“100% Accuracy!” adorns our cake in puffy orange icing.
“You’d think they’d put our names on it.” Piren jabs his finger into the frosting. “’Cause, you know, this party is to celebrate us, right?”
“You’d think. But you’re not Boss Man.”
About twenty other Assignment Lab employees crowd around the small table. Clearly, they came for the free food; I don’t think any of them know Piren, Pernessa, or me by name. I recognize a beady-eyed man who referred to me as “Trudy” the other day.
“Cake?” Piren slices into the dessert. “It’s your favorite color.”
He rotates the plate, revealing the cake’s spongy purple innards.
I stab my fork into it. “My favorite.”
We demolish our dessert and settle back at our station for another afternoon of hard work.
By the time seven o’clock rolls around, spotlights from streetlamps dapple the dark parking lot. We volunteered to stay an extra couple hours to wrap up the day, but we probably owe about four hundred extra hours for all our time spent screwing around.
The bitter wind bites our faces as we exit the Lab. As always, Piren parked beside me—we like to say our cars are best friends too. However, they’re quite the mismatched pair; his sleek sports car overshadows the rusting lump I lovingly refer to as “The Shitmobile.” Our two cars sit alone in a pavement desert. At this late hour, the parking lot is practically empty. Aside from our cars, the only other vehicular residents are Clarence’s beat-up station wagon and another car isolated in the furthest dark corner of the lot.
“Kinda creepy this late, huh?” he asks.
“Yeah, The Shitmobile’s pretty menacing in the dark.”
He smirks. “You wish.”
“I do indeed.”
We say good night and climb into our cars.
I rub my numb hands together to fight the frigid winter air and ram the key into the ignition.
Cla-cla-cla-cla…
Unamused by the cold, The Shitmobile grumbles and struggles, but doesn’t roar to life.
“Are you frigging kidding me?” Shivers rattle through my body. “Come on…”
Stubborn as hell, it revs and moans. My teeth chatter as I curse the car in my head for not starting—or heating.
“Come on!” I slap the steering wheel. “Really?”
“Eh-eh-eh-eh,” The Shitmobile responds, emitting freakish grunts from its engine.
“Ugh.” I slam the back of my head against my seat in frustration.
What the hell do I do now? Wait for Clarence or whoever owns that creepy car in the corner to come outside? Great.
My breath clouds against the rearview mirror.
I jump as Piren taps my car window, tottering back and forth on his feet. I crank the window down a crack.
“Hey, stranger,” he says. “Mighty chilly out, need a lift?”
I bat my eyelashes. “Oh, happy day! A strange man has come to rescue me.”
“Did The Shitmobile finally die?”
“No.” I sigh, patting the dashboard like it’s a dog. “Just seriously ill.”
He sticks his head in the window. “This thing is ancient. Probably can’t handle the cold.”
“Hey now!” I press my hand over my heart. “The Shitmobile doesn’t appreciate being insulted.”
“You can ask it how it felt to transport dinosaurs back in its childhood.”
“You know, you’re opening your mouth, and all this bullshit keeps pouring out.”
“Yeah, yeah. Well, it’s probably too late to tow it.” He hops up and down on his toes, rubbing his gloved hands together. “Am I driving you home, or are you going to sit there and mope all night?”
“Mope. Definitely.”
“Nope. Out.” He opens my car door, pointing to his car in the next spot. “Get in the car, punk.”
“You kidnapping me?”
He gives me a sideways smile. “Yep. You and your big fangs.”
I click my keys from the obstinate ignition. “Good.”
We slide into the cushy leather seats of his snazzy car, and I crank up the heat dial.
“What are you, a lizard?” he says. “It’s like ten thousand degrees in here.”
“Shut up. It’s nice in here.” I hover my face by the dash’s vent, basking in the wafting warmth.
“Well, if you want to make it home in one piece, turn that inferno down before I fall asleep at the wheel.”
Piren’s car smells like Piren. I inhale, breathing in the aroma of coffee and cinnamon mingled with the smoky scent of leather.
“The Shitmobile finally ready to be laid to rest?” he asks.
“No way. I can resurrect it. There’s another year of life there, I swear.”
“Didn’t you say that about a year ago?”
“Unimportant.”
His car rumbles as he puts it in gear; the cold is no match for a spiffy engine.
“This could be an awesome story,” he says. “A helpful stranger, a damsel in distress?”
“One chilly, chilly night.”
“A stubborn car that eats its victims alive.”
He meets my gaze, and I crack up. “This one’s a keeper. I foresee it being our best story yet.”
We pull out of the parking lot. We’re about to turn, when Piren slams on the brakes, lurching me forward. The seatbelt digs into my stomach, knocking the air from my lungs.
“Geez, watch it!”
He spins toward me in his seat, eyes glimmering with excitement. “You know what would be crazy?”
I rub my seatbelt-sliced midsection. “Not dying in a fiery car wreck?”
“Remember that time we took that wrong bus after school?” He practically bounces in his seat. “There was that old lady?”
“Of course. One of Fat Head and Fangs’ proudest moments.”
“We got cocoa at that café? And it was snowing and cold, like tonight?”
“Yeah.” I inconspicuously raise the heat two notches. “You almost froze your balls off.”
“Wanna go back to that café? See if it’s still there?”
My heart jumps.
Sam will flip if I’m late. I bite my lip. I’ll need to rehearse a good excuse.
A devious smile stretches across my face. “Let’s do it.”
Piren grins and slams the gas.
“Whoosh!” I thrust my hand forward. “Superhero car.”
“You’re so weird.”
“Oh yeah? You’re my best friend. What’s that say about you?”
We drive for over an hour, making turn after turn into the maze of the outer edges of town. Piren cannot for the life of him find the street that will lead us back to the café. I don’t even know if we’re going the right direction, but my ribs ache from laughing.
“Some chauffeur you are,” I say after Piren’s sixteenth illegal U-turn.
“Oh, Ms. Bailey? You think you could do better?”
“I think anyone could do better. Your brother could do better, and he’s the worst driver I’ve ever seen.”
“Comparing me to Mason.” He clicks his tongue. “That’s low. Should we just follow the bus route?”
“I don’t know how to find the frigging bus route.”
“Can you check your phone?”
And deal with Sam’s texts surely piling up? Nope.
“Nope, too lazy, and I don’t want the battery to die.”
“Well, see, you’re not much of a navigator yourself!”
My heart flutters, filling my chest with a floating lightness. Life settles back behind my eyes, dusting away the cobwebs.
Piren spins the wheel in a sharp right turn, and centrifugal force knocks me into his shoulder. My chest tightens. I dart my eyes to the window.
Ebony sky surrounds us in a protective shield. Silver stars twinkle above our heads, welcoming us into the night. I feel…happy.
Why does that feel so foreign?
Another hour flies by, but it might as well have
been a minute.
“Tell me another one!” Piren begs.
“You’ve depleted my story stash. I’m all out.”
“Pleeeeease?”
“Well, since you asked so nicely…You wouldn’t believe what my mom said the other—”
My phone vibrates in my coat pocket, tickling my leg.
“Geez, hang on.” I pry it out.
Seven missed calls: Sam. The smile melts from my face.
“Something wrong?” Piren asks.
“What? Oh…no…”
An ache digs through my stomach as my Partner’s name flashes across the screen.
I should at least text him so he knows I’m not lying dead in a ditch…but, eh…
Swallowing down the guilt, I tuck my phone back in my pocket.
“Anyway, she was all like—” I straighten my spine to match my mother’s terse posture “‘—Tracy, you need to be a proper lady. Sitting with your legs wide open is not for ladies!’” I gesture my hands in the air.
My best friend snorts beside me.
“‘I swear, Tracy,’” I continue my impersonation, “‘sometimes I think you do these things just to annoy me.’ Bingo, Mother.”
Piren’s face burns crimson as he roars with laughter.
Thank you, thank you very much. I’ll be here all week.
I hold up my hand. “Oh, and sometimes, she irons her pajamas.”
“Oh, man, she doesn’t.”
“She does.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“That’s my mother. Ridiculous doesn’t even begin to cover it.”
He shakes his head. “Your family is…something else.”
“Tell me about it. And this one time, she cried because she got a food stain…on her oven mitt.”
“No way!”
“Yep.”
“Literally cried?”
“Literally cried.”
He gasps for air.
“You think that’s funny? You should hear my dad! ‘I swear, Tracy, why can’t we trade you for a proper daughter?’” I mimic his drunken slurs, lowering my voice an octave for effect. “‘I love you, but I love scotch more! Guzzle guzzle guzzle.’”
Piren chokes laughing, swerving the car across the double yellow. I steady the wheel as he collects himself. I hold my breath to rein in my giggles, but it’s hopeless.
Mid-laugh, a sharp pain strikes me in the heart.
These laughable stories are my life. But I’m laughing anyway. And it hurts.
The thought is almost too silly to be true, but I can’t shake it. It sucks the laughter from my lungs.
“It’s funny, though.” I smile to the window. “When you spend your life hearing how horrible you are…you start to believe it.”
Piren’s grin fades to a twitching line across his face. “What?”
Damn it. Did I say that aloud?
“Uh, nothing, just joking.” I force a phony chortle. “Anyway, my mom—”
“No.” He furrows his brows. “What do you mean?”
“Nothing. Forget it.”
“They’re just silly, Trace. Don’t listen to your fam—”
“I don’t.”
Silence.
Stars and streetlamps sail past outside, shining dim domes of light through the enveloping darkness. I run my fingers along the edge of the window.
Soon, tonight will end, and I’ll be back to my normal life. That laughable, painful, meaningless life.
Why does my life feel so stifling? Is life supposed to feel like that?
“Sometimes…I don’t know who they want me to be.” The words slip out softer than a whisper.
“What do you mean?” Piren’s forehead wrinkles. “Just be yourself.”
“Being myself—” I give a derisive snort “—is what gets me beaten up.”
Piren lets out a deep breath, his gaze focused on the road ahead. His fingers tighten around the steering wheel.
I exhale. “Sorry. I—”
“If they don’t see how great you are, Trace, they’re idiots. You’re the best person I ever met.”
His words catch me off guard. “Oh, well—”
“I…I like you the way you are.”
“Thanks.” I hide my flushed cheek behind my hand.
Lamp posts hypnotize me, rhythmically floating by. Piren clicks on the right blinker, and we make another turn into oblivion.
“Do you know where you’re going yet?” I ask in a fickle attempt to re-lighten the mood. “Or are we still hopelessly lost?”
“Nope. Still lost.”
“Ha…good.”
Words stick in my throat, as if hanging from the tip of my tongue, threatening to fall. There’s something on my mind I can’t say to anyone else. I take a deep breath.
“Remember when we were kids—” I pick at the hem of my coat “—and that tight-ass lady talked about Assignments, and she made that cheesy metaphor that your Partner is a puzzle piece?”
“Oh, of course, how could I forget?”
“Well…this is going to sound so stupid—” I bunch up the edge of my shirt, peeking out from under my jacket “—but, do you believe what she said?”
He arches a brow. “That everyone has a puzzle piece in their Partner, or something dumb like that?”
“Something like that.”
“Oh, I dunno…I thought it was just a stupid seminar. Only slightly better than the guy with the masturbation story. I never gave it much thought.”
“She said you can only fit with one other puzzle piece, your Partner, and no one else.”
“Yeah, I remember.”
I release the fabric and wipe my moist hands across my skirt. “Do you think it’s true?”
He lifts his right shoulder in a half-shrug. “Your sister and Oliver seem pretty happy.”
“Do they?”
“They’re perfect together. Clarence could make them poster children for the Lab.”
I snort. “Maybe on the outside. On the inside, Veronica’s a hot mess. Oliver is…well, Oliver. Great match on paper, I suppose—both equally impulsive and clingy. Self-concerned. Maybe they’re too similar, but stuck together forever, and that’s why their lives are so screwed up. Happy together till they drink themselves into a stupor.”
Piren pulls off the road and parks the car.
“Okay. What’s this about, Trace? You seem…sad.”
“I dunno.” I rub my upper arm. “It’s been on my mind.”
“Well, I guess I think of it differently. I guess maybe I’m a puzzle piece, and then maybe Lara’s a puzzle piece that fits with me. But there are other pieces in my life too. There’s Mason, there’s you, my other friends, my parents, my job, my artwork, our adventure stories, all kinds of stuff. I’d hope my life wasn’t just made up of two pieces.” He jabs my arm. “Sounds like a boring life.”
“But…I don’t know…” I wring my hands. “What if I’m one puzzle piece, and Sam’s one puzzle piece…but we don’t exactly fit together? Like I’m an orange one, and he’s a blue one.”
Piren gives me a half-smile.
“Or maybe there’s still a piece missing. Maybe Sam and I together are a jigsaw puzzle that’s supposed to be complete, but it’s not, because it’s missing a piece or two.”
He stares outside into the dark abyss. “Maybe you need to make it fit.”
“How, though?”
“I guess you just assume your Partner will eventually fit with you.” His voice holds a low monotone. “Maybe it takes time.”
“Maybe.”
Piren closes his eyes. “But I…I get it.” His monotone falters.
“You do?”
He doesn’t respond.
“Sorry,” I mumble. “I didn’t mean to totally depress everything. I’m a frigging idiot like that sometimes.”
“Hey.” He rests his hand on my arm. “That’s my best friend you’re talking about.”
“That’s my line.” My hand brushes his, and a sharp breath catches in my t
hroat.
Our eyes meet.
He leans closer. “Hey…Trace…”
I swallow. “Yeah?”
BZZT. BZZT…
He jerks his hand off my arm. I fumble to silence the vibrating phone in my pocket. I’m guessing it’s another message from Sam, but I don’t bother to check.
“You’re popular,” Piren says with a shaky laugh.
The dashboard clock flashes 12:00 a.m. One dim light pricks through the darkness outside.
“Piren. You won’t believe this. Look.” I point out the window. It’s the café.
Piren Allston
I can’t stop looking at her.
Can she tell?
I’m all jittery inside.
What’s wrong with me?
Tracy Bailey
I rush through the café entrance as the barista slides the sign from Open to Closed. He huffs, but steps aside to let us in.
“We’re closing; you gotta take your order to go,” he says.
We nod, bounding to the counter. Upside-down chairs stack on red tables over a freshly-mopped checkered floor.
I breathe deeply, allowing the smooth aroma of coffee beans to fill my nose.
This place hasn’t changed.
The smell invokes a surge of memories. Seven years ago, we pooled our change for one hot beverage. That was the same year I humiliated myself in Under Five when I couldn’t pay for my own frigging milkshake. Now, Piren and I both have jobs and can each afford our own cocoa.
We pay for our drinks and step outside, and the barista bolts the door. I bob up and down to conserve warmth in the bitter air.
“Hey.” Piren nods to the left. “Isn’t that where we sat last time?”
Coated in a thin dusting of powdery snow, the bus stop bench loyally waits. I close my eyes and can almost feel my best friend’s hands engulfing mine around a steaming cup.
I can’t believe we actually found this place again.
“What do you say?” He motions his hands toward the bench. “For old times’ sake?”
We plop down, our cocoas threatening to spill over the sides of our foam cups.
I sip my drink. “This cocoa is mad hot.”
“You were just complaining about how cold you are!”
“Well, it’s two extremes.”
“You’re too extreme.”
“Psh!”
“Some adventure, huh?”
Missing Pieces Page 20
