Page 58 of Whimper Wonderland


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She puts on a brave face. “Not my drink. But we’re in it now.”

The bartender gives us a plate of salt and a lime wedges. I turn my hand into a fist and dust salt over the spiraled conch of my fingers.

“Lick,” I tell Dove.

She slides her tongue over my thumb. I pull my hand to my mouth, cleaning off the remainder of salt. Then Ophelia counts to three and we lift the ski as a group. The height difference forces me into a half-bow, but I manage to knock back the shot. For the most part. It’s a messier experience than I intended and some drips down my chin.

Dove gags. We lower the ski and I hold out a lime wedge for her.

“Suck.”

Like a baby bird, she takes it from my hand. She sucks in the lime wedge, wincing and whimpering the whole way. When she lets go of it, I take her wedge and pop it into my mouth. The sour tang takes the edge off the tequila burn.

I feel Dove watching me. “Did you just take that from my mouth?”

“Mmhm.”

She considers it. “I…learned something new about myself today.”

I hum on a laugh. Spit out the lime and discard it in a pile of wilted rinds.

Ophelia reaches across the bar, grabbing air. “We did it! Now give me.”

The bartender stretches up, plucks the ornament, and takes it down. He hands it over to Ophelia, who grabs it like a greedy squirrel with a particularly large nut.

“Okay, shut up, shut up,everyone shut up!” she shouts, even though we are all saying absolutely nothing. She twists the ornament and it pops open. There’s a roll of paper inside. She unrolls it and spreads it across the bar, reading out loud:

Wind me up,

Fit me through the eye,

Send me your broken,

And I’ll return it revived.

Ophelia repeats the riddle, and the rest of us think on the words.

It’s no Robert Frost, but I’ll give Ophelia’s boyfriend credit—it’s creative.

Suddenly, Carver (the meathead, of all people, is on a roll) throws up his hands. “Yo! It’s a thread! Threads! The concert venue in Williamsburg!”

I feel my mouth form into a frown. “Brooklyn?”

Dove pats my back. “Saddle up, city kid. You’re in for a long night.”

10

JUDGE A BOOK BY ITS COVER

Dove.Now.

We walk to the train as a group. Ophelia leads the charge. She’s already drunk, or flying high on the competitive adrenaline, or both, it’s hard to say.

Good for her. It’s her birthday, after all.

The second I’m outside, an arm swings around my shoulders. Carver locks me in a friendly hold and slows so we fall out of step with the rest of the group.

“Hey, stranger,” he says.