by Gae Polisner
MaeLynn’s eyes dart away for a second. “He was dying himself, honey. He never saw the man. There was no point in telling him.”
“But…” Jaycee says.
“Come on, Jaycee, you’re not going to get straight answers. All you’ll get is bullshit. A whole bunch of bullshit and lies.” I take her arm, then turn back to glare at my dad. “Everything they say is a lie.” I start to pull her with me, but she looks at me with those tears in her eyes. “Come on,” I try, “we already got what we came for, right? We found Scooter’s dad. He’s dead. Buried. Gone. Just like we thought. The dude’s a ghost, Jaycee.”
I start to walk, whether or not Jaycee’s coming with me.
“Nick!” my dad still calls, but I ignore him. “I tried to tell you. I sent you a ton of e-mails! Your mother knows.”
I cover my ears but it’s too late. I can’t stop the tears after that.
Jaycee hangs back for a second, but then runs and catches up. She doesn’t try to say anything, just walks beside me and clings to my arm.
MaeLynn calls after us. “Nick! Kids, wait up. I forgot! Oh dear! It’s important! I forgot something!”
I shake my head. No way I’m stopping. I’m done. I don’t want to hear any more. But of course Jaycee yanks on me, tries to get me to wait. I slow a little. We’ve gained enough distance. MaeLynn runs after us, her purse hanging open. She’s waving some stupid envelope in the air.
“I was supposed to give this to you!”
“I don’t want it!” I yell, then pick up our pace again. I don’t give a crap. I really don’t care what she has.
I keep going, even with Jaycee hanging behind. She’ll come or she won’t. She doesn’t always get to make up my mind. A few seconds later she’s caught up to me again. “Who cares, right?” she says, and slips her hand back in mine.
And then we walk, the two of us. I know my way back. It’s easy enough: Broadway to East Avenue to East Main. Then back to our hotel and away from this stupid town. Away from Dad, and MaeLynn, and Scooter’s dumb, dead dad. Away from all these endless plans gone awry.
And without realizing it, I’m running. Jogging slowly at first, but then faster and faster. Jaycee’s running too. She’s running right beside me. And we just keep on running. Just me and Jaycee, the cars whizzing by, the wind on our faces, the tears still coming, till my legs ache and I can’t breathe or think anymore.
When we’re almost back, I slow down.
And I walk.
And I breathe.
And I think that, as long as she’s here with me, maybe it will all somehow be okay.
18
Back in the hotel room, I can’t focus on anything.
Jaycee tosses her backpack on my bed and says, “So?”
I toss mine there too.
The door between our rooms is still propped open. Jaycee’s side is immaculate. Housekeeping’s been in here. I wonder if they noticed that my bed was still made up.
I shrug, go into the bathroom, close the door, take a piss, and drink from the tap. I don’t even bother with a glass. I’m too thirsty and too tired. Just stick my whole mouth under and drink. When I’m done, I stand there for a while staring at nothing, then wipe my mouth with a hand towel, toss it on the floor, and walk out.
Jaycee lies on her back, her legs hanging over the bottom of the bed, our backpacks placed on the pillows like severed heads. I lie down next to her and stare at the white spackled ceiling and say nothing. My cell phone buzzes urgently inside my pocket.
I don’t need to look at it. I know who the messages are from. Already there are like fifty texts from my dad. They started on the way back to the hotel. He wants me to call him, but I’m not going to. I don’t want to hear. Finally, when it buzzes again, I pull it out and look at it. Now there are three from Jeremy. I toss it at Jaycee. It pegs her on the arm.
“Sorry. You kill it,” I tell her. “Throw it at the wall or something.”
She holds it above her in the air, clicks down through the texts with her thumb, fiddles with the settings or something, then puts it back down on the bed.
“Yeah, you really showed it,” I say. “Thanks.” She laughs and stares at the ceiling.
“Parents are such idiots,” she finally says. “They ought to have to take tests, sign some kind of contract in blood.”
I grunt something meaningless back, then roll my head to the side and stare out the window. It’s already nearly dark outside. I don’t know how that happened. In the distance there are trees and the silhouette of a large construction crane. Beyond that, I think I can make out the water tower. I shake my head.
Jaycee reaches out and drops her hand on my thigh, then leaves it as if it belongs there. I’m grateful for that. We just lie there like this for I don’t know how long. I’m really, really tired, so I’m happy not to have to try to talk or think anymore. Honestly, I don’t want to think about any of it. But then she rolls over, sits up, and drags a backpack down toward her.
I listen as she unzips it, searches around inside, and pulls out the book and fans through it. Of Mice and Men, by John Steinbeck. I know it’s the book. I can tell. I don’t have to turn around and see it.
And I know she wants me to ask her why she’s taken it out—that she’s trying to get my attention—which, for some reason, all of a sudden annoys me. I just don’t want to talk about it. Not about Dad or MaeLynn or the Scoot, or his dead, loser ghost of a dad. I don’t want to hear about any of it anymore. Not today. Not in Rochester. Not now. Maybe not as long as I live. But especially not right now. I’m just tired of it all. And I really just want to go home.
She pages through it.
I just want to go home.
“Put it away, Jaycee,” I say. “It was a stupid idea anyway. The whole thing. I mean, you do know that, right? Even Jeremy said so.” I watch one glob of spackle-within-spackle that looks like a humpback whale with a long beady eye. It stares back at me. Jaycee doesn’t answer. “Thinking we could find Scooter’s dad,” I dig.
“Whatever,” she says.
“I mean, even if he wasn’t dead.” It’s cold. It’s cruel of me.
“A promise is a promise,” she says. She shoves the book back in her pack and zips it. And stands. “At least I do what I say I’ll do when it comes to my friends. I can live with that.”
“Well it was stupid to agree to it. We shouldn’t have promised in the first place. Like we agreed. Then it wouldn’t have been a problem.” I don’t know why I’m being so mean, why I’m pushing things. What’s done is done. So why am I suddenly so mad at Jaycee? It’s not her fault that Scooter died, or that my big, fat, formerly obese dad is in Rochester sneaking around with MaeLynn.
But I am. I can’t help it. All of a sudden I’m completely, totally mad at her. Really, really mad. My throat swells with the effort to choke back tears.
“You’re a jerk, you know it?” she says. “Yeah, you’re right. Your way is better. Best to avoid all problems, Nick. Because, God forbid you have to deal with something, actually stand up and be a man. Best to run and hide. Even if it means deserting your dying friend. So yeah, I’m an idiot. I can live with that. But at least I stick by my friends. At least I’m not afraid to.” She shoulders her backpack and turns to walk away. I grab her arm.
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing,” she says.
“What does it mean?” My voice cracks. She yanks her arm away, hikes her backpack up, and walks out, letting the door slam behind her.
The air rings with the bang of it, then everything is quiet.
I lie back down and stare at the ceiling.
I don’t know for how long.
Once in a while my cell phone buzzes next to me, and I pick it up to make sure it’s not Jaycee. It’s not. Once it’s Dad. A few times, my idiot brother. I don’t answer any of them. I just lie there staring and wondering if Jaycee will come back. Or how I’ll get home without her. She has the money, after all.
I don’t worry about
her. She’s tougher than I am. She’ll be okay. She doesn’t need me. I need her; not the other way around. Even so, I don’t worry about me either. It’s just weird. It’s sort of like I don’t care. But maybe like I care so much I can’t think about it. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I just feel, mostly, completely numb.
So I lie there and stare at the whale who stares back at me, his big eye all lonely and sad. Until I stare long enough and the ceiling starts to waffle and blur, and the whale morphs and disappears. I mean, it’s still there somewhere but it’s not really definable, and then, finally, I can’t find it at all anymore.
After a while I don’t really feel the bed under me either. So now the ceiling is blurred, and I can’t really feel what’s suspending me. It just sort of feels like I’m floating.
Yeah, that’s it. I’m just there floating.
Floating and waiting.
And hoping Jaycee will come back for me.
19
That’s what I’m doing, floating in that weird way—or maybe I’m sleeping—when Jaycee bursts back in.
I don’t hear the card key slide in the lock or the handle turn, just the door bang open, and there she is, standing in front of me, out of breath, her hood up, her cheeks bright pink from the cold.
“Let’s go, Lennie.” She kicks my leg. “Come on. There’s an Albany bus back at eleven.”
I don’t mind that she calls me Lennie. I take it as a sign that she doesn’t hate me.
“Of course I don’t,” she says. “Now get your ass in gear.”
I force myself up. “What time is it? We’ll get home at like four in the morning.”
“It’s late, but we just missed the last one. The good news is, the next one is express to Albany. No stops, so it gets in at two-thirty. You said you wanted to get home. I’m getting you home. Come on, wuss, let’s go.” She makes a face. It’s intense, but it’s definitely not mad. I try, but I just can’t get myself moving yet. “Come on, Nick. We gotta pack up, check out, and get there and all.”
“Okay, okay.” I stand up and start to look around, to gather my things, but I feel all confused and woozy. “I’ve gotta get my stuff from the bathroom.” I brush past her. “Where the heck did you go?” I call.
“Concierge. Then deli. Then drugstore. Basically.”
“Basically?”
“Yeah, basically.”
“Okay then, concierge, what for?”
“Bus schedule.”
“Right.” I stare at myself in the bathroom mirror and rub my hands through my hair. I’m a disaster. A total mess. I wonder how long I was sleeping.
I take a washcloth, soap it up, and clean my face. I grab my toothbrush and my toothpaste and wonder for a second if I should brush, but I can’t be bothered and walk out.
“Deli?” I ask when she comes into view again.
“Dinner.” She unzips her backpack and pulls out a paper bag and waves it proudly in the air. “I figured we’d get hungry. Lunch was a bust, so we haven’t really eaten since breakfast.”
“Don’t remind me,” I say, then add, “but you shouldn’t have gone wandering around alone without me. In the dark and all, you know.” The minute I say it, I’m embarrassed at how stupid it is.
Jaycee rolls her eyes and laughs.
“Yes, without Mr. Daring and Brave to protect me.” At least she laughs. “Sorry,” she adds, punching my shoulder as I pass. “I didn’t mean it.”
“Yes you did. But it doesn’t matter.”
“I didn’t, Nick.”
“No problem,” I say. “And anyway, you’re right. It’s true. And I’m sorry too, by the way.”
“For what?”
“Whatever.”
I take one more look around and indicate I’m ready to leave. I hike my backpack over my shoulder and start for the door, but she says, “Shoot. I’d better check the other room.” I’m glad she’s more with it than I am.
I stand by the door and wait as she runs into the next room and shuffles around in there, banging drawers open and shut and stuff. Then she comes back toward me, laughing again.
“Here. You almost forgot this.” She tosses the rectal thermometer at me. “Good catch,” she says. I make a face at her. “What? You never know…”
She pushes me forward, toward the door and out, keeping her hand on my shoulder as we walk. The door closes behind us. Hotel room, gone. It’s weird how sad the sound of it clicking shut makes me feel.
“Hey, Nick,” she says when we turn down the hall to the elevators.
“Yeah?”
“You’re not a wuss, seriously. You saved my life.”
We reach the elevators and I press the down button. The doors to our right open immediately and we step in. I turn around like a normal person, facing out, but of course Jaycee doesn’t. She stays facing backward, toward me. Right in front of me. It makes me uncomfortable.
“I didn’t save your life,” I say. “It was a fever. It wasn’t a big deal.”
“Yes it was. I was scared. And you took care of me. You fed me ice chips,” she says. She looks straight at me, apologetically, with those gorgeous gray-blue eyes. “You’re the Fever King for sure.”
“Oh great,” I say sarcastically.
“It is great. It’s really, really great.” She leans into me and kisses me. Not like a peck either. Her whole warm mouth on mine, over mine, her tongue moving all around in there. And she just keeps kissing and kissing me.
It’s the nicest thing I’ve ever felt, in my whole entire life.
I wrap my arms around her, and feel her there, and kiss her back completely. My lips on hers, our tongues mixing together. And so Jeremy’s right. Because it’s not a problem. Somehow, when it happens, you just know what to do.
And as we kiss I float, so yeah, I’m floating again. But this time, in a good way. Like floating and melting and kissing and smiling, all at the very same time. Until the doors open, which happens way too soon. Then she grabs my arm and says, “Yum,” and drags me out through the lobby.
* * *
The bus station is pretty much deserted. The ticket window is open, but nobody’s inside except one old guy sleeping on the benches. Two buses sit idling outside, their dim interior lights on. A few taxis are lined up at the curb. We find the bus that scrolls Albany on the sign above the front window—the other reads Penn Station / NYC / JFK Int’l Airport—and head toward it. The doors are open, but nobody else is on board. Not even the driver. Jaycee nudges me in anyway.
“You think we can?” I ask.
“Why not?” Jaycee says.
We climb the steps, this time her behind me. I reach back and take her hand. It feels a little weird to board a totally empty bus late at night, but Jaycee is her usual undeterred self, cracking jokes about how we’ll never manage to find a seat.
She knees my butt to keep moving toward the back, but I’m thinking we shouldn’t go that far. “Let’s not go all the way back,” I say. “No one will know that we’re in here.”
“And, what? We’ll be murdered and they’ll never find the bodies?”
I laugh, but it kind of creeps me out. I’m half wishing we’d spent the night at the hotel.
But then as soon as we slide in and toss the backpacks into the empty seat across the aisle, we start kissing again, and I’m not really caring too much where we are. It totally sends me floating in that crazy good way again.
We make out until, suddenly, she pushes me away. “Hold on a sec, I need to get something,” she says, leaning across to grab her backpack. I’m wondering if I did anything wrong. Maybe my breath stinks and I need some mints or something. She turns her back on me and searches through her bag, then pulls out something that crinkles.
I watch out the window because it seems like she wants her privacy. Finally she taps me on the shoulder.
“O-kray, reh-gree,” she says, sounding all muffled and strange.
I turn back and laugh. She’s got a plastic bag in her lap, and a pair of big red wa
x lips popping off her face. You know, the sweet-smelling candy kind you get on Halloween? Her eyes sparkle happily above them. She pulls me into her again and smushes her wax lips onto my real ones. It’s ridiculous, and tasty, so of course I’m laughing hard.
“Hey, where’d you get those?” I say, stopping her.
“Here.” She pulls them out of her mouth for second, sucks the drool from the part where you bite. “Drugstore. After the concierge and deli. You forgot to ask about that stop before. They had a pretty decent Halloween supply, so you get to have some too.” She tosses a pair at me still wrapped in cellophane. “They’re Wack-O-Wax,” she says, smiling, “cuz you’re a wacko.”
I tear them open and stick them in, then look at her for inspection. “That’s more like it.” She puts hers back in too. “Now you can kith gne.”
We mash our wax lips together and fall down in the seat and fool around some more. I feel just about giddy now, so I let my hand wander bravely in under the bottom of her sweatshirt and onto the soft warm skin of her stomach. I’m absolutely amazed that I’m touching a girl, any girl, let alone Jaycee. I let it go a little higher, my heart pounding, to where I can feel the edge of her bra. She squirms under me, but in a way that makes me think everything’s good and okay. It feels so nice and electric, so now I’m thinking I might want to try even a little more, when a man’s voice booms, “Hey, what’s going on in here?”
We bolt upright. A large guy—blue pants, white shirt, blue jacket—stands there, arms folded across his chest. I realize we must look ridiculous, two kids making out with giant wax lips on their faces. Not to mention, I have to shift my position to hide some things, which I’m hoping nobody notices. But the guy just forces a tired smile and says, “I didn’t mean to startle you,” then lowers his glasses and adds, “Nice lips you got there.”
He’s trying to be friendly, but his teeth are yellowish and his thin brown hair is brushed over his forehead in greasy strands, which makes him look sort of creepy. Plus his shirt is half-tucked, a pack of cigarettes jutting from the front pocket. Or maybe it’s just being alone at this hour, and not his appearance, that gives me the heebie-jeebies. But his jacket has a Trailways logo on it, so at least it’s clear he is the driver and not a serial killer. Although nothing says he couldn’t be both.