“Like what?”
I shrugged, ran my tongue around the inside of my mouth. It was dry even though I’d just had a drink. It felt like it was taking longer to blink, too, like the messenger between my brain and eyes kept falling asleep.
“Murder,” I said.
Ed’s mouth quirked, an ugly gesture. “Then you’re just as evil as anyone. The killer always comes up with a reason that makes sense to him, but killing a man is killing a man, whether you’re a cop or a soldier or some shitty hobo with a shiv. Tell your DA daddy that, why don’t you.”
Anton laughed stupidly. “Daddy DA,” he said. “Da-da.”
I was suddenly swept up by a weird, wild ache to be playing Monopoly with Junie and eating Jiffy Pop, or maybe dancing. When we were little, we used to dance around our wood-panel basement to the Beatles’ “Twist and Shout.” We always wore skirts so we could watch them twirl. I wanted to be spinning with her now, dizzy giggling, Mom and Dad keeping us safe.
The joint appeared in front of me. I made a sign to pass it on.
“Your friend took another hit,” Ed said, indicating Brenda. “Don’t be a cold fish.”
“Yeah, Heather,” Ant said. “Don’t be a bummer.”
I took another drag, and when the bottle came around, I took another swig of that, too.
Fleetwood Mac came on the radio, but I couldn’t tell which song. Noises had gotten plunky, like someone was cupping my ear.
I stared across the crackling fire at Brenda, the glow lighting up her heart-shaped face. My love for her was carved into my bones. The joint had stopped at her, was drooping in her hand just like Mom’s cigarettes sometimes did in hers. Brenda’s eyes were glassy. Could it be from the pot, or had she and Maureen and Ricky taken something on the way over? We’d talked about trying acid together, but it always seemed like a future that was far off. Was that one more thing she’d done without me?
“You okay?” I asked her, my mouth feeling like a fuzzy caterpillar, an image that made my stomach bubble. A giggle popped out like a burp. I wished Maureen were here, sitting around the fire with us. I stared toward the water, at a cluster of three guys and a girl. The girl looked like Maureen. Why hadn’t she joined us at the fire?
“Worry about yourself,” Ricky said, pulling my attention back as he hooked Brenda’s neck again. “Better yet, why don’t you and Ant ditch and worry about each other.”
Ant was studying his feet.
There’ll be a test on them later. That seemed exceptionally funny, so I started laughing again, but it must not have been out loud because nobody acknowledged it. Ed was telling a story about combat. Something about bombing and shooting. If he was in his twenties, like I’d first thought, that meant he might have seen fighting in Vietnam. I tried doing the math, but the numbers threw on little hats and boogied away. More giggling.
“The kid thinks something’s funny,” Ed said from very far away. “Why don’t you take her to the cabin and show her where the real jokes are?”
I didn’t know who he was talking to, but then something clamped on my arm near the shoulder. I reeled back, surprised to discover Ant’s hand there, to feel him tug me to my feet, pulling me in the direction he’d said the cabin was. Brenda was gone, a big empty spot where she and Ricky had been. Where’d they go? There wasn’t anyone near the water anymore, either.
It was just Ed and Ant and me.
My heart beat hummingbird-fast as Ant led me into the woods.
CHAPTER 15
When the cabin took shape in the gloomy center of the forest, I felt relief, and then something like excitement. I’d never planned on kissing Anton Dehnke, but that’s what was about to happen. I was sure of it. I found myself grateful for the liquor and pot. I wouldn’t have had the courage to go through with this without it.
The cabin door was unlocked.
Ant tugged me inside and flipped on a light. He still hadn’t let go of my wrist. I wanted to tell him I wasn’t going to run, that I wanted to get that first kiss out of the way so that I was no longer the odd one out, and so his timing was impeccable. My tongue felt too dry and swollen to speak, though.
I hoped it wouldn’t be yucky, kissing me.
This was a hunting cabin by the look of the decorations, mounted antlers and stiff, marble-eyed fish on all four walls. We stood in the main room, a combination kitchen, dining, and living room, with a fridge and a narrow stove next to a sink on one side and a couch with a scratchy-looking red plaid blanket slung over it on the other, a card table between. A mangy brown rug covered the center of the floor. The rug looked like the keeper of the cabin’s bad smells, mostly mouse pee and stale cigarette smoke and, beneath both of those scents, something dark and mushroomy.