Rush

by Jonathan Friesen

  “I’m sorry. It’s just. You’re absolutely gorgeous.”

  She lifts my chin. “No need to apologize. Are you ready?”

  “For anything.”

  “TAKE A LEFT AT THE CORNER.”

  I frown at my date. “You sure?”

  “Now take the next right.”

  “But—”

  “Pull in.”

  I slow the car and breathe deep. We cross beneath the wrought-iron arch and roll to a stop. I played here when I was young, leaped from stone to stone, but the ground feels different now—more sacred, like Dad said it would one day. I set out and wade through the tall grass, to where I remember rests the first stone marker. I bend and swat away brush until my hand grazes cool granite. I trace the date with my pointer. 1935. HE FOUGHT BRAVELY.

  The firefighters’ graveyard is the reason Dad bought this hill. There were many other mounds available, in better locations along the ocean. But none of them came with this memorial. Thirty-plus markers to unknown men who died in the Pasquat Blaze of ’35.

  It’s too soon, Koss’s death too fresh, and my stomach turns.

  I gesture around the place with my arms. “This is where you want to go on your prom night? There were plenty of restaurants in Holdingford.”

  She reaches into the car, and John Lennon floods the cemetery with “Imagine.”

  “Will you dance with me?” she asks.

  “Here?” I look around. “It doesn’t seem right, us dancing on top of all them.”

  “Will you dance with me?” She reaches out a hand, and I take it. We find an open spot. She lifts my hands, places them on her shoulders, and grabs my lapels. “Look at me.”

  I am. There’s no way to avoid it. Her eyes capture, and the stones behind her fade away.

  I pull her close, and she rests her head on my chest. My hands move over her bare back. Every part of me comes to life.

  “So how about now?” she says. “What do you want to do right now?”

  My mind swims. “Why do you keep asking me that? It’s not obvious?”

  “Many things have been obvious these last ten years . . . Do you like it here in my arms?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How about your body and that unique brain of yours? Do they feel alive?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And how’s the weather inside?” She taps my temple. “Partly cloudy?”

  “Clear. Warm. It’s sure pleasant enough.”

  We sway in the headlights and listen to the breeze whistle through the graveyard. The music stopped long ago, but there’s no need for beat, for rhythm. We fit. We flow. We belong.

  “I want us to be together,” she whispers. “If you stay with Mox . . . I know you. You’ll push, and I’ll get a call like we did with Drew.” She swallows hard. “It’ll be you this time. And I couldn’t bear to lose both of you.”

  I glance around and hug tighter.

  “Do you want to be one of these stones?” she continues. “Do you want to be where I’m not?”

  I shake my head. She’s right. I see it all. I see where it’s going.

  “So, friend, prom date, what will you do?” she asks.

  Here’s when I should tell her that I’ve thought about her since, well, forever. I should tell her why I’ve held her away. Why I’ve been afraid. I should let her into my world. All the way in. Right now, I know, Salome is my rush and always has been. I could find happiness. Maybe even peace.

  But there’s a knife that twists in my gut, the stabbing from a blade held by Koss’s last words.

  I shuffle my feet and run hands through my hair.

  I have to stay in a little longer. But I can’t disappoint her tonight.

  “I’ll leave. I’ll tell Mox when I get back.”

  Salome grabs my cheeks and pulls my gaze into hers. “Give me your guarantee.”

  I’m screwed. “You got it.”

  She hugs me. I feel like a loser.

  We finish the dance. Salome whirls and laughs. I grin—I’ve never seen her so happy, but when I pull her close, when my face is shielded from her gaze, my grin falls. To keep my friend’s smile, I must ignore Koss’s final wish.

  The wind dies, and I slump toward the car. I feel Salome’s gaze land heavy on my back.

  “Only one dance?” she asks.

  I rub my eyes. “After I quit . . . let’s think here. What else am I gonna do?” I peek at her, her arms limp at her sides. I’m doing it again. Ruining her second prom. “But I know it’s right. I mean, you make sense.”

  “I want to do more than just make sense.” She approaches.

  I nod. “You do.”

  We get back into the Beetle and drive up the hill in silence. An old truck is parked out front of the shack. I crunch to a stop. “Stay here. I’ll get rid of them.”

  I hop out of the car, step quietly onto the porch, and throw open the door.

  A scream, followed by fast Spanish. A woman gathers two children to herself. All I see are silhouettes and the whites of their eyes in the moonlight. The woman says nothing.

  “English?”

  She shakes her head.

  I nod, lift up my hands. “Stay.”

  I turn and pause. I glance back at the girls, at the beautiful necklaces strung around their necks. Blue rocks.

  I point to the girls, gesture toward their necks. Mom speaks quickly, starts to remove the strung stones. I wave my hands.

  “No. You can keep them.” I smile. I lift hands to the sky and shrug. “Where did you find them?”

  She points to the closet. I open the door. In the dim light, there is a flash of blue from a jar on the floor. Our jar sparkles. Half full. I reach in and grab a few handfuls. It feels like I’m touching something precious, holy, I guess. I stuff my pockets with blue rocks and leave.

  Outside, Salome lifts her head, eyes full of worry.

  “It’s a woman and a couple small kids,” I say. “Gotta let them stay.”

  Salome nods. “I’ll get our things.” She disappears into the shack, appears a few minutes later.

  “What about us?” she asks. “I don’t want to go back. Not yet.”

  Her face glows smooth and light beneath the moon. It’s no fair to look as she does. Not fair to me.

  “I got a question,” I say. “Seeing as we’re not really neighbors right now—”

  She raises her eyebrows.

  I squirm. “I mean, yeah, we’re neighbors, or at least were and this is your prom and all . . .”

  “Go on.”

  “And to make it a real prom, I’m thinking, well . . .”

  I kiss her. Full and rich and real. A breeze blows, swirls gentle around us. It touches every part of her body and vanishes into the night. But I get to stay and caress her arms and neck. I hear my name melt my ear, feel her lips turn mine to Jell-O. Knees weaken, and there’s a good chance I’ll go down, but not without her. Nowhere without her. She knows me and still she kisses me, and inside hope wakes up. She kisses me new.

  We stumble toward the car with bodies locked. I fumble with the door, throw it open, and we ease into the front seat. My fingers stroke her hair, her shoulders, her back. They move toward the zipper, inch it down. Salome whispers, “Jake.”

  I pull back breathless and stare wild-eyed. “I’m sorry. I can’t. I shouldn’t. I’m so sorry.”

  She strokes my chest and whispers, “Why can’t you ever shut up.” Salome draws closer.

  But I can’t. My mind clouds. I swore I wouldn’t let anything happen to her, not ever. I can’t lose her.

  “What’s wrong?” She straightens.

  “It means too much, you know? Too much. If you were somebody else . . . If you were Brooke, no problem, but you’re not.”

  All warmth seeps from the car, and she wriggles away from me and into her seat. She flattens her dress and puffs out air.

  I sit by a stranger. Salome stares straight ahead. I am alone and desperate. “Talk to me.”

  She doesn’t move. “Tak
e me home.”

  There’s quiet, and there’s something deeper. More than no noise, it’s no possibility of noise. We drive back to Brockton in that hideous vacuum.

  I pull into the Lees’ driveway. “I’ll do what I said.”

  She nods, looks down. “Do whatever you need to. Do what you want.” Salome gets out, walks slowly toward the house.

  “Hey!” I holler. “Sorry about messing up your prom.”

  She pauses, raises a hand, but doesn’t turn.

  CHAPTER 25

  I SPEND THE NIGHT in my car in front of the villa, and wake up with my back on fire.

  Two things I know.

  Life is miserable without Salome, and I destroy whomever I touch.

  I need to apologize, or at least string more painful words together.

  I drive to the Lees’. My legs usually lighten as they walk up her driveway, but not now. Whatever went horribly wrong with her adds weight to my feet.

  My hand suspends in midair, preknock. Mrs. Lee throws open the door.

  Her gaze wanders over my wrinkled tuxedo, comes to rest on my boutonniere. She reaches out and unpins my limp flower.

  “Come in, Jake.”

  She leads me to the living room, where we both sit on couches and say nothing. But her face seems fixed and unreadable, as if she has plenty to say. The silence kills me, and slowly I rise to my feet.

  “I said some things, and I need to see—”

  “She’s back at school.” Mrs. Lee looks down, clasps and unclasps her hands. “She’s hurt.”

  “I know.” In my heart, I feel a snap. “I need to speak with her in person so . . . uh . . .”

  She doesn’t respond, so I say good-bye and let myself out. I jog back to the Beetle and hit the gas.

  Last year, we visited this campus often. I know it, know where she is. In the turret room in the mansion-like stone building on University Avenue. She always said she wanted to live there, and she can talk her way into any place.

  I squeal to a stop in front of the mansion, run up the porch, and knock. Two girls throw open the door, raise their hands to their mouths, and break out laughing.

  “Rough night, huh?” Left Girl says, reaches out her hand. “Maybe I can help.”

  I stare at her face. “Salome Lee. Is she here?”

  Left looks at Right, and both lose their smiles. “Upstairs.” They gesture toward the stairs.

  I nod, push between them, and bound upward. Three staircases later, I throw open the turret door.

  “You didn’t give me much chance to explain—”

  Beautiful arms I know wrap around broad shoulders I know. The kiss ends. Scottie turns, and our gazes lock.

  I’ll kill him.

  Salome runs her hands over her thighs, then through her hair. “Jake, I—”

  I turn and race down the stairs, split Ms. Left and Ms. Right, and sprint to my car. I dig frantically for my keys, yank them out, and whip them across the road.

  My hand comes down on the hood, dents, aches, and comes down again.

  I race to find my keys. My angry search is filled with curses, and I rage in the grassy field in which they landed.

  “Jake!”

  I ignore her, search on.

  “Please, Jake. I want to talk to you.”

  I see a glint, grab the key ring, and storm toward the car.

  “Go on, Salome. Go stick your face on my brother.”

  “Who gave you the right to control my life? You shut up. You shut your mouth.”

  “Done.” I jump in, slam the door, jam the key into the ignition, and squeal away. I look in the rearview. Salome kneels on the grass; Scottie leans over her.

  I want to crush something, because something in me is crushed. Salome can kiss anyone she wants. But she just kissed me.

  I hate Scottie.

  I drive fast and hard and squeal into Brockton. I pant and screech to a halt at the YMCA gym. I don’t know how I got here, only that I need to move something heavy, something Scottie heavy. I need to force a 205-pound something into the air, and scream at it again and again.

  I pound inside and make for the locker room. I smash shut my locker, kick the door open, and stomp into the Y’s weight room. And freeze. Mox and Fatty and Fez high-five on the far side of the gym. Mox and Fez grab a fistful of Fatty’s belly, laugh and joke and stare into the mirrors.

  I walk in, take hold of Mox’s shoulder, and spin him. His eyes grow big, then turn to slits. He reaches for my hand, vise-grips it, and tries to peel it free, but my fingers aren’t moving. I grab his other shoulder and squeeze. I squeeze until his face twitches and his knees buckle.

  “Tell me why you left Koss and me on that last drop. I’m losing everything. Everyone. Since finding out about the Rush Club, life’s . . . been . . . torture.” I topple him onto the mat and stumble backward. Everyone stares at me.

  Mox massages his arms, stands slowly. “How does it feel to kill a man? To be the reason Koss is dead.” He breathes in deeply. “To breathe air and know that your father should be mourning. What does that feel like?”

  “I—I didn’t mean—”

  “You didn’t mean to hurt him?” Mox slowly circles me. “You didn’t mean to join my crew? What in your life do you mean to do?” He stops, leans in, and hisses. “Little victim.”

  I stagger out of the Y. There is an emptiness so big, I can’t fill it. It’s time to leave this town.

  CHAPTER 26

  SUITCASE FILLED, I TAKE ONE more look around the villa, at the wall I spray-painted, the red circle. I’ve now failed Salome and Koss. I’ll leave alone, and the Rush Club will live on.

  “What do you know?”

  I glance back. The three stooges fill the front door. I ignore them.

  Mox repeats, “I said, what—”

  “Heard you the first time.” I turn and look. He isn’t so everything now. But neither am I.

  “Before you run off again, would you be so kind as to tell me where you found out about the Rush Club.” He glances at the dried-blood circle on the wall. “Scottie? Troy?”

  “I watched you emcee Troy’s ceremony.” I grab hooded pullovers from the front closet. “You kill firefighters. Don’t know how you live with that.”

  “It’s not that different from what you did,” Mox hisses, tongues his cheek. “I don’t force the spin on anyone. Face it. You have no idea why we do it.” He winces and stretches his shoulder. “But you could.”

  I drop my suitcase.

  Mox continues, “There’s room for you.”

  “No. It’s the rule. Only twenty.”

  Mox looks down. “Don’t suspect he’ll object now. You took care of that.”

  Fez eases up to Mox. “What are you thinking? You saw what he did.”

  I reach for my suitcase handle, then pause. My fingers stretch and ball into a fist.

  Mox wants me dead. He hates me. He hates my being young. He hates my having been forced on his team. He hates my dad, my brother, and what I did to Koss.

  I stare at his smirk. This isn’t an offer. It’s an opportunity for all that hate of his to come out.

  “You want me in.”

  He smiles and says nothing.

  Mox is playing. He rocks like he’s close to a blaze. He wants to extinguish my life.

  I straighten, face him square, and whisper, “You want me dead.”

  His lip curls up.

  Join the Rush Club. Kill the Rush Club. My last chance to keep my guarantee.

  “If you let me in, I’m coming after you.” I say.

  “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t. So are you—”

  “In.”

  Mox rounds my shoulder with his arm. Like Dad did at the administration building. Like Scottie did at the mill. Like Koss did on the trail and Salome did at the shack. But they’re all gone. All of them. Only my would-be murderer remains in my world. An adrenaline junkie like me.

  CHAPTER 27

  “JAKE.”

  My eyelids shoot o
pen, and I’m wide-awake. I needed a day to think of the right words to tell her, but she beat me to the deal. She’s here. A quiet tap on the window. I flop over and jam my head under the pillow. A minute later, I poke out my head. The world is silent.

  “Get out from beneath that pillow!” Her voice cuts into the room, grabs me by the neck, and yanks. I walk over to the glass and stare out at Salome, her hands cupped around her face.

  Come with me, she mouths.

  I let the shades clap down and turn back toward the bed.

  More tapping. I whip on my clothes, pound out the door, and round the villa.

  I glare at my best friend, say nothing to my best friend.

  “Can we talk?” she asks.

  “Depends on the topic.”

  “Fine,” she says. “About what you saw—”

  “How long you been seeing him?”

  “That’s not tonight’s headline.”

  “Oh, I think it is. ‘Girl Acts All into Jake, Runs Off with Brother.’”

  “How about ‘Stupid Guy So Blind He’ll End Up with Brooke.’”

  “I’m going to bed.” I show her my back and take a step. My left foot snags on her shoe, flies up, and I flop onto the ground.

  She kicks my thigh. “No, you’re coming with me.”

  I scowl at my tripper. She’s beautiful. I hate that about her.

  “You left me.” I push up to a kneel. “I needed you, and you left me.”

  “You don’t need me.” She walks toward her waiting car, looks over her shoulder, and gestures. I rise and join her, climb into her car. Together we speed out of Brockton.

  “We’ve got a long way to go together.” Salome looks over. “So maybe it’s best if you don’t speak. It’ll keep you from saying something stupid.”

  “Where we going?”

  She says nothing.

  “I’ll play along, just don’t take me to your boy-friend.”

  Tires squeal. “You can’t keep that mouth shut. I warned you.” She grabs my ear. “Scottie’s not my boy-friend. And if he was, would that bother you?”

  I reach up, free my lobe from her pinchers. “Not at all,” I lie.

  Salome leans back and breathes deep. “Mom was right.”