She moves the saltshaker from one hand to the other.
“You think I let him hang out with us? I don’t let him hang out with us. He is one of us.”
“He isn’t,” she insists. “You and me and Dickie are the gang, he’s the tagalong. The three of us hung out years before he came along.”
I look at her.
“What? We did.”
“We all were around one another before we could even form complete sentences.”
Hannah crosses her arms and pouts, her dark head angled away.
I tap my fingertips on the tabletop, leaning toward her. “Hey.”
After a pause, Hannah grudgingly looks at me.
“Who punched Richard Leonard in the face when he groped you at Eddie Lang’s party?”
She doesn’t say anything, sinking lower in her seat.
“Who gave Seth Avery, the most popular guy in school, a wedgie because he gave Dickie one? Who—”
“Yeah, yeah, I get it. Doesn’t mean he isn’t a jerk-face.”
I grin as Dickie takes the seat next to Hannah, his face beaded with perspiration. I straighten. “You’re right. He is a jerk-face, but he’s our jerk-face.”
“Who’s a jerk-face?” Dickie asks, taking a laminated menu from the table and holding it before his face, hiding his features. His black and white plaid shirt has gray sweat stains under the armpits and his brown hair is damp with it.
“Who do you think?” Hannah grabs a menu for herself and hands one across the table to me. The remaining two she pushes past Dickie to the empty places farther down the table. She frowns. “Where are Jessie and Catherine anyway?”
“They went in the restroom after I left it. I feel sorry for them.” Dickie pulls the menu down long enough to grin, his cheeks meeting the frames of his glasses.
“Nothing like making out with residual ass fumes around you,” I mutter, deciding on pancakes, eggs, and bacon.
“If they can’t wait, it’s their own fault,” Hannah says, dropping her menu to the table. “What are you guys getting?”
“French toast,” Dickie answers, setting down the menu.
“Pancakes,” I announce.
“Like always.” Hannah smiles.
The waitress comes, takes our drink orders—I tell her water for now for the two people with us but not presently with us.
I lightly kick Hannah under the table. “What are you getting?”
“Eggs, hash browns with cheese and onion, ham, and toast.”
“Like always,” I mock.
Hannah shrugs, twirling a lock of hair around her finger. “Why ruin a good thing, right? Sometimes what you already know you like is better than trying something new and finding out you don’t like it.”
I focus on her, bemusement lowering my eyebrows. “What are you talking about?”
“Nothing.” She won’t meet my eyes.
Catherine slides into the seat beside me, and all thoughts of Hannah disappear. Her shoulder bumps mine and I swallow, smelling lemons on her skin. Her shoulder is creamy white and the skin looks soft. My eyes are drawn to a faint pulse fluttering at the base of her neck.
“Hello,” she says, her eyes bright as she divides her smile among us.
Dickie’s face goes crimson and he stutters out a greeting.
Hannah nods, looking bored.
“Hey,” I say, smiling at Catherine.
“Hi, Sam.” She laughs softly, like I am a hilarious guy. “Thanks for getting us to Wisconsin in one piece.”
“No problem. Hopefully the car doesn’t break down before we make it to where we need to be.”
“Hopefully it gets us back home.” Her smile lights up the room.
“That too.”
She’s beautiful. I think I could look at her forever and not grow tired of it. Her eyes are wide and innocent. Her nose is small and upturned. Everything about her calls to be protected. She is the kind of girl who inspires guys to be brave. Catherine’s skin is pale, but there is an adorable blush to her cheeks. And her lips—
A small foot kicks my shin, hard, and I jerk my eyes away from my friend’s girlfriend to look at Hannah. She shrugs at my glower, mouthing “Hey.” Hannah’s eyes shoot daggers at me, silently telling me I’m all kinds of bad things.
Jessie swaggers to the table, flipping his chair around and sitting on it backwards, arms reclining on the backrest as his eyes roam over Hannah. A satisfied smirk twists his lips when she scowls at him and he winks. Hannah’s lips press together.
“You know I’m just fooling around with you. I’m all talk, right? After all, I love you, Hannah,” he singsongs.
“I love you too, Jessie,” she returns, voice sweet and viperous.
He laughs and drums his hands on the chair. “What are we all getting? Let me guess.” Jessie points at me. “Pancakes.” He moves to Dickie. “French toast.” Tilting his head, he pretends to think about Hannah’s selection. He snaps his fingers. “Eggs, hash browns with cheese and onion, ham, and let’s not forget, toast. Am I good or what?”
“So good,” Hannah tells him.
“You thought so.” Jessie rubs his jaw, considering Hannah with heavy-lidded eyes.
“As if,” she mumbles, but her face has a hint of pink to it and there is no heat behind her words.
I frown, wondering at that. I tell myself she’s just trying to keep the peace, and let it go, but it doesn’t feel right.
“Hey, Sam, I’ve been meaning to ask you…remember that brunette you messed around with over the winter?” Jessie looks innocently at me. “What was her name?”
My jaw tightens as I look at Jessie, knowing exactly who he’s ta
lking about. Her name is Elizabeth Jones. After just a few heated make-out sessions, I broke things off with her. It didn’t feel right with her, and when I confessed that to Jessie after a few beers, he laughed. Loudly. Endlessly. Why he’s bringing it up now is what I don’t understand, unless it’s just to piss me off.
“Elizabeth Jones,” Hannah answers.
I focus on my friend, surprise widening my eyes. Her expression is stiff and her gaze is locked on Jessie. I didn’t think Hannah knew about her. I don’t go out of my way discuss things like that with Hannah. It’s different with Jessie. He’s a guy.
He turns to her. “That’s right. Such a nice girl. Isn’t she, Hannah? Sam broke her heart. I’m sure it was completely by accident.” He looks at me. “Right, Sam? You’re not the kind of guy to purposely hurt someone, are you?”
I curl my fingers and lower my hands to my lap to keep them from Jessie. I wonder if he realizes just how big of an asshole he can be.
“If only every guy here could say the same,” Hannah lashes out, her shoulders tense.
“If only every girl here could say the same as well,” he snaps back, his eyebrows lowered and a muscle twitching below his right eye.
Hannah looks away, unusually still.
“Why are you bringing her up anyway?” I ask, keeping my voice even as I look between Hannah and Jessie. What am I missing? It’s something huge.
He shrugs and sits back, calmness descending too quickly to be real. “Saw her the other day, thought about you.”
“Why?”
“What are you getting, Cat?” Jessie asks his girl, ignoring me.
Dickie meets my gaze and gives a slight shake of the head. I slump back in my seat, deciding to let it go, like I do more times than I probably should. I rub my face and mentally shake it off. I know he’s smart, but some days I think Dickie is more than any of us really see.
“Oh, um…” Catherine fidgets in her seat. “Just some fruit, I think, and a cup of coffee. I’m not that hungry.”
Hannah looks at the ceiling. I know what she’s thinking. She’s thinking Catherine is one of those anorexic girls who barely eat enough to survive on, all to be thin. I glance at what I can see of Catherine’s frame. She is pretty skinny, but that doesn’t mean she’s doing anything she shouldn’t. When Hannah levels her brown-eyed gaze on mine and gives me a pointed look, I shake my head, denying it. Hannah shakes her head back, clearly thinking I’m an idiot.