by Gordon Jack
“Which one?”
“My mother watches all of them. It has given her a distorted view of life here. She thinks that if you step outside, you will be murdered.”
“Has she seen our town?” I asked.
“It is illogical, and thus pointless to argue with her.”
“But you have to. Otherwise, you’ll never leave your back lawn.”
“She lets me go to the library.”
“And the park, right? How did you know about the LARPers?”
“My mother and I saw them performing on our way home from the supermarket. She thought it was a turf war.”
“Spencer, we have to fix this. There’s more to life than school and the library.”
“You’re forgetting I have my telescope.”
“Oh right. My bad. You’ve got everything you need.”
“I sense you’re being sarcastic.”
“I am. Let me talk with your mom. As your mentor, I feel it is my duty.”
“I assure you, that would only make things worse.”
“Well, we’ve got to do something.”
“Let’s solve your problem first. You need a witness who can help you catch the saboteur.”
“I was actually thinking about the girl I met at LARPing last week.”
“They’re congregating tonight if you want to see her again.”
“I do want to see her again,” I said. “And I need her to be in battle gear.”
I arrived at Arroyo Park at the same time as last week. I wasn’t in costume this time, so I stayed in my parked car and observed the LARPers from the curb. The crowd was spotlit in the dark by the streetlights, which were positioned twenty feet from each other along a cement bike path that snaked through the park’s lawn. It didn’t take me long to spot Audrey in the crowd. She was the only maiden carrying a sword and picking fights with the menfolk. The gray-haired women kept trying to lure her away with gossip or dancing, but she took little interest in these traditional gender roles. She was an anachronism within an anachronism.
When I sensed the crowd breaking up, I got out of my car and pretended to walk casually along the bike path, as if on an evening stroll.
“Hey, Audrey,” I said, approaching her.
She spun around and squinted. Where were her glasses? Maybe corrective lenses didn’t exist during the Renaissance. Or maybe she only wore them at school to prevent people from seeing how hot she was, the way Clark Kent hides behind his dorky attire to protect his Superman identity.
She looked even more beautiful tonight than last week. She was dressed again in her Renaissance costume, which turned her breasts into a giant billboard that screamed, Check these out! Moving upward, my eyes drank in her pale, slender neck leading to her full, red lips, delicate nose, and slightly crooked eyes. Her forehead was sprinkled with perspiration, making her glow in the light of the streetlamp. A thin ringlet of light brown hair curled down from the mass of curls held back by a decorative hat.
“Lawrence,” she said. “What brings you out in such strange costume?”
“I was just passing by and thought I’d say huzzah!”
Audrey smiled. She had a small gap between her two front teeth, which was weirdly sexy.
“Wither goest thou?”
“Me? Nowhere, really. How about you?”
“I am to bed. It has been a tiring evening. I am aweary of these revels.”
“I can give you a ride. If you like.”
“Good sir, I thank ye.” She did a slight curtsy and followed me to my car. I worried she might carry the act too far and exclaim, “What strange carriage is this?” when she saw my BMW, but she got in without comment.
We settled in our seats and buckled up. Before starting the car, I turned to her and said, “Actually, I have a favor to ask you.”
Audrey shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “I hardly know you, sir,” she said softly.
“It’s nothing weird,” I said. “I was just hoping you could help me catch a vampire posing as a Viking.”
I explained the situation as best I could, telling her everything from my disastrous mascot performance at the football game to my most recent meeting with Stone.
“That villainous harpy!” Audrey exclaimed after I told her my story, which was like the perfect thing to say. I would have leaned over and kissed her right then if I didn’t think it would drive her out of my car and into oncoming traffic.
“How can I assist you?” she asked.
“How would you like to go on a stakeout?”
“Hold you the watch tonight?”
“Aye, m’lady,” I said, and turned on the car.
EIGHTEEN
We parked across the street from the school and waited in the darkness. After about fifteen minutes, I realized this was an awful plan. Who knew when or if Zoe would make an appearance? Still, I didn’t say anything because I liked being next to Audrey. Despite spending the last few hours sword fighting, she smelled of honey and lavender, and her fake English accent sounded like Hermione Granger.
“You sure you don’t have to be home?” I asked when my digital clock clicked over to eleven o’clock. As much as I enjoyed sharing this confined space with Audrey, I could tell our stakeout was getting a little boring for her. She was used to swordplay and axe-throwing, not modern-day detective work.
“My grandmother is in deep slumber until the cock crows.”
“What about your parents?”
“Alas, they have shuffled off this mortal coil.”
“Meaning?”
“I am an orphan.”
“Like, literally?”
Audrey nodded. I had never met a real orphan before. To be honest, I sort of thought orphans only existed in children’s stories. Practically every book I read when I was little was about a young boy or girl who went off on great adventures after their parents died. It seemed kind of awesome, but I could tell by Audrey’s expression that that had not been her experience.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “That must . . . suck.” I’m sure there was a better way to express my condolences, but at this moment words failed me. If only I had some ready-to-quote lines from Shakespeare like Audrey had memorized, I might be able to console her better.
Audrey shrugged. “They passed away when I was a wee thing. I struggle now to recall their faces, which makes me sad.”
“Sometimes I feel like an orphan,” I said. “My dad works all the time and my mom is never home. Want to see how we communicate?” I pulled up our family website on my phone and showed Audrey the chat session Mom and I had about my choice of vegetable for dinner.
“’Tis the modern age,” she said.
“And it’s only going to get worse. She met with some executives at VirtueTech this week who loved her site and want to scale it big.”
“Do you miss them?”
“I did. Especially when I was younger. Then I got used to it. It’s weird. Sometimes I wonder why my parents even had me in the first place. They’ve always worked hella long hours. I’ve pretty much been raised by nannies, cooks, and therapists.”
I didn’t like the way my driver’s seat was starting to feel like a psychologist’s couch. This kind of confession was not a great way to impress the ladies, especially on a first date. I should save the vulnerability for later. Right now, I needed to impress her with my rugged manliness. “Wanna see some origami?”
“Pardon?”
I reached into my backseat and grabbed the Golf Digest magazine Dad had conveniently “forgotten” when I gave him a lift to the airport. After carefully tearing out a page, I did some quick folds on the hard surface of my dashboard and presented Audrey with an adequate swan. Not my best work, but given the paper and workspace, it wasn’t bad.
“’Tis a thing of beauty,” she said, turning the creature around in her hands.
“I can do better,” I assured her. “When I was thirteen, I won a silver medal in a national origami design contest.”
“You’re an artist,”
Audrey said. Did I detect a note of surprise in her voice? It was hard to tell through the fake British accent.
“Not really,” I said. “I don’t make much anymore.”
“Why not?”
I shrugged. “Origami isn’t cool like graffiti or even cartooning. It’s closer to doing tricks with a yo-yo.”
“Not true. Your work is like sculpture. You create winged creatures out of nothing.”
“That’s what I always loved about it. The purity. It’s just you and the paper.”
“Few men can see a swan in a plain piece of parchment.” Audrey placed her fingertips against my thigh. “Do not trouble yourself with the opinions of others. To thine own self be true.”
“Tell that to my dad. He was so happy when I gave up origami and started smoking pot.”
“You lie.”
“It’s true. I mean, he wouldn’t admit it, but he likes me better now that I have friends.”
Audrey pulled her hand back and used it to cover her mouth. I didn’t know if she was shocked by Dad’s behavior or my own. Did she not know I smoked pot? I assumed everyone knew that, given my history of fuckups.
“But I’m done with that now. The pot smoking, I mean. I gave it up. Cold turkey.”
Where do we come up with phrases like “cold turkey” and “on the wagon” to describe sobriety? Seems like we should update these to better convey the agony of deprivation. Something like “I’m off the grid” or “I’m flying coach” would work better.
“Anyway,” I continued, “what sucks about Zoe framing me is the timing. It’s like, I finally start to get my shit together and then I get in trouble for something I didn’t do. Maybe it’s karma.”
“Our wills and our fates do so contrary run.”
“How do you pull phrases like that out so easily?” I asked.
“I read a lot of Shakespeare.”
“Because . . . ?”
“It’s beautiful. His language makes sense to me. Even when I don’t understand it.”
“I feel the same way about Homer.”
Audrey’s mouth dropped open a few millimeters in surprise. I had to fight the urge to lean over and kiss her parted lips.
“You speak of the poet, not the cartoon character?”
“The poet. I’ve been reading The Odyssey.”
Audrey closed her eyes and spoke in the soft voice of the Muse.
Many cities did he visit, and many were the nations with whose manners and customs he was acquainted; moreover he suffered much by sea while trying to save his own life and bring his men safely home; but do what he might he could not save his men, for they perished through their own sheer folly.
I stared at Audrey in wonder. This was the opening of The Odyssey. The girl must have a photographic memory. Either that or she heard the music in these classic texts that helped her memorize the lines. What I could do with Led Zeppelin lyrics, she could do with Shakespeare and Homer.
“Those are the lines that hooked me,” I said. “Especially that last part.”
Audrey nodded. “Odysseus’s recklessness kills his crew.”
“What? No, you have it backward. It’s the crew that almost ruins him.”
“The hardships they face arise from Odysseus’s irresponsibility.”
“Odysseus is the only smart one on board. His shipmates are the idiots.”
“Kind sir, when your only route home is by sea, is it intelligent to anger the ocean god by blinding his son?”
“The Cyclops was going to eat him!”
“Only because Odysseus broke into his home and stole his property!”
“I don’t think it’s cool to eat someone just for crashing at your pad.”
“Odysseus slaughters all the suitors in his home for doing the same thing.”
“That was different. They were trying to steal his woman.”
Audrey groaned in exasperation. The sexual tension was definitely rising between us. Either that or Audrey was about to punch me. Sometimes I confuse the signals.
I wanted Audrey to lean a little closer, but she clung to the passenger door as if still undecided about her exit strategy. She probably thought I was that same dumbass stoner from last year. The one who might be pursuing her as part of some bet about who could hook up with the biggest weirdo on campus. I decided to allay her fears.
“This outfit really accentuates your”—don’t say breasts, don’t say breasts—“breasts.”
“What?”
“Eyes! I meant eyes. You’ve got really pretty eyes.”
Even in the dark I could feel Audrey’s blush. Her face warmed the interior of my car like fast-food takeout.
“You know,” I said with all the tenderness I could muster. “I could help you with your look.”
“Help me?”
“Yeah. I’ve recently started mentoring this freshman who was a total mess. He had no clue how to fit in. He carried his viola case everywhere, wore cuff links to school, corrected people’s grammar. Stuff like that. I’ve been working with him and now he’s like a normal person. Well, not totally normal. He still cuffs his pants and doesn’t look you in the eye when he’s talking to you, but he doesn’t stand out as much as he did before.”
“And this is how you’d help me?” Audrey said, her tone about twenty degrees cooler than when she’d last spoken. “You’d make me normal?”
“Yeah. And you’ve got way less work to do than Spencer.”
“Prithee. What is normal?”
“Normal is . . . normal.”
Audrey looked at me strangely. Clearly, she was looking for a better definition of the word than the word itself.
“Normal is, well, you don’t really see normal, because it’s everywhere. It’s invisible.”
“So, you want me to be invisible?”
“Well, when you put it like that it doesn’t sound very good.”
“I think I’d like to go home now.”
“Don’t be mad. I’m not explaining myself very well. By normal, I mean normal. Shit, I did it again. What I mean to say is, you’re smart, nice, and super hot when you dress in these Renaissance costumes. I want people to see that but not make fun of you. I want you to stand out but not in a weird way. You should stand out and simultaneously blend in. Does that make sense?”
She nodded but I could tell we were done for tonight. Maybe forever.
I dropped her off in front of a modest single-story home a few blocks away from school. Given Audrey’s love of dress-up and make-believe, I half expected her residence to have turrets and be surrounded by a moat, but it was a normal house, as far as I could tell in the dark. A dim porch light illuminated a front door with peeling yellow paint. The lawn near the sidewalk was mostly dirt and weeds. I would have offered to loan her our gardener to spruce the place up, but Audrey didn’t seem open to this kind of constructive criticism.
“See you at school Monday,” I said as she exited the vehicle. She left the passenger door open and stormed up her walkway. About halfway to the front door, she paused, spun around, and marched back to me.
“My tongue will tell the anger of my heart, or else my heart concealing it will break,” she said. She thrust the origami swan I had given her in my face. “Did you make this creature for me because it is what you think I am or what you want me to become?”
“What? No, I—”
“I know you mean well in wishing me normal, but I have no desire to be common.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Might I remind you that you are the one dueling vampires and Vikings. That’s hardly normal behavior. But it is precisely why I have grown fond of your company.”
“I’m sorry. Forget I said anything.”
Audrey nodded curtly and walked back to her home. Fixing her was going to be harder than I thought. At least with Spencer, he listened to my advice (and sometimes grudgingly accepted it). Audrey didn’t even realize there was a problem that needed correcting. Still, the bigger the challenge, the bigg
er the reward. If I could fix Audrey, it wouldn’t be so embarrassing to claim her as my girlfriend. I’m sure she’d see this as a win-win.
I did the gentlemanly thing and waited for Audrey to enter her home, but she just stood at the entrance and waved like someone on a stalled float. Eventually, it felt kinda weird to just sit there parked outside her house, so I drove off. I saw her shrink in my rearview mirror, but she didn’t make any move to go inside.
I was exhausted when I got home so I went straight to bed. As soon as my head hit the pillow though, my cell phone buzzed with an incoming text. My first thought was that it was Mom asking me to log in my sleep time (a new feature she was beta testing), but the text came from Eddie. Did u do this? he asked. Underneath his message was a photo of a pile of rubble. Two-by-four boards lay scattered in someone’s driveway beside mounds of tissue paper and chicken wire.
What’s this? I typed back.
The sophomore class homecoming float. It’s been destroyed.
WTF? I texted back. Why would Eddie think I would do something like this? He texted me back another picture that was apparently being sent to every Facebook friend of Lindsey Spector, the sophomore class president. Spray-painted in bright red on her driveway was the message:
Better luck next time Lawrence.
NINETEEN
“There should have been a comma!” I said to Stone on Monday, after he summoned me from first-period U.S. History. “The message should have read, ‘Better luck next time—comma—Lawrence.’” Whoever did this was sending me a message. With lousy punctuation.”
“That’s not the way it reads,” Stone said.
“Why would I sign my name to an act of vandalism? I’m not that stupid.”
Stone let that one hang in the air for a good thirty seconds before responding. He thrust a grainy black-and-white photo in my direction. I picked it up and saw a familiar Viking staring back at me. Whoever was wearing the mascot head was scaling a wooden fence, holding a crowbar.
“When was this taken?”
“Neighbors of the Spectors have a surveillance camera. They said they saw some kid matching your description sneak into their yard around ten o’clock Friday night.”
