And I wasn’t about to look away.
I’m not sure you wanted me to.
You dropped on the other side and said, “I saw you look.”
And I said, “Yep.”
And you threw your head back and laughed so hard it made me ache all over just to hear it.
“Come on, Cobain,” you said, like you were suddenly running this show.
I followed you.
…
At General Wayne Park, I pushed you on the merry-go-round. You laid on your back, letting your head hang off the side. Your hair brushed the ground as you swept by.
“That guy is scared of you now,” you said as I stepped back to avoid decapitating you.
“Jet?”
“Whatever his name is.”
“You knew what my name was.”
You smiled up at the sky. “I asked around.”
“Why?”
“Because I chose you.”
A chill rushed across my back. You chose me. You could have picked anyone, but it was me that captured your attention.
“What did you choose me for?” I asked.
“That doesn’t matter,” you replied. “What matters is you protected my honor.”
“I don’t think you have much honor.”
You spun around and shoved your feet into the dirt, stopping yourself from going around again. “I have loads of honor.”
I smiled and shook my head.
You frowned. “What makes you so sure I’m honor-free?”
“I don’t think you’re a bad person or whatever. But you’re not a saint, that’s for sure.” I pulled you up. “You made me shove Jet.”
“Excuse me. I didn’t make you do anything.”
I walked toward the swings, and you walked after me. I could hear your feet shuffling from over my shoulder. I heard because I was listening for the sound of you.
I plopped down on the swing, and the chains groaned from my weight. “Yeah, but you set it up. You set up a lot of stuff. I see how you are with your friends.”
You narrowed your eyes and sat in the swing two down from me. “How am I with my friends?”
I rocked back and forth, breathing in the tang of rusted metal. “You manipulate them. I saw you do it to Ms. Kimball, too. You put on an act in order to get what you want, and you leave people thinking they’re doing themselves a favor by helping you.”
You smiled like me seeing through your charade pleased you to no end. “You think I’m manipulative?”
“And without honor.”
“Well,” you said, leaning your head against the chain. “I think you’ve got demons. A decent guy, with demons.” You hesitated. “I saw you pick up that kid’s books when you bumped into him.”
I felt the smile on my face flicker, and I stood up. Watched as a mother packed up her two children into a stroller and headed for their car.
“Don’t act like I discovered some secret. You’re announcing to the world that you have demons with your silence and your black clothes and that weird crow tattoo you’ve got on your forearm.” You smiled to tell me you’d noticed it. “You want people to think you’re this scary dude. The real secret is you’re not.”
“Who are you?” I asked suddenly, and I heard the defensiveness in my voice. “You’re so weird.”
“And you’re fucking broken, man.” You shrugged. “I like broken people. I’m attracted to them. If you wore polo shirts and played varsity basketball and had a bunch of jerk-off friends, I wouldn’t be out here swinging with you.”
“Yeah, because swinging together is a pretty big deal,” I muttered.
You laughed, and I glanced over at you, pleased that I’d made you laugh again. And that I was somehow keeping up with you. You made it easier to talk. Maybe because you seemed to expect me to be exactly as I was.
You pulled a pack of peanut M&Ms from your pocket and ripped the top off. Stuck the trash into your back pocket and then poured candy into your open palm. You held the bag out to me in an offering, but I shook my head.
“We might not hang out after this,” you said around the candy, and my heart clenched a little. Because you could say something like that. Because you were the kind of girl people were drawn to, and you didn’t need me. But you know what? I didn’t need you, either. I’d grown accustomed to doing things alone, and maybe I didn’t want you getting all clingy and calling me and making me shove dudes just to see if I would.
“But I thought you looked interesting,” you finished.
You had nothing else to say, it seemed. So you stood up and lay down in the grass. I chewed the inside of my cheek and then went to lie down beside you. We didn’t say anything as you popped more chocolates into your mouth and then stuffed the bag inside your jacket.
My eyes darted to where your hands were, fingers interlocked on your stomach. I thought about what you said—
We might not hang out after this.
So I thought to myself, Fuck it. And I reached out and took your hand as if I knew you’d accept it. But I couldn’t have known, and so my heart pounded so damn hard, and it seemed the earth made three full rotations around the sun before you squeezed my fingers in return.
As my breathing returned to normal, and the chill of the ground seeped through my clothing, I thought, we should probably go back. You probably had a mom and dad at home who would be worried.
But we didn’t move.
We just lay beside each other, holding hands, not saying a single word as the clouds crept across the sky.
NOW
Detective Hernandez grabs her phone from the table. “Okay, great. So the day you two skipped, that would be…” She taps open an app, scrolls. “October eleventh. That’s seven days after you two met. So if we call the school, they’ll show the two of you were absent that afternoon?”
I nod.
“You guys get in trouble for taking off?” Tehrani chimes in.
“Saturday school,” I reply. “Just one day.”
“Seems worth the cost to get a pretty girl alone for a while.”
I glare at him.
“All right,” he says, leaning back. “When did you and Molly see each other after that? Did you call her? Did you guys make plans at school?”
There’s a knock at the door, and a girl sticks her head in. It’s the same girl from earlier. Her gaze darts around the room until she spots Detective Hernandez. The girl waves the woman over, and I can tell by the way her dark eyes widen that whatever she has to say is important.
Detective Tehrani stands, too, and the threesome shut the door behind them. I can’t hear a word of what is said, but I find myself rising and moving toward the door anyway. If they have new information on Molly, I need to know it.
I have my ear pressed to the crack when the door swings open, sending me flying backward. I catch myself on the table, and Detective Tehrani clips, “We’re going to end our chat here. Thanks so much for coming in. You’ve been very cooperative, and we’re grateful. Davea will show you out.”
I freeze, not sure what to do, terrified they’ve found out something bad about Molly’s disappearance.
Detective Hernandez strides away, not even a backward glance in my direction. Detective Tehrani walks after her, snatching his jacket, grabbing his phone, headed somewhere Molly might be.
“Wait. Did you find her?” I ask, but it’s not loud enough.
“Hey,” I try again. “Did you find her? Did you find Molly?!”
Now it’s too loud. So loud other officers are turning in my direction and the girl, Davea, is taking my arm and saying, Let’s go. Come on, this way, but I don’t like the way she’s saying that. Like she’s afraid if I discover what they’ve found, I’ll lose my mind.
“Did something happen to her?” I shout, pulling away from Davea and racing after Detective T
ehrani. “Answer me. Tell me what happened!”
An officer I don’t know steps in front of me and grabs both my arms, shoves my stomach over a chair, and pulls my hand toward my upper back so that if I move, I risk breaking my arm. “Calm down, kiddo,” he says. “Everything’s all right.”
He pulls me backward and guides me toward the place we came in earlier this morning, but I’m still yelling for Detectives Hernandez and Tehrani to answer me. To goddamn answer me!
Detective Hernandez glances back at me once before pushing through a door in the opposite direction. In her eyes, I see sympathy. It feels like a sucker punch to the gut. I don’t want her sympathy. I want anything other than sympathy. I’d take suspicion over it. I’d take handcuffs and metal bars, even if someone else deserved them. Because then I’d know that what happened to Molly is still a mystery. That they haven’t found something that has them running for their vehicle.
The dude manhandling me leads me toward the front by the shoulder—careful to keep my arm behind my back in case I try something—and then releases me. Davea is beside him, and she points me toward a window, saying I need to sign some paperwork, but screw that.
I burst through the double doors in time to see Detective Hernandez speeding by. Her lights aren’t on. That’s good, right?
No, that’s bad.
She pulls onto Northwest Highway and speeds away, and I’m left jogging toward the bus stop. I need to get home. I need to form a plan. If they won’t tell me what’s going on, then I have to finish my own search. I have to keep sifting through my memories of Molly to look for clues.
THEN
There was a carnival in Reading, Pennsylvania.
It was the most exciting thing to do on a Saturday night, and so that’s where I planned to take you. We’d been out twice since that day in the park, and Halloween was lurking around the corner, impatient.
I didn’t have enough money to get into the fair, and so I’d intended to sneak you in. When you discovered my plan, you delivered a smile so devilish I could have speared it with a pitchfork. You floated toward the ticket stand alone, and when I went to follow you, you held a hand out behind yourself.
Stay there, okay? it said. Let me work.
And so I pretended I was waiting on someone, and I watched you. You asked for two bracelets and then fumbled inside your purse for your wallet. As the balding man in the booth reached beneath the table, you pulled out your phone. You clenched it between your cheek and shoulder and continued to dig through your purse.
I couldn’t hear what you said, but I saw the man lean forward with interest. He pulled his bottom lip back and then flicked his eyes around like he was searching for someone to rescue him. You put the phone away, stared at the ground for an uncomfortable moment, and then pulled out your wallet.
It was empty.
Once again, you reached into your purse as if searching for cash, or a credit card, in a daze—your eyes staring at nothing—before turning to go.
The man called out to you.
Held out two wristbands and nodded toward the buzzing lights and rattling Zipper cages and crackling speakers that filled the fairgrounds with pulsing music.
You smiled at him and nodded. Clutched the bracelets to your chest with such gratitude that the man swelled with pride. You strode toward me, a painted smile on your face. You held your hand out, and a thrill shot up my spine as I took your fingers in mine.
“What did you tell him?” I asked.
“To him?” you said with a smile I wanted to lick clean. “I didn’t say anything at all. Not a word.”
But you had changed him somehow. Maybe you’d pretended your grandmother was sick, or that your dog had cancer after all. Whatever it was, he bent to your will. I could tell, though, that to do it didn’t make you happy. The truth was in the shape of your shoulders—rounded when they were normally square.
We walked around as men called out to us, holding out balls to knock down milk jugs or darts to pop swollen balloons. Smells wafted from vendors selling pink cotton candy and sugar-dusted funnel cakes and caramel-dipped green apples. My stomach rumbled as we passed the food. I was hungry. I was always hungry.
I couldn’t afford the forty-dollar bracelets we now wore, but I still had a few bucks from when Dad gave me a ten spot. With my dad’s shitty paychecks and my mom insisting on volunteering her time, the best I could ever manage was pocket change, but I couldn’t imagine spending the last four dollars I had on anything better than a red and white carton of nachos drowning in cheese sauce.
You squealed when I offered it to you, and ate far more than I expected. It filled me up—doing that for you. Providing. It made me want to give you more. To make sure my wallet was never empty if it meant you would keep smiling like that.
When we’d finished eating, you tugged on my hand, a grin on your face. I captured that moment in my mind—the Tilt-a-Whirl cars whipping past behind you, your hair over your shoulders, your lips glossed pink. Your eyes were too far apart, I realized then, making you appear otherworldly.
“Follow me,” you said, and I recognized that you were about to do something you shouldn’t. It was your favorite pastime, and you knew I’d do it beside you without question. Would I have been as attracted to you if you followed the rules? If you wanted to watch a movie instead of climbing a water tower or breaking into a graveyard or stealing a Butterfinger from a convenience store?
I knew the answer.
You led me to the haunted house with a line of red cars squatting on a track. People waited in line, ready to jump inside—two to a car—and experience false fear. What better way to get into the Halloween spirit?
I figured you wanted to ride.
I should have known better.
You led me to the back of the building and motioned toward an unlocked door. We slipped inside, and—with your hand still holding mine—we lurched into the darkness. The rusted red cars clicked over the rails, and as they turned corners, scenes meant to frighten riders lit up and buzzed. Girls screamed, and I imagined guys draped their arms over their girls’ shoulders, thrilled to feel like men.
“Follow my lead,” you whispered in my ear. And then you bit me there, on the lobe, quickly, and my body reacted instantly.
You snuck closer to the tracks, your body hidden by the dark but not from me. When the next car chugged by, you were waiting. On your knees, hand raised, you brushed the guy on his neck.
“The fuck?” he yelled, and I had to bite down to keep from losing my shit.
The couple rolled by, and the dude swiped at his neck until they were out of view.
“My turn,” I said, and you backed away, your devious eyes sparkling.
Another couple came by, two girls this time. I waited until they’d passed by before leaning between them and whispering, “I see you.”
The girls’ giddy squeals turned to silence.
“What was that?” one asked.
“There’s someone in here,” the other said.
I dashed behind the wall before they saw me. Sure enough, the next horror scene that lit up made them scream twice as loud as it should have.
You hooked your finger into my belt loop and hauled me backward. Still laughing, I grabbed you around the waist and pulled you close. My pulse stilled as I moved one hand onto your cheek, fingers slipping into your hair.
“What are you going to do to me?” you whispered.
Kiss you, I thought, but that didn’t seem to be enough for Molly Bates. So I said, “Scare you.”
“How?” you asked, leaning closer.
I lowered my head, my lips dangerously close to yours. It seemed fitting, I thought, to kiss you for the first time to a soundtrack of screams, as images of dismemberment and mayhem were illuminated by dusty bulbs needing replacing.
I raised my opposite hand to cup your face, to keep you from
running. Because you always felt so close to fluttering off like a butterfly you could only watch for so long before it flew away.
I couldn’t let you fly away.
“Cobain,” you said, so quietly that it rippled through me.
I brought my lips closer.
You lifted a hand to my face, and that’s all it took.
My mouth met yours.
You wrapped your arms around my neck. I kissed you gently at first, my stomach clenched with nerves, my skin electric from the feel of you so close. From the taste of you. Your tongue touched mine, and my body pressed into you. You were there to meet every part of me, your hands moving into my hair, tugging. My hands moving lower, grasping. Our breath came faster, and our fingers became desperate there in the dark with the sound of those buzzing bulbs. With the smell of the oiled tracks and the perfume of your hair.
Our kiss deepened, and then suddenly, you stepped back.
You caught your breath, and I caught the conflict in your eyes.
“My turn,” you said, and I could hear the playful smile in your voice.
But there was something else there, too.
Fear?
A guy and his girlfriend rolled closer, and you crouched down.
I watched you, bewildered. Still feeling you on my lips, against my body. I may have frozen after you pulled away from me.
You waited until they’d passed and then drew your finger up the guy’s spine.
“Hey,” he yelled. “What the hell?”
He reached back and grabbed at you. He must have gotten your shirt, because a surprised sound escaped your mouth. The guy leaped out of the car and blindly reached for you with his other hand.
I stepped in front of him. “No. Get back in the car.”
He narrowed his eyes, making out the height of me. The width of me.
“Ash,” the girl called from the retreating car. “Get back in.”
The guy glanced over his shoulder and then said, “Carnie trash,” before jogging after the car. The lights buzzed, and I saw the guy in detail—the leather jacket he wore, the backward hat, the designer jeans…the confidence that said he came from money. A confidence easily recognized by people who had little of it.
We Told Six Lies Page 3
