After Dakota Part 23

"s.h.i.+t!"

Rather than move the chair and try again, he uses his Legolas bow to swat at it like a pinata, until the cheap bow breaks in half as the jet flies loose and crashes against the wall.

Down comes the case full of lead figurines; some spill out, like jumpers from a sinking s.h.i.+p. He leaves them to drown on the floor.

In his desk drawer, his old schoolwork essays, reports, art, all get crammed into the wastebasket. The birthday advice letter Two aspirin before bed after a night of drinking gets crumpled into a ball.

No, he doesn't want to salvage anything. He wants to burn it all down.

70.

After the first dozen roses run out, with only five sent to girls before the remainder fall apart and have to be disposed of, Bryce turns to carnations. He's heard his whole life it's the thought that counts, so a pretty, nice-smelling carnation will be an equally effective message as those overpriced roses.

The day of his dad's Super Bowl party, Bryce and Cam strategize in the bas.e.m.e.nt. Hooting and hollering for the Oakland Raiders comes through loud and clear from upstairs. Bryce's mom prepared food all day, then drove away five minutes before the guests arrived.

"Come on, Ref! Pull yer head outta yer a.s.s!" someone bellows.

The pattern that's developed is for the flower recipient to ignore Bryce, for him to only know she got his message when he overhears people in the halls or the snack bar line (or when they look his way and whisper).

In the bas.e.m.e.nt, Cam helps a.s.semble the next list of targets. Bryce says a name, such as: "Maggie Reynolds."

And Cam says: "Boyfriend. That guy who fell off the skateboard and broke his arm. I think his name's Ira."

So Bryce moves on to another name, like: "Kelsey Andrews."

"Mustache. If you care about that kind of thing."

Bryce does care about that kind of thing, so he puts Kelsey down as a maybe. "Veronica Daskalos."

"I heard she has crabs. You sure you want to keep doing this flower thing? People at school will "

"YES, I'm sure!" Bryce stabs himself in the finger with his pencil. Great, potential lead poisoning on top of everything else.

"Ok! Down, boy. I only meant, what's your big hurry all of a sudden?"

"I... wanna go to prom this year. This is the last chance, right? I need a date in order for that to happen."

"I guess."

"So who's the next name?"

After the Super Bowl is over and Cam has gone home to continue being a perfect student, Bryce sits at the drawing table and looks back through the pages of his sketchbooks, a forest worth of paper. Surely there's some material in here he can use as a sample for his art school applications. Most of them are filled with a mishmash of pieces: superheroes; medieval weapons; three months' worth of his daily "Family Circus" cartoon, starring his own family (with such troubles as little Claire losing her stuffed animal; his mom and dad trying to have some peaceful time in bed on Christmas morning).

Then his "real" art, from all the cla.s.ses his mom had chauffeured him to over the years: charcoal drawings of flower vases and pieces of fruit; pastel landscapes; rough sketches of models (none of them nude, alas).

Between two pages is the first place certificate for the yearbook cover contest freshman year. He'd drawn Snoopy and Woodstock wearing school T-s.h.i.+rts under leather jackets, like Fonzie. At the ceremony in the school gymnasium, every eye on campus watched this miniature freshman step up to the microphone. Mrs. Lujan, the princ.i.p.al at the time, said, "Do you have any advice for aspiring artists who might enter next year?"

Bryce looked only at the floor for several agonizing seconds, waiting for her to tilt the mic down toward his mouth. Like Black Bolt, silent leader of the Inhumans, who could topple mountains with a single syllable, Bryce's voice was about to be the most important one on the whole campus. This was his moment.

Finally, Mrs. Lujan repeated the question and he replied, "Um, not really."

Moment over. No mountains toppled.

Polite applause, followed by a shout of "Yeah, Bryce!" When he looked up toward the voice, Dakota and some friends in the rafters stood and clapped over their heads; she put two fingers in her mouth and let rip a banshee whistle.

Maybe the moment to broach the art school idea to his parents would've been right after he won the contest, when it seemed like everyone was smiling non-stop and they took him out to G.o.dfather's Pizza to celebrate.

While there are a few pieces in the sketchbooks he wouldn't mind attaching his name to, he clearly needs more to be considered a serious artist. He sharpens one of his fancy pencils and starts working. Gone is the doubt about whether or not he's good enough to get into a school. There is no more time for doubt.

71.

In Ricky's bedroom, he's finished loading his pipe with brand new weed when his mom comes in the front door.

"f.u.c.k a duck." He hands Claire the pipe and guides her into his closet. "I'll get rid of her fast," he says, shutting the door. She kneels under his coats. His mom's voice in the bedroom now. Claire's only seen her from a distance: short hair, broad shoulders.

"Guess what came in the mail today?"

"The giant check from Publisher's Clearing House," Ricky replies from the direction of his bed.

"Don't be smart it's your report card. Now take those headphones off and listen, please. Did you know you have two F's and two D's?"

"Yes."

"Are you bothered by this?"

"No."

"Don't just answer yes or no when someone's trying to have a conversation with you. You're a smart kid four bad grades out of five cla.s.ses is nothing to be proud of."

"I didn't say I'm proud."

The smell of the pipe fills the warm closet, like sitting in a greenhouse.

"I don't know if you still have this c.o.c.kamamie New York notion or whether you've moved on to some new idea, but none of it will matter if you're held back a year. Do you want to end up like your father, working in a gas station the rest of your life?"

From there, the volume gets louder. Claire's heard Ricky yell before (usually at other drivers), but not like this. His mom matches him decibel for decibel. There's a threat about him not being able to go to the KISS concert, and then something crashes.

"WILL YOU LEAVE?" he screams. Silence. He opens the closet so suddenly Claire jumps and almost spills the pipe. "Come on, we're outta here."

She steps over the smashed remains of his Walkman near the wall.

He drives fast, maybe expecting his mom to pursue him and continue the argument. Claire looks out the window without talking as they pa.s.s the deserted Putt-Putt mini golf. She wishes they'd smoked before leaving.

"I wish we could keep going," Ricky finally says. "Couple thousand miles from here to New York, maybe thirty-two hours' driving."

She pictures it on the map. A new place. A chance to write their story from scratch. They could be whoever they want to.

"I can't go right now anyway," he says. "I promised my uncle I'd finish high school."

He drives out to Tramway, to a castle of mountains under a purple and orange creampuff sky, pulls off the road onto a dirt crescent. Claire takes out her camera; Mr. Duran has been on them to look closer at nature instead of filling rolls of film with their friends' mugging faces.

She and Ricky climb over the rocks at the mountain base. Those mountains that, when Claire was little, she was convinced would topple forward and flatten all the houses in their path. She takes pictures of a cactus. A beer bottle. A bluetail lizard skitters by and Ricky grabs for it, holding it up triumphantly by the tail.

"Don't move!" Claire says as she adjusts her lens for a close-up. But before she can click, the tail breaks off and the lizard slaps to the ground before disappearing behind a rock.

"Where's your uncle live?" she asks after they sit on a flat-topped boulder, the warmth coming through her jeans like being atop a running dryer. Ricky lights a cigarette. Sun glares off his mirror lenses.

"On a farm out by Truth or Consequences. When I was a kid he used to let me drive his tractor, ride his horses, all that stuff. That was before my mom ruined our family."

"So why did you promise him you'd graduate?"

"Him and my dad never did, and their dad never did. He thinks that getting a diploma means I'm better than them." He s.h.i.+elds his eyes to watch a buzzard float high above them. Claire sights it with her camera but the glare makes the picture impossible. "Uncle Rob's blind. They went swimming when they were kids and he got some s.h.i.+t in his eyes, like actual s.h.i.+t in the pool. He lost one eye right away and had to wear a patch in school. Now his other one's gone bad too, can't even see himself in a mirror anymore. I guess pools weren't all safe back then."

"That sucks."

"My mom says my dad has some kinda guilt because he was in the same pool and nothing happened, that that's why we stopped going to visit. But she doesn't know what she's talking about. Anyways, I'm gonna drive out to the farm the day after graduation and let him hold the diploma."

Another lizard, this one with tail intact, zooms by before Claire can aim. Ricky throws the cigarette b.u.t.t over his shoulder.

Claire isn't sure if she's ever mentioned Dakota to Ricky before, but either way she tells him the story of the plane crash, pausing only to cover her face when the wind coats them with a wave of dust, a lone tumbleweed chasing behind.

"I keep hoping she'll come walking up the street one day, like it was all a mix-up, some other girl who looked like her."

"See what I'm saying? Look around at this messed up world and tell me you seriously think there's a G.o.d in charge," Ricky says. "And if there is, He must be a real a.s.shole." He shoots a middle finger toward the sky.

Claire watches the clouds merge over the sinking sun. Golden light pokes through like it would on a poster accompanied by a Bible verse.

"They say it's all part of His plan," she says.

"Use your brain, Claire. All those lemmings say that because they're scared and they want someone else to be the boss of them. Why d'you think they invented Heaven? Anyone can die anytime and it doesn't matter your friend, my Uncle Rob, you, me."

"What d'you think happens to us after that?"

"Nothing! That's why you gotta have as much fun as you can. What if you got hit by a bus tomorrow?"

"Then why go to school even? Why not just do what you want all the time?"

"Now you're getting it."

They stare off at the horizon; Ricky smokes again. Sit still long enough out here and you can feel the turning of the earth.

Later, when he drops her off around the corner from home, a sad, limp Christmas tree lies next to the garbage can in front of the Batsons'.

72.

While most girls ignore Bryce after receiving his flower, things unfold differently with others.

Bryce, Cam, and Geoff are leaving the locker hall at the end of the day when Beth Stevens comes toward them like an a.s.sa.s.sin. No, an a.s.sa.s.sin would probably be sneaky she comes like an invading barbarian. As usual, she wears a s.h.i.+rt cut so low it's almost a jacket.

Bryce doesn't even have time to get his Tic Tacs out.

"I can't believe you sent me a flower, you little freak! Don't ever embarra.s.s me again!" Bryce thinks she might hit him, but instead she shoves him in the shoulder with one hand, then walks away.

Cam says, "Beth Stevens? Seriously?"

"She's been down on everything but the Hindenburg. I thought I might have a chance."

Same locker hall, different day. Bryce is in the process of unstuffing his backpack when three basketball players approach. One of them might be named Billy, but who knows for sure they're all interchangeable.

"Bryce?" Maybe-Billy asks. All activity in the hall comes to a stop, like an Old West street before a gunfight.

"I'm his secretary. Can I take a message?"

"Funny man," another of them says. Bryce is at belly-b.u.t.ton level.

Maybe-Billy puts his hands under Bryce's armpits and lifts him off the ground. "Lori is outta your league, munchkin." He's not mean, or threatening it would almost be better that way, instead of this mockery.

Wolverine from the X-Men is short, but if someone called him a midget, they'd get six adamantium claws right in the gut. Since Bryce doesn't have adamantium claws, he settles for, "Ok, whatever you say."

Maybe-Billy sets Bryce back down. One of the others says, "That dude actually thought she'd go out with him?" They walk away laughing. Bryce is back in middle school being called Hobbit and taunted by Zaplin.

Bryce feels the sting in his eyes and puts his face inside his locker, pretends to be looking for something. He should tell everyone about the cancer, then they'd feel bad for him. The whole school would feel bad for him and things would be different around here; people would be sorry they treated him s.h.i.+tty.

"Bryce?" Ms. d.i.c.kinson now he knows by the voice and the perfume. "Did those guys hurt you?" she asks, a soft hand on his shoulder.

"I'm fine," he replies into the tight darkness. He can't believe she's standing this close to him and he's wis.h.i.+ng her away, but there you go. The bell rings. "I'm fine," he repeats, then stands some more until her heels click away.

His dad has a saying, whenever Bryce or Claire complain about something: "Could be worse at least you're not Job." Right about now, Job's problems don't seem so bad.