by Dawn Brazil
“Uh, you’re cutting off my circulation here,” Ferris says. I pull back and as I do, his long-sleeved tie-dye t-shirt raises up on one of his arms. Lengthy welts in the form of wiggly red lines cut across his pale skin. Our eyes cross for a second, but neither of us speak on it—what we know, what we don’t know, or what we speculate. Not a word of it is spoken. Yet, so much is articulated in his pained expression. Pain recognizes pain, I guess.
"Sorry," I whisper into his neck as I release him. This is the first time I’ve hugged someone other than my parents or Ryan in years. Of course, I’d find a way to ruin that. I shouldn't be allowed around sane people, or even questionably sane people.
"Okay, Wonder Woman," Joe says, shaking his head. "I thought you were going for another head lock." Ferris and Joe fall over laughing. I sit in silence.
I’m still disappointed in my under-reaction outside. I’m a baller, an athlete—quick thinking is what I do. What the Houston is wrong with me?
"Listen, Lady Scowls-a-lot, don't be so hard on yourself. If it had been me out there, I might have done the same.” Joe scrunches his face. “Actually, I wouldn’t… but you’re not me. And it's not normal for us to see shit like that. I saw her from in here before she even got close to you. I should’ve ran out sooner. Don't beat yourself up about it. Ferris made it out okay."
I half-smile over at Ferris.
"Alright kids, what'll it be?" the waitress, dressed in regular clothes, asks above us. She resembles the woman at the booth, with her dark hair and petite frame. Something about her seems wrong, though. She doesn’t look like a waitress. A model or famous actress, maybe, but not a waitress. Someone I’m certain I’ve seen on TV. "Alright doll-face, you ready to order?"
"I don’t have a menu." I scan the table for one.
"We don't have menus,” she says. “Tell me what you want and I can get it for you."
"Anything I want can be fixed?" I ask.
"Anything," she answers with a show of pride in her voice.
My mouth waters at the mere idea of food. "Okay, I want two slices of turkey breast, dressing with giblet gravy, mashed potatoes, green beans, sweet potatoes, and a yeast dinner roll with lots of butter.”
She doesn’t write anything. “That’s a lot of eatings for such a small Dud?”
“Actually, I’d like to change her order,” Joe comments with a smirk. He pulls out a folded piece of paper from his black backpack. “She’ll have two slices of gobble fodder, with sticky brick and fodder juice, mashed mallard, emerald logs, caned mallard, and a sticky loaf with extra salve.
“Actually—" I start with a roll of my eyes in Joe’s direction.
“Don’t be rude, Princess Tubby. Let Ferris order.” I bite my bottom lip.
Ferris orders salisbury steak with gravy, mashed potatoes, and peas. Joe frowns over at him like he ordered a human head to eat. The waitress doesn’t write his order, either. She nods twice and turns to Joe. He orders a Caesar salad, but asks to hold the Caesar dressing and give him any vinegar-based dressing instead, and a sticky loaf.
“That it?” she asks, glancing around at each of us. We each nod. "I'll get your orders out to you right away." As she hurries off, I catch a waft of her lavender perfume. I bite the inside of my lip to stop the show of emotion choking me to get to the surface. Why is this scent haunting me here?
The waitress scurries to the back, where I assume the food is cooked, and yells, "We got an F.S.J." She turns back to us smiles, and ducks inside a large plastic wall behind the counter.
"F.S.J.," Joe comments. "That can’t mean…"
"F, Ferris, S, Sam, and J, Joe," Ferris says. "What do you think, Sam?"
"Good guess, but how would she know our names?"
"This is VOLT," Joe says.
“True,” both Ferris and I state at the same time. He smiles over at me and my stomach sours.
Mental note: stop being so nice or he’ll think you’re his friend. That’s dangerous and you know why.
“So, since we’re headed out on this adventure together, we should probably get to know one another?” Ferris says. Joe nods, and I stare at the both of them. I don’t want to share. They can’t make me.
“I don’t mind sharing. I can go first,” Ferris states.
“I have a question for you, Ferris,” Joe says. “What’s up with the initials on your clothes?” I hadn’t noticed, but he does have initials in the bottom corner of one leg of his shorts, and the same on his shirt sleeve at the cuff.
"I went to camp a lot. You know, the kind for science and math. My mother was big into education. Anyway, she sewed my initials into all my clothing for when I was away."
"What’s your last name?" Joe asks.
"Uh… it’s Wheeler." Joe and I exchange glances. I bite my lip to stop the tremble of laughter forcing its way out. That’s too cruel. He sighs loudly. "My parents named me Ferris Michael Wheeler."
“My middle name’s Michael, too,” Joe says.
“That’s cool. I wonder what else we have in common. How old are you?” Ferris asks.
“I’m eighteen,” Joe says. “What about you?”
“I’m fifteen. What about you, Sam?” Ferris asks.
“I don’t feel like talking.” I stare out the window but continue to listen to them. They want something I can’t give them: friendship. I don’t have anything left in me to give someone else. I’ve given every part of me to those I can’t even think about anymore without unraveling. I barely have enough of me for me.
“Well, I can try to guess your age,” Ferris states. “Um, other girls, I mean, people… girls, that resemble you…” Ferris runs his hand over the back of his neck.
“I’m black.” I shake my head. Maybe they will stop asking me questions if I give them a miniscule amount of information. “No shocker there. My mother is White, Danish specifically, and my… my…” My vocal chords won’t cooperate with the command my brain sends to speak. I force the words past the consuming ache that suffocates my coherent thought process. “My dad’s black.” I take a steadying breath. “If one of your parents is black, society sees you as black. So I’m black, and it’s okay to say 'black,' Ferris.”
“True story. Three kids walk into a restaurant—black, Asian, and white. No one makes a big deal about it,” Joe says. He makes a noise with the back of his throat but doesn’t say anything else.
“Uh, what’s the punch line?” Ferris asks.
“It’s not a joke. There’s no punchline. That’s kinda the point. Why does race have to be a thing at all? If we don’t make it a thing, it won’t be one. I’m not saying it’s going to always be that simple, but you can choose your attitude. My mom always said, yelling at someone with a prejudice against you is pointless. You’re not going to convince someone to like you by humiliating them. But if you ignore them or are kind to them, maybe your character will show them how wrong they are.”
Ferris nods. I nod, too. Makes perfect sense to me.
Joe shrugs. "I’m going to be a sports doctor.” I can’t help but smile at Joe’s nonchalance. “I love sports—all kinds. Oreos are my favorite food. I hate know-it-alls. My sister, Mia, is most like my mom and is one of my best friends. And I can’t even look at her anymore.” He doesn’t stop to give details about this. He’s not looking for pity. He’s stating facts.
I like him a fraction more, but I’ll never tell him.
He continues. “I was voted most popular, most likely to succeed, most likely to break hearts, and most likely to not give a damn about mock elections. I’ve been asked to model, but turned down the offers. School’s more important. And models are narcissistic asses. I don't like to brag. But you know… it’s not often you meet new people. You can be anyone you want because there’s no way for them to invalidate what you say."
"Was all that true?" Ferris asks. He squints his already-slanted eyes toward me. I shrug. It’s not that it can't be true, because Joe’s the embodiment of confidence. He looks, walks, and talks like it. Except
beneath all that, I suspect there’s something off with him. How he reacted about us going to the hotel. Him banging his head against the wall. No. Joe isn’t as put-together as he wants us to believe. I suspect no one really is. Everyone’s fighting a battle no one else is privy to. I’ve got a multitude of invisible cuts and bruises to prove that.
"Yes, it was. I only said it's fun to tell, not that I wasn’t telling the truth."
“My life’s boring compared to that,” Ferris says.
“Don’t compare. Our lives aren’t competition. My mom always told me that, too.”
“It’s hard not to compare,” Ferris says softly.
“Not really. Just don’t look to others to validate or invalidate what you do. Do you. Be you. Don’t apologize, either.”
“I apologize for everything,” Ferris says in a small voice. “It’s all I know how to do. Most of the time, I feel utterly inadequate.” Inadequate—that word was created for me.
“That’s something we can work on correcting while we’re here together,” Joe says. And like that, I like him an insignificant fraction more. “Next time you say sorry, I’m going to pop you in the mouth.” And he ruins the moment by being himself. Ferris doesn’t mind, though. He throws his head back and laughs.
The direction of their conversation is too heavy. I don’t want them starting in on me again—I’ve given them enough for now. I avert my eyes to look out the window. I can’t see anything past the dark curtain, but it’s better than sharing.
Our waitress skillfully balances a tray, meandering around a few tables as she makes her way over to us. "Okay, kids, your eatings are up." Her nametag screams at me as she places the food on the table. She’s a Sam, too. I don't say anything to anyone else. I don’t need them starting in on me about it and wanting my life’s story.
“Hey, Miss Piggy, your food looks good. Are you sure you can eat it all?" My food looks like what I ordered, and not the gibberish Joe said.
"I may not, but I’m going to enjoy trying. And I don't share, so don't look too hard." The turkey breast looks cooked to perfection, with juices running scrumptiously from each slice, and it smells like Thanksgiving used to a long, long, time ago. Unshed tears collect behind my eyes. What the Houston?
"I’m sure if I wrestled you for it, I’d win.” I frown over at him. “You don't have to worry about me eating any of that, Ferris." Joe glances around the restaurant before continuing, inching his head closer so only the three of us can hear. "Have you thought of where the meat comes from you’re eating?"
I pause, a large slice of turkey dripping with giblet gravy nearly in my mouth. "What are you talking about now?" I place the fork of delicious goodness back on my plate until I hear his explanation. Ferris also stops eating his salisbury steak dinner.
"What I mean is, the animals here in VOLT drive cars, talk, listen to music, think Sam's hot. Makes you wonder how they got them to lie still to cook'em."
Ferris looks at his plate, then at Joe and me. His face is beet red. He jumps from the seat and races to the back of the restaurant and disappears around a corner where a neon sign announces washers.
“Your food's good, Psycho Princess. None of that’s meat in the way we know it. It’s all plant-based.” I glance at my plate. The food looks delicious, like the real thing. I pick my fork back up and start eating. It’s wonderful.
Joe raises a finger in the air to call the waitress. When she makes it to the table, she looks at Ferris' nearly untouched plate with a frown.
Joe smiles at her. "My friend’s having some digestion issues. Maybe a smaller meal. A salad, prepared like my own, with sticky loaf, please."
"Oh, I see. I’ll bring the salad promptly." I guess Joe isn't a horrible ogre all the time.
"So you know, Einstein, I ordered for you because if you’d gotten sick, it would have delayed our little journey. I need you both well and moving fast so I can get on with my life." I smile at his words.
The ice is still intact around his heart after all. I prefer him chilled anyway.
Ferris returns as his salad arrives. "Sorry.”
I cringe as Joe’s fist heads for Ferris' mouth. Right when he’s about to make contact, he stops. “I’ll give you one. Next time, it’s the hurt locker.”
“I should have questioned the meat source long ago,” Ferris comments. “Thanks for that. I’ll keep that in mind from now on. I’ve been in VOLT for this long and I’ve never thought of that once.”
"How many next times are there going to be? How can you stay here looking all this time? Maybe she’s gone. Or do you think maybe she doesn’t want to see you?"
I shake my head. He’s such an Alaska.
Chapter 16
"Joe. Not cool. Ferris, don't pay him any attention. Of course, your mother wants to see you. She’s your mother.”
“I’m not saying it to be cruel. I’m saying it because it’s a reasonable question anyone would have after hearing Ferris' story. True, they might not ask the question. If we’re really friends, I should be able to ask that question, though. Friends don’t see friends drowning or hurting and not speak up.”
I cringe. “You two just met, so you’re not friends, and he doesn’t have to answer your idiotic question. Second, she's his mother. It might be hard to find her, but of course she wants to see him. He’s kind. I can't see how anyone wouldn’t want to find him." Now that I’ve said that, I’ll stop talking before he thinks I’m his friend again.
“First, I can make a friend out of anyone in less than five minutes. Second, you aren’t included in that. Third, I know she’s his mother, but it’s still a reasonable question he can choose to answer if he wants. Stop trying to be nice. It looks bad on you. Sit there and frown, and shush.” Ferris covers his laughter with his hand. Joe openly grins like an idiot.
I don’t care, and so I smirk, too.
"What’s a better question—would you be friends with him outside of VOLT?" Joe smiles like he’s going to win a Pulitzer for best questions ever.
"It's not that I wouldn’t be his friend. We’d be in different age brackets. It wouldn’t be appropriate. You know, since he’s a middle-aged man when he’s not in VOLT, most likely. My dad would probably try to kill him if he came to my house asking for me. You know…” I trail off, sensing something might be lacking with my answer. San Diego. Did he trap me?
"Pretend he’s your age. You're both seventeen and Ferris comes to your school. He's the new kid. Do you become friends, or do you ignore him and treat him like a dust bunny?"
"I don't… I, uh…" I trail off again, unable to answer the question.
"Interesting, you're in school with that vocabulary." Joe grins over to Ferris. "Told you."
"You told him what?" He’s the rude one, not me. Somehow, they turned it into a thing about me.
"No worries. You didn’t do anything wrong. You were being your snobbish self. What we suspected."
"Joe, you’re an imbecile. You’re so full of yourself, I’m sure you have trouble holding your big head straight. You’re rude and not that handsome."
“That, coming from you, means nothing."
"Okay, leave her alone," Ferris says. "Sam, you should loosen up a bit. Do you have any other friends beside your boyfriend?"
"That’s my business. I don't expect the two of you to understand. And honestly, I don't care if you do. All I want is for us to get on with this search. We can go our separate ways as soon as it’s over. I’m not trying to make life-long friends here. I don't need either of your friendships."
Neither Joe nor Ferris meet my eyes. They pick at their food, but don’t glance in my direction once. I've lost my appetite, again, too. I’m ready to sleep and not talk or think about anything other than what I’m here to do.
They're perfect examples why I have no friends. Trying to help me by humiliating me… I won't give them the satisfaction of even my anger anymore. Clearing my throat to get their attention, I make it a point to smile, baring all my teeth. They frown. I pu
sh my lips back further to intensify my grin.
“Let’s go, Queen Psycho,” Joe says, breaking the silence at the table.
We make our way out of the restaurant in the same order we entered. Joe is nearly across the street when I step outside to start my trip across. Midstride, he stops. He whirls around and locks eyes with me. I turn and look at Ferris—he’s standing on the sidewalk near the entrance and not looking at Joe or me.
I follow where his head has turned. A group of people stand not ten feet away, their heads inclined toward us. “Gee willikers,” Ferris says. “Run.”
I whirl around and Joe cuts to where I stand. Reapers have the entry to the restaurant blocked. “San Diego.”
Somehow, Ferris takes the lead. He skids to a stop in front of us. Reapers are everywhere. Two reapers position themselves at the entrance to the hotel, blocking it. Not even the attendant is out front.
Ferris scrambles in the other direction. Joe catches my hand and pulls me with him. We beat a path away from the hotel, but the reapers' footsteps fall behind us fast.
Ferris keeps a good pace in front.
“Here, Ferris!” Joe yells. He points to a garden that has a sign of a dove on the front. A dove means it’s safe, I guess. No reapers allowed. Ferris squints in the direction of the garden.
“No way, Jose,” Ferris yells. “Not there.”
Joe runs full speed ahead and enters the garden. I pull away from him to grab Ferris. “What the Florida? Come on, Ferris.” He pulls me in the opposite direction—away from the garden, away from Joe. The reapers are footsteps away from us. “Stop! We have to wait in there.”
I shove past Ferris, toward the garden. He grabs me by my hips. “Ferris. What the Florida? Come on. Now.” I grab his arm and shove him forward—closer to the garden. He pushes off of me and I fall to the ground, scraping my knee as I go down. The Houston with him. With quick hands, I shuffle backwards, away from the reaper so close her decaying teeth are visible. I leap to my feet and stumble, running into the garden beside Joe.
“Sam!” Ferris yells, “You don’t want to wait in there!” The reapers are so close their rotting stench stings my nostrils. And they look hideous, like zombies, not regular people like the other reapers we saw before.
