Chapter 11 #2
Griffin gripped the steering wheel with both hands, continuing straight on the road that was supposed to lead us out of town—not the fuck back into it.
“Okay then, Brainiac,” I told Hunt even when I normally wouldn’t. He wasn’t overly fond of the term.
“You all are as smart as I am and you damn well know it,” he said automatically, like he usually did whenever one of us was an idiot and called him that.
“Yeah, I know. Sorry. So …” I peppered Bobo with more pets.
His tail was tucked though his ears were perked.
My sweet boy didn’t know what he was supposed to be doing.
“This ain’t normal, obvi. What are we thinking?
A mistake in the signs? Maybe a prank? Wouldn’t put it past one of our moronic classmates to move it.
Pike Bills would totally do something like this. ”
Layla’s heavy breathing slowed some. “I could absolutely see him doing this.”
“He probably took a hard tackle in practice yesterday or something,” Brady added. “Got drunk with the guys, wanted a break from doing drive-bys on mailboxes or whatever the fuck they do for fun these days, and came up with this brilliant plan.” Brady laughed. “That’s gotta be it.”
But every one of us knew we were grasping at straws and clutching them for dear life. If everything else in our lives were ordinary, sure, then maybe it was Pike Bills and whatever crew of buffoons. But our lives weren’t ordinary. Not even close.
“So what do we do?” I asked. “Just keep driving?” I looked at Griffin.
“Yeah, let’s just keep going. If the signs were switched up, then nothing changes. We’re still out for a nice joyride.”
Griffin kept driving, and indeed nothing changed, just not in the way he meant.
Before long, we passed the road that led to Raven’s Lagoon, and soon after, the location of Magnum’s institute, concealed behind dense trees. Next, we drove by the turnoff for the Fischer House.
The closer we drew to the center of town, the more familiar and irrefutable landmarks rolled by, and the more that chicken salad insisted I wasn’t finished with it yet.
When we breezed past the high school, Layla whispered, “You guys …” And that was it.
I preferred it when she was laying down a long streak of F-bombs. A quiet Layla who couldn’t find the words, when to her most would do in a pinch, was unfamiliar territory. We already had enough of that to choke on.
Brady patted her on the leg before starting to rub comforting circles across her knee, a behavior just as unlikely as Layla’s trailing off yet again.
“I know,” Brady cooed to her. “It’s wack.”
I chortled darkly. “Wack? No, man, this is … dammit, this is next-level …”
Tears suddenly stung my eyes. I hid my face along Bobo’s neck. He craned his head back so he could kiss me, no doubt feeling my turmoil, but couldn’t reach.
“Maybe there’s a logical explanation that we’re missing,” Griffin offered, sounding wholly unconvinced.
His eyes flicked to the rearview mirror.
I said.
Brady only pursed his lips.
“Let’s just get to the end of town … uh, again,” Hunt said aloud, “before we freak out any more.”
“Easy for you to say,” Layla muttered. “I’m already freakin’. I’m majorly freakin’. I’m freaking out so hard I don’t even have a dick joke in me at that perfect setup.”
Brady’s brow pinched in concern for his twin. If Lay was out of dick jokes, we really were in trouble. Dick jokes were like her factory default setting.
The fifteen or so minutes it took to traverse Ridgemore along its main road passed swiftly. Before I was ready to confront any more upheaval of our already disturbing lives, Clyde whipped past the farewell sign again.
We held our collective breaths until the outline of the next sign popped into view. Immediately after, Layla started her quasi-hyperventilating again.
There it was, bright and indisputable beneath the afternoon sunshine: the welcome to Ridgemore sign.
Alternating between cursing vehemently, worrying silently, and Layla doing her heavy breathing, Griffin drove us through town a third time, just to be sure.
When we passed the farewell sign again, and then the welcome sign loomed within sight, he guided Clyde to the shoulder and parked. He turned off the car, threw his head against the headrest, and closed his eyes.
I watched him. His chest heaved. His lips pursed. His nostrils fluttered as he fought to calm himself. He clutched the steering wheel with a white-knuckled grip even though we were stopped.
He and Hunt were the most levelheaded of the five of us. I sought out Hunt.
He’d leaned his forehead against the window, his jaw as tight as I’d ever seen it, and flicked the dangling turquoise of his earring—over and over and over again. Harder and harder, the blueberry-size turquoise swung. He must have felt my stare on him, but he didn’t turn to meet it.
When Layla began another continuous chant of fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck, my fingers fumbled for the door handle. Pushed it open. Bobo jumped out. I stumbled after him. Lowered myself to my knees on the grass.
Before I realized it would happen, the chicken salad rushed up my throat. I bolted upward, staggered to a clump of bushes, and threw up behind them.
After I was sure no more was coming up, I turned. My friends were all out of the car, and along with Bobo, they looked at me with big, worried eyes.
“I’m fine, guys,” I mumbled, though I was shaking, and fine was probably one of the very last words I should be using to describe any of us. “Can I use that toothpaste again, Lay?”
She ducked into the back seat and dug through her Mary Poppins purse. She rarely was without her bag, whereas I’d left mine at school. While she handed over the travel-size tube and a bottle of water, Brady spoke just for the five of us.
I snorted.
Whining, Bobo rubbed against my legs. I scratched behind his ears while I brushed my teeth with my finger with the other.
Griffin offered before drawing closer, waiting for me to finish brushing.
Hunt added, crossing his arms and leaning back against Clyde’s hood.
Layla asked.
He crossed his legs at the ankle. Brady reclined against the hood next to him.
Hunt said,
Layla asked.
I finished brushing, returned everything to Layla, and sank to the ground to love on Bobo, who rushed onto my lap with a relieved whimper. Griffin lowered down next to me.
Hunt said.
Layla said,
With both hands, she mimed her brain exploding, before settling onto the grass beside me and letting her legs plop out in front of her.
Brady said.
Griffin muttered, picking at a blade of grass and leaning his head on my shoulder.
Hunt stuffed his hands into his pockets.
I said.
Layla said. She winced.
Hunt just gave her a look that reminded her: Immortals, dude.
She flung herself theatrically to the grass. Bobo bounced over to lick her face. She laughed, which was far better than her earlier panicked wheezing.
Brady hedged.
Hunt shrugged.
Layla groaned.
Brady said.
I asked.
Hunt said. He looked at us. We shook our heads.
I tapped my foot against Griffin’s just to touch him more. I barked a laugh.
My friends all wore serious expressions though.
My brows shot skyward.
Hunt frowned.
I chuffed.
That got a laugh out of all of them.
Layla was hugging Bobo to her chest, much as I had earlier, like he was a source of comfort when everything we believed to be true was rapidly unraveling.
Layla said grimly.
Hunt said.
Griffin said,
Brady said.
Griffin said.
His question hung in the air like a stench we couldn’t escape.
he added.
This time, instead of her recent litany of fucks, Layla brought a hand to her mouth and nibbled on a nail.
Softly, so that it was a whisper into our minds, I asked,
Hunt sighed heavily and frowned. Brady kicked at the grass. Layla chewed her nail more savagely. And Griffin linked his fingers through mine, automatically rubbing his thumb soothingly over the back of my hand.
I added miserably.
I was still hoping for an influx of unforeseen brilliance when Bobo wriggled out of Layla’s embrace, stiffened, and ran to Clyde’s bumper. He listened for a moment, then barked a sharp warning.
Immediately, we all stood and lined up beside each other.
Bobo kept barking until a convoy of cars crested the horizon, then he stopped, drawing to stand in front of us.
With my stare pinned on the approaching vehicles, I told him, “Good boy, Bobo.”
Layla offered emptily.
But when the cars came closer, they revealed themselves to be a line of black Cadillac Escalades. Almost certainly, Magnum’s black Escalades.
And we were sitting ducks, without any way to defend ourselves and even less of a way to escape.
Brady said, but then added,
Griffin growled, drawing closer to me.
As one, we closed the gaps between us, as if that would help a damn thing.
Hunt said.
Layla said somberly.
Brady said.
I said, rubbing with my free hand at the ring of five scars on my chest, now barely visible, the only physical sign that Magnum gunned me down.
Griffin said.
But when the Escalades pulled up behind Clyde, Fanny was the first one out—and she pointed a pistol at us without bothering with an I’m your cool, fun aunt fake smile or even a single hello.