Sparks

by S. J. Adams

  Repetitive songs always sort of annoy me. There was this one song Lisa listened to a lot that just went “I will praise him, I will praise him” over and over and over again. In the safety of my own room, I would think, “Man, quit planning to praise him and just do it already! Either pee or get off the pot!”

  But this song wasn’t repeating any one line over and over again. It wasn’t repeating any lines—Bob was spitting them out one after another, so fast that I couldn’t even keep track of them. One line about how anyone who’s not busy being born is busy dying caught my ears, but then, before I could think about it, he was saying something else.

  Plus, the longer we stuck around in someone else’s garage, the more nervous I got. Even if Jim the Janitor was a friend of Emma and Tim, I didn’t think he’d want us creeping around his garage.

  And the song went on and on and on. Now and again I’d think the song was ending and we could finally leave, but then the guy would start singing again. And he was hardly even singing—“talking” was a better description of it. It was driving me nuts.

  Tim and Emma, meanwhile, sat there very solemnly the whole time. I think they even had their eyes closed.

  Right at the end of the song, though, there was a line that just about knocked me out of my seat. The rhythm slowed down just enough that I could tell he was about to say something important, and then he said that if his thoughts could be seen, people would probably put his head in a guillotine.

  Damn. I knew how that felt.

  Emma turned around as the song finally ended. “You like it?”

  “It was … interesting,” I said. “What was that thing about being busy being born?”

  “He said that if you’re not busy being born, you’re busy dying,” said Emma. “And that’s the whole point of a holy quest—to get busy being born.” Tim got the garage door back open and climbed into the car, and Emma pulled out onto the street and stepped on the gas, saying, “Praise be to Blue, and hallelujah!”

  Tim looked out the window as we flew down the street. “I’ll bet no one in heaven still says ‘hallelujah,’” he said. “It’s probably like saying ‘gee golly’ on Earth.”

  I chuckled for the first time in hours. “Where are we going, anyway?” I asked.

  Emma slammed on the brakes and pulled over to the curb, in front of a yellow house with a bunch of little kids playing in the yard. The kids stopped and took a step backward, like they thought we were strangers who were going to offer them candy.

  “Shit,” she said. “I hadn’t thought of that. I was just veering in the general direction of George the Chili King.”

  “We should at least get the checklist out,” said Tim.

  He opened the glove compartment and started digging around. “We have a checklist of things to do, see, or find on holy quests,” he said. “Some of them are quests in and of themselves, and some are just things to do along the way.”

  “It’s like playing Auto Bingo,” said Emma.

  Tim handed me a sheet of paper:

  Holy Quest Goal Checklist

  1.Find and play a “Love Tester” machine.

  2.Locate a guy with the same name as a U.S. president and get his autograph.

  3.Talk our way into getting to the top floor of the Principal Building (801 Grand).

  4.Plant a pressed ham at a place patronized by old ladies (or at the governor’s

  mansion).

  I looked up from the list.

  “What’s a pressed ham?” I asked.

  “It’s where you press your butt cheeks up against a window when someone’s sitting on the other side,” said Emma. “We’ve done it at an old lady place, but we should really hit the governor’s mansion too.”

  I looked back down at the list.

  5.Drink six shots of straight espresso each, in one sitting.

  6.Find a waitress named Irene, Wanda, or Rhonda.

  7.Go inside a teacher’s house.

  8.Acquire a statue of a monkey.

  9.Find the grave of Tim’s great-great-great-grandpa Harry.

  10.Convince a guy with a bad comb-over to shave his head.

  11.Find someone who has a Scottish accent.

  12.Touch something from ancient Rome.

  13.Pee in the 18th hole of the Waveland Golf Course.

  14.Find a guy in a suit and tie at George the Chili King.

  15.Shake hands with a bowler who has bowled a perfect 300.

  16.Win a game of Bingo (and act all arrogant about it, like Bingo hustlers, yo).

  17.Fill Heather Quinn’s shoes with whipped, sour, or shaving cream.

  18.See a naked person of each gender (live and in person) in the same place at the same time (hands off, Emma!).

  19.Break something expensive.

  20.Witness a girl-on-girl kiss in which at least one participant has never kissed a girl before (boy-on-boy also acceptable).

  All but the last three on the list had check marks next to them.

  “So you guys did all these things?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” said Emma. “That’s actually our fourth list, too. Some of them take a while, but we meet interesting people, find interesting places, and do amazing things along the way.”

  “Some of these kind of seem like they’re breaking the ‘Don’t be an A-hole’ rule,” I said.

  “Maybe a little,” said Emma. “But mostly it’s being a jackass, not an asshole. There’s a difference.”

  “Like when we stole all those Neighborhood Watch Signs,” said Tim. “That sort of toes the line, but proving they didn’t really mean anything seemed like a good idea at the time.”

  “And we’re giving them back,” said Emma. “Our holy quest for spring break is to find really cool places to put them up.”

  “What did you touch from ancient Rome?”

  “They had some old Roman coins at the coin shop on Fleur Drive,” said Tim. “That one was easy. The hardest one on that list was actually finding someone with a Scottish accent in Des Moines.”

  “I’ll bet,” I said. “No one emigrates to Iowa.”

  “That last one will work out perfectly,” said Tim as he took the list back. “Debbie can kiss Lisa at the end of the night. Who’s the patron saint of goal setting?”

  “Christ, I don’t know!” said Emma. “But blessed be the name of whoever the hell it is, huh? I’ll bet we can do all of those last three things tonight.”

  “Anything can happen on a night when you finish off a holy quest checklist,” said Tim. “Especially if you knock three of them off to get there.”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “To be totally honest, I think the odds that she’ll end up kissing me tonight are about a million to one.”

  “Gotta have faith,” said Tim. “Blue will provide.”

  “Still,” I said. “Naked people? Where would you find those?”

  “That’s no problem,” said Emma. “I mean, if the night is winding up and we haven’t found any, Tim and I will get naked behind a bush or something before you talk to Lisa and kiss her. I’d hate for either of you to have to see my fat ass, but we’ll do what we have to. And then we’ll find something to break.”

  “I’ll survive,” said Tim. “I saw already saw your ass when you planted the pressed ham at the coffee shop. I didn’t die.”

  Emma laughed. “I think the old lady who was sitting at the window almost did. She sure screamed loud enough.”

  “I’m putting that goal on the next list, too,” said Tim, “but this time the governor’s mansion is a requirement, not an option.”

  “Look out, Governor Branstad!” said Emma.

  “I still don’t know,” I said. “I’ve never even seen a naked guy before.”

  “Well, all
the more reason, then,” said Emma. “That’s what it’s all about, isn’t it? Trying new things?”

  “We’re not saying it would straighten you out to see someone’s shlong or anything,” said Tim. “But seeing people naked is, like, a life experience thing that everyone ought to do.”

  “Whatever,” I said. “Does it even count if I’m the one who sees the people? I’m not Bluish.”

  “Anyone coming along on the quest is qualified,” said Emma.

  I nodded. “As long as I can keep my clothes on.”

  “Oh, you totally can,” Emma said. “We wouldn’t make you do anything you weren’t comfortable with. But if we cross off all three of these tonight, anything can happen. I’m willing to get naked to get us to that point.”

  “So, how much time do we have?” asked Tim. “You know when the movie they’re gonna see starts?”

  “Not off the top of my head,” I said. “They had other stuff in the afternoon, but they were going to two of them, so they’re probably at, like, seven and nine. Angela might know for sure. Let me call her.”

  I reached around behind me for my backpack—and felt nothing.

  Oh, God.

  I thought back and realized I hadn’t had it in detention, either. Or in the class before. Or in the bathroom. I’d been in such a haze, and everyone else had been so much into spring break mode, that I hadn’t even thought to pull out a text book. I must have left it at the lunch table when I ran out in a hurry.

  I always do things like that. Lisa used to joke that I’d lose my butt if it wasn’t attached.

  My chest started to tighten. My guts felt like they were going to come climbing out of my throat. My breathing got really short. My backpack had my list of reasons why I was not just a wacky sidekick in it. Including The Big One. Which I had stupidly not written in code or something.

  And now someone else had it.

  “Oh, crud,“ I said, starting to shiver. “Oh, crud, crud, crud.”

  “What?” asked Tim.

  “My backpack … I think I left my backpack at the lunch table! It had my phone … and a list of reasons why I’m not just like Kimmy Gibbler from Full House … ”

  “So, if whoever has the bag opens it, you’re outed?” Tim asked.

  I nodded. “If Norman reads it, he’ll tell Lisa and everyone else in the world. And she might feel like she has to prove to him that she’s not gay, too … ”

  If Lisa found out that I liked girls from me, she’d probably be okay with it, at least. I mean, I didn’t think it was really likely that she’d turn out to be in love with me, too, but she wouldn’t throw a Bible at me or anything. A couple of the ACTs sponsors thought that having gay marriage be legal in Iowa would be the end of the world, but Lisa said she didn’t really have a problem with it. I don’t think many of any of the kids in ACTs did.

  However, if Norman had my bag, and he found out and told her before I could, he’d probably tell her not to hang out with me anymore. I hoped she’d have the sense to tell him to go to hell, but she was stuck so far up his butt she could barely see out.

  Emma turned back to me and put a hand on each of my cheeks.

  “Breathe,” she said. “Just breathe a second. We have this under control.”

  I tried to breathe. It helped a bit. Hearing her speak so confidently didn’t exactly reassure me, but it kept me from going into total panic mode.

  “Who do you think might have it?” asked Tim.

  “Lisa probably picked it up after lunch,” I said. “Do you have a phone I can use?”

  Emma passed me a phone and I dialed Lisa’s number, but there was no answer. Just her voicemail:

  “Hi, this is Lisa. If you’re being chased by a bear, hit the pound sign, then hang up and run in a zigzag pattern. Otherwise, leave a message.”

  The phone beeped, and I said, “Hi, Lisa, it’s me, Debbie. I’m on a friend’s phone. Do you have my backpack? Call me at this number, okay? I really need it back.”

  I thought maybe I could call Angela or something, since I needed to know if she knew what movies Lisa and Norman were seeing anyway, but I didn’t know her number. Lisa’s was the only one I really knew by heart. I mean, I never actually dial people’s whole numbers. They’re all saved in my phone.

  I called my own phone, hoping that whoever had it would answer, but it went to voicemail, too.

  “Can we just go to Oak Meadow Mills, where Lisa lives?” I asked, handing Emma her phone back. “Her mom might know where she is. And she might have dropped my bag off at her house.”

  “Perfect,” said Emma. “And Quinn probably won’t be heading that way, so it’s extra perfect.”

  “Sounds like a quest has fallen right into our laps,” said Tim. “The Quest for Debbie’s Backpack.”

  “If Blue or whoever it is hid my backpack just so we could have a quest, I’m moving to Minnesota and starting my own damn religion,” I said. “One whose whole purpose is to wage war on Bluists.”

  “We could use one of those,” said Tim. “It’d be great if we could be oppressed a bit. It’d really bring Bluists together.”

  “All two of us, yeah,” said Emma. “Don’t worry, Deb. Blue wouldn’t pull that kind of crap on you.”

  “Can we just go?” I asked.

  “Of course.”

  And she took off through the streets of Cornersville Trace again, zooming past De Gama Park and into the “historic” part of town near the mall.

  Soon we were in a neighborhood full of damp, dilapidated houses with Christmas lights still hanging from the trees, weeds growing around the foundations, and patches of leftover snow covering rusty toys by the curbs. This was my neighborhood. All of the old, tiny houses were sort of weird looking, and none of them looked like they belonged next to other ones. At the end of the road were some shops, like Sip Coffee and a lousy ice cream shop where all the stoners hung out.

  Emma took a couple of sharp turns down side roads—Tim said they were “sudden bootlegger turns” that she took to throw off anyone who might be following us. Bluddha swung violently back and forth on his spring, but the suction cup kept him stuck to the dashboard.

  Pretty soon, we were out of the old downtown, then out of Cornersville Trace proper and into new subdivisions full of cul-de-sacs, which had sprung up where the corn fields that separated our town from Waukee and Grimes were when I was a kid.

  The further west of the old part of town you get, the bigger and nicer the subdivisions and shops are. In Juniper Creek, the first subdivision you come to when you get past 82nd, the houses are fairly large, but not mansions or anything.

  In Oak Meadow Mills, which is about four layers of subdivisions out, the houses are practically palaces. They’re all a mixture of white siding and brick, and spaced wide apart so it seems like the houses all have some room to stretch out and relax. Every house looked like a dream house to me.

  “Take a left down Spruce Lawn Drive,” I said as we pulled in. “It’s number 8162.”

  “I hate these neighborhoods,” said Tim. “All the houses look alike.”

  “I love these houses,” I said.

  “To each his own, I guess,” Tim replied. “Give me the old part of town.”

  “Those houses are tiny,” I said.

  “So?” Tim asked. “Who needs this much room? Places with a lot of extra space always feel haunted to me. Even when they’re brand new.”

  “Haunted?”

  “My house is pretty big,” said Tim. “And … I don’t know. It always seems like there ought to be something filling the space. Every night when I turn out the lights, it gets so freaky that I run to my room like I’m running for my life.”

  “Me too!” said Emma. “I run upstairs like something’s chasing me.”

  “And seriously,” said Tim. “Oak
Meadow Mills? Where are the oak meadows? Or the mills?”

  “It’s just a name,” I said. “The idea is you’re supposed to picture a beautiful meadow full of oak trees and babbling brooks and cider mills.”

  “Which they cut down to put up the houses,” Tim said.

  Emma slapped him on the arm. “Be nice!” she said.

  “No they didn’t,” I said. “It was all cornfields before.”

  “See, Tim?” asked Emma. “These houses are way nicer than corn.”

  “I guess,” said Tim.

  I’d always thought of Oak Meadow Mills as heaven. It was clean, bright, open, and gorgeous. With easy access to a road that went right to Jordan Creek, a mall much nicer than the old one near the high school. It wasn’t cramped and old and dirty, like my neighborhood.

  Emma turned back to me as we pulled into the driveway. “Are you just going to get your backpack, or talk to her if she’s there?”

  “Talk to her, I guess,” I said. “If I see her, I’ll have to do it. Even if she has my backpack, Norman might have looked through it earlier, for all I know. And he’ll tell her.”

  “You want us to come up there with you?” asked Emma. “For moral support?”

  I shook my head. “I have to do this one by myself.”

  “Okay,” said Emma. “Which bedroom is Lisa’s?”

  “That one,” I said, pointing up. “The top left.”

  “If you want us to leave, turn the lights off and on in there a couple of times,” she said. “Otherwise, we’ll be waiting out here for you.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “And if I don’t see you again, thanks for the ride.”

  “It’s a matter of the heart,” said Emma, giving me an encouraging smile. “Commandment number one.”

  “Go get her, Deb,” said Tim. “And if you want to come out and break stuff and see naked people after, that’s fine, too. You paid for it.”

  I reached forward to pat Bluddha, then opened the door and started the long walk from the back seat to the front porch.

  Eight

  It took every ounce of bravery I could muster—or fake—to ring the doorbell to Lisa’s enormous white house. They had one of those novelty doorbells, the kind that plays “You Light Up My Life” instead of just going “ding dong.”