by A W Hartoin
Frank screamed and jumped up. “Puppy, go get your mom.”
April grabbed Cole’s arm and I froze. My muscles tensed to knots when April tilted Cole’s head back and then used his fingers to pinch the bridge of his nose.
“Go sit down and be quiet,” she said to Cole.
Cole held April’s arm as he stumbled over to his towel. His eyes met mine and he dropped his hand. A blush bloomed across Cole’s cheeks, red as the blood smeared across them.
Frank groaned and put his head between his knees.
April patted his shoulder. “It’s fine. It’ll clot up in no time.”
“Okay,” said Frank in an uncertain voice.
“Come on. It’s your turn,” I said to April.
“No, I already went. I think it Luke’s again,” said April.
Nobody mentioned Frank. Frank riding a tricycle down a sixty-degree ramp to crash into the creek was unthinkable. A turn wasn’t even suggested to him. Luke stopped teaching Sophie the finer points of rock skipping and slung the trike on his back, waded across the shallows, and climbed the hill to the beginning of the ramp.
“I’ll show you freakin wuss-assed losers how it’s done.” He grabbed the back of the plank, climbed to the top of the ramp and put the trike under his butt. In one quick moment, he sat on the trike, let go of the board, and lifted his feet. He flew down the ramp, his greasy hair flying like a banner. He left the end of the ramp and went twice as high as Cole. Then he twisted, let go of the trike, and dove into the water a second ahead of it.
The Pack was still cheering five seconds later when Luke’s air bubbles surfaced. When Luke didn’t emerge behind them, the cheering stopped and we became quiet, waiting for Luke to burst out of the water. He didn’t.
Shasta ran into the creek. For such a slight person, she churned up an enormous amount of spray and waves. Almost every member of The Pack followed her in. Caleb passed Shasta and dove in. She followed and on her heels came Abe and Tom. I was up to my chest in the water when Caleb came up, gasping for air.
“He’s stuck.” Caleb took deep breath and dove again.
Shasta came up for air and motioned for me to hurry. We dove down together into the now murky water. I could barely see through the green sludge Luke had churned up. What I did see terrified me. Luke’s hair was caught in the fork and wheel of the trike. The left rear wheel was wedged under a submerged tree branch. That tree fell into the creek a couple of years previous, but hadn’t given us any problems. I never gave it a thought.
Shasta swam to Luke’s head. Her hands worked frantically on his hair. Caleb pulled at the tree with Abe and Tom scrambling to find a handhold. Luke’s arms and legs were going in circles, reaching for something to hold onto. I went up for a breath, heard screams at the surface, and then dove under into the quiet of the creek. I swam to Shasta and saw it was no good. Luke’s hair was wrapped around several times. The branch was the best bet. I swam to Tom and motioned to the trike’s rear platform, indicating that we should pull. Tom nodded and grabbed hold. The moment Tom and I pulled the trike, Abe and Caleb lifted the branch. The wheel came free easily. Shasta wrapped her arms around Luke’s chest and swam to the surface, dragging the trike behind them.
When I broke the surface, I saw Sophie and Cole take Luke from Shasta’s arms. Ella and April carried the trike still attached to Luke’s hair. Luke stumbled along with them, retching a flood of water onto the sand. Shasta fell to her knees behind them, her chest heaving and rivulets of water coursing over the bumps of her ribs. I waded through the water to stand beside her. She reached for my arm and I pulled her to her feet. The water sucked at her hips and her bikini bottoms slid down an inch, revealing a thin pale line. Shasta held onto my hand. I didn’t blush or freak out or anything. It felt totally normal like we held hands every day.
We watched Luke cough and wipe the water out of his eyes. April maneuvered the trike behind his head and he yelped. Sophie pressed her knuckles to her mouth. She knelt beside him, occasionally reaching out to touch his shoulder. Only Frank didn’t move. He stayed at the fire, frozen and white-faced. For once, he wasn’t panicked. I assumed his terror went beyond panic, rendering him catatonic.
Caleb, Tom, and Abe passed me and Shasta, coughing and muttering various cuss words under their breath. They stumbled onto shore and surrounded Luke.
“You’re lucky I bulked up,” said Abe with a smile and a punch at Luke’s shoulder.
Everyone nodded. If Abe had remained his old skinny self, he wouldn’t have been much help.
“That was a close one,” said Caleb. “They let you out just in time to save Luke’s bacon once again.”
Luke looked up and choked out between coughs, “Don’t tell Mom.”
“I’ll think about it.”
Luke narrowed his eyes at his twin. “Oh yeah? Why? What’s to think about?”
Caleb got his beer from the bar, an expensive one from Belgium, and took a long drink. “I won’t tell Mom, if you cut your hair,” he said.
“No way, man,” said Luke. “It’s just an accident.”
“That’s what you always say. I haven’t had an accident all summer. How many have you had? You’re so damn stupid.”
“I’m stupid? You swiped Dad’s beer.”
“The hair’s gone, man,” said Caleb.
“You can’t make me cut it.”
“Yes, we can. You’ve got a tricycle attached to your head. I think Mom might notice that.”
“Whatever,” said Luke. “I’m not cutting it.”
“Yes, you are.”
Shasta let go of my hand. She walked out of the water, hitching up her bikini bottoms and revealing another strip of white under the curve of her cheek. I stared at it and flushed when I realized someone could’ve seen me staring. But no one did. The focus was Luke and Caleb. Their voices were barely raised, which was amazingly quiet for them. The argument would’ve been much more heated had Luke been standing. Instead, he lay on the ground, looking up at his brother and making pointless threats. Caleb ignored him and got his Leatherman out of his backpack. He flipped it open to the three-inch knife and scraped his thumb across the blade.
“It’ll only take a second to cut it off. I’m sure Mom packed the clippers,” said Caleb.
Luke turned his most stubborn shade of red. “Forget it. I’ll cut it off myself.” I tried to follow the argument that had everyone else transfixed, but Shasta kept distracting me. She squeezed water from her hair and I had to look at her. She picked up a towel and I had to look at her. It was like I had a special kind of ADD. I was such a loser. My cousin nearly drowned and I was checking out tan lines.
I couldn’t control myself, so I turned to Frank. He was so good at freaking out, he could usually distract me from doing anything too stupid.
“Frank. Hey, Frank?”
Frank stared at the water where Luke had disappeared, terrified and stock still. Good old Frank, just an average dude, if you didn’t count phobias.
Frank didn’t move, but his eyes switched to me.
“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Frank. Sit down. Luke’s fine. It’s all over.”
“He…he could’ve drowned,” said Frank, his voice wavering.
“But he didn’t,” I said.
“He could’ve drowned.” Frank sat down. His eyes went back to the dark water.
I threw up my hands and carefully avoided looking at Shasta again. Cole would be a better solution. He wouldn’t be freaked. He never got freaked, not even Miss Pritchett scared him. Of course, that could be because he slept though her class.
I found Cole standing next to my sisters, both of whom were wearing bikinis. Cole spoke, using big gestures and an even bigger smile. I recognized the look. He acted like that around Tiffany, Suzie, and any other girl that was marginally good-looking. I wasn’t sure if he knew he was doing it. It was second nature to Cole. And it worked. It never failed, and now Cole had turned his spotlight on April and Ella and he didn’t even care which one he got.
I walked through the crowd and threw my shoulder into Cole. He fell into the sand with an oomph, but he didn’t protest. Ella and April dropped into the sand next to Cole and exclaimed over my bizarre behavior. I barely heard what they said. I didn’t care. It wasn’t going to happen. Not with my sisters. Not now. Not ever.
Cole stood up and, after a quiet moment, nodded to me. It was a slight movement, probably not perceptible to anyone else, but it was there.
“I’m going for a walk,” I said, ignoring my sister’s complaints.
I walked into the shallows. Ella ran in behind me and grabbed my arm.
“That wasn’t necessary,” she said.
“Trust me, it was.”
“Trust me,” she said, tightening her grip, “it wasn’t. We know what Cole’s like.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Do you want me to tell you about the pep bus or the bleachers?”
Ella probably thought this information would make it better. It didn’t. Maybe they wouldn’t fall for Cole’s bullshit, but my little sisters weren’t supposed to know about stuff like what went on on the bus. It pissed me the hell off.
I pulled away from Ella without looking at her and climbed the muddy hillside. I had no intentions. I didn’t care where it would take me. I just had to go before I did something worse than a shove. So I traded one dangerous situation for another.
Chapter Twenty-eight
UP AT THE house, Mom and Aunt Calla were on their porches working and nobody had seen them in over a day. The acidic smell of Aunt Calla’s dyes hung heavy in the air and a large vat of something sat next to the back steps. In the shade, large wooden racks sagged with drying material, their ragged edges blowing in a stiff breeze.
It was warm, wrapping around me like a quilt and pushing me off the lawn to the east. Aunt Calla’s fabric blew west.
After a minute or two, the wind changed and became more insistent. I didn’t care where I went, so I let it decide. I glanced up at the house before walking into the woods. Mom stood in the doorway with two lines folded between her eyes. She said something and the cats zipped out from behind her and came running to me. Their tails stuck straight up like antenna.
The wind pushed again. Soon I was on the path to the pond, going faster and faster until I was nearly jogging. Something brushed past my leg. Slick and Sydney ran down the path I’d made in the woods. The ravens flew over the cats occasionally swooping down to nip playfully at their tails, and then they’d fly back to me, circling and prodding me in the right direction as if I didn’t know where we were going.
We were going to Miss Pritchett’s house. I hadn’t been there since the day before the picnic, four days earlier. No one had. We’d been busy building the ramp and working on Luke and Caleb’s car. It was coming along fast and their interest in Miss Pritchett had faded.
The cats waited for me at the property line. Their tails lashed the air as I passed between them and the wind disappeared, but the ravens didn’t. They stuck with me as I slowed, trying to make as little noise as possible. The closer I got, the quieter the woods got.
Miss Pritchett’s house sat quiet in a circle of damp misery. After a heavy rain a couple of days earlier, Camp dried out quickly, leaving the usual feeling of heat and freedom. But Miss Pritchett’s, not far away, was the opposite. The whole place smelled damp and moldy. Unhappiness hung over it like the reek of sewage. I was already pissed about Cole and the house made it worse. It made me want to hurt somebody, kick a dog, smack a child. I hurt and I wanted to hurt.
Miss Pritchett’s car, a rusty Toyota Camry, sat in the gravel driveway amid weeds and a few discarded car parts. An open toolbox sat on the front step, and the temptation was too much for me to resist. I crept across the lawn until I was under the living room window. The cranked TV told me Miss Pritchett was home and probably in the living room. Even if it was in the kitchen near the car I wouldn’t have cared. I’d made up my mind and nothing short of the sudden appearance of Jason Greenbow could’ve stopped me.
I went around the side of the house, ducking under windows, and stepping over broken beer bottles. The ravens landed next to me as I opened the Camry’s driver’s side door and popped the hood. It creaked when I lifted it, but I didn’t look to see if Miss Pritchett heard. If she saw me, she saw me. Looking wouldn’t change it.
I’d never been under the hood of a Camry, but the oil cap was easy enough to find. The engine was cold and the cap came off with a quiet pop. I pocketed the cap and closed the hood as quietly as I could.
I stopped in the middle of Miss Pritchett’s driveway, fingering the oil cap in my pocket. If she looked out of a window, she’d have seen me there, and the rest of our summer would’ve been different. But she didn’t look out and it happened the way it happened.
I wanted to keep the oil cap as a trophy after everything she took from me, but its disappearance would be suspicious, so I tossed it into the weeds. It was concealed, unless a person was searching for it. And Jason Greenbow would be looking for it, after oil spewed all over the engine, making a god-awful mess for him to clean up. I walked across the lawn and made it to the bramble before a screen door slammed.
Miss Pritchett stepped off the back porch carrying a laundry basket and a soda. She wore a large tee shirt that must’ve belonged to Greenbow and her hair was pulled back in another ponytail. Her hair was so dirty its pale blond had turned dark. Chunks of hair escaped from her rubber band and framed her face in a greasy curtain.
I watched her from between branches of the bramble with the ravens as company and my anger melted away, snow on a warm sidewalk. I never imagined Miss Pritchett could look so bad. Like some nasty, unkempt woman had taken over the neat and well-pressed Miss Pritchett’s body. She’d been bad the first time I’d seen her, but she gotten a lot worse. Even though I was looking at her, I could hardly believe it. What made a person turn into the human equivalent of a dumpster.
This new, gross Miss Pritchett checked the laundry line. The old line Luke frayed had been replaced with a shiny nylon cord. When she was satisfied, Miss Pritchett picked up a pair of men’s jeans. She shook them out and went up on her tiptoes to attach them to the line. As she did, the shirt revealed a pair of bikini bottoms and a large, oval bruise on her hip. It extended from her hipbone to below her rear, around ten inches long. I stared at the bruise and forgot my initial revulsion at seeing Miss Pritchett in a bikini. The shirt covered the bruise when she went for another pair of jeans and revealed it again when she reached up to hang them on the line. I’d seen bruises like it before. Uncle Manny had a motorcycle accident and flew ten feet before landing on pavement. Miss Pritchett’s bruise was similar with the same dark purple.
Like Uncle Manny she favored her left leg, the one with the bruise, and often stopped to rub her arm. A reddish color encircled her wrist and she had a scrape on her elbow. Maybe she’d been in another accident. Miss Pritchett was a terrible driver. I’d never known anybody to have three car accidents in one school year, not that I didn’t appreciate it. But how could she be that bad? My mom was a hideous driver, and she’d only had one accident in the last year, and nobody got hurt.
Miss Pritchett finished with her laundry, picked up her soda, and straightened out the lawn chair Jason had left tipped over in the middle of the overgrown lawn. Then she went in the house and came out with a book. She sat down in the chair with a wince of pain and began to read.
I turned to leave and caught sight of her car. An unexpected pang of guilt hit me, but I had to remind myself that Miss Pritchett deserved everything she got. My pangs didn’t last long. I shook away thoughts of Miss Pritchett like water off a dog and filled my mind instead with thoughts of Shasta, Sophie, and dinner.
Chapter Twenty-nine
I DROPPED ONTO the rickety bench outside the Stop and Go. Cole, who was lying facedown on the other end, yelped and clung to it like a city kid on a skittish horse.
“Dude, don’t do that.” He hung his head off the
end of the bench with his knuckles dragging on the dusty sidewalk. “It’s too hot.”
I just groaned and squinted at Luke and Caleb tossing a baseball back and forth in the street. Even though it was the main drag in Evansville, the street was empty. If a car happened by, it was more likely to drive around the twins than make a fuss. The heat was too stifling to care about much, and my flip-flops looked a little melted. The Stop and Go was air-conditioned, but it came down to a choice: walk around in the store or lounge outside. Sitting won out because we’d spent most of the morning making a last ditch-effort to find Beatrice. She’d been missing for nearly two weeks and Mom had decided it was time to worry. She and Aunt Calla organized a search, one in which they didn’t participate. When it came up empty, they decided to put up reward flyers with a grainy picture of Beatrice. My sisters, and Frank were inside the Stop and Go, making copies of the flyers, and buying supplies for hanging them.
“You bastard!” Luke went down on one knee and Caleb laughed. Luke grabbed the ball and winged it at Caleb, clocking him on the left shoulder.
“Oh fucker! You are going to die!” Caleb went after the ball, gave it a serious windup and threw it at Luke. He dove out of the way, but the ball still caught him on the ankle.
Luke screamed in pain and lay writhing on the asphalt when Mom and Aunt Calla came out of the Stop and Go.
“What’s this?” said Aunt Calla. “When bored, try and kill your brother?”
“I wasn’t trying to kill him, just maim him a little,” said Caleb. He picked up the ball and tossed it in the air. He looked as if he was considering hitting Luke again.
“There’s no such thing as a little maiming,” said Aunt Calla. “If there was, I’d have maimed you a long time ago. You two are the height of irritation.”
Mom passed out stacks of flyers. I looked at the flyer and let out a whoosh of breath. Anybody who didn’t know Beatrice could never identify her from the picture. There was still a chance of getting through the rest of the summer without her being found.
