16

Nobody Gets Carded in Evandale

It took me all day to convince Nomi to sleep over at a friend’s house. After that, I called the hospital to check on Mom. She was still sleeping. The person I spoke to told me not to worry, but this is why we have the expression “Easier said than done.” Later, when Calen pulled up in front of the Sit ’n’ Spin, he was surprised to see Nomi standing beside me.

“Thought you said she was sleeping over somewhere.” He stepped out of the car and slung both arms flat across the roof, drumming his hands and bobbing his head. If anyone else did that, it would have looked dorky, but not Calen. He made it look natural. It was how his body worked (i.e., not like mine). He was one of those guys who can play any sport like a pro. Even car-roof drumming.

I explained that Nomi’s friend lived in Rosemount, pretty near Toph’s place, so we could drop her off on the way.

“I don’t know.” He poked a thumb at the back seat. “It’s pretty tight in there. Like only room for one.”

“Lemme quote you: ‘Dude, your sister is. Like. Tiny.’ Remember that?”

“I’m the third-tallest girl in my class,” Nomi informed us.

In the passenger seat, Alana was listening. “Not a problem,” she said through the window. “She can sit on my lap. There’s tons of room.”

It was true. Calen had this thing about skinny girls and Alana fit the bill. She was nearly as small as Nomi, but there was no mistaking her for a child. She was pretty, too, in a cheery-cherry-cheeks kind of way. She always looked like she was on the way to audition for a part in a movie in which the recurring motif was pixie dust.

“She’ll fit no problem,” she said.

Calen responded with a stern look. “Wait, it’s not cool. We still hafta get—you know what.” He mimed drinking from a glass. “We thought we’d stop down here because we figured, well—nobody gets carded in Evandale, right?”

I didn’t love that my best friend thought I lived in a place where alcohol flowed in lawless torrents through the streets, but I kept my mouth shut.

Alana laughed. “Not like in Rosemount. Before we drove down, Cal got carded—at three different places.”

At least now I knew what was bothering Calen. He had failed to procure the requisite booze for tonight. You couldn’t show up at Toph’s without at least a six-pack.

“I don’t get it,” Calen said, genuinely pissed. “My brother even lent me his ID, which we all know he never does, and look.” He pointed to his mouth. “I grew a moustache and everything.”

I recognized this moustache. It was a pathetically wispy rip-off of the already pathetic one his brother wore around.

“I don’t have to go to the Czerneckis’, you know,” Nomi announced, sensing our hesitation. “Katie’s not even my best friend anymore. It’s Jennifer now. She’s in fourth grade and she plays the violin.”

“That’s nice, but you’re staying at Katie’s tonight, okay?” I helped-slash-pushed her into the front seat with Alana.

When we arrived at the liquor store, Calen eyed me nervously in the rear-view mirror.

“Don’t worry,” I reassured him. “It’ll be cool.” I hated to admit it, but he was right. Nobody gets carded in Evandale.

Except Calen.

When he came out again, we didn’t need to see he was empty-handed to tell he’d been shot down. His expression did the job just fine.

“Yeah, so that didn’t work out like I planned.”

Alana snorted at him as he climbed back into the car. “It’s the moustache.”

Calen ignored her and turned to me. “You wanna try?”

“No way. They know me in there. I’m the kid who works at the laundromat.”

Alana sighed. “I get carded buying rum balls. You’d have better luck sending Nomi in.”

Calen’s shoulders drooped. “You know any other places?”

I looked out the window, as if helpful ideas might be wandering around the parking lot. In fact, that’s exactly what I saw. I pointed across to the rear of the Super Center. “Take us over there. We can ask him.”

Sitting against the wall was a thin man dressed for winter, even though it was the dead of July. He wore baggy camouflage pants, unlaced workboots, and a hooded bomber jacket. He gestured wildly with his hands, as if he was in the middle of an argument with himself. Which he probably was.

“Dude,” said Calen. “You realize that’s a homeless guy.”

“He’s not homeless. He sleeps at the Emerson Center, this rooming house near where I work.” I bit my lip. “He’s sort of a friend-of-a-friend.”

“You know that guy?”

“Welcome to the neighborhood,” I said.

“Dude, that is messed up.”

“Just drive over to him. I have an idea.”

Calen turned around in his seat, looking at my sister. “Is he serious? You guys really know that guy?”

Nomi nodded. “It’s B-Man.”