Under the Dusty Moon

by Suzanne Sutherland

  First I texted Lucy.

  What if each room had a ghost? I typed with my left index finger, trying to balance my phone on my cast. And they told you a story as you walked through the house?

  The idea had only occurred to me moments before, but by the time I typed it out I was convinced it was brilliant. Ghosts were exactly what our creepy old house needed.

  I stood there for a while looking at my phone, willing Lucy to text me back, but she didn’t. I thought about texting Shaun, and hovered my finger over his name on my contact list, willing myself to text him.

  What’s left to lose? I thought, and then typed the only thing I could think of.

  Hey

  I wondered where he was and what he was doing, but I didn’t want to ask. I’d been MIA for so long that I figured he’d already forgotten about me. I was sure that he’d filed me away as some weird girl he’d spent an afternoon on a naked beach with and who’ d then seemingly disappeared. You know, the usual.

  I put my phone back into my bag and tried to forget about it. I told myself that it didn’t matter if he texted me back or not. All that mattered was that I had the nerve to finally stop pretending to be invisible. Granted, it took being stranded at a bookstore in the near-suburbs without any friends or a place to go home to until dinner, but still, it felt like a step.

  My phone vibrated and my heart felt like it had lost its own instruction manual. I pulled my phone out and saw that I had a message from Lucy and I could feel my whole body unclench.

  Yeah, she texted, maybe. We’re going to my aunt’s house today so I can’t work on the game.

  Oh, I texted, that’s cool. Tomorrow?

  My mom, dad and aunt are going away for a few days. I have to stay with Iron Man 1 and Iron Man 2 while they’re gone. Not sure when we’ll be back but I’ll msg you.

  What happened to Batman and Bane?

  Guess they needed a new game.

  So what’s up with your parents? I texted.

  Nothing, she answered, just family stuff.

  Okay, cool. See you soon.

  If the Iron Men don’t kill me first.

  I was browsing through the magazines a few minutes later when I felt my phone vibrate again. I kept flipping through the hipster fashion magazine I had in my hand, trying my best to ignore it. It was no big deal, I told myself. It probably wasn’t even Shaun. Probably it was just Gran. Maybe she’d finally figured out how to text with the cellphone Mom bought her for Christmas last year. She just wanted me to come home early, that was all. It definitely wasn’t Shaun.

  I flipped through more pages of outfits I couldn’t afford, and a history of scarves, and when I got to the last page I finally swallowed the sour lump in my throat and looked at my phone. It was Shaun.

  What’s up? he’d texted.

  Bored out of my skull, I wrote back.

  I exhaled loudly enough that a woman nearby looking through a home-decorating magazine gave me a dirty look.

  I hear that, Shaun texted, and I smiled to myself. And to anyone who happened to be looking at me acting like a total freak in the magazine section.

  You want to hang out? I texted.

  Now?

  Sure, you busy?

  OK, he texted. What do you wanna do?

  And it was all I could do to keep from jumping up and down and hugging Home-Decorating Magazine Lady, who was definitely starting to give me some cut-eye for all the texting I was doing. Like apparently bookstores were supposed to be some sacred, phoneless oasis. But I wasn’t about to let her shade bring me down. I felt like a helium balloon rising free into the atmosphere. Shaun still wanted to hang out with me! I hadn’t ruined everything with the naked beach after all. The only problem was that I had zero date ideas. Especially since the last over-planned one had backfired so spectacularly.

  I’m up for whatever, I texted him.

  Wanna meet at queen and dufferin in like half an hour? he answered. I’m sure we’ll think of something.

  Cool, I texted, and then bit down on my lower lip to keep from smiling so hard I’d pull a muscle in my cheeks. See you soon.

  I seriously couldn’t believe that had worked. But how was I going to explain to Shaun why I hadn’t texted him all this time? And how was I going to tell him how sorry I was for acting like such a weirdo the last time we’d hung out without seeming like a total loser? Fortunately I had pretty well no time to dwell on it. I wasn’t even positive that I could get to Parkdale from where I was in half an hour — it would depend on whether or not the luck of public transit was on my side — but I was about to find out.

  I hustled out of the bookstore and made a beeline for the closest subway station, Runnymede. I hated not being able to ride my bike, and I still wasn’t sure whether or not PYT was going to recover from her injuries since I was too depressed to take her into the shop. Still, the train was fast as we headed east and I caught the southbound bus from Dufferin just as it was pulling out from in front of the station. I could feel my heart in my stomach the whole ride — why was all of this nervousness centred in my gut? Why did falling for someone feel like eating too many nachos? — but we sailed down Dufferin too fast for me to have any second thoughts. When the bus finally spat me out at Queen Street I could hardly believe that I’d made it on time. And that Shaun, his head freshly shaved, was already there waiting for me.

  “Uh, hey,” I said, stumbling off the high-speed bus and inadvertently landing super close to where he was standing on the sidewalk. He had a bike at his side which was twice as big as the one he’d been riding on the naked beach day. Clearly he wasn’t riding his little brother’s anymore.

  “Hey,” he said, smiling at my awkward dismount.

  I sniffed. He smelled like weed and sunscreen. I almost laughed at his eau de Coppertone aroma, since Mom and I are always arguing about sunscreen, somehow the smell made him seem less intimidating. We were close enough to hug, but I was grateful that his hands were devoted to holding up his bike so that I didn’t have to consider the option. What was this, this thing we were doing? Were we the kind of people who hugged each other? And when was he going to ask about my arm? He was obviously staring at it.

  “No bike?” he finally asked.

  “Yeah, no,” I said. “It’s, uh, out of commission. For now.”

  “Cool,” Shaun said. “So ... you wanna go for a walk?”

  “Yeah,” I said, taking a step back, out of the smelling range. “Sure. Uh, which way?”

  “Let’s go to Bellwoods,” he said, “it’s nice there.”

  “Yeah, okay. Cool. That’s, uh, that sounds good.”

  Trinity Bellwoods was the giant park east of our neighbourhood, a twenty-minute walk away. What were we supposed to talk about on the way there? It was so much easier when we were on our bikes and didn’t have a chance to say anything. But I sucked in a nervous breath — the air was hot and it reeked of garbage — and we started walking, Shaun pushing his bike alongside me.

  “So,” Shaun said, “like, your arm? What happened to it?”

  This, at least, was something I could talk about. “Yeah,” I said, “it was my bike. I kind of got doored, you know?”

  “Seriously?” he said. “That must’ve hurt like hell.”

  “Yeah,” I said, “it did.” But then I panicked. Should I admit that it’d happened right after our first date? Or would reminding him of that day just blow any chance I had left?

  “So, like, when did it happen?” he asked.

  My mouth started moving before I had time to come up with a lie. “It was that day we went to the, uh, the Island, actually.”

  “Oh yeah,” he said, “that was hilarious.”

  “So embarrassing,” I said, covering my face with my good hand. “I couldn’t believe I — well, I …”

  “Took us to a naked old-man beach?” Shaun said, filling in my intentional blank. “That was something else, all right. I had fun, though. Those guys were really nice. So what happened?”

  He wa
s grinning at me now as we walked along and I could feel my guts turn to jelly — again with the stomach stuff. “I got so … oh god, this is so embarrassing.”

  “Aw, come on,” he said, “it’s not that bad.”

  “No, I was just so, you know, mortified or whatever that I wasn’t paying attention on my ride home and I got doored on Queen.”

  “Damn,” he said. “So that’s why you never texted me back?”

  “Can we just please forget about this?” I asked. “Do over?”

  “As long as you let me draw something cool on your cast,” he said. “What’s it say on there?” He peered to look at what Mom had scrawled.

  “Oh, it’s nothing,” I said. “Just my mom’s dumb jokes.”

  He gingerly grabbed my arm, while still steering his bike one-handed, and started to read. “‘Tough break! — Did you see that movie about the broken arm? Great cast! — So much for the right to bare arms!’”

  “Ugh, yeah,” I said, shaking my head, “she’s a real comedian.”

  “It’s kinda cute,” he said. “Don’t worry, I’ll make it look cool.”

  My face got all hot and red then, which I hoped wasn’t noticeable with the heat of the sun threatening to permanently scorch me anyway. I was suddenly jealous of Shaun’s Coppertone sheen. Before I knew it, though, we were at the park, and Shaun locked up his bike and then found us a nice and shady spot under a tree near the little valley of the park where people let their dogs run off leash. A tiny chihuahua was running circles around a chubby little bulldog and we sat and watched them for a while as they rolled around and chased each other back and forth.

  “C’mere,” Shaun said eventually. He pulled a Sharpie out of the backpack he’d been hauling with him and gestured for me to scooch up next to him. I’d been keeping enough distance between us so I didn’t pass out from nerves, but I wasn’t about to turn down an offer like that. I shuffled forward on the grass to sit beside him, my knee just barely touching his. He traced a finger down my arm — I let out an involuntary shiver — and took my cast in his hands.

  I watched as Shaun slowly filled up the empty space of my cast with black psychedelic swirls, skulls, and stars. The only thing keeping me from jumping out of my skin with nerves was that I kept repeating my three-times tables in my head. I tried to make myself breathe slowly and relax, but it didn’t really work.

  “Yeah,” he said, when he’d finally finished. He’d left Mom’s cheesy puns alone, but had obliterated the rest of the white space. “That looks good, I think.”

  “Mhmm,” I said, finally finding my voice again. “I really like it. Uh, thanks.”

  “It’s cool. Anyway, I figured your Mom’d be pissed if I covered up her jokes.”

  “She’s not here, actually,” I said. “I mean, she’s out of town right now. She’s in Japan. She’s going to be there for a while.”

  “Oh yeah?” he said. “That’s cool. I’d love to see Japan. What’s she doing there?”

  “She’s uh …” Did Shaun not know who my mom was? I’d just figured that everyone at school knew that I was the daughter of a formerly famous musician, even though most of them had never heard of Dusty Moon — it was just the kind of thing that people talked about. If I was completely honest with myself, I’d kind of assumed that Mom was at least part of the reason why Shaun had been into me in the first place.

  Shaun stared at me, waiting for me to finish my sentence.

  “Business trip,” I said, finally. “She’s there on business.” It wasn’t the truth exactly, but it wasn’t totally a lie, either. And so what if I wasn’t being totally honest? At least for the next two and a half weeks I could be someone other than Micky Wayne’s daughter.

  “Cool, cool,” he said, capping his Sharpie and stuffing it back in his bag. Then he looked back up at me with an expression that could only be categorized as mischievous. “So do you have, like, the house to yourself?”

  Another shiver hit me, this time all the way down my spine, which was no small wonder in the August heat. Gran had said that she didn’t want me home until seven, and it wasn’t like I didn’t have the key to Mom’s and my apartment. But as soon as I’d thought of it, my heart fell back into my gut. Shaun was beautiful. I wanted to rub my hands all over his buzzed head and hold him as close as my cast would allow, but the truth was that I was kind of scared, too. Kind of really scared. Even though I absolutely wanted to have sex with him. Eventually. But I knew that Shaun had been with a bunch of girls before. He was definitely experienced, and I was so pathetically not. If I took him back to the apartment he’d for sure want to do it and I just wasn’t ready yet. The thought of it made me kind of nervous. So nervous that I blurted out, “I’m staying with my gran. She’s, uh, she’s, like, seventy and a retired psychologist, but she couldn’t care any less about me except she needs me to be home for dinner by seven. And it’s, uh, what time is it?”

  Shaun checked his phone. “Don’t sweat it, it’s only five.”

  “Cool,” I said, finally exhaling. “Okay, uh, but maybe I should go.”

  “Oh? I thought maybe we could head over to Rotate That. You know, look at some records? I know it’s kind of old school.”

  “Oh,” I said, my sex-nerves quickly dissolving at the suggestion. Record stores I could do, Mom had trained me well. Even as a kid I knew to flip past the used stuff that was scuffed beyond recognition, not to be swayed by jokey album covers, and always be on the lookout for an original pressing of the Rolling Stones’ Sticky Fingers. We actually went to Rotate That all the time, and they usually recognized me. Well, they recognized Mom, anyway, and me by default. So Shaun’s suggestion was totally perfect. I could definitely use a few extra cool-points.

  Of course I didn’t realize that I’d already paused for too long. “Yeah, sure,” I said, fighting a smug grin. “That sounds good.”

  We walked the two blocks from the park to the record store and went inside. The girl at the front cash was having an animated conversation with a guy who looked about Mom’s age. They were both hand-talkers, and you could see them gesturing wildly at each other practically from across the street. I’d seen both of them a bunch of times before, and knew they were friends — or at least big fans — of Mom’s. The girl was about seven feet tall with dark purple hair, so I’d always thought she was kind of cool. The guy usually looked like he was trying too hard, though, and today was no exception, with a pair of blindingly white Converse special editions and a T that said THIS IS NOT A FUGAZI SHIRT. I don’t think he even worked at the store, he just hung out there all the time like he had nothing better to do.

  “And I was like ‘How many times do I have to tell you it’s not in yet?’ Dude’s in here practically every day, first thing in the freaking morning before I’ve even had my coffee. I told him, ‘Man, you can just give us your number, you know. We’ll call you when it comes in. We’ll set it aside with your name on it!’ but he’s all, ‘I just love the hunt, you know? I love the hunt.’ Like, what is that?”

  But as Shaun and I passed by to make our way toward the records in the back, the girl abruptly stopped her story. “Hey!” she said, “It’s Vic, right?”

  “Yeah, hey,” I said, trying to play it cool. “How’s it going?”

  “Good, man, nice to see you. How’s your mom?”

  “I hear she’s in Japan!” the guy added.

  “Yeah, uh-huh. She’s fine,” I said, before dragging Shaun with me to the back of the store. It was one thing for them to recognize me, but they were totally going to blow my cover before I’d even had a chance to figure out who the new me was. Fortunately, Shaun didn’t seem too fazed.

  “You’re pretty popular, eh?” he said. “What, is your mom in a band or something?”

  I could tell he was picturing a middle-aged woman with a desk job who moonlit as a keytar player in a Heart cover band or something.

  “Ha-ha, nothing like that,” I said, which didn’t actually feel like a lie. “She works for a record labe
l,” I added, which was almost true. I mean, she was on a label. “She just kind of knows a lot of people.”

  “Wow,” Shaun said, “cool.”

  Fortunately nobody bugged us after that, and we spent close to an hour wandering the aisles and picking up goofy record covers to show each other — breaking one of Mom’s cardinal rules, I knew, but I figured that it was okay when there was a boy involved. Neither of us bought anything, and I was relieved to see that the girl at the counter was on her break by the time we left.

  We started walking back toward Dufferin, talking about nothing in particular. Shaun suggested we play a game where we each take turns naming a band that starts with the last letter of the band that came before. It took me a couple of turns to get the hang of it, even though we started off pretty easy.

  “All right,” Shaun said, “let’s start basic: The Ramones. So now you’ve gottta name one that starts with S.”

  My mind drew an unfortunate blank as I stuttered out words that started with S, trying to think of a band name. “Snakes, Shoot, Something, Simple, Sleigh. Oh, uh, Sleigh Bells?”

  “Heh, yeah, you’ve got it,” he said. “Hmm, S? Okay, The Smiths.”

  We went back and forth like that for a while, until I thought I’d finally stumped him with The Beta Band, an old favourite of Mom’s.

  “Huh,” he said, “don’t think I know them. You’re not making bands up to try to win, are you? That’s a dirty move. You’re playing dirty on me, V!”

  “I’m not,” I said, my hands up in the air in a cease-fire gesture, “I swear!”

  “Oh sure, you play all innocent now,” Shaun said. “You want another obscure name to follow that up? How about … hmmm, D? Uh, lemme think.”

  An obvious name jumped into my head, but I kept my lips zipped.

  “All right,” Shaun said finally, “you’ve probably never heard of them, but I’m using them anyway: Dusty Moon.”