Читать книгу Dreamland City - Larina Lavergne - Страница 11

Every day of our break, except Thanksgiving itself, Reagan comes by Dreamland. Whenever Reagan gives Tommy her designs to look over, he nodded in agreement and spent the next day out in the junkyards scavenging for parts.

True to Anderson and Skelly trailer park tradition, we barbecue a pig in defiance of Turkey Day. Like every other time in my recent memory, Tommy, Neil and I stand shivering in front of the bonfire as Skelly and Beau hunker in front of the grill and glower at each other. My mother doesn’t make it. I watch our little circle, and wonder what Reagan is doing. I know she’s staying alone—her folks own a house in Cary, which is west of Raleigh and south of Durham, but from what I gleaned from her, they won’t be coming to Raleigh anytime soon since they spend most of their time in Atlanta.

The second time Reagan came to Dreamland, she booked out the moment she made sure we understood how she wanted it to look, but by the third day, she was lingering, even complimenting me on my outfit and offering to help me with make-up. I told her no, thank you. She laughed then and said, “You don’t need it anyway—you’re really gorgeous.” And she seemed to mean it, which made me feel weird: What I’m trying to say is, I guess I didn’t really know her. She’s the ultimate sorority girl, she’s rich, and everything I’m not, but she doesn’t seem to mind coming to the trailer park to hang out, with me.

I never expected to, but over the course of barely a week, I’ve changed my mind about my roommate. Most girls I’ve met at school seem to instinctively know that I’m different: they look down on me because I’m white trash; Reagan hasn’t done any of that. And although it takes a little while for us to start talking about something besides our science project, I discover that she’s not boring and picture-perfect plastic like I had imagined. We spend countless hours that week talking about Kant and Nietzsche, Alpha Centauri, the Real Housewives, and everything else in between. We argue, we laugh and we trade stories. But sometimes, it’s just her talking and me listening to the intoxicating sound of her raspy, gorgeous, Aretha Franklin voice.

+++

Soon, break is over. They’ve also officially cleared my dorm of bedbugs, so I have to move back in. I don’t want to admit it, but I miss Reagan, even though the Reagan on campus is a very different Reagan from the one who hung out for a week in a trailer in Dreamland City. I think she feels the same way; we agree to work on the project every weekend at Dreamland. It’s really the only time I get to spend time with her now because her sorority rush commitments seem to specifically exclude hanging out with people like me. The few times we cross paths at random events, she’s always off in the center of the room, looking perfect, talking perfect, being perfect. That Reagan is annoying as fuck and makes me want to pull her eyelashes out one by one before starting on her perfectly arched eyebrows.

But then the weekend comes, and the Reagan who comes over to Dreamland laughs at my jokes, accepts my beer and drinks from the same bottle. I like Dreamland Reagan a whole lot more than Perfect Reagan. It’s strange because I’m used to being Dreamland Lily all the time, to everyone. It must be exhausting having to be two Reagans.

+++

It’s another weekend: We’re sitting in the living room, supposedly working on a script for an animated video on combustion and its four cycles that we were going to put together as an introduction of our project (to waste time), but instead, she’s playing with her phone, and I’m smoking some pot that Neil confiscated from some poor kid and sold to Tommy.

Reagan’s been casting me some serious sidelong glances as I drink my whisky and blow smoke in the air. “Can I have some?” she asks suddenly.

“Sure,” I say, handing over both the bottle and the spliff.

She takes a deep drag and holds the smoke in like a pro before exhaling and handing it back. Then she takes a deep swallow of the whisky and immediately has a coughing fit.

“Jesus, what is this?”

I guess I only gave her the store stuff before. “Guy here makes it,” I tell her. It’s Skelly’s special brew.

“Moonshine? Oh wow.” She looks at the bottle speculatively, and then takes another deep swallow. This time, she doesn’t cough, and I look at her with newfound respect.

“So, should we get started?” It’s a half-hearted question. Her tone is unusually bored, with none of the brimming enthusiasm I’ve sorta gotten used to.

“You tell me,” I say. I lower myself to the floor and lie back, staring up at the ceiling and smoking. After a minute, I turn my head and see that she’s joined me on the floor. Looks like we’re not getting started on the script after all.

“Why is this so important to you, Reagan?” I ask when she remains silent. “It’s just a stupid project. So you might not get an A+ for the class. So what?”

She glares at me for a moment, and then her look softens. “I guess it doesn’t matter if I tell you. You won’t tell anyone else?”

I sit up. A secret? From her? “I won’t tell,” I promise.

“I’m on a fucking merit scholarship, Lily. If I don’t do well enough, they’ll pull it.”

“But why?”

“Why will they pull it?”

“No—why do you need a scholarship? Can’t your parents pay for tuition?”

Her eyes narrow for a split second before she shakes her head and laughs it off.

“You know, you’re not what I expected,” she muses, taking the spliff from me again.

I turn my head to look at her. I know better than to ask her why she changed the subject.

“What were you expecting?”

That startles her. “Um…you know…you living here… um…” She’s looking at me, her head tilted toward me, and her sentence trails off.

I shake my head and put my finger to her lips. They’re soft and full against my finger. “Shhh. I don’t need to know what you thought.”

“It’s all crap anyway.” She holds out her hand, but I let her keep the spliff. We lie there in silence. I’m getting into a nice mellow state when Reagan speaks up again.

“So, are you and Tommy together or something?”

“Nope.”

“Why not? He’s cute.”

“He’s like a brother. You don’t date your brother even if he’s cute.”

“I saw you guys kissing and I’m pretty sure you’re fucking too,” she says dryly. “Do you fuck all your brothers?”

“We’re not together,” I retort firmly. “Why are you so interested anyway?”

“No reason. I’m not interested.”

“Yeah, right.”

A pause. “Well, he’s kinda hot.”

“And you want to feel his dick fucking you up your ass?” I drawl.

She doesn’t blanche at my language like I thought she would. Her eyes are clear and her expression is carefully blank.

“Yeah, maybe,” she says calmly after a pause. Then, before I can answer, she says, “Will you mind?”

“Not at all,” I say generously. I think Tommy would love a girl like Reagan being interested in him.

She appears to be considering this and doesn’t immediately respond.

“Aren’t you dating some guy at school?” But, I’m really asking, Are you dating David? I haven’t brought it up before.

“Yeah, but it’s not serious. Yet.”

“Does he want it to be serious?”

She shrugs. “Does it matter what he wants?”

The weed is kicking in. She’s laughing, and I laugh as well, and I can’t stop. “Why?” I manage, hiccupping between my laughter.

“Why does it matter or why do I want it to be serious?”

“Both.”

“Dunno.” She bursts out in a fresh gale of laughter.

I jump up to put on some music. As Parisian café music fills the room, we get up and start dancing. Her pupils are completely dilated and her gaze is misty, but even drunk and stoned, Reagan’s a great dancer, swaying with a sexy rhythm that isn’t an accident. She crooks her finger at me and draws me in, holding me tight and spins us around and around until I’m dizzy and fall, but I get up again and we keep on dancing.

+++

When Tommy stops by later, he finds us both lying on the floor, arms wrapped around each other.

“You two are trashed,” he says, stating the obvious.

Reagan bursts out laughing again, but I’ve moved on from being euphoric to just being really, really mellow.

To make things interesting, I pull Tommy down on the floor with us and kiss him.

“Whoa,” he says, as I reach out to pull off his shirt. He’s looking at Reagan, who is staring, wide-eyed, at us.

I ignore his protests and he hushes after a few more kisses. Out of the corner of my eye, I see that Reagan is still watching us, the barest hint of a smile on her lips.

Then suddenly, she’s lying on the floor beside us. Her hand on the small of my back, she navigates around me and climbs on top of Tommy before guiding his mouth to hers. If he’s surprised, he doesn’t show it, neither does he object when she straddles his stomach.

I clamber into a sitting position and watch for a few minutes as they get more into it, her hair curtaining over his body like a shining golden waterfall. Then I get up and go to my room, diving headfirst onto my bed and letting the murmured sounds they’re making outside carry me soundly into sleep.

+++

A loud crashing sound wakes me from my stupor. Disoriented, I lie, blinking on my mother’s bed for a few seconds before realizing where I am. When I go out to the living room, I see a broken lamp, Reagan sobbing on the floor, and a very naked Tommy standing over her looking horrified. I know I should be focusing on what’s going on, but all I can think is that between these two friends of mine and my stepfather Beau, we have literally no more lamps left in the living room.

“Hey, I’m sorry,” Tommy’s saying to her, over and over again. Whatever happened, it couldn’t have been good. I’m about to ask Reagan if she’s OK but she races past me and out of the trailer, slamming the door behind her. The entire trailer shudders with the force of the door banging against its frame.

“What the hell?” I stare at the door.

“Should I go after her?”

“What happened, Tommy?”

He’s shaking his head, looking really confused. “I don’t know, Lil. It was just starting to get good, but then she just freaked out and started screaming and she threw the lamp at me.”

I look at the broken pieces of the cheap lamp on the floor.

“Fuck.”

“That was some weird shit. She was really into it, you know?”

He’s perversely adorable, standing there with his hands covering his privates, a confused expression on his face.

“I’ll go talk to her,” I assure him. “She was probably tweaked out from the pot.”

He nods and looks around for his pants, pulling them on and then buckles his belt.

I go outside, careful not to slam the door, and see Reagan on her hands and knees by the side of her car. She starts when she hears me approaching, but then she seems to calm down when she realizes that it’s me.

“I dropped my keys. Help me find them.”

Her eyes are red from crying and her makeup is smudged, but she still somehow manages to look pure and pristine even when she’s rummaging like a raccoon in the dirt.

I get down on my hands and knees with her and grip her shoulders to stop her frantic movements. She shudders under my hands.

“Reagan, what happened?”

“What do you mean—nothing happened.” She pushes me away. Her eyes are wild, and she’s pawing violently again through the grass.

Shit, these perfect girls are so fucked up.

“Of course something happened. You freaked out and ran out here. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing,” she mumbles. “Here they are!” She stumbles to her feet and opens the car door. I get right in beside her.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she asks.

“Sitting in your car,” I reply.

She glares at me. “I’m going home. Get out.”

“Reagan, you’re wasted. You’ll kill yourself.”

“No I’m not.”

“What’s fourteen multiplied by eight?”

She opens her mouth, then closes it again.

“Reagan, it’s fine. You can stay with me, OK? Tommy won’t bother you, I promise.”

She’s silent, and I wait.

“OK,” she says in a subdued tone before adding snidely, “By the way, I’ll have you know I couldn’t have multiplied that quickly even if I were sober.”

I suppress a laugh, get out and help her out of the car; she leans on my arm as I lead us back to my trailer. “Home sweet home,” I say mockingly as we go back in. The place is still like we left it fifteen minutes ago, but Tommy has graciously put most of the pieces of the broken lamp in the trash.

Reagan is leaning heavily on me and I bring her to my mother’s bedroom since it’s closer. I think that I should start calling it Beau’s bedroom.

“Smells nice here,” Reagan murmurs. Her eyes are half-closed, and an errant lock of her hair has fallen over her face. “What is that smell?”

It smells of Beau. I think Reagan smells a lot better.

I dump my new friend on the bed and she sighs heavily, her eyes closing completely. And then I crawl into bed next to her, and fall asleep.