by B. C. Tweedt
Greyson had given Kit a look, pleading with him to tell him what to do – but all he had needed was one more of the girl’s screams. Something had clicked inside of him, turning off all thoughts except for one. Determined to do good, to inch one step closer to the cure, he had marched up to the boy, jaw set and fists clenched. Before he knew it, his punch had taken the boy down.
The sharp pain from his knuckles had plunged him back into reality. The boy on the ground and his startled girlfriend were staring at him, and so was their driver from Florida.
His cover had been blown. Without a word, he had sprinted away, leaving behind the teenaged boy’s screams and their free ride to Florida.
A few miserable nights had followed. He and Kit had wandered through Nashville, watched a night-time protest turn into a riot – complete with tear gas, police with shields, and a police drone – and then mingled with a few other homeless, even taking a meal at a shelter before moving on. It had been hard to navigate the city, with all its cameras and people. It was a whole different world to him, and it seemed to be falling apart. Though the country was more peaceful, food had been even harder to come by.
Greyson shook his head, feeling light-headed. What had he been thinking about? Feeling the bills in his hand, he remembered. The woman’s frightened face. Her shouts and shaking hand – like she had to protect her family from him. From me.
Trying to ignore the pangs of conscience, he turned to the front cover of his Bible where the Payback List had grown much longer. On top he had hastily scrawled, “8,002 lives.” Below that, in an organized list, was everything he had stolen so far, starting with the things he owed John and Eric and Alyssa. There was the horse from John’s neighbor (Ol’ Steve), the Georgia map he’d taken from inside a car with license plate number A67 BTR, the orchard’s apples that had fed him and Kit for two days, the bike that had blown a tire after a day and a half, the lighter that had helped him cook the rabbit he had managed to kill and skin in the forest, and so on.
But as he added the eight dollars to the list, the guilt came trickling back in. He had no idea who she was; there was no way he would be able to pay her back. He had taken her money; he was happy to. He’d have taken more from her if she’d had it. The whole list was full of similar choices.
Now-familiar thoughts tormented him. You’re a thief. A thief! A low-life.
You’re no better than CheekBones.
It had only taken a week or two to sink that low.
He felt the familiar signs of crying begin to suck at his lungs, but he fought hard to press it down with deep, conscious breaths. He’d become harder since giving up in that puddle.
No more crying. Fight it. You’ll make it right. You’ll pay it all back.
“Let’s hide out here for a bit, boy, then we’ll find somewhere to spend it.”
Greyson quickly pocketed the cash, laid out his dinosaur blanket, and rested against his backpack. His backpack made a solid pillow, though it had seen better days. He’d made sure to repair the rips as much as possible by stealing used duct tape from someone’s thrown-out garden hoe; if something was useful, he’d never throw it out.
Once he saw Greyson settle on the soft blanket, Kit snuggled close as well. He knew the now-familiar routine. Whenever Greyson needed a distraction from the cold, the hunger, or the guilt, he pulled out the tiny book and flipped open to the page where he had left off. He’d read it in many odd, solitary places over the last few days – under a bridge, in a rail car on abandoned railroad tracks, and even inside a playground’s covered slide, listening to the pattering rain on the plastic above.
Though his parents had kept a Bible at home somewhere and would open it at Easter and Christmas church services, he had never thought to read it by himself. It was so big and boring. But John’s story had interested him, and the other stories so far had been interesting as well. Before he had started reading the book of Luke, he’d always thought of the main character, Jesus, as a kind of hippie who told everyone to love each other, to do good, and to be peaceful – like hippies are supposed to – but he was starting to think Jesus was not just love and flowers. He was actually super-confident and ruffled a lot of feathers.
Still fighting off the guilt, Greyson slipped the Polaroid from its position as bookmark and put it near the back. He started by skimming the first six chapters, reviewing what he’d read already. In six chapters, the teacher, Jesus, had gone around breaking laws, messing with demons, and commanding a group of men he called disciples to do his bidding. He was a man on a mission and he wouldn’t stop for anything or anyone – except to heal someone or drive out evil. Greyson liked that about him.
He glanced at Kit, who rested his head on his front legs at the edge of the book’s flimsy pages. Kit liked to listen to him, and often Greyson was so confused or surprised by what he read, he just had to share. “So…” Greyson started, pointing at the text as if Kit could understand, “…he’s just healed a guy with leopardsy…”
Kit cocked his head and Greyson shrugged. “It’s like a skin disease, I think, where you get spots all over. But anyway, he’s also raised some kids from the dead, and a mob of people tried to throw him off a cliff, but he went all ninja on them and vanished. He’s pretty beast.”
Greyson returned to the seventh chapter and read on, holding the book in one hand and stroking Kit’s ears with the other. When he had finished the story he scrunched his brow. “Weird…”
Kit’s ears perked up like he wanted to hear. Greyson laughed. “Jesus goes to this rich guy’s house and is eating at the table when this lady walks in and like starts bawling…” he said, acting out what she did, “…just weeping at his feet. And she gets his feet all wet with her tears…so she wipes them off with her hair.”
Greyson heaved with silent laughter as he imagined the scene, and Kit tilted his head in response. “But then she…yeah this is weird…she kisses his feet! And to top it all off…she pours perfume on them.”
Still laughing, Greyson looked again at the text. “I didn’t know Jesus was such a lady’s man. Or maybe this chick’s just kind of obsessed. Whatcha think?”
Kit didn’t answer, so Greyson shrugged. “It’s kind of…well, really, weird…but I guess if Sydney rubbed her hair on my feet, my feet would smell a whole lot better than they smell like now. Probably like strawberries.”
Though he once had a rotation going, he hadn’t changed socks for days. He was pretty sure they made a squishing sound when he walked. “But, I bet Jesus’ feet were even worse than mine, wearing sandals all the time with all those animals around pooping on whatever they wanted. No offense.”
Kit didn’t act offended. He just panted.
“Oh. I should finish. The rich guy gets angry at Jesus for letting her do that because…just a second,” he paused as he found the place in the text to quote, “because he should know what kind of woman she is – a sinner.”
Sinner. An evil-doer. Greyson wasn’t sure what the woman had done, but it must have been bad. Not as bad as 8,002 lives worth of bad, though.
“But Jesus says it’s cool, because she’s done so much bad stuff that she should be even more grateful to him. He says, uh…‘He who has been forgiven much, loves much. He who has been forgiven little, loves little.”
Greyson let the words sink in as he thought of how to explain them to the dog. Suddenly he realized that the words – the story – was much like what he was going through. He was like that woman – without the whole foot kissing thing. He was a sinner. He was the one who should love much because he needed so much forgiveness. If he loved much, maybe he could he be forgiven for all the evil he had done.
Getting excited, he returned to the story.
“Finally Jesus says, ‘Your faith has saved you. Go in peace.’” Greyson cocked his head. “That whole hair cleaning thing saved her!” he said, exasperated. “That was it! She just did this like crazy act of kindness and Jesus said she was saved. Maybe it was so good that it outweighed her bad. But
all she had to do was…wash…”
Wash.
The thought triggered an idea. He knew what he had to do with the money. If he bought food, he’d be hungry again in a few hours. If he bought a tarp, he’d stay dry, but still hungry. If he got a cab, he’d only gain a few miles. He needed to use the money to get more money – and he couldn’t steal anymore or he’d never be able to make it up to God.
He put the list away and hurried to peek through a gap in the fence. At first he shook it off as a bad idea, but the more he looked at it, the more confident he became. He opened the gate to see it clearly.
The car wash. It was beautiful. “Yes…”
Chapter 24
“YES!”
Jarryd bounced up and down on the gangway, the reflection of the gigantic cruise ship filling his aviator sunglasses. It was spectacular. Over three football fields long and twenty stories high, it was almost a floating city, holding nearly 8,000 people at a given time. And their group would account for only eight.
Nick nodded, putting his hands on his hips, just above his red fanny pack. “It has four swimming pools, ten hot tubs, two wave-pools, two rock walls, a miniature golf course, a basketball court, a zip-line, a surfing simulator, a carousel, and a park.”
“And no dishes or laundry…” Sydney’s mother added.
“And unlimited, delicious food,” Sydney’s father added, winking at his wife.
“And a spa!” Jarryd concluded. After the long drive and a week of unloading and unpacking, he needed a massage. And female interaction. He hadn’t met a single Texan female his own age in their new lame neighborhood. The only friend he’d made was Patrick, but the only thing he had ever wanted to do was nothing.
“But most important…” Sydney exclaimed, still marveling at its size, “…no terrorists.” She crossed her fingers. It was weird to be out and free after so many days cooped up. It was also weird knowing they were probably safer now than before. Only a few people knew where they were, and no one in the port city of Galveston, Texas knew who they were. With new names and a vacation ahead of them, Sydney felt as if they had escaped, just like Greyson had. And hopefully his escape was going as well as theirs.
Nick eyed his skinny biceps that were an unflattering white in the Texas sun. “There’s also a huge fitness center.”
Jarryd shook his head. “We don’t need a Greyson replacement, Try-Hard.”
“Shut up,” Nick said, adjusting his glasses. “What’s wrong with wanting to be jacked?”
“Why do you want to get jacked all of a sudden?”
“Why does it matter? Why do you want to go to the spa?”
“To meet the ladies.”
“Well, maybe that’s why I want to get jacked.”
All eyes turned to him and he blushed red.
“What? Fine. Don’t believe me.”
Sammy suddenly burst toward the open door in the hull. “Dibs on the carousel!”
“Wait!” Mrs. Aldeman shouted. “Uh…what’s-your-name!”
Her husband shook his head at her. “Sammy, dear. It’s been weeks and you don’t remember his name?”
“His other name…dear. His new one.”
The many name changes were getting confusing.
“Oh, right. Ross! Come back here!”
“Well, I got dibs on the surfing simulator,” Jarryd proclaimed.
“You’ll have to shower first.”
“Really, Mom?” Jarryd complained. “I don’t want to shower again.”
---------------
The shower was glorious; it was also the most difficult one Greyson had ever had. The jets of water blasted into his body, sending waves of caked mud and debris to the car wash’s cement floor. He had yelped when the jets had first hit him, they were so cold. And he had to keep pace with the upside-down J-shaped sprayer that hung from the ceiling and swiveled around the shape of a car.
He laughed as he tried to keep up, his bare feet pattering on the wet cement as the cold jets continued to pepper his skin. Kit looked on, fascinated, but unwilling to get wet. Greyson had given up on him quickly, realizing the car wash was only on for limited time. He had to make the most of his four dollars.
DING!
The lights on the display panel shifted from ‘Pre-soak’ to a picture of bubbles, and suddenly another sprayer squirted streams of liquid soap onto his skinny body and boxer briefs. It was slimy and made the floor slippery, but he followed it around in a car-shaped lap as if on a skating rink, rubbing the liquid into fresh-smelling suds.
He threw some at Kit, who moved back a few steps and continued to stare.
DING!
Greyson peeked through the coat of bubbles he wore to the image of a brush. There was a mechanical whirring sound and a clunk as three giant brushes came from both sides and above, whipping their blue washing pads around like they were upside-down Christmas trees being spun like tops.
For a moment he froze, but feeling the exhilaration of the cold and the clean, he slid into the path of the pads and took the soft beating. He could hear Kit growling as the pads slapped at him, but he was smiling and laughing. It was like twenty ferocious nurses were sponge-bathing him at once.
DING!
The rinse cycle shed the remaining suds and left him time to soak his clothes and hat as well.
DING!
Wax.
“Aagh!”
He jumped out of the way of the sprayer just in time and let it do its thing. He laughed at the thought of being a giant candle.
DING!
The huge tube-dryer hummed to life at the exit and Greyson skidded over to it, holding his clothes in both outstretched arms like he was about to take a swan dive. The hot air streamed onto his face and arms, blowing away the beads of water, rustling through his damp hair, and tickling his eyelashes. His smile could not be blown away.
“Hey!” The cashier. “What are you doing?”
Greyson jolted and had to run toward him to snatch his backpack, scampering along the sudsy floor with clothes in hand. Then, frightened and ecstatic at the same time, he hurried out the exit with dog in tow.
As he turned the corner, he could hear the cashier one last time. “Are you that kid?”
Chapter 25
“Hey! What’s your name?” That’s all he would have to say. Four simple words. Or was it five? Do contractions count as one word or two?
Jarryd shook his head. He was overthinking things. But, why? Talking to girls was as easy as riding a bike. Why was he treating it like a unicycle?
It was because this girl was different.
He glanced at her again, and this time she made eye contact, followed by a shy smile. Her long hair was wet, draping to her sun-tanned shoulders. Her blue and yellow one-piece swimming suit hugged every curve of her body. And she was right in front of him in line for the surfing simulator.
He’d seen beautiful girls before, but there was something about this one. Like, superstar quality. Her eyelashes were long and dark, accenting her striking eyes. She had freckles, but even those were like a leopard’s spots, blending into her face like a perfect mosaic. And then there were her plump, red lips, moving like they were begging to be kissed.
“Done this before?” her lips asked.
Jarryd blubbered to himself, waking from his daydream. “Oh – uh…what?”
“The simulat’ah?”
Oh. My. Gosh. She’s Australian. A velvety-voiced one.
He stalled by pulling his bangs across his brow. “Nope. You?” He watched a surfer wipe out, falling straight on his back in the jets of water that rocketed him up the slope to where he would retrieve his board and dignity.
“Yeah. It’s not as fun as real su’fing, but easi’ah.”
He could listen to her talk for hours. And he really didn’t want to wipe out in front of her. “You’ve surfed before? That’s cool.” Come on, Jarryd. Get on your game.
“Yeah. The Box mostly, or Byron Bay.”
“Nice. I’ve surfed, t
oo.”
“Oh, yeah? Where?”
“The Internet mostly, or Couch Potato Bay.”
She laughed and punched him on his shoulder. “You’re a funny dag, aren’t you?”
“Thanks. I try.” Dag?
“I can give you some tips if you’d like. I once was a shark biscuit myself.”
That must’ve been a lucky shark. “Sure!”
He might have sounded too enthusiastic, so he glanced around the deck that was rapidly filling with people. It was a party-like atmosphere, with thumping music on the basketball court, smiling putters at the miniature golf, and food and drinks galore in most everyone’s hands – and they hadn’t even left the port yet.
“First tip, be confident. If you panic, you get all wo’bleh.”
He loved how she pronounced ‘wobbly’. “Got it. I won’t be a wallaby.”
She laughed. “Nice one.”
“Don’t worry. Confidence is my middle name.”
“What’s y’ah first name?”
Jarryd balked. His fake name was so stupid. “Joey.”
“Like a baby ‘roo?”
He blushed as they stepped forward in line. They were getting closer to the front. “No. Like the character from that old TV sitcom.”
She smirked. “Friends?”
“I hope so. Maybe more than that, but let’s not rush.”
At first he thought he’d gone too far as she scrunched her eyebrows like Sydney would before hitting him, but then she let her eyes drop over him, inspecting his body. He suddenly wished he hadn’t eaten that extra Cinnabon at the airport.
“You look sooky enough. We can be mates. Have some fun.”
“Mates?”
“Yeah.”
He smiled so wide his lips hurt. But he wanted to hide his front teeth so he forced his lips down.
They took a step closer to the front as the line moved. Only one more kid before it was her turn.
