Part 28 (1/2)
85.
They climb through the loose flap in the fence and run as fast as they can across the open lawn. Bryce tries to keep up with Geoff, his only ally tonight since Cam is off b.u.mping uglies with British Betty. It's hard to run and hold on to a carton of eggs.
The kids from other schools run together in packs. Glow sticks dance in the dark like green bones. Laughter and war whoops all around. White projectiles. Everyone zigs, zags, does whatever they can to not get hit.
The moon is an oily orange yolk in a black pan.
Bryce follows Geoff over the gra.s.sy hill. Pale X's up ahead. Not X's crosses. He figures out where they are.
Crack! He's. .h.i.t in the ear.
He ducks for safety behind two headstones. He picks sh.e.l.l out of his hair; not much he can do about the ooze down his neck other than wipe it with his hand, then wipe his hand on the gra.s.s.
Geoff takes two eggs from the carton, launches them like fastb.a.l.l.s. A disembodied male voice yells a string of swear words.
Geoff says, ”Got him! f.u.c.k yeah!” An egg or three return fire break on the other side of their barricade.
They're on the move again, Geoff weaving through the maze of headstones. Bryce kicks over a vase of flowers by accident and keeps going because he can't see where it is and can't risk slowing down to look.
Popopopopopopopopop explodes from his distant right.
”Sounds like some b.i.t.c.h brought a paintball gun!” Geoff exclaims.
They stop again, hidden, and catch their breath. Bryce asks, ”Don't you think it's disrespectful to have an egg war here?”
”These people are dead. What do they care?”
”So you wouldn't care if a bunch of kids were running all over your grave.”
”I don't even want a grave, dude. Big expensive coffin and s.h.i.+t? For what? My family has my permission to dump my body in the woods.” Girls giggle nearby. Geoff says, ”At your ten o'clock,” takes an egg in each hand and runs.
They find the gigglers: Franny and Bibi from Sandia. In this light they could be cute, or not. Bryce chooses to believe they are. Geoff pulls a metal flask from his pocket and pretty soon the four of them aren't in the war anymore; they sit in a secluded spot and pa.s.s the drink around. Whatever's inside tastes like warm paint thinner but Bryce swallows anyway each time it comes to him.
Geoff tells dirty jokes. Bryce could contribute dozens of knock-knock jokes except none of them are dirty.
The sounds of combat seem far away across the acreage.
The girl with braids finds a piece of sh.e.l.l in Bryce's hair. The girl without braids takes out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He declines her offer, ends up holding the flask while everyone else smokes. He once would've been worried about lung cancer.
He sees the words flicker in the pocket of flame but thinks he's imagining. Or hallucinating.
He borrows the lighter, gets it going after three weak tries. He wasn't hallucinating. Geoff leans against the headstone: DAKOTA MARIE VANZANT.
1963 1983 love is the sky and i am for you
just so long and long enough
Bryce stares until the flame cuts out, then keeps staring. He says, ”No way” because of all the places to end up, what are the chances? He wishes he hadn't said that because now they all want to know What? What is it? Do you know her?
No, he doesn't, but he did. He knew her and now he's sitting... here.
Heavy footsteps a lot them pound the gra.s.s nearby. Geoff and the girls are up and gone. Bryce should go, too. He came here to have fun and the fun is running away.
He should go.
86.
”Claire.”
She ponders the great wall of cereal boxes in Albertson's. Earlier tonight she'd been in Buzzed Head's garage, inhaling model glue fumes from a paper bag. Not the best, but when it's all that's available...
Now she stares at Frankenberry, Boo Berry, Count Chocula, and feels like she might tip over at any moment.
”Earth to Claire.”
She turns toward the voice. Justin Vance. With his hair spiky again.
”What are doing at this Albertson's?” he asks. ”Isn't there one by your house?”
”You know where I live?”
”Yeah, don't you remember when ”
She reaches up, pats the crispy spikes on his head. ”You should always keep your hair like this,” she giggles. ”You're way cuter.”
Justin's face contorts, processing, as the boys come down the aisle: Ricky, Buzzed Head, CAT, Stringy Hair carrying the two six-packs of beer.
”What's up, skinny bones?” Ricky says at Justin.
”Just talking to Claire, dude,” he answers back.
They all chime in then dood, dood, dooooood like the monkey cage at the zoo.
Victor points. ”You got something on your s.h.i.+rt, dude.” When Justin looks down, he gets smacked in the chin.
”Leave him alone, you guys,” Claire says.
”Wow, you gonna let a girl stick up for you, skinny bones?” Ricky puts his arm around Justin's shoulders. Justin ducks away.
Her voice comes out tiny. ”See you around, Justin.”