Wandering Wild

by Jessica Taylor

  “Should I?”

  “Yes, because out of all the people in the world, you’ve gotta know more than most that some things are true, even if you can’t say them. And I—” Love—I want to say it back to him, I do. But that word rushes to my head and makes me dizzy and vulnerable. “All I’m asking for is a second chance. I don’t know if I’ll ever find the right words to tell you what’s deep down inside me, but . . .”

  When I can’t say more, I think I’ve lost him forever. Until he shifts into park and looks at me. “Why? Tell me—just give me this.”

  I meet his eyes and exhale. “Because there are depths of me I didn’t even explore before you.”

  My teeth chatter in the cold air as I wait for some sign I’ve said enough—given him enough—so he knows how I feel, even if I’m too broken to say the words aloud.

  He leans over and opens the door for me. “Where to?”

  I’m a little out of breath as I slide into the seat. “Anywhere but here.”

  We end up naked in Spencer’s basement. There’s a deadline on the horizon, even though we don’t have a precise date or time. Now that Spencer knows me pulling out of town is inevitable, it’s a ticking clock that never goes silent.

  I run my fingertip down the bridge of his nose. “Your interview’s a couple of weeks away, huh? What’s it going to be like?”

  “Why do you want to know?”

  “Well, interviewing so you can pay them to teach you things just doesn’t make sense. Shouldn’t it be the other way around?”

  Spencer’s eyes narrow up at the ceiling before he cracks up. “Your logic might be my favorite thing about you.” He gets to his feet, wearing nothing but his boxers. “Okay, you want to know what it’s going to be like. Here goes.” He runs his hands through his hair and straightens the imaginary tie attached to his imaginary shirt.

  He turns to his right and says with a deep voice, “Mr. Sway, welcome. How did the drive down to Charleston treat you?” He flips back to his left. “Not bad at all. I drove a steady fifty-five miles per hour for the three-hour drive, observing all traffic laws and paying careful attention to all road signs.”

  I tuck the blanket under my armpits and sit up. “Oh, please don’t stop there.”

  He jumps to his right and deepens his voice. “Mr. Sway, tell me about yourself. Why are you interested in Stonewall Jackson University? What will you contribute to our campus community? Does your high school record accurately reflect your abilities? What do you see yourself doing ten years from now?” He goes back to his left and adjusts his fake tie again. “And wearing a great big grin, I’ll be trying to say, without really saying, ‘Well, sir, I’ll be majoring in political science with a focus on rhetoric, all the while being an active participant in campus politics. I’ll go to law school, marry my college sweetheart, and move back to my hometown of Cedar Falls. There, I’ll take a sweet job as a county prosecutor, and by the time my mother, Judge Ella Sway, retires, I’ll be a seasoned attorney ready to fill her place. I’ll retire, take a few vacations—nothing too taxing because I’ll be too geriatric for anything strenuous, maybe a cruise—and then one day I’ll up and die.’”

  I’m not laughing anymore, and neither is he.

  “I’m sorry.” He runs his hands over his face and drops beside me. He gives me a weak smile. “That got real dark.”

  The basement grows colder as sweat dries on my skin. I sit up to feel around the floor for my sweater. He stretches across the futon to turn the lamps on. I hear him take a deep breath.

  “Tal, what is that?”

  The brush of his fingertips trace my spine. Spencer pushes the hair off my bare shoulder and presses into the sore skin at the nape of my neck.

  I flinch, and my memory flashes to the markie’s hand there in that diner. “It’s nothing.”

  “So are you gonna tell me what happened or should I ask again?”

  “I said it was nothing.”

  “You’re black and blue. It’s not nothing.”

  What he’s thinking is clear.

  “Spencer Sway.” I force a laugh and tug my sweater over my head, pulling my hair from beneath the collar. “If anyone ever laid a hand on me, you better believe I’d kill him.”

  “I wouldn’t think less of you if someone hurt you, Tal.”

  I can’t tell Spencer I got hurt trying to con my way into a life of my own choosing. It’s the one thing I’d be embarrassed for him to know—that I’m for sale.

  “What if there was something I couldn’t tell you? How would you feel about that?”

  “You can tell me anything.”

  I cut my eyes back at him, then at the walls of the basement, and rest on my elbow beside him. “What if I really couldn’t?”

  “If you can’t tell me, then why are you saying anything at all?”

  “Because we’ve only got a week or two here, and I may not be around much. There’s something I’ve got to do.”

  “What?”

  Raise several thousand dollars to win back my soul.

  His warm hand moves from my shoulder to skim his fingertips over the bruise. “Some kind of a scam, right? Because you need money.” I really hate it when the truth seeps through. “Is it dangerous?”

  “Don’t know. I don’t know what scam it’s going to be yet.”

  He slides his jeans up his legs, stands, and zips them. “I’ll be right back. Don’t run out on me again.”

  With my clothes back on, I sit on the edge of the futon, my forehead in my hands.

  He returns with a stack of bills folded in half. I lunge for them and count the money fast. Five hundred and forty dollars in twenties.

  “That’s all I can get now, but I’ve got more in the bank. There’s not much I can get easily, not without my parents finding out. Whatever I can manage, it’s yours.”

  The cash is heavy. I’ve never held so much without trying to figure out a way to make it mine. Here it is—a gift. I’m holding the balance of my future in my hands.

  I pass it back to him. “I don’t need you to save me, Spencer Sway.”

  He frowns. “I’m not saving you, Tal. You’re saving me.”

  I shake my head. Accepting his money proves I’m nothing more than someone who takes advantage of people, someone who searches for the angle. I thought I could be more than that. I want to be more.

  “Really, Tal, I’d like you to have it. This is what I want to do with it—give it to you.”

  Maybe nobody will ever know the story of Spencer and me and these months we’ve spent together. But just in case, this shouldn’t be the moral.

  I can’t say that to him, though, so I lie. “It’s never ending. If they know I got the money from you, they’ll ask for more. I have to hustle or con the money—that’s all there is to it.”

  “Then we’ll find another way to get it. Whatever it is, I’ll help.”

  “What, you’re gonna hustle people at pool for me? Thousands of dollars worth of hustles? Besides, we get caught, and your parents’ll never forgive either of us.”

  He collapses against the futon, folding his arms behind his head. “I don’t care what they think.”

  “I don’t believe that for one second. If that was true, you’d cancel your interview now. Or is that what you really want?”

  “’Course it is. It’s not that easy. I guess I am a coward.”

  “You shouldn’t listen to me,” I say.

  I was the one who planted that seed in his mind. I want him to be happy—and maybe I’m crazy for thinking I know anything about Spencer’s future happiness—but I don’t believe he’ll find it in Cedar Falls.

  “Let me help you, Tal.”

  “I don’t think you have any idea what you’re getting yourself into.”

  “You don’t know what you’d be getting yourself into. I already have the scam in mind.” He laughs up at the ceiling. “You’re a dangerous girl, you know that?”

  “And why am I so dangerous?”

  “You
take away my sense of self-preservation.”

  CHAPTER 35

  I go looking for Wen at the bookstore first. It’s empty—only towers and towers of books, all organized in neat rows. My brother’s fantasy.

  I scan the aisles. No Wen.

  A door cracks open as I’m about to take off. Wen steps out, looking alarmed. The sign on the door says STOCKROOM. He shuts it behind him. “What are you doing here?”

  “Looking for a book. It’s called Where the Hell Is My Brother? Have you heard of it?”

  He blushes and puts on a dopey smile, like he does when I catch him lusting over markie things. He sits in a cushy red chair in the back corner of the store, where a book is perched on the armrest, The Fellowship of the Ring. A bookmark sticks out from the middle.

  I point to the stockroom door. “What were you doing back there?”

  “Bathroom. Blanche said I could use it when I come here to read.”

  “Blanche? You’re on a first-name basis with the crazy book lady?”

  Arching himself over the armrest, he whispers, “Please don’t say that in here, will you? I like coming in here to read about as much as you like hanging out with markie boy.”

  “You’re still refusing to call him by his name, huh?” I curl into the red chair adjacent to him, and kick my feet up on the table. “Well, you should try to learn his name, because Spencer Sway has offered to help us plan one last con. The greatest con of all.”

  It’s barely dark as I watch the forest boundary from inside our trailer, blurs of green through the screen windows.

  “What if someone sees?” asks Wen.

  “Let them see.”

  The shape of a paperback book—a new one, no doubt—presses through his back pocket. “You’re sure spending a lot of time at that bookstore.”

  “You’re sure spending a lot of time with that markie, Talia.”

  “Touché.”

  The trees light up in three quick flashes. I take off, and this time Wen follows.

  The man on the radio is still talking about the owls as we seal ourselves inside the car. Spencer’s eyes flick to me before he reaches for the volume dial. I push his hand away. I want to hear.

  The radio host is talking to some big ornithologist—a bird expert named Dr. Houseman—who’s come to Cedar Falls because of the owls. He says there are around eighteen species of owls in North America, and some counts are higher. Between all the corpses he’s collected, they’ve found fifteen different species. He doesn’t have any explanation for that.

  The host asks him if he knows what killed the birds. He gives the same answers as those first reports: a sonic boom, fireworks, power lines, lightning.

  “Or the apocalypse?” says the host.

  Dr. Houseman laughs, and so does the host.

  I turn off the radio myself.

  In the dark of the car, Spencer’s focus shifts to me. “If that’s true,” he says, “then I figure we’re all going up in the flames of a meteorite, no matter where we are. We might as well be smoldering together.”

  We take the highway northbound, headed away from Cedar Falls and all the way toward Pike, me in the passenger seat and Wen in the back. I close my eyes and imagine we’re all running away from everything, searching for that place in the world where we could all stay together—the three of us orbiting around each other and nothing else.

  I wonder how it might be to keep on driving with Spencer and my brother, to head straight for some ship and sail all the way to Cape Town.

  I open my eyes and watch the black road passing between our wheels. There’s no sense having such dysfunctional fantasies.

  “Okay,” I say. Even though everyone is clearly aware of how they fall into the con, I like feeling in charge, doling out responsibilities as if I’m the criminal mastermind here, not Spencer. “I’ll be keeping an eye on the crowd. Wen will collect bets from the other team. Spencer, you’ll make sure the Cedar Falls team loses big time—and, of course, you’re driving the getaway car.”

  The home team, the Mighty Fightin’ Lumberjacks, are all dressed in their best and brightest reds and whites, filling the bleachers to full capacity while the away side—the Cedar Falls Mud Dogs side—is barely a quarter full, even though this is the first game of the preseason.

  The scarce Cedar Falls attendance means there’s less chance of being seen by someone who knows us from Whitney’s party. Still, we don’t take chances.

  The three of us scatter in the parking lot. For this scheme, we’re all strangers.

  Wen rushes to the other side of the court and moves through the home side. He stole a Cedar Falls sweatshirt from an unlocked car in the parking lot, so he blends right in.

  With the brim of one of Spencer’s hats pulled low over my face, I’m hanging by the exit, in the event the game gets too hot—our game, not basketball.

  Basketball, itself, is a sort of con, each side taking turns trying to break through the defense to slip the ball past the other team. Cons are like that, trying to break through the mark’s unwillingness to trust, and then sneaking something past him while he’s standing in front of you.

  Spencer says the Mighty Fightin’ Lumberjacks haven’t won a single game this season, and school spirit be damned, those Lumberjacks are going to bet good money Cedar Falls is ahead by halftime tonight. Cedar Falls is the district champion, three years running.

  Spencer, our inside man, is working behind the scenes. He already jogged off around the outside of the gymnasium after he parked. I almost feel guilty he’s crossing over to the dark side for me. Our worlds are bleeding together more and more with every day, not because he’s here with us, but because I actually care about him dirtying his hands and his conscience.

  He’s threatening every goal his parents have set before him. Even if those dreams aren’t his own, my guilt doesn’t feel good.

  Cheerleaders line up near the concession stand to form two tunnels for the players, one of red-and-white pom-poms and one of navy and yellow—or blue and gold—like the Cedar Falls side is chanting.

  Blue. And. Gold. Blue and gold.

  From under each arch of pom-poms, a stream of hulking boys jog onto the court. And there they are: number fifty-four, Jeremy Hale, and number twenty-three, Craig Castle. They both grin at the meager Cedar Falls audience as they run to the court. It has yet to kick in.

  “Hey.” Spencer faces the action and leans against the other side of the exit door, a good seven feet from me.

  Keeping my eyes on the players, I say, “Everything okay?”

  “Better than okay. Perfect.”

  The game starts. I hold my breath.

  Jeremy’s basketball shoes shift and shimmy ever so slightly across the gym floor. Sweat drips down Craig’s arms and forehead, and he mops at his face with his jersey. I smile. Things are heating up—in a good way, for a change.

  “Tal.”

  “No names,” I whisper as Spencer comes to my side.

  “I’m not going to my interview next week.”

  I face him before I remember myself and the con in action. I settle against the wall and stare straight ahead. “What do you mean?”

  “I’m going to talk to my parents. Tell them SJU was their dream and never mine.”

  It’s hard to keep my game face on when my happiness for Spencer is threatening to burst out of me.

  As the quarter drags on, Craig gnashes his teeth together. Jeremy’s face darkens a shade of red with every second of the clock. If I had more of a soul, I might feel bad for them.

  The game’s almost tied as the clock counts down to halftime—no thanks to Craig or Jeremy. The ref blows his whistle because one of the Lumberjacks fouled on the Cedar Falls team.

  Craig steps to the free-throw line. If he makes it, Wen and I are screwed.

  He aims—I don’t breathe—and the ball bounces off the rim. Craig frowns at the hoop and bounces on the soles of his sneakers. They play the last few seconds, the buzzer goes off, and that’s it: Cedar Fa
lls is two points behind the Lumberjacks.

  We made the bet for halftime, so once Wen collects, we can bail.

  The rest of the team jogs over to the sidelines, but Jeremy keeps on running. He heads all the way down the length of the gymnasium and out the doors, holding the crotch of his basketball shorts. Craig isn’t far behind.

  Jeremy and Craig don’t know why their game is blown tonight. They don’t know why there’s a fire down below. They don’t know Spencer put Bengay in their cups.

  “Did you see that?” Spencer’s laughing so hard he’s swerving the car all over the road. “I mean, did you see him grabbing his nuts in front of the whole crowd?”

  “Priceless,” I say. In the backseat, Wen’s busying himself with a paperback copy of The Winter of Our Discontent he found beneath the seat. “Hey, Wen, you saw, right?”

  “Yeah, um, great.”

  Spencer came up with the idea to rig the game like that. Somehow, screwing over guys like Jeremy and Craig fits into Spencer’s moral code. I guess we’re all that way, making up our own rules so we can feel good about the choices we make.

  Mom must have her way of rationalizing taking off without us. Wherever she is, she’s probably telling herself she did the right thing. Even if she’s wrong.

  “Either of you hungry?” Wen presses his face between the front seats. “My stomach is sticking together.”

  We stop at a roadside diner between Pike and Cedar Falls. Only some of the lamps above the tables are on. It looks closed until we notice one waiter moving around inside.

  Bells chime as we step across the threshold. The waiter flips on the rest of the lights, avocado-colored ones that make our skin look green.

  For the briefest of moments, I wonder what would happen if the whole world ended and nobody but me, Wen, Spencer, and the waiter are left. If it happened like that, nobody would care if the three of us—four with the waiter—wandered or stayed put.

  Now that the owls have fallen out of the sky, the world ending wouldn’t come as much of a surprise. That thought unsettles me.