himself. The strong will live and the weak will die. But don’t worry. I’ll be watching out for you.”
“Thanks,” said Josie, unsure what he meant, or if he was joking. He was giving her a strange look, as if there was something they’d already agreed about. Then Ronnie said, “Hey, pull over, would ya?”
She found a space at the curb and Ronnie got out to stand at the back of the car. “What’s he doing?” she asked, and then, “Oh.”
The taillights showed Ronnie’s thin, nearly flat behind, his old slick jeans hanging in folds. Josie thought he could at least have found a bush or something. He hiked his jeans back up, but instead of getting into the car he took off running down the block.
“Now what?” She was getting a little tired of Ronnie.
“Oh, he’s just goofing.” Moron stretched out his arms in a big fake yawn, letting one of them come to rest, as casual as a felled tree, around her shoulders.
She wasn’t imagining things. He was trying to hit on her. Oh no, icky. Ronnie opened the back door. “Miss me?”
“You mean you were gone?”
“Ha ha. I got eight, count em, eight.”
“Eight what?” asked Josie. She was starting to feel the beer, all the little stupid-making bubbles in her head.
“Let’s not hang around, huh? Step on it.”
“What is he talking about?”
“He means he keyed a bunch of cars and we should probably not be here right now.”
Josie tried to give Ronnie a meaningful stare but her eyes weren’t following orders. “You scratched their paint? What did you do that for?”
“Is she for real?”
The two of them were yukking it up and high-fiving, like they’d accomplished something important, and she couldn’t believe she’d ended up with two people even more pathetic than she was. “I have to go to the bathroom,” she said. “And I’m not doing it in the street.”
“We could go to Denny’s,” suggested Moron. “Yeah. Patty melts.”
As much as she didn’t want to be seen anyplace with them, it seemed like a good idea to get out of the car. Maybe she could ditch them at Denny’s, then drive by Mitchell Crook’s apartment so the night wouldn’t be a total loss. Her bladder, once it had announced itself, was cresting dangerously. She had to put the car in reverse to get out of the space. “Excuse me,” she said, waiting until Moron removed his arm. In the backseat Ronnie sniggered.
At Denny’s she sat on the toilet and thought: This Is Your Life. Your life is a public bathroom. Sticky floor, smelly smells, ghosts of bodily fluids, yellow flourescent lights on yellow tile. She flushed. Down the tubes. It was too bad she wasn’t serious puking drunk, just to top things off. As it was, she was stuck somewhere between sober and dry-mouthed fuzzy, with a little riff of headache playing at the back of her skull. In the yellow mirror she poked at her teeth and combed her hair. She looked hideous. She looked like Bride of Moron.
She was hoping to slink back to the car, but Moron, who’dbeen using the pay phone, was waiting for her. He was parked right next to the ladies’ room door like a dog tied up outside a grocery. “Hey, I’m sorry if Ronnie’s being uncouth.”
“No biggie.”
“I’ll beat his ass if you want.”
“Look, I really have to get home now. My mom freaks if I’m not in by midnight.” This was true, although it never kept her from staying out as late as she wanted.
“Yeah?” He actually drooped. His enormous shoulders lowered as much as his overdeveloped muscles would permit, and his chin fell. He wasn’t such a bad-looking guy, he would have been normal-to-cute if he didn’t do peculiar things to his hair and dress like a goon in all that camouflage stuff and the sleeveless flannel shirts. She didn’t think he had many girlfriends. Everyone was too scared of him. “Well, stay and get something to eat. I’m buying.”
“Thanks. Not hungry.”
“A Coke or something. Besides”—he brightened, as if
“Thanks,” said Josie, unsure what he meant, or if he was joking. He was giving her a strange look, as if there was something they’d already agreed about. Then Ronnie said, “Hey, pull over, would ya?”
She found a space at the curb and Ronnie got out to stand at the back of the car. “What’s he doing?” she asked, and then, “Oh.”
The taillights showed Ronnie’s thin, nearly flat behind, his old slick jeans hanging in folds. Josie thought he could at least have found a bush or something. He hiked his jeans back up, but instead of getting into the car he took off running down the block.
“Now what?” She was getting a little tired of Ronnie.
“Oh, he’s just goofing.” Moron stretched out his arms in a big fake yawn, letting one of them come to rest, as casual as a felled tree, around her shoulders.
She wasn’t imagining things. He was trying to hit on her. Oh no, icky. Ronnie opened the back door. “Miss me?”
“You mean you were gone?”
“Ha ha. I got eight, count em, eight.”
“Eight what?” asked Josie. She was starting to feel the beer, all the little stupid-making bubbles in her head.
“Let’s not hang around, huh? Step on it.”
“What is he talking about?”
“He means he keyed a bunch of cars and we should probably not be here right now.”
Josie tried to give Ronnie a meaningful stare but her eyes weren’t following orders. “You scratched their paint? What did you do that for?”
“Is she for real?”
The two of them were yukking it up and high-fiving, like they’d accomplished something important, and she couldn’t believe she’d ended up with two people even more pathetic than she was. “I have to go to the bathroom,” she said. “And I’m not doing it in the street.”
“We could go to Denny’s,” suggested Moron. “Yeah. Patty melts.”
As much as she didn’t want to be seen anyplace with them, it seemed like a good idea to get out of the car. Maybe she could ditch them at Denny’s, then drive by Mitchell Crook’s apartment so the night wouldn’t be a total loss. Her bladder, once it had announced itself, was cresting dangerously. She had to put the car in reverse to get out of the space. “Excuse me,” she said, waiting until Moron removed his arm. In the backseat Ronnie sniggered.
At Denny’s she sat on the toilet and thought: This Is Your Life. Your life is a public bathroom. Sticky floor, smelly smells, ghosts of bodily fluids, yellow flourescent lights on yellow tile. She flushed. Down the tubes. It was too bad she wasn’t serious puking drunk, just to top things off. As it was, she was stuck somewhere between sober and dry-mouthed fuzzy, with a little riff of headache playing at the back of her skull. In the yellow mirror she poked at her teeth and combed her hair. She looked hideous. She looked like Bride of Moron.
She was hoping to slink back to the car, but Moron, who’dbeen using the pay phone, was waiting for her. He was parked right next to the ladies’ room door like a dog tied up outside a grocery. “Hey, I’m sorry if Ronnie’s being uncouth.”
“No biggie.”
“I’ll beat his ass if you want.”
“Look, I really have to get home now. My mom freaks if I’m not in by midnight.” This was true, although it never kept her from staying out as late as she wanted.
“Yeah?” He actually drooped. His enormous shoulders lowered as much as his overdeveloped muscles would permit, and his chin fell. He wasn’t such a bad-looking guy, he would have been normal-to-cute if he didn’t do peculiar things to his hair and dress like a goon in all that camouflage stuff and the sleeveless flannel shirts. She didn’t think he had many girlfriends. Everyone was too scared of him. “Well, stay and get something to eat. I’m buying.”
“Thanks. Not hungry.”
“A Coke or something. Besides”—he brightened, as if
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