The Shore Girl (22 page)

“It's me. Joey.” I waved my arms wildly. We could sit on the moss and Rebee could lean on me and talk about whatever she wanted and maybe I'd make her laugh and my gut would stop rolling.

But she just stared back as if she didn't know me. She looked through me as if I'd already been erased. Then she turned away and hitched her heavy pack up high on her shoulders and headed down the hill.

* * *

I wandered up and down Chesterfield's streets. Pointlessly. Nobody was around; the whole town was someplace else, someplace they were meant to be. Before this morning, I'd imagined killing someone with my bare hands just to be able to see Rebee again. But then she looked up at me through the trees, and her eyes were dead, and she couldn't see me. I was nothing. I was a toilet that kept overflowing. I was a stupid dweeb she leaned against in a car. A pillow of bones.

I hated her. I hated her with my whole heart. Grit blew in my eyes. Grit blew the Sugarbowl right in front of me. That girl opened the window and leaned out on dirty elbows.

“Where you bin? Whoa, Tiger, you in a fight?”

I shrugged. Tiny roads of red crisscrossed her painted eyes. Her apron was filthy. “Up there on Blueberry Hill. Having a grand time, are ya? Cone?”

She spun around in her dingy shack and bent over the giant tubs. Purple strings from her ratty panties rode up in a V from her butt crack. She plunked the blob hard on the cone, chipping the edge, then licked her fingers and smacked her lips and twirled around and held out her arm.

“Well, take it,” she said, pushing the cone in my face.

I stared at her flaked nails, yellowed holes under black paint. Little swirls of dust jumped off the street.

“What? You seen a ghost or somethin'?”

The image of Rebee swam through me, the dream Rebee. Dangling, black breasts, an empty look on her face, like I was a bug too small to see.

“The Judge left a car,” I told her. I said it slowly, my voice a whispered crack. I nearly backed down. But I didn't. “Nobody knows. It's not locked.”

It took her a full minute to get the drift. Then she squinted her eyes and snorted, slapping her hand hard on her hip. Her red eyes twinkled, some dark twisted thing in her smile.

“Omigod. You're not half stupid, Tiger.”

I left her holding the cone and walked away.

* * *

I was a stone turtle, arms and legs tucked under my chest. Sometimes being a turtle put a lid on the cramps. I was lying like that, my head buried in the sheets, when the cars came up the hill.

I felt a terrible dread. When Carla's bar buddies used to come sniffing round, pissed up and itchy for trouble, I stayed invisible, usually in my closet. But this was my fault.

I pulled on my hoody, climbed out my window and crept along the hedge under a thousand bright stars. In Rebee's front yard, big, sweaty bodies piled out of two cars. Ripped jeans and motorcycle boots and chains hanging. Five guys, two girls it looked at first, but then Sugarbowl girl popped up from behind one of the beefed-up greasers. She threw her head backwards and leaned into the crook of his arm and he poured a bottle down her throat. She glugged and sputtered and bent over laughing, swiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Bodies shuffled, shushing each other, laughing hysterically, heads bobbing up and down, weaving and swaying. They were crazy drunk. Rebee's house was utterly dark. Curtains closed. I hoped to God she was in a coma; that she'd stay that way 'til it was over.

I crawled out from behind the hedge and ran through an open patch of dirt, while the stars shone a bullseye on my head,
free geek, come get him
. But no one spotted me, so I hid behind a tree.

They formed a circle in front of Rebee's house. Even from behind that tree, the stink of booze was so heady I couldn't breathe.

They stumbled around and then the guys went off at once.
HELLOOOOO
. Beeeeeeeee afraid. I'm completely dead.
I've come to drink your blood.
WAAAAAAH
. I'm the asshole
Judge and I've come to —
“Stop it,” the girl with the sparkly glove whined. “It's creepy enough up here.”

More ooooohing and aaaaahing.

“Forget the fucking ghosts,” boomed the big one with ice cream girl attached to his hip. “Car, remember.”

Ice cream girl slapped his cheek. “You're such a dipshit,
JD
.”

He lurched forward, pushing ice cream girl back, and yelled, “So where is it? This car you been beaking off about? The '
59
Caddy. That asshole loved his car.”

They passed the bottle, blubs and glugs. A guy lit a pipe, and sent it round the circle. A crumbled pack of Marlboros whizzed through the air. A click of Bics, flashes of fire.

The shaved head guy said, “Maybe we should have ourselves a little bonfire. Burn the creep's place down.”

I crouched on the ground in my hiding spot behind the tree. What had I done? I felt too sick to be sick, dizzy and bloodless.

The greasers hooted and hollered.
For sure. Absofucking-tootly.
Burn the house down.
The girls hugged themselves. They didn't know I was there.

Ice cream girl piped up, “You burn his house down, you stay in jail for sure this time.” She stamped her foot and her cigarette dropped from her mouth.

My heart lubbed in my chest. I felt like crumpling. Only now they were moving towards her door. What if they really did burn down her house? What if Rebee was inside and couldn't get out? What if she was crouched behind a window, scared out of her skull?

I tried to stop my feet, begged them to stay still, but they wouldn't listen. I picked myself up, pieces of me, and stepped out from behind the tree.

“Wait,” I sputtered.

Ice cream girl spotted me first. She stumbled over and fell into me, a giggle and whoosh. “Tiger. Tiger. Buddy. LUUUUV you.” She pulled-pushed me towards the others. The
JD
guy loomed right in front of me. He seemed to be the one in charge.

“You the kid next door?” he said.

I kept my eyes down, not daring to look. The others bunched behind, except for the Kiss
T
-shirt guy, who muttered something about taking a leak. He wandered round the side of the house, back to where the Judge's rotting garage tilted on the cliff.

Ice cream girl crashed into
JD
and slid down his arm. He grabbed a wad of blue hair and yanked her back up.

“Tell 'bout the car, Tiger,” she slurred. “Asshole Judge.” Black streaks ran down her cheeks. She tried to point at me, but she couldn't hold her finger steady, doodling wildly in the air.

Rebee's dark porch breathed at my back. “There is no car.” My heart stopped.

“Really,”
JD
snorted, blowing smoke in my face. “Thas not what you told Jemma here.” He steered her around to face me.

I swallowed. Did not take a breath. “There is no car. I made the story up.”

Her name was Jemma. She couldn't stay upright.
JD
let go and she thudded to the ground. The not pretty girl with the square face tripped over her, but righted herself before she fell down. “Let's get out of here,” she said, stumbling towards
JD
. “This place creeps me out.”

Shaved head said, “We're gonna go in. Check things out. See where the Judge did the dirty deed.” They all laughed. Except
JD
.

The sparkly-gloved girl hugged her arms and rocked back and forth. “We can't go in there. He's in that house.”

“So's Elvis,” someone yelled from behind.

“No. Really. I can feel him. Let's go, 'kay?”

JD
flicked his arm. “Shut up already.” Everybody shut up. Jemma groaned on the ground.
JD
's whole mad-drunk concentration landed on me. “So what about the car, kid?”

I looked down, catching a glimpse of his belt buckle, and swallowed.

“Well?”

I shook my head. “I made it up. About the car. The Judge sold it to a car dealer in Edmonton. Before he died. Melvin Peevley said so. Ask him yourself. At the LetterDrop.”

The others went quiet.

“The Judge would never a sold that car,”
JD
said.

I couldn't think of anything else to convince him.

“You lie to all your friends?” he asked this friendly-like, just a nice simple question. “Well?” He grabbed a fistful of my hoody and pulled me into him. I dangled under his chin in front of the constellations and gulped mouthfuls of leaking booze and oniony sweat and a sour smell like my sheets after a bad night. If
JD
let go in that second, I'd fall on my face. But he didn't. I stayed pinned to his hand, while he contemplated what to do next. I flashed through the possibilities, the parts of me he would hurt first. I thought about how long I'd last until I cried like a baby. My heart hammered against my skin.

I was about to pee myself. But then she was there. No one knew how. She just floated from the shadows of the porch and landed right beside me.

“Jesus,”
JD
flung his fingers wide, freeing me in an instant. He fumbled backwards. “Jesus.” He panted a little, blinking. The others, too. Sparkly glove covered her mouth. Jemma got on all fours and then climbed herself up off the ground, bracing herself against square face.

The goons huddled together, all bluster gone. They stared wide-eyed at the ghost of the girl in front of them. I stared, too. Had she swum out of my head? Nothing about her looked real. The whites of her unblinking eyes were piercingly bright. She had a wild, warrior look, almost electric. The slivered moon washed over her, skin deathly pale, blue tinged. She wore no shoes, her bare toes planted wide, hands at her side, perfectly still. Fearless.

“Who the hell are you?”
JD
wanted to know.

She stared at
JD
so fiercely he had to look away. He groped his pockets for cigarettes, then a match. It took him three tries to get the thing lit.

“You're on my property,” Rebee said.

He shrugged to the others, as if, look, it's only a girl. “Your property,” he snorted. “This is the Judge's place.”

“So you don't belong here.”

“And you do?”

“Yes.”

“You a relation or sumthin'? He's dead. This place was supposed to be empty.”

Rebee didn't answer.

“The Judge was a friend of ours.”
JD
grinned to the others standing behind him. “We're gonna take a look-see is all.

Make sure his old Caddy is doing okay.”

Nobody else made a sound.

“There's nothing to see,” Rebee said, as if she believed it.

“You say.”

“I do.”

“I'm sorry, Rebee,” I whispered. I wanted to get us inside and barricade the door. But she stood her ground.

Then there was a commotion around the side of the house. The greaser who'd gone off to piss in the trees came back into sight. “
JD
, come see,” he yelled. “There's an old garage back there.” And then, “Holy shit! Who's she?”

Rebee didn't bother to look his way. Her eyes stayed on
JD
. “Like I said,” she told him. “There is no car.”

“But there's a garage,”
JD
said.

“Apparently.”

“That Caddy inside, all dressed up, nowhere to go?”

Rebee didn't blink.

“If there's no car, you won't mind if we go see.”

She narrowed her eyes and took a long, slow, deep breath. “All right. I'll show you the way. And then you and your little friends can get off my property.”

She glided away from us.
JD
was pissed, eyes glaring. He wasn't used to this kind of girl. He stomped off after her, his drunken groupies following.

“Rebee,” I called out, my guts rising as I stumbled to keep up. She couldn't have forgotten what was behind that door. I'd spent the best night of my life inside that car. What was she planning to do? Twitch her nose, make it disappear?

I could feel the earth biting her bare feet as my runners tripped along beside her. It was a long trek, farther than I remembered. The stars tracked us across the clearing. That sorry building loomed closer and closer.

“I'm sorry, Rebee,” I stammered. The others rustled and crunched behind us like rats. What would
JD
do to her?

Too soon we were in front of the garage door. Rebee stood, legs apart, hands on her hips. There was no place to hide. I stood beside her.

She turned and faced the pack. “Here we are,” she said casually.

JD
licked his lips. “Here we are.” That big, stupid greaser wanted to slide in behind the wheel like he was king of the hill, stomp his foot on the pedal, gun the engine, squeal out of there. Rebee couldn't stop it. She'd try. And she'd get hurt. She'd get hurt bad cause of me.

“Go ahead,” Rebee said, pointing to the door. “Open it.”
JD
stepped forward, puffing himself up like a peacock. He bent at the waist and grabbed hold of the rusted handle, twisting around slowly to glint at the others. The door cracked open a few inches, releasing a musty smell.

My insides roared, my fear stink wrestling with all the other bad smells.
JD
was yanking the curved metal of the handle, his body bent in two right in front of me. He moved in slow motion, like he had nothing but time. I didn't. I only had a second before the whole world fell apart.
Open the door,
JD
. See the shiny car. See Joey run.

Everything bad in me needed to get out. I hadn't done a single right thing in my small pathetic life. I was good for nothing. I had one and only one skill. I didn't so much think it, as become it. I opened my mouth, clenched my gut muscles, and summoned up great mounds of vomit.
JD
was on his way up, coming out of his crouch. I
blaached
everything I had at him. It landed on his belt buckle, dripped off the swell of his gut, splattered along the thighs of his jeans, coated his outspread arms.