Cobble Hill

by Cecily von Ziegesar

  “We’ll wait for you outside,” Bruce called, weaving through the crowd with his tiny cone held high.

  Liam wasn’t sure why they were being so insistent. He liked Black Ryan, but the other two guys—Bruce especially—were total assholes. He didn’t know them that well, but they were popular athletes who went to parties. They didn’t have to make an effort, so why were they making an effort with him? Maybe he was wrong, maybe they weren’t total assholes.

  He ordered a double kid-size cone but decided against the pint, just in case he really did want to play basketball with Bruce and the two Ryans. His mom would have to suck it up. She was always complaining about the size of her thighs anyway. And it was sort of cool that they’d asked. Plus, it was such a nice night.

  Sorry no ice cream for u, he texted his mom. Met up with some guys. Going to play basketball.

  Good for u. Good for me. Ice cream is evil, she texted back with a little skull-and-crossbones emoji.

  Outside, Liam and the other three boys performed the requisite palm slaps and finger-grab handshakes and then ambled down Union Street, quietly devouring their cones. Black Ryan was the tallest. Everyone called him Black Ryan, even the teachers sometimes. The prevailing opinion was that the moniker wasn’t racist; it just made it easier to distinguish between the two Ryans in their grade. There were also three Mayas, but no one called them Freckly Biracial Maya, Asian Maya, and Blonde Maya. Liam wasn’t sure why. He also had no idea why they didn’t call the other Ryan White Ryan. That would’ve been funnier.

  “I feel like summer never really ended,” Ryan said dreamily. He tossed the very end of his cone in the trash can on the corner of Court.

  “Right?” Bruce agreed. “It needs to get cold or no one’s going to take school seriously. In fact, I’m considering cutting to go to the beach on Friday.”

  “I love Rockaway Beach,” Liam mused. His family used to take the A train out there all the time in the summers. They’d bring a picnic and stay until well after sunset. Sometimes his dad would bring his ukulele and his mom would sing.

  “He meant the Hamptons, loser,” Ryan said. “He has a house.”

  The boys walked down Court, four abreast. Passersby averted their eyes and skirted the edge of the sidewalk to avoid them, as if frightened by the pack of teenage brutes. Liam smiled at this. Black Ryan was tall, but his legs were like toothpicks. Bruce was big all over and weird-looking, with bulging blue eyes and straight, dirty blond hair that fell to his shoulders, but he was kind of short. Ryan had the dark shadow of a mustache but a little-boy haircut, and he still wore the dorky yellow polo shirts and khaki pants his mom picked out for him. Liam was Liam Park, medium-tall, skinny, belt-wearing, pimply son of the school nurse and the lower school music teacher. Except for Bruce, the four of them were hardly a threat.

  It was dark by the time they reached the schoolyard, but the entire neighborhood of Cobble Hill was safely outfitted with extremely bright white LED streetlamps, so they could see well enough to play. The basketball hoop was on the Kane Street side, right near Strong Place. Dried leaves had begun to collect around the edges of the yard near the tall chain-link fence.

  Bruce kicked at the ground with his red Jordans. “Fucking leaves,” he growled and dribbled the basketball.

  Black Ryan stole it away from him and shot an easy layup. Ryan caught the rebound, faked Bruce out, took a jump shot, and missed. Bruce caught the ball and dribbled it in artful circles. Despite his stocky stature, he was really good at basketball. Liam just stood there with his hands in his pockets, watching.

  “You playing?” Bruce called to him as he continued to dribble. Black Ryan ran at Bruce and hurdled over him, laughing, like a hyperactive grasshopper.

  “Fuck you, assholes!” Ryan shouted for no apparent reason.

  Liam regretted joining them. The ice cream had not agreed with him. “You guys go ahead.” He shuffled over to the playground equipment and lay down on his back on the slide. “My stomach feels weird.”

  “Your face is weird,” Ryan joked, but it felt like it wasn’t a joke.

  “Ha,” Liam responded. He closed his eyes and listened to the rhythmic bouncing of the basketball as the boys continued to play. It was nice on the slide. He let his arms flop over the sides, trailing his fingers over the protective rubber mats that lined the playground area. Dried leaves had accumulated beneath the slide. He swished his hands through them, breathing in deeply through his nostrils.

  His fingertips met with something hard, a large plastic bottle. He clasped the neck of the bottle and held it up. It was an oversize bottle of vodka, with about four inches of clear liquid left in the bottom.

  “Holy shit!” Liam murmured.

  Within seconds the other three boys were standing over him.

  “We should drink it,” Ryan said.

  “No way. It might have diseases,” Black Ryan said.

  Bruce pulled a lighter out of his pocket and flicked it on. The flame glimmered in the dark and then went out. He flicked it again. “Get up, loser.”

  Liam sat up and Bruce yanked the vodka bottle out of his hand. He went around to the short metal ladder that led to the top of the slide.

  “I’ve always wanted to do this,” Bruce said. “Get your phones ready to video this shit.” He climbed to the top of the ladder and shook up the bottle. “This stuff is crap. We’re definitely not going to drink it. We’re going to set it on fire.”

  * * *

  Wendy was working late, so Shy made cheesy pasta and pretended to do her math homework in the kitchen while her dad was in the library, attempting to write.

  Roy stared at his laptop. Ceran was messaging his dad about what he would do when he got back to Earth. He wanted to go to the beach and order a pepperoni pizza and play with all the puppies he’d adopted—there were no pets on Mars, only robots, something Roy had stolen directly from Battlestar Galactica. Ceran was a bit mushy. If Roy was about to lose his virginity to Bettina, in space, he wouldn’t be thinking about puppies.

  “Do you want to watch a film with your old dad?” he called out to Shy. “It’s a retro teenager film. Someone told me I should take a look at it.”

  “What’s it called?” Shy shouted back.

  Roy checked his notes. “The Blue Lagoon?”

  “Hope it’s not about mermaids,” Shy responded skeptically. “But I’ll try it.” Anything to spare her the pain of math. Not that she was doing math. She was checking Mr. Streko’s Twitter feed—again. It was addictive. Every Latin quote he posted had so much emotional logic. Mostly, though, she waited for him to post more bare-chested photos of him, his tattoos, and his cat.

  Roy turned on the large flat-screen monitor on the far wall of the library and stabbed at the power buttons on the four remote controls that he didn’t know how to use.

  “Come and help me with the remotes, would you?”

  * * *

  Mandy and Ted had passed out on the bed reading Harry Potter while Stuart made his first batch of pot-butter chocolate-chip cookies. The plan was to keep them in the fridge so Mandy could snack on them during the day if her MS was getting bad and she felt weird about smoking on her own. Stuart watched the cookies bake through the oven’s murky glass, the glistening dough oozing flat and solidifying in circles on the tray. He scraped the rubber spatula against the sides of the mixing bowl, collecting blobs of cookie dough and licking them off.

  The oven beeped. Stuart removed the tray and carefully transferred each cookie to the very professional wooden cooling rack Mandy had bought at Williams Sonoma when Ted was a toddler and she thought she might become the type of mom who baked cookies and cakes every day. The crisp cookies clung to the rack in precise rows. There was one lone extra cookie that wouldn’t fit. Stuart tossed it in his mouth and flung the spatula and baking tray into the sink. The roof of his mouth hummed as he chewed. His eye sockets were expanding. So were his ears and his feet. Even his ass cheeks felt weird. Uh-oh. Eating pot butter was way more hardcore than
smoking it. All that raw cookie dough and now that whole cookie—he was already super high.

  Baked weed cookies for my sweethearty

  Ate too many—now it’s time to party!

  He grabbed his keys and his phone and glanced at Mandy and Ted, asleep on their backs on the queen-size bed. It seemed sort of irresponsible to leave them in such a vulnerable state when he was their protector and provider. But he had to. He had to get outside and walk.

  * * *

  Liam’s hands were shaking. He could barely hold his phone in place. His thumb wavered over the record button.

  “Guys,” he spoke up, his voice breaking annoyingly. “I don’t think we should be doing this.”

  They’d already filmed Bruce lighting drops of vodka on fire and practically burning his arm off. Was it really necessary to incorporate the slide?

  Bruce screwed the cap back on the vodka, shook the bottle violently, and then unscrewed the cap again. “Speak for yourself. I was fucking born to do this. I just wish I hadn’t smoked so much weed earlier. I need to fucking focus.”

  “What exactly are you doing, anyway?” Black Ryan asked.

  Liam glanced at him warily. Black Ryan didn’t sound too happy about Bruce’s antics either.

  “Isn’t it obvious, fuckwad?” Bruce demanded.

  Ryan chuckled. “You’re gonna pour the vodka down the slide, set it on fire, and slide down through the flames.”

  “Fuck yeah. And you guys are going to film it.”

  “Holy shit,” Black Ryan protested. “What about your balls?”

  “My balls will be fine. Jeans aren’t that flammable.”

  “Tell us when,” Ryan said eagerly, holding out his phone.

  Liam didn’t say anything. He wanted to leave, but he also kind of wanted to see what happened.

  Bruce squatted down at the top of the slide. He held the bottle in his left hand and cocked it down, ready to pour. His right hand held the lighter. He flicked it with his thumb and a flame sprang up and then died. He flicked it again. And again.

  “Fuck, I’m still high,” he muttered.

  The other three boys stared up at him, mesmerized.

  “One, two, three… fuck. One, two, three… when!” Bruce shouted.

  Liam hit record. Vodka sluiced down the metal slide. Bruce made contact with the lighter’s flame and the whole slide glimmered orangely.

  “Here I fucking go!” Bruce yelled and smacked his butt down on the path of fire.

  He didn’t slide much. He was just sitting there.

  “Holy shit, I’m like… look at me.”

  The three other boys couldn’t look away.

  “Fuck, my shoelaces.” Bruce kicked his way down the slide and sat down on the ground. “I think I ruined my pants. And my shoes. That was fun though.” The slide wasn’t on fire anymore. The other boys stopped recording.

  “That was kind of lame,” Black Ryan said.

  Liam smiled down at his phone screen. It was totally lame.

  “I thought it was pretty cool,” Ryan said. “We should post it on YouTube or something.”

  Bruce stood up and smacked at his pant legs. “Yup. These jeans are fucked.”

  “They smell weird too,” Ryan said.

  “That’s not his jeans.” Black Ryan pointed to where smoke was curling up from behind the slide.

  Liam squinted in the lamplight. He got down on all fours. The pile of dried leaves beneath the slide had ignited. Something within the pile popped and the flames grew higher. It was quite a fire.

  “Oh shit,” Liam said.

  “No fucking way. This is fucking awesome!” Bruce squealed. “Dudes, come on, we have to split!”

  He turned and ran toward the exit. The two Ryans were right behind him.

  “Hey!” Liam shouted after them.

  Something else popped inside the fire. It sounded like bottles exploding. Sparks rose into the air. The metal slide glimmered hotly.

  “Hey, assholes!” Liam shouted, and then wished he hadn’t. The boys were long gone. He flipped up his hood and stuffed his hands in his pockets, backing away from the fire, out the schoolyard entrance and onto the sidewalk, his heart pounding.

  “Hey, stop!” someone shouted behind him.

  Liam stepped into the street and broke into a run.

  * * *

  “Oh. My. God. Pause it, pause it!” Shy grabbed the remote away from Roy and hit pause. She pointed at the screen. “His willy is right there, flapping around in the water. It’s—” She giggled merrily. “Sorry, Dad, but this is too funny! It’s like the worst movie ever. It’s amazing.”

  “I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.” Roy wasn’t watching the movie from a critical perspective; he was merely trying to get inspired.

  She hit play again and Brooke Shields and the blond boy with the cherubic curls continued to swim naked and spearfish and collect seaweed in tortoise shells on their magical deserted island, pausing only for sex. Once they discovered sex they did it constantly, which was pretty realistic. They were stuck on an island alone; what else were they going to do?

  Roy wondered how he was going to accomplish something similar in space. He wanted the book to be entertaining and poignant, not ridiculous or tawdry. Heartbreak and hilarity, those were his specialties. Losing one’s virginity without gravity? That would be a challenge.

  The kids in The Blue Lagoon stumbled upon the remnants of some gruesome native cannibalistic ritual on the “forbidden” side of the island. Maybe Ceran and Bettina could stumble upon some… aliens?

  Roy rubbed his eyes anxiously as he continued to watch. Brooke Shields was so moody, she was obviously pregnant. Of course the idiot boy just thought she was fat.

  “This is like an educational video for what not to do. You’re supposed to use protection, be hygienic. They probably have STDs.” Shy sniffed the air. “I smell smoke. It’s like, not fireplace smoke but it’s coming through the fireplace. Do you smell it?”

  “Shsh.” Roy nodded at the television. “They rarely speak. Let’s not miss anything.”

  The doorbell rang repeatedly. Someone pounded violently on the door.

  “Hold on.” Shy paused the movie and jumped up to answer it. “If that’s Mum, she’s either being chased by murderers or she’s really drunk.”

  She peered through the peephole in the door. It was Liam from school. He’d walked her home after tutoring this afternoon, which was nice, even though she did all the talking. Liam was out of breath and crying.

  Shy unlatched the door and opened it wide. “Are you all right? Are you hurt?”

  “I’m sorry.” Liam stumbled inside and stood in the front hall with his hood up, his shoulders shaking. He wiped the snot away from his nose with the back of his hand. “I made a really big mistake.”

  Roy came up behind them and patted Liam’s back. “Shy, why don’t you bring your friend into the library so he can sit down.”

  Shy nodded gratefully at her dad and led Liam to the sofa. The television was paused on an unfortunate image of a mostly naked, fully pregnant Brooke Shields and the totally naked blond guy embracing on a pile of pillows in their palm frond home, but Liam didn’t seem to notice.

  Shy powered it off. “What happened?” she demanded gently. “What’s wrong?”

  * * *

  The flames were beautiful. Stuart wound his fingers through the chain-link fence and watched them dance around the slide and ooze across the playground toward the monkey bars. Tiny tufts of fire floated skyward. They were leaves, Stuart realized, igniting and swirling up with the wind. He thought he’d seen Peaches’ son, the boy in the hoodie, run away from the scene, but Stuart was too high to run after him. He was too high even to call 911. This was Ted’s school playground. His own son’s school was burning. The children wouldn’t be able to play there anymore. Nurse Peaches would be pissed. And yet he did nothing. He just watched it burn.

  * * *

  “I told them it was stupid, but they did it anyway,”
Liam explained.

  Shy got up and opened the front door again. She sniffed the air. “That’s the smell. I’ve been smelling it for a while.”

  “No one’s come yet though?” Roy clarified. “Not the fire department or anyone?” He felt he must do something, but he didn’t want to get the boy in trouble. “Would you like to call your mum?”

  Liam shook his head miserably. “I should have just brought her the ice cream.”

  Roy stuffed his hands in his pockets and then removed them again. This little episode was so timely and relevant, so Ceran and Bettina. What if there’s a fire at their colony on Mars? What if they started it?

  “Shall I call 911? Or maybe we should just go over there?”

  “No!” Liam said adamantly. He took a great heaving breath to collect himself. “Maybe call and just say that you think you smell something burning and it’s coming from the direction of the school?”

  * * *

  The fire trucks were loud. Stuart backed away into the shadows as they came, a whole convoy, their sirens blaring. There must have been eight of them, full of hulking firemen, tapping the hydrants with their hoses and wielding flashlights. Stuart pulled his phone out of his back pocket. He wanted to warn Peaches. He scrolled through his contacts—N for Nurse, or P for Peaches?—then put the phone away again. He couldn’t find her number. Hoses blasted from all four sides, dousing the flaming slide. Water oozed over the sidewalks and poured in rivers down the street. The schoolyard was totally charred, flooded, and fucked up.

  Ate five weed cookies, think I got cursed

  Now the school’s on fire, don’t tell the nurse!

  Chapter 8

  Mandy woke with a start and threw off the comforter. The microwave clock was visible from the queen-size bed. It was almost noon. She’d slept for more than fourteen hours. Stuart had gone to work. Ted was at school. Sun streamed in through the kitchen windows.