“That’s because I’ve been riding Chili.”
“A beet riding a chili,” Trilby said and did a little goofy laugh like what she said was hilarious. When she was done cracking herself up, she asked me if I wanted my usual—peach, mango, pineapple.
“Do you mind digging in my purse?” I asked her. “I’ve got these riding boots on.”
“Sure.” Trilby bounded around the counter and pulled a few dollars out of my small cross-shoulder bag.
When she was done making the smoothie, she set it on one of the little colorful tables for me. I sat down and bent over it and sucked it down. It was like an ice cold, sweet, juicy rainbow in my mouth that immediately shot to my head. I sat back and whimpered from my brain freeze.
Trilby sat down at the table with me. “So how did it go?”
When my head stopped feeling like someone was digging a chopstick into it, I said, “Okay. She’s getting better at the voice commands.”
“That’s so cool,” she said. “I never knew horses could do voice commands like that.” She grinned. “Like a big dog you can ride. Like a really, really big dog.” She giggled again and ran a hand through her short blonde hair, streaked with green and blue highlights. She always had different color highlights in her hair. She also had a wild amount of freckles on her nose and wore colorful T-shirts with bands I’d never heard of on them. I could see why Zion had a crush on her, though he would never ever admit it.
“So how’s high school going?” Trilby asked.
“Fine.”
“Is everyone nice to you?”
“No one’s been mean to me. I’d say so far so good.”
“Have you made any new friends?” Trilby was homeschooled, so she was obviously curious about the goings on of high school.
“Not yet, but I will. High school is a whole new world. Yep, a lot of politics to figure out.”
Her eyes widened. “What kind of politics? Fill me in.”
“Just like who sits with who in the cafeteria and stupid stuff like that.” I took another sip of my smoothie and swallowed.
“That sounds terrible,” Trilby said. “I don’t think I’d do well in high school. I have a hard time conforming to the Man’s expectations and following any kind of politics.”
I didn’t know who the man was that Trilby was talking about, but I assumed it was her dad, which was weird because her dad seemed pretty cool. “I agree,” I said. “I’d like a simpler life.”
“You sound like you should become a farmer. I hear that’s a pretty simple life.”
I thought about that a moment. “Maybe I should become a farmer.”
“You could farm beets.”
I smiled. “And chilies.” I took another sip of smoothie. “How do you like being homeschooled?”
“I guess it’s pretty cool. It doesn’t take that long to get my schoolwork done every day, and then I have extra time to do my art and work here.”
“What kind of art do you do?”
She waved a hand around the smoothie shop at the framed pictures. I got up to check them out. They were all of chickens, but, like, cool colorful abstract chickens. “You did all of these?”
“Yep, and they’re for sale, too.”
I sat back down at the table with her. “I might have to buy one for my room.”
“I’ll give you a good discount.” We sat there quietly for a moment while I swigged down more of my smoothie. “Do you think you’ll go to any school dances this year?” Trilby asked. “I always wanted to go to a school dance.”
“I’d like to go to one, even though I don’t really know how to dance,” I said. “And I’m not sure what I’ll do when they play the ‘Y.M.C.A.’” Nostrils, maybe? “But yeah, I hope I get to go to one.”
“I think it would be so much fun,” Trilby said. “I mean, homecoming, prom, and all that. They probably play the sort of soulless, commercialized, manufactured, mainstream music the masses enjoy, but I’d still have fun.”
Oh, man. I was pretty sure I listened to soulless, commercialized, manufactured, mainstream music. Whatever it was. “What kind of music do you like?” I asked her.
She pointed both fingers at her T-shirt that had a funny cartoon drawing on it and read Screaming Ferret. “Punk, baby!”
“I don’t think I’ve ever listened to punk. Isn’t that like old British stuff?”
“No way. There’s tons of great newer punk.”
“How’d you get into that? I mean being homeschooled and all.”
“My parents raised me on it. There was never a time when punk wasn’t blasting through our house and car.”
“You know what? Your dad told me he was in a band before he had to grow up. I think he said it was a punk band.”
“Heck yes it was! The Square Pegs.”
“Your parents seem cool. Maybe you can write down some punk bands I could listen to.”
“Heck yes I will! You’ll love it, Aven. I can tell you’re punk rock at heart.”
I had no idea what made a person punk rock, but for some reason, it made me feel good to hear Trilby say it. “Really? I don’t think I look very punk rock.”
“Being punk rock isn’t about how you look,” she said. “It’s about how you feel. It’s about what you believe. It’s about saying, ‘I’m good the way I am,’ and spitting in the face of the Man.”
I frowned. “Your dad lets you do that?”
Trilby laughed. “You’re so funny, Aven.”
I smiled. “So how can you tell I’m punk rock then if it has nothing to do with the way you look?”
“I can just tell. I know you’d refuse to conform to the Man’s expectations of you.”
I stared at her a moment. I could tell she was giving me a serious education, even if it was a confusing one. “I’m sorry, but who is this man exactly?”
Trilby leaned in, her face serious. “If you’re punk rock.” I nodded. “And I’m punk rock.” I kept nodding. “Then the Man is everybody else.”
I kept nodding like I understood, when I didn’t understand at all.
“Hold on a sec.” Trilby ran behind the counter, grabbed her cell phone and headphones, then ran back to the table. “Listen to this.” She placed the headphones over my ears and tapped her phone screen several times. After a few seconds, an electric guitar was blasting in my ears, playing the coolest-sounding riff ever. And I didn’t think I could listen to anything else ever again.
8
You’re fading fast, friend.
Don’t forget to say goodbye
If this is the end.
— Llama Parade
I WAS SO STINKING THRILLED WHEN the weekend came because Connor and Zion were coming over. It made me want to prancercise down the streets of Stagecoach Pass singing the song “Reunited,” which was definitely not punk rock at all—neither the song nor the prancercising.
They both stood with me over Fathead. “She looks a little sluggish,” Zion said. “Is she okay?’
“She’s lounging,” I said. “I mean, what would you do if you had to sit in a boring terrarium all day? You’d lounge. It’s a life of leisure.” I suddenly thought of Josephine at the retirement center.
“I guess,” said Zion. “Do you think she’ll live?”
I said, “Absolutely,” at the same time that Connor said, “Probably not.” I kicked his shoe. “Yes, she’s going to live,” I said. “Then I’m going to release her into the wild like they do with the panda bears. It will be quite the heartwarming event. Maybe we can stream it live on the Stagecoach Pass website.”
“What panda bears?” Connor asked.
“The ones in China,” I said. “Keep up.”
“Will she be okay with two legs missing?” Zion asked.
“I’m hoping she’ll molt and then she might have two new legs—two cute little baby legs.”
Zion’s eyes widened. “Cool. I didn’t know they could grow back their legs.”
“Oh my gosh!” I cried out, causing the boys to jum
p. “What if I molted one day and had two cute little baby arms afterward?”
Zion giggled, but Connor rolled his eyes at me and clucked his tongue, a new tic he’d developed over the summer. He picked up my guitar in the corner and started playing a couple of chords like I’d taught him. “Amanda plays the piano,” he said, strumming the guitar.
My good mood instantly faded. “Oh, yeah?” I said as cheerfully as I could.
“Who’s Amanda?” Zion asked.
Connor sat on my desk chair and kept strumming. “She’s a girl at my new school.”
“She has Tourette’s, too,” I told Zion.
“That’s cool,” Zion said. “Have you guys hung out?”
“Just at school,” Connor said, blinking quickly a few times.
“You should invite her to come here with you next time you come over,” I said.
“That’s a good idea,” Connor said. “I will.”
Oh my gosh. Why did he keep agreeing with me about everything?
“I’m probably going to go to her house one day after school next week,” Connor said.
“Why would you want to do that?” I mumbled, staring down at Fathead.
Connor stopped playing. “What?”
I whirled around and smiled. “Nothing. Hey, do you guys know who the Man is?”
They both stared at me blankly. “What man?” Connor said.
“You mean, the Man?” Zion asked.
“Yes, the Man.”
“What man?” Connor asked again.
“Oh, yeah,” Zion said. “My parents know the Man all too well. That’s why they went off and started their own comic book business. Because they couldn’t deal with the Man anymore.”
I nodded as I thought this over. I was even more confused now.
“Why are you asking, Aven?” Zion said.
“Trilby was talking about him.”
With the mention of her name, Zion’s lips got all quivery. “Trilby?” he said, his voice cracking.
Connor and I grinned at each other. “Yes,” I said. “The lovely Trilby.”
Zion pressed his lips together into a thin line. “Whatever,” he muttered.
“Trilby’s pretty cool,” I said. “You know, her dad was in a punk band.”
“Seriously?” Connor said.
“Yeah, they were called The Square Pegs. I’ve listened to them. Their music’s great.” I placed my phone on the floor and played them a song over the speaker. We all three sat there quietly, the boys bobbing their heads to the music. “Pretty good, huh?”
“I like it,” Zion said. “I like the guitar.”
“I know,” I said. “It makes me want to start playing an electric one.” I jumped up. “Oh, you guys have to hear this other punk band. They’re called Llama Parade.”
They both laughed. “I bet Spaghetti would like them,” Connor said. “We should go play it for him.”
“Okay,” I said. “You want to get some ice cream first?”
“What about smoothies?” Zion asked.
It was funny how Zion had suddenly developed a blended kale obsession. “What about smoothies?” I asked him.
“I’d rather have a smoothie,” he said. “It’s healthier.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Fruit is healthier than ice cream,” Zion insisted.
“You do know they put ice cream in the smoothies, right?” I said.
Zion scowled. “Sorbet.”
“Same thing,” I said. “And we have to pay for the smoothies, but we can get the ice cream for free.”
“Why do we have to pay for the smoothies anyway?” Connor asked. He’d clearly gotten far too used to the VIP treatment at Stagecoach Pass.
“Because we’re just the landlords of that place. We own the building but not the actual smoothies inside it.”
“Well, can’t you lord over them and make them give you free smoothies?” Connor snickered.
“No.”
The three of us walked to the soda shop, but Zion made us stop at Sonoran Smoothies on the way so he could “see what their specials were today.” Connor and I both gave each other knowing grins as Zion froze up and looked at his feet when Trilby popped up from behind the counter. “Hi guys!” she said with her usual enthusiasm, hair now streaked with red.
I nudged Zion forward with my shoulder. “Don’t you want to get a kale smoothie?”
It was like Zion’s voice, his entire human body, stopped working in Trilby’s presence. He eventually shook his head, still staring at his feet.
“I’ve been listening to your dad’s band,” I told Trilby. “Their music is amazing.”
“I know!” Trilby said.
“He never should have stopped playing.”
Trilby’s face grew serious. “I know.”
“I played Llama Parade for the boys, too,” I said. “We’re going to go see if Spaghetti likes it.”
“Of course, he will!” Trilby laughed. “Make sure you check out those other bands I mentioned.”
“I will,” I said. I turned to Zion, but he was in total no-eye-contact-with-anyone mode. “Well, we’re going to get ice cream in the soda shop today. We just wanted to say hi.”
“Hi!” she said.
We left Sonoran Smoothies and made our way to the soda shop. As we walked, I said to Zion, “Funny how you wanted to go in there so badly to get a smoothie and then didn’t get one.”
“Yeah,” Connor said and barked. “We know you really wanted to have that ‘smoothie.’”
Man, I was so jealous when Connor used air quotes. I would have to add “not being able to use air quotes” to my list of things that stink about not having arms. There was something special about using body language to be sarcastic.
Zion shoved Connor. “Shut up.”
I grinned. “Seriously, though, I can see why you wanted a smoothie. I mean, the smoothies at Stagecoach Pass are the prettiest, er, I mean the most delicious.”
Zion ran after me, chasing me to the front steps of the soda shop. “Base!” I cried.
Henry sat in one of the rocking chairs on the front porch. “Aren’t you hot out here?” I asked him, walking up the steps.
He turned to me, his face filled with confusion. He didn’t respond. “Henry?” I said.
He tilted his head a little. “Huh?”
I knelt down in front of his rocking chair. “Are you okay?”
He slowly nodded. “Uh-huh.”
“Do you know who I am?”
His face contorted like the effort of thinking was too much. “Aven,” he said slowly. “Aven Cavanaugh.”
I stood back up and faced my friends. “Should we get him some help?” Zion asked.
Connor and Zion stayed with Henry. Mom was out running errands, so I went to find Dad, who was busy working in the office at the steakhouse. “Dad?”
He glanced up from the computer screen he’d been glaring at. “Hey. I thought Zion and Connor were here.”
“They are. They’re with Henry. He seems confused right now. Maybe you should come talk to him.”
Dad came back to the soda shop with me, but Henry, Zion, and Connor were sitting in the rocking chairs while Henry told them a story that we caught the end of. “And that was how I saved that baby rabbit’s life,” Henry was saying.
“How’d you save a baby rabbit’s life?” Dad asked.
Henry looked up at Dad, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “I beat that snake with a stick until it let it go. Boy, you don’t want to hear the noises a baby rabbit makes when it’s being squeezed to death.” Henry shuddered. “I’ll never forget.”
“When was this, Henry?” Dad asked.
“Oh, when I was little.”
Dad leaned down. “He seems okay now,” he whispered to me.
“Was your family there with you?” I asked Henry.
“Oh, no.” Henry shook his head. “I never had any family. That was in the orphanage.”
Dad and I glanced at each other. “What orphanage was t
hat?” Dad asked.
“Let’s see.” Henry seemed to think for a while. “That would’ve probably been Angel Guardian at that time.”
“You were in more than one?” Dad asked.
“Oh, yeah,” Henry said. “All over the place.”
“Did you have any brothers or sisters there with you?” I asked him.
Henry shrugged. “Don’t know. I don’t remember anything but the orphanages.”
Dad leaned in and whispered, “Come and get me if he starts losing it again.”
I frowned at him. “You know Mom doesn’t like it when you call it that.”
“Okay, if he has another episode.”
Dad left and I sat down in one of the rocking chairs. “What was it like in the orphanages?” I asked Henry.
Henry rocked gently and stared down at his hands. “Oh, it was okay. I imagine not as good as living with a family.”
“Were they nice to you in there?” I asked. “I mean the people who took care of you.”
Henry scowled. “I do remember one or two nuns fondly. There were some, though, who were mean as snakes.” Henry shakily rubbed the top of one age-spotted hand. “I can still feel the smack of the wooden brush. I was given more thrashings than I can count.” Henry shuddered. “I don’t care to talk about those parts.”
Connor, Zion, and I all looked at one another, not knowing how to respond to this. “Did you have friends?” Connor asked, blinking his eyes and shrugging his shoulders.
“Oh, yeah,” Henry said. “Had some good friends. When you have hard times like that, it can make for some good friends. It’s the only thing that helps you get through it.”
“Do you still talk to them?” I asked.
Henry shook his head. “No. Lost touch years ago.” Then his face brightened. “You all want some ice cream?”
The three of us followed Henry into the soda shop. “That was weird,” Connor whispered to me. “One second he was confused, and then he seemed to recognize me and started talking about old stuff.” He clucked his tongue.
“Yeah, but I don’t think he knows who I am,” Zion said.
Momentous Events in the Life of a Cactus Page 5
