CHAPTER THREE

FIFTEEN-YEAR-OLD DAVID WESTWOOD kicked an empty soda bottle across Nino’s parking lot, stupidly tough. One hand jammed into his jeans pocket as he watched the bottle dance across the cracks in the lot and spin like a ballerina. It tipped over, rolled off the edge of the lot, and came to a soft rest in the grass. If he kicked it again, it would do something different. David knew this. A third time would produce a new result—the random outcome of an object put in motion by an outside force. What would it take to get an action to produce the same result every time? he wondered. A team of gods, working around the clock. He stood away from his friends, ignoring their conversation.

“She’s waiting for you to say something to her,” Nick Darcy said as he smoked his cigarette and swiped hair from his face. Beneath the shaggy, unkempt mop of brown peered a narrow set of eyes, set deeply into a hooded, distinguished-looking brow. Nick had taken it upon himself to speak for Rachel Saint James, the head of the yearbook committee.

“You’re full of it,” Matthew Milton replied.

“I swear to God, I would never mess with you like that.”

“What am I supposed to do, go ask her about my picture?” He took a drag from his cigarette.

“Yeah, go tell her that you want to make sure it’s the one your mother picked out.”

Matthew made an instant frown. “No way. I’ll sound like a spaz.”

“Or whatever . . . just go talk to her. Ask her out for a cup of coffee.”

“Never,” Matthew protested, though beginning to believe him. “Coffee’s cheap,” he added.

“An insult,” David Westwood suddenly interrupted. He was facing away from them, looking at the corner of the building where the three kids and their dog had just disappeared. He glanced now at Nick and Matthew. “On the island of Triobrand it’s customary for a man to bite off the eyelashes of a woman he’s trying to court. To take her out to dinner or coffee is considered an insult.”

“Don’t bite her eyelashes, dude,” Nick said to Matthew. He made a face, even though he was secretly impressed by David’s random knowledge. They’d both heard these kinds of things from David before. His calling card or something.

“What’s the problem today, freshman?” asked Matthew, his brow loosening, revealing the chubby mirth that always lurked behind his brown eyes. Matthew always made it a point of reminding David that he was a year younger than him and Nick.

David held up a defiant middle finger. Nick laughed through his nose.

“Davey’s in a mood because he didn’t get a phone call from his little Julia,” Nick said.

“Oh, we’re back at this again?” said Matthew. “The missus not treating you right?”

David turned away and looked for something else to kick across the parking lot. He got defensive when his friends made fun of his love for Julia Dawson. They hadn’t the slightest idea what she did for him. Didn’t know the murmurs of fear and doubt that filled his head—that voice which seemed always to chant, You’re ugly. A no-talent. You’ll always be poor, no one will ever love you. A voice her smile could silence. Didn’t know how much she inspired his paintings, those lonely moments at the canvas, when his mind would search for some kind of focus. They hadn’t walked in the wake of her perfume and felt dizzy in its scent—hadn’t wanted to be the person he wanted to be when he was around her. They were not complete, not at ease inside their own skin, the way he felt when he listened to her violin practice. Watched the instrument jump to life beneath her chin, while her long, slender fingers worked the fingerboard. They didn’t understand the small indent where the instrument met her collarbone, and how this soft nook cradled all the things he’d ever felt. Just as they could never understand his torment when she became mischievous and whimsical, brushing aside his company whenever she felt like it. The two of them would never know the hardness of her cruelty. So much so that David privately wished they’d never get girlfriends. Never suffer the way he did, her name bobbing like an apple in the turbulent ocean of the day’s thoughts. I should get dressed . . . Julia. I wonder what’s on TV tonight . . . Julia. If Mom and Dad can’t pay the oil bill, I’ll need another blanket in the studio . . . Julia. Matthew and Nick are lucky, he told himself. They don’t know what love is. David breathed deeply. His friends laughed and changed the subject.

“Check it out,” said Matthew, nudging David’s shoulder with a fist. “Tomorrow Darryl Knight’s having a party. His mom’s actually supplying the beer.”

“Nice,” David replied, “another thing to help us forget we’re actually alive.” Julia. He wondered if she would be there and what she would wear.

“Heyyy!” a voice boomed near the entrance to the parking lot on Turnbull Road. The three boys turned and saw Darryl Knight heading toward them. The large varsity offensive lineman’s arms were stretched open, a wide smile smeared across his face. Darryl had sweat rings under the arms of his T-shirt, and his hairline was damp.

Matthew’s face lit up. “Speak of the devil!” he shouted, heading toward him. The two embraced for a second and backed off. Nick followed suit, but David kept his distance, giving Darryl the military salute.

“You talking nonsense about me, Matty?” asked Darryl, holding his smile. “You coming to my house tomorrow night or what?”

“Absolutely, are you kidding?”

“Bring these two losers with you.”

Nick and David looked at him to make sure he was kidding. He was.

“Don’t bring beer, my mom’s taking care of it,” Darryl added.

“We heard,” Nick said.

“Nothing. You heard nothing, got that?” Darryl was suddenly serious, pointing a finger at him. Nick nodded. “Get there around six or seven, and get rides so you can crash if you need to.”

“No way, Darryl,” replied Nick, “I’ve heard things about your mom. I’m trying to keep my virginity, you know.”

“Keeping your virginity’s easy for you, try keeping your head attached to your shoulders.” Darryl took a couple of mock swings at Nick, who smacked wildly at the air in defense.

A car pulled into the parking lot, and the four boys wheeled around. Through the window, David could see the long-haired heads of two girls. One of them was Julia. She stepped out of the passenger seat and waved. She gave David an extra look, with a tight grin, before she closed the door and disappeared around the corner and into the store.

The other girl got out. It was Krystal Richards. An incoming junior, and one of the front runners for junior homecoming queen. Krystal was a track star, and an honor student, acquainted with the boys from their long sessions of tutoring in math and social studies. Her hair was the color of vanilla ice cream, and she wore it back away from her face in a loose ponytail. Large blue eyes like a robin’s egg framed by long, blinking lashes and a round, pouting face. She looked like one of the surfer girls that graced the magazines on the racks at Nino’s. Lips pursed, or smiling out from behind the surfboard. Didn’t matter.

Krystal was the most popular tutor in school and the administration loved her. They were convinced she was destined to become a great teacher. It would seem the administration would have caught on that all her students were boys, foaming inside their heads and dreaming about her when they hit the pillow, but for some reason they thought it was her teaching methods. Krystal had no reason to get out of the car, but she did, and leaned against the door, her long muscular legs bronzed and smooth, extending from her short shorts. Her legs told the whole story, a symbol of her determination, like when she took a stumble in the 440 sprint event, got back to her feet, and managed to pull out in front of all the other girls just before the finish line.

“Another exciting day in Turnbull,” she said.

Darryl looked her up and down. “Town ain’t so bad,” he said. “Just got a lot more exciting.”

“Hey, David!” called Krystal, as if Darryl and the other two boys didn’t exist. David nodded at her. “When are you going to take some pre-sophomore lessons with me, huh?” She swung her left knee from side to side.

David started walking toward her, but turned to follow after Julia. “When I become as stupid as these guys,” he said, and disappeared around the corner.

His mind swam. He didn’t know how to interpret Julia’s little grin. He wasn’t sure what she was doing, brushing him off and heading into the deli. Was she saying something without saying anything? He walked up to the door and leaned against the wall. Waited for Julia to come out.

She stepped out carrying a Coke bottle in each hand, and stopped short when she saw him.

“Hey,” she said, brushing her black hair away from her face with three fingers while the other two gripped a bottle. Her nails were bitten to the quick, a habit she’d formed in middle school, when she still had braces and worried over everything. She had a small, upturned nose that drew attention to perfectly round, deep blue eyes. Like the sea, David always thought, and when he looked into them, they always seemed ancient, and tragic. Her head was held high by a long white neck, smooth but muscular—so that whenever she threw her head back to laugh, she revealed the ribbed tube of her throat. And her laugh. David could sit for a moment in the noisiest of places and still conjure her laugh. It both maddened him and filled his heart with lust, to see those straight rows of teeth gleaming white beneath her red lips.

“You know, it’s been scientifically proven that Canadian porcupines actually kiss on the lips,” he said.

Julia seemed to sense something was on his mind.

“Why haven’t I heard from you today?” David asked, looking at the ground.

“I was out with my dad all morning. He wanted me to run some errands with him.”

David shook his head. “Why are you always spending time with him when you could be talking to me? Does he do it deliberately to keep us apart?”

“I doubt it,” she said, frowning.

“I know, because you don’t see it, but I do. You’re too close to the whole thing to see what’s really happening. He’s trying to hold you back. That’s why you have to make sure you keep me around him, so he doesn’t think I don’t matter to you.”

“He doesn’t even know about you, David.”

“See what I mean?”

“I’m not even supposed to be dating anyone; he’d kill me if he knew about you. What’s the big deal if I don’t call you every day?”

“Because that’s not us, Julia. I feel like I’m speaking to your dad right now, it’s like he’s taken over your mind.”

“You don’t even know my dad,” Julia protested as she began to walk away from him.

“I know his type. He’s like all the other fathers in the world.”

“You’re being a silly boy,” she said, and laughed. “And I have to go. I’ll call you when I call you.” She smiled that awful, cruel, and beautiful smile, and got back into Krystal’s car. The passenger window was open. David stormed after her.

“I’ll call you tonight, so be up,” he said.

Julia stared at him silently, blinking her large, round blue eyes. The car slowly crept into reverse. Krystal leaned over to look at David through the passenger window.

“Bye, David,” she said, wriggling her fingers at him. He ignored her and walked around the hood of the reversing car to rejoin his friends. Darryl was still there, following Krystal’s car with his eyes, until it disappeared up Turnbull Road. He turned back to David.

“What’s your story? I’m telling you, we work overtime on that girl. Talk her up, take lessons with her. You just stand there and she’s panting all over you. Son of a bitch looks like somebody just kicked him in the balls too. I should have your problems, Red.” Darryl turned to Matthew. “He should tell Julia, Listen, your friend is hotter, give me a pass here.”

“She’s a troll, Darryl, you can have her,” David replied. He wandered toward the hole in the fence and kicked a large stone across the ground and into the woods. Red. That stupid nickname. His mood was mounting, he could feel it. It was that old feeling. Julia used to make it go away. Now she was making it return. He wanted to do something that even screaming, punching, and kicking could not satisfy.

“What are you guys doing? Go home to your fadders,” David heard Nick shout behind him in a jovial mock-Italian accent. He wheeled around and noticed the three little kids heading toward him. The one with the dog was holding a brown paper bag.

“Lunch money. Gimme your lunch money!” Matthew demanded and grinned wildly.

“Nick, I’ll put twenty dollars down, says that little one with the dog kicks your ass,” Darryl challenged. David could see from the kids’ faces they weren’t getting the jokes.

“First of all, you don’t have twenty dollars, and secondly, why you betting against me?” Nick countered, taking up a boxer’s stance.

“I like underdogs,” Darryl said.

David fixed his eyes on the dog as it strained forward on its rope. Its nose was an inch from the concrete, as if it were sniffing for a way out of its predicament. Out of the heat. Out of Turnbull.

“Whose dog is that? That’s not your dog,” David said, glaring at the animal’s captor.

“Says you,” snapped the kid’s brown-haired friend.

“I can tell that’s not your dog, you got a dirty old rope tied around its neck.”

“So?” the mouthy kid retorted.

“So? You little prick, so you’re going to choke it to death. Untie it.”

The boy holding the rope stayed silent and didn’t move. Just stared up at David as though he was a loose tiger. This time the blond kid with the long arms spoke up.

“We caught it, what’s it to you?”

As if on cue, the dog coughed and opened its jaws as if it were about to vomit.

“Gimme that rope and get the hell outta here!” David yelled, lunging forward. The boy quickly released the rope, and with a collective yelp, all three ran past him, through the hole in the fence, into Zambrini’s lot.

David knelt beside the dog and untied it. The dog took off in the opposite direction, disappearing back around the corner.

“Aw, c’mon,” Darryl said. “They caught it fair and square.”

“I like underdogs too,” David muttered. Scowling at the wake of the little kids, he tossed the rope into the woods.