by Jonah Black
“Do you think I’d be that stupid?” I said. I was really mad at him.
“I didn’t say you’re stupid. It’s just creepy,” Thorne said. “You’re sure it’s Maine?”
“I’m sure it’s Maine. At least, I think so,” I said, getting flustered. I mean, what did I know? She could be anywhere. “No. I mean, yes, it’s definitely Maine.”
Thorne nodded. “Okay. I haven’t given up. I’m getting their tax returns from the IRS. That’ll have their address.”
“How are you getting their tax returns?” I said. I was actually kind of impressed.
Thorne smiled. “You wouldn’t believe what you can get,” he said.
Wailer came out of the gym and got into his SUV. He waved to us. Only Thorne waved back.
“Hey, Thorne,” I said. “You know what we were talking about at Luna’s party? About how Wailer must die?”
Thorne nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “I remember that.”
“Well, how would you do it?” I said. “If you had to kill someone?”
“Ground-up glass in their food,” Thorne said, without even stopping to think. “They don’t even notice it, but it chews them up inside. No one knows what happened.”
Thorne really does have a creepy side to him. It almost sounded like he’d tried the glass thing.
“Well, I’m ready,” I said. “I’m sick of Wailer’s crap. I just can’t believe Posie has totally bought all his lies about—”
Thorne and I said, in unison, “Living on the beach and making babies.”
Thorne shook his head. “That is the best line. Chicks go crazy for it.” His voice was full of admiration.
“It’s crap,” I said. “Seriously. We have to expose him.”
Thorne snapped out of it when I said that. It was like he’d been struck by lightning.
“Expose him! Absolutely!” he shouted, doing a little drum roll on the hood of his car. “Oh, man, I have all the gear for it. I’ve got a digital camera. A sonar that can pick up and record cell phones. I think we can put together a whole package, you know, and like, send it to Posie. Wailer won’t know what hit him!”
“A package?” I said. “What kind of package?”
“You know, photos of him with some other girl. Tapes of him on the phone feeding her the same bullshit he’s been feeding Posie. This is great. Man, Jonah! You and me, we got a project now!”
“What girl has he been with lately?” I said. “Besides Posie?”
“I don’t know. We can set him up if we have to. I know plenty of girls who’d like to take a pull on the tail of the Wail.” Thorne shook my hand. “Jonah, you’re a genius.”
I don’t feel like a genius. I just don’t want my friend Posie getting slimed.
Oct. 3, 12:35 A.M.
I’m about to go to bed but I have to write this down because Honey just pointed out something that kind of freaked me out.
I logged on to AOL before bed to see if Northgirl was on. I felt a little bad about logging off on her the other night. So I tried to send her an Instant Message and I got back “Northgirl999 is not currently signed on.” Then Honey opened my door without even knocking.
“What are you doing, Dufus, downloading porno?”
“Yeah, and I saw those pictures of you and a billy goat,” I said.
“Ha!” She walked into the room and looked over my shoulder. “So who’s Northgirl?”
At first I didn’t want to tell her, but I thought she might think it was funny, so I showed her the two Instant Message sessions that I’d saved on the hard drive. Honey stood there reading it all and her face lit right up.
“So who do you think she is?” she said.
“I don’t know. Some insane girl from Norway.”
Honey just smiled at me. “I’ll tell you this, Needlebrain. She could be a lot of people, but she’s not from Norway.”
“What do you mean? She’s a student at the University of Stockholm.”
“Stockholm isn’t in Norway, genius. It’s in Sweden.”
“Sweden?” I said. Oops.
“Sweden.”
“So, maybe she’s a Norwegian girl going to school in Sweden,” I said.
“She says right here she’s in Norway. Look, she even spelled Stockholm wrong,” Honey said.
I looked at the dialog. Honey was right.
“Also, this line here that she claims is in Norwegian.” Honey pointed to it. “That’s not Norwegian. It’s not anything. It’s made-up words.”
“How do you know?” I already knew but I had to ask.
“Because, Einstein, I speak Norwegian and Swedish,” Honey said.
“I know,” I snapped at her. I hate that Honey’s so smart. It pisses me off. “Well, she doesn’t speak English very well, I can tell you that.”
“She’s only pretending not to be able to speak English,” Honey said. “I hate to tell you this, big brother, but the mistakes she’s making here? They are totally bogus. No one who speaks Scandinavian languages would make mistakes like that. Face it, this is no Scandinavian chick. It’s probably some middle-aged man from Kansas.”
I opened the jpeg files that Aine had sent me. “She sent me these. She said this was her.”
Honey just laughed. “Oh, you loser. This chick is definitely not real. You think a girl who looks like this is going to send you her picture just out of the blue?”
I felt stupid. “I don’t know.”
Honey thought for a while. “Well, Scrotumface. You got yourself a secret admirer, even if it is a serial killer in a jail cell somewhere.”
She looked at me. “What’s wrong? You’re disappointed?”
I really was disappointed that Northgirl wasn’t real. She seemed so real, and she was nice. And now she turns out not to be, just like everything else in my life.
“What am I going to say to her the next time I talk to her?” I asked Honey.
“Don’t say anything. Just pretend you believe her bullshit. You’re having fun, aren’t you?” Honey said.
“But it’s all lies,” I said. “Maybe she is a man from Kansas. Who knows? It’s no fun if she’s just lying to me.”
Honey started to leave. “It’s a shame you don’t have more of an imagination, big brother,” she said. “You might have more fun.”
I don’t know. I always thought I had a pretty good imagination.
Oct 7, Saturday
Well, today was pretty fun. Thorne and I were like Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson. Thorne was Holmes, of course. I couldn’t believe all the stuff he had—digital cameras and mikes and all this spy gear. He said he’d gotten some of it off the Internet and the rest “in barter for other services rendered.” Thorne scares me sometimes.
Anyway, we were sitting in Thorne’s Beetle just before noon, parked behind the dune where everyone hangs out. Thorne wouldn’t tell me what we were waiting for, he just told me to be patient. We’d even bought a box of doughnuts and some Cokes so we could sit there, stuffing our faces like cops at a stakeout.
Then, about half an hour later, Wailer came walking down the beach. He was carrying his surfboard, which he stabbed into the sand so it was standing there like a big tombstone, and then he lay down in the sun with these little plastic sun protectors over his eyes. Thorne put on a pair of headphones and directed this long, skinny mike at Wailer’s body. A moment later I heard the sound of Wailer breathing and the waves crashing coming through the car stereo. Thorne hit Record on his tape recorder and handed me the digital camera.
“Okay, now you get him in the frame, and get ready to shoot when his girlfriend gets here,” Thorne whispered.
“How do you know he’s meeting someone?”
“’Cause I called him up and told him I wanted to meet him here,” Thorne said, batting his eyelashes.
“You?”
Thorne held up a small device that said E-SCRAMBLER on the side. He talked through it. It changed his voice so it sounded exactly like a girl’s. It was eerie.
“Wow,”
I said.
“It’s got fifty different settings,” Thorne said proudly. “It can make you sound like an Australian aborigine or an old man from Brooklyn.”
“Who did you say you were?”
“I didn’t. I said I was his secret admirer,” Thorne said.
“And some girl is going to meet him here? How did you manage that?”
He cleared his throat and imitated Wailer. “Hey, Luna, you wanna do somethin’ Saturday? Hang at the beach?” He was good. I’d have fallen for it.
“Luna?” I said. Poor Luna.
So only a few minutes later Luna Hayes came strolling down the beach wearing a white bikini, all ready to hook up with Wailer Conrad. People amaze me sometimes.
“Okay, Jonah, make sure you get them in your viewfinder,” Thorne whispered. He was really into it.
I had them right at the crosshairs. We could hear their voices perfectly through the stereo.
“Yo, Luna. What’s up?” Wailer said.
“Hey, Wailer.” She giggled. “You been surfin’?”
“Yeah. Waves kinda suck today, though. It’s wicked flat.”
“Yeah,” she said. “Maybe they’ll get better when the wind picks up a little.”
They talked for a while, mostly about surfing and then about this band called the Lemons that’s going to play in Ft. Lauderdale next month. I happened to know that Wailer probably can’t stand them—they’re a total girl band—but he pretended to be really interested. That was the first indication that something was going to happen.
Finally Luna said, “So where’s Posie?”
Wailer’s lower lip started to protrude. He looked out at the water, trying to act all dramatic. It was like a bad movie.
“Are you okay, Wailer?” Luna said.
“Yeah,” he said. “It’s just—”
“What?” Luna said, touching his arm.
“I don’t know. She’s not good about—you know. Listening.” He honestly looked like he was about to cry. It was ridiculous.
“I know!” said Luna. “She’s so totally into herself! It’s like talking to a brick wall.”
“Sometimes I’m like . . .” Wailer stammered. “Forget it.”
“No, what?” Luna said.
“I can’t tell you,” Wailer said, crossing his arms over his chest and hugging himself. He’s actually not a bad actor.
“Yes, you can,” Luna said, rubbing his arm. “You can trust me, Wailer.”
“This is hard,” Wailer said. “It’s really hard to say.”
“I’m listening,” Luna said soothingly.
“I don’t know,” Wailer said. “It’s like sometimes I don’t know if we have the same vision of the future. Like, I mean, Posie wants to go pro, and compete in all these tournaments, and all this other hard-core stuff, you know? And me—all I wanna do is . . .”
Thorne and I looked at each other.
“What is it, Wailer?” Luna said. “What do you want to do?”
“I want to live on the beach. And make babies!”
He covered his face with his hands, like he was crying.
“Wailer,” Luna said, kneeling over him. “It’s okay. Really.”
“You must think I’m stupid,” Wailer said, his voice cracking.
“No,” Luna said. “It’s not stupid. It’s beautiful. It’s like, my fantasy. I just don’t have anybody to . . .”
The two of them looked at each other. Then Wailer leaned in and started kissing her. Even though it seemed inevitable to me, Luna looked like she was taken by surprise. Her back kind of stiffened up. But not for long. A few seconds later, they were rolling around in the sand.
“I gotta remember that line,” Thorne said, shaking his head in admiration.
I was so mad at Wailer. He was such a faker. I wanted to jump out of the car and go down there and kill him.
“Don’t forget to take the pictures, Jonah,” Thorne said.
So I did. We were there for ten more minutes. By the time Wailer had taken Luna’s bikini top off, the camera’s memory was full. So we left.
Thorne headed over to the IHOP, whistling and singing, all pleased with himself. He was so happy he ordered a giant stack of pancakes with a fried egg on top. I had waffles, but I wasn’t very hungry.
“Okay,” I said. “So what now?”
“Now,” said Thorne. “Now we post this on a Web site. We send Posie the address. She logs on. Bingo, Wailer’s doing the dead man’s float. God, that was so easy!”
I pushed my waffle around in the boysenberry syrup. I thought about Posie looking at the Web site, how she’d feel learning about Wailer that way.
“What?” Thorne said.
“Nothing,” I said.
“I don’t like the look on your face, Jonah,” he said. “You’re about to have one of your annoying attacks of morality.”
“It’s not that,” I said. “It’s just . . . I’m not so sure I want Posie to find out that way. I mean, she’ll be crushed.”
“Yeah!” he said, as if this was obvious.
“I don’t want to hurt her,” I said.
“Jonah?” Thorne said. “This is Posie we’re talking about. She’ll get over it.”
“I don’t know, Thorne,” I said. “I think she really loves him. This is really going to set her back.”
“You want her to keep going out with Wailer? Is that what you want?” Thorne said.
I pushed my plate away.
“I don’t know what I want,” I said.
Thorne shrugged and swirled his pancake around in the yellow egg goo.
“We can wait,” he said. “If you’re determined to wuss out on me, we can stall for a couple days. Give you some time to think about Wailer doing the nasty with Luna Hayes, and Posie not even knowing.”
“I don’t want to think about that!” I said.
“Then what?”
“Just don’t do anything yet, okay?” I made him promise. “Give me some time.”
“Okay,” Thorne said. He started singing some pirate song. “’Way hey, blow the man down. Give me some time to blow the man down.’”
I chewed the ice in my glass. “What does that mean, anyway, ‘Blow the man down’? What is that?” I said.
“Beats me,” Thorne said. “You know all those pirates were a little nuts. All those months at sea without any girls.”
“You think?” I said.
I looked out the window at Thorne’s car and thought about all the stuff we’d recorded. Wailer and Luna were probably still out on the dune together.
I didn’t know what to do. I never do, I’m pathetic.
Oct. 8
I went to the mall today to get Honey a birthday present. Normally I wouldn’t give it that much thought, but this one seems like a big deal to Honey, and I have a feeling I’m the only person she’s going to get a present from. It’s hard to shop for people, though. I wanted to get Honey just the right thing but I didn’t know what.
Then I found this store called Ha Ha What’s So Funny? which is full of all these jokes and novelties and some of them seemed like they’d crack my sister up. There was this soap which, the more you used it, the dirtier it turned your hands, and there was a fart pillow and all kinds of fake dog poop. I looked at the fake dog poop for a while, trying to choose between large, medium, and small, but somehow it didn’t seem right. Close, but not perfect.
Then I saw this thing that you hook onto the back of your door, and if you open the door, this voice says, “Hey, stay the hell out of my room!” And next to that was a mirror, and if you look in the mirror, this voice starts to scream. They were so good that I decided to get them both. I even bought some nice paper at a drugstore so I could wrap them up later.
I was on my way out of the mall when guess who I saw, hanging out at the Bon Jon Surf Shop? Wailer and Luna. They were holding hands. They didn’t see me, and I got the hell out of there as fast as I could. But it made me remember that I still have to decide what to do.
Mayb
e I should go back and get some of that fake dog poop for Wailer and put it in front of his locker. Except large isn’t big enough for him.
Oct. 9, 11:45 A.M.
I’m sitting in history class listening to Miss Tenuda talk about the Articles of Confederation. I kind of like Miss Tenuda. She’s really short and squat, like a female Danny DeVito. I always expect her to suddenly drop down and start wrestling people. It would be great if she came to class one time in like, tights and a cape.
I appear to be taking very good notes right now. The only other person who is writing as furiously as I am is this girl in front of me named Rosa. She has fine black hair all over her arms which you’d think would be ugly, but I like it. Her lips are pink and full and her eyes stick out of her head like cue balls, with curly black lashes. When she moves, this odor of laundry detergent and coconut oil wafts into the air. All I want is to lie with Rosa underneath a palm tree on a deserted island and drink coconut milk right out of the coconut. We’ll smoke cigars together and watch the smoke rings float one after the other, into the blue sky above the ocean.
Rosa just turned around and gave me a look, as if to say, “Stop writing about me.” Now I’m sitting here staring at the back of her shirt. She’s wearing a white T-shirt and I can see her bra through it. Her black hair comes down almost to the level of her bra in the back and it is very shiny, almost wet-looking. She has stopped writing again, as if she can tell I’m still writing about her and it’s driving her crazy. I don’t believe in ESP or any of that X-Files stuff, but sometimes I’m sure people can tell what you’re thinking. Rosa knows I’m scanning her. It is sort of annoying her, but she sort of likes it, too.
For a moment my hand just hovers above her hair and I can feel the warmth and the electricity coming off of it. Then I lower my fingers and feel the coarse silkiness of it. Sophie isn’t moving. I am wondering how long I can do this before Miss Tenuda notices. She seems pretty committed to the Articles of Confederation right now. Sophie turns around again and gives me this fierce look. “Jonah, what are you thinking about?” she asks me. “It’s me, isn’t it?”
Sophie is wearing a purple sarong over her bikini. She looks very tropical. We push off from shore on a wooden raft, and overhead the stars are shining. Sophie plays her mandolin and I unscrew the cap from a bottle of wine that is marked SERVE VERY COLD. I drink some and lean over Sophie and kiss her and she drinks the wine from my mouth. One of my hands is cupping her head, and I let the other hand fall into the river, which is warm and dark.
