My mind is blank. I have to go to summer school with Chester Davenport and the Hills.
My stomach churns, and I barely make it to the guest bathroom to throw up.
I get to the car five minutes late, and James complains, saying I was “deliberately dawdling,” then drives off as soon as I close the door. The taste of stomach acid burns in my mouth, and I take a sip of water to neutralize it.
I’d like to play hooky today, but Principal Thompson would probably call Dad. And because I’m absent so often, I have to present a doctor’s note every time. No, that won’t work. Dad would be pissed off, and I might end up getting some community service thrown at me by the school administration and having to spend even more time at Kensington.
But I can’t manage today. I still feel numb. The words summer school hover over my head like the sword of Damocles. Only through a haze do I notice Arizona in the passenger seat, complaining about the canceled tour.
“Twenty concerts, James! How can they cancel twenty concerts just like that? And not a word about it online. How did they manage to keep it a secret?”
“Doesn’t that stupid band keep everything secret? Even their identity?”
Arizona takes a deeper breath than usual, probably annoyed. “Not everything. Asher Blackwell is being treated in a clinic near Minneapolis... You can imagine what it’s about.”
“And what’s it about?” James sounds like a therapist again, askingHow does that make you feel?Of course, after all, he’s talking to Arizona!
She snorts. “Alcohol and drugs, of course. What else, Jamesville? It’s always like that with rock stars, isn’t it? I just don’t believe it.Demons ’N Saints cancel tour due to personal illness.Oh, man!” She taps her forehead. “What a stupid word that is. Illness. Say it fifteen times in a row, and it doesn’t even sound like a word!” She glances over her shoulder, and for a moment, a crazy part of me hopes she’s smiling at me, but apparently, turning was merely an old habit. She knows that I love beautiful and strange words. Just a year ago, she would write something in my little notebook—Kansas’s Strange & Beautiful Words: A Collection—every now and then. She did it in the evenings after dinner, when she came to my room to tell me about her latest love interest. Most of the time, she sat cross-legged on my bed in her striped over-the-knee stockings, her wet hair wrapped in an oversized towel, and a pencil between her teeth as if she had to think hard. I’m certain she thought about the words beforehand.
•Whopper (What is a whop?)
• Longanimity (Long-time patience? Is there a short one?)
• Nature’s call (Yuck–disgusting!)
These are the last entries in my book to receive the weird stamp from her, but that was over a year ago. Since then, neither she nor I have collected any additional words or sayings. Iassume that if she were still talking to me today, she would addindispositionto it.
I feel that pang of loss in my chest again, but Arizona has already turned back to James as if her fleeting glance over her shoulder meant nothing.
With trepidation, I stare out the window, wishing I were Arizona and that an indisposed Asher Blackwell was my only problem. I deliberately read the signs on the side of the road to distract myself from the school day ahead. Flint Oil Industry, the oil refinery where James, Ari, and I often secretly biked to. With a ton of Häagen-Dazs Cookies & Cream, we marveled at the pipelines, tank farms, and chimneys until late into the night. In the wild green flickering lights, the steel distillation towers shone like a magical portal to another world. From the refinery, we often walked to the Old Sheriff, the disused railway bridge where we sometimes played as children. It was forbidden, of course.
I blink.
Dan Applebee’s Burger & Grill, the Hills’ hot spot. Rose Garden Clinic, the hospital group where my dad works as a cardiologist and Chester’s father is Chief of Staff and Medical Director.
I inhale deeply. I can’t cope today. But if I don’t go, everything will only get worse. Community service means having to stay at Kensington until the evening, and Dad won’t cancel summer school. Once he’s made a decision, it’s irrevocable—like when he stopped saying Mom’s name and destroyed all pictures of her. I was only able to save that one photo on my nightstand from the front yard fire.
I swallow and stop digging my nails into my burning palm like a crazy woman. I carefully open my fist and glance at my left hand. It’s scarred and calloused. One wound festers while the other oozes.
“Oh my god!” Arizona exclaims abruptly, and at first, I think she’s referring to the condition of my hand. I quickly slide it under my thigh, but Arizona continues. “Last night, in a smokescreen operation, Ben Adams broke out of a detention center near Minneapolis. That’s nearby.”
“Who the hell is Ben Adams?”
Arizona sighs and taps the newspaper on her lap. “The picture is of some young, handsome guy with a hipster beard. He’s probably armed. He tunneled out of his cell and then rappelled down. Wanted for hostage-taking and extortion.”
An engine roars before a black Porsche shoots by us. Chester’s Porsche. I recognize it by the S-shaped scratch on the rear.
Let me out at the corner of Cottage and Lincoln, I type on my phone and hold it up to James at the next red light.
“Why?” He looks at me suspiciously in the rearview mirror, and he almost looks like Dad with his wild black curls.
I’m meeting someone, and we’ll walk the rest of the way!I type.
He sighs, as if he sees through the lie. “I’ll drive you to your school and nowhere else. If I let you out at the Lincoln, you’ll be late.”
I have a date!!!I type with three exclamation points, a feeling of panic rising in my chest. I can’t go to school. My shields aren’t working today.
The traffic light turns green, and he shakes his head.
