by Easton, BB
“Are you real?” I whisper, touching my fingertips to the orange hibiscus over his heart.
Wes drops his forehead to mine and slides a hand into the hair at the back of my head. “Are you?”
I reach for his breathtaking face with both hands, needing to kiss him, to touch him, to convince myself that this isn’t just another cruel dream, but the sound of a clearing throat shatters the moment like a gunshot.
Wes’s head whips around to face the entrance. Then, his hand forms a fist in my hair when he sees who our unexpected guest is.
Carter’s jaw flexes and nostrils flare as he stands in the doorway, holding a green beer bottle with dandelions and wildflowers sticking out in all directions.
“I came to check on you, but”—he eyes Wes up and down with disgust before turning his disappointment back on me—“looks like you got company.”
Something changes in his demeanor, and suddenly, he’s Cocky Carter from high school, smirking as he crosses the room like he just sank a three-pointer to win the game.
Wes loosens his grip and leans against the counter, lazily rubbing the back of my neck.
Carter stops right in front of me and glances down at my split cheek. From here, I can see that he must have taken a pretty good hit during the food court scuffle too, because one side of his jaw is definitely swollen. His eyes flare behind his well-placed mask, but us getting smacked around by the runaways isn’t what he came here to talk about.
“I just wanted to be the first one to tell you, happy birthday.” He grins triumphantly, first at me and then at Wes, as he hands me the bouquet.
I accept it mechanically and stare at it in disbelief.
“It’s May?” I ask quietly and to no one in particular.
“Yep. May 3.” Carter puffs out his chest.
“I …” The flowers blur as my eyes look past them and focus on the floor. “I didn’t think I was gonna have another birthday.”
I blink and look up to find Carter watching Wes with smug satisfaction on his face and Wes watching me with thinly veiled concern written all over his.
“Thank you, Carter,” I whisper, giving him a one-armed hug while my free hand grips Wes’s bicep. “I’ll see you later, okay?”
I’m sure Carter and Wes are glaring at each other over my shoulder, but Wes won’t give him the satisfaction of acting like he gives a shit.
“A’ight, Rainbow Brite,” he says, shooting me with a finger gun and a wink as he walks backward toward the door. “Come by later. My folks wanna tell you happy birthday too.”
I don’t respond, and the second Carter’s six-foot-three-inch frame is out of sight, I feel Wes’s whole body tense up beside me.
I set the flowers down and turn to face him.
“Please don’t freak out. Carter and I are just fr—”
“It’s your birthday?” Wes’s eyebrows lift and pull together.
“Oh. Uh … yeah. I guess it is.” I smile, still trying to process the fact that I lived to see twenty after all.
“Fuck.” He tucks his damp hair behind one ear and stares out into the empty hallway. “I didn’t know.”
I laugh. “If it makes you feel any better, I didn’t know either.”
“It doesn’t,” Wes deadpans.
Then, without warning, he leans over and seals his lips to mine. My thoughts scatter. My heart pounds. The lights behind my closed eyelids glow brighter. And the switch in my brain that once produced joy creaks and groans until it finally breaks loose from all the rust and cobwebs and begins dumping glitter into my bloodstream again.
I touch his shoulders, his face, his hair—anything I can get my hands on that will help me believe that he’s really here.
He’s really here.
Wes angles his head as he deepens our kiss, attacking me with a passion I haven’t felt since …
No. No, no, no.
The glitter switch turns back off.
The lights dim.
My heart sinks like a cinder block, pulling my thoughts down with it.
Breaking the seal of our mouths by no more than a quarter of an inch, Wes tells me what I already know is coming.
“I gotta go.”
“But … you just got here,” I whisper, feeling the long fingers of despair beginning to wrap around my throat.
“I’ll be right back. I promise.” Wes gives me a determined stare and one last peck on the lips, but I’m too stunned to return it. “If I’m gonna get Q’s shit while it’s still light out, I gotta go now.”
And, before I finish nodding, the best birthday present I ever got walks right back out the door.
Wes
“Of course it’s her fucking birthday. Why would the day I show up empty-handed after disappearing on a weeklong bender not be her fucking birthday? God, I’m such a fucking asshole.”
I stomp across the empty parking lot, talking to myself out loud and gesturing with my gun, not giving two shits who might see me. The only people who travel these streets anymore are Bonys and people too stupid or desperate to be afraid of them.
Looks like I just joined the second category.
The ground is wet from the storm last night, and the sky is still cloudy and gray. The wind blows my unbuttoned shirt around like a cape as I approach the intersection in front of the mall, and I like it. I like the electrical charge in the air. It feels like any-fucking-thing could happen. It feels like I could march right the fuck down this street into that pharmacy and take down anyone or anything that stands in my way.
It feels like I just kissed the shit out of Rainbow Williams.
I turn and take the sidewalk instead of going back behind the shopping center because, right now, I’m fucking invincible. Rain is still here. Nobody’s called the cops on her yet for saving Quint. And she’s not fucking Carter. I could tell the second that little bitch cleared his throat. If the two of them had hooked up, he would have come at me with his pop’s rifle, not some smartass comment and a side-eye.
The next thing I know, I’m standing directly in front of the shattered CVS door. No wild dogs. No bloated, dreadlocked corpses. No homicidal maniacs on motorcycles.
I look to the swirling sky and give a little salute.
I guess God likes me when I’m trying not to be a piece of shit.
I knock on the metal frame of the door with the barrel of my gun. I know there’s a chance some strung-out Bony is gonna blow my head off as soon as I peek inside, but I also know it’s possible that the place is open for business again. The mail is running—sort of. The power’s back on. Hell, Burger Palace never even fucking closed.
“Y’all open?” I call out, standing with my back against the bricks.
“Depends on how you’re payin’,” an apathetic adolescent voice replies.
I pull the door open and spot the Bony kid who saved my ass the last time I was here sitting behind the checkout stand, reading Gearhead Magazine. He’s wearing a black hoodie with neon-orange skeleton stripes spray-painted on it, but it doesn’t swallow him the way it did a week ago. He seems to fill it out a little better somehow, and the purple bruise around his eye has faded to a subtle greenish-yellow. I stop in the doorway when I notice that the .32 he used to blast his old man is sitting on the counter, aimed directly at me.
He lifts his eyes and does a double take as recognition wipes the apathy off his face.
“‘Sup, kid?” I lift my chin.
“‘Sup.” His tone and expression are guarded, but he hasn’t shot me yet, so that’s good.
“They got you mannin’ the place by yourself now?”
The kid lifts one shoulder in a half-assed shrug.
He’s alone. Good.
“Listen …” I take a few steps farther into the store. “I need a few things. I’m hoping, maybe we can work something out.”
The kid raises his non-bruised eyebrow. “You got weed?”
Fuck. Of course a fourteen-year-old kid is gonna want weed.
“No, but I think I know
where I can get you some ammo for that .32.”
I’m pretty sure Rain’s dad had a small arsenal tucked away in the corners of that house. I just gotta dig a little more.
His eyebrow falls back into place, and he looks down at his magazine. “Nah. Got a full clip … except for one.”
He glances back at me with hatred in his eyes, and I know exactly where that one bullet went.
“I got something else you might be interested in.” I take another step closer. “I wouldn’t normally offer this to a kid, but you seem like a smart guy.”
I pull a bottle of hydrocodone out of my pocket and rattle the contents. I found it when I emptied Rain’s dad’s pockets before I buried him. I figured that bastard would have something with some street value on him.
The kid’s eyes light up at the sight of that little orange bottle, and I know I got him.
“This shit’s better than cash. You can get anything you want out there with this—as long as you don’t fucking eat it.”
The little punk rolls his eyes and hands me a plastic bag from under the counter. “Three pills to fill up a shopping bag. Five, and I’ll throw in a case of water.”
I laugh and shake my head. “Dude, I think you and I are gonna be damn good friends.”
Rain
I can’t believe I’m twenty.
I can’t believe Wes came back!
I can’t believe he’s gone again.
I hope he’s okay out there.
He’ll be fine. I’m the one who got beat up, and I stayed in here.
Q. What a bitch.
At least she’s letting us stay.
She’s gonna make my life a living hell though.
Not that it wasn’t already.
But now Wes is back!
But what’s gonna happen when he remembers how much he hates this place?
He’s gonna leave again, and then what?
I’ll die. I’ll fucking die.
Or I could go with him.
No, I can’t do that. I can’t even look out the window!
Shit. He is gonna leave again, and if I’m not better by then, I’m gonna be stuck in here with Q forever.
My thoughts ping-pong back and forth in my mind as my body ping-pongs back and forth across the cracked-tile tuxedo shop floor. I’ve been pacing for what feels like hours. The light in the hall is starting to turn that yellowy-orange color that tells me night is coming. I can’t be in here by myself in the dark. I’ll go crazy … er.
Keeping my same frantic pace, I turn my feet so that they lead me out into the hall instead of back across the room for the fifteen thousandth time.
Maybe I’ll go see if there’s any dinner left in the food court. That’ll make Q happy. She always gets pissed when I don’t eat her precious food.
As I approach the atrium, I hear her booming laughter coming at me from the opposite end of the hallway. Peeking around the fountain, I see Q leaving the food court, cackling and bumping shoulders with a few of the other runaways. I’m not ready to face her again. Not by myself and especially not if she has an audience.
She’s worse when she has an audience.
Instead, I turn and haul ass down the hallway on the right. I don’t care where I’m going as long as I get there before Q spots me.
I notice the shoe store up ahead and remember what Carter said about his family wanting to see me. The sound of Queen Bitch and her army of dreadlocked gutter punks echoes off the atrium walls behind me, so I turn and duck into the second to last place I want to be right now.
“Knock, knock …” I say, faking a smile as I make my way to the center of the shoe store as quickly as possible.
Sophie hops up and runs over to me, pulling me into their makeshift living room by the hand. “Rain! You came! C’mere! C’mere! We got surprises for you!”
Her mother must have braided her hair after the rain shower. It looks perfect and probably took hours. It’s interesting that Mrs. Renshaw chopped all of her own hair off but still takes the time to fix her daughter’s. Sadness tugs my spirits down, but I smile anyway and let the giggly ten-year-old pull me inside.
“Oh, Rainbow!” Mrs. Renshaw gasps, immediately jumping up and launching into a gospel-worthy version of “Happy Birthday.”
Carter and his dad place their playing cards facedown on the bench in between them and join in, albeit with a lot less flare, and Sophie belts out the words louder than anyone.
My cheeks feel prickly and hot as everyone in the room stands and sings to me.
When the song is over, Carter walks over to me with a smug look on his face and his arms behind his back. “Ta-da!” he says, pulling one hand out to present me with a Twinkie, still in the wrapper.
A laugh bursts out of me as I reach for the spongy, golden brick of goodness. “Oh my God, where did you find this?”
“We packed some from home when we left for Tennessee. Damn things last forever.” Pulling his other hand out from behind his back, Carter holds a small pocket flashlight right above the Twinkie and aims it at the ceiling. “Make a wish.” He beams.
So, I do. I close my eyes and picture a beautiful, unreadable face. Eyes as soft and green as mint ice cream with features so hard they could have been chiseled from a glacier. Then, I blow.
I hear a tiny click, followed by cheering, and when I open my eyes, the beam of flashlight is off, as if I’d blown it out.
“Well, aren’t you clever?” I tease, unwrapping the Twinkie as an excuse to look away from Carter’s cocky-ass expression.
“That’s what they call me—Clever Carter.”
“Uh-huh.” I smirk. Taking my first bite, I moan in appreciation as dry cake and creamy frosting fill my mouth. “Oh my God, why is dis so good?” I mumble around the delicious processed treat.
“I have something for you too!” Sophie chirps, bouncing over to me with a piece of cardboard in her hands. Swiping the flashlight from her big brother, Sophie clicks it on and shines it down on the inside of a shoebox lid. Inside, there’s a drawing of a unicorn Pegasus surrounded by big, fluffy clouds and floating flowers.
“Is he shitting out a rainbow?” Carter asks, nudging Sophie with his elbow.
“Uh, no! That’s her tail, stupid! The rainbow is over there!”
“Guys! Stop it!” Mrs. Renshaw snaps.
“I love it.” I smile, taking the shoebox and hugging it to my chest. “Thank you, Sophie.”
Sophie grins and sticks her tongue out at her brother.
“I got you something too, sweetheart.” Mrs. Renshaw takes a softer tone as she reaches into the pocket of her dress. Gesturing for me to hold out my hand, she drops the item into my palm, and Sophie immediately shines the flashlight on it.
My mouth falls open. “Mrs. Renshaw—”
“Now, now. Don’t you try to tell me no, child. I want you to have it.”
The gold necklace in my hand glitters in the light, casting yellow flecks onto my fingertips like a tiny disco ball.
“I inherited that a few years back from my aunt Rosalyn. It’s supposed to be a horseshoe, for good luck, but it always looked more like a rainbow to me.” Mrs. Renshaw smiles at me with pride in her full cheeks, but I have no idea what I did to deserve it.
“Thank you so much. Really. But I can’t accept this.”
“Oh, pssh. You can, and you will. I don’t need that old thing. I got everything I need right here.”
Mrs. Renshaw glances from me to her children and then over at her husband, who is still standing. He’s leaning on a display shelf with most of his weight on his good leg, but still.
“Jimbo,” I yell, snapping my fingers at Carter’s dad. “You’d better get off that leg right now.”
Mr. Renshaw chuckles and reluctantly takes a seat. “Why are y’all givin’ her all these presents when she’s so damn mean to me?”
“We’re givin’ her all these presents because she’s mean to you, Jimbo. Heck, a few more weeks with her around, and you might even start cleanin’ up
after yourself.” Mrs. Renshaw wags her finger at her husband.
Carter reaches over and takes the necklace out of my hand, and I hold my breath as he unclasps it with fingers almost too large for the task.
“Woman, I do plenty around here—”
The Renshaws launch into one of their spirited fake fights as Sophie giggles in delight. No one is watching as Carter reaches out and slides the ends of his great-aunt’s necklace around my neck. No one sees my discomfort as his fingers skate along my skin and disappear under my dark hair.
And when Mrs. Renshaw takes the flashlight out of her daughter’s hand and shines it in her husband’s face, no one notices the way I cringe and step back when Carter leans forward and whispers, “Happy birthday, Rainbow Brite. We love you. I—”
“What the hell are you doin’, woman?”
“I just thought you might want a spotlight to go with that speech you rehearsed!”
Carter is looking at me expectantly, his hands resting on either side of my neck, as something almost imperceptible pulls my attention toward the hallway.
I turn my head slightly, staring off into the darkness of the back of the store as I listen for the sound of footsteps or voices behind me. Instead, I hear something that strikes a chord deep in my soul. A familiar tone, low and constant. Then another, in a slightly higher pitch. Then, one that bends from low to high, like a cresting wave.
“I … I gotta go,” I say, stumbling toward the sounds and out of Carter’s grasp. “Thank you for the birthday party.”
Carter calls after me, but I’m laser-focused on finding the source of those notes. Into the darkened hall I sprint, looking left and right until I determine that the sound is definitely coming from the atrium.
More notes float through the air. I can barely hear them from here, but they fill me with hope and dread at the same time.
Bow, bow, bow, bummmmmmm.
As I get closer to the atrium, I notice that the fountain seems to be glowing. There’s a haze of amber light all around it and a scent in the air that I know by heart.
Because I picked it out myself.