And really, what else were they going to do? Drinking might make the time go by a little faster.
May reached over and took the bottle.
“All right.” Brooks nodded encouragingly. “This is how this works. You take a long sip from the bottle, then you gulp it fast and take a drink of the soda right away. It’s got to be fast—the soda washes away the taste.”
May sniffed the contents of the bottle and eyed the sweating soda cup.
“Okay,” May said. “But you have to promise to keep quiet about Pete.”
“My lips are sealed,” Brooks said.
An hour later—was it an hour? May wasn’t sure. Anyway, they were playing Skee-Ball.
May had always been the queen of the arcade when they were kids. She could roll those hard wooden balls down the lane, catch just the right amount of bounce, land them right in the middle rings, get loads of tickets. It was her one athletic skill.
Of course, she’d never tried the game after sucking back a huge bottle of extremely cheap vodka and Tang. Some of May’s Skee-Balls made it into the rings, but many more made their way into other people’s lanes, and she decided to leave after getting a few dirty stares. She wandered out of the arcade and into the crowd, past the Tilt-A-Whirl and the haunted house and the giant slide.
She looked out over the beach to the water. Kites. A whole lot of kites tethered to rails of the boardwalk, to poles in the sand, to…nothing? May hung her head over the rail and looked in wonder at the dark space below her, then she swung her gaze up to the kites. There was one kite in particular, an enormous dragonfly, that held May’s attention as it cut through the air. It made crisp noises to demonstrate—just to her, she felt—that the air was there and real and tangible. You could slice into it with a soft piece of cloth and it would make a sound like a knife sliding into an apple.
The wind that propelled the kites blew strands of her hair into her mouth when she opened it, so she had to spend a few seconds extracting them from between her teeth.
“That’s it,” she said aloud to no one. “I’m going to do it. I’m going to call him.”
After making this pronouncement, it took her a few minutes to find a phone. It took a few more still to figure out how to make a collect call, even though there were clear instructions. But her trying paid off, and she heard Pete’s mom answering the phone and taking the call.
“Hi!” she screamed.
“May?” Mrs. Camp seemed surprised to hear from her. “Are you okay?”
“Hi, Mrs. Camp! It’s May! Is Pete there?”
“Um, hold on, May.”
Some noise as Pete was found. May picked some chipping paint off the wall behind the phone.
“May?”
“Can you hear me?” she yelled. “Should I speak up?”
“No!” Pete yelled back. “No. I can hear you.”
“Okay!”
“What are you doing?” he asked. “Is everything all right?”
“I’m on the boardwalk! I wanted to talk to you.”
“Okay.”
The dragonfly swooped down to the sand, then tore straight up again, dipping and swerving.
“It’s just that…there’s been a lot going on, you know?” May inhaled deeply and took in some of the warm salt air, the fragrance of hot fries, lemons from the lemonade stand, a sugary odor that floated on the cold blasts from the air-conditioning vent of the candy shop.
“Right…”
“Okay.” She sighed. “So listen. The other night.”
Silence as May watched a kid feeding cotton candy to a dog. The dog got confused when the candy stuck to his nose. He tried unsuccessfully to wipe it off with his paw. May considered setting down the phone to go help him.
“Are you still there?”
“Listen,” May said, snapping back to the conversation, “I want to know if you’re…mad at me or something.”
“Mad at you?”
“Because now you might have some trouble. The whole Nell thing. I mean…I just wanted to call and say thanks.”
“For what?”
“I mean, since my dad…It’s all been so weird since then. Since we have, like, no money, and my mom has no time…You should break up with Nell.”
Now the silence was on Pete’s end.
“You should really, like, dump her and date me instead,” May heard herself saying, all confidence. “I’m not as irritating. I mean, I’m irritating, but I’m not as bad as she is. And you know me better. Wouldn’t that be funny? I mean, we’ve already hooked up, so we’re good.”
“We broke up,” Pete said quickly. His voice was so bright that May could hear the smile coming through. For a moment she was confused.
“Who, you and me?”
“No. Nell and I.”
“Oh…”
The meter in her brain clicked once or twice, signaling May that she’d probably said enough.
“I have to go,” she said suddenly. “Okay? I think that’s great. Cool. Okay. Gotta go now. Hey, Pete, I love you!”
There was a pause during which Pete should have said something back, but May didn’t hear anything. She assumed that he was gone, hung up the phone, and swaggered off back down to the boards. That was good. It was good that she’d had a talk with Pete. All she wanted to do now was let the warm ocean air run along her skin, let the breeze push her hair from her eyes, and walk around with people.
Brooks…
Her sister’s name drifted through May’s consciousness, but there was no urgency accompanying the idea of Brooks. Brooks was somewhere in this crowd, and if she walked around, sooner or later she would find Brooks or Brooks would find her.
She went down the steps to the beach and walked along the cool sand. The ocean was dark and thin and rolled off like a carpet until it hit the horizon. May walked toward it, noticing a strange, tumbling feeling inside, as if her stomach had switched into cement mixer mode. It all went south very quickly. May was down on her knees within a few minutes, gripped by a hideous wave of nausea.
Sand gets cold, she thought. Cold sand seems to stick less. Maybe the coldness of the sand could prevent vomiting. If she just focused on the coldness of the sand and nothing else, maybe, just maybe, she might not vomit.
Cold sand, cold sand, cold sand, cold sand…
Nope.
Her back arched, her insides convulsed, and nothing came up but air. She clawed into the sand. Nothing to grip.
She was alone, as alone as she could ever get, shuddering on the sand, looking out over the sea, in the realm of jellyfish and ghost crabs and rogue tidal waves and wayward Jeeps racing along the beach and potential rapists hiding under the boardwalk—and she was in danger of just generally dying, unseen and unheard. Everything, including the entire ocean and horizon, was spinning.
I’m just drunk…, she told herself. I’m not dying.
She curled herself up into a ball, put her head on a pile of damp seaweed, and tried to breathe evenly and rest.
It took Brooks about fifteen minutes to realize that May was no longer in the arcade. She had been mesmerized by a group of guys trying to master Dance Dance Revolution, and when she’d managed to rip her gaze from their efforts, May had been long gone. At first she was unconcerned, thinking May had stepped out for air. But when May wasn’t waiting outside or standing at one of the booths nearby, it began to dawn on her that she might have a problem on her hands. She looked down at the mile of boardwalk, the surrounding beach and water that bordered them on one side, and the entire shore town that was right at their heels. May could be anywhere in the mix.
She cased the boardwalk, walking at first, then loping into a slow jog. She was slightly drunk, so each step seemed to bounce her high, and all of the lights bounced up and down with her. She went all around the area, up one side and back down the other, peering in every shop, every arcade, every ride, every little offshoot. When the search of the pier turned up nothing, she went down to the sand. She looked under the boardwalk and the pier, then started com
bing the beach. The run on the sand was a slightly harder one, especially considering that there was a good amount of punch still sloshing around in her stomach. It was a smelly night at the ocean. The air was heavy with salt and decaying seaweed.
She found May a block or two away, sitting between six tethered kites, staring out at the water. Brooks sat down in the sand next to her sister. May smiled and coughed. Her eyes were badly bloodshot.
“I didit,” May slurred.
“That’s great, May,” Brooks said, rubbing her temples. “Now, do you think you can walk?”
“Warlk?”
“Walk. Can you stand up and walk?”
“I can walk,” May said, angrily smacking Brooks on the arm. “Shuddup.”
May lay back against the sand.
“No, no,” Brooks said, tugging her back up. “No. Stay up. We’re going to walk.”
Brooks reached under May’s arms and pulled her little sister up. Even though May was shorter and lighter and even though Brooks was very strong, May was total deadweight. It was a hard trudge over the sand. May’s head rolled senselessly on her shoulders, and she mumbled nonsense at Brooks the entire way.
“It’s all right, May,” Brooks said over and over as she led May to the sidewalk. “You’re doing fine.”
It took about four blocks before May’s feet actually started to move in rhythmic steps—but it was still a plodding, Frankenstein kind of walk. As they made their way along, a Toyota Tercel full of guys slowed next to them. The car was equipped with a subwoofer so powerful that two alarms went off as it passed. An Eminem wannabe in a bandanna and an Abercrombie and Fitch hat leaned out of the open window.
“Your friend need a ride?” he asked, smiling.
“No,” Brooks said, dragging May along.
“Ri—”
“Shut up, May.”
“She can sit on my lap,” he said as the car slowly followed them along. “I got room for both of you.”
Brooks ignored him.
“Come on,” said the guy, leaning far out now, reaching for May with outstretched arms. “She likes me.”
Brooks switched positions with May and increased their pace. May groaned.
“You don’t like me?” The guy leered. “Your friend does. She’s looking at me.”
“Look,” Brooks said, reaching deep into her pocket, grabbing her thick stick of zinc oxide, and pulling it out as if it were a canister of spray, “Feminem, how about you keep driving before I pepper-spray you?”
There was a roar of laughter in the car, and Brooks heard the word, “Dykes!” screamed from somewhere inside. The guy pulled himself back in, spitting on the ground near Brooks’s feet before they skidded off. Brooks heaved a sigh and slipped the sunscreen back into her pocket.
“Jackass,” she mumbled, continuing to steer May back in the direction of the camp.
“Wooo, Brooks is tough….”
“Please, May. Just walk, all right?”
When they got to the convenience store halfway to the camp, Brooks set May down on a bench for a moment.
“Stay here,” she told May firmly. “Got it?”
May’s chin slumped down on her chest. She wasn’t going anywhere. Brooks ran inside and bought a bottle of water and a bottle of Gatorade. Even though she was barely in the store for a minute, May had thrown up on the ground by the bench by the time she came out.
“Oh God,” Brooks said, pulling her up and forcing some of the water down her throat. Tears of confusion were running down May’s face. Her skin was damp.
“Come on,” Brooks said, stroking back May’s loose, damp hair. “Almost there.”
May slumped, and her eyes began to close. There was no way she could walk any more. Brooks sat down on the bench next to her sister and looked at the passing traffic in despair. There was only one solution she could come up with. May would need to be driven, and that meant getting the Firebird, which was at the movie theater four blocks away. She didn’t have the key, of course, and wasn’t legally able to drive it. But she was sober now.
“May,” she said, very clearly, “I want you to stay here. Got it? Stay here. I’m going to come right back. Don’t move from here, and don’t talk to anyone.”
May had slipped out of consciousness. Brooks managed to get her up and pull her over to the side of the store, which at least kept her out of sight from the road.
Brooks stood up and pulled each heel up to the back of her thigh, stretching out her muscles. Four blocks. She could do four blocks in just a minute or two. With one final look at May, she took off.
The sidewalks were crowded with people headed up to the boards. She cut across the parking lot of a run-down hotel and headed down an alley parallel to the main road. Her arms pumped hard and even, and her footfalls were steady and fast. One, two, three, four—over a broken boogie board. Around a discarded cooler. Past three Dumpsters behind a pizza shop.
It took very little time for her to reach the theater, but once she was there, she faced another problem. Generally speaking, movie theaters didn’t let people in unless they had money for a ticket, which she didn’t. So she would have to get creative.
The guy at the door was about her age. He didn’t look too inspired by his job.
“I need your help,” Brooks said, running up to him.
“Huh?”
“Our car is in the lot, and my mom and little sister are inside. My sister’s medicine is in the car, and I have to get the keys. Could you please let me in?”
He stared at her doubtfully. She wondered if she had alcohol on her breath. Then she remembered that vodka didn’t have an odor.
“Look,” she said, reaching into her pocket and pulling out her worn tiger print wallet. “Here is my wallet.” She unsnapped it and handed over her worthless driver’s license. “Here is my ID.”
She held the card up to her face so that he could see that the image matched the reality.
“You can keep this. Keep the whole wallet. I will be in there for less than five minutes, I promise. I just need the car keys.”
“I need to ask my manager.”
“I have no time,” Brooks said. “You have all my money. You have my ID. I’m not trying to sneak in. Who leaves their wallet?”
The guy looked at the wallet.
“Please…,” she said, leaning in.
“Okay,” he said. “Five minutes.”
Brooks tore off down the hall. It was a little place, with only four screens, so the theater was easy enough to find. But since it was a holiday night, the room was packed. And, of course, the scene she walked in on seemed to be a suspenseful one—two people staring at each other significantly—so the place was dead quiet. She squatted down almost to a crawl and sneaked down the middle aisle, snooping on each row from a dog’s eye perspective. Using this method, she finally found her mother and Palmer sitting about five seats into one of the front rows.
Palmer noticed her first and wrinkled her brow in confusion. Brooks tried to pantomime keys, but that had no effect. So she decided to try the whisper-down-the-lane method.
“Could you tell that girl I forgot my wallet,” she whispered to the first guy in the row, who was staring at her strangely. “Can you ask them for the keys?”
He passed the message, though somewhat grudgingly.
Palmer turned and looked Brooks in the eye. You are so lying, her gaze said.
When her mother looked over, Brooks turned her pockets inside out, showing that she had no wallet. Then she pointed out, hoping this would signify the parking lot. She tried the key pantomime again. Her mother looked hesitant.
“Tell them I’ll meet them out front when it’s over,” she said.
There was some shushing.
Once again the message was passed. Finally the keys were passed back, but not before Brooks got a strange look from her mother and one final, withering gaze from Palmer.
Out in the lobby, Brooks ran up behind the guy at the door and threw herself over his shoulders
.
“You’re my guy,” she said, plucking the wallet from his hands. “I’ll remember you forever.”
She kissed him on the cheek and ran out the door to the parking lot. She found the Firebird toward the back. She checked her watch. Nine-ten. The movie would be over in half an hour. She started the engine and pulled onto the road.
Her desire, of course, was to drive as quickly as possible. But her suspended license and the heavy traffic kept her crawling along. It took her five minutes to drive four blocks to the store. May was still there, thankfully, but lying on her side. Brooks loaded her into the backseat, which she lined with some bags she found in the trash, just in case May threw up again.
It took another ten minutes to drive back to the camp. The air was full of the smell of ocean, burning wood, butane, and barbecue. Normally it would have been pleasant, but any one of those odors might very well cause May to hurl again.
One of the neighbors, who was passing by with his dog, stopped as Brooks dragged May’s limp figure out of the backseat.
“She okay?” he asked.
“Oh,” Brooks said casually as May nearly slumped to the ground. “Yeah. Fine. Too much sun.”
He looked doubtful but moved on. Brooks set May down on the tarp in front of the camper. May managed to get on all fours and crawl over to the picnic table. She put her head down on one of the benches and stopped moving.
“Why don’t you try to be sick again?” Brooks suggested, making her voice cheerful, as if this was something fun May should do for old times’ sake. “You’ll feel better.”
Something incomprehensible.
Brooks looked at her watch. No time for this. Her mother and Palmer would be out of the movie within minutes. She grabbed one of the beach blankets that was drying on a chair, pulled May up again, and walked her around to the back. There she spread out the blanket and set May on it. May immediately curled into a fetal position and passed out.
Traffic again on the ride back to the theater. Brooks beat on the steering wheel in agony. She got there with just two minutes to spare, only to find that someone had taken the parking space.
“No,” she said, feeling everything drop out from under her. “No…”
The Key to the Golden Firebird Page 17