Vintage Veronica (17 page)

“Hey, can I do some?” I ask. We could be here for hours at this rate.

“No, that’s okay.” Three more tiny clumps of wet dirt come up in the shovel.

“No, really, Len. Let me help. I mean, he was kind of my snake, too.” Reluctantly, Len hands me the shovel and the
gardening gloves and practically collapses on a lawn chair. He blocks the rain with one hand and watches me.

The shovel is heavier than I expected, but I kind of get into the rhythm of it. I must look like a clown, digging a grave in my peach and salmon taffeta ball gown. I yank on the sleeve of my T-shirt and mop the rain and sweat from my face with it.

“You don’t have to do that,” Len says, though he doesn’t get up.

“It’s okay,” I tell him, trying to sound like I dig ditches all the time. I take another stab at the ground.

“But what about your dress?” says Len. And I look down and let out a little cry of dismay at the sight. My dress, my favorite dress, is totally destroyed. I mean, there’s dirt and mud all over it. I try to brush some off, but it only makes it worse.

“It’s okay,” I repeat. I dig the shovel in again to prove it.

It gets harder to keep my footing as the hole gets deeper. Thankfully, Len says, “That’s good,” at just about the point when I’m ready to give up.

Slowly, Len approaches the hole, carrying the donut box. I realize almost too late that he’s about to open it, so I reach over and grab his hands.

“Closed casket,” I say, giving him a meaningful look.

“Ohhh,” he says, but he does not argue. He lets me take the box while he uses the shovel as a cane and carefully lowers himself to his knees. I hand Len the box, then kind of squat beside him. He wedges the box into the hole and I am relieved to find that it fits. I stand back up, but Len stays where he is.

I hear him say quietly, “Do you think it hurt?”

“What?”

“When Dep … died. Do you think he was in any pain?”

“I actually don’t know,” I say, which is true but is also a way of sparing him.

After that, Len is quiet for some time. His head is bowed and he is mumbling something that I guess must be a prayer. I didn’t know Len was a religious guy, and I hope I haven’t offended him by getting to my feet. Instinctively, I look around to make sure no one can see us, but the yard is walled in by the neighbors’ fences. Since there’s no one there, I try harder to get into it. I close my eyes and try to look respectful.

When I open my eyes to peek at Len, I see he is looking up at me.

“Do you want to say anything?” he asks.

“Nah, that’s okay.”

“It’s all right,” he says, his expectation obvious. “Just say what you feel.”

“Um, okay.” The last funeral I was at was for my great-aunt, who I barely knew. Apparently, neither did the clergy guy, who referred to her as “Rose” instead of “Rae” and started off by saying, “Although I did not know the deceased …” Unfortunately, this phrase kind of stuck in my head.

“Although I did not know the deceased … I mean, although I did not know him very well …” I take a breath and try to start over. “Dep was really a very special snake. He died before he should have, and that was sad.”

I look at Len, who seems eager for more.

“When someone—or, I mean, something—dies before it
should, we can’t help but ask, Why?” Okay, now I’m on a roll and this probably isn’t going anywhere good, but I can’t stop now. “And I wish I knew, but I don’t. It kind of sucks, and I wish you didn’t die. I would have liked to know you a while longer. So I’m really sorry. You were a really good snake. Very pretty and … um, nice and all that. I thought you would be slimy, but I was wrong. You weren’t slimy at all.”

For a moment, I think I’m done. But then I take a deep breath and suddenly blurt out, “I’ve been wrong about a lot of things lately. About snakes, you know, and, um, about people, too. I’m not trying to make excuses. It’s just … I’ve been hurt, okay? A lot. But then, I ended up hurting the one person who didn’t deserve it at all. So now I just wish there was some way I could take it back somehow.”

My voice starts to trail off and I end up whispering that last part, but I’m pretty sure Len hears me. He reaches for my hand and I help him up.

“Thanks,” he says.

“Shut up,” I say.

“No, really,” he says. “Thanks.”

“No, really,” I tell him. “Shut up.”

And we just kind of stand there close together for a while, looking down at Dep’s grave. It’s sort of like I’m holding him up.

Or maybe he’s holding me up.

Or both.

The rain starts to fall harder.

I turn my face upward, letting my mouth fall open like when I was little and I used to try to eat snowflakes right out of the sky. The cold rain pummels my face. It hurts, but it feels
good. I start to shiver, but I don’t even care. There’s so much that I want to wash away.

I feel something around my shoulders and I realize that it’s Len, putting the tuxedo jacket around me.

“Your dress,” he says.

“What?” I joke, holding out the muddy, ripped fabric. “It’s fine. Everyone’s wearing them like this.”

“Come inside,” he says. “I’ll make you an omelet or something.”

“That’s okay,” I say, even though I’m starving. I’ve already screwed things up so badly today, I figure I should quit while I’m ahead.

“You’re soaking wet,” he says. “At least come inside and dry off. You can borrow something to wear.” He turns and limps toward the back steps.

“Len, come on. There’s no way I can fit into any of your clothes.”

Len turns back and looks me up and down.

His mouth twitches. He raises one eyebrow.

“That’s okay,” he says finally.

And so I follow him up the back steps.

Take that, Mom
.

Slowly, we wind our way up the creaky back staircase. He fishes out his keys and lets us in. The apartment is dark, but he doesn’t reach for a light.

Instead, he reaches for me.

My heart pounds as I kiss him back, like it did the night before but even more so. Since this is my second time kissing him, I feel worldly and brave, yet still jumpy as a rabbit. I like
that it is dark. I want to feel his touch, but I still don’t want him to see me.

I break from his embrace and feel my way down the hall to where I remember the bathroom is. I take off my mucky dress and drape it and the tuxedo jacket over the edge of the tub. I consider trying to rinse them out, but I want to get back to Len before I lose my nerve.

There’s a bathrobe on the back of the door, a worn plaid flannel one that I hope is Len’s. It occurs to me that I’m assuming we’re the only ones here. He said his mom and dad are dead and his grandma’s in New Jersey, and he’s never mentioned a brother or a grandfather or anything.

I hope I’m right.

I put the bathrobe on, then tiptoe out of the bathroom and down the hall to his room. I can sort of make him out sitting on the bed. His eyes are wide and his bangs are pushed behind his ears, where they might stay for a matter of seconds if he doesn’t move his head. He’s still wearing his perpetually low-slung muddy jeans, but he’s taken his hoodie off. In fact, he’s completely naked from the waist up. The sharp jut of his collarbone and his strong, ropy arms frame his pale, lean torso. A thin trace line of hair winds its way from between his ribs to the band of his briefs. His shoes are off, the yellow tips of his brown socks fidgeting nervously.

He leans over to switch on the bedside lamp.

“Don’t,” I say, but it is too late.

I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror on his closet door. The sight crushes me. My hair is wet and matted at the top and frizzy at the bottom. One comb is still in my
hair, barely. The other, I presume, is in Len’s backyard, or perhaps in the Dumpster behind the Mooks. My face looks puffy. My body is hidden behind the robe, and yet I’ve never felt more exposed. I catch sight of my thick ankles and I’m paralyzed with fear.

What am I doing here?
This is a huge mistake.

But then I look at Len. I can tell he doesn’t see any of this. The way he’s looking at me makes me suddenly feel that ugly, unlovable feeling melting away like the rain. I start to feel the tiniest sensation of what it might be like to step outside my body entirely.

“Hey,” he says shyly.

And I realize right then that my mother is right. I mean, she’s wrong, but she’s also right. I know that I can trust Len, that he’s not that kind of boy.

But I also know that if he were, it wouldn’t matter.

Because right now, I would do anything for him.

he next afternoon, I’m at my desk when the phone rings.

“Hello?” I say, expecting Bill but hoping it will be Len, even though he never uses the phone. He didn’t swing by at lunchtime, so now I feel all jumpy, like one of those crickets Len feeds his pets.
He always comes by around now. Where could he be? Did something about last night make him change his mind about me? About us?

“We need a moment of your valuable time,” says Zoe.

“Um, right now?”

“
Um
, yes,” she says, imitating my tone. “Right now.”

I hang up and briefly consider ducking out the back. I don’t know what they want, but it can’t be good. I haven’t
seen them since they were taken out of the Mooks by the police the day before. Do they know I saw them? Do they blame me for the whole snake business and for getting arrested?

Oh God. Do they know about me and Len?

I go downstairs and find them by the dressing rooms. There are a bunch of blond girls trying on clothes by the couches and the big mirror. I freeze when I see them, but on closer examination I realize they are probably just clones of the girls at my school. Zoe and Ginger are sitting on the barstools, pretending to read an ancient copy of
Tiger Beat
.

“Véronique!” cries Ginger, catching sight of me.

“What’s shaking, Vee?” yells Zoe.

The two of them bestow multiple air kisses on me for the benefit of the audience of dressing room girls.

“Hey,” I say, still nervous even though their friendliness seems genuine. “What’s up?”

“Oooh, nothing, just sitting here watching the hair on my legs grow. Hey, six items max, Barbie-rella!” One of the blond girls glares at Zoe, but obeys her command.

“Are you guys okay?”

“Okay?” Ginger looks confused. “Uh, yeah. Why?”

“Oh, nothing, it’s just … um, I just heard something about something happening at the Mooks yesterday.”

“Who’d you hear that from?” asks Zoe, raising one exaggeratedly painted eyebrow.

“Oh, I dunno. Nobody.”

“Hmmm, maybe she is banging Barnacle Bill after all, dontcha think, Ginge?”

“Totally,” says Ginger, grinning.

“A complete travesty of justice,” says Zoe, holding the back of her right hand to her forehead and closing her eyes. Opening them again, she adds, “All will be revealed in my fabulous tell-all biography and accompanying made-for-TV movie. BUT that’s not why we summoned you.”

Zoe pauses. I wait.

“We have
news
,” she finally announces.

“Oh, yeah?”

Ginger nods enthusiastically. “You’re never going to believe this. Guess who got called into The Nutbuster’s office today?”

“Who?”

“Oh, you’re no fun. Guess!”

“Um, Zoe?”

“She wishes!”

“Bite me, Ginge.”

“You?” I ask, trying to move the game along.

“You are not even trying!” scolds Ginger. “No, think about somebody who is already acting totally suspicious. Somebody who we already have our eye on.”

“Somebody who is a DEAD ringer …,” hints Zoe.

“Leh—I mean, D.B.W.?” My heart starts to race.
Oh my God, Shirley. Shirley knows about us. Jesus, how could she? Did someone see us that night on Employees Only!? Did she see us? Although if she did, wouldn’t she have said something when she came by the next day? Oh Jesus. Don’t panic, don’t panic
.

“Bingo,” says Zoe.

“But what for? What happened?” I don’t want them to see how concerned I am, so I try to sound scandalized.

Zoe looks around, like she’s afraid someone is going to hear her. Which is ridiculous, because the blondes are too busy swapping sequined halter tops and bending over to see how much their cracks show in various pairs of vintage Jordaches. I think maybe I do actually recognize one of them. She might have sat in front of me in Biology. Shit, the last thing I need right now is some annoying girl from my school pointing me out and cracking up with her friends.