he nearly choked. He couldn’t think of a single thing to say that wasn’t lame.
“I’m not . . .” He coughed and took a sip of his Coke. Jesus. His face was burning. “I mean, I don’t—”
“Dodge.” She cut him off. Her voice was suddenly stern. “I’d like you to kiss me now.”
He had just been scarfing a meatball sub. But he kissed her anyway. What else could he do? He felt the noise in his head, the noise around them, swelling into a clamor; he loved the way she kissed, like she was still hungry, like she wanted to eat him. Heat roared through his whole body, and for one second he experienced a crazy shock of anxiety: he must be dreaming.
He put one hand on the back of her head, and she pulled away just long enough to say, “Both hands, please.”
After that, the noise in his head quieted. He felt totally relaxed, and he kissed her again, more slowly this time.
On the way home, he barely said anything. He was happier than he’d ever been, and he feared saying or doing anything that would ruin it.
Bishop dropped Dodge off first. Dodge had promised to watch fireworks on TV with Dayna tonight. He wondered whether he should kiss Nat again—he was stressing about it—but she solved the problem by hugging him, which would have been disappointing except she was pressed up next to him in the car and he could feel her boobs against his chest.
“Thanks a lot, man,” he said to Bishop. Bishop gave him a fist bump. Like they were friends.
Maybe they were.
He watched the car drive off, even after he could no longer make out Nat’s silhouette in the backseat, until the car disappeared beyond a hill and he could hear only the distant, guttural growl of the engine. Still, he stood there on the sidewalk, reluctant to head inside, back to Dayna and his mom and the narrow space of his room, piled with clothes and empty cigarette packs, smelling vaguely like garbage.
He just wanted to be happy for a little longer.
His phone buzzed. An email. His heart picked up. He recognized the sender.
Luke Hanrahan.
The message was short.
Leave us alone. I’ll go to the police.
Dodge read the message several times, enjoying it, reading desperation between the lines. He’d been wondering whether Luke had received his message; apparently he had.
Dodge scrolled down and reread the email he had sent a week earlier.
The bets are in. The game is on.
I’ll make you a trade:
A sister’s legs for a brother’s life.
Standing in the fading sun, Dodge allowed himself to smile.
heather
IT HAD BEEN A GOOD DAY—ONE OF THE BEST OF THE whole summer so far. For once, Heather wouldn’t let herself think about the future, and what would happen in the fall, when Bishop went to college at SUNY Binghamton and Nat headed to Los Angeles to be an actress. Maybe, Heather thought, she could just stay on at Anne’s house, as a kind of helper. Maybe she could even move in. Lily could come too; they could share a room in one of the sheds.
Of course that meant she’d still be stuck in Carp, but at least she’d be out of Fresh Pines Mobile Park.
She liked Anne, and she especially liked the animals. She’d been out to Mansfield Road three times in a week, and she was already looking forward to heading back. She liked the smell of wet straw and old leather and grass that hung over everything; she liked the way the dog Muppet recognized her, and the excited chittering of the chickens.
She decided she liked the tigers, too—from a distance, anyway. She was mesmerized by the way they moved, muscles rippling like the surface of water, and by their eyes, which looked so wise—so bleak, too, as though they had stared into the center of the universe and found it disappointing, a feeling Heather completely understood.
But she was happy to let Anne do the feeding. She couldn’t believe the balls on the woman. It was a good thing Anne was too old for Panic. She would have nailed it. Anne actually went inside the pen,
“I’m not . . .” He coughed and took a sip of his Coke. Jesus. His face was burning. “I mean, I don’t—”
“Dodge.” She cut him off. Her voice was suddenly stern. “I’d like you to kiss me now.”
He had just been scarfing a meatball sub. But he kissed her anyway. What else could he do? He felt the noise in his head, the noise around them, swelling into a clamor; he loved the way she kissed, like she was still hungry, like she wanted to eat him. Heat roared through his whole body, and for one second he experienced a crazy shock of anxiety: he must be dreaming.
He put one hand on the back of her head, and she pulled away just long enough to say, “Both hands, please.”
After that, the noise in his head quieted. He felt totally relaxed, and he kissed her again, more slowly this time.
On the way home, he barely said anything. He was happier than he’d ever been, and he feared saying or doing anything that would ruin it.
Bishop dropped Dodge off first. Dodge had promised to watch fireworks on TV with Dayna tonight. He wondered whether he should kiss Nat again—he was stressing about it—but she solved the problem by hugging him, which would have been disappointing except she was pressed up next to him in the car and he could feel her boobs against his chest.
“Thanks a lot, man,” he said to Bishop. Bishop gave him a fist bump. Like they were friends.
Maybe they were.
He watched the car drive off, even after he could no longer make out Nat’s silhouette in the backseat, until the car disappeared beyond a hill and he could hear only the distant, guttural growl of the engine. Still, he stood there on the sidewalk, reluctant to head inside, back to Dayna and his mom and the narrow space of his room, piled with clothes and empty cigarette packs, smelling vaguely like garbage.
He just wanted to be happy for a little longer.
His phone buzzed. An email. His heart picked up. He recognized the sender.
Luke Hanrahan.
The message was short.
Leave us alone. I’ll go to the police.
Dodge read the message several times, enjoying it, reading desperation between the lines. He’d been wondering whether Luke had received his message; apparently he had.
Dodge scrolled down and reread the email he had sent a week earlier.
The bets are in. The game is on.
I’ll make you a trade:
A sister’s legs for a brother’s life.
Standing in the fading sun, Dodge allowed himself to smile.
heather
IT HAD BEEN A GOOD DAY—ONE OF THE BEST OF THE whole summer so far. For once, Heather wouldn’t let herself think about the future, and what would happen in the fall, when Bishop went to college at SUNY Binghamton and Nat headed to Los Angeles to be an actress. Maybe, Heather thought, she could just stay on at Anne’s house, as a kind of helper. Maybe she could even move in. Lily could come too; they could share a room in one of the sheds.
Of course that meant she’d still be stuck in Carp, but at least she’d be out of Fresh Pines Mobile Park.
She liked Anne, and she especially liked the animals. She’d been out to Mansfield Road three times in a week, and she was already looking forward to heading back. She liked the smell of wet straw and old leather and grass that hung over everything; she liked the way the dog Muppet recognized her, and the excited chittering of the chickens.
She decided she liked the tigers, too—from a distance, anyway. She was mesmerized by the way they moved, muscles rippling like the surface of water, and by their eyes, which looked so wise—so bleak, too, as though they had stared into the center of the universe and found it disappointing, a feeling Heather completely understood.
But she was happy to let Anne do the feeding. She couldn’t believe the balls on the woman. It was a good thing Anne was too old for Panic. She would have nailed it. Anne actually went inside the pen,
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