by Chris Colfer
Cash stormed out of the observation tower and stomped down the spiral staircase. The others were stunned by the actor’s outburst. It was a complete and utter tantrum and they hadn’t seen anything quite like it come out of him before.
“We apologize for our friend,” Topher said. “He’s going through a lot right now. I’ll go talk to him.”
Darla put out a hand to block Topher from following Cash.
“Let me handle this,” she said confidently. “As part of my Ufology doctorate I was required to take several courses on counseling and crisis management. You guys enjoy the tower and I’ll have a word with your friend.”
Before the others could tell her it wasn’t a good idea, Darla Plemons hurried down the spiral staircase after the upset actor. Cash was smoking in the shade of a concrete pillar when she found him.
“That was quite the scene back there,” Darla said.
“Sorry, lady,” Cash said. “I didn’t mean to be rude, I’ve just had a really bad week.”
“You’re that actor from Wiz Kids, aren’t you?” she asked. “Cash Carter, if memory serves me correctly.”
“Let me guess, you watch The Panel or read Star Magazine?” he asked.
“No, I recognize you because we’ve met before,” she said. “You don’t remember me, do you?”
Cash shrugged. “Were we abducted together and I can’t recall it because the aliens wiped my memory?”
Darla crossed her arms and looked him up and down with a grin. Her voice became deeper, she stood a little taller, and her wacky demeanor melted away.
“No, I used to be an entertainment lawyer at Weinstock Harrison Krueger,” she said. “My name isn’t Darla Plemons, it’s Diane Feldgate. I helped negotiate your first Wiz Kids contract with Carl Weinstock. Does that ring a bell?”
Cash suddenly felt like he was having an out-of-body experience similar to an alien abduction. He recognized Diane from a meeting he had years ago, before Wiz Kids even started. Diane walked toward him with a much more confident stroll than she had inside and smelled his secondhand smoke like it was a bouquet of roses.
“Are those Marlboro Lights?” she asked. “Can I bum one off of you?”
The actor obliged and lit the cigarette for her. The crazy alien lady took an impressively long drag and blew it in his face.
“What in God’s name happened to you?” Cash asked. “Did you get caught stealing from the firm or something? How did you end up in a place like this?”
“Typical,” she said. “Whenever someone leaves the entertainment industry, everyone still in the entertainment industry sees it as a giant step backward—like some detrimental failure. Would you even believe me if I told you I left because I wanted to?”
“Of course I would,” Cash said. “I just don’t understand why.”
“It’s hard being a rule keeper in an industry that doesn’t have any rules,” Diane said. “It’s enough to drive you crazy. So I left while I still had some of my sanity.”
“So that’s why you moved to the desert to work inside a flying saucer? Because you were sane?” he asked. “I get leaving the industry, but why sell tacky T-shirts instead of practicing a different kind of law?”
“I thought it’d be a hoot and a nice change of pace—and I was right,” she said. “Elmer and Essie’s son, Doug Fitzpatrick, sold it to me before he died. I bought it at a great price—practically stole it from him. And I’ve had a lot more fun here than I would behind a desk at another law firm. I actually wrote a book about all the crazy people I’ve encountered in this place. The television rights were just optioned by Bad Robot, you know, J.J.’s company.”
“Yes, I’m aware,” Cash said. “So the move worked out for you. But you still spend your life selling people a lie? Don’t you get tired of it?”
“No, because I don’t see it that way,” Diane said. “People are going to believe whatever they want to—you know that more than anyone. All I’m doing is giving them a place to believe it in. It’s very similar to what you do—you’re just too wrapped up in yourself right now to see the bright side of it.”
Cash grunted. “It’s hard finding the bright side to being the subject of tabloid gossip and criticism on national television.”
“It won’t always be like that,” she said. “Even presidents aren’t criticized and talked about forever. Soon, they’ll get bored with making things up about you and will want you to entertain them again. It’s a vicious cycle of give and take—but that’s show business. You’re crazy to leave but even crazier to stay.”
“It’s still annoying as hell,” Cash said. “I’ve always known people thought I was the character I play on TV—I just never expected to be punished when they figured out I wasn’t.”
“As annoying as it is, you still get to supply an audience with an escape from their troubles,” Diane said. “Take Doug Fitzpatrick, for example. He spent his whole life and all his savings on a silly roadside attraction to celebrate a family legend. Doug knew the UFO crash was bullshit and sacrificed his reputation by telling people it wasn’t—the whole state thought he was a madman. But do you think Doug died feeling like he was a fraud? Do you think he died thinking about all the people who thought he was crazy? No! Doug died thinking about all the joy he had brought to the world. One day, that’s what you’ll focus on, too, not the annoyances that come with it.”
“So I guess it’s safe to say you don’t believe the truth is out there,” Cash said.
“The truth is out there,” Diane corrected him. “But who wants the truth when they have something better to believe in? And with the world in the shape that it’s in, who could blame them?”
Cash tried really hard not to let the words of the crazy UFO lady resonate with him, but she was starting to make sense.
“I might agree with you, but I still think you’re nuts,” he said.
Diane laughed. “I sell shirts that say PROBE ME, I’M IRISH. Do you think I give a shit about what people think? Now come upstairs and get out of this heat. I’ll treat you and your friends to Strawberry Probesicles—on the house.”
Chapter Eighteen
CARNIVORES
At three thirty on Thursday afternoon, Cash’s attitude still hadn’t changed much since they had left the Teepee Inn—not that the others could blame him. As they walked around Dinoworld, all their moods took a turn for the worse. For one, it was so hot in the New Mexico desert they felt like they were being cooked alive. And just like with the world’s biggest rubber-band ball, it was obvious Dinoworld’s website was run by total liars.
After viewing the images on Dinoworld’s home page, the Downers Grove gang was expecting a colorful and primitive biosphere like in Jurassic Park. Instead, the world’s largest collection of proportionate dinosaur statues was a trailer park—literally. For just ten extra dollars with admission, travelers could park their RVs among the large reptiles for the night. The dinosaur statues were so worn-down it was hard to tell them apart from the motor homes parked throughout the site. Even the nicer ones looked more like weathered piñatas than the giant creatures that once dominated the earth.
“Oh look, it’s a triceratops,” Sam pointed out.
“That’s just a Volkswagen with its hood popped up,” Joey said.
“You know, none of us were here sixty-five million years ago,” Topher said—always ready with a silver lining. “This could be exactly what the real dinosaurs looked like and Steven Spielberg’s the one who got it wrong.”
“Then no wonder God killed them all,” Mo said.
Dinoworld was by far the biggest letdown of the trip thus far. They would have asked for their money back if the tickets hadn’t been just two dollars apiece.
“This blows,” Cash said. “I’m going to take a nap in the pterodactyl nest. Wake me up when it’s time to leave the Land of the Lost Afternoon.”
The nest he was referring to was actually just a pile of dinosaur limbs that had broken off over the years, but the actor made himself
comfortable in it anyway.
“We should have gone to Santa Fe instead,” Mo said. “How far away are we from Albuquerque?”
“About a half an hour,” Joey said. “And our dinner reservation at the Aztec BBQ isn’t until seven o’clock. So we’ve got some time to kill.”
“Do you guys want to go watch those people at the Winnebago?” Sam suggested. “It looked like they were building a rocket.”
Everyone shrugged and headed in that direction.
“While you guys are people watching, I’ll go put gas in the station wagon,” Topher said. “It’ll be one less thing we have to do tomorrow morning.”
Topher returned to the station wagon and drove a little ways down the road to a gas station that also had a dinosaur theme, called BrontosaurGas. He swiped his credit card at the pump and played a game on his phone while he waited for his tank to fill up.
A black Toyota Prius with tinted windows pulled in to the pump next to Topher. He glanced at it for a second and saw the vehicle had California license plates. It was identical to the one Sam had been paranoid about two days ago on their way out of Oklahoma City. Topher knew the odds it was the same vehicle were highly unlikely, but it didn’t stop a suspicious feeling from forming in the pit of his stomach.
The driver got out and filled his Prius with gas. He was in his forties, wore a Hawaiian shirt and fedora, hadn’t shaved in a week, and chewed on the end of a toothpick. As he waited for his gas tank to fill he kept glancing over at Topher and the station wagon. Topher got the feeling he wanted to start a conversation but he didn’t look up from his phone.
“Is this your mom’s car?” the man asked.
“Excuse me?” Topher replied, not sure who the man was talking to.
“I asked if this was your mom’s car,” he said. “I noticed the MY CHILD’S AN HONOR STUDENT sticker on the bumper. You seem a little young to be a father.”
“I’m the honor student,” Topher said. “Well, I was. I just graduated from high school.”
“So I was right,” the man said. “Are you going to college?”
The strange man was a little too interested in Topher for Topher’s comfort.
“Um… yeah,” he said awkwardly. “I start in the fall.”
“And what about your friends? Are all of them going to school, too?” he asked.
Topher suddenly felt like the lead character in a stranger danger PSA. Was he referring to the friends he was traveling with? If so, how did he even know he was traveling with friends? He glanced at the man’s pump and saw the numbers weren’t even moving—he wasn’t there to get gas, he was there for him.
“Dude, you’re creeping me out,” he said. “Why don’t you leave me alone before I call the cops?”
“Forgive me—where are my manners?” the man said, and stepped forward to shake Topher’s hand. “The name is Barry, Barry Reid.”
Topher didn’t shake his hand. “You were following us in Oklahoma, weren’t you?”
“Ah… yes, as a matter of fact I was,” he said. “I gotta tell you, you guys have covered some serious ground in the last couple days. I thought Jennifer Lawrence was hard to follow, but that tomboy in your crew put her driver to shame.”
“I’m calling the cops,” Topher said, and started dialing 911.
“Actually, there’s nothing they can do,” Barry said. “You see, you’re traveling with a person of special interest. And when you’re with a person of special interest, legally, guys like me are allowed to follow you.”
“You’re paparazzi,” Topher said.
“I prefer the term freelance photographer, but yes,” he said. “Look, I didn’t just appear like the grim reaper. Someone made the mistake of using Cash Carter’s real name at the Vacation Suites in Oklahoma City and the concierge tipped me off. The dude is causing quite the scandal—the first picture of him after he fainted would sell for a lot of money. I’ve got to eat, so here I am with my camera.”
“I hate to disappoint you, but Cash left yesterday,” Topher said, thinking on his feet.
“That’s funny,” Barry said. “My contact at LAX didn’t mention he was traveling.”
“I didn’t say he went home or caught a flight, I just said he left.”
Barry smiled at Topher like he could read his mind.
“Honor student indeed,” the paparazzo said. “I get it, you’re a struggling college student and see an opportunity to make some dough. I respect that. I’ll give you five grand if you tell me where Cash went.”
“What? I’m not trying to get money from you.”
“All right, hotshot, seven grand,” Barry negotiated. “But that’s my final offer.”
Topher didn’t say a word, forcing Barry to try another tactic.
“I get it, I get it,” he said. “You probably consider him a friend and don’t want to sell him out. As far as I’m concerned, Cash sold himself out when he started acting like a fool. He’s a smart guy—he knew exactly what would happen if he acted out. Now a lot of people are benefiting from the mess he’s made—that’s why they’re all eager to keep this story going. The longer Cash is out and about making a total jackass of himself, the more hits, clicks, and views all the news sites get. So why don’t we take our piece of the pie, too?”
“I don’t like pie,” Topher said. “I couldn’t tell you where Cash went if I wanted to because he didn’t tell us where he was going. Now piss off or I’ll call the cops—there’s no more special interest here.”
The paparazzo seemed to have met his match. He was both disappointed and impressed with Topher. Barry pulled out his wallet and handed him a business card.
“That’s my info in case you hear from him and change your mind,” Barry said. “Think about it, kid. Seven grand would go a long way for a college student. Enjoy the rest of your trip.”
The paparazzo unhooked his car from the pump and drove off. Topher was so shaken by their encounter he didn’t get back into his car until the man was out of sight. He ripped Barry Reid’s card in half, threw it in the trash, and then headed back to Dinoworld to pick up his friends.
Topher had woken up that morning expecting to see some pretty scary carnivores by the time the day was finished, but he wasn’t expecting the scariest one would drive a Prius.
Chapter Nineteen
IMPACT
Cash had spent all of Thursday in a terrible mood, but on Friday morning the actor awoke as a different person altogether.
“Hey, Cash?” Topher said as he knocked on the door of the actor’s hotel room.
“What do you want?” Cash yelled from inside.
His tone took Topher off guard. Cash wasn’t raising his voice simply so his friend could hear him through the door, but shouting so his irritability was perfectly clear.
“I’m sorry,” Topher said. “Is something wrong?”
“Just tell me what you want,” the actor demanded.
“It’s eight o’clock,” he said. “We were supposed to meet in the lobby at seven forty-five, remember? We’ve got a lot of ground to cover today and want to get on the road as soon as possible.”
“I’ll be out in a minute,” Cash yelled. “And please don’t hover outside my door like you did yesterday—it won’t make me move any faster.”
“Oh… okay,” he said. “We’ll meet you in the car, then.”
An hour later, the actor finally emerged from the Albuquerque Vacation Suites and joined the others at the station wagon. They could all tell something was wrong from his physicality alone. Cash walked very slowly, as if every muscle and every bone in his body ached. He was breathing heavily like a bulldog after a long walk. A dissatisfied expression was frozen on his face as he moved, as if absolutely everything in the world bothered him.
“I can’t ride bitch today,” Cash said when he got to the car. “Someone needs to switch places with me.”
“I’ll do it,” Joey said, and climbed into the back of the station wagon with the luggage.
“Cash, no of
fense, but you look like shit,” Mo said.
“Maybe that’s because I feel like shit, genius,” he said. “I’m out of sinus medication and I woke up with a fucking migraine.”
“Do you need us to stop and get you something?” Sam asked from the driver’s seat.
“All I need is silence,” Cash snipped. “Can we all be quiet in the car today? Is that allowed?”
“Um… sure,” Topher said. “We can do that.”
“Good,” the actor said.
The others stared at Cash in disbelief. It was like a demon living inside of him had taken the reins.
“What are we waiting for?” he griped. “Let’s get this fucking show on the road.”
They drove for three hours in total silence per the actor’s request. Cash ferociously chain-smoked the entire way and popped gummy bears into his mouth every fifty miles or so. He kept his eyes shut most of the ride, too, and only opened them when he was lighting a cigarette or searching for gummies in his backpack.
At noon, the station wagon arrived at the Petrified Forest National Park. They exited Interstate 40 and drove down a long curvy road through the scarlet badlands of the Painted Desert and the indigo-striped hillsides of the Blue Mesa, and followed the signs leading to the Jasper Forest to see the petrified wood. The national park was so unique Topher, Joey, Sam, and Mo thought their car had taken a turn and wound up on another planet altogether. About twenty miles into the park, the car pulled into a viewpoint overlooking the Jasper Forest. It was a small canyon sprinkled with tree logs that had fossilized into multicolored stone over the course of several millennia. The Downers Grove gang got out to take pictures of the rare phenomenon while Cash stayed in the car so the park ranger wouldn’t catch him smoking. Sam read the information on a stand set in the center of the viewpoint.
