by Emily France
“Oh my god.” Essa raced into the room, reached for the candies. She held them to her nose and recognized the same swampy smell from the Edi-Sweets in the kitchen.
“Puck.” Essa knelt beside her, held the candies up. “Did you eat any of these?”
Puck picked up the sad, crumpled kite and shook her head no.
“Puck. Tell me the truth.” Essa gently took her sister’s face in her hands and peered into her eyes. She sniffed her breath. “It’s really, really important.”
“I didn’t. I promise.”
“You feel okay? You don’t feel weird? Out of it? Can you breathe okay?” Essa held her ear to her sister’s chest, listening for the rhythm of her heartbeat. It was fast, but no faster than usual. Puck’s heart always beat like this. Like a tiny bird trying hard to stay in the skies.
“I didn’t eat any.”
“They’re Mom’s,” Essa said. “They’re from her shop. They’re bad, like we talked about. Really, really bad. You know what they can do to a kid’s brain.”
Puck let the kite flutter softly into her lap. “I know.”
Puck’s eyes looked okay. Her voice sounded okay.
She’s okay.
Essa breathed for what felt like the first time in five whole minutes. She wondered why she hadn’t passed out already from lack of oxygen, collapsed in the middle of the crumpled kite pile.
But then Puck’s words hit her.
“Wait . . .” Essa started. “You knew? You knew these were Mom’s candies?”
Puck nodded.
“Then why . . . ?” Essa didn’t finish her question. She didn’t have to.
She knew what they were. And she was thinking about eating them anyway.
Essa pulled Puck close, gathered her in her arms like limp kite canvas. She rocked her. Back and forth. Back and forth. She thought of her gatha.
Breathing in, I know my breath is the wheel of the ship.
Breathing out, I know the storm will pass.
She knew calm was contagious. She hoped her breath would comfort Puck.
Puck noticed. “Bodhisattva,” she whispered. The concept from Mahayana Buddhism about creating peace and harmony in ourselves so that we spread peace and harmony to others.
“I try,” Essa said.
“I’m sorry I scared you,” Puck said. “That guy has been here all night.” She pressed her cheek against Essa’s warm shoulder. Essa could feel her sister’s tears on her neck. “I didn’t want to leave my room. That guy. He looks so gross. And I heard noises.”
“The candy can make you so sick, Puck. So, so sick.” Essa pulled back and looked at Puck. “They could poison you. You shouldn’t ever—”
Puck pulled away.
Essa had been too hard on her little sister. She shouldn’t get mad at her, shouldn’t let anger seep into her voice. She was just so scared. “What’s all this?” Essa asked gently, holding up the broken kite.
“I solved the Puzzle Kite box. The one I told Mom I wanted. But I was wrong; it wasn’t the horse. I brought home the wrong one.”
“So you broke it?”
Puck nodded, tears filling her eyes again. “I’m sorry,” she said.
“You don’t have to be sorry. Not at all.”
“I shouldn’t have stolen it from the store. But Mom never listens. I knew she’d never get it for me. I told her five times I wanted the horse kite. And she kept saying she’d buy it. But I could tell she wasn’t even listening. She probably doesn’t even know I want one.”
Puck put her head back on Essa’s shoulder, played with a chunk of Essa’s long brown hair. She pulled back again. Knitted her blonde brows together. “You smell like smoke.”
“I do?” Essa asked.
“Yeah.” She stood up and ran to her bed. Tossed herself down on top of it. “Not you, too,” she said into the folds of the comforter.
It hit Essa what Puck was smelling. She sat by her on the bed. Ran a hand along her back. “Pucky, it’s woodsmoke. I promise. I was by a bonfire. I wouldn’t smoke that stuff. I promise.”
“Promise?” Puck’s question was muffled, her face still shoved in the blankets. She rolled over and looked at Essa. “Don’t ever leave me.”
Essa wasn’t sure what was more painful. Her heart shattering in her chest, or hearing the delicate sound of Puck’s breath as she tried not to cry again.
All kids want, Essa thought, is for us to be with them when we’re with them. Here when we’re here.
“Promise.”
June 10
13
OLIVER
Oliver was supposed to meet Essa and her friends outside Cheba Hut at 7 p.m. The shop sign was lit up in bright neon, a cluster of sub sandwich rolls arranged in the shape of a weed leaf. The smell of baking sandwich bread filtered out the doors as customers came and went.
He stood on the sidewalk, hands stuffed in his jeans pockets. As college kids passed him in small groups of twos and threes, he tried to look like he hung out here all the time. He scanned the sidewalks. Still no sign of Essa or any of her friends. Was she messing with him? Did she not really want to hang out tonight? Did she invite him here just to embarrass him?
He felt like an idiot as the minutes passed by. He turned and walked back to the shop window. The menu was taped to the glass:
Big Buddha Cheese: Choice of bread smothered in three-cheese sauce
Pineapple Kush: Smoked ham, Hawaiian pineapple, mozzarella
The Robert Plant: Nothing but plants! Choice of 5 veggies. Guac extra
“Ollie!” Micah boomed. “Welcome to the Hill!” Micah and Anish were strolling toward him.
No Essa.
“My favorite is the Big Buddha Cheese,” Anish said. He looked proud to be offering wise counsel. “Best grilled cheese you’ll ever have in your life. Seriously. They take it to the next level.”
They went into Cheba Hut. The walls were painted a sickening shade of green and covered with bumper stickers and graffiti.
“You should see this place when classes are actually in session,” Micah said. He picked at a dried mustard stain on his T-shirt—Chilltown, Est. 2015, Pop. 1. “It’s crawling. Just summer school people here now. Like yours truly.”
“Your turn.” Anish pushed Oliver toward the counter. Oliver squinted at the menu above the grill.
“I highly recommend the Ghost Train Haze,” Micah said. “Pun intended.”
They all got their sandwiches and huddled in a booth to eat. The Ghost Train turned out to be a collection of smoked meat, cheese, and a hot sauce that made Oliver’s lips feel like they would shrivel and fall off in three to four days’ time.
“Dude, what are we doing tomorrow?” Anish looked across the table at Micah. A huge dollop of melted cheese oozed out the side of his large Big Buddha Cheese. “Mountain Fugitive?”
“Next weekend,” Micah said, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “Gotta study for a philosophy test tomorrow.” Then he balled up the napkin and threw it into the trash can halfway across the room. He nailed the shot. “Essa’s in for next weekend, too.”
They went on talking about plans that Oliver couldn’t follow. Mountain Fugitive sounded like the orienteering stuff Essa had mentioned, but he couldn’t be sure. They were talking about past times they’d all played it. They were saying things about shadow stick compasses in a pinch and topo map reading. Landmarks and peaks and gullies. They were talking about getting lost and sitting by the side of a trail for ten hours, waiting for rescue.
“You free next weekend?” Anish bumped Oliver’s foot under the table. “We’ll just go up for the day.”
“I don’t know, I—”
The bells above the Cheba Hut door jingled loudly.
Essa walked in.
She was wearing baggy multicolored pants and a tank top that showed her midriff. Her l
ong hair fell over her shoulders as she scanned the restaurant. She ran her hands through her hair and pulled it into a messy bun on top of her head. Oliver sat straight up in the booth.
Micah noticed. “Oh no,” he said. “Don’t even think it, dude.”
“What?” Oliver asked, his voice climbing an octave.
“You’re sporting a classic Overeager Stance. Essa doesn’t date. I’ve seen many a man try and fail. And when they fail, they go down in epic, burning flames. She’s . . . what would you call it, Anish?”
“Huh?” Anish wasn’t paying attention. He was busy deciphering some of the graffiti etched into the tabletop. “What does this say? ‘Your existence gives me . . .’ What? I can’t read the last word.”
Micah leaned over and squinted at the writing someone had scratched into the table with a knife. “‘Diarrhea. Your existence gives me diarrhea.’”
“Genius. I want this on a shirt to wear when I’m with you.”
“Focus,” Micah said. “I’m trying to explain to poor Ollie here why crushing on Essa is the very definition of futility. Am I right?”
“Oh,” Anish said, looking troubled. “Dude. Give up on that project stat. Seriously. Essa is super—”
“What? I’m super what?” Essa was standing at their booth. Her choice of a midriff-showing shirt meant that Oliver was perilously close to the smooth skin on her stomach, the swirl of her belly button.
Don’t stare.
Don’t stare.
Don’t stare.
Plus, she smelled like Sophie’s incense, a mix of lemongrass and lavender. Which Oliver decided was now officially the greatest scent on earth.
“Awesome,” Anish said. “You are super . . . awesome.” He reached up and took her hand. He guided her into the booth. Their shoulders were touching. Oliver didn’t like it.
“You’re full of shit,” Essa said. Her eyes were flat. Even after they met Oliver’s. He was hoping they’d kind of light up when she saw him. He was hoping they were about to embark on some epic night on the Hill. He was hoping . . .
“I don’t even want to be here,” Essa said, sighing. “I just want to crash. But Puck’s at a friend’s sleepover, and Mom is home again with her new boyfriend. I can’t even be in the same house with that guy.”
“You hungry?” Micah asked. Oliver couldn’t tell whether Micah was a douche for not listening to more of what Essa had to say about the drama with her mom, or if he was just really adept at diverting the conversation, at cheering her up. “Oliver here had the Ghost Train Haze.”
Oliver shrugged. “I think my lips are about to fall off.” He took a drink of soda. Which wasn’t helping the burn. He locked eyes with her over the rim of his giant plastic red cup.
Essa cracked a half-smile. “Who let him order that?” She looked at Anish and Micah. They pointed at each other. She looked back at Oliver. “Because your lips will fall off. At least they’ll feel like it, anyway. I’ve only had the vegetarian version, but still. The sauce is the same. Brutal.”
Oliver’s cheeks burned. Then he lost focus, and a mini chug of soda escaped his third-degree-burnt lips and went down the front of his shirt.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
What the hell was wrong with him? He was losing it. Was it because she said the word lips?
That’s pathetic.
Micah and Anish exchanged knowing glances. Essa pulled a wad of napkins out of the table dispenser and handed them to Oliver.
“Thanks,” he said, smiling. He hoped her eyes might smile back.
They didn’t.
“No problem.” She turned to Anish. “Now get up. Let’s go over to the Fox.”
“Who’s playing?” Micah groaned. “Can’t we just roam? I’m so broke.”
“No, you’re not. You worked the same hours as me this week. And it’s Trout Steak Revival. Come on.”
“This bluegrass phase you’re in is wearing me out,” Anish said. “And I’m still annoyed they started charging two extra bucks for under twenty-one.”
Essa ignored their protests. She stood up and headed for the door, leaving Oliver in her lavender wake. He wanted to scramble out of the booth and run after her, catch her, be as close to her as humanly possible. But he stopped himself.
Play it cool.
He hung back. Waited for Micah and Anish to get up and follow her out.
They strolled up College Avenue and then turned on Thirteenth Street. Oliver saw a sushi place, a yoga studio, an ad plastered to the back of a sidewalk bench: Freaky’s Smoke Shop.
Essa walked ten steps ahead while Oliver was stuck with the guys, who were busy debating the superiority of different methods for boiling water when you’re stuck in the woods without a metal pot.
Oliver got the courage to jog ahead and catch up to her. “Hey,” he said, a little out of breath. Boulder’s altitude was still getting to him.
“Hey.” Essa didn’t look over.
As they neared the Fox Theater, the sidewalk got more crowded. There was a small throng gathered under the red neon lights. Black letters hung crookedly on the marquee: trout steak revival.
“So you into this band?” Oliver asked, pointing up.
“Yeah.”
Essa’s eyes looked different than they did at the party last night. Maybe it was just the firelight Oliver had seen reflected in them, but Oliver didn’t think so. Something was different tonight. She seemed . . . deflated.
“You okay?” He regretted it the moment he asked it. Maybe it was too bold. He hardly knew her, and he instantly felt like he was prying. Whenever Lilly was sick, he hated to be asked if he was okay. Because he wasn’t. And he didn’t want to talk about it.
“Yeah,” Essa said again. But it wasn’t convincing. A long strand of her hair had fallen out of her elastic. She reached up and tucked it back in.
Maybe nothing’s wrong. Maybe she just doesn’t like me.
He tried again. “What’s your favorite song of theirs?”
Essa paused as the crowd slowly moved forward. They were under the marquee now. She looked up into red neon lights that bathed her face in a warm glow. “No.”
“No? They have a song called ‘No’?”
Essa managed a smile. “Sorry, I meant . . . no, I’m not really okay.”
Oliver wasn’t sure what to say next. He wasn’t expecting a real answer like that. When people asked him if he was okay, he always just lied. “Okay if I ask why? I mean, I guess I sort of just did. So I hope it’s okay.” He gave her a small smile.
The corners of her mouth lifted just a little. “It’s okay. It’s just my mom. She has this new boyfriend, and when I came home from the bonfire last night, Puck was up, and she’d gotten these candies out . . .”
Essa didn’t finish her sentence. Oliver couldn’t tell whether she was angry or afraid or worried. Or maybe all of it. Micah and Anish sped past them and made it to the ticket counter.
“Do you really have to do that?” Micah was making a face as the bouncer marked his hand with a giant red ink stamp: under 21. The bouncer didn’t respond.
Anish’s hand was stamped, making Oliver next in line. He stepped up and fumbled in his back jeans pocket for his wallet. But Essa reached out and stopped him.
“Let’s not go in,” she said. Oliver thought he could see a little firelight return to her eyes. “You wanna come somewhere with me?”
“Yeah, sure.” It didn’t even occur to him to ask where, and he nearly dropped his wallet on the pavement as he quickly shoved it back into his pocket.
“But we’ll kind of have to hurry. We can’t be late. Is that okay?”
Oliver nodded.
Essa reached for her cell and texted Micah and Anish. They’d already disappeared inside the crowded theater. “Uh-oh,” she said, looking down at the screen. “They’re pissed.”
“They can’t get a refund and just come back out?” Oliver realized he asked the question in a hopeful sort of way. As if he hadn’t asked a question at all, but had made a statement: please tell me they can’t so we can be alone.
“Nope,” Essa said. “They either forfeit the eighteen bucks, or they stay and listen to Trout Steak. I do feel kinda bad. They didn’t really want to go in the first place . . .”
“Didn’t you say we had to leave soon? If we want to be on time?”
The flicker in her eyes came back again. “Yes. Okay. Let’s go. They’ll still love me tomorrow.”
14
OLIVER
They hurried past shops on the Hill. An art store, a bookstore with lines of poetry painted on the outside, a tiny black brick building called The Sink. Oliver stopped in front and peered in the windows.
“Famous burger and pizza place,” Essa explained. “Been there for a hundred years.”
Oliver pressed his face against the glass. The Sink’s walls were covered from floor to ceiling with graffiti and paintings. He saw images of angels, mermaids, students crammed around a professor with wild-looking hair.
“Puck’s elementary school isn’t far from here,” Essa said, pointing down the street. “See that giant brick building? Kind of looks like it’s out of Hogwarts or something? That’s it.”
“Elementary school on a college campus?”
“Yep. She’s a little genius, I’m telling you. It’s perfect for her.”
They kept walking. Soon the street changed from shops to rows of houses and apartment buildings. Music blasted from open balcony doors. Pizza boxes were piled in trash cans clustered beside entrances. Empty beer cans were tucked at the foot of bushes like shiny bullets of fertilizer.
Oliver wracked his brain, searching for something to talk about as they walked. But nothing came. He wanted it to be like last night, at the fire. He wanted to know everything about Essa, every last detail. But she walked along in silence. She wasn’t looking around her. She wasn’t looking inside the college parties they passed. Mostly she seemed to just be watching the ground as they walked. She seemed too quiet. Almost . . . somewhere else.