by Jamie Pacton
My hand covers my mouth to stop the laugh that threatens to burst out of me, and the crowd takes a step back as Pink Camo strides over to the other woman and snatches the wreath from her hands.
“Selfish jerk,” she shouts. “You’re not getting this, and I wouldn’t give you the lotto money, either! Even if I had won it!”
Pink Camo throws a twenty-dollar bill (twenty bucks! For a toilet-seat wreath!) at the seller and then storms away, still muttering to herself.
“What exactly happened there?” Bran asks as we start to pick up spilled crafts.
“Put that down,” the seller snaps. “I can’t have you kids stealing something on top of all this.
“We weren’t going to steal—” Bran starts to say.
“Forget it,” I say. “This lotto ticket is making people lose their shit. Let’s go.”
Leaving the seller, who’s now arguing with the lady in the pumpkin sweatshirt, we move toward where Bran’s car is parked.
“You want to stick around?” I ask. The band is playing again, but everyone seems shaken. “Maybe people will actually come to blows over the lotto ticket yet. Could be exciting.”
Bran shakes his head. “I’m going to head home. I’m Skyping with Sofie soon, and I need to rethink my investigation protocol.”
“I’ll keep my eyes open.”
Bran side-eyes me. “Or you’ll go to the lake with Holden.”
“Or I can do that. Clearly I’m a masochist, because this is a bad idea, right?”
Bran adjusts his fedora. “It’s a terrible idea. But it’s your life and your heart. You don’t need my permission to do with it what you will.”
I know that, of course. But after all the time Bran spent helping me get over Holden, I feel like I owe him an explanation, at least. “He’s being cool, Bran. Maybe he’s changed and really wants to get back together?”
Bran shrugs. “Just be careful. It hasn’t been very long since you broke up. Make sure this isn’t a rebound or something.”
Can you rebound with the person who broke up with you? Is that bouncing back or falling down?
I have no idea. Which seems to be my operative state these days. Fuck. I have to figure out some of the mess that is my life. And quickly.
Silence that’s not actually silence, because it’s filled with the cheers of the crowd as the first riffs of a Bruce Springsteen song rise from the bandstand stage, stretches between Bran and me.
“I’ll call you later,” I promise. “And here, take this. Please.” I hand the pink-and-blue fedora back to him.
Bran gives me a hug that I want to lean into because it feels like the only safe space in this town full of people whom I know so well, but whom I suspect would tear me apart for my money if they knew about the unsigned ticket in my bedroom.
CHAPTER TWELVE
THE SUN IS SETTING BY THE TIME HOLDEN PULLS AN OLD silver-and-maroon pontoon boat up to the public dock. It took me half an hour to walk to this side of the lake from downtown and another fifteen minutes to summon the courage to text Holden. I’ve been sitting on the dock, letting my sneakers skim the water, as I wait for him. I’m both nervous and excited as the boat bumps up, and I jump to my feet.
“I didn’t think you were going to come,” Holden calls out.
He’s wearing jeans and a zip-up sweatshirt. Behind him, the sunset reflects on the water, breaking apart in the waves from the boat. The storm clouds from earlier are thunderheads above us now, but it’s still not raining.
“I almost didn’t,” I say, taking the hand he offers me as I step onto the boat.
It’s a familiar space, since I spent a lot of the last two years here, reading, swimming, and making out with Holden, but I haven’t been on the boat since before Holden went to camp last summer. It feels good to be back on the lake. Some people are only steady on land, but for me, I’m most myself when I’m on the water. It’s like some core component of me slots into place with the waves.
“I’m so glad you did,” says Holden. I almost believe he means it.
My hand lingers in his, and I take a step forward. Right at that moment, the boat bobs to the left, tilting my body into Holden’s. His arm slides around my back to steady me.
“Hi,” he says softly, as his arm tightens around the curve of my hip.
“Hi,” I reply, my lips an inch from his.
“Have I told you yet how much I like your short hair?”
I inhale sharply as his head tilts down toward mine. I move the smallest bit closer, and then we’re kissing, just like old times. Holden’s lips are slightly chapped, and as mine press into his, a rush of heat fills me.
I wish I could say it’s terrible. But it’s really not. And I don’t hate it. But still, I wrench myself away.
“Shit. Sorry.” I take a step back. “I didn’t mean for that to happen. I know we’re over, really. I swear I do.” My voice stumbles over the words, as if I’m admitting them reluctantly.
I force myself take a deep breath and let it out slowly. So I kissed my ex. No big deal. Won’t happen again.
“Old habits,” says Holden, looking embarrassed. “I’m sorry too. Not that I haven’t been thinking about doing that for days … It’s just not like that between us now. I know. I messed everything up …”
Another gust of cold wind whips across the lake, and I shiver in my thin jacket, T-shirt, and jeans.
“It’s not a big deal.” I sit down on one of the benches and cross my arms. “We won’t do it again. Promise.”
Holden shoots me a look. “Deal. Hey, I have something for you. From my trip to Hawaii.”
I shake my head. “You already gave me a pin, remember? Plus, you don’t have to buy your ex-girlfriend gifts while you’re on vacation.”
“I know we were broken up at the time, but I saw it, and it screamed ‘Jane!’ at me. Do you want it?” He pulls a blue sweatshirt out from a grocery bag that’s sitting on one of the seats. It has a humpback on it and says Whale Watcher.
Maybe if I wasn’t shivering, I could say no. Sending him a small, grateful smile, I slip it over my head. It fits perfectly and smells like Holden’s laundry detergent.
“I love it,” I say, warming up from more than the fleece inside. “Thank you.”
Holden returns my smile. That reckless bit of attraction that drew us together in the first place is still between us, practically a living thing. Dammit.
I look away first, trying to keep some part of myself unentangled. The sun is nearly down, and strains of music from the Harvest Festival drift out over the lake.
“Want to join the party?” Holden asks quietly as he turns the boat around. He nods toward the group of boats clustered near the beach. It looks like half my high school is there, drinking and hanging out.
“Nope.” I point toward the middle of the lake far from the beach. “Let’s get away from the crowd.”
“Excellent plan.”
Holden steers us away from the dock, and I close my eyes as the wind races over my face. It takes with it any thought of how stupid it was to kiss Holden—that just kind of happened, as these things go—and how nice it would be to kiss him again. The pontoon is no speedboat, but it’s fast enough to make me forget anything but wind and water.
Holden stops when we’re on the far side of the lake, closer to the marsh. Luckily, the mosquitoes have given up the ghost for the season, but I still pull the sweatshirt hood over my ears. Holden sits next to me, scooting close enough on the small-boat bench seat so our thighs touch. The waves rock us, and it takes everything in me not to lean my head onto his shoulder. Above us, the sky darkens, and thunder rumbles.
“So, how are college applications going?” I ask, seizing on the first neutral topic of conversation that floats through my mind. “Are still you planning on going somewhere near Lakesboro?”
As far as I knew, Holden wanted to go to UW–Madison, just like his parents had done. He’d always been into math, and that’s what helped him get into the FICA camp las
t summer.
Holden makes a dismissive noise. “Not if I can help it. I want to get to New York City and stay there until I’m living above Central Park.”
“Are you going to major in finance?” That had been his plan since we were sophomores and he’d started investing all his saved birthday money in stocks.
“Absolutely,” says Holden. He picks at a piece of vinyl that’s cracking on the boat seat and throws it overboard. “I’m done with shitty little towns, shitty festivals, shitty boats. All of it.”
“How perfectly Wolf of Wall Street of you,” I say dryly.
Holden laughs. “Tell me you wouldn’t want to hang out on a yacht over this crappy boat?”
Of course some part of me wants to hang out on a yacht someday, but the rest of me wants to lecture Holden on the environmental impact of luxury yachts.
“What really happened in New York?” I blurt out. It’s the question I’ve been turning over for the last two months. “I mean, you went away, like, this nerdy math guy who was casually interested in investments, and you came back caring about things like the Hamptons and yacht prices. I mean, it’s fine, you can tell me: Were you body-snatched by a super materialistic alien?”
Holden barks a laugh, but it’s sharp. With edges that dig into my bones. “I promise you I’m not an alien.” He stares out over the lake for a moment and then runs a hand through his hair. “And truthfully, New York was fucking terrible. I went in thinking I could learn about Wall Street and find a place for myself there, but from day one, the other kids hated me. It’s like I couldn’t get the stink of Lakesboro off me, and they made fun of me for everything from my haircut to my clothing. They called me ‘Holden from the Holler,’ and to them, I was just some country bumpkin who was visiting the big city. Most of them made it quite clear I would never be their equal.”
“But you are their equal, and that’s just classist,” I say, making a face. “Like, yes, there are terrible rich people who shit in gold toilets, but that doesn’t mean you have to let them get under your skin.”
Holden snorts. “I met someone with a golden toilet.”
“You didn’t.”
“Swear to God.” Holden pulls up his phone and scrolls through the pictures on it until he comes to one of him standing by the Wall Street bull and bear statues with a preppy-looking white guy in a blue blazer. “This is my roommate, Finn. Eventually, he was one of the only ones who stopped making fun of me.”
“Was it his private jet you went on?” I ask, thinking back to what Holden told Bran, Sofie, and me a few days ago.
“Yep.” Holden scrolls through more pictures and stops on one of an actual golden toilet. “This is the golden toilet in Finn’s Upper East Side apartment.”
“Unbelievable. Did you use it?”
“Yes.”
I snort. “Was it a revelation?”
“No. It was mostly just uncomfortable.”
“And wildly unethical to have such a thing, given the fact that millions of people are starving all over the world.”
Holden shrugs. “That too, I guess. But money can do good as well. Especially if you have a lot of it. I mean, look at the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation.”
It occurs to me that if I do somehow cash this lotto ticket, I could, indeed, spend millions on a toilet. Or do lots of good in the world.
“So, tell me more about Finn,” I say. Later, I’ll think about what I could do with this money. Right now, I just want to keep Holden talking. “Are you still friends?”
Holden shrugs. “Sort of. He’s nice enough, once you get to know him. His mom runs one of the biggest hedge funds on Wall Street and his dad is a CEO of another investment firm. His parents own a whole floor of a building.”
“A whole floor? What does that even mean?”
Holden swipes to another picture on his phone. This one is of a gorgeous dark-paneled library with a view of Central Park. “Exactly what it sounds like. Their apartment takes up the entire floor, and it’s outrageous. Italian marble everywhere, a staff of people to clean things up, and their own pool on the roof. They also have houses all over the world.”
“And that’s the life you want?”
“It is.”
Holden’s family isn’t rich, but they’re solidly middle class. His mom is a nurse and his dad runs the local hardware store, which has been in the family for three generations. Sure, Holden has been working at the store since he was fourteen, but he’s never wanted for anything, and he’s got a room full of electronics.
I turn so I’m facing Holden. “But, I mean, you do know Finn’s life is a fantasy, right? It’s not all good, and that much money can bring so many problems.”
Holden puts his phone into his sweatshirt pocket. “Yeah, but at least with that much money I can pay someone to fix my problems.”
“Sure, okay. Rich assholes get away with all sorts of things every day. Don’t be like them.”
Holden turns so he’s facing me too. Our knees touch, and he runs one finger along the top of my leg. “I’m not going to be that kind of rich guy, I promise. I was just thinking more along the lines of never having to worry about money again. Or if someone I love gets sick, I’ll have enough money to help them. Or I’ll be able to pay for Harper’s college and my parents’ retirement.”
His touch sends shivers through me, but I try to focus on what we’re talking about. “While also possibly having a golden toilet of your very own.”
Holden laughs. “I’m not going to get a golden toilet. But I will live well, see the world, and help people too.”
These aren’t the worst reasons for wanting to be rich. What would happen if I gave Holden the lotto ticket? Would he blow it all on a yacht? Could he actually bring himself to give me the money? Or even if we split the money, would it be so bad to help make some of his dreams come true?
Silence stretches between us for a long moment.
“I still can’t believe you broke up with me because some kids you’ll probably never see again were mean to you,” I say, breaking the silence. As soon as the words are out, I want to push them back in.
Holden winces, as if my words actually slapped him. “I’m sorry about that, Jane. I really am. I came back super confused and feeling like I wanted more than what I had.”
“But we were good, weren’t we?”
“We were.” He slips his hand into mine.
As I snake my fingers through his, I have to wonder: Can I trust him to not break my heart again?
I don’t know, but I suspect Holden is the type of person for whom having some small part of happiness is never enough. I think he’ll always want more stuff, more friends, more excitement, more lovers, and more money. But can having more stuff or more people or more experiences truly make a person happy? Or will they always be moving on to the next new thing?
I don’t know the answer to any of those questions. But they’re certainly ones that have been keeping me up at night, as I’ve considered whether cashing the lottery ticket will bring me happiness or misery.
“So, not to change subjects too much,” Holden says softly, his body leaning into mine as the boat sways. “But it’s wild about that lottery ticket, isn’t it?”
I jolt away, pulling my hand out of his. It’s too much like he’s reading my mind. “Yeah, it’s unbelievable.”
“Is Bran still investigating?”
I try to steady my breathing, willing myself not to give anything away. “He is, and I’m helping a bit. I was asking around at the festival tonight.”
“Find anything yet?” Holden’s voice is eager, laced with curiosity or something else.
I don’t know what to tell him. There’s really nothing to tell at this point, other than my own secret. And I’m not ready to spill that yet. Before I can get my thoughts together, a crack of lightning splits the night.
“Oh shit,” Holden exclaims. “That was really close. We should—”
The boom of thunder that follows drowns out his voice.
>
And then the sky opens up like someone overturned a huge bucket of water. Holden and I both jump to our feet.
“We’ve got to get off the lake!” I yell. Rain lashes at me.
Holden is at the steering wheel, firing the boat back up. Rain beats against the pontoon boat, making a metallic staccato that sounds like gunfire. I grip one of the side poles as Holden spins the boat around.
“Please don’t let us die on the lake,” I mutter to myself as another fork of lightning illuminates the sky. From downtown, the tornado sirens roar to life, screeching above our heads. My phone beeps in my pocket with an emergency warning. I read the alert quickly, swiping rain out of my eyes.
“Severe storms and flash floods!” I shout to Holden over the noise of the sirens and rain. He nods grimly, steering us toward the dark shoreline. The clump of boats where our classmates were hanging out has broken up, and other crafts zip across the lake, making the conditions like trying to cross a freeway during rush hour.
Somehow, we make it back to the dock. I jump out of the boat as soon as it pulls up, grabbing the rope on the bow. Holden is a step behind me, turning off the engine, and then he leaps onto the dock as well. Rain pounds into us, and the thunder crashes above.
“My car’s over there!” shouts Holden above the noise of the storm.
We get the boat tied up and run for the car. The rain still pours from the sky, unrelenting. The water is already accumulating in the parking lot, but Holden unlocks his car, and we clamber in.
A great well of laughter rises up in me as another crack of thunder rips through the night.
“That was terrifying!” I say, catching my breath. I turn toward Holden, adrenaline pulsing through me.
He’s looking at me, his blue eyes lit up by another crack of lightning. My hands cup his face, reaching out for skin/human/something/anything to remind me that I’m not dead on the water.
