I turn to see a small coffee hut across the street called the Jitter Bean, and my shoulders slouch. “You’re stalling.”
Nico grins. “No, I’m not. I just want some coffee.”
“You had coffee back at the hotel.”
“You can never have too much coffee.”
He takes off toward the crosswalk, and I run to catch up to him. “Fine, but let’s make it quick.”
“What’s the rush?” Nico asks. “I thought Tom Lancaster said you could basically show up whenever you wanted.”
“Yes, he did. But I’d still like to get there as soon as possible, which means there’s still no time for dawdling.”
Nico guffaws. “Dawdling? Really?”
“Yeah, really,” I snap. So much for not letting Nico get to me this morning. That lasted a whole hour.
“Who, under the age of sixty, says ‘dawdling’?” Nico asks.
“I do. Now let’s get the coffee and get back on the road.”
“Okay,” Nico says, raising his hands in a defensive gesture. He lines up behind the four other people waiting to place their orders at the outdoor counter. We’ve been waiting for less than a minute when Nico’s phone lets out a chirp. He raises his sunglasses to peer at the screen. “Wow. That was fast.”
Dread sweeps over me. “What was fast?”
“Looks like we’ll have to make a quick stop in Eureka on our way up to Crescent City.”
“Why? What’s in Eureka?”
Nico’s eyes continue to scan the screen. “Some kid named Mack Polonsky.” He sucks in a breath. “Yikes. Rough name.”
I blink, confused. “Who the hell is Mack Polonsky?”
“He wants to trade our Tomato and Vine gift card.”
“Already?” I ask, shocked.
“Yeah. I know, right? It’s almost as though he was sitting in front of his computer screen, waiting for this post.” The man in the front of the line gets his coffee, and we move up.
“Okay,” I say, trying to sound supportive. “I get it. You proved your point. You turned a rubber band into a fifty-dollar gift card. Can we stop with the whole Craigslist thing now?”
Nico looks scandalized. “What? No! Why would we stop now? It’s working. So let’s go all the way, baby!”
“We’re meeting Tom Lancaster today.”
“So?”
“So, that’s it. Crescent City is only two hours from here. And then it’s all over. If you think you’re going to make enough money in two hours to convince me not to sell the car, you’re delusional.”
“Goonies never say die,” Nico says triumphantly, raising a fist in the air.
He needs to stop with the old eighties movies. Yes, it was one of the things we bonded over at the beginning. But we don’t need to bond now. In fact . . .
10. The less bonding, the better.
I roll my eyes and turn my attention to the board hanging outside the counter window, scanning the list of drinks for something that looks good.
“You know you know the reference,” Nico taunts.
“Of course I know the reference. I just don’t agree with the sentiment.”
The woman at the front of the line pays, grabs her coffee in a to-go cup, and leaves. Nico and I take a step forward.
“You don’t agree with the sentiment?” Nico repeats mockingly as the couple in front of us places their order.
“No. I don’t think you have any hope of trading a fifty-dollar gift card up to something worth twenty-five thousand dollars . . . in two hours.”
He points at his phone. “Mack Polonsky did say we could have anything in his room. Well, except his Battle Royale. He was very clear about that. I think he even bolded it in the e-mail.”
“What’s a Battle Royale?”
Nico shrugs. “I assume it’s some sort of video game I’ve never heard of. Anyway, he sounds pretty desperate. I feel sorry for the kid. Listen to this.” He flips his sunglasses onto his forehead and reads aloud from the screen.
“ ‘DUDE! I NEED THAT GIFT CARD!’ ” Nico looks up at me to add, “That part is in all caps.” He goes back to the e-mail. “ ‘Jasmine Ramirez just agreed to go out with me. Me! Jasmine Ramirez! I know you don’t know who that is, but just trust me, she’s hot. Like, superhot. And I never in a million years thought she’d ever be into me.’ ” Nico glances at me again to add his commentary. “She does sound hot.” He continues reading. “ ‘I really didn’t expect her to say yes. In fact, I wasn’t even going to ask. I sort of did it on a dare from my friend Brett, because he didn’t think I would ever do it. But I proved him wrong. And now I think he’s really depressed because he’s had a crush on Jasmine Ramirez since elementary school, but he’s too much of a wuss to do anything about it. But that’s a whole other story.’ ” Nico looks up at me. “Don’t worry. He doesn’t go into that story. After that, he just says, ‘So anyway, Brett’s out and I’m in. But here’s the problem. I am broke. Dead broke. I spent the very last cent of my allowance losing a wager to stupid Brett on White Tower Blitz.’ ” Nico lowers his phone to add, “Another video game, I guess?”
I sigh impatiently, glancing at the couple ahead of us in line who seems to be taking a really long time making a decision about something as simple as coffee.
He continues reading. “ ‘So now I have absolutely no money to spend on my date with Jasmine Ramirez. Did I mention she’s hot?’ ” Nico looks up. “I think he did mention that, actually.”
The couple finally decides on what they’re having, pays, and steps aside. I anxiously approach the counter. “Hi,” I say to the girl behind the register, trying to keep the previous irritation out of my voice. “I’d like a white chocolate mocha, please.”
The cashier inputs my order and turns to Nico. “Will this be together?”
“Yes,” I say, and nudge Nico, who thankfully lowers his phone and glances at the menu board.
“Black coffee, please.”
I snort. “Of course.” I turn to the cashier. “He means he’ll have the most boring possible item there is on your menu.”
“Excuse me?” Nico says, pretending to be offended.
“Do you have anything more boring than a black coffee? Because if you do, he wants that instead.”
“Someone got up on the wrong side of the bed today,” Nico says.
“Yes, that’s right. I had to squeeze between the bed and the wall to avoid stepping on you.”
The cashier glances uneasily between us, not quite sure what to make of this situation.
“We’re exes,” Nico explains. “And she’s cranky because we just had to spend the night together. It’s a long story.”
I huff. “That’s not why I’m cranky.”
“See, even she admits she’s cranky.”
“And will you stop telling every stranger we meet our entire life story?”
“Hey! She looks interested.” Nico turns to the cashier. “Aren’t you interested . . .” He bends down to read her name tag. “Laurie?”
“Um . . . ,” Laurie says, looking panicked.
“See?” I tell Nico. “You’ve completely freaked her out. Aren’t you freaked out, Laurie?”
“Um . . . ,” Laurie repeats.
“So,” Nico says imperiously to me. “What would you have me order? Since you clearly have life all figured out?”
“Something more interesting than black coffee!” I say, throwing my hands in the air.
“Fine,” Nico says. “You order for me. I’ll drink whatever you choose.”
I scoff like this is the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I’m serious,” Nico says. “Order for me. Lady’s choice.”
Laurie is still glancing uneasily between us. “So, um, should I cancel the black coffee?”
“Yes,” Nico says at the same time that I say, “No.”
“Yes,” Nico repeats. “Ali here—which isn’t her real name, by the way, but don’t bother asking her what it is
because she won’t tell you—is going to order for me.” He turns to me and practically bows like he’s greeting the queen. “Go ahead.”
I roll my eyes. Why is he being so annoying?
But fine. If he wants to play this ridiculous game, I can play that game. I scan the menu, looking for the sweetest, most undrinkable coffee drink I can find. “Okay,” I say, flashing an innocent smile to Laurie. “He’ll have the Nutella S’mores Latte Explosion with extra whipped cream and extra syrup.”
Nico grimaces for a brief moment but catches himself and turns it into a wide grin. “Sounds delicious. In fact, make it a large.”
Laurie hesitantly enters the order and rings up the total. I pay, and we step aside while we wait for our drinks.
“Okay,” Nico says, whipping out his phone again. “Back to the Mack Polonsky saga.”
I let out a soft groan. Nico ignores it and keeps reading the e-mail, which I’m now convinced is more like a novel than an e-mail.
“Where was I?” Nico scans the screen. “Oh, right. Here. ‘So now I have absolutely no money to spend on my date with Jasmine Ramirez. Did I mention she’s hot? Well, she is. And so you can see why I desperately need that gift card, bro. If I roll up to Tomato and Vine with Jasmine Ramirez and am able to say, “Order anything you like, babe. It’s on me,” I will look like such a playa pimp!’ ”
I bark out a laugh. “Somehow I doubt that.”
“Right?” Nico says, and continues reading. “ ‘Please, please, please trade it with me. I’ll give you anything in my room. Anything. Well, except my Battle Royale. Definitely not my Battle Royale! So don’t even think about it, bro!’ ”
Nico turns the phone around. “See, that last part is in all bold.”
I nod. “I see.”
“ ‘Please write back ASAP and let me know. I’m in Eureka. If you knew how hot Jasmine was and how freakishly improbable it is that she actually said yes to me, you wouldn’t hesitate for a second.’ ” Nico takes a breath and returns his phone to his pocket. “So you see, we have to go save this kid.”
“Mmm,” I say noncommittally.
“Otherwise, who knows what Jasmine Ramirez will do? She’ll probably start dating someone else. Maybe even Brett!”
“You sound like a soap opera right now.”
“His life is a soap opera!”
I impatiently tap my foot, peering at the counter to see if our drinks have appeared. Maybe I shouldn’t have ordered Nico that Nutella S’mores Latte Explosion. It sounds really complicated. It probably takes two hours and a small army of people to prepare. “Every teenager’s life is a soap opera,” I point out. “Mack Padansky better get used to it.”
“It’s Polonsky,” Nico says, like he’s offended on Mack’s behalf.
“Sorry,” I mutter.
“Have some heart, Ali,” Nico says earnestly. “The future of this nerd boy’s life depends on us right now.”
“How do you know he’s a nerd boy?” I challenge.
Nico raises his eyebrows. “Seriously? Do you want me to read the e-mail again?”
I shrug. “I’m just saying that’s a little judgmental.”
“I guess you would know,” Nico says, and when I cut my eyes to him, I see there’s absolutely nothing playful about the jab.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask.
Nico scoffs. “I think you know.”
“Well, I don’t.”
“You’re the one who likes to pass snap judgments on people.”
I feel my fists balling at my sides. I tell myself to relax.
Don’t play into this. He’s trying to bait you.
“So, tell me,” Nico goes on, “how would you judge Mack Polonsky?”
I resume my air of annoyance. “I won’t. I don’t give a crap about Mack Polonsky. Because we’re not driving to Eureka.”
“It’s not that far,” Nico insists. “It’s right off the 101. We’re going to drive through it anyway. The whole stop will take ten minutes at the most. We can’t let him down.”
“And I can’t let Tom Lancaster down. Again. We don’t have time for random stops at random losers’ houses.”
Nico smirks. “Ah, so you have passed judgment on him.”
I close my eyes and try to take in a calming breath.
“Anyway,” Nico goes on. “Mack Polonsky is not a random loser.”
I shoot him a look.
“He happens to be a very specific loser who I now consider a friend.”
“You consider everyone a friend,” I point out. “You probably think Laurie is your friend.”
“Laurie is my friend!” Nico says, loud enough for Laurie to glance apprehensively over at us from the cash register. I think she’s legit afraid of us right now.
“The best part about a road trip is making friends,” Nico goes on, undeterred by the look of panic on Laurie’s face. “You get to meet new people, get involved in their lives—”
“Force yourself into their lives is more like it.”
“Well, whatever,” Nico goes on. “I already told Mack we were coming.”
“What? When?”
Nico swipes on the screen, types in a few words, and presses send. “Right now.”
I glare at him. He glares back. It’s a bona fide standoff. And it probably would have lasted forever if Laurie hadn’t announced that our order was ready.
I stalk back up to the counter, grab my coffee, and take a long gulp. It’s scalding hot and burns the crap out of my tongue. “Argh!”
Nico picks up his large Nutella S’mores Latte Explosion with extra whipped cream and extra syrup and takes a reluctant sip. I watch his face carefully, waiting for him to cringe or gag or even spit it out onto the sidewalk because I know he hates it. He already told me when we were together that he hates fussy coffee drinks.
But he just closes his eyes and smiles, like a food critic on TV, tasting an especially exquisite appetizer. “Mmm. That’s amazing.”
“Shut up. You despise it and you know it.”
“I’m serious!” he insists as we head back across the street to the car. “It’s really, really good. You should try it. I’m letting you pick out my coffee drinks from now on.”
I reach the passenger-side door and pause. “I’m holding you to that.”
He flashes me a lighthearted grin over the top of the Firebird. “I would expect nothing less from you, Ali.” Then he opens the door just before adding, “Or whatever the hell your name is.”
The last time I went to a Tomato and Vine was the week before my ninth birthday, two months after Fear Epidemic released their comeback album, Salvage Lot, and announced they were going back on tour. Although, technically, we never got to the restaurant.
Tomato and Vine was one of my favorite places to eat as a kid. There was a location nearby in Santa Rosa—a thirty-minute drive from Russellville. Jackson had been promising me for two weeks that we would go for a pre-birthday dinner. Just the two of us. I remember counting down the days on a puppy calendar that hung by my bed. I remember getting all dressed up, putting on my favorite yellow dress, brushing out my hair, braiding it myself, and tying a ribbon at the end. I wanted to look perfect for my date with Jackson. That’s how I thought about it for those two whole weeks. A date with my dad. The thought always made me giggle.
It was rare that Jackson and I did anything together, just the two of us. My mother usually didn’t like him taking me anywhere alone. Especially after what had happened in Fort Bragg.
I remember sitting by the window that looked out at the driveway and waiting for him. My mother was working the night shift, and Jackson and I were supposed to leave at five.
Five came and went. Six came and went.
Jackson didn’t show.
Eventually I moved from the window to the couch. I turned on the TV. I kept one ear trained on the Animal Planet show I was watching and the other trained on the driveway, waiting for the sound of the Firebird on the asphalt.
I
watched seven, eight, and nine pass by on the clock. And still no sign of Jackson.
Sometime after nine o’clock I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I knew, Jackson was shaking me.
“Hey, hey,” he whispered, his voice hoarse as though he’d been screaming all night. “Wake up, sleepyhead. It’s time to go.”
“Go?” I asked groggily, wiping the sleep from my eyes. “Where?”
“To Tomato and Vine, silly. I didn’t forget!”
I knew, in the way he said it, that he had forgotten.
I shook my head and let it fall back onto the throw pillow. “I’m too tired now.”
“No!” Jackson said, a spark of desperation in his voice. His breath was sour and rancid. “I promised I would take you for your birthday. We’re going to Tomato and Vine. You’re getting your unlimited pasta and breadsticks.”
“I’m not hungry anymore,” I muttered, tucking my knees into my chest. “Let’s go tomorrow.”
But Jackson clearly wasn’t having it. He slid his arms under me and lifted me off the couch. “No way, kiddo. We’re going now.”
I chuckled sleepily. “Daddy,” I said. “It’s late.”
“The restaurant is open until eleven. I already checked.”
He held me close to him, and I snuggled against his chest as he carried me out to the Firebird and deposited me into the back seat. After he buckled my seat belt, I immediately lay down and went back to sleep, hearing the familiar sound of the engine roaring as my eyes sank closed.
The next time I opened them, we were stopped. The motor was running, the interior of the car was dark, and Jackson was sitting behind the wheel, staring vacantly out the windshield, his fingers gripped around the steering wheel.
I sat up and glanced out the window, expecting to see the familiar parking lot of the restaurant, but outside of the car was dark too. I could make out what looked like miles of emptiness. Through the windshield, illuminated by the headlights, I saw a small, rusty swing set with two swings missing and a warped slide.
“Where are we?” I asked.
Jackson jumped as though he had sat on a nail. “Ali, you’re awake.” There was something about his voice that sent a shiver through me. It sounded hollow and robotic. Like every ounce of Jackson’s usual charm and gravitas had been sucked out the window.
The Geography of Lost Things Page 14
