by Pete Hautman
After that, he played every Saturday. When Alan Schwartz accused him of playing like an old lady, Wes just smiled and stacked his chips. When Robbie told him he was freakishly lucky, Wes shrugged and said he was due. Within a few weeks he had amassed more than two hundred dollars in poker winnings.
One rainy Saturday in late April, he hit a lucky streak and was up nearly eighty dollars. Robbie, watching sourly as Wes raked in another pot, said, “You had trip kings. How come you didn’t raise?”
“You were doing the raising for me,” Wes said.
“What a wuss. Poker is supposed to be about betting!“
Wes shrugged. “I thought you might have a flush.”
“Tightass.” Robbie pushed his chair back. “I’m out of here.” He threw on his jacket and stomped up the stairs.
Wes smiled. Turning a profit made it easy to put up with the ribbing.
That day he walked home in the rain and thought about how just three months ago he had been walking in the snow with June. Funny how the longer he went without seeing her, the more dreamlike and unreal she became.
June had decided a week earlier to turn her cell phone off during the day. Because she was driving herself crazy checking it all the time, not to mention burning up minutes and hours talking to Wes. Not that she didn’t love talking to him, but it had gotten to the point of obsession. So she left it off between eight in the morning and seven at night.
It was hard. By six o’clock every night, she was bursting with things to say that she couldn’t say to anyone else. Sometimes it was so intense she could almost taste him.
Such a waste. You’ll probably never see him again, said Sarcastic June. Dad will get a job in Alaska. You’ll be living in an igloo and eating seal blubber.
“Shut up!” June muttered. She leaned forward over her dressing table and shook her head so her hair fell in front of her face. She stared through the tangled strands.
Time to grow up, said Pragmatic June.
“Grow up, yourself,” June said. She flipped her hair back, ran her fingers through it, then went to work on her face. She was having a good week, complexion-wise, so there wasn’t much to do. A little eyeliner, lipstick not much different from the natural color of her lips, a touch of eyebrow pencil. “Good enough for the Drood,” she told herself.
The Drood was a notorious bar and dance club normally open to adults only, but on the first Saturday of every month they had an all-ages show from six until ten, with two bands. June had never been there, but she was going that night with the Three Ts.
At first, she had said no, but Tabitha had been relentless.
“It’s totally cool,” Tabitha had said. “Just like a real dance club, only they just serve soda and fruit drinks.”
“They have piña coladas and Bloody Marys,” Tara had added. “But with no alcohol. They kick everybody out at ten and open it up to adults. One time, Sheila Murphy hid in the bathroom and got to stay past ten. This guy bought her a Champagne Blue.”
“What’s a Champagne Blue?” June had asked.
“It has real champagne in it, and it’s blue. She said it was really good.”
“We should totally do that,” Trish had said. “I want a Champagne Blue. I want two!”
“Wrathskell is playing. They’re crazy.”
“Rumfuddle too.”
June had never heard of either band.
“Everybody’s going to be there, June. You have to come.”
In the end, she had agreed to go. But she wasn’t going to hide out in any restrooms. Or drink any blue champagne. In fact, she was determined to have no fun whatsoever.
CHAPTER
THIRTY-THREE
From: Wes
r u there?
Apr 23 21:16
“How come you aren’t talking to June?”
Paula stood in the doorway to his bedroom, looking in at him. For weeks she had been observing him with catlike intensity, following his long-distance romance as if it was her own personal soap opera.
Wes, sprawled on his bed, lowered the X-Men comic he’d been reading. “I don’t talk to her twenty-four hours a day.”
“You should.”
“Well, I don’t. Besides, I already used all my minutes.” He went back to reading the comic book. Because he was saving money for The Plan, he hadn’t been buying any new comics lately, so he was rereading the last twelve issues of Astonishing X-Men.
“Are you going to go see her?” Paula asked.
“None of your business.”
“I bet you are. You should take her to Paris, like in that movie.”
“What movie?”
“The one where they go to Paris.”
“You don’t even know where Paris is,” said Wes.
“In France.”
“You don’t know where France is.”
“In Europe.”
“Okay, you win. Now leave me alone.”
Paula did not move. Wes concentrated on pretending she wasn’t there. He had almost succeeded when she spoke again.
“She could come here. She could stay in my room.”
Wes said nothing. After a time, Paula left. Wes put down the comic and closed his eyes and thought about Paula’s first question: How come you aren’t talking to June?
He did not have an answer. June had told him she was going phoneless during the day. He respected that. He even understood it. And she was right, talking and texting only at night made it better. But where was she tonight? Wes attempted to form a psychic link with her. He squeezed his eyes tight shut and stared at the spots and lines and patterns until a face emerged, fuzzy and indistinct. He made it into a June-shaped face, then added details.
He and June had spent hours back in March trying to send each other ESP messages. It never worked.
He didn’t believe in ESP anyway.
Why hadn’t she called him — or at least texted?
There could be lots of reasons. But the more time that passed, the more out of control the whole thing felt — he had no idea what was really going on with her in Omaha, what she was really thinking, what she might be doing on a Saturday night instead of calling.
“Are you asleep?”
Wes opened his eyes to find Paula standing over him in her pajamas, staring into his face with those enormous brown eyes.
“I thought you went away,” he said.
“I came back. Are you sad?”
“No.”
“You look sad.”
“Isn’t it time for you to go to bed?”
His cell phone chimed. A new text message.
“That’s her,” said Paula. She turned and shuffled off in her bunny slippers as Wes reached for the phone.
From: JKE
I am hiding in a bathroom stall.
Apr 23 21:57
CHAPTER
THIRTY-FOUR
THE DROOD, located in one of Omaha’s grittier neighborhoods, looked like a dump from the outside — walls covered with graffiti, cigarette butts littering the sidewalk, double doors painted with several layers of black paint and studded with staples and the torn corners of old handbills … not the elegant nightclub she had imagined.
Inside, it was nicer. An old-fashioned mirrored disco ball hung above the dance floor, and a curved staircase led up to a balcony with lots of tables and chairs. There were two bars, one against the back wall and one upstairs. Several hundred noisy, energetic teens were milling about, waiting for the first band to start.
June followed Tabitha to the bar and ordered a Coke. The bartender put a slice of lime on the rim and set the drink on a coaster shaped like a guitar. She liked that. He charged her three dollars for it. That, she didn’t like so much.
Tara and Trish were already on the dance floor, gyrating to the thumping house music while the first band — Rumfuddle or Wrathskell, she wasn’t sure — set up their equipment on the stage.
Tabitha yelled something in June’s ear.
“What?”
Tabitha po
inted, grabbed June’s arm, and pulled her across the room to a table where some kids she recognized from school were sitting. June and Tabitha dragged a couple of chairs up and joined them.
Bart Hanson, a quiet type in school, must have had a few beers before coming. He was talking — yelling, more like — something about a slasher movie he’d seen. Jenna Stiles must have been drinking too — she looked a little slack-faced and out of it. June didn’t know the other two, who were trying to talk over Bart, relating their own favorite parts of the movie. Tabitha said something about slasher movies being stupid, and everybody started arguing loudly, but in a fun sort of way. June listened, trying to find a place to insert herself into the conversation, but she hadn’t seen any slasher movies lately. After a few minutes, she got up and went to search for a restroom.
By the time she returned, the band had started playing. The table she had been sitting at was empty. She looked around, hoping to spot a familiar face. A tall guy wearing a black leather jacket and shredded jeans approached her from the bar, smiling.
“June?”
She stared at him.
“It’s Kel,” he said. “We met at school?”
“Oh!”
“You here by yourself?”
“No, I came with, uh, you know, Trish and Tara and Tabitha?”
“Tabitha Kane? I know Tabitha. You want something to drink?”
She didn’t. But she said yes.
Over the next half hour, June learned a great deal about Kel Smith. He was a senior, he was Hills High’s official audio geek, he drove a twenty-year-old Audi, he had a tattoo of a panther on his lower back, or so he claimed, and he liked about twenty bands she’d never heard of. He never asked anything about her — it was all about Kel, and Kel’s plans. Typical guy. He said he planned to spend a year traveling after he graduated, then go to film school at USC to be a director. His best friend was playing bass guitar with Rumfuddle, the next band up.
“You’ll like ‘em,” he said. “They’re way better than these guys.”
“Wrathkill?”
“Wrathskell. Rumfuddle’s better. You want to dance?”
“Sure.”
Kel’s idea of dancing involved a lot of elbows flying and fists pumping, and he had one move that looked like he was trying to shake a tarantula out of his pant leg. Still, he was about a thousand times cooler than anybody she had ever expected to meet in Omaha, Nebraska.
As the dance floor got rowdier and more crowded, June and Kel became separated. June made it to the periphery without getting stepped on or elbowed. She spotted the Three Ts at a table up on the balcony level. She climbed up the spiral staircase and joined them.
“Was that Kel Smith you were with?” Trish asked.
June nodded, wondering what they would think of that.
“He’s cool,” Trish said.
“Kind of dangerous to dance with, though,” June said.
Tabitha announced their plans to stay for the over-twenty-one show.
“You’re going to hide in the restroom?” June said.
“Better,” said Tabitha. “A couple of the Rumfuddle guys said they could get us into the band room.”
“Where’s that?”
“Behind the stage, down in the basement. We can wait there until after ten. Then come out and drink Champagne Blue. You in?”
“I don’t know … I told my parents I’d be home by eleven.”
“How will you get home?” Tabitha asked. They had come in her car.
June shrugged. “Maybe Kel can give me a ride.”
After Wrathskell’s set was over, she found Kel at the downstairs bar talking to some guys she didn’t know.
“Thought I’d lost you,” he said. “What’s up?”
They talked for a few minutes, Kel telling her about people and bands she didn’t know, and about a cool secondhand clothing store down by the Old Market. Rumfuddle replaced Wrathskell on the stage and launched a thumping, hypnotic beat, all drums and bass. Kel wanted to dance, but June told him she had a blister. He seemed to believe her.
“My friends are staying after hours,” June said. “I was wondering if you could give me a ride home later? After the set?”
“Sure, no problem.” He seemed distracted, looking out across the club. “Hey, there’s Tony.” He walked off. June wasn’t sure if she was supposed to follow him or not, so she stayed put. After a few minutes of standing all by herself, she went back upstairs. The Ts were gone.
She did not love Rumfuddle’s music. The beat was cool, but the lead singer had a whiny, high-pitched voice, and all of their songs were about misery and death. Kel had disappeared completely.
As ten o’clock approached, June began to get worried. She moved through the club, looking for a familiar face. There were a few kids she recognized from school, but she didn’t know them well enough to beg a ride.
At five minutes to ten, the lights came up, Rumfuddle ended their set, and the underage crowd migrated toward the exit. June searched the crowd frantically. The Ts were nowhere in sight, and neither was Kel. She considered heading outside, trusting to luck to find a ride. She thought of herself standing pathetically alone on the littered sidewalk in that crappy neighborhood.
With the club ninety percent empty, June headed for the restroom.
CHAPTER
THIRTY-FIVE
From: Wes
Hiding in the bathroom? Why?
Apr 23 21:59
From: JKE
So the 3Ts cn have blue champagne. L8r
Apr 23 22:00
June had told Wes about the Three Ts, but he had no idea what “blue champagne” might be. A drink? A fabric color? A band? No idea. He laid back on his bed with his fingers laced behind his head, closed his eyes, and took The Plan through myriad variations: commercial airliner, hot air balloon, hitchhiking, hop a train, ride his bike, teleport….He ran through dozens of scenarios of what would happen once he got there, and soon was caught up again in trying to construct a perfect image of June’s face….
The bedroom light flashed off and on. Wes opened his eyes and realized he had fallen asleep. His mother, wearing her terry cloth robe, was looking in at him.
“Are you going to sleep in your clothes?” she asked.
He sat up and shook his head.
“Good night, then,” his mom said. She closed his door.
Wes changed into the gym shorts and T-shirt that served him for pajamas, brushed his teeth, and returned to bed. He sent a quick text to June, set his cell to vibrate, and balanced it on his chest so it would wake him if he fell asleep. He turned out the bedside lamp, closed his eyes, and waited.
At two minutes after ten, the restroom door opened. A man’s voice called out, “Anybody in here?”
June, in the last stall, pulled her feet up so they couldn’t be seen under the stall door. She held her breath, felt her pounding heart. The man went down the row of stalls, banging the doors open. He reached the last stall and banged his hand against the door.
“C’mon out, honey. Party’s over.”
June put her feet down and opened the stall door. A beefy, balding man wearing a polo shirt with DROOD written on the right side of the chest and MANNY on the left was standing there scowling at her.
“Every month, the same thing,” he said. “You kids must think we’re a bunch of idiots.”
“Sorry,” said June. Her face felt hot with embarrassment.
The man grabbed her arm, marched her out of the restroom, across the club, and out the door.
“Don’t come back next month,” he said. “I’ve had it.” He went back inside.
June was not alone on the sidewalk. A dozen or so other underage kids were standing there looking at her with varied expressions: scorn, pity, amusement, disdain — just like all the Junes in her head. One guy had something sticking out the side of one nostril. It looked like the wishbone from a turkey.
June said, “Uh, anybody going up by Hills?”
Nobody was.
June walked a few yards down the sidewalk and leaned against the cinder block wall, considering her options. She could take a cab, but she’d have to ask her parents for money when she got home, and that would mean a lecture, and they would never let her go out with the Ts again. She could walk, but that would take hours, and her shoes were already killing her. She could just wait for the Ts to come out, but they’d probably be drunk on blue champagne. Some of the people hanging outside the club looked iffy, especially the guy with the bone through his nose.
She took out her cell and was calling for a cab when she heard Tabitha’s voice.
“Like we’d ever want to come back to your lame club!” Tabitha, Tara, and Trish were facing the bouncer, Manny.
“My ID says I’m twenty-one.” Trish waved her fake license in his face.
“I don’t care what it says, shorty,” said Manny. “You’re out of here.”
The Three Ts set off haughtily down the sidewalk. June yelled, “Hey!”
Tabitha turned back and said, “Oh my God, June! We were so worried about you.”
“Yeah, right,” said June.
“That guy was a total jerk,” Tara said.
“I guess it’s his job,” June said.
“He didn’t have to be so mean about it,” said Tabitha. “Creep. He touched my boob when he grabbed me. I should report him.”
“What about Kel?” June asked.
“Him?” Tabitha sneered. “He left at ten.”
CHAPTER
THIRTY-SIX
SOMEONE WAS FIRING A VIBRATOR RAY into his sternum. Wes clutched at his chest and opened his eyes. It was dark. He was in bed, holding a vibrating, glowing cell phone.
“Hello?” His voice came out muddy with sleep.
“I’m mad at you.”
“June?” He sat up, fumbling for the light.
“Who else?”
“Wait … what?” He could hear her breathing. “Are you okay?”
“No thanks to you!”