Val was furious at Alice. Furious Val still smiled, but she walked around with her arms crossed in front of her. Alice was mad at the world. She locked herself in one of the rooms and didn’t emerge until Val and I were in the car and Gordie threatened to leave her in New York. Jean, of course, was gone. Because of me. I couldn’t tell anyone what my comment even meant, because I didn’t want to betray Jean more than I already had.
The car trip home was full of awkward silence. Alice’s parents called to tell her Izzy had been found, hallelujah, she was safe and sound, but Oh dear, what a mess that it had all unfolded on the New York news stations.
I texted Jean SORRY no fewer than fifty times. He never responded.
The buildings and the billboards blurred by as we drove through Queens. I couldn’t separate the images that rushed through my mind, elbowing one another for space. I thought of the people we called street urchins, but somebody else called sisters, brothers, children, friends. I wondered how Izzy felt when the police showed up. Was she scared? Was she relieved? Or was she just pissed they were taking away her drugs again?
Our eyes were glued to the social media headlines: MYSTERIOUS GROUP BUSTS HEROIN RING; THE UNLIKELIES NAB ELUSIVE DRUG NETWORK. Unlike the East End cops, the New York cops had no problem telling the media about us and our text to Izzy’s parents. By the time we reached Val’s, the bust was on every major tristate online network.
“I want to see Jean,” I said to Gordie.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Sadie. Just let him have some time.”
“Gordie, please stop at Jean’s.”
“No, Sadie. I’m beat. I need sleep.”
He dropped off Val, who waved weakly and walked toward her building without looking back. I hoped she wouldn’t go looking to Javi for comfort. I hoped she would stay strong.
“We never did find that ornate gate or the gargoyle, huh?” Gordie said right before we pulled up to Alice’s.
“Yeah, right? That was a clusterfuck of a wild-goose chase I started,” Alice said. “Thanks, Gordie. You’re awesome.” She leaned over and kissed his cheek. And that left the two of us.
“Are we in a fight?” I said.
“No, Sadie.”
“Do you know how bad I feel?”
“I know. Everybody was unhinged. Let’s go home, sleep, regroup, and we’ll talk tomorrow, okay?”
“Tomorrow?”
“I don’t know? Later?”
“Whatever you want.” It was all unsettling. Gordie was right. Everybody was unhinged and it felt awful.
Mom was pulling weeds when Gordie dropped me off. I climbed out of the backseat and grabbed my stuff from the trunk. I almost took Jean’s stuff, too, so I could hold it hostage and force him to talk to me.
“How’d it go?” Mom briefly looked up from the flower bed below the mailbox.
“Great. It was a little overstimulating for some of the people, but everybody had fun.”
I was a liar with a monster tail. I felt disgusting all the way to the core of my soul. I stood in the shower for over an hour, head down, eyes fixed on my purpling foot blisters. At one point, I nearly blacked out from the steam and the thoughts that I carried with me—dark, overwhelming, shameful thoughts.
If I had been a different person, maybe it would have been enough to say, We found Izzy. Izzy is safe. Everything worked out. But the images hung in my mind like ornaments on a tree. And the anger dug a hole in me and hatched, and I was all clogged up with images and anger, and a nagging fear that Jean wouldn’t forgive me and the Unlikelies would disband forever. And a nagging fear that Gordie Harris didn’t like me anymore.
I dabbed ointment on the foot blisters and put on my soft cotton robe. I sat on the bed, with all the fans blowing on me, and stared at my phone. I had to try again. Jean, I am so sorry I said that. I was stressed out and I got pissed when you called me a whiner and it just came out. Our friendship means SO much to me. Please forgive me. Sadie.
And then I fell asleep.
I woke to the smell of garlic and the sounds of dishes clattering. I was starving.
“Well, well, well, look who it is.” Dad put his paper down and stood up from the kitchen table to hug me. I wanted to cry. “Tell me about the trip.”
I didn’t have the energy to search for lies. “It was so hot. Look at my feet.”
“Oh, man, you need to wear better shoes when you’re walking around.”
“Woody, do you want salad?” Mom licked sauce off a wooden spoon.
“Nah, just give me the good stuff.”
I could hear the news guy’s voice from the living room. “Here’s a bizarre story out of the East Village. A drug operation has been outed by a mysterious group calling themselves the Unlikelies.” I casually grabbed a section of Dad’s paper and wandered over to the couch.
The building near Fourteenth Street was sectioned off, accessorized by yellow tape, bustling with police and reporters. They showed footage of people being taken out late at night in handcuffs. At the very end, before they cut back to the reporter, I saw Izzy. She looked like how I had imagined a heroin addict would look. She no longer looked anything like Neigh from Girl Scouts. It broke my heart.
According to the news, the nest was a movement, an insidious barter system where desperate young addicts went to exchange sex and stolen merchandise for drugs. And the main headquarters, which had eluded authorities until the Unlikelies’ tip, was in a grungy building off Fourteenth Street. By the time Izzy’s parents got there with their lawyers and their hired security, multiple agencies had pulled out nearly a hundred minors, including Izzy, and twenty-seven lizards.
It was a lizards’ nest.
The shellacked news guy turned to his coanchor. “This Unlikelies group has established itself as an anti-trolling, anti-bullying network on the Internet. Its reach extends as far as Scotland and Singapore. It appears the group has now taken to the streets,” he said.
“Really? So it’s like a group of vigilantes, of sorts?” the coanchor said.
“Seems so.”
I texted Gordie, How did I just see we’ve been anti-trolling in Scotland and Singapore?
Remember I was developing a program to sniff out troll and bully threads and hit them with our avatar? Mission accomplished. (Working on translating to other languages.)
You’re a genius!
Really? I thought I was nerd boy.
That was it. No I have to see you. Nothing. And not a word from Jean.
Me: Do you want to hang out?
Gordie: Can’t. Stuff going on at home.
Me: Are you sure you’re not mad at me?
Gordie: I’m sure. Talk soon.
Me (to Jean): Please. Please. Please. Please. Talk to me.
Jean: Silence.
Val: I just wanted to tell you guys they are talking about the Unlikelies on the Today show. I cannot believe this.
I turned the channel and caught the very end of the segment. They were talking about the nest bust and how we were taking down troll mill chat rooms all over the world with the avatar. It was so weird to see the masked Civil War soldiers, to see us, on national TV.
I FaceTimed Val. “I am stunned right now.”
“How are we all over the world?”
“Gordie figured out a program that sniffs out troll bully language and slaps the avatar on the threads. His genius nerd boy ass is figuring out how to translate the software, or something like that.”
“That’s much more efficient than dropping off care packages,” Val said.
“I like the care packages,” I said, biting into a day-old bagel. “Hey, are you going to forgive Alice? Because I need us back together. I have anxiety.”
“I already forgave Alice. I’m a very forgiving person, Sadie.”
“So why isn’t she responding to our texts?”
“I think she’s in a bad place.”
“Let’s check on her later,” I said. “Hey, Val?”
“Yeah?”
“Us will be back, Sadie. We’re just all taking a little break.”
“I don’t like little breaks.”
“Clearly.” She laughed.
“You okay?” I said.
“You’d be proud of me. Javi texted to see if I wanted to talk and I ignored it.”
“I am proud of you. Love you, Val!”
“Love you, too, mi amiga.”
I was glad to get back to the farm stand and the regulars and even the city people with their white pants and expensive shoes. Daniela laughed when a lady with a gravelly voice and oversize sunglasses held up a bunch of sunflowers and asked me how much in Spanish.
“I don’t speak Spanish,” I said flatly.
I delivered lemonades to the farm stand guys and was exchanging my hummus and carrots for their doughnut holes, when an old Lincoln town car showed. I nearly passed out because, for a second, I thought it was Mr. Upton.
It was Sissy.
I left the rest of the hummus with Papi and rushed out to the car. Sissy felt like my only living link to Mr. Upton, and my relationship with the old guy had gone from The peach is fine–stop inspecting it to Thanks for nominating me as a homegrown hero to I guess I’ll unlock the suitcase and make amends for your dead lizard to What the holy hell am I supposed to do with a heaping pile of yellow diamonds?
“Sissy! It’s so good to see you. The farm stand hasn’t been the same without you guys.” I greeted her with a big hug and she filled me in on her life. Mr. Upton had been true to his word, and Sissy received an inheritance from his will. She had taken her kids and grandkids down to Trinidad for a wonderful family reunion.
“I wanted to check on you and see how you’re healing. How are you, my dear?” She ran her fingertip over the monster tail, now mostly covered by my growing bangs.
“I’m good. Thank you for asking.” We moved under the shade of the willow tree. “Oh, Sissy, wait. I have a treat.” I ran into the farm stand and brought out a container of wild blueberries, the ones that come out only two weeks a year.
We ate berries and talked about Trinidad and my parents and some of the regular customers, and then I just said it. Because I was a balloon, so full of secrets, so ready to bust open, I couldn’t keep it in one more second.
“Sissy, I really need to talk to you about that suitcase Mr. Upton gave me.”
“You got the suitcase. Good. I wasn’t sure if you made it up there yet.”
“Oh, I made it up there. And I have to tell you, there was some valuable stuff in the suitcase. As in loose diamonds.”
“Really?” Her eyes got wide.
“Yes. And when I visited the hospital, he asked me to figure out a way to redeem his evil father’s bad deeds with the contents of the suitcase, and it’s a little overwhelming.” My throat got tight and the tears welled up. “I really want to do the right thing.”
She stared at me and closed her eyes and shook her head.
“What is it, Sissy?” I had no idea what I had done.
She opened her eyes and said, “That old codger.”
“What?”
“That old fool has been trying to get other people to redeem his evil father’s bad deeds or some nonsense for decades.”
I was confused. “He has?”
“Yes. Old lovers, friends, guys from the Rotary, me. We all told him, ‘Stewy, you’re a good man. Get over it.’ But he couldn’t, so he tried to get other people on his guilt wagon.”
“Oh.” I thought I had been special, that he had picked me because I saved Ella, because I was a do-gooder.
“That old codger knew what you had been through and he guilted a teenager into doing his dirty work?” She stood in front of me and held me by the shoulders. I couldn’t stop the tears from flowing. “You listen to me,” Sissy said. “Whatever was in that suitcase is yours. Stewy left gobs of money to everyone and their brother, myself included. As frugal as he was when he was alive, he’s making up for it on the other side. And I promise you, he’s resting peacefully.”
“Okay.”
“You do what your heart tells you to do, not what you think Stewy would have wanted. You know why?”
“Why?” I wiped my cheeks.
“Because you’ll drive yourself nuts. He didn’t know what he wanted. How could you?” She laughed. “Oh, Stewy. The surprises keep on coming.”
I felt better instantly. Like Sissy had taken me, the overinflated balloon, and gently let some air out, just enough, so I could feel relief. I still had no idea what we were going to do with all those canaries, but I felt much less pressure to get it right.
I drove myself to Willie Ng’s therapist. My parents trusted I wouldn’t skip the appointment and lie about it, after I admitted I sort of enjoyed going. I tried to figure out what I most needed to talk about as I drove through the back roads, sipping lemonade and listening to Alice’s angry playlist.
There was so much to process: The Today show. The bullshit promise I made to Mr. Upton. The tension I was feeling with Jean.
Gordie texted me while I sat in the stuffy waiting room. Just saw Today show clip. Damn. I’m good at what I do. Would you like to have a proper date tomorrow night?
Yes, please.
The therapist was wearing the same stained T-shirt as the first session, except there was a new coffee stain above Mickey Mouse’s ear. He flipped through his pad, cleared his throat, and smiled.
“How’s the sleeping these days?” He jumped right into it.
“Actually, getting better.”
“And how about life? What’s been going on?”
“Can I ask you about something unrelated to the incident? Like, interpersonal?”
“Absolutely.” His face lit up.
“I’ve been having issues with one of my friends. I said something really hurtful and I don’t know how to fix it.”
He looked through his pad. “Is this Shay?”
I had forgotten I told him about Shay and how I had thought she was blowing me off when she was actually pretty miserable at tennis camp. Now he was probably going to write, Sadie is one of those pain-in-the-ass high school girls who always has drama with her friends. I hadn’t actually talked to Shay since the CVS conversation. But I knew it was going to be okay from our happy emojis and Miss you and Talk soon texts. It hit me that I needed to talk to Shay, clear the air. Apologize for walking around being mad at her—which I probably did only because it was easier than missing her.
“Uh, no. A different friend. Anyway, I don’t feel comfortable getting into the details. I just need advice on how to get my friend to answer my texts. He won’t even let me explain myself.”
“Is this a romantic interest?”
“No. Just a guy friend.”
“Without knowing the full story, I suggest you give it time, and allow your friend to cool off a bit. Sometimes people need that. Then reach out again, maybe not via text message, as sometimes texts can be misconstrued.”
I said “Okay,” but I didn’t have the patience to let Jean cool off anymore.
“How does that sound?”
“That makes a lot of sense.”
We spent the rest of the session talking about the incident. I admitted I was sick of the incident. I didn’t want to talk about it, think about it, dream about it, or write about it ever again. I just wanted to snap my fingers twice and make it disappear.
“So finish up that letter for the victim advocate for next session, and we can stop talking about the incident. What do you think about that?”
“Yes, definitely,” I said.
As hot and cold as I was about my trips to the therapist, I always left feeling better. I also always left feeling hungry.
I sprinted out of there and ordered from our favorite Chinese place.
While I waited in the parking lot for the food to be ready, I decided to call Shay.
“Shay?”
“Hey.”
“I’m sorry. I’m so, so, so, so, so sorry
about not being a good friend.”
“It’s okay, really. I loved my care package. The cookies were all broken, so I put them on my ice cream.”
“Can we try to be normal again?” My voice cracked.
There was silence on the other end.
“I have to tell you something, Sadie. I remember what happened with Gordie Harris at CVS.”
“Okay?”
“I had a basket full of incriminating shit. Like tampons, yeast infection medicine, I don’t even know, but Gordie Harris was trying to talk to me and I freaked out and ran away. I promise you, Sadie, I had no clue what he was saying. When you mentioned it, I had to search my brain. But anyway, I’m really sorry. I was all kinds of mortified.”
“Oh my God, Shay. I totally understand.”
Then Shay began to cry.
“I’ve been really sad, Sadie. I can’t deal with all these people out here, and it felt like you just moved on with Pooch and those guys. I don’t even know what happened with us. I feel so empty.”
“Shay?”
“Yeah?” She blew her nose.
“I think I pushed you away because everything was changing and it was stressful and I was probably mad at you for leaving.”
“I get it. Believe me.”
“And there was a reason I brought up the Gordie Harris thing.”
“What reason?” She sniffed and blew her nose again.
“Gordie isn’t gay. And I’ve been hooking up with him.” And then I started laughing.
“Shut up.”
“I know.”
I ate vegetable fried rice with a plastic spoon at a table in front of the Chinese restaurant window as flies buzzed around me. I bit into an egg roll and suddenly felt the urge to find Jean and talk to him in person. It was more than just wanting to repair the cracks in the Unlikelies. I had grown to adore Jean with his beard and his sketching and his quirky one-liners and passion for life despite everything he had endured.
I wove through the Tiny Art Camp parking lot searching for Jean’s van. When I didn’t see it, I took a chance and went to his house. It was starting to get dark and his tree-lined street was quiet, almost eerie. I parked in front. There were no lights on, no signs anyone was home. I climbed through the tangled bushes, shimmied against his neighbor’s fence, and tiptoed behind the house. A single light shined through the blinds in Jean’s room.
The Unlikelies Page 20
