Nothing to Lose (20 page)

She was right. My friends at school were little kids compared to people I’d met at the fair. And I was hovering somewhere in between. I thought about all that while we stumbled over the cracked pavement of the old road. Should have brought a flashlight. Every few minutes a car went by, probably one of my friends for the party. But none stopped.

“What are you thinking about?” Kirstie asked, after we jumped out of the way of the third SUV in a row.

“I’m thinking about next week, when you leave.”

“What are you thinking about it?”

“I’m thinking I don’t want you to.”

“Maybe don’t think about it then.”

She stopped walking and pulled me close to her, kissed me. But she didn’t ask me again to stay.

“Is that what you do when something bothers you? You don’t think about it?”

“It’s better than checking your beeper when it’s too late anyway.”

We kept walking, Kirstie’s words hanging from the bottoms of the ficus and poinciana trees that made a canopy over the road. And soon we were in the driveway.

I saw Tristan, sitting on the doorstep, drinking a beer from a red plastic cup, and I thought that next week that would be me, too.

Earlier, when I’d called Tris for the address, he’d said, “You’re really coming?”

“It’s just a party,” I had answered. “I’m bringing someone, okay?”

“Not that loser, Julian Karpe.”

“No.” Though I’d had a flash—Karpe and his father eating ravioli out of the can for dinner. “No, it’s a girl.”

“Ah, so there’s a girl involved. You sure you want to do that? Tedder and Vanessa broke up. Or rather, Tedder told all his friends he did it with Vanessa, and she told him to screw off. But she’ll probably still be at the party. Everyone will be there.”

“Yeah, well, I’m bringing this girl.” It seemed like forever ago that girls at school had meant anything to me.

“Bring the girl, Mike. Just show, okay?” And he’d sounded so happy I’d felt bad all over. Maybe I’d misjudged him. Maybe he’d have been fine if I’d told him everything, but it was the uncertainty. That’s why I couldn’t talk to him. That’s what Walker had done—made me uncertain.

But now I hung outside the group, not sure what to do, still not ready.

Kirstie took the first step for me.

“Hey,” she said, releasing my hand. “You must be one of Michael’s friends.”

Tris’s beer sloshed out of its cup. “Best friend up to a couple weeks ago. Um … you must be Mike’s girl.”

“I’m Kirstie.”

She said this while I was still fumbling for their names, then turned to me. “Where’s Julian?”

“He, er, doesn’t usually go to these things.”

Kirstie raised an eyebrow at that. By then Tris had recovered his voice enough to introduce himself, sort of checking Kirstie out, and not in a good way.

And then Tedder Dutton was filling the doorway.

“Hey, Daye, you made it.” He looked both of us up and down. Behind him Tris was mouthing
Hottie
at me. “And you brought someone.” He was roasted, leaning against the doorway, trying to look cool, but obviously holding on for balance.

Kirstie introduced herself, then said, “So what’s there to do around here?”

Tedder laughed. “Why don’t you show your girlfriend where the beer is.”

“Oh, beer I can get. I was hoping there’d be something to
do.”

“Maybe we can think of something,” Tedder said, eyeing her up and down.

“There’s a band out back,” I told Kirstie.

Kirstie returned Tedder’s look, then followed me through the house.

Inside was pretty much a Xerox copy of every party I’d ever been to. I probably could have navigated it blindfolded, using only my sense of smell and sound.

“To the left,” I told Kirstie, “we have geeks playing Quarters. And to the right, we have burnouts smoking weed.”

I stopped. I knew a lot of the carnival people did drugs, and not just pot. I knew she’d done them in school. As we traveled through the room, I noticed people stopping whatever they were doing to turn and stare at us.

I said, “And in the center, we have a bunch of guys, looking like they’ve never seen a woman before.”

“Well, they’ve never seen me before.” We stepped out onto the patio. It felt cooler than it had on the road, and I moved closer to Kirstie. The band was playing too loudly for us to talk without shouting, and some more guys were playing Quarters. They, too, stopped to stare at us.

“Why the big tour back there?” she said—shouted—at me.

“I dunno.” I took her hand and moved her across the patio, behind the speakers where it wasn’t as loud. “Guess they just seemed different than the people you hang with.”

“Not a freak show?”

I winced, remembering my comment. Things had changed so much since then. “A different kind of freak show.” When she kept looking at me, I said, “Do you think, back when there
were
freak shows, the freaks would look out into the audience and think, ‘How strange’?”

“I bet. Some states made laws against displaying human oddities. They said it was to keep these ‘unfortunates’ from being taken advantage of.”

“Makes sense.”

“Sort of. But every time they made a law, freaks came out to protest.”

“Why?”

“They said they needed to make a living. But I don’t think that was the whole reason.”

I watched as, to the right, someone sunk a quarter and made the already-trashed guy to his left take a drink.

“Why then?” I said.

“People who made those laws, they wanted to act like nothing was wrong with those freaks, like they were the same as everyone else. But if you’ve got an eye in the middle of your forehead, you
know
you’re not just folks. At least in the carnival you can be with other people like you.”

I nodded, thinking about how much easier it was being with people in the carnival who didn’t all expect me to be a certain way, to follow their rules. I said, “And show that they were proud too.”

“Exactly. But you didn’t have to explain your friends to me. Back home I had the exact same kind of friends.”

That’s when I felt a hard hand on my shoulder I turned. Tedder.

“Mind if I dance with your date?”

“I don’t think so,” I said. It was crazy. No one was dancing. People didn’t dance at parties like this, at least not until they were really trashed.

But Tedder kept going. “Aw, c’mon, Daye. Your girlfriend here wanted some entertainment. I feel obligated to give it to her. She ought to be more polite.”

“I don’t think so,” I repeated.

A few people had gathered, including Vanessa, who said, “Don’t be such an ass, Tedder.”

“I didn’t ask you,” Tedder said. He offered Kirstie his hand.

“I don’t think so either,” she said. She turned to me. “Maybe we should go, Michael.”

I nodded and held out my hand. Kirstie started to take it, then Tedder yanked her away.

“I
asked
you to dance,” he growled.

I turned to see him lunge toward Kirstie, his fat hands grabbing at her, and I felt the same way I always felt when Walker beat on Mom. Except I had to take shit from Walker. I didn’t have to take it from Tedder Dutton.

“Hey,” I said. “Leave her—”

But before I could get the words all the way out, Dutton was headed for the floor. Kirstie had flipped him somehow, his legs flying out from under him, and his ass hit the ground with a thud.

“I have a knife in my pocket,” Kirstie said, over him. “You want to make me use it?”

“N-no,” Tedder stammered.

“Maybe you didn’t hear me before,” she said, “but I said I didn’t want to dance.”

“Okay. Sorry.”

She backed off, and he lay there. Monica Correa, who had the hots for Dutton, ran to him. No one else did. They just stood there, staring at Kirstie. I stared too. And the band kept playing and playing, and I knew I could never come back to one of their parties again, and I didn’t care.

“Bitch!” Tedder sputtered. “Get your freak girlfriend out of here, Daye.”

And Kirstie threw back her head and began to laugh.

“Do you really have a knife in your pocket?” I asked Kirstie on the way back to the bus stop. I realized I’d almost let myself forget about the problems at home. Almost.

“Sure.” She stopped and pulled out a penknife. She flicked open the blade and held it up so it gleamed silver in the moonlight. My arms shivered, feeling like a hundred bees had landed there.

“Why do you have it?”

“The game. Sometimes the balloons get stuck, and I need to cut them off.”

“Oh.” I relaxed a little.

“That, and for protection.”

“You wouldn’t… I mean, would you really use a knife on someone?” I turned this new fact about her around in my head.

“I never have. I’m not looking for an opportunity like some I know. I mean, back there, I tried to leave. But, yeah, if it’s ever me or them, it’s gonna be me.”

We walked in silence. The road was deserted, dark. No cars were coming anymore, and none were leaving, so the only sound was the scrape-scrape of our shoes against pavement. I thought how different she was from Mom, who always needed someone else to help her.

“But
I
wanted to defend you,” I said, knowing as I said it that it was the wrong thing. “I wanted to deck the guy or something. I’ve been wanting to kick his ass for a while. I tried once, and someone stopped me.”

She smiled, though I could only see the outline of it. “I know. I could see in your face how bad you wanted to hit him.”

“So why didn’t you let me?”

She shrugged. “What would have happened if you’d hit him?”

“There’d have been a big fight.”

“And…?”

“I’d have kicked the shit out of him.”

“Maybe. Or maybe everyone would have taken his side. He seemed to have a lot of friends there. Maybe they’d have kicked the shit out of you. No. That was my battle. I think it was better to let me fight it.”

“With a knife?”

“Carnies are tough people, Michael. You have to be to live this life.”

“Why do you want to?” I asked.

“It’s all I have now,” she said. “I’ve left everything else.”

I slowed my steps, wanting to stay with her longer and knowing we’d have to split up at the bus stop. I didn’t want to.

“Do you…?” I didn’t know how to ask what I wanted to ask. “I mean, have there been other guys like me in other places you’ve been?”

I expected her to maybe get mad at me, like that day on the Ferris wheel when I asked if she’d kissed a lot of guys. But instead, she slowed her steps to match mine.

“No one like you. But, of course, there have been other guys.”

“Guys you left and forgot about?” I asked, feeling cruel.

“Not forgot exactly. But, yeah, once you leave the first time, you get used to leaving.”

I stopped walking, and so did Kirstie. I could still hear the band at the party if I tried, like the party had gone on without us, the space where we’d been closing up without a patch. But the trees sounded like maracas, and I liked that sound better. I drew Kirstie toward me, putting my fingers on her back, feeling her spine and each little rib. She was tall, so I didn’t have to lower my head too much to kiss her eyelids, her cheeks. I loved her. I loved her for being strong enough to carry a knife and not being afraid to use it. We stood there, dancing to the house music and the cicada music, dancing like we hadn’t at Alex’s house.

I said, “I don’t want you to leave.”

She touched my hair. Her lips brushed my cheek, and she said, “That’s what I do, Michael. I leave. It’s the only thing I’m really good at.”

“I don’t want you to,” I repeated.