“Why do we have to go now?”
“Because that’s when the Starks have the space,” her mother said. “They’re doing us a favor.”
Palmer shook her head. Her mom just didn’t get it.
“I’m going to go run,” she said.
“Our lives don’t revolve around softball, Palmer,” her mother said, irritation creeping into her voice. “I’m sorry if this doesn’t fit your schedule the way you’d like, but that’s not the only thing we have to consider.”
Palmer walked away from her out of the yard. As she passed through the house, she saw May still sitting at the table.
“I don’t really want to go either,” May said.
“It won’t hurt you,” Palmer spat. “You’ll just miss work.”
She continued on her way to the front door and headed out to the street.
11
The day before the trip May was in the basement, staring down into a laundry basket full of her sisters’ dirty underwear and listening to the rhythmic thumping of the load she had just put into the dryer. There was a heavy fabric softener smell in the air, and she realized that she had forgotten to clean out the lint trap.
It was nine o’clock at night, and she’d just gotten off an eleven-hour shift. To compensate for the time she would be gone, May had managed to squeeze in fifty hours at work over the last four and a half days. Technically, this wasn’t legal, but she’d managed to quietly swap out with people on the side. She had only “officially” been there for thirty-two hours; the rest of the time she’d entered someone else’s work code into the cash register. During her absence some of her shifts would be covered in the same way.
The overtime meant that even if she’d wanted to, she’d had almost no time to see Pete. She hadn’t even spoken to him in almost two weeks. He had called several times, but she’d never called back.
The idea, of course, was that this separation was going to make things easier for May. In reality, it made things much worse. She’d found that it was becoming harder and harder to listen to Nell talking about him. There was no way to deny it. She missed him, and not being around him was weird.
She stared at the bits of broken elastic zinging up from the waistband of one of Brooks’s blue thongs.
“Why I am doing this?” she suddenly said out loud. “This is Brooks’s job.”
She grabbed the basket, marched up the basement steps, and went into the living room, where Palmer and Brooks were silently watching a baseball game. She dropped it to the floor.
“You do this,” she said.
“What?” Brooks said, not looking over.
“This is your job,” May said. “You do it.”
“We’ve already done our stuff,” Brooks said, turning to May. “We had to clean out the garage and get all of the dishes and chairs and beach stuff ready. We’re done.”
“But this is your job, remember? I’ve been doing it for weeks because you haven’t.”
“Like I said, I’m done.”
“Well…” May kicked the basket in her direction. “I’ve done the first two loads of stuff. Now I guess it just depends on how much you want underwear for the next five days.”
She walked away, feeling a strange adrenaline rush. She went upstairs to her room, closed the door, sank down on her shaggy rose-colored carpet, and picked up the phone. Before she could think it over, she dialed Pete’s number. He answered and was clearly surprised to hear her voice.
“I have to get out of here,” she said. “Seriously. Can you—I mean, are you around?”
“I’m here,” he said. “I can. I was supposed to meet Nell after work, but…”
“Oh,” May said quickly. “Never mind.”
“But it’s not a big deal. I can get out of it. You sound kind of burned out.”
“I am,” May admitted. “I just need to not be here.”
“Sure,” he said. “No problem. Give me fifteen minutes?”
May got off the phone.
She changed into her favorite T-shirt, a blue camouflage print. She squirted on some freesia body spray and let her hair down. Maybe it was the light (or the lack of it, since the blinds were down), but May actually liked the way she looked tonight. She pulled her hair around her chin. With her widow’s peak, this gave her face a heart shape. The blue shirt made her eyes seem even greener.
Brooks and Palmer were still watching the baseball game when she went back downstairs. The laundry still sat in the middle of the room.
“Where are you going?” Palmer said, glancing over at May.
“Out.”
Brooks and Palmer watched in amazement as May sailed out the door.
May was waiting on the front step when Pete pulled up. The humidity had frazzled his hair a bit, and he was wearing his standard-issue cargo shorts and a T-shirt that read I Ate the Whole Thing!
“I called you,” he said as she got into the car. “You haven’t called back.”
“Sorry,” May said. “It’s just been a weird couple of weeks.”
“Oh.”
“Can we just go away from here?” May asked. “Can we just drive?”
“Sure.” He nodded, pulling back on the road. “Anything wrong?”
“Just stir-crazy. And I have to go away tomorrow.”
“Away?”
“Camping on the beach for a few days. I’ll be trapped with Palmer and Brooks.”
“I have an idea,” he said. “I think you’ll like it.”
They drove for about ten minutes. May noticed that they were heading for the edge of the city, to the northeast. The houses got closer together as they approached the city line. There was a high wall of fence and trees. Pete pulled into a hard-to-spot opening, which led to a vast, empty parking lot.
“What is this?” May asked as Pete stopped the car in front of a small white building. She then noticed a line of white golf carts next to the building, just behind a cyclone fence. “Is this where you work?”
“Yup.” He nodded. “The world’s crappiest golf course.”
“What do you do here?” she said, looking through the fence at the expanse of shadowy lawn.
“I’m a cart boy, but really I’m sort of an unofficial greenskeeper. I mow lawns, dig holes, collect the pins at night. And I sometimes accidentally lose control of the carts and chase golfers into the rough. Stay here a second.”
He walked up to the door of the building and let himself in. A minute later he appeared on the other side of the fence. He unlocked the gate from the inside, let her in, and locked it again. He walked to the first parked cart and pulled off the seat, revealing the engine underneath.
“Here’s another lesson,” he said, pointing at the mess of parts. “This is the governor. It regulates the speed. And this is how you disengage it.” He produced one of the tiny scorecard pencils from his pocket, pulled back a spring, and jammed the pencil in as far as it would go.
“Now this,” he said, replacing the seat, “is a much-improved golf cart. Hop in.”
“Won’t people get upset?”
“This is a public golf course. No one cares. My boss definitely doesn’t. Come on.”
With a quick look around May carefully got into the cart.
“Aren’t there cameras or anything?”
“Nope.”
“Or guard dogs?”
“No. It’s really simple. Accelerator. Brake. Wheel. Put your foot on the brake.”
May did so. Before she knew what was happening, Pete put in the key and started up the engine.
“That switch by your leg flips it from forward to reverse,” he said. “You have to come to a full stop before changing direction, or it’ll make a really ugly sound.”
May nervously glanced down by her leg.
“Drive wherever you like. Just be careful not to go too fast on the declines, especially near the water. Not that that even matters much. It’s only a foot deep. But you might flip the cart.”
“What?”
“And d
on’t push the brake too hard, or it will switch to an emergency brake. If that happens, just tap it again and it should release.”
“Oh my God…”
“Okay,” he said. “Go!”
“What about you?”
“I’ll be right behind you,” he said, pulling the seat off the next cart. “Go on.”
The thing was chugging underneath her. She put her foot on the accelerator, and the cart started rolling forward. Though there were a few floodlights scattered around the perimeter, they barely illuminated the ground. She saw some slight dips, bits of sand and grass, but mostly just murk. Pete shot past her a moment later and waved her on. She hit the accelerator and the cart rumbled along a little faster.
Puttering through the dark at ten miles an hour wouldn’t be exciting to some people, but to May it was kind of like having a private amusement park. Sometimes she trailed along behind Pete, and sometimes she just drove off whichever path she liked and he would come along and find her. Then they would race for a minute.
After about an hour, when she felt she’d had enough, she rode up next to him.
“How do I stop it?” she yelled over.
“What?”
“You said if I hit it too hard, it would turn on the emergency brake! So I don’t know how to make it stop!”
He stopped his cart and jumped out. Then he jogged alongside her and hopped into her cart.
“Excuse me,” he said, reaching over her and putting his foot on the brake and his hands on the wheel. This meant that he was somewhat on top of her, which was a weird sensation. The cart eased to a halt. He turned off the engine and retracted himself.
“Sorry,” he said.
“No. Thanks. I would have been riding around all night.”
“Or until it ran out of gas,” he said, putting his feet up on the dashboard (which was also the hood). May followed suit and gazed around at the course.
“Your hair is getting longer,” she commented.
“Oh, yeah. I haven’t cut it in a while. I know, it’s—”
“It looks good. You should keep it.” She nodded.
“You like it this long?”
“Well, it was longer when we were kids, but then it just made you look crazy.”
“And it doesn’t now?”
“You still look crazy. But it suits you. You don’t scare me as much as you used to.”
“You thought I was scary?”
“You were scary,” she said. “You’re still scary. You’re just not as scary.”
“Me? You used to flick me on the head with a pencil every time I looked at you.”
“Self-defense.”
“No, it wasn’t.” He laughed. “You were always trying to kick my ass.”
“You must be thinking of Brooks.”
“No. That was you.”
They were shoulder to shoulder now. She could actually feel his heart beat by leaning against him. There was something comforting about being here—it was open, yet it was dark and quiet. Nothing they said here would be heard by anyone.
“Are you mad at me?” he asked.
“What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean.”
May slapped a mosquito on her leg and flicked it away. She didn’t reply for a moment. She didn’t know what she was feeling.
“I’m not mad,” she finally said. “I think it’s really weird that you’re dating Nell. I know both of you. It’s just weird when two people you know are together. And I’ve known you forever….”
A bat flew out of one of the trees next to the course and zipped past them. May jumped. She was edgy now, and a deep curiosity was burning inside her.
“Was Nell the first?” she asked.
“First?”
“First person you slept with.”
“Um…” Pete stared around at the dark trees. “No. There was Jenna.”
“Oh.” May nodded.
Okay, it really bothered her. It was like she’d swallowed a drill, and it was boring a hole through her insides. Now she felt like she was somehow way too unsophisticated for him—for Pete, her Pete. The whole thing was just humiliating, and it hurt.
“Great,” she heard herself saying. “Good for you. Go, Pete.”
Pete kept unbuckling his watch, taking it off, and putting it back on again. His face was serious.
“With Jenna, it was kind of weird,” he said. “She had a lot of problems. Her parents put a lot of pressure on her. I know she looked really happy all the time, but she was on antidepressants.”
“Jenna was?”
“She used to have to talk to me or be with me all the time. She was always really emotional, constantly, but especially after we would—”
He grabbed his mouth, as if he had just caught it speaking out of turn without his knowledge. He thoughtfully drummed his long fingers against his lips, debating how much more to say.
“Have sex?” May asked.
“Right.”
“Intense.”
“Yeah.”
“So what happened? You said you stopped calling each other.”
“We didn’t stop calling each other,” he said slowly. “It’s just that she always needed me. Always. And if you have sex with someone and then they always start crying afterward, you start to wonder about yourself. It’s sort of not what you hope for.”
May caught herself smiling at that, even though it didn’t seem appropriate.
“So we didn’t stop calling each other—I stopped calling her. I didn’t know what to say to her anymore or what to do.”
In the last minute or so, it seemed like the world had utterly transformed in May’s eyes. The perfect Jenna Cazwell was depressed. Pete had done something a bit cruel, but also pretty understandable. His confession lifted her sinking spirits. She felt the spasm in her stomach relax.
“It sounds like a dick move,” he said dejectedly. “I almost told you before, when we were in the city. But I thought you’d hate me, you know, more than usual.”
“I don’t hate you. You’re Camper. Nobody hates Camper.”
“That’s not true.” He laughed mirthlessly. “I’m pretty sure Jenna does.”
“But I don’t,” May said. “I know you’re a nice guy. I mean, your mom makes you teach me how to drive and you don’t even—”
“My mom never asked me,” he said.
“What?”
“I lied.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “Seemed like it might be a good thing to do. So I just offered.”
It hung in the air between them for a moment.
“Why did you make up the part about your mom?” May asked.
“You looked suspicious, so I decided to say that my mom had asked me to. Sounded like something that could happen. Are you mad?”
The one thing May knew at that point was that she was definitely not mad. Instinctively she reached out to ruffle his hair to reassure him. She always whapped at his curls when they were kidding around. This time, though, instead of just giving the outer curls a quick shake, she actually let her fingers sink in. His hair was very soft, almost like baby hair. She could feel his surprise at the contact. He sat up a bit straighter.
She continued pulling her fingers through his hair, right down to the nape of his neck. His skin was cool, and she dragged her hand along it casually as she pulled her arm back. She pressed her fingers down into the soft fabric of his cotton shirt. A strange tingling spread through her body.
It seemed to turn her brain back on.
“We should probably drive back,” she said, withdrawing her hand. “It seems kind of late.”
Pete didn’t get up right away, so she gave him a gentle push out of the cart.
When they pulled back up to May’s house, they stared at the RV in the driveway. All twenty-six feet of it. Longer, actually, since the Firebird was latched onto the back. So more like forty feet. The chain holding the Firebird on seemed way too small, and the mess of wires an
d lights would be impossible to disentangle.
“So that’s it?” Pete said.
“Yep.” May nodded, getting out of the car. “Want to see?”
It was very dark inside the RV. Shadowy mounds covered the sofa, the table, and the floor. There was a light smell of mold in the air. May found a tiny battery-powered camping lamp on the counter and switched it on. It emitted a feeble glow.
“See this?” May said, grabbing a dish from the kitchenette sink. “We stopped using these dishes when I was five. All of this other stuff is just junk we haven’t gotten around to throwing away. It’s like we’re taking a trip in a garage sale.”
She sat down on one side of the bench-style kitchen table. Pete shut the door and sat on the other side of the table. May could barely even see him over the pile.
“This isn’t going to work,” he said. “I’m coming over.”
“Okay,” May said. “See you when you get here.”
Pete came over to May’s side and joined her on the bench.
“This stuff reeks,” she said, cringing. “It’s probably been baking in here all night. It’s going to be unbearable tomorrow.”
She reached up and pulled a box down from the top of the pile.
“Operation,” she said, feeling the thick dust under her fingers. “We used to play this.”
“I remember,” Pete said. “I think I swallowed some of the pieces.”
“That’s right. I dared you, and you did it. What did you eat?”
“Definitely the Adam’s apple. And the butterfly from the stomach. Maybe the funny bone.”
“God.” May laughed. “You would do anything. Brooks and I used to sit and think stuff up to get you to do. I’m glad we didn’t kill you.”
“You wouldn’t have learned how to drive.”
There was something very deliberate about the way he said it.
“Right,” May said. “I guess you can’t complain about having to teach me, you know, since—”
“I wasn’t complaining. Like I said, I wanted to.”
“Oh. Well, thanks. It’s been…good. It’s kind of weird not wanting to kill you. Much.”
“Yeah.”
They were shoulder to shoulder now, the box between them.
The Key to the Golden Firebird Page 15