“A sinkhole can’t eat pets,” Charlie said. He looked pissed at the very notion of this, like it went against his religion. Charlie was that guy. A guy who’s already thirty years old and waiting for his shoe size to catch up. “It’s just a hole. They’re finding them all over the country, because of the heat. We’re lucky it’s just bitumen. Some of ’em are bringing up landfill garbage.”
“Naw. It’s more than a hole,” Dave said.
Julia didn’t look right at him, because Dave Harrison was maybe the coolest fourteen-year-old she’d ever met. He never followed. He always did exactly what he wanted. “So, what is it?” she asked.
Dave nodded. Shook his head. Nodded. Finally shrugged.
“Okay,” Julia croaked through her sore throat. “Here are the Maple Street sinkhole rules.”
“You’re a clown,” Dave said.
“Rule number one,” Julia continued as she laid her hand across the slab. It felt soft and too warm, like chemicals from below had mixed with the sun’s heat and cooked it. “This wood doesn’t look strong enough and we should stay off, especially Larry.”
“The government does everything bad,” Charlie said. “They used cheap wood.”
Dave stood, walked across to the center, where the whole thing bowed and smoke plumed out from the knothole there. Julia covered her nose. It had a sweet, wrong odor that burned, like candy apple coating melting and hardening in your throat. Dave stayed for a five-count, then walked slowly back.
“That was a bad decision,” Charlie said. “You could have died.”
“You talk like your moms,” Dave answered.
“No I don’t!” Charlie answered.
“You’re like their mouth puppet,” Dave said.
“Well, you’re conceited,” Charlie answered.
Dave grinned. “I’m the most popular guy in my grade. That’s not conceited.”
“It’s like he doesn’t know what conceited means,” Julia said.
“I’ve had three girlfriends this year. Which is more than any of you’ve had your whole lives. I know everything and you know nothing.”
“Every girl you go out with is horrible,” Charlie said.
“They’re hot!” Dave said. He did this—talked about girls like you could scoop them all together into a pile. That was one of the reasons Shelly had always turned him down. She hadn’t wanted to be a scoop of girlfriend. Julia thought she’d be okay with being a scoop. At least, if it was Dave Harrison, she’d be okay with it.
“Define hot,” Charlie said.
“Nobody cares what the girl looks like. You don’t fuck the face,” Julia said. She was trying to be funny and mature like a woman of the world, and only realized she’d gone too far after she said it.
Charlie and Dave exchanged funny looks. “What does fuck a face mean?” Larry asked.
“Sorry,” Julia said.
“What’s fuck a face?” Larry repeated.
“Nothing,” Julia said. She needed something to do with her hands, so she pulled Larry’s turtleneck over his head and handed it to him. He’d sweat it clean through, and his chest was a moth print of red heat splotches.
Dave smirked that gorgeous smirk. “You’re sexist, Julia.”
“Whatever, Mr. Hot Girlfriend Man. Let me write that down,” she said. “I’ll add it to the eighty million other rules for Maple Street that suck ALL THE JOY.”
“Put it in black Sharpie. ‘Julia Wilde is sexist.’？”
“Rubber and glue, dude!”
“Lamest. Comeback. Ever.”
Julia started laughing. “No, that was.”
Dave opened his mouth like he was going to say something mean. “Aw, you’re just so…”
Ghetto, Julia knew he was going to say. He pretended to be laughing too hard to finish, but she knew he was afraid to hurt her feelings. He was treating her differently from Charlie, like she was fragile.
“GHETTO!” she shouted.
Dave locked eyes with her, totally delighted. Then, falling over, holding their guts, they were all three laughing. The sound echoed through the empty park, banishing the tension. It made them feel normal again. It made them forget how strange Shelly had acted, and how strange this hole was, too. The holes popping up all over the country, dredging buried things.
Feeling not lonely for the first time in weeks, Julia was so bursting with cheer that she kissed Larry’s cheek. He stayed still, eyes open and looking straight ahead, which was how she knew he liked it. Or, at least, he didn’t mind it.