Читать книгу Suicide Notes from Beautiful Girls - Lynn Weingarten - Страница 12

CHAPTER 8

Before the sun rose, I was already there, sitting in my car in the parking lot of Bryson High. I haven’t been to sleep. For five hours I drove, thinking about Delia. It was like over Christmas when I was alone, only this time I was kept company by images I couldn’t escape. Every time I blinked, there was the shed, charred and crumbling. Every time I took a breath, there was that stench. I turned the radio up loud and forced myself to sing along. Scream along. It’s what I had to do to keep the tears from coming.

Now I sit huddled in my coat and scarf, watching as the sky turns from black to gray to clear, cold blue. At 7:20 I get out and walk toward the school, waiting for the students to arrive. If this were a regular day, I’d be nervous knowing I’m about to have to talk to so many people I don’t know, to ask them for something. But as it turns out, there are many worse things to be scared of.

Finally, they begin to trickle in – two tall girls in fuzzy boots and pea coats, a small guy with an enormous backpack, three huge dudes in football jackets.

I’m not sure who I’m looking for, exactly, and I could barely see them last night, but Delia’s type of person is never that hard to spot.

There’s a girl in all black with short dark hair. I walk up to her. “Did you know Delia Cole?” I say.

“Who?” the girl tips her head to the side, confused. She smiles slightly. I ask her again. She shakes her head.

I ask a guy with a skateboard and two girls wrapped together in one very long scarf, a kid with a Mohawk and a dozen more people after that. They all say no, but it doesn’t even matter, because someone who knows her is here somewhere and I’m not giving up until I find them.

Three guys are walking toward me now. Two are tall and lanky, one is shorter and sturdier; they’re dressed in black and green and gray. I feel a tingling in my gut.

I make a half circle and come up behind them. They don’t notice me. They’re talking. I listen.

“. . . appear in court,” says one of them.

“I can’t believe you’re even here today.”

“My mother bailed me out at two in the morning. Then stood over my bed at six and told me to get up for school.”

“That’s rough.”

“Yup.” The first one snorts. “Thanks so much for backing me up.”

“Well you’re the one who brought the vodka up to them. What did you think they were going to do, make you a martini?”

These are the guys from last night.

I walk faster, fall in with their steps. “Hey.”

They turn toward me. One of them smiles slightly, looks me quickly up and down, the way guys do. I can feel my hair blowing around my face. I’ve never thought I looked like very much – average height, kind of curvy, eye-shaped eyes, nose-shaped nose, dark blond hair that falls right below my chin.

Delia always insisted I was hotter than I realized. “Everyone else who looks at you sees something you don’t,” is what she used to tell me. But she was the type of person who would say that anyway, would actually think it anyway, because she loved you. Only maybe these guys are seeing something now – I can tell by the way they’re looking at me, smiling slightly. They’re glad I’m there until I say, “You’re Delia’s friends.” And then all of their expressions change.

They start walking a little faster. I keep their pace.

“I saw you last night,” I say.

“Oh,” says the tallest one. He stops then and looks right at me. “What’s up?”

He has dark hair gathered into a topknot, smooth cheekbones, a strong jaw, and full lips. Up close I get a sour whiff of last night’s alcohol seeping through skin. I remember them down there, drinking, laughing.

“Tigger?” I say, in case he’s one of them.

They’re all silent for a moment. “What’s that?” Topknot asks.

I pause. “I’m looking for Tigger.”

“Bouncing, bouncing, bouncing, bouncing?” Topknot says slowly. “Fun fun funfunfun?”

“Check Pooh’s corner,” says one of the others, grinning. This one is scruffy-faced, with a black wool hat pulled down low. He smiles.

I grit my teeth and force myself to smile back.

“I’m looking for Tigger the person,” I say. “I thought you might know him.”

Scruffy and Topknot glance at each other.

“Nope, don’t think so,” Scruffy says. But he’s lying. His voice is gravelly and low. I recognize it. He’s the one who said Delia was trouble.

I feel my palms begin to sweat. I have an idea. “I need a hookup,” I say. “Delia was always the one who went to him, for both of us. And I don’t know where else to go now. I need a little . . .” I pause. “Help.”

They stare at me, wary, all of them.

I reach into my pocket. There’s a folded twenty I keep in there for emergencies. I pull it out and thrust it forward. “For your trouble,” I say.

Topknot and Scruffy exchange another look, and I know this was the wrong move. Now they’re even warier. “Sorry, can’t help you,” Scruffy says. “Have a good day.” Scruffy and Topknot turn and keep walking.

But the shorter one, he hesitates. He is broader than the other two, and his face looks softer, younger. Maybe he can hear in my voice how desperate I am. Maybe he really needs the money. He looks back at his friends, who have realized he isn’t with them and have stopped a few feet away. They’re watching him. He reaches out and takes the bill.

“Listen,” he says softly. He dips his hand into his black canvas messenger bag and pulls out a chewed-up pencil and little green notebook. There’s a tiny sticker on the cover, a fluffy chick with a parasol. He opens the notebook and starts to write. “There’s a party tonight at his house. If you need something, you can get it then.” He looks me in the eye. “But you probably shouldn’t mention Delia.”

I force myself to breathe slowly, to try to keep my voice from shaking. “Why’s that?”

“They weren’t always on the best terms.”

“Oh really,” I say. “Delia never mentioned . . .”

The guy shrugs. “I don’t really know the deal. I think she might have stolen something from him, not too long ago? All I’m saying is if you drop her name, he might try to jack up the price. He can be a dick like that.”

“Thanks for the tip.”

“Don’t tell Tig I told you that. Or about the party either, actually.”

“No problem,” I say. And then, “I don’t even know who you are.”

He bites his lip as he hands me the folded-up notebook paper. There on the back of his wrist, where a watch would be, is something I’ve seen before, something I remember from a night with Delia a long time ago – an infinity sign inked in black. I remember when this tattoo was fresh, and I first saw it by a bonfire. I remember how scared I was then, that fear a very different fear than what I’m feeling now. Warmth spreads across my cheeks. When I look up, he is staring.

“No,” Infinity says. He looks me straight in the eye and smiles ever so slightly. Does he remember? “I guess you don’t.”

I unfold the paper. There’s the address – Pinegrove Industrial Park, Building 7. And there’s my folded up twenty.

“It’s in Macktin, down by the water, he says.”

“Thanks,” I say.

Infinity nods. “Good luck.” He turns to walk away, then stops and turns back. “Be careful. Tig . . . isn’t always the nicest guy.”

“I can handle it,” I say. And I shrug, more confident than I feel.

He gives me a half wave and goes back to his friends. I start the long cold trek back to my car.

What the hell had Delia gotten herself into?