The Key to the Golden Firebird

by Maureen Johnson

  “I saw you go in,” her mother said. “I thought that seemed like good news.”

  She leaned over to give May a hug. She smelled vaguely of hospital, even though she’d showered since she’d been there last.

  “You have no idea how relieved I am,” she said.

  “Relieved?” May asked, giving her mother a sideways glance. That wasn’t quite the reaction she’d been expecting—not immediately after she passed the test, anyway.

  May started the car and carefully backed out of the space. It took her almost a full minute to do this, as she stopped for every car that came down their row. She overshot her turn leaving the parking lot and almost ended up on the shoulder on the opposite side of the road. Okay, maybe the state of Pennsylvania had made a mistake—but too late now. She wasn’t giving them the license back.

  “Palmer has a game this afternoon,” her mom said. “I’m leaving for work at six, so if you could take her, that would be great.”

  “Sure.”

  “And if you could run to the store…”

  “Can’t I be normal and celebrate for a second?” May asked. She could hear the irritation in her voice.

  Her mom flashed her a quick look.

  “I mean, could you wait maybe five minutes before laying the jobs on me?”

  “I’m just—”

  “Brooks didn’t get a list of chores when she got her license,” May found herself saying. “She went to a game. She had a cell phone.”

  “What are you saying?” her mother asked.

  “I’m saying Brooks actually did stuff, had fun. I got my license because I had to. It’s always been about Brooks. You let her do whatever she wants.”

  “Don’t exaggerate.” Her mother pried a few stray M&M’s from the well near the shift.

  “So why is Brooks practically in rehab now?” May spat. “She was like that for months, and you didn’t say a word.”

  “If I had known…”

  Maybe it was because she was in the driver’s seat now, but May felt a sudden urge to say exactly what she thought.

  “How could you not know, Mom? How could you not know that your own daughter was out about every other night, wasted out of her mind? Didn’t you guess something was up when she quit the team? Or what about the fact that she was hung over and half dead the rest of the time? What about her grades? What are they like?”

  Her mother put on her sunglasses and stared out the window.

  “Dad liked her best,” May said. “You like her best. Why can’t you just say it?”

  In her frustration May almost ran a red light. She skidded to a stop several feet past the white line. The nose of the Firebird stuck out into traffic. She couldn’t back up because cars had come up right behind her. People wove around her to get by, some honking in annoyance as they passed.

  “You’re too far up,” her mother snapped.

  “Like I didn’t notice that.”

  Neither of them spoke again for the rest of the ride. Once they were in the garage, her mother left the car, slamming the door behind her.

  Palmer was immediately on May’s heels the second she walked into the house.

  “What did you do?” Palmer asked, her voice low.

  “We had a fight,” May replied, rubbing her temples. She pushed past Palmer and went into the kitchen, but Palmer followed her.

  “Mom’s upset.”

  “I know.” May threw open the fridge and cursed at the empty water pitcher. “Can you leave me alone for a second, Palm?”

  “What did you do?”

  Palm was clenching her jaw and glowering down at May.

  “I didn’t do anything,” May spat. “I passed my test, okay? That’s what I did.”

  May heard a car pull up in front of the house. Pete. She hurried to the front door to check. The Cutlass was in front of the house, and Palmer was still at her back, yapping like a dog.

  “You did something to her!”

  “Not now, Palm! Go away!”

  Palmer stomped upstairs.

  May examined herself in the mirror. Her eyes were slightly red. She had her sunburn, which was almost fading into a tan and looked sort of nice against her dark blue tank top. She reached up and pulled out the twist tie that held her hair back in a knot and gave her head a good shake. Her hair was kind of bumpy and strange looking from being pulled up when it was still wet, but May decided to tell herself it was attractively wavy. She had no problems at all lying to herself in desperate situations.

  She peered through the glass at the top of the door and saw Pete marching across the front lawn. He was casually but carefully dressed in long green khaki shorts and a black short-sleeve button-down shirt. His clothes even looked ironed. His hair seemed to be carefully dried and even kind of…arranged. His arm was tucked behind his back.

  She opened the door. As he got within a few paces, he broke out into a huge grin. May clenched her hands into fists to keep them steady.

  “You are burned,” he said.

  “Oh.” May looked down at herself and remembered her excuse from the night before. “Yeah. I scorch.”

  He swung his arm around and presented her with three Gerber daisies. May pushed open the door and stepped outside to take them. They were vividly colored—red, orange, and yellow.

  “I got these…,” Pete said. “I knew you were going to pass.”

  “What’s this?” May said, even though they were obviously flowers.

  “There’s only three of them,” he said, almost apologetically.

  “They’re great. Thanks.”

  “Are you all right?” he asked. May turned away and headed for the garage.

  “I’m fine,” she said quickly, wanting to get away in case her mother came downstairs. “Let’s go…out here. We can sit in the car.”

  They sat down in the front seat of the Firebird, leaving the doors hanging open.

  “So, I passed,” she said. “Finally. Amazing.”

  Neither of them could think of anything more to say about the test. May looked down at the cream-colored vinyl seat. Traces of fabric softener fragrance wafted off Pete’s shirt.

  “So, your call,” he began. “The other night. Did you mean what you said?”

  May stroked the flower petals and found herself unable to speak. Her entire attention was on the fact that Pete’s hand had fallen on her far shoulder, and this time he wasn’t going to tap on it and make her turn the wrong way. He had gotten closer to her. His face was just inches away from hers. There was no question what was supposed to happen next.

  Pete kept talking, his words coming more quickly.

  “Because for a long time I’ve really…I like you a lot. Obviously.”

  All of Pete’s attributes, which had seemed so appealing just a short while before, took on a threatening quality. His hair was too curly. His nose, too small and well formed. He had gotten too tall. His lips seemed especially ridiculous. They could be the most perfectly formed lips on the planet and still look like some very disturbing instruments when viewed up close for over a minute.

  He slid closer to her. The hand that had been on her shoulder was now cradling the back of her head.

  “Pete…”

  Oh God, his head was even at an angle. He was ready. It was like a crowded elevator full of emotions had just risen to May’s head and gotten stuck there. They were all banging around, making her feel like she was going to explode.

  “Just wait.” She put her hands up against his chest and pushed herself back. “Just stop, okay?”

  Pete stopped moving entirely.

  “What?”

  “I don’t want to do this, okay? It’s weird.”

  “What’s weird?”

  “This!” she yelled. “Us!”

  He seemed confused.

  “You called and said you loved me.”

  “I was drunk. Brooks got me drunk. I didn’t know what I was doing.”

  “You weren’t drunk before you left.”

  She co
uldn’t deny that one. She couldn’t think, period.

  “What about Jenna?” she asked, wondering where her words were coming from. Pete almost jumped to his side of the seat.

  “What about her?”

  “It just seems kind of weird to me, now that I think about it,” May said. “Why you broke up with her.”

  Pete’s eyes seemed to get bloodshot instantly. His brow lowered, and the freckleless spot between his eyes turned a bright crimson. Bizarrely, May’s impulse was to make him mad. Be vicious. That was the only message she was getting.

  “What about Nell?” she asked. “You just cheated on her, then you dumped her.”

  “Nell was…I explained this to you. What are you saying?”

  “I just wanted to learn how to drive,” May went on, “and you…”

  Were nice. Helped me. Made me laugh.

  “…completely took it the wrong way. And you didn’t even care what you did to her. Is that what you do? You just stay with someone as long as you feel like it? I mean, are you just going to screw me and dump me?”

  May never used the word screw, not in that sense. The word left a hard taste in her mouth.

  “Screw you and dump you?” he repeated incredulously. His voice had gone a bit hoarse.

  In the silence that followed, May could hear the Stark boys gleefully using each other as lawn dart targets. Their breathless screaming drifted up over their house, through the open garage door, and passed into the Firebird.

  It was hard to do, but once you made Pete angry, he stayed angry. There were times when they’d fought as kids that he’d cut May dead for days until they had made up. But those times were nothing compared to the anger she saw in him now. Now she saw a much bigger, scarier emotion. He wasn’t the little boy who used to ride over to her house on his bike anymore—he was a fully grown guy.

  He turned to face forward. His chest was rising and falling quickly. May leaned back and looked out her side of the car. She couldn’t understand why she was so very calm when this horrible thing was exploding all around her. She actually felt a strange sense of relaxation.

  When Pete left a minute later, she decided not to turn to watch him go, even though something inside her was yelling at her to follow him. Quickly. To get out of the car and catch him and stop this insanity.

  That was impossible.

  She sat, staring at the tool shelf. She heard Pete’s car pull away.

  Brooks came down into the garage and set a bucket of freshly washed dishes on one of the shelves.

  “Nice one,” she said, and headed back inside.

  May was sitting against her bed, staring at the phone on the floor. She’d been in the process of reaching for it for an hour, wanting to call Pete but having no idea what to say—or what her voice might say, since she was apparently possessed by demons who did all her talking for her.

  Brooks pushed open her door without knocking.

  “It’s time for Palmer’s game,” she said.

  May shoved her star-spangled flip-flops on her feet. As she walked down the hall, Brooks followed her.

  “You’re coming?” May asked.

  “Moral support.”

  “Since when have you given that out?”

  Palmer was already sitting in the back of the car, silently examining her glove. Brooks hopped into the passenger’s seat.

  “You have a lot of problems, you know that?” Brooks said casually as May backed out of the garage. “Seriously. I think you need a psychologist.”

  “Not now,” May said flatly.

  “Really. I think you do.”

  “Well, when your rehab guy has some free time, maybe he can see me.”

  “Both of you,” Palmer said from the back. “Shut up.”

  “What you did to Pete was cold.”

  “Okay,” May said, backing out onto the road a bit more aggressively than necessary. “I don’t think you’re far enough along the twelve steps to start criticizing me. Wait until you get your sixty-day chip or something.”

  Palmer slammed her fist into her glove a few times.

  “At least I’m not a user,” Brooks continued.

  “I guess you haven’t used me or used Mom. I mean, we really love paying for all of your screwups. It gives us a reason to live.”

  “You’re both retards,” Palmer mumbled, but neither May nor Brooks could quite catch what she’d said.

  “He’s been great to you,” Brooks said. “He’d do anything for you. And you treated him like crap.”

  “Look,” May said, “I’m sorry that I didn’t meet someone classy, like Dave Vatiman….”

  Another jab. Maybe it was the driver’s seat, May reasoned. Maybe it did something to her—made her evil. But Brooks didn’t seem to notice the remark.

  “That’s my point. You could at least be nice to him.”

  “You have no idea what you’re talking about,” May broke in. “He’s Pete. He’s an idiot. He’ll get over it.”

  Even as May said it, she winced a bit. Why did she say these things?

  Because she was crazy. Because she was a zombie.

  They rode the rest of the way in silence. May brought the car to an abrupt stop in front of the clubhouse. Palmer was the first out. She pulled her things out of the backseat briskly.

  “See you after,” May said.

  “Yeah,” Brooks said over her shoulder. “Good game.”

  Palmer didn’t answer them. She walked off to the clubhouse. May and Brooks got out of the car.

  “You know what?” Brooks said, looking her sister up and down. “You deserve it. You deserve to be weird and miserable.”

  “Thanks,” May said, walking off toward the bleachers.

  Seventh inning. Three to two in favor of this team of strangers Palmer found herself pitching for. She was perspiring. This was a game she could have played better. Three obviously incompetent batters had gotten past her—girls she could have struck out with her eyes closed on any other day.

  She just needed to get through this. To get home and go back to bed.

  Playing always took her mind off things, but today her head was still buzzing. She was exhausted—she hadn’t slept much. May had argued with her mother and left her crying. May had argued with Pete about something, and Pete had gone away. May had gotten drunk at the beach. She was used to Brooks doing these things, but now even May was falling to pieces on her. But this wasn’t the time or place to think about that.

  Palmer squared herself off and faced the batter, putting both of her feet on the pitcher’s plate. She gripped the ball with both hands.

  Then it hit all at once, without warning. The nighttime panic was here, now. The strange heartbeat, the tunnel vision. Her arms didn’t work. She couldn’t throw. She couldn’t move. She curled her knuckles up along the stitches of the ball. It was the only recognizable sensation.

  The girl at bat straightened up impatiently. Palmer tried to calm herself, but she knew that she was rapidly approaching the ten-second mark, which was the maximum amount of time she was allowed between taking her position on the pitcher’s plate and beginning her pitch. The batter crowded the plate, sensing her nervousness.

  Palmer had to do something.

  In one smooth gesture she stepped forward, wound her arm, and released the ball. She closed her eyes. It was a solid pitch. She could see it moving in her mind—how it arced, how it slowed. The batter, confused, would move in even farther. But then it would curve and go right back toward the plate, picking up speed. And if the girl didn’t move away…

  Palmer closed her eyes right before the ball hit the girl’s helmet with a sickening thud.

  Brooks had risen to her feet a moment before the impact; her instincts had told her that something was wrong with the pitch. Palmer had waited much too long. She watched the batter stagger and fall, and her team and coaches came running. There was confusion in the bleachers and on the field. Cell phones were pulled out. A few people leapt down and ran to the fallen girl. Palmer t
urned and ran off.

  “What’s going on?” May said.

  Brooks was already climbing down the bleachers in pursuit. May scrambled for her purse and trailed behind.

  Palmer disappeared around the clubhouse, toward the parking lot, so Brooks increased her pace. Even though she was a little out of shape, Brooks was still an excellent runner. Palmer was fast, but she could keep up with her. She followed her through the parking lot and watched her duck behind the Firebird. When Brooks jogged up a few seconds later, she found Palm sitting on the ground, curled up into a ball.

  “Go away,” Palmer said in a low voice.

  “What happened out there?”

  “I said go away.”

  “Are you all right?”

  There was heavy breathing coming from behind them. May had just caught up.

  “Palm, you should really go back there,” Brooks said. “Go back and explain.”

  Palmer screamed. Not an angry scream but a painful, high-pitched, unbroken wail. Brooks remembered screaming like that when she was a little child, so hard that she felt her throat might bleed. It carried across the parking lot. It drew the attention of everyone in the entire area. If her desired effect was to scare Brooks off, it worked. But May stepped forward and sat down on the ground in front of Palmer. Palmer scrunched her face together in what was probably an attempt at a threatening expression, but May didn’t move.

  “What’s going on, Palm?” she said.

  “It keeps happening,” Palm said through clenched teeth.

  “What does?”

  “The thing. Where I can’t breathe.”

  “Can’t breathe?”

  “It happened out there. Things get dark.”

  May reached out and rubbed Palm’s knee.

  “Do you want to go home?” she asked quietly.

  The knee rubbing seemed to subdue Palmer. Her face relaxed, and she gave a heavy nod, like little kids do when they’re upset or tired. May looked up at Brooks, who was surveying the activity in the distance with a dark expression.

  “I don’t know if we should,” Brooks said. “They’re going to want to know what happened.”

  May was already getting out her keys.

  “I don’t care,” she replied. “Let’s get her out of here.”