by Adi Alsaid
Elliot’s stomach grumbled another goddamnit. “Do you have Triple-A or something? Although at this time of night it’s gonna take them forever to get here.” He looked at the windshield to find the toe prints, but the car was between streetlights, and the marks had disappeared in the dark.
“No,” Leila said, giving the engine another try.
Elliot picked at a still-crusty spot on the tux, feeling deflated. “I guess that’s a sign, then. This probably isn’t going to happen tonight.” He examined the stuff that came off under his fingernail, grimaced, then wiped it back onto the tux.
“Hey, none of those guys in the movies ever have it easy, right? Getting the girl of your dreams is supposed to be an obstacle-filled journey.”
“Great, we have the tagline for my night. And how, pray tell, are we gonna get around this particular obstacle?”
“You get up and push from the back. I’ll steer and push from up here,” Leila said, opening her door.
“What?”
“We’ll push the car to the nearest gas station.”
“You’re joking. It’s, like, two miles away. I can barely even walk two miles with a backpack on. You want me to push a car that distance when I only have one functional hand?”
“If you’re fishing for another rousing speech, you’re not getting one. Now get out, and help me push.”
Elliot shook his head, then got out of the car, walking around to the back and trying to figure out a way to get enough leverage to push without hurting his already-injured hand. After a few clumsy, painful attempts, he finally found a comfortable position and started pushing the car. Leila was directly in front of him, one hand on the steering wheel to keep the car straight, leaning over as she helped him push. He kept his eyes on the ground. “We’re going straight two blocks and then turning right,” he said. “If I haven’t passed out by then.”
There were no other cars on the road, and the night was still. Elliot could hear their slow footsteps as they pushed the car forward, the tires passing over the gravel sounding like bugs being squashed. In the distance, the brilliant skyline of the Twin Cities illuminated the horizon, little trails of light cutting through the darkness that separated the golden sight from Burnsville.
“You okay back there?” Leila called out.
Elliot was breathing heavily, his body exhausted by the long night and the alcohol and the blood loss. “I’ll be okay. I’ll just buy a Gatorade at the gas station. And maybe have a lung transplant.” He stopped pushing for a second to catch his breath. “I think the last time my heart rate was this high was in fifth grade.” Another deep intake of breath, the air painful in his throat but soothing when it reached his lungs. “We played tag during recess one time.” He went on that way for a few more blocks, wheezing until he’d caught his breath and then telling Leila, a few words at a time, how Maribel had come running at him and how his heart had been torn between wanting to run fast to impress her and standing still so she’d plow into him.
“Such a romantic,” Leila said. “If she could hear you talk like this, I’m sure she’d already be yours.”
Elliot felt himself flush. His friends had always been supportive, but no one other than his own fantasies had ever made it seem like being with Maribel could actually happen. He kept pushing the car.
“Which did you end up going with? Did you run or stay still?”
“I took three steps and then tripped. She helped me up before tagging me. Happiest day of my life.”
Leila laughed out. It was a wonderful sound that echoed down the empty street and made Elliot wish that Leila had been in his corner a long time ago.
When they finally reached the gas station, they took a moment to catch their breath. It had taken less time than Elliot had thought it would. He hadn’t realized earlier, but the gas station was on the same block as the record store. His first good-luck stroke of the night.
“Good,” Elliot said, sniffing at his tux. “The one smell this jacket needed: sweat.” He looked across the street at the record store. There was a sign on top of the building, making it impossible to see if anyone was on the roof, which, coupled with the view of the Performing Arts Center and the Minneapolis skyline, was why Maribel loved going up there.
“Come on,” Leila said, moving toward the convenience store. “I’ll buy you a Gatorade.”
They picked up some drinks and a travel-sized deodorant spray for Elliot, but when the cashier tried to ring them up, Leila’s credit card was declined. “Shit,” Leila said. “It must be all the traveling. The bank gets confused that I’m in different cities every day. I know I said it was on me, but I don’t have any cash. Do you mind?”
“I don’t have any, either,” Elliot said. “I gave all my money to some guys at prom for that bottle of bourbon.”
They looked pleadingly at the cashier, who shrugged and picked up the magazine she’d been reading. They dragged their feet back out the door. “You know what? Don’t worry about the gas,” Leila said. “We’re on a mission, right? You go check the record store. I’ll stay back here and check my car for any cash I might have lying around.”
“What should I say? If she’s even there.”
“It doesn’t matter. Just talk to her the way you talk about her, and you’ll be fine.”
He looked over at the record store. The lights were all out except for the ones illuminating the billboard-size sign on top of the building. He could just make out the window art announcing new arrivals and special sales, most of it in Maribel’s neat handwriting.
“Leila?”
“Yeah?”
“If you ever need help chasing after the boy of your dreams, you can count on me to help.”
“Thanks. I might have to take you up on that.”
Elliot crossed the street in a half jog, checking for traffic. He went around the back of the record store, unlocking the gate the way Maribel had showed him. He climbed onto the dumpster to reach the stepladder that led to the roof. His heart was beating so loudly that he could feel his pulse in his empty stomach. He took a few deep breaths and then started climbing. Throbbing pain shot through his hand with every rung, but Elliot pictured Maribel sitting up there in her prom dress, her back bare to the warm summer air, her big brown eyes narrowed in thought, and he climbed faster.
He reached the last rung and hauled himself onto the roof. It was a completely open space, nothing between the ladder and the street-facing sign but a few pipes. Elliot stepped toward the middle of the roof, even though he was clearly alone up there. It wasn’t just the visual evidence; Elliot could feel Maribel’s absence. He felt for a second as if he would never see her again, that the emptiness of the rooftop signified not just another obstacle but that she’d been removed completely from his life. He didn’t know how many more of these false hopes he could take.
He walked toward the sign, then peeked around it to look across the street at the gas station. Leila was inside the convenience store, leaning against the counter and talking to the cashier. What kind of teenager traveled on her own to Alaska to go see the Northern Lights? What kind of girl was willing to help a total stranger out the way she was doing?
Elliot climbed back down the ladder and crossed the street to the gas station. Leila saw him coming and walked out of the convenience store to meet him. For some reason, Elliot waved at her, as if he hadn’t seen her in a long time.
“No luck?” she started saying, before focusing on his raised hand. “Whoa, you’re bleeding.”
“Huh?” He turned his bandaged hand. A small circle of blood had appeared over his palm, and it was spreading slowly. “Crap.”
“I’d offer to take you back to the hospital, but...you know.” She gave one of her tires a kick.
“There’s a twenty-four-hour CVS a couple of blocks from here. Some fresh gauze is all I need.”
“That’s what I like to hear
,” Leila said
* * *
At the CVS, they tried Leila’s credit card again with the same results. Then they tried convincing the manager to let Elliot take the gauze now and come back with the money the next day.
“It’s an emergency,” Leila said, pointing to the blood coming through the bandage.
“I’d recommend going to a hospital, then.”
“Please, sir. If I don’t bring you the money tomorrow, you can call the cops on me. Worse, you can call my parents. I’ve been ignoring them all night and they’ll probably give you a reward just for telling them I’m alive. My name’s Elliot Pinnik. I live on—”
“It’s $7.49.” The manager said. He put his hands on his hips and furrowed his brow, the classic adult stance signifying that the conversation was over.
Elliot and Leila left the CVS and stood out in front. “I kind of hope I bleed to death, just so he’ll have to deal with the guilt.” He sighed and picked some dirt off the bandage. “So, tireless cheerleader, now what?”
Leila bit her bottom lip, then kicked at a pebble on the ground. Elliot followed the pebble’s path across the parking lot until a car pulled in and blinded him with its headlights. By the time his eyes had recovered, the car was parked, and a guy wearing sweatpants and a stained T-shirt was walking toward the entrance of the CVS. He looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks.
“Excuse me, sir,” Leila said as he approached. “I know how this is going to sound, but we’re in—”
“Sorry, no change,” the man replied, barely looking at them as he entered the store.
Leila watched as the automatic doors slid shut behind him; then she turned to Elliot. “Huh. So that’s what that feels like.”
“Should we try to steal the gauze?”
“No!” Leila yelled, strangely forcefully. “No shoplifting.” She calmed herself down a little. “Hopefully someone shows up who has a good heart and will be willing to lend us some money. If they’re willing to give us some gas money, too, we’ll go to Maribel’s house and wait for her to show up. Take a seat, and look like you’re in pain. But don’t show the bloody side of your hand; we don’t want to freak people out.”
Elliot did as he was told, taking a seat on the curb of the parking lot. There was no movement for a while. The tired guy left the store with a jumbo pack of diapers and drove off. A middle-aged woman who’d been smoking in her car tossed the cigarette butt onto the ground without bothering to stamp it out and completely ignored them as she marched past them. A couple of guys in their twenties actually stopped and listened to Leila but eyed Elliot suspiciously and then shook their heads. Elliot’s foot started falling asleep, and he thought back to seventh grade, when Maribel had hosted a movie night at her house. He had sat on the couch, and she took the spot on the floor by his feet, at one point even resting her head against his knee. Afraid that he would break whatever spell she had come under, he hadn’t moved for the remainder of the movie, even when his foot had been asleep so long it hurt.
A van pulled into the lot. Elliot tried to look innocuously glum and let Leila do the talking. He kept his eyes on the ground. He heard the door of the van open, followed by a familiar voice.
“If it isn’t the man of the night!”
Elliot looked up, confused. It was Kurt. “What the hell are you guys doing here?” Kurt asked. He nodded at Leila, who gave him a wave back. “How’d it go with your girl? After the show you put on, I thought you’d be somewhere romantic and with a mattress.”
“She wasn’t at the prom anymore. She didn’t see it.”
“That sucks. Did you check that kid Bobby’s party?”
“Yeah, she wasn’t there, either. We’ve been looking for her all night.”
“Why would she be at the CVS?”
“We just had to take a quick detour to get myself patched up.” He raised his hand so Kurt could see the blood.
“Gnarly,” Kurt said, nodding at the sight.
“But it turns out we don’t have any money,” Leila chimed in.
“How much do you need?”
“Seven-fifty,” Elliot said, rising to his feet.
“Plus some gas money. If that’s okay,” Leila added.
“Your performance tonight is worth at least that much,” Kurt said. He motioned for them to follow him inside and paid for Elliot’s gauze, then gave Leila a twenty for gas. Elliot gave the manager what he hoped was a smug look.
When they were back outside, Elliot recalled what he could from health class to apply the fresh gauze. Despite the blood, the wound didn’t look too bad. Only one of the stitches had come undone, and most of the blood had coagulated already. “Thank you so much,” Elliot said.
“Don’t mention it,” Kurt replied, pulling out his keys from his pocket. “By the way, have you guys checked Ruby’s Diner? There’s a bunch of people over there sobering up with coffee and graveyard specials. I just drove past, and it looks like half the school is inside. I wouldn’t be surprised if you find Maribel there.” Kurt shook Elliot’s hand, then waved good-bye to Leila. “Good luck, man. Everyone’s rooting for you.”
As they watched Kurt’s van pull out of the lot, Elliot wondered if he’d misheard. Was it possible that everyone actually cared what happened between him and Maribel?
“What do you say?” Leila interrupted his thoughts. “Ruby’s Diner?”
“At this point, I’m half expecting Ruby’s Diner to be full of zombies or something.”
Leila smacked him across the chest. “I said, ‘Ruby’s Diner?’”
“I’ve been in love with this girl for as long as I can remember. Of course I’m going to Ruby’s Diner,” Elliot said. “But I’m allowed the occasional smart-ass comment, aren’t I?”
“You have a very conservative definition of the word ‘occasional.’”
Elliot shrugged. “Whatever. At this point, I’d happily fight zombies to get to her.”
6
LIKE PRETTY MUCH everything else in Burnsville, Ruby’s was just a short drive away. Elliot barely had time to sort out what he was feeling: the hope and the hopelessness combined, the night’s exhaustion and lingering adrenaline, Maribel’s absence and how strong his desire was to just be near her again, to tell her in ways he’d failed to before how much he loved her.
Leila parked her car in front of the restaurant. Elliot could recognize some of the cars in the parking lot, and he could see through the large windows that the diner was packed—no small feat for 4:00 a.m. A few kids stood outside smoking, their shirts untucked and their bow ties undone. The girls’ hairdos had started to sag and uncurl, hair spray finally losing the battle against gravity. Everyone looked tired but proud of their tiredness, as if the night’s exhaustion stood for all four years of high school, and they wanted to show the world that they’d survived.
“Want me to wait out here?” Leila asked.
“No. Without you I wouldn’t have made it this far.” He tried to spot Maribel inside, but there were people everywhere. A waitress carrying a tray loaded with pancakes and sausage hip-checked someone out of her way. “Plus, in the movies there’s always someone who starts the slow clap. I’m entrusting you with that role.”
They got out of the car. Elliot brushed his good hand down his tux. He wished he hadn’t thrown the boutonniere into the street; it would help make him look a little more presentable.
“How do I look?”
Leila stepped in front of him, straightened his jacket by the lapels, brushed imaginary dirt (or maybe not that imaginary) off his shoulder. “You look like you’ve been through hell. But that’s what you’re supposed to do. Go through hell to get the girl.” She looked up at him and smiled, her eyes lighting up, showing no trace of the distance he’d occasionally seen in them. “You look great.”
Inside the restaurant, it was even busier than Elliot had been able to tell from look
ing through the windows. So many tables had been pushed together that the diner resembled a German beer hall. Kids were packed into booths like clowns in a car. They had broken off into the usual cliques and shouted at each other from across the room. Some were sipping on coffee, some were wolfing down greasy breakfast food, and some had fallen asleep with their foreheads against the table. Strays—either drunkenly lost or drunkenly social—roamed the corridors between tables. The servers, mostly women in their fifties, looked focused and angry but mostly confused that their usually slow graveyard shift had been hijacked by rowdy teenagers. The only adult customers, two men in tank tops and trucker hats, were seated at the counter, clearly trying to shovel their scrambled eggs down and pay their bill as quickly as possible.
Before Elliot could start to move forward, someone came up from behind and put an arm around his shoulders.
“Elliot! You are my freakin’ hero, man,” said the unknown voice. Elliot swiveled to get a look at the guy, who turned out to be a football player that Elliot had only had a couple of classes with throughout high school. The guy smelled like whiskey, and Elliot felt a flush of shame at the realization that he had smelled the same way earlier in the night. “What you did at prom?” The football player put a hand to the side of Elliot’s head and made an exploding sound, complete with a spray of spit. “So cool.” He pulled his arm away and gave Elliot a light slap on the cheek. “So freakin’ cool.” Then he walked away, stealing the toast off someone else’s plate as he passed by.
As soon as that guy was gone, Elliot saw Anthony from his math class walking steadfastly toward him. He was pointing at Elliot with one hand, his other raised up for a high five. Elliot obliged, careful to remember to use his uninjured hand. The sound of their palms smacking against each other rang out through the diner. Anthony walked away without another word, but the high five had alerted others to Elliot’s presence, and he was soon surrounded by a chorus of clamoring voices.
“Epic!” someone yelled out.