There’s a wall of vending machines around the side, so I go and take a look. I don’t want anything in particular, just to move. Get some blood back in my hands and feet. As I step into the kiosk, the red glow of a Coca Cola machine greets me. There’s a hot drink machine next to it, which makes my stomach turn. When I first got sick, me and mom spent a lot of nights in the emergency room, drinking fake chicken broth from one of those.
I search my pockets for change, then I step up. I pick at random: Hot Fries, why not? My stomach grumbles, but between the both of us, it knows I’m going to eat a banana instead. The Hot Fries will go to Arden or in the trash. It just feels good to do something normal. Take a road trip, buy some snacks at a rest stop. All around me, people are doing the same thing.
Families buzz, and a couple girls my age walk a dog up and down the grass. Their clothes are neon-bright, their hair pulled into intricate hairdos. They have spirit paint on their face—they’re a team or a group or something. Maybe they’re heading to cheerleading camp. Or an archery competition. A dance battle. Whatever, it’s one more stop on the way to the rest of their lives.
Walking past them, I wave and I say, “Pretty dog.”
“Thanks,” one replies. She smiles, her teeth white and straight.
For just a second, I wish I could follow her. Maybe go to their jamboree, too. Two steps behind, I could trail her forever—to Homecoming in the fall, and to check the mail with her until she gets the acceptance letter from her second-choice college. She gets waitlisted at her first choice, and she cries. It’s not the end of the world, though. She takes second place, and that’s awesome because she gets there and her roommate is strange and cool, and being free is strange and cool, and . . .
Then I have to stop, because I can’t wrap my head around college. What happens there. That’s the end of Girl with Dog’s story, from my perspective, anyway. The split second is over, and I’m back in my own life.
And I have no idea how my story ends anymore. The nice, clean break of cancer bailed on me. Now I can do anything, anywhere, except I don’t know anything, or anyone. An unbearable well of sadness threatens to rise up. Sometimes, I get mad. I feel like, if I could just punch hard enough, things would get better. Then I laugh at myself for my own stupidity.
Hiking toward the parking lot, I see Arden leaning against the car. She’s still wearing her headband, but some of her curls have escaped. They dance and dance; her shoulders roll subtly. She’s texting somebody at warp speed. My despair retreats, because no, I have no fucking clue what happens next. But unlike last week, I know how I’m getting there.
Right now, it’s in a Honda Civic. It’s along the last piece of the Eisenhower Interstate System, over the river, through the woods. And it’s with someone. That girl right there, with the soft smile and strong jaw, and long fingers with nubbly knuckles.
The breath goes out of me because I realize, I wanna kiss that smile. And touch her hair. I wanna lay in the dark with her, and share our breath and our secrets. I want secrets with her; I want her.
I’m falling in love with Arden Trochessett. And I’m done worrying about why.
“Say hey,” I call to her.
When Arden raises her head, she lights with a smile. I’m not going to waste time telling you again how pretty she is—I’ve already done that; it’s still true. This time, I’ll tell you that I feel it, though. Her smile slips right through my breastbone. My heart fibrillates, which is a shitty word for the sensation, but an accurate one. It’s on high pulse, faster than racing. I wonder what it feels like to her, when she looks at me. Does it feel like anything at all?
“Hey!” She holds up her phone. “Guess what I just did.”
“Nope. Just tell me.”
When I come closer, she leans in and turns the screen to me. There’s a big black SUV splashed across it. It looks like an urban destroyer, a tank to battle the wilds of Whole Foods and muddy soccer fields. Catching my eye, Arden smiles. “We’re picking that up in St. Louis.”
My mouth drops open. “No way.”
Pleased, Arden nods and flips through a few more pictures. “I’m serious. We’re going to deliver it to Grand Junction, Colorado. They’re going to reimburse us for gas and pay us five hundred bucks to get it there before Saturday.”
This sounds way too good to be true. It’s like those signs that say Free Fish Fry, only you get there and have to listen to a sermon first. Yeah, you’ll get the fish, but it’s not really free. Shoving my hands in my back pockets, I look at the phone’s screen again. “Are you sure this is legit?”
“Positive.” Arden pushes off the car, just about beaming. “It was a job listing in my dad’s database. I snagged it before he saw it.”
“Database? What exactly does your dad do for a living?”
“He mostly goes to meetings. But the company he owns is a custom courier service. If you have something precious and you want it to get somewhere, anywhere, all over the world, personally hand-delivered by a human being, you call Trochessett & Tyler. Like, last year, he drove a crate full of Rembrandts from New York to Boston.”
“Too bad they weren’t van Goghs,” I joke, but it’s lame and Arden doesn’t laugh. “Because the van goes . . . forget it.”
“Anyway,” Arden says, opening her door, “I told the guy we’d give him a fifty-percent discount if he paid us in cash. You want to know what’s funny?”
Sliding into the passenger seat again, I toss the Hot Fries in her direction. “That some crackhead is willing to pay a thousand bucks so somebody else can drive his car?”
“People pay more than that, but no. What’s funny is that I told him half up front, half when we deliver the car. I learned that from you.”
Now it’s my turn to be proud. I hold up a hand for a high five. When I get it, I tangle my fingers in hers. A big spark jolts through me when she doesn’t pull away. In fact, she manages to get in, get buckled, and get the car started, and she doesn’t once let go.
I change my mind. We’re pulling back on the highway and I change my mind—I’m not falling for Arden.
I think I already fell.
(2038.67)
We’re almost there, almost to Vandalia. Every time we pass a new mileage sign, I twitch. Even though I’m just gonna give her directions to something, I feel like I’m giving her a present. It’s what I have; I can’t buy her anything she can’t buy herself. But I can give her a quest; I can give her this.
It’s getting dark, and I blow bubbles from the passenger’s seat. The koosh ball I lost in the back, but the bubbles were lying right on top of the bag, begging me to play. The cap resting on the dashboard, the bottle tucked between my knees, I dip the wand into soapy water while I ask her twenty questions. Dip; exhale. Silvery globes stream toward her, the little ones catching in her hair.
“Cheeseburger or pizza?” I ask.
Brushing away bubbles, she furrows her brows. “Like, right now, or that’s the only thing I get forever?”
Dip. “Both.” Blow.
Our Honda started shaking a couple miles back. It’s not bad yet. Just a vibration, mostly noticeable when I glance in the rearview mirror. Everything in it is fuzzy, like I’m looking through the bottom of a Coke bottle. The questions keep both our minds off the shimmy. Little Honda Civic, I pray, keep it together, all right?
Finally, Arden says, “Neither.”
I yelp in disbelief, and lose the bubble wand in the bottle. Sloshing my finger around after it, I boggle at her. “Why neither?”
“Because,” Arden says with a shrug. “If I want greasy meat and cheese, I want to be able to choose. If I had to have a cheeseburger when I wanted pizza, I’d hate that.”
“So you’re just picking none.”
“Better to have loved and lost,” she teases.
She’s out of her mind and I love it. I start to dip the wand again when I see the sign I’ve been waiting for. Grabbing her arm, I slosh bubble water all down my hand but that’s fine! It’ll wa
sh off. “Take this exit! Take it!”
Arden veers as I scramble to put the lid back on. My eyes are wide open, my heart beats fast, We made it to Vandalia, Illinois, and that means we’re going to see a dragon.
Let me explain something, because it’s important. Since the beginning, it’s been me and Arden and dragons. Seems to me like the first time we talked was in Barrens chat. The Barrens is . . . well, it was . . . one step up from newbie village. Fantasyland middle school. When everybody gets to typing in the public chat, you can tell why twelve-year-old boys ain’t making foreign policy, is all I’m saying.
The only reason I noticed Arden in the scroll was, she was looking for somebody to try to sneak into Onyxia’s Lair. Big-ass, bad-ass, black-ass dragon. It took forty people to kill Onyxia back then. The elite guilds that did it would truck out there, then come back to the cities to hang up the dragon’s head to celebrate. And Arden, who was level 14 instead of 60, and a party of one instead of forty, was trying to get people to go take a look with her.
She kept asking and asking, and finally I sent her a private message. “I’ll go.”
In reply, she invited me to her group. Nobody else wanted to go—because they weren’t stupid, mostly. The fact was, it was guaranteed death. We were lowbies, and we had to walk all the way to Dustwallow Marsh because we didn’t have mounts yet. And then we got killed ninety-seven times in a row, because guess what? A level-60 dungeon raid usually sits in the middle of a zone full of level-60 monsters.
We never even made it to the cave. But we had a hell of a time on the trip, so I added her to my friends list. Every time her name popped up, I had to message her. Just because she impressed me; we were crazy, both of us, and it was cool to finally be crazy with company. Pretty soon, we were logging on at the same time, on purpose.
Since then, we’ve managed to see Onyxia (and get our asses kicked), and we saw Nefarian (and got our asses kicked). We camped in Ferelas forever, until Arden got her green baby dragonkin pet. Then we spent a shit-ton of time grinding rep on the Timeless Isle so we could fly around on giant Chinese dragons.
So, yeah. Dragons. It’s a thing.
And because of that, we’re driving into small-town Illinois, to see the Kaskaskia Dragon. I wanna grab Arden’s hand, because the tension’s killing me, no kidding. But she has to make a sharp turn, and I have to worry, kicking the Skittles and making them rattle like my bottle of pills. That sound, it’s a rattlesnake warning—don’t get your hopes up. Don’t get excited.
For once, that warning is wrong. We cut out on the main drag, and shit, it’s epic. This vast green field stretches out, and there it is. Spines, a tail, a head with glittering chrome teeth. Outlined by streetlights in the dark, this beast, this thing, it’s made out of sheet metal and polished mirror bright. The head raises up into the air, the tail curls to a point.
It’s a dragon. It’s a dragon.
Arden parks and we pile out of the car, nearly stumbling over each other. We have to get closer, look at it, touch it. As we’re crossing the green grass to get there, a rumble fills the air. Sounds like a hot-water heater lighting up. There’s a ting-ting-ting, and then a gorge of fire spews from the dragon’s mouth. It billows out, curling and twisting, real fire up there in the air. A few seconds later, it stops abruptly.
“Are. You. Serious?” Arden whispers.
A moment. Total silence.
And then I laugh. I laugh and laugh, because fuck me. It’s a fire-breathing dragon. Standing right there, in the middle of a field in Illinois, it’s a fire-breathing dragon. When we get closer, we discover there’s a slot in it. It takes dragon tokens to light it up. We end up racing each other to a nearby liquor store to buy some. Underage? Who cares; we’re not here for the whiskey. We’re here for the fairy gold.
Arden drops ten bucks for ten tokens and we bolt for the field again. I can’t remember the last time I ran, not for real. Not on my actual legs, and I’m sweating like crazy. But it’s good. It’s good, because Arden’s laughing, and I’m standing back with her phone and we try to time it. Drop the token, wait for the fire, hurry up get the picture.
The first couple suck. I just stand in my pictures, because I’m already out of breath. Arden, though, she gets the timing down. On her third go, she waits for the fire then tips up on her hands. Toes pointed straight in the air, body cutting the sky like a knife, she holds the position until the flames die. She bounces to her feet and digs in her pocket for another coin.
Her face is so flushed, and she feeds the dragon again. This time, she does the handstand on one freaking hand, and I barely get the picture taken because I’m so busy gaping. The next picture, I fail straight out. One second, Arden’s on both her feet, and the next, she’s flipping over backwards. To hell with gravity. The dragon made her strong. She can fly now.
A guy with a wispy beard steps up next to me. “You guys want a picture together?”
I hesitate. He said guys, but maybe he woulda said that no matter what? And giving somebody your phone is a good way to let somebody steal your phone. Thanks to me, Arden already lost a car. She loses her iPhone, and there’s probably gonna be some words.
There are, just not the ones I expect.
“Do it, Dylan!” Arden waves me over. “Come on!”
Reluctantly, I hand off the phone and take two slow steps, waiting for Wispy to bolt. Instead, he holds up the phone and waits for me to get into position. I jog to Arden’s side and try to figure out where to stand. Before I know it, she drapes her arm over my shoulder and hauls me in closer.
“Where did you learn to do all that?” I whisper.
With a squeeze, she says, “Summer camp.”
“What didn’t you do at summer camp, boo?”
Arden laughs. She smells good and feels warm, and there’s so much glow around her right now. I bathe in it. In goes the token, here comes the fire.
“Smile,” Wispy says, and honestly, I’d like to see him stop me.
(THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN ANTICIPATION AND DREAD.)
This has been the longest day in the damned universe, but the signs say we’re almost to Missouri, and I’m buzzing. The car is too, shaking even more now when Arden gets it over 65. I think it knows we’re about to abandon it. I’m gonna be so pissed if it breaks down while we’re still in Illinois. I asked it for one thing, all right? One! It only needs to make it to St. Louis, so I can see the Arch.
“I’ve been waiting for this the whole trip,” I tell Arden, straining against the seat belt to watch the horizon.
“So much for our dragon,” she says, playing mournful.
“Don’t be like that. I’m just saying, this is—” I stop. How do I even explain it? There’s stuff like the dragon, fucking amazing, but out of place. Or out of time; it’s something imagination made happen, and if you get too far away, it just doesn’t exist anymore. Go ahead, ask somebody if they ever heard of the Kaskaskia Dragon. “It’s forever, you know? It was here before we were born and it’s gonna be here way after we die.”
“This is seriously your first monument?” Of course, she has the right word for it. “Haven’t you seen the Statue of Liberty?”
“No.” I tear myself away from the window to look at her. “I’m not kidding. I haven’t ever been anywhere. I never saw an ocean, or the Empire State Building, or Mount Rushmore . . .”
“Which is in the Dakotas,” she says with a smirk. “Which we’re skipping, bee tee dubs. I hear there’s nothing there.”
“Don’t be a smart-ass,” I say.
“Better than a dumb-ass,” she crows. Arden takes both hands off the wheel to stretch. We’ve been going awhile now. She’s starting to fade, and that’s all right. That means a night in St. Louis. Even though we’re gonna find a hotel and crash, it still sounds amazing. The quest says we have to stop for a night and pay tribute to the great Arch.
The traffic builds up around us. I noticed that happening around Cincinnati and Indianapolis, too. You can go miles and miles with j
ust a couple other cars around you. As soon as you roll up on a city, cars come out of nowhere. They fill up the lanes, and trap you behind slow-ass chicken trucks and old ladies in massive Cadillacs.
Arden’s phone rings, and she picks it up. Her posture stays the same, but a frown slips into her voice. “No, man, what’s up?” Mouthing to me, I think she says that it’s my friend Jagger. I could be wrong, though. I never learned to read lips, and I get distracted looking at Arden’s.
There are good-looking guys in my neighborhood, sort of. I grew up with them. They’re kinda rough. Some of ’em smell like Marlboro Lights. But I remember them with fat baby faces and missing teeth. I know who crapped their pants the first day of school. Who still calls the place with all the books a liberry. They work on their cars in the street, and set off Fourth of July fireworks starting June fifteenth or so. I’m not any better than them, and they probably see a horror show when they look at me.
But Arden’s here, outside the game, and she brought the magic with her. There are real dragons; I’m gonna touch this arch, and me and her, we’re gonna spend another night together. We’re gonna share a bed again; I feel like I’m not taking anything for granted, thinking that. We’ll touch; her breath will skim my cheek. Maybe I’ll steal her headband and wrap it around one wrist, because it smells good—because it smells like her.
I swim my dreamy brain back up to the surface and just eavesdrop. Right now, Arden’s thanking (possibly) Jagger for covering for her. The conversation is hard to follow with only half of it. I think he played it off when he ran into Arden’s dad somewhere, like he knew all about Dylan and the lake house.
Interestingly, Arden lowers her voice and glances at me and says, “Yeah, he’s hot.”
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