Real Bad Things(8)

“You bet your ass I am.”

“Even though that’s more than one word.” He braced himself for the smack he clearly expected in return for his insolence.

“Sopp hopp u topp u popp.”

Jason laughed and returned his attention to the stick. He focused on sharpening it into a spear by scraping it back and forth on the porch.

Angie shook her head at them. She didn’t engage in their games. “Have you heard from Tiffany?”

Jason groaned in response.

Since Angie had started mooning over Colin, a skateboarding punk with long blond bangs in their art class, they talked extensively of the assorted emotions their crushes induced. Jane didn’t mind. No one else asked about her crushes. No one else knew. Well, Jason knew. But they didn’t talk about it.

Jane shook her head. It was nothing, she’d told Angie. But the mention of Tiffany’s name still intoxicated her and made her flush at the remembrance of hands besides her own within the confines of elastic and fabric that cloaked her body. How easy it’d been. How thick and heady. How she wanted more of it.

But Tiffany was long gone. Back to Hot Springs after spending the summer in Maud with her grandparents. There wouldn’t be any late-night calls or letters. Jane knew the drill. If there was one thing she excelled at, it was how to pack up her heart and move along.

“You know that girl Georgia Lee?” Jane chewed without lifting her head off the railing, causing her jaw to pop. A chipped piece of paint poked her chin, and she rubbed the spot. All Jane knew of Georgia Lee was she was cute if you could endure the ever-present pastel and smile she wore—like nothing bad had ever touched her family tree—the overbearing desire to win school elections and have her photo featured more than anyone else under the “Most” designations in the yearbook, and the strange way she had of talking, like she’d stepped out of Steel Magnolias. Every time Jane saw her, she wanted to yell Shelby! She also looked at Jane and Angie all the time, like they were some kind of science experiment. It was weird, and attractive.

Angie took the gum wrapper out of her pocket and stuck her chewed gum inside. She folded it into a tight, neat package and slipped it back into her pocket. “She’s not a nice person.”

Before Jane had a chance to interrogate Angie about her comment, Warren’s car rumbled into the drive.

Beside her, Jason muttered, “Fopp u copp kopp.”

Jane’s pulse always quickened at the thought of what Warren might say or do in Angie’s presence.

“Jason and I should go in and do some homework,” she said, checking to see how close Warren was to stepping out of the car. “We both have big tests tomorrow.”

“You don’t have to lie.” Angie looked toward Warren’s car and then back at Jane. “We live in Maud. I’m not stupid.”

Jane reached over to grab Angie’s hand, but Angie slipped out of her grip.

“I know you’re not stupid,” Jane said. “I don’t want him to . . .” Speak. Look at Angie. Hurt her the way he hurt Jason with his crude remarks, even though Jason swore he didn’t care. “I’m sorry.”

Warren watched them from behind the wheel. He wore sunglasses, but Jane could tell from the set of his jaw and the way his mouth turned down that something had already set him off and it’d be best to steer clear.

Angie slipped through the porch rails. “I’ll see you at seven?”

She asked every night during the school week, even though she walked with them to the bus stop every morning. Maybe Angie knew more than she let on. Like if Jane and Jason didn’t show up, she might call the cops. Like that would do any good.

“See you at seven,” Jane said.

Jason waved goodbye.

Angie paused and then rounded the hoarder’s trailer, back to where she lived on the other side of the trailer park, the sunny side. It wasn’t but a minute’s walk, maybe a little more, but it felt like a hundred miles some days.

“Just stay quiet,” Jane told Jason. He continued to sharpen his stick.

The car door shut, and Jane returned her attention to the empty window across from her. She wondered if the woman inside was dead or alive. If she heard things. If she was the one who sometimes called the police.

The wooden boards creaked under Warren’s weight, even though he wasn’t a big man. Tall, but not big. Stringy looking. Mean. He banged a pack of cigarettes on his palm.

“What are y’all doing out here?” On his bad days, he’d add, Y’all stupid or something?

If they sat outside, it was wrong. If he found them inside, it was worse. They were too loud. Or too quiet. Too visible. Or too absent. There was never a right place or way for them to be.

“You hear me? You deaf or something? What are you doing?”

Jane sat still. Jason’s sharpening slowed. “Nothing.”

The light hit the window just right, bright enough that Jane could watch Warren light his cigarette and blow smoke into the air. “All you kids do is nothing. Must be good at it.”

Smoking kills, and I hope you die. Jane said nothing. Nothing was the best move.

Warren walked behind Jane and poked Jason with the toe of his boot. She could feel Jason stiffen beside her. Fight or flight, she’d learned in biology. Run, Jane. Run. But she’d never run without Jason. And he never seemed ready for that. His patience surpassed hers.