First, we’re Bowling Alley Cats.
Eve and Maya say, “Word, Lu. You’re up!”
I say, “Easier said than done.”
They say, “You know we massive love you.”
I say, “Sorry, Jacks. That’s a rough lot.”
They smile and hug me. They say, “Apple-Jack, it’ll be beat.”
I say, “I’m losing my marbles.”
They say, “What d’you need?”
I say, “I’d like to volunteer my skull as a bowling ball, please.”
Maya pulls us, heels dragging in the dirt, to yoga. I salute the sun. I’m warrior one, two, and three. I’m tree, lion, and lotus. I get massive into noose. Small drip drops drip from my eyes and pool and spatter on my sticky, spongy blue mat. I ain’t nothing but a downward-facing dog, c-cryin’ all the time.
Zoë says, “Get on up, Jack, and let’s slice.”
She drags me away from Oma’s house and tosses threads on my bed and helps me get my superfreeze fly on and takes us to a massive hit club in the city, sliding a fake into my rear skinnies’ pocket. My apple-Jacks push their pinkies to the roof and clink thin-stemmed martinis as I chug deep-seated shots of tequila. We slice and they mingle and flirt, the rhythmic hammering engulfing the sorry blips knocking faintly in my heavy, sodden heart cage.
We bounce into Clarissa, Molly Master Jack, and she pulls me into the bathroom, her eyes cat-glossy and dilated. “Butler,” she says, “rock ’n’ roll,” and fishes three pills with stars, smileys, and hearts from her back pocket. But Zoë crashpads in, giving Clarissa the stink eye, pulling me away even though my heart aches for the happy daffy high sleeping soft in that sweet hit candy.
I crash out, slump heavy on a cold curb by the entrance and Zoë comes out, says Maya’s found her future husband. I shake my head and she sits by my side and wipes away black blurs from my raccoon eyes.
“Flash Flood Area,” I say.
“Slippery When Wet.” She slings her arm around my shoulders.
The rhythm of the night thunders on without us, and then Maya’s sinking down beside us, looking dejected.
“Wedding’s off?” I say and she gives me a soft flick on my arm.
“Shavers are skuzz. Caution: Dead End.” She catches my eye. “And betties, too. I’m an equal opportunity hater.”
I try a smile.
“Never was final sale on those Pretty Pennies,” Zoë says, dragging deep a tar.
“Not to be trusted.” Maya nods.
Zoë looks at me, pulls on a grin. “Hey, Jack. Remember that time when you schemed Mrs. Gallagher’s magenta high heels from her closet and sported them all through calc and she never knew?”
I laugh, sniffle. Laugh again.
“Or what about that time when I knocked Holly Malone in the mug in gym class ’cause she slide-tackled you from behind?”
I sniffle, laugh a little more.
Maya says, “Or when I was coma on mono and you Jacks licked my spork and we spent January of freshman year on three-way dialing, scarfing tea and popcorn over clash-trash daytime soaps?”
I smile. “And that time we all got massive blazed at Blue Lake and got hit with those Betty Scouts, spazzing around all day with them, snagging flutterbies in nets?”
We laugh and laugh and laugh.
And I cry and cry and cry.
Maya and I are heeling it by the river. Zoë’s off the clock, getting into some dram-o-rama with Gideon at his house. We walk, quiet, and follow a dusty trail along the slick-black, rolling river.
“I’m so flip, My,” I say. “Lost. A heap,” and she smiles with a sad tug at her mouth, rubs a mitt over my back. “Why would Eve pull this? Why is she into that cog again?”
Maya’s hush. She walks dragging a crooked stick in a line through the dirt. She looks at me. “Maybe she’s not. Maybe she’s just scared.”
“I dunno. She said she wasn’t. She said those words.” I shake my head. “Why should she be?”
“’Cause.” She smiles. “That’s how I’d feel.”
“But I’m not gonna hurt her.”
“No. That’s not it. She’s scared of herself. Of who she is if she’s heart-Jacks with you. And scared of hurting you.”
“Word,” I sigh. “She’s doing a massive beat job of it for not wanting to.”
Maya’s hush.
I look at her. “What?”
“No, nothing. I s’pose I think you should dial her. I know Zoë’s out for blood. But I think Eve deserves a chance to scat. Give her a shot to explain.”
I’m sullen and flip. My heart cage rises and falls, burning and raw. “But she lied, My.”
“Word.”
I sigh massive deep. “Okay. But what if she won’t scat with me?”
“She will.”
“How d’you know?”
“Because,” she says. “I would.”