16. Tink #2
Probably because I’m the only one who takes care of anything around here, I answer myself. To Fox, I just lift a shoulder, and then look for the minifridge. Whatever the hell is going on today, I need caffeine for it. Maybe double my usual.
“Right,” I hear Wendy say. “And you’ve gotta make sure she doesn’t eat too fast or else she can get bloat. Which is when air is trapped in her stomach. At home I have this slow feeder bowl for her that makes it harder for her to get the food pieces, but…”
She trails off, suddenly preoccupied with her Toaster Treat, as I stand back up, my drink obtained.
Home. Right. I rub my temples and crack open my can of fizzy life-giving corn syrup.
“Do they make those for humans?” Kit asks. “I know someone who could use one.”
“Hey!” Fox says, through a full mouth.
Crack.
Behind us, by the door, a cabinet door snaps open.
Blue, like a fucking ninja, has slipped into the kitchen, his giant tub of creatine/protein/whatever-the-fuck powder on the counter and his giant headphones clamped on his ears.
He dumps three scoops into a shaker bottle, rattles it exactly four times, and sweeps out.
“Good morning to you too,” Kit grumbles.
Wendy, though, seems hardly rattled at all. “What’s his damage?” she asks nonchalantly, swallowing another bite.
“Blue?” Fox laughs softly, shaking his head. “No one knows.”
“Just…not a morning person, I guess.” I drain the rest of my drink and crumple the can on the counter. Not that any one of us is , really. I can’t even remember the last time most of us were awake before 11 a.m. on a Saturday.
And yet…here we all are.
Almost.
If I’m going to be the one to figure out what to do with Wendy, I’m at least making Pan help. Even if I have to rip him out of bed to do it.
Happy Saturday to me.
Kit goes about making another espresso as Wendy starts telling Fox something else about skincare—“like, you really should wear SPF. That’s why you’ve got so many age spots on your arms.” “I thought those were freckles! Don’t the tattoos undo it?
” “Um, they probably just make it worse”—and I’m literally turning around to go kick at Pan’s door when I walk straight into him.
“Good morning,” he rumbles, his voice rusty with sleep, and my pulse does a little jump—startled me, I guess. His hair’s an absolute mess, but he’s at least got some clothes on—tank top and boxers—and he’s close enough that I can smell the warmth of sleep on him.
I jump back. Chest bumps are no good. Even with the binder.
“Hey,” I say. “Sorry.”
Pan plants a hand on my shoulder as he passes me into the kitchenette. “How’s my fearless crew?” he asks on a yawn. “Lounging your lazy asses around as usual, I see.”
“Hey, I have appointments today,” Kit points out. “Some of us do work around here, you know.”
“And I’m learning about skin types,” Fox calls from the couch. “It’s educational. Right, Wendy?”
Wendy titters behind her mask, and Pan does a fake double-take, clutching a hand to his chest. “Is that a ghost? Oh, no.” He relaxes. “Just Wendy. Damn, I thought with that thing on your face—”
Wendy laughs again. “It’s a sheet mask.”
“Yeah, I’m saying,” Pan says. “Sheets, ghosts…” He frowns, swivels back to me. “Where’d she get a sheet mask?”
“You,” I remind him. “Remember? On your phone?”
“Oh shit, that’s right,” Pan murmurs, leaning forward and drawing his phone out of his pocket.
He rests his elbows on his knees as he flicks it unlocked and starts scrolling.
“Goddamn,” he mutters under his breath, thumbing through his phone.
“How does someone run up four hundred dollars at Valu-Mart?” He looks up at me. Again. “Twenty dollars for sunscreen?”
“SPF is important!” Fox chimes in from the couch.
“She’s…into skincare, I guess,” I reply in a low voice. “It looks like, anyway. Just…let the kid get what she needs to be happy, okay?”
At least someone in this house should get nice skincare products, I think.
Pan runs a hand through his cherry-red bedhead. “Yeah, but like…” He trails off and sighs. “Fine. Whatever.” He yawns again. “Any food around?” He eyes the cereal box, which Fox clutches closer to his chest.
“Too late.” Fox sticks a hand in and funnels crumbs into his mouth. “If’s jus’ duft now.”
“So?” Pan puts down his phone. “The dust is the best part. Gimme.”
“No!”
Pan lunges anyway. Fox jumps up and out of his grasp—“too late and too slow!”—but Pan grabs the box just in time to catch it in a tug-of-war that dumps the remaining sugar and Mini-Wheat dust on Fox’s head.
Wendy, on the couch, cracks up.
“Aw, gross.” Fox drops the box and shakes himself like a dog, sending fragments everywhere, which Nana once again leaps up to lick off the floor. “Now I have to shower.”
“Thank God,” Pan says.
“Seriously,” Kit agrees, kicking the now-empty box toward the spiral stairs. “Do us all a favor.”
God, this is all so fucking stupid. As Fox tramps off to the bathroom, I grab myself a second energy drink and slide over to the couch. “Yo, can we talk?” I murmur to Pan. “About…stuff?” I tip my head as subtly as I can toward Wendy, who’s glued back to the TV.
“Huh? Oh.” Pan chews his lip and nods. “Yeah, I guess. Sure.” He clears his throat. “Wendy, can you, uh…” He flicks his gaze around the room. “Go help Kit in the shop?”
“Huh?” Kit says, looking up from where he’s scrolling his phone against the island. “I don’t need…oh,” he says, catching Pan’s gaze. “Uh, sure.” He nods at the stairs. “Come on, I guess.”
“Okay.” Wendy looks a little skeptical, but gets to her feet anyway, trailing Kit as he goes down the spiral steps, the dog following both of them.
Finally, finally, it’s quiet up here.
Pan drops onto the couch, props his bare feet on the coffee table, and puts his hands behind his head. “So. What’s up?”
“What’s up?” I take Kit’s place leaning against the counter. “We’ve got a ten-year-old girl in our shop, is what.”
“Yeah, I dimly recall that.” Pan tilts his chin at the ceiling, squinting. “Guess we should figure out where her family is, huh.”
“You think?” I deadpan. Pan flips me off, but he’s smiling.
“Okay, okay.” He sits up a little straighter, rubbing his temples. “I mean, Fox and Kit will apparently have a conniption if we just call her in, or whatever—”
“And it’s a bad idea anyway,” I point out. “How would we explain what we’re doing with her?”
Pan considers. “Yeah, right. So then…”
He trails off, staring at the freeze-frame on the TV.
“Do we know anything about those guys?” I prompt. “Her brothers?”
He snorts. “Besides the fact that they have enemies, you mean? Had, I guess.”
Christ. “You know what I mean,” I say. “They came to games, right? So they got on the list somehow. Someone vouched for them?” I’m more hopeful than confident here, but maybe there’s something.
Pan squints again and rubs his eyes. “I don’t keep records like that, and you know it,” he says. “Too risky to have a list of names and addresses or whatever lying around.” He opens his eyes again. “She say anything about her dad yet?”
I shake my head. “Not really. I can try and ask, but…” I breathe out. “Sort of hard to ask about without seeming suspicious.” I pause a half-second. “People can tell when you’re trying to pry something out of them, you know?”
“Yeah.” Pan thinks. Then nods, slaps his thighs, and stands up. “Well, that means there’s only one thing to do.”
There is? I think. “Which is what?” I say out loud.
Pan grins. “Host another game,” he says.
“Which I was gonna do anyway, just for our little cash flow situation. But now it’s two birds I can hit with one stone.
” He closes one eye and aims an imaginary slingshot.
“Get all the usual suspects back in, ask around, find out what people’ve heard. Bing, bang, boom.”
The back of my neck prickles. “Yeah…”
Pan folds his arms, clearly displeased that I’m not an enthusiastic yes. “Yeah what? I know that tone, Tink.” His expression flashes serious, then right back to grinning. But with a little edge to it. “What’s your issue?”
“Just…I dunno.” I don’t know, is the thing. Pan doesn’t exactly plan when he’s going to host games, not like with a schedule or anything, but even this seems a little too spontaneous. Especially if Wendy’s still here, which of course she will be.
But maybe not that much longer. If this works.
“See? It’ll be great.” Pan drops back on the couch. “It’s been too boring around here anyway. We’ll get some whales in, maybe see if Treasure will give some of the girls a night off to earn some extra tips…”
The more he elaborates, the less I like it. But I also don’t have a good objection. Not one he’d listen to.
“And we’d somehow figure out more about them,” I say. “About Wendy’s brothers.”
“Yeah, yeah, for sure.” Pan nods, already typing on his phone. “You leave all the talking to me.” He looks up and studies me, must see the expression on my face. “Relax, Tink.” He smiles. “When have I ever, ever led us wrong?”