The Other, Better Me

by Antony John

  Kiana presses the elevator button.

  “So, guys,” says Kat, getting right down to business. “I think you should know that Brett Smallwood is old school. That’s what our dad says, anyway.”

  “What does ‘old school’ mean?” Kiana asks.

  “I think it means he prefers customers who look like they’re at least twenty-one,” explains Nick. “Which is where Kat comes in.”

  “I just need us to get into the bar,” says Kat. “Once we’re there, Brett’ll remember us. He met us at one of our parents’ parties.”

  “What if he doesn’t?” I ask.

  “Then I hope they’re gentle when they throw us out of the hotel.” She gives us a toothy grin to show she’s kidding. At least, I hope she’s kidding.

  We take the elevator up one floor and walk out into a hallway lined with ruby-red carpet. Nick marches ahead. We follow him through the lobby, past a dark wood-paneled wall, and into a gigantic barroom.

  A man with a handlebar mustache is cleaning wineglasses with a bright white cloth. He’s younger than I expected. Behind him, dozens of pretty glass bottles are lit up from above and below, so that the entire wall seems to glitter.

  Kiana turns to us. “Can I ask questions first?”

  Nick and Kat exchange glances. “Uh, sure,” she says.

  Kiana approaches the bar and hops onto a tall wooden stool. The bartender greets her with a bland smile. “Can I help you?” he asks.

  “Yes, sir, you can. Eleven years ago, you had a bartender named Veronica. We’d like to ask some questions about her time here.”

  The guy’s face hasn’t moved. He’d be awesome in a staring contest. “I’m twenty-three years old,” he says.

  Kiana nods. “That sounds about right.”

  “I wasn’t working here when I was twelve.”

  “No,” she says, sounding much less confident now.

  “Right. So, uh . . . can I help with something else?”

  “Well, do you have personnel files from the summer season eleven years ago?”

  His mustache twitches. “Personnel files?”

  “Yeah. You know, information about the people who worked here.”

  He looks like he’s getting his first up-close look at exploded shmorpel brain and isn’t very happy about it. “Even if we had files, I wouldn’t be allowed to share them with you.”

  I’ve got to admit, Kiana sure does have her dad’s stubborn streak. Even now, she’s staring at mustache man like she expects him to cave at any moment. But being stubborn makes a whole lot more sense when you’re a real police detective instead of a fifth grader.

  Luckily, Kat is with us. “Is Brett around?” she asks.

  “Hey, Brett,” the man yells over his shoulder. “Some freaky kids are here to see you.”

  A middle-aged man with a gray ponytail pokes his head around the corner at the end of the bar. When he sees Kat and Nick, his face lights up.

  “How’s your dad?” he exclaims.

  “Good, thanks,” says Kat. She takes the stool beside Kiana and rests her elbows on the bar. Since no one stops her, Nick and I take a seat too.

  “Dad can’t stop talking about how much he likes bringing clients here,” says Nick.

  Brett beams. “He’s a smart guy.”

  “These are our friends,” Kat says, nodding at Kiana and me. “We were hoping you could help us solve a mystery.”

  Brett leans forward. “I love mysteries. Fire away!”

  Kat turns around like she’s passing the conversation over to us. I’m not sure where to begin.

  “Lola’s mom used to work here,” says Kiana, taking charge. “Do you remember Veronica Harmon?”

  Brett gives an unconvincing nod. “Name rings a bell, sure. Can’t picture her, though.”

  “What about my momma’s boyfriend?” I ask. “His name was Robbie Howell.”

  Brett slumps onto a stool behind the bar. The grin is gone. I guess he remembers my daddy better than my momma, and they weren’t best friends. “Go on,” he says.

  “Um. Well, that’s it. He had to leave the country. I think Momma still misses him.”

  “Well, she shouldn’t.” He wags a finger. “That man, he risked everyone’s jobs, hers included.”

  “He did?” says Kiana.

  “Sure. He used fake documents to get his job here. Fake I-9 form. Fake Social Security number. Even his references were fake! If I’d been in charge back then, it never would’ve happened.”

  “How did you find out?” Nick asks.

  “Because he flew back to Australia and never returned. Then . . . well, I guess it was your mom,” Brett says, nodding at me, “told me he’d overstayed his tourist visa. And I said, ‘What do you mean, tourist visa?’”

  Brett pulls the skin around his mouth. He’s looking at me differently now. “You know, I never really thought about it before, but I think I might’ve made your mom feel like she was partly responsible. Like she should’ve realized Robbie was lying.”

  “She didn’t know,” I say.

  “Oh.” He shakes his head, and his ponytail swings back and forth. “I’m sorry if I made her feel bad. It was his fault, not hers. And it was years before he finally apologized to any of us.”

  “He wrote?” Kiana asks, perking up.

  “Wrote? Heck, no! He was a guest, right here in the hotel. Can you imagine? After all the trouble he could’ve caused. And he had the nerve to act all friendly, like we were old buds. But I think he got the message.”

  “The message?” Nick sounds worried.

  “Yeah. He was gone after one night. Him and his wife.”

  I feel like my stomach is in free fall.

  “His, uh . . . wife?” murmurs Kiana.

  “Yeah. Australian chick. Seemed nice enough. I almost felt bad giving him a piece of my mind, seeing as how she was standing right there too. But he deserved it.”

  Kiana rubs her hand across my shoulders. “When were they here?” she asks.

  “Must’ve been six years ago,” says Brett. “The pool was being renovated. I remember because she wanted to swim. Said it was the only time she felt completely comfortable. You know, because she was pregnant.”

  My stomach plummets again.

  “Pregnant?” Kat murmurs.

  I close my eyes. First, I find out that my daddy visited North Myrtle Beach. Now I find out he was married and his wife was expecting a baby. It’s too much.

  Kiana rubs her hand up and down my back, but I can’t even stand being touched anymore. I jump off the stool and walk straight out of the bar. I know I should thank Brett for talking to us, but everything he has told me has made my daddy seem more out of reach than ever.

  I leave the hotel the way we came in, through the darkness of the parking garage and into the glaring light of a cloudy afternoon. I take the boardwalk across the dunes and stare at the mostly empty beach. Fine white sand whips against me with every gust of wind. Only the surfers are happy today.

  If I’d never tried to look for my father, everything about this scene—the beach, the ocean, the salty air—would feel like it always has. Like home. Kiana and I might be floating in the ocean right now, and I’d be content. But I needed answers. I needed to know the truth. And now I do.

  My daddy came all the way from Australia. And he couldn’t even be bothered to visit me.

  23

  Winning and Losing

  “You okay, Lola?” Kiana takes my hand in hers and squeezes just once.

  “Not really.”

  “I’m sorry about . . .” She swallows hard. “I never figured he’d—”

  “It’s okay,” I say. “I’ll be okay.”

  Kat and Nick join us too. They must’ve been just behind me, walking as quiet as ninjas, trying to give me space but afraid to leave me alone.

  Kat points to Ocean Drive Pavilion, just ahead of us. “Let’s go to the arcade. My treat.”

  I haven’t played the arcade games in a long time. They’re mostly for
the tourists. In the summer, there are fairground rides too. Kiana says they’re kind of lame, but that’s because her grandparents take her to real theme parks. I don’t mind the rides at all, especially when Frankie takes me. He screams like he’s about to poop his pants before the ride even starts.

  The pavilion is right next to the beach. It doesn’t have doors, just openings in the walls for people to wander in and out. The wooden floorboards are older than Ms. Archambault. All the walls are covered in framed black-and-white photographs, like the place is trapped in a time warp.

  Kat feeds a five-dollar bill into the change machine and receives a pile a tokens. She hands them to me.

  “All of them?” I say.

  “Don’t get too excited. You’ll be cleaned out in a few minutes. So choose your games wisely!”

  Kat squeezes another bill into the machine. Tokens fill the tray. She scoops them up and hands them to Kiana.

  “I can’t,” says Kiana.

  “Sure you can,” replies Kat. “Hey, look, what if I told you it’s not even my money? That I took it from Nick’s piggy bank this morning.”

  “What?” exclaims Nick.

  “In that case, I’ll definitely take them,” says Kiana. “Thanks, Nick!”

  Nick’s mouth hangs open.

  “You realize your sister’s kidding, right?” she continues.

  “Or am I?” says Kat, wiggling her eyebrows.

  Kat and Nick get along better than any siblings I’ve ever met, but I bet she does this to him all the time at home. And even though he’s pretending to be annoyed right now, I think he’s secretly grateful that his big sister is willing to hang out with him at all.

  Once we’ve all got tokens, we spread out to the corners of the pavilion. Nick goes straight for the slot machines. I never play them because Frankie told me they’re rigged to make sure you always lose more than you win. And that doesn’t seem fair.

  Kiana and I head over to the video games. Kiana plays a hunting game with a plastic rifle. A year ago, she was talking about becoming vegetarian. Now she’s taking aim at defenseless deer. I don’t think this is what her dad had in mind when he gave us that talk about guns.

  There’s a cool-looking motorcycle racing game next to her. But I can’t play it, not with so many questions flying through my mind. Does Momma know that my daddy visited town six years ago? She hasn’t mentioned it, but I think it was around that time that she stopped trying to call him. Plus, she would’ve taken me to the Wyndcrest to meet him if she knew he was around. Wouldn’t she?

  “You playing, Lola?” Kat points at the motorcycle in front of me.

  I shake my head. Kat hops onto the bike, pops the tokens in the slot, and starts racing around a track. She knows how to slow down before the corners and accelerate out of them. In no time, she’s passing all the other bikes on the track. I can’t stop myself from leaning right along with her, like I’m the one playing.

  Kiana puts down the rifle and joins me. “I killed eighteen,” she says proudly.

  Yup, her dad’s pep talks really aren’t working.

  “I’m sorry this was all a waste of time,” I say.

  Kiana furrows her brows. “What are you talking about? We cracked the case, Lola. And if your dad’s too stupid to want you in his life, well . . . that’s his loss.”

  I thought I wanted to crack the case too. But I didn’t. After everything that’s been happening with Momma, I wanted a happy ending. Or at least an ending that made sense. Why did he visit at all if he didn’t want to see me? It’s not like anyone at the hotel wanted to hang out with him.

  Nick shrieks as his slot machine lights up like fireworks on the Fourth of July. Tickets stream out and coil on the floor like a snake. “Come see!” he shouts.

  Kat is in the middle of her motorcycle game, but she slides right off the seat and runs over to her brother. She wraps him up in a hug and cackles. “Unbelievable!” she cries. “You hit the jackpot!”

  Kiana and I hurry over too. The tickets keep coming, and Nick keeps trying to pick them up. When he can’t keep up, we help him. Then Kiana starts draping them over his shoulders and arms like she’s decorating a Christmas tree with tinsel. Nick’s so happy, he doesn’t even care. Just stands perfectly still with his arms spread wide like a scarecrow and laughs.

  “What are you going to do with all these tickets?” Kiana shouts as the machine keeps pumping.

  Nick peers over his shoulder at the prize booth. “I don’t know. I could get anything.”

  “You should get the giant blue bear.” Kat points to the largest prize in the booth. “It’s bigger than you!”

  “What am I going to do with a giant blue bear?”

  “You could give it to Lola,” suggests Kiana. “She’s always stealing my stuffed toys.”

  “Am not!” I elbow her in the ribs. “You gave me Mr. Rabbit.”

  “Mr. Rabbit?” cries Nick. “That’s the best you could do?”

  “Kiana didn’t name him at all,” I point out.

  “Should’ve called him Honey Bunny,” says Kat.

  “Or Funny Bunny,” says Nick.

  “Or just Rabbit,” says Kiana.

  We all shake our heads.

  “Maybe Rum Rabbit,” I say.

  They look at me funny. “I don’t get it,” says Kiana.

  To be honest, neither do I. I don’t even know where that came from. I just know it came from somewhere.

  Finally, the tickets stop coming. Nick walks like the Tin Man over to the booth. The woman inside sighs before he says a word.

  “Just take whatever you want,” she drones.

  Nick turns to Kiana. “The blue bear, right?”

  Kiana casts an eye over the offerings and pauses on something against the far wall. “No,” she says. “That one! The rabbit.”

  “You want a rabbit too?” he asks her.

  “No. It’s for Lola.”

  “I thought you already gave her one.”

  “Yeah, but this one’s much nicer. A total upgrade.”

  Nick shrugs. It’s pretty obvious that he doesn’t care what he gets with the tickets. He just likes winning.

  The woman in the booth grabs the rabbit and stuffs it in Nick’s outstretched hands. “Anything else?” she asks. “You’ve still got, like, two hundred tickets.”

  Nick presents the rabbit to me. “You can call it whatever you like,” he whispers. “Rum Rabbit is fine.”

  As he and Kiana and Kat turn to the booth again to choose his next prize, I run my fingertips over the fur. There’s something strangely familiar about it. It doesn’t look like Mr. Rabbit, but I’m sure I’ve seen it before. The light gray fur. The wide white stripe running diagonally across the head and down one ear. The stitched-on smile that seems to be hiding a secret. The squishy beans inside.

  My stomach is doing its flippy thing again. I’m sure I’ve seen the rabbit before. I’ve felt it too. Or one just like it.

  I have a sudden urge to brush it against my cheek. I don’t even know why. But as that soft fur runs against me, memories come flooding back. Of sitting on our porch with a woman I didn’t know. Of choosing a rabbit from a trunk full of toys. Of a man with super short hair and a dark brown beard. I didn’t recognize him either.

  Now I think I know who he was.

  I don’t think my daddy came to North Myrtle Beach six years ago to visit the Wyndcrest. He came here to visit me.

  24

  Rum Rabbit

  Ms. Del Rio says most kids’ earliest memories are from when they’re about three years old. I would’ve been four-and-a-half. Maybe that’s why the memories come rushing back now.

  I was sitting on the porch when this big white car pulled into Ms. Archambault’s driveway. A man and a woman got out. Ms. Archambault went over to say hi. She must’ve been cleaning, because she had on these big blue rubber gloves.

  The man came over to me. He reached our porch at the exact same moment Momma came out from the house. He gave her a hug,
but she was as still as a statue. When they went inside, the other woman waved to me from the car. She crooked a finger the way grown-ups do when they’ve got something nice for you but don’t want to tell you what it is. So, of course, I ran over to her.

  When she opened the trunk, my eyes must’ve popped out of my head. It was like someone had emptied a toy store into it. Like how Santa’s workshop must look on the morning of Christmas Eve.

  She told me everything was for me. I liked her voice. She sounded different from anyone else I knew.

  I picked up a stuffed toy and cupped it in my hands. It had the softest fur I’d ever felt.

  “Rabbit,” the woman said.

  I’d seen rabbits hopping around the base of trees, so I knew this wasn’t one. But I didn’t want to hurt her feelings, so I kept this to myself. Instead, I gave it a name: “Rum.” I’d meant to say “run,” because that’s something rabbits do well, but it came out “rum,” and the woman’s face kind of scrunched up. Then she laughed, which was nice.

  I brushed Rum’s soft fur against my cheek. The woman got misty-eyed then. I offered her Rum so she could feel his fur too. She held him to her cheek and closed her eyes, which squeezed out a tear.

  Something crashed inside the house. A moment later, the screen door flew open and clattered against the side of the house. The man stomped across the yard and towered over me.

  “Let’s go,” he said.

  I thought he was talking to me. The door banging was scary enough, but this was even worse.

  “Now!” he shouted, and this time, I realized he was speaking to the nice woman, not to me.

  Momma was just behind him. She rushed to me and held me tight against her. “It’s okay, Lola,” she whispered. “Everything’s okay.”

  But it wasn’t okay. I could tell by the look on the nice woman’s face. The man slammed the trunk and yanked his door open.

  As soon as the nice woman got in the car, the man sped out into the road so hard, the wheels skidded. Dust billowed around us like a cloud.

  I didn’t understand what was happening. Momma was squeezing me so tight that it hurt. Ms. Archambault was running over to us. I started bawling.