After Dakota Part 35

"Oh yeah! That was after Rob Morelli broke up with me on the last day of freshman year. No one else understood what I was going through except Mick Jagger."

"You mean you haven't been telling me what to do?"

"Sorry, Claire, I never listened to the Stones again after that horrible summer."

Claire works the mud as hard as she can, her hands cramping, her sleeves falling down; making pies was never this hard in the history of Mudland. "I've thought about, y'know, just keeping driving," she says. "Somewhere they'd never find me. Texas maybe."

"Texas? Gag me with a spoon. C'mon, you can dream up something better than that."

"Or, uh..." Claire had other ideas but now they feel as insubstantial as the brown slime leaking onto her jeans.

"You were always a cool kid. I hope you haven't turned into one of those types who wear black all the time and feel sorry for themselves."

"I don't know what I am." She looks down at her hands, at the masterpiece of a pie, covered in a gra.s.s toupee, that she's somehow a.s.sembled. She holds it toward Dakota.

"Claire, that is the best mud pie of all time."

"Remember our secret? From that night in the car? I never told anyone, like I promised."

"I know you didn't. I always trusted you." Dakota stands up. "I do need to get going now."

"Already? But there are so many things I wanna ask you. What's it like, y'know, being dead?"

Dakota mimes taking a bite of the pie and chewing, the way they used to, as she walks away. "Mmmmmm, delicious," she calls over her shoulder.

"Wait!" Claire tries to stand again but can't get her footing. "What am I supposed to do? I'm tired of being angry all the time."

Dakota spins so she's walking backwards. "Then don't be."

Claire opens her eyes. A blank movie screen towers above her. No mud, only the concrete hardness, the weeds in her hair and the fur of her coat. Images already dissolving in her mind even as she clutches at them.

112.

If a date ends with a hug, how long should the hug be expected to last?

Noel shows no indication of letting go of Bryce here on her front porch. He figured at the start of the night that he wouldn't be getting laid, but put making out in the realm of possibility. That's going to be difficult with her mouth that much higher than his, her chin against his temple.

His mom stayed home, calling every one of Claire's friends; his dad, Mr. Batson, and Mr. Swanson searched the roads. Bryce cruised all the spots he could think of where his sister might be hiding: their elementary school playground, the roof of the middle school cafeteria, even the gas station where Zaplin worked. The arroyo was nothing but impenetrable darkness this late at night, and no way was he stomping around in there while wearing a tux.

The search might have been effective had they been looking for Claire on her bike. With a car, who knew how far she'd gone?

All this while Cam and the others were having fun at Trevor's party.

Noel suggested looking at church and while Bryce thought there was perhaps a one percent chance (if that high) of Claire being there, it seemed more appealing than being out of ideas altogether. They were still two or three miles away when Bryce pulled up next to his dad's car at a stoplight.

He looked over, Claire looked over, she waved. Bryce saw only a lost little girl behind the wheel of a big car.

He hated her and loved her in equal measure at that intersection.

"You're so strong," Noel whispers to him on the porch. He doesn't know what she means, but it sounds good.

113.

Cameron walks up the driveway, tuxedo jacket over his shoulder, right as his mom gets out of her car in the open garage. The sky fades from charcoal to pink 6:05 a.m. by his watch.

"How was prom?" she asks with a grin, flattening her wild hair. "Wait, where's your car?"

He picks up the rolled morning newspaper. "Dead."

"Oh no. What happened?"

"Well. Hm. Rosemary and I went out to the car to take a break from dancing, and we ended up smoking a joint I had in there. Then she was like super hungry, so we stopped at Circle K before this after-party at the Coronado Club. You remember Trevor, right? His party. So who do we run into at Circle K but Ricky Zaplin I know you remember that name. Ricky Zaplin who's apparently going out with Bryce's sister now. Yeah, I had the same look on my face when I found out. Anyway, things got a little out of hand and I ended up having to race him. Drag racing, not running. The whole time leading up to it I'm thinking that if I lose, at least I won't have to hear about it much longer before I never see that jacka.s.s again. I mean, I'd look lame in front of Rosemary but it wouldn't be the first time. So we've got our cars lined up, ready to go, and I'm still like it'll be ok, it'll be ok. Then the weirdest thing: as soon as we started I knew I was gonna smoke him. I mean, I knew. And I did! Dad always said that car was a beast and he was totally right. It was like driving a missile! I didn't even slow down to rub it in Zaplin's face afterwards, just kept on going. Rosemary's clapping and saying how cool I am, and we had to pull over and have s.e.x right there in the front seat. I told myself I wouldn't ever do that because who knows what Dad's done in there in the past. I don't know if you and he ever... Anyway, it was awesome and guess what she said afterwards? I love you. Couples at school say it all the time but trust me, it's a big deal coming from her. You don't even wanna know. Afterwards we went to Denny's for pancakes and I swear those were the best pancakes of my entire life. Seriously. All these people were staring at us in our prom clothes, which was cool. By the way, I've found the person who loves bacon as much as you do you should see how many pieces she can eat. Well, when finished eating the car wouldn't start. None of the tricks Dad showed me worked. I think it might be dead, dead. Like maybe the race was all it had left. I didn't have enough money for a taxi so I walked her home and then here I am. Right now nothing sounds better than getting these shoes off it feels like they're made of fricking cement. By the way, I don't like chocolate milk and I haven't since I was little. Not even so much then. Please stop buying it. So how was your night?"

114.

Bryce always thought he'd be excited to leave high school he and Cam started a countdown in the middle of junior year but walking the halls now he feels a strange pang of... sadness? No, it couldn't be. He's done with sadness.

These last days are a flurry of final exams and saying goodbye to past teachers. Each meal at the snack bar, each time opening his locker, a.s.sumes extra significance, because even if he walks these grounds again someday, he certainly won't be doing either of those things.

As for college, Bryce called his grandpa for advice on the whole art school controversy. Grandpa listened patiently, not adding more than grunts and hmm's, until saying at the end, "Hold on to your britches and we'll figure it out when I see you for graduation."

Bryce isn't worried. He hasn't been worried about college, about anything since finding Claire on prom night. Since leading her home, then hugging her in the driveway before their parents ran out of the house.

It's a nice feeling.

115.

The first thing Claire sees on the last day of school are the band and orchestra kids lined up outside the music building, waiting to have their instrument cases checked for contraband shaving cream.

Her first high school yearbook has more white s.p.a.ce than writing on the autograph pages. All of her teachers put some variation of Congratulations and good luck in tenth grade. Even Mr. Hagen, whom Claire hoped would come up with something more creative. Beyond those, she has a scattering of It's been fun having ______ with you. She exchanges scribblings of H.A.G.S. with girls she's barely spoken to. A guy whose name she doesn't even know writes K.I.T. to her.

The locker hall floor is snowed over with notebook paper and old dittos. Claire opens her locker for the last time this year, knowing there won't be a poem inside.

But there is: You did an excellent job of breaking my heart I should've seen it coming but I'm not that smart I thought you were different but you're like all the rest I feel like a fool for loving you best b.i.t.c.h!.

When she finishes reading it for the second time is when two boys across from her open their lockers wide and toss pictures of naked women into the air, drawing the attention of all in the immediate area. A woman in black stockings and nothing else lands at Claire's feet; one of the teachers is blowing a whistle, trying to disperse the crowd. Claire wads up the final piece of poetry and launches it into the commotion.

She walks from there to the photo room to collect her semester folder. Dr. Crumpler said he'd love to see her work, so she promised to bring them to her appointment this afternoon. After showing off the decent ones, she'll pick a board game from his closet and he'll ask her questions about her life while they play. He's not so good at doing both things at once he sucks the end of his gla.s.ses and furrows his brow which is why Claire has an undefeated streak going in Monopoly. Maybe she'll take pity on him today.

116.

To look out at the football field bleachers jammed to capacity with families on the baking graduation evening is to see row after row of programs fanning in unison like a routine in some dance musical. Cameron watches this, sweating in his red cap and gown (the lucky girls get to wear white), and wishes he had a fan, or at least a companion to complain to.

Bryce, Geoff, and Rosemary all sit in the latter half of the alphabet He's sandwiched between Erik Carter's empty chair its occupant currently on stage waiting to give one of the three speeches and Lisa Castillo, whose cap surfs precariously atop a tidal wave of curly hair The ceremony unfolds as if no one has anywhere better to be: presentation of the school colors, the national anthem, members of the choir singing a medley of songs (ending for some reason with "Footloose"), Princ.i.p.al Rodriguez's speech on the importance of high school athletics (during which Cameron turns off his hearing aid, just in case Bryce can see from the back), then Hannah Arnold and Erik talking about the great accomplishments, past and future, of the cla.s.s of '84 Har, har.

The amount of applause each student gets when their name is called is an instant popularity meter. The Eriks and the Hannahs get the most noise, while some others receive their diplomas accompanied by stony silence. Fortunately, Cameron's given out enough free pizzas in his day to earn a respectable amount of clapping. He returns the favor for his friends, and is maybe too loud when Rosemary crosses the stage.

It's in celebration and relief from the heat that he tosses his cap off after the final name Richard Zaplin, who somehow graduated (costing Cameron a two dollar bet with Bryce) is called.

A crush of people, a blur of faces on the field after the ceremony. Handshakes. Hugs. He finds his mom, who'd held out hope until a few days ago that Grandma Margaret could somehow make it out. He finds Rosemary and proceeds with the official introduction, ready to see the look on his mom's face at the resemblance.

Molly says, "So nice to finally meet you, sweetie," with no look other than a big smile. She hadn't batted an eye after seeing the prom photos, either. Is everyone blind?

Cameron's dad and Louise. Rosemary's parents. Again that freaky baby stares at him the entire time.

Don't look at Geoff's mom's gla.s.s eye. Don't look, don't look, don't look.

Also, don't be jealous of the tight hug between Rosemary and Mr. Hagen.

Cameron, Bryce, and Geoff put their arms around each other for a photo; at the last second, Trevor rushes up from behind and joins in.

Is F.T.E. now T.E.?

117.

As students no, graduates begin the migration toward the line of buses waiting to deliver them to a casino-themed graduation night, Claire grabs Bryce by the sleeve.

"Grandpa talked about your art school on the drive over here," she says. "He told Mom and Dad he'll pay your way."

"Are you joking?"

She draws an X over her heart. Bryce goes back, against the herd, toward where he last saw his grandparents. They stand under one of the pathetic trees at the edge of the field, wearing their matching floppy sun hats.

"Grandpa, Claire told me "

He reaches out, grips Bryce's hand. His skin feels like a paper bag. "I said we'd figure it out, didn't I? I can't sit by and let you waste the talent the Good Lord gave you, studying business or somesuch."

Bryce feels it coming on but stops it. Enough crying already!

"Your parents love you and want you to succeed. I hope you know that. Sometimes people need to broaden their definition of success, is all."

"I don't even... Thank you."

"I'm an old man with money, and there's no luggage rack on a funeral limo." Grandpa tightens his grip. "You better be prepared, though those Chicago winters can freeze a man's p.e.c.k.e.r off." Grandma slaps his shoulder with her purse.

Bus engines rumble to life from the direction of the parking lot. "I should go," Bryce says, wiping his eyes.

"Straighten your tie," Grandpa tells him. "And then make this a night to remember."

SUMMER, 1984.

118.

Cameron pauses before opening the envelope that contains his last report card ever. He has an hour before Rosemary comes over, before they drive in his new (used) car from Carter Ford to meet his mom and the mysterious new guy Howard at Pelican's restaurant; he wonders how many other people his age have gone out on a double date with their mom.

Tomorrow is packing day for the big road trip to Was.h.i.+ngton, D.C., where student clubs from all over the country plan to deliver their anti-nuclear pet.i.tions to the White House on July 4th. Their school Peace Club alone gathered almost two thousand signatures. When Rosemary suggested that Cameron come with her, she made it clear there would be endless hours of car time, people piled in motel rooms, and long stretches between showers.

"I wouldn't go myself if the cause weren't so important," she said.

What she didn't realize was that piranhas, erupting volcanoes, and mandatory head shaving wouldn't have deterred him from going (though that last one would've been tough).

Sometime on the trip, or afterward, they need to have The Conversation. They've successfully avoided talking about the future since graduation, filling their days and nights with each other, but this all feels like a road that hasn't been completed yet you can only drive so far before you run out of room.

Him at Berkeley + her on a gap year = ?

His report card is a string of A's, interrupted only by his English grade, his best subject. B+.

"b.i.t.c.h," he says, tearing it in half, unable to help but laugh about Mrs. Gordon. He lost the 4.0 but likes what he won instead.

119.

The empty coffee can gets placed in the center of the cul-de-sac.

The person who's "it" first Cam sits on the can, closes his eyes, and counts loudly to twenty while the others hide.

Bryce squats next to the rhododendron bush in his front yard, at an angle that will be impossible to see from the can. Sometimes being puny pays off. Rosemary stands behind the Evergreen in Cam's front yard, Noel at Steve and Bo's. Geoff ends up somewhere.

The thermometer broke 100 earlier that day; the night is heavy, and even the cicadas seem slower.

"18... 19... 20! Ready or not, here I come!"

Cam quickly calls out Geoff, up in the Vanzants' tree.

"How'd you even see me, b.i.t.c.h?"

The crack of branches, a thud on the ground, then cursing.

Next, Rosemary beats Cam to the can in a footrace (when he's obviously not running full speed), sends a spinning satellite high into the air, and yells, "Freedom!"

"Just say 'free,'" he tells her.

While Cam pokes around the alcove of Steve and Bo's porch, Noel rolls out from under their car right behind him and gets to the can. "Free!" Cool move.

Bryce hasn't gotten the green light to kiss her yet, but he still has six weeks before leaving for Chicago. Six weeks would be plenty of time for Han Solo or Captain Kirk they'd get a kiss and have her begging for more.

Six weeks...

He s.h.i.+fts position, ready to spring as Cam walks toward the rhododendron.

120.