“Super skunk! Fucking awesome!”
“Okay, so maybe—” I start, but he doesn’t hear me. There’s the sound of the phone clattering, and then Max’s voice. “You starting, wildcat?”
Then Lindsey giggling. Then raspy kiss sounds, a couple baby’s, a thump, and the line goes dead.
I try to call back but go straight to voicemail.
The Creepiest Thing
When I get downstairs, Charlie is sitting in an armchair across from my dad in the living room that no one ever uses. I don’t know who looks less comfortable.
Apparently it’s me, because both my dad and Charlie say at the same time, “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” I paste on a smile. “Yeah, of course. Ready?”
Charlie stands just as my mom comes into the living room holding out a glass of ginger ale. Charlie looks like he doesn’t know whether to take the glass, which was clearly meant for him. What is it with parents and their drink-peddling? I need to get out of this place. I take Charlie’s hand before he can accept the glass and tug him to the door.
“See you guys later,” I chirp, and we’re out, heading to the car.
As I fling open the passenger door, Charlie holds me back. “Hey.” He turns me around so I’m facing him. “What’s up?”
“Let’s just go,” I say.
“Okay.” He looks into my eyes. No fog this time. “You’re really okay?”
I nod and give him a brief, reassuring peck on the lips. “Let’s go,” I repeat, and climb in the car.
He comes around, buckles himself in. “So… where do you want to go?”
“It’s your birthday, you choose,” I say.
“Okay. But first, how about you tell me what’s bugging you?”
“It’s that obvious?”
“Well, I do have eyes.” He smiles and takes my hand. “For what it’s worth, I have ears, too.” He leans in, whispering, “They actually work pretty well for listening, you know, when people talk. You, especially. They especially like listening to you. They think you have a pretty voice.”
“Your ears like me?”
“Don’t make me say it again,” he teases, then drops all teasing. “So, what’s up?”
“I’m just—worried, I guess,” I say. “I talked to Lindsey, and she’s at some college guy’s dorm. She’s wasted and he’s wasted and she’s being reckless. But I don’t even know where she is exactly.”
“He’s not, like, forcing—”
“No, not like that. Just—whatever. But the thing is, when I was being reckless, when it was me, I had her to look out for me. She was there. And me—I don’t know what to do, Charlie.”
“Call her.”
“Her phone’s off.”
“Should we find her?”
“I don’t know. Maybe?” If Lindsey is looking to get naked with some college guy, who am I to interrupt? It’s not my place to go all judge-y on her. Even so, I can’t help thinking this might turn out to be a huge mistake. Or worse. I don’t even know this guy’s name. He could do anything. He could get violent—
Okay, I’m probably being paranoid. But it can’t hurt to check on her, right?
“Yeah, maybe,” I tell Charlie.
Charlie starts the car. “So, how do we find her?”
“Look, it’s your birthday. We should probably just—”
“No, really. My cousin Kayla goes to Midland. It’s small, and she’s pretty social. I bet she can help us. Do we have any clues? Anything you remember?”
“Let’s see. The guy’s name is Max. He’s twenty. That means he’s probably… a junior, right? He’s in room twenty of a dorm that might or might not be named after a president. He has a secret cat. Um, yeah, that’s it.”
Charlie texts something into his phone, then starts driving toward the college.
When his phone bleeps, he hands it to me. “That might be Kayla.”
It’s not. It’s Mark. I put it facedown on the seat, trying not to read it because, you know, I’d rather not be that girl.
The next bleep is Kayla.
Sounds like Max Tieger. He’s in Roosevelt. The one next to the tennis courts. When are you going to give me my frisbee back, little cuz? I miss that frisbee.
“We have a destination. She’s in the dorm by the tennis courts,” I tell Charlie. “And your cousin wants her Frisbee.”
“Yeah, figures,” Charlie says. “She’s been harping on that Frisbee since I was eight.”
“Must be a pretty special Frisbee.”
“She just likes to mess with me,” Charlie says. “Sometimes I wish…”
“What?”
“I wish I had a sister. You know.”
“Really?” Both Charlie and I are the only kids in our families. Sure, I’d wondered sometimes what it might be like to have a brother or sister, but I’d never wanted one. It seemed like enough just keeping up with my own life, much less having to worry about some other little version of my parents’ mixed genes running around town.
“What? Haven’t you?” Charlie asks.
“No way! It’s probably selfish of me—okay, it’s definitely selfish of me—but I like having my own space. I like having a hairbrush that doesn’t have any one else’s hair clogged in it. I like not worrying about anyone touching my stuff.”
“What, like this?” Charlie pokes my purse on the seat beside me. And again. And again.
“Are you trying to piss me off?” I ask.
“Is it working?” He grins.
“Just focus on your driving, okay.”
“Bossy,” he razzes me.
“Touchy,” I razz back.
He snorts. “Maybe I don’t need a sister. I’ve got you.”
“Okay, for the record: I don’t need a sister, I’ve got you might be the creepiest thing anyone has ever said to their date. Like, ever.”
“Ewww.” He makes a face. “You know what I meant.”
“I’m still putting it on a trophy and presenting it to you on Shame the Boyfriend Day.”
“Is that what I am?” He turns, pulling into the tennis court parking lot at the college. “Does that mean I’m your boyfriend?”
He parks, turns off the car. And in the silence that comes, I feel a blush rise to my cheeks.
“Ummm…” I say.
“What?” He pushes my hair back from my face.
“We should go check on Lindsey,” I say, opening the car and bolting for the dorm.
I’m five steps ahead of him on the path, and when I reach the entrance, I yank the door handle, but it’s locked.
“Well. What now?”
Charlie catches up, tries the door. “We wait,” he says. “Someone’s bound to come in or out soon.”
I try Lindsey’s phone again, on the off chance I can get through, but no dice. Three college girls pass through the grass on their way to somewhere else. I might be paranoid, but I’m pretty sure the one in the yellow dress gives me stink eye.
“Do we look suspicious or something?” I ask.
“We should make out,” Charlie says.
“Well, that’s an excellent suggestion,” I say, meaning not. “Good to know you got your head in the game.”
“Seriously.” He gives me a nudge. “We have to wait anyway, and people ignore people who are making out. We won’t look as suspicious as just standing around.” He moves closer, pressing me against the brick wall beside the door. The warmth of his breath at my ear is like its own drug. “Plus, it’s kind of amazing,” he adds.
“What?”
“Kissing you.”
Then he does. And yeah, it is amazing.
We break for breath and I give a contented sigh. “Someone should bottle your lips,” I say. “Like make an elixir or something.”
“That—what you just said there—is now officially the creepiest thing ever uttered on a date.” His voice is low, teasing. “I pass my trophy to you.”
“What!” I protest.
“Sorry, I don’t make the rules. Lips
in a bottle beat the imaginary sister thing.”
“That is so not fair.”
“Nothing I can do, lip-girl. It’s not my decision to make.” He nuzzles my neck. “But as long as we’re turning body parts into elixir, I think I’ll take your earlobes.” He gives one a nibble, which simultaneously tickles and makes my insides flash with a blind, ambiguous need.
Just then, a boy with headphones and a long orange scarf pushes open the door from the inside. Charlie grabs the door before it closes, and, nodding to the guy, ushers me quickly inside.
“Okay.” I shake my head clear. “Room twenty, room twenty,” I mutter, checking down the hallway to the right. Two, four, six… and after two left turns and an accidental sighting of a half-naked guy coming out of the showers, twenty.
I put my ear to the door, trying not to feel so young and foolish, hoping I’ll hear something that will tell me this is the right thing, that I’m not overreacting, that Lindsey needs me and I’m not a mother hen for being here. I can’t hear anything, though, so I raise my fist and knock.
There’s no response. I knock again and call, “Lindsey? You in there?”
When I still get nothing, I rattle the door handle. It isn’t locked and the door sways open, making a painfully loud creak.
The room is small enough that I can see right away it’s empty. Messy bunk beds, messy desk. A gray cat looks up from its perch at the windowsill. Lava lamp on the floor beside an incense burner. On the wall, hand-drawn cartoons on torn loose-leaf paper, a few stray photographs stuck through with pushpins, a world map, a not-great semi-realistic painting of Jimi Hendrix, an old movie poster with Marilyn Monroe and two guys in drag. In the nook by the door, smelly cleats and guy stuff.
But no Lindsey.
“Hey,” Charlie calls to a guy passing in the hall. “You know where Max is?”
The guy shakes his head and keeps walking, but from behind us a voice calls, “Y’all looking for Maxy?”
We turn to find a big guy in flip-flops, hairy legs, trimmed beard, shiny shaved head. “He’s in The Cave. He and that little honey badger.” The guy pushes past us and into the room. He’s large, so the room suddenly seems twice as small. “I’m Everett. Max’s roommate. Charmed.” He flops on the bottom bunk and extends his hand like maybe he expects us to kiss it.
“Nice to meet you.” I take his hand and shake it, trying not to be as awkward as I feel. “What’s The Cave?”
“A sandwich shop. In the basement of the student center. The food is nasty, but it stays open late, so.”
“Thank you,” I say, and start to leave.
“If you find Maxy, remind him it’s open mic night,” he calls after us, then laughs like it’s some inside joke.
The Cave
The Cave is, as it turns out, not at all cave-like. Instead, I might think we wandered into an oversized game of Twister. Multicolored circles are painted in random order on bright white walls. A dozen round tables with matching padded stools, also multicolored, fill the white tile floor. In one corner, a counter is set up with a chalkboard menu behind it. In the other, a girl in ripped jeans and a green stocking hat howls and strums her guitar.
There are only twenty or so people in the room, so it’s easy enough to spot Lindsey. She is a brilliant disaster, her hair dyed pale pink since I last saw her, thick blue eyeliner, mustard smudged on her cheek. She’s wrapped around an unwashed, skinny guy that might as well have trouble tattooed on his forehead. He’s holding her wrist with one hand, gutting a sub sandwich with the other. With his fingers, he digs out messy hunks of shaved meat and stuffs some in his mouth, some in Lindsey’s. It’s like a messed-up version of that thing where brides and grooms feed each other wedding cake, but grosser.
“Hey!” I walk up to her table and, without asking, take a seat. Charlie, quiet, letting me lead, sits beside me.
“Hahahaha.” Lindsey’s laugh is almost mechanical, a possessed windup doll. A few bits of chewed meat spray out. “What are you doing here?”
Step One, detach her from Max. Step Two, get her somewhere she can sleep it off.
“I need to talk with you,” I say. “It’s important.”
“What? Why?” Her eyes, even through the glaze of the drugs, turn soft with worry. “Are you okay? Sweetie?” Here she is, worrying about me, bless her. It’s like a person who just tumbled down a ravine asking the person passing if they need help up the trail.
“I just want to talk with you.” I glance at the dirty-haired guy beside her. “Sorry,” I say, standing, “I’m gonna take Lindsey for a while.”
Charlie stands, too.
“Sure. Yeah,” Max says, but he doesn’t let go of her wrist.
I take Lindsey’s other hand and tug her up. “Come on. We can talk out there,” I say, gesturing to the door leading outside.
The guy still doesn’t let go, but I think it’s more because he’s out of it than that he’s actually trying to hold on. I tilt my head, silently asking for Charlie’s help, and he reaches over and gently unplucks the stoner’s fingers from Lindsey’s wrist.
Together we pull her through the double doors leading outside. The air is cool. I wrap my arm around Lindsey’s shoulder. “Hey, so what did you take?”
“What? What? I smoked some pot,” she says. “What’s up?”
“I’m just worried.”
“Why? What do you think’s going to happen?”
“Nothing, maybe. I don’t know. You could get hurt. That guy,” I say. “Do you know him?”
“Does knowing him even matter?” Her eyes get a blurry look. “We all knew Kyle.” She starts to laugh, like that’s the funniest joke in the world—then her eyes refocus on Charlie. Staring, she covers her mouth. “Oh God. Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”
Charlie blanches. Which is saying something for a boy who’s normally pretty pale to begin with. “It’s okay,” he says.
But we all know it’s not okay.
It hasn’t been entirely okay for any of us, not for a long time. I feel tired with the “not okay-ness” of it all. Is it really my job to worry that every boy we pass on the street or smoke pot with in some dorm or sit next to in a coffee shop will hurt me or someone I love? Is that what it means to be a girl?
“Do you want to go back in there?” I ask her. “Do you want to be with that guy?”
Her eyes are weak-tea brown, drenched with an unfocused longing. She shakes her head.
“Let’s get you home, then,” I say.
Charlie rounds over to Lindsey’s other side and gently takes her elbow in his. Together, the three of us walk across the beautiful, manicured college lawn toward the dark dome of sky.
Perv
We drop off Lindsey with her sister at Willow Ridge. Mrs. Barrow is out as usual, but Veronica is sprawled on the couch in the living room, her laptop open on the coffee table and a celebrity dance show blaring on the TV.
“I’m hungry!” Lindsey mumbles as she plops her bottom on her sister’s feet at the end of the couch.
“Ow!” Veronica complains. “Get off!”
“Don’t be such a party pooper!” Lindsey says sweetly, stretching her body out so she’s head to toe with her sister.
“Get your feet out of my face!” Veronica barks. “Geez!” She sits up, snapping her laptop closed, then roughly pushes Lindsey’s feet off the couch.
“And you want one of those?” I half whisper to Charlie.
He shrugs. I toss Lindsey’s car keys to Veronica.
“Don’t let her drive,” I say. I found Lindsey’s Toyota in the tennis court parking lot. Instead of leaving it parked at the college, I drove it to the apartments, and Charlie followed in his car.
“I’m not her mother,” Veronica says.
“Just hold on to the keys until tomorrow morning, all right?”
Veronica glowers, but she pockets the keys. “Whatever.”
“This is the funniest show,” Lindsey half laughs, half mumbles. “Like, why are they dancing?”
I squat down so I’m face-to-face with Lindsey. “Charlie and I are going to take off now. You should get some sleep.”
“Do you have any Doritos?” she asks.
“Nope,” I say, “no Doritos. Go on to sleep, and I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”
“Okay.”
Outside, Charlie and I walk to the car, hand in hand. “That was very patient of you,” I say. “Sorry for screwing up your birthday.”
“You didn’t.” He grins. “And anyway, it’s not over yet.”
“True,” I say. “Which reminds me!” I reach around in my bag, grab the Trundel book, and put it in his hands. “Jared gave me this to return. Happy birthday from you to you! And then there’s this.” From my back pocket, I pull out a tiny wrapped package, a little bigger than a stick of gum, and place it on top of the book.
He takes the miniature package and holds it up to his ear to give it a pretend rattle. “Let me guess. An itsy-bitsy Yoda tie?” he says. “A mysterious key? A very small, very flat pair of roller skates?”
I shake my head, laughing at his randomness. “Not even close.”
“A ticket to the moon?”
“Warmer,” I say.
“Hmmm…” He carefully peels back the tape on the wrapping paper and tidily, like he’s opening a tiny door, unfolds the wrapping.
“Oh, man!” His eyes widen when he sees what’s inside. “You’re kidding me!”
Next weekend, the Virginia Tech Student Union is bringing in Bax Wilcox, a singer-songwriter Charlie loves. It’s only about a forty-five-minute drive, so I got online when tickets went on sale and ordered two.
“Happy birthday!” I exclaim, suddenly nervous. “I got two, so you know, you and Mark could go… or whoever.”
He chucks my chin, lifting my face so I can’t avoid his eyes. “Would you and me be an option?”
“Huh?”
“Would you go with me?”
“Sure, I mean, if you want me to.”
“Yeah, I want you to.” His lips are breathy on my cheek when he whispers, “Mark’s a great guy, but he doesn’t have your ears.”
“Again with the ears, you perv.”
How She Died, How I Lived Page 19