October 19
Twenty-Four Years Ago
8:00 P.M.
Downtown Portland. Was there anything more depressing? Leo thought not. It was barely a city, just a couple of blocks of storefronts and warehouses, a couple of boarded-up stores, sleepy diners, seedy bars. There was supposed to be a transit rail system one day, and Pioneer Courthouse Square had opened just a few years prior, a slick new central park in the middle of the city. There was talk of revitalizing the waterfront, but so far, it was just talk. One day, she’d get out of this place, one day, she vowed, this city wouldn’t be enough for her. She wouldn’t rest until she was familiar with the streets of Paris and New York, when jetting off to London was as routine as taking the bus to the mall. One day. But for now, this was all she had. It was too early to get into Sparkle; the club didn’t even open until nine, and the “good” DJ didn’t start his set until after midnight.
“Pass me the nice drink,” ordered Mish, one hand on the steering wheel while the other reached back to grab the red cup from Leo’s hand. Mish was driving because Brooks was way too plastered. He’d gotten in the car and hit reverse, almost knocking into a few trash cans. Mish had insisted she wasn’t drunk at all and that she could drive.
So Leo had spent the ride passing the “nice drink” to Mish, praying to god that they wouldn’t get in an accident. Please, Lord, don’t let me die on my sixteenth birthday.
Brooks had passed out asleep in the passenger seat. “Lightweight,” said Mish, trying to prod him awake after she found parking a few blocks from the club.
“Come on,” said Mish, getting out of the car.
“Where are we going?”
“Anywhere!”
Leo scrambled out of the back seat. “We’re just going to leave him here?”
“He’ll be fine!” Mish yelled, slamming the door.
Mish led the way, through the dark city streets, passing convenience stores and diners, laundromats, tattoo parlors, and liquor stores. At least she had put her shirt back on. They were getting a little close to Burnside Bridge, which was always a little more sketchy, with more homeless people around. Leo was starting to worry.
“Do you know where you’re going?” asked Leo, trying to keep up.
“No, do you?”
“Mish, what are we doing?”
“Killing time, looking for trouble, looking to score,” she said, a crazed look in her eye.
“Score?” Leo scoffed. “Score what?”
“Drugs, silly!”
Leo made a face. She didn’t do drugs and neither did Mish. Mish was just exaggerating again, trying to appear cooler than she was.
“It’s your birthday!” screamed Mish.
“It’s been my birthday all day. Come on. Let’s just go back, just drive me home,” said Leo.
“No.”
Leo lunged for the keys in Mish’s hands, but Mish was too fast for her. “Gonna have to catch me!”
“Come on, Mish, it isn’t funny.”
But Mish was laughing and held up the keys. “Want these?” she taunted.
Leo lunged again and missed. She felt like slapping the shit out of her friend. She was tired, drunk for the first time, and wanted to go home. But Mish wasn’t done, and she was looking for trouble.
Thankfully, they found Arnold first.
Arnold Dylan was skinny-scrawny, with long bangs that fell into his eyes, and surprisingly tall, which no one ever noticed because he slouched so much. He’d dropped out of high school a few years ago but wasn’t much older than them. The girls liked to say he was dirty-cute, filthy-sexy, like obviously a loser. But there was something about him nonetheless. Leo thought it was the eyes; Arnold had nice eyes and a sweet smile. He was rumored to deal, especially since he spent most of his time standing around corners all day.
“Arnold,” Mish called. “Hey, hey, Arnold! You have something for us?”
Arnold shuffled over, his baseball cap pulled low. “What do you need?” he asked with a shy grin.
“Anything. What have you got?” Mish asked, crossing her arms against her chest with a serious look on her face.
“Anything?” he raised an eyebrow.
“Anything for free!” Mish said, laughing. “Come on, we’re saving to get into Sparkle.”
Arnold sighed. “Fine. But you owe me.”
“We owe you!” said Mish.
“I’m going to collect,” Arnold joked.
“Yeah, yeah,” said Mish.
Arnold was always saying he was going to collect on the favors he did for them—giving them cigarettes, or buying them beer, or lending them a CD or a cassette tape. But he never did. He was the closest thing they had to a friend in their neighborhood. Mish was mean to him a lot, always telling him to get lost when the cigarettes were smoked and the beer ran out, or that if he wanted his copy back of the Smiths’ Meat Is Murder, he had to buy another one. Leo felt bad about it sometimes, the way they treated him. Arnold didn’t seem to mind, though.
“Wait here,” said Arnold.
“Where are you going?”
“Get my stash,” said Arnold. “One sec.”
They watched as Arnold disappeared around the corner.
“Is he coming back?” asked Leo.
“Of course he is,” said Mish confidently. “It’s Arnold.”