At least another two hours…
Just talked to Jerri. She says she’ll drive down to Chicago right now to pick me up and take me home. I’m only supposed to be in Florida until Thursday at the ass cracker of dawn (to get Andrew).
“Is it really worth this?” she asked me. “You could go to football practice the rest of the week so you’ll be ready for your game, and you know Andrew is fully capable of taking care of himself. He’s fine.”
“No,” I told her. “I want to go to Florida.”
Now I’m not exactly sure I’m making the right choice. I mean, in a lot of ways, I really don’t want to go to the Dangling Sack (Florida). Most ways, really. Okay…Okay…Calm, boy. I can’t just run away.
Do not be reactionary, young Felton. You want to be there for your poor brother, Andrew.
Reactionary. Monkeys fling their own poop, Aleah. Why? Because it’s there.
• • •
Gus and I spent that afternoon driving around trying to figure out what Andrew, aka Detective Randy Stone, was up to.
“Is there any way the little dude is actually at camp and is pulling stuff just to mess with you? You know, asking Emily to spread rumors and then sending weird emails and grandparent links?” Gus asked.
“No. I don’t think he’s into random torment. I think he has a real agenda. He always seems to, anyway.”
“Such a weird kid, man. And you’re not telling Jerri because…? What? Her crazy breakdown last summer?”
“Yeah.”
Gus smoked cigarettes, which I don’t appreciate very much, but what was I going to say: “Please don’t smoke in your car while you try to help me even though you don’t like me anymore?” Then, when he ran out of cigarettes, we drove over to Maddie’s house to pick her up, because apparently she’s his supplier.
“I don’t want Maddie to know about this.”
“Uh. She already does. I called her before I picked you up,” Gus said.
“Everyone’s going to find out!” I shouted at him.
“Maddie is far more loyal and dependable than the people you know,” Gus said.
Maddie smoked many, many cigarettes, especially after we purchased two more packs at this decrepit gas station out in Stitzer that didn’t even question her status as an eighteen-year-old. (She is fifteen.) I rode in the backseat. They cranked music. I thought about how I should be running, packing, getting ready for Michigan instead of sitting there gulping poison. Gus smoked even more cigarettes. I hacked and hacked in the gross Toyota backseat, while they smoked those freaking cigarettes and sang along to loud songs. Everything in the world smelled like their smoke.
I like Gus, though. I do. He’s good. Maddie’s good too.
We drove out to Belmont Mound Woods and climbed the old fire tower out there. Maddie talked a million miles a minute, even as we climbed up, which impressed me because how could Missy Smokes-so-much get enough air in her tarred and feathered lungs?
“Let him live his life, Felton,” she said. “Andrew’s finding out the truth about your whole thing, right? Figuring out the family. It’s amazing. Let him do it, man.”
“Yeah, but I don’t know what he’s doing, and he could totally get killed or something.”
“By who? His old grandpa?” she asked. “His grandpa’s going to kill him?”
“No. By gangs, maybe. He’s alone and tiny. I don’t know that he’s with our grandfather. I’m pretty sure our grandpa hates us.”
Gus piped in. “You should call your grandfather, man. He might be in on this, don’t you think? Where’s the money coming from? Trips to Florida aren’t free. He probably paid to get Andrew down there, but he really has to know that Andrew’s a slippery little bitch,” Gus said.
“Please.” My chest ached when Gus said that. “Please. Stop calling him ‘bitch.’”
“Sorry. He is slippery like a mossy rock.”
“He’s awesome beautiful,” Maddie said. “Andrew’s like a French film.”
“He’s crazy like a French film,” said Gus.
I thought about calling my grandfather, and my stomach knotted up and I pretty much dry-heaved. I had no idea really who he was, and anything I knew was bad. (Grandma Berba said terrible things about him.)
From up on top of Belmont Tower you can see a ton of rolling southwest Wisconsin. You can see the backside of the big mound with the M on it where you and me hung out, where I used to run, and where my dad used to run before me. You should be running, not hanging out with skinny jean smokers…
Then Gus said, “We should go to Fort Myers.”
Maddie said, “Yeah!”
Gus said, “Just me and Felton, probably. We don’t want kidnapping charges, Mads. Your mom would totally press charges. Let me think.”
I said, “What? What? Jesus. How?”
“Let me think,” Gus said.
• • •
Damn it. They’re announcing something over the loudspeaker, but I can’t freaking understand a word of it. What a damn joke.