smells different. There’s a depth. You know how the lake smells different where it’s deepest?”
“The lake has a smell?”
“Oh my god, do you notice
anything
?”
“I notice that you think you can smell water, or that you can smell
love
, for that matter, and I am the one they think is crazy. Anyway, it was bound to happen, you and Danny. But this is unfortunate timing. Because I have to go.”
I throw some things in the bag. My favorite jeans, a T-shirt, some underwear and a toothbrush, my phone charger, the shampoo that’s supposed to “volumize” my hair. Also,
The Brothers Lionheart
. I pretend it was written for me.
“What will we do for money?” I suddenly realize. “As you can see, the hot dog money has been depleted.”
“Of course it has. By him, right? And I’m sure you’ve already forgiven him.”
“Having a resentment is like drinking poison and expecting someone else to die.” It’s a quote from AA.
“Whatever. Your father makes me feel good about not having a father. That’s what a jerk he is.”
“Yeah, well, he’s still my father, so it hurts my feelings when you say that.”
“The coins,” she says.
“It’s come to that?” I ask.
“It has.”
Deep in the bottom of her closet sit two heavy boxes of coins that her grandmother, because she doesn’t know about Coinstar, rolled all by herself, every night for two years while watching
Jeopardy
. Two thousand dollars worth of coins. Zoe and I were saving it for an emergency, and I guess this qualifies.
We go to her house first, and sneak into her room. The first box rips a little as I drag it out from her closet by a lid-flap. It is graffittied with Magic Marker sayings like BREAK GLASS IN CASE OF EMERGENCY , RESULTS MAY VARY , DON’T TRY THIS AT HOME , OBJECTS IN MIRROR ARE CLOSER THAN THEY APPEAR , MAYBE YOU SHOULD WEAR A HELMET.
Zoe stares at it as if I’d just pulled a giant squid out of the ocean. “It’s really come to this?” she whispers.
“Well, yeah,” I say. “We’re kind of running away.”
We each hold one heavy box of coins as we waddle our way to the car and toss them into the backseat well with a satisfying
thud
. At least the coins will weigh us down if we get into a fender bender with an SUV. We settle in the front seat; I adjust the rearview and back the car out of the driveway.
“I didn’t get in to Parsons,” she admits with a sigh.
“Oh no.” I look her in the eye.
“Or FIT.”
“But if only they could see your new stuff . . .” I say.
“Too late.”
“I just registered at County. They have some design courses. You could come with me.” But I try to imagine her there. At a commuter college, where she is smarter than everyone in charge but too oblivious to know her place. Nothing good could come of it.
“County jail . . . County College. Same thing,” she says as she looks beseechingly toward the sky. She’s still clutching a corner of the cardboard box flap that ripped off the coins, and she begins to stroke it lightly across her wrist. “We. Are. Better. Than. That.” One stroke for each word.
Better
gets two strokes in an X. She believes this with a conviction rooted deep in her gut. I know because I can feel it. I can feel her feelings sometimes, like she can read my thoughts. It’s as if we’re some kind of Siamese twins connected at the soul.
I reach for the box flap and gently take it from her before it can break the skin.
A strange gusty wind blows through the open window, and her hair stands straight up and then whips across her face in satiny ribbons. She looks out the window, and a fat raindrop splashes onto her cheek, then she looks at me. “That’s a sign. We have to go,” she says, urgently. “Let’s say good-bye to your boyfriend. I’ll give you ten minutes.”
HEARTBREAK
I drive to Danny’s while Zoe pores over an old road atlas and creates playlists on my iPod at the same time. She’s talking to herself, but only a little, and
“The lake has a smell?”
“Oh my god, do you notice
anything
?”
“I notice that you think you can smell water, or that you can smell
love
, for that matter, and I am the one they think is crazy. Anyway, it was bound to happen, you and Danny. But this is unfortunate timing. Because I have to go.”
I throw some things in the bag. My favorite jeans, a T-shirt, some underwear and a toothbrush, my phone charger, the shampoo that’s supposed to “volumize” my hair. Also,
The Brothers Lionheart
. I pretend it was written for me.
“What will we do for money?” I suddenly realize. “As you can see, the hot dog money has been depleted.”
“Of course it has. By him, right? And I’m sure you’ve already forgiven him.”
“Having a resentment is like drinking poison and expecting someone else to die.” It’s a quote from AA.
“Whatever. Your father makes me feel good about not having a father. That’s what a jerk he is.”
“Yeah, well, he’s still my father, so it hurts my feelings when you say that.”
“The coins,” she says.
“It’s come to that?” I ask.
“It has.”
Deep in the bottom of her closet sit two heavy boxes of coins that her grandmother, because she doesn’t know about Coinstar, rolled all by herself, every night for two years while watching
Jeopardy
. Two thousand dollars worth of coins. Zoe and I were saving it for an emergency, and I guess this qualifies.
We go to her house first, and sneak into her room. The first box rips a little as I drag it out from her closet by a lid-flap. It is graffittied with Magic Marker sayings like BREAK GLASS IN CASE OF EMERGENCY , RESULTS MAY VARY , DON’T TRY THIS AT HOME , OBJECTS IN MIRROR ARE CLOSER THAN THEY APPEAR , MAYBE YOU SHOULD WEAR A HELMET.
Zoe stares at it as if I’d just pulled a giant squid out of the ocean. “It’s really come to this?” she whispers.
“Well, yeah,” I say. “We’re kind of running away.”
We each hold one heavy box of coins as we waddle our way to the car and toss them into the backseat well with a satisfying
thud
. At least the coins will weigh us down if we get into a fender bender with an SUV. We settle in the front seat; I adjust the rearview and back the car out of the driveway.
“I didn’t get in to Parsons,” she admits with a sigh.
“Oh no.” I look her in the eye.
“Or FIT.”
“But if only they could see your new stuff . . .” I say.
“Too late.”
“I just registered at County. They have some design courses. You could come with me.” But I try to imagine her there. At a commuter college, where she is smarter than everyone in charge but too oblivious to know her place. Nothing good could come of it.
“County jail . . . County College. Same thing,” she says as she looks beseechingly toward the sky. She’s still clutching a corner of the cardboard box flap that ripped off the coins, and she begins to stroke it lightly across her wrist. “We. Are. Better. Than. That.” One stroke for each word.
Better
gets two strokes in an X. She believes this with a conviction rooted deep in her gut. I know because I can feel it. I can feel her feelings sometimes, like she can read my thoughts. It’s as if we’re some kind of Siamese twins connected at the soul.
I reach for the box flap and gently take it from her before it can break the skin.
A strange gusty wind blows through the open window, and her hair stands straight up and then whips across her face in satiny ribbons. She looks out the window, and a fat raindrop splashes onto her cheek, then she looks at me. “That’s a sign. We have to go,” she says, urgently. “Let’s say good-bye to your boyfriend. I’ll give you ten minutes.”
HEARTBREAK
I drive to Danny’s while Zoe pores over an old road atlas and creates playlists on my iPod at the same time. She’s talking to herself, but only a little, and
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