by S. J. Adams
Then I squinted and saw that the gravestone said “Wolcott,” which made me feel a bit better.
“I also once heard that anyone who goes inside the house never comes out,” said Emma. “Or they come out saying ‘blue light, blue light’ over and over again.”
“No shit?” said Tim. “Like, you get sucked into the netherworld and tortured by ghosts in there or something?”
“I guess so,” said Emma. “But I hear the netherworld is nothing but a tourist trap nowadays.”
“Whatever,” said Tim. “I’m finding out!”
Tim walked over to the door and turned the knob.
“Holy shit!” he said. “They don’t keep it locked!”
“Detour!” Emma called out.
Tim opened the door and stepped in.
“Well,” he said, “it certainly smells haunted.”
It didn’t smell haunted to me, exactly. I imagined haunted places smelling musty, or maybe like formaldehyde. But when I followed Emma and Tim inside, I just smelled beer and barf.
As we roamed through the lower level of the house, it became pretty apparent why it smelled that way. In what I guess used to be the living room, there was a beat-up couch, about a hundred empty beer cans, and, to my great surprise, the infamous big-screen TV. It was an old, boxy one, but it looked like it was in decent shape. There were stains on the walls, the floors, and the ceiling.
So, the lights didn’t come on because the house was haunted. They came on because it was a party pit.
“Well,” said Emma, “I think we just solved about eight mysteries in one. Kind of a letdown.”
“This sucks,” said Tim. “I spent my whole life thinking this place was haunted, and now I find out it’s just been a place for kids to get wasted.”
“And not invite us, naturally,” said Emma, who sounded rather pissed off.
“You wouldn’t go anyway,” said Tim.
“It’s the principle of the thing,” said Emma.
I wandered around, looking for something mysterious. An old picture, an actual ghost. Anything. But it was just empty cans and bottles, some dirty words scribbled on the dirty walls. I wondered how many “haunted houses” were really just abandoned places where people go to drink or get stoned.
“Hmm,” I said. “The stains are kind of mysterious.”
“I wish that were true,” said Tim. “But I’m afraid I can tell exactly which fluid was which. Gross.”
Okay. The rest of the town had seemed sort of … holy and beautiful. But there was a limit to how far that whole thing of the “door opening” went, obviously. I wasn’t seeing beautiful patterns in the stains.
“Well, there’s money to be made while we wait,” said Emma. She started gathering up the empty cans and bottles and throwing them into one of the empty grocery bags that were scattered here and there among the trash.
Through the window, I saw a car pull up behind Emma’s car, and after a second Nate and a couple of girls got out. I went out onto the porch and waved, so they’d know where we were.
I half expected that one of the two girls was going to turn out to be Heather Quinn. But it wasn’t.
One of them was Ramona, the snugglepuppy.
And the other was Moira, the practical time traveler.
Nineteen
Ramona!” said Emma. “And Moira!”
“Hey, Emma,” Moira called out as they ran through the rain to the porch. “You owe me $4.50 for those coffees you wiggled out on at Mid-Iowa!”
“I’ll have to get you later,” said Emma. “We’re flat broke right now.”
“I know you’re good for it,” said Moira.
“You three know each other?” I asked.
“Well, duh,” said Ramona. “Natey’s one of the best bowlers in town.”
Nate smiled proudly.
“I figured you guys’d be hiding out in here,” he said. “Is the TV working?”
“You’ve been in here before?” I asked.
“Oh, yeah,” he said. “Tons of times. It’s the safest place in town to drink without getting arrested. I guess some guy out in Montana just owns it for tax purposes, but he keeps the electricity running, for some reason.”
“So there’s no dead bride lying on a bed upstairs?”
I asked.
“Nah,” said Nate, stepping inside. He seemed right at home among the beer cans and puke stains. Ramona followed him, holding his hand adoringly. “I heard some shit like that when they first started breaking in, but I ain’t never seen nothing spooky in here.”
“There’s a bed up there, though,” said Ramona. “I know a couple of people who lost their virginity there.”
Ew.
“And if you took a survey of all the girls in Des Moines,” said Nate, “I’ll bet it would turn out that half of them first got it on either here or at that grave in that cemetery by the science center that’s supposed to be all enchanted and shit.”
“Seriously,” said Ramona. “Like, everyone I know had their first kiss in a graveyard. Or in that nook behind Earthways where you can park without anyone seeing you.”
“Look,” I said, “we really need the tire fixed fast. We have to get out to the movies before Lisa and Norman’s movie ends.”
“Well,” said Hairy Nate, “I’ll get started as soon as you pay up.”
“We’re broke,” I said. I thought it was pretty tacky for him to ask for cash up front for a favor, but I didn’t have time to argue over manners and ethics.
“No cash,” said Nate. “I just want to see you and you kiss.” And he pointed to me and Ramona.
“What?” I asked.
“We planned the whole thing on the way,” said Ramona. “The deal back at the bowling alley was a kiss from you, and all I got was one from Emma!”
“Is that such a terrible trade?” asked Emma.
Nate did a kind of half-laugh thing, and I was sure he was about to make some crack about Emma being overweight, which would have been my cue to slap him upside the head. But he didn’t say anything.
I noticed Nate kind of leering at me, then looked down and noticed that, with my shirt wet, you could totally see my bra through it. I blushed and crossed my arms over my chest.
“I don’t care who kisses who,” said Nate. “As long as it’s girl-on-girl.”
“But I’ve already kissed Emma,” said Ramona. “I want to kiss Debbie!”
“You can’t make her kiss anyone,” said Emma. “Isn’t there something I can do? Or Tim?”
“A deal’s a deal,” said Ramona, smirking. “And by the way, you’d better hurry. I heard that Lisa and Jennifer were at the indoor pool in Urbandale.”
“They went swimming?” I asked.
“No,” said Ramona. “They were leafing through everyone’s magazines looking at the sex tips. Sounds like tonight’s the night.”
Lightning crashed, right on cue, and the thunder roared. The wind pounded sheets of rain into the walls.
Every time a situation had come up where I might end up kissing someone—like, say, in drama class or when I got invited to a party where there might be a spin-the-bottle game or something—all I could think about (surprise, surprise) was Full House. Especially the episode with D. J.’s thirteenth birthday where Becky tells her that a kiss is a very personal, private thing. Especially your first kiss.
But if Ramona was telling the truth, not just bluffing, Lisa really was planning to go all the way with Norman, and she hadn’t even told me. She was running around town with Jennifer telling her things she wouldn’t tell me! I didn’t know if it was a sign that she had a big secret she was keeping from me, or if she’d been lying to me every time she’d talked about virginity, or what.
Although, now that I thought of it, she never really talked
about “virginity,” exactly. She mostly talked about how you were only supposed to be with one person for life. If she let Norman do anything beyond kissing, she might feel like she had to stay with him forever so it wouldn’t be a sin, even if he turned out to be a horrible, abusive bastard, not just a boring jerk.
I had to get that tire replaced. No matter what it took.
I didn’t want my first kiss to be with a bowling alley skank, but Ramona wasn’t the only girl in the room.
I took two deep breaths and focused hard on the breathing, then walked up to Nate, Moira, and Ramona and looked the three of them over.
“Who’s fixing the tire, Nate?” I asked. “You or Ramona?”
“I am,” said Nate.
“And you don’t care which girl I kiss, do you?”
He shook his head. “I ain’t picky.”
I moved forward, put my hand on the back of Moira’s head, and said, “Do you mind?”
Moira looked shocked for a second, then she sort of smiled. “Be my guest,” she said.
My knees buckled, but I got ahold of myself, took one more deep breath, and kissed her.
And not just a peck, either. I wanted this to count. I opened my mouth and kissed her like I meant it.
I didn’t close my eyes, so I could see by the look in hers that she was awfully surprised, but after a second or so, she started kissing back. That was when I let her go. I mean, it felt good and all—everything I’d ever thought a kiss might feel like—but making it more than a show started to make me feel like I was cheating on Lisa or something.
“Whoa, baby!” said Ramona.
“Have mercy,” Emma laughed.
Moira was grinning like a fool, and blushing a bit. I was, too, probably. Actually, I was probably blushing a lot. But I got ahold of myself.
“Will that do?” I asked Nate.
“Hell yeah.”
I was rather proud of myself. It would have been better if I’d eaten a mint first, instead of a bunch of cheeseburgers, but I’d done a damn good job, if I do say so myself.
And it was something the old Debbie, the one I’d symbolically flushed down the toilet that afternoon, would never, ever have done.
“I’ll give you ten bucks to do that again,” said Nate.
“Just fix the tire, please,” I said to him.
“Done.”
And he disappeared back outside.
“That was awesome!” said Emma. “They didn’t teach you to do that on Full House, did they?”
“Just instinct,” I said.
“Hallelujah!” said Emma. “And that’s the last goal—you finished the whole fucking list!”
“Anything can happen on a night when we finish off a holy quest goal list,” said Tim. “Anything.”
“Wasn’t the quest to hook Debbie up with Lisa?” asked Ramona.
“That’s the main part,” said Emma. “But we had a checklist of stuff to do along the way, and Debbie turned out to be a real pro.”
I smiled proudly again.
“I hope you steal Lisa’s ass back from Hastings,” said Ramona. “He once sort of hinted that I’d go to hell for showing so much cleavage. Like God doesn’t want this in heaven?” She stuck out her chest proudly.
And I stood there proudly, too. I was kicking ass and taking names and sending them in with two proofs of purchase and $2.95 for shipping and handling. And it was all doing stuff I wouldn’t have dreamed of doing that morning.
This was probably the feeling that my mom was going for with all of her classes and stuff. Only she’d spent years trying to get there, not to mention a hell of a lot of money that we could have used to get a nicer place or whatever. And I’d done it in a couple hours for about the price of a sandwich. Not half bad. In fact, it was the best five dollars I’d ever spent.
Ramona looked over at me. “Sure you won’t kiss me? I’ll split the ten from Nate with you.”
I shook my head. “I cost way more than that,” I said.
“Attagirl,” said Emma. “But if you want to start kissing for money, I can totally be your manager. I’ll get you the best rates in town.”
“Nah,” I said. “I’m okay doing it in an emergency, but taking money is really only a few steps up the ladder from being a prostitute, isn’t it?”
“No!” said Ramona.
And I realized I’d just made a major faux pas—kissing for money was how she made a living, and I’d just sort of called her a hooker.
“It’s not like I go all the way for money, you know,” she said. “It’s no different than when actors kiss other actors. They aren’t prostitutes.”
“Fair enough,” I said. “But I’ve never been much of an actress.”
“Maybe not,” said Ramona, “but was that as good as it looked, Moira?”
“Certainly.” Moira grinned.
I smiled. I hadn’t really thought about whether it was good or not. I wasn’t really thinking like that. But it definitely didn’t feel bad.
“See?” said Ramona. “If you keep kissing people like that, you could make a killing at the bowling alley. And people at real bars pay way more, if you can get into those.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said.
I looked at Moira and sort of blushed, then turned away from her to read the graffiti on the walls, some of which was dated as far back as the late 1970s. Most of it was really obscene stuff, like drawings of genitals and names of girls who were good at various things I don’t care to repeat. It was weird to think that all that stuff went on even in Des Moines. Just like it was weird to think that there were bowling alley skanks, practical time-travelers, and Bluists roaming around. This was a side of the city that you didn’t see at ACTs picnics, even though I was sure some of the girls whose names were on the wall had been ACTs members.
It was weird to think there were even people like me in Des Moines.
In fact, the more I thought about it, the more it seemed like everyone in the world was a total weirdo. No one was normal, really. Maybe not even my dad.
After a few minutes, Hairy Nate came back into the house, soaking wet but smiling.
“All right,” he said. “You’re all set.”
“Thanks!” I said. I ran up and hugged him. He hugged me back, and I felt one of his hands moving south down my spine. I pulled away before he could get to my butt.
“There’s gonna be a party here in a couple of nights,” said Nate. “Should be pretty wild.”
“I’ll keep it in mind,” I said. “But we’ve got to go!”
“Just so you know,” said Ramona, “someone in the chain is leaking information to Quinn. I don’t know who yet, but it’s a safe bet she’ll find out you’re going to the mall.”
“We’ll keep our eyes out,” said Emma.
We hustled out the door, through the rain, and back to Emma’s car. We drove out of the cemetery and headed for Euclid Avenue. As we went by, I looked out at the Wolcott gravestone that I’d thought said Woodlawn at first. It was a nice-looking stone, really. If it had been mine, it wouldn’t have been the worst thing in the world.
But I wasn’t dead yet.
Not even close.
Twenty
We cut around the highway and back through the old downtown. I had to admit, this part of Cornersville Trace looked sort of stylish and charming in the rain after dark. It still seemed a bit crowded and old for my taste, honestly, but I guess it wasn’t without its charm.
“Does everyone around here really have their first kiss in a cemetery?” I asked.
“I did,” said Emma. “The guy I was with actually pulled into one to make his move.”
“Weird,” I said.
“I think maybe the land they’re on has some sort of energy, some sort of Blue,” she sai
d. “Like ley lines or something. It’s why people turn them into sacred grounds to start with. They sort of pick up on it when they’re first settling the town or whatever.”
“That makes sense,” said Tim. “I hear a lot of newer cemeteries turn out to be built on Indian burial grounds.”
“That’s just the kind of thing some people would say,” said Emma. “But let’s call it a Bluish belief that cemeteries are usually built in spaces that people instinctively find sacred.”
“I’ll add it to the notebook,” said Tim. “I’ve got to update it, anyway, after Debbie’s latest brilliant
maneuver.”
He pulled the list of holy quest goals out of the glove compartment and crossed off the last one.
“That’s all three,” he said. “Something big is going to happen tonight. Debbie, you could just about take credit for making it rain!”
The rain was coming down hard enough to drown a turkey (as my grandmother would have said), and it was falling right through the holes in the car roof. Tim held up two of Emma’s shirts—one to keep him dry, and one to keep Emma dry. I tried holding up a Neighborhood Watch sign, but it didn’t do much good; the drops rolled off it and onto me, so I ended up holding up a shirt too, which absorbed the water better.
The holy quest playlist selection of the moment was a pretty-sounding song by the Decemberists, a band Emma said I’d like, but the volume was low enough that I could hardly hear it over the storm outside—not to mention the drips inside the car.
“Well,” said Emma, “did I tell you to trust in Blue, or didn’t I? We’ve crossed off just about every goal on the list in one night, and we’re about to go get you your girlfriend!”
“Can you turn the music up?” I asked. “I want to hear if music seems different now. Like art does.”
“Of course!” she said.
Emma turned the volume up just as the Decemberists song was ending. The next song started out sounding like some sort of Christmas carol, with horns and jingle bells and stuff, but the first line the singer sang was telling someone that he may not always love her. Not exactly Christmasy. It was pretty, though.
“Who’s this?” I asked.