Going Bovine

by Libba Bray

  “Hey,” I ask a girl who’s on her way in. “What’s this show?”

  “Some kind of auction for charity,” she says. “They let people come up onstage to auction off their most valuable or weird possessions. The more bizarre you are, the better chance you’ve got of getting on.”

  We thank her and push through the crowd. On stage, this chubby guy’s standing there with an autograph he got from some movie star. A few bids are traded back and forth and the gavel comes down on a final price of $125. They usher the next idiot onstage. I can’t believe it. It’s Keith. And he’s holding Balder, who’s been outfitted in a frilly pink dress, pantaloons, and a white lace bonnet.

  “Gonzo,” I say, pointing.

  He starts to laugh but stops when he sees I’m not in a joking mood. “Dude, they put him in a dress.”

  A security guard the size of a compact car steps in front of us. He puts out a hand to stop our progress. “You can’t go in unless you’re part of the auction.”

  “That’s our gnome! They stole him from us!” Gonzo yells.

  The guy pushes us back, away from the stage. “Fine. You have the winning bid, you can get him back.”

  I stick my hand in my pocket, feeling the slickness of those six one-hundred-dollar bills. “Fine. We’re in,” I say.

  The guy hands us paddles and we push our way up to the front. Keith is blabbing on and on about how he and his buddies kidnapped the gnome from the dean’s house in the dead of night, making up a bullshit story so he’ll sound hot. Marisol acts all enchanted. She flips her long, dark hair and gives Balder a kiss, then lifts his dress to show off his pantaloons.

  Balder’s bearing up with his usual stoic grace, but I know under that Zen master expression is a seething cauldron of gnome rage.

  “I can’t believe that guy. What a freakin’ poser,” Gonzo snarls.

  Two supertall dudes crowd next to us, making it hard for us to be seen.

  “Here. Climb up and get ready to bid,” I say, boosting Gonzo onto my shoulders.

  “Are you sure it’s safe?” Gonzo asks. “You strong enough to hold me?”

  “I can hold you long enough to win back Balder. You just be quick on that paddle.” Gonzo’s heavier than I thought, and my muscles feel the strain, but I can hold him for the five minutes this should take.

  “How much we got?” Gonzo yells down.

  “Six hundred,” I croak back. My neck’s killing me.

  Keith finishes his shout-outs to a million buddies back home, and the bidding starts. It’s fast and furious at first. Bids fly out from all over. But when it reaches three hundred bucks, most people drop out. It’s just us and some other guys, bidding back and forth in twenty-five-dollar increments.

  “Do I hear three fifty?” Marisol shouts to the crowd. “I’ve got three fifty!”

  “Gonz! Who’s bidding against us?” I say with effort. For a Little Person he is solid.

  “Those assholes from the car. His buddies,” he says.

  Gonzo’s paddle goes up. The bidding goes back and forth, till we reach $525. We’ve still got $75 in the bank. I’m sweating like a mofo. My muscles are getting stiff and twitchy. Man, not now. Please not now.

  “They’re weakening,” Gonzo yells.

  His paddle goes up. Marisol calls out $525. The twitch travels down my arms and into my legs. My knees are buckling.

  “G-Gonzo,” I sputter. “I can’t hold you.”

  “Just one second, dude.”

  The guys make a counterbid of $600. Marisol wants it over. She yells going once, going twice, just as my legs give out and I fall to the ground with Gonzo on top. I hear Marisol shout, “Sold!” We’ve lost Balder.

  “Dude, what the hell?” Gonzo yells, rubbing his head.

  A guy with massively tattooed arms crouches down and asks Gonzo if he’s okay. Yeah, I’m fine, thanks. No need to check here. Just leave me on the ground, watch your step.

  “You all right?” Gonzo asks me, almost as an afterthought.

  “No,” I say, standing with effort. “We lost Balder.”

  “We’ll get him back,” he says, checking his head with his hands. “I’ll be in the first-aid tent.”

  “Yeah. Got it,” I snap, practically pushing him toward the tent with tattoo boy.

  Keith welcomes his friends up onstage. He gives Marisol the gnome as a gift. She squeals and collects her prize, holding our gnome over her head, showing him to the crowd.

  “He’s so cuuuuute!” she yelps. “We’re going to use him for the new ad campaign for I Double Dog Dare You!” The crowd loves this. They go wild. I remember the last TV spots they did for that show. It involved a stuffed bear. In one spot, they hacked his arm off with a chain saw. In another, they put a firecracker in his mouth and set it on fire. By the end of the five spots, he was nothing but a few pieces of dirty, scorched fluff attached to one glass eye.

  “Hey, get a picture!” Keith Middle Guy Asshole Taker of Other People’s Yard Gnome Friends yells out to his buddies. He puts his arm around Marisol. And she gives him a big kiss on the mouth.

  “Whooo-hooo! This is the rockingest day of my life!” Keith yells. The guys make that weird dog sound they do when they want to show their support. My heart sinks, both because I’ve lost Balder and because I’ve somehow put Keith on a path to certain doom. I hate that I know this. I hate that I can’t just hate him.

  “Hey, Marisol!” Keith grins from ear to ear. “Wanna screw?”

  There’s a collective stunned gasp from the crowd. Marisol’s mouth hangs open. Keith pulls my magic screw from his pocket and hands it to her. “Here. It’s a magic screw. Supposed to bring you good luck.”

  People laugh now, even though it’s about the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. Marisol seems like she still wants to hit him but, hey, she’s on TV and she needs to at least pretend to be cool, so she laughs, too, and says, “Omigosh, you are too funny!” The crowd yells “Magic screw!” over and over, and then Marisol signs off with her trademarked “I’m Marisol, over and outie—later days!” Thumping house music blares out of the speakers for the part where they roll credits on TV. Marisol does a silly dance with Balder and the screw, one in each hand, so that nobody gets the idea that she takes this—or anything else, for that matter—seriously. It’s all one big laugh, one big party house. No need to care. Or get involved. No risk, no mess, no hassle.

  A couple of suits meet Keith when he comes offstage. They shake hands and offer cards. “We loved what you did with that magic screw business,” they say. “The kids loved it, too.”

  “Yeah?” Keith grins. “I didn’t plan it or anything. It just happened.”

  “Yeah, great. Listen, we were just talking about building some YA! TV promos around you. You could be the wacky Magic Screw Guy. What do you say to that?”

  “I’d be on TV?” Keith punches the air with his fist. “All right! Sign me up, man!”

  “Great! We’ll go fill out the paperwork. Listen, you like Rad soda?”

  And just like that, something in the cosmos shifts. A butterfly flaps its wings in South America. Snow falls in Chicago. You give an idiot a stupid magic screw and it turns out to be a necessary part after all.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  In Which Gonzo Makes a Life-or-Yard-Gnome Decision

  A hundred bucks of my prize money has gotten us intel about Balder. He’s currently in Marisol’s dressing room, where she’s using him as a jewelry tree. Another hundred bucks has gotten us badges that allow us backstage access. The minute Marisol leaves her dressing room for the beach stage to film a spot, we duck inside. We find Balder buried under a collection of colorful scarves. His face is red and he looks tired.

  “Thank the gods you’ve found me,” he says with a sheepish smile. “I’ve never been so humiliated in all my life. Do you know she let her friends put makeup on me?”

  Balder is indeed sporting some sparkly blue eye shadow and glossy lipstick.

  “It’s cool,” Gonzo says. “You look
pretty glam rock.”

  “Let’s just get you out of here, okay?” I bundle Balder up in one of the scarves and we head for the door just as Parker walks in.

  “Cameron! The Cam-right-answer-man. What are you doing here?”

  “Um, nothing.”

  “You smoked it today. Good job. Is that the gnome?” The scarf has fallen off Balder’s face. Parker eyes us suspiciously. “What are you up to?”

  “We … ah … they told us to bring it to the stage,” I lie.

  “Bullshit. I’m calling security.” Parker reaches for his phone.

  “Okay!” I shout. “You totally busted us. We just wanted to take some pictures. School prank. You know?”

  “Yeah. I know. I know that you’re trying to make off with YA! TV property. Gonna need this little guy for promos.” He flicks his finger at Balder’s nose. Balder flinches, but Parker doesn’t notice.

  “Parker. Please. Just let us take him for pictures.” I fan out the bills in my hands.

  Balder’s eyes get huge.

  “Come on, dude,” Gonzo adds. “Don’t make us go home empty-handed. There’s bills riding on this in the locker room. Reputations.”

  Parker tries on a pair of expensive sunglasses and checks himself out in the mirror. “You can have the gnome,” he says, taking off the glasses and pocketing them. “On one condition.”

  “Anything. You name it,” I say.

  He points to Gonzo. “Your friend here does I Double Dog Dare You.”

  We are so screwed. Balder shuts his eyes. He knows his fate as a cross-dressing object of destruction has just been sealed.

  “He can’t, but I can,” I say.

  Parker shakes his head. He pokes through the food tray, taking some grapes and a hunk of cheese. “You’ve already been on. Besides, we’ve never had a dwarf.”

  I put the four hundred dollars on the table.

  “I make that in an hour.”

  “What if I let you dunk me? You could put me back on the show and I’ll miss the question on purpose and …”

  “I’ll do it,” Gonzo announces with a look of grim determination on his face.

  Parker grins at me and slaps Gonzo hard on the back. “Excellent! Little man, you just bought yourself a yard gnome.”

  He puts his arm around Gonzo’s shoulders and ushers him down the hall.

  Gonzo looks back at me. “It’ll be okay,” he says, puffing like a dying man on his inhaler.

  “You okay, Balder?” I ask, once we’re out of Marisol’s room and sneaking our way out of the Party House.

  “I have suffered the humiliation of capture, and I am what you call cranky, but I am okay. Thank you,” he says. “I saw you bidding.”

  “You’re welcome,” I say. “I’m sorry I didn’t realize they’d taken you till we were an hour down the road.”

  “Neither did I at first. I was asleep. Next thing I knew I woke up in a strange hotel room with those three idiots. They took photographs of me on top of the minibar and e-mailed them to all their friends. Posing me with chocolate bars and soda cans. Can you imagine?”

  “Shake it off, man. You’re okay now.”

  “Cameron?” A familiar voice stops me cold. Standing five feet in front me is my sister, Jenna. She’s got on her white capris and a striped shirt. For once, her hair is not in a ponytail but down and curled. She looks different. Older, maybe. Less like a kid.

  “Cameron!” she shouts, smiling. She runs over and throws her arms around me. “Oh my God! It is you!”

  “Jenna, hey,” I say, hugging her back as best I can with an armful of yard gnome. I’m not putting Balder down for anything.

  “What are you doing here?” she says. Her eyes are wet. She rubs them with the back of her hand.

  “Top-secret mission,” I say, trying to make her laugh. It’s what I used to do when we were kids.

  “Cameron …”

  I hold up a hand. “I know, I know. I’ll explain everything. I promise. But first I’ve got to drop something off in my room. Wait right here.”

  I try to break away, but she pulls me back. Either I’m really weakening or she’s got a grip that’s even manlier than Chet King’s. “No way,” she says with a determined smile. “I’m going with you.”

  It would be impossible to fight her. “Fine.”

  We make our way downstairs and push through the packed bodies on the dance floor they’ve built on the beach, walking through the warm sand till we’re at the crappy motel.

  “Yikes,” Jenna says, taking a look around at the seedy décor—the stained carpet, butt-ugly floral bedspreads, and lack of any amenity, like a minibar or even an ice bucket. She doesn’t step inside.

  “It’s sixty-five dollars a night and free cable,” I explain. “I’ll be out in one second.”

  She nods and I enter the hazy room with Balder. I turn on the bedside lamp. “Balder, I’ve gotta deal with my sister. Will you be okay here by yourself?”

  “Just lock the door, please,” he says. “I don’t care to have any more adventures.”

  “Sure thing.”

  “Cameron.”

  “Yeah?”

  “That was a very brave thing you did today, rescuing me, offering all your money.”

  “Well, I couldn’t let them turn one of my best buds into a promo snuff reel,” I say.

  Balder gives me a self-satisfied little smile. “I’ve told you, I can’t be harmed.”

  “Yeah. Sure. I know that. But still.”

  “Will Gonzo be okay?”

  Gonzo. Shit. “Don’t worry. The show doesn’t tape till late tonight. I’ll rescue him before then and we’ll all be long gone by morning.”

  Balder nods. For the first time, he looks worried. “What’s up?” I ask.

  “Sometimes, I dream of my ship, of Ringhorn. It shines like the sun after rain, and I’m running toward it.”

  “Sounds like a good dream.”

  His face is thoughtful. “But I never reach it.”

  “We’ll get there,” I promise him. “We’ll make it to the ocean.”

  I help him up into Gonzo’s bed, pour him a soda, and give him the remote. When I close the door behind me, he’s lying there, happily channel surfing, a Viking warrior on spring break.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  Wherein I Have a Conversation with My Sister and the Fates Throw Me a Bone

  Jenna and I find a place to sit in the loud, packed beach lounge. Every television is turned to YA! TV except one, which shows the ConstaToons channel. The sound has been muted on all of them. A succession of musical acts plays on the tiny stage—bands, acoustic-guitar girls, comics who sing, rappers. Partiers wander in from the mosh pit scene outside, carrying cups of beer. Some have flasks that they hide in their swim trunks and pull out when they think no one’s looking. They’re all checking each other out.

  I buy Jenna and me a couple of sodas. It takes half an hour just to make it to the bar. “Here you go,” I say, handing her a cup.

  “It’s diet, right?”

  I roll my eyes. “Don’t worry.”

  Some guy shoves another guy, who sort of half falls onto our table, nearly spilling Jenna’s soda.

  “Sorry,” he says, laughing. “Look what you did, man!” he screams to his friends as he runs over and grabs one in a drunken headlock.

  Jenna gives me a frogger in the arm, not hard, just like she used to do when we were eight.

  “Ow.”

  “Cameron, I am so mad at you!” she says. “Why did you run away from the hospital? Have you really been doing all those things?”

  I rub the sore spot on my arm. “It’s hard to explain.”

  “Try me.” She’s got her all-business face on, the one that has seen her through countless cheerleader tryouts and student council elections. I’m defenseless against the Face. I take a deep breath and dive in. By the end of it, I’m exhausted and Jenna looks like somebody’s secretly replaced her reality with a different one, which I suppose is one hundred p
ercent true.

  “You know this sounds crazy,” Jenna says finally.

  I shake my head. “Believe me, I know. But I’m not going back, Jenna. I can’t. Not yet.”

  The guys goofing around near our table get a little too physical again, and the same guy bumps our table hard. He doesn’t apologize this time.

  “Do you mind?” Jenna says, and the guy moves away. “Cameron, how do you know this is all true?”

  “I don’t.”

  “That scares me.”

  “Yeah. It scares me, too.” I need to change the subject, and fast. “So, spring break at the Party House, huh? How’d that happen? Weren’t you supposed to go skiing with the Lord?”

  She makes a face.

  “I meant Chet. I get those two mixed up sometimes.”

  Jenna fiddles with her straw. “Chet and I broke up.”

  “Oh. Sorry.”

  “No you’re not,” she says, laughing.

  Okay, I’m not. But I am sorry she’s sorry. “He didn’t mess with you or anything, did he?”

  She rolls her eyes. “No. He just kept pressuring me to be more like him, and if I wasn’t like him, he didn’t know what to do with me. He’s dating some girl from his church now. They like all the same things.”

  “Did you come here by yourself?” I ask. I can’t imagine that. Dad wouldn’t allow it, and Jenna can’t go anywhere without at least two other girls in tow. It’s against her personal bill of rights.

  “I came with Staci and those guys. Mom said it would be good for me to get away.” Jenna takes a drink of her soda, and we sit for a minute watching some punk-poser band in cutoff work pants and tattoos hop around onstage screaming out a song.

  “Everybody’s completely freaked out. I mean, Cam, those bounty hunters aren’t fooling around, and Mom and Dad …”

  “I know. I’m sorry. I promise I’ll be back as soon as I can and make everything right. You’re not going to tell them, are you?”

  She gives me a hard look, like I’m material on the blackboard she needs to understand, classify, and master for the test. I never realized how much she’s like Dad in that way. “Yeah. I am. I have to, Cameron. But I’ll give you a head start. I’ll wait till tomorrow when I call in again.”