After Dakota Part 5

That Sunday feeling, the last free hours of the weekend draining like water from the bathtub.

The Vanzants' car turns onto the street. Claire stops her bike and watches them come toward her. They haven't been back to church since the funeral; maybe they chose a new place of worship where no one will feel sorry for them. They're wearing sungla.s.ses in the car, so she can't tell if they've been crying. Maybe they cry every day. Or never.

Mr. Vanzant comes back out of the garage with a Styrofoam cup held between his hands like a precious vase. "If you ever want me to walk Noni again, I can," Claire says from her bike, atop the steep driveway.

He peels the lid off the cup. Inside is all red and black movement ladybugs, filled to the top. "To eat the aphids," he says. He shakes the cup gently; the first explorers emerge, spread their wings, fly out in curlicues.

Claire and Mr. Vanzant stand and watch thousands, like a magic carpet unrolling into the thick afternoon.

After that she's not sure whether to leave him alone, but he doesn't make any move to go inside. The lawn sprinklers turn on; droplets. .h.i.t the backs of her legs. She shields her eyes from the sun and sees his bottom lip tremble. His beard has begun a comeback, looking like dust along his jawline. He honks his nose into a handkerchief. "Pardon me," he says.

"I miss her too."

He nods and keeps nodding, maybe not even aware he's doing it. A ladybug drops onto the back of his hand for a moment before taking off again. He mumbles, "Dakota's in a better place now," then walks away with his empty cup.

Claire aims her bike down the driveway and flies like an arrow.

24.

Cameron pulls a large combination pizza from the oven, by his count the forty-ninth of the night. Typical busy Sat.u.r.day. Two pizza makers (Cameron and Loo), two busboys, two girls working the registers and pouring drinks.

Karl the busboy reports that a kid vomited in the dining room. The beer tap clogs up around eight o'clock. No one orders a hot dog.

After he and Loo bang through the kitchen cleanup and punch out, Cameron finds Bryce sitting on the hood of his Dodge Dart in the parking lot. "We need to do something," Bryce says.

"About what?"

"My parents are at some rotary event and I don't want to stay home with Claire. She's being weird. Weirder."

They're in Cameron's car, Chuck E. Cheese two minutes behind them, when they realize neither knows where to go next. Ideas are broached (bowling at Fiesta Lanes; the late-night record store) but die from lack of enthusiasm. Endless streets of gas stations and fast food restaurants await them.

"You still haven't gotten this seatbelt fixed?" Bryce asks, holding up the two halves.

"Don't worry, we won't crash."

"You don't know that. How many times have I ridden in this car with no seatbelt and anything could've "

"Relax, Polly Paranoid. We're just driving around."

They go to Geoff's house because he always seems to know what's going on, and where, even though he's never invited. Walking toward the front door, Cameron and Bryce play rock-paper-scissors: loser has to ring the bell. Geoff's mom has a gla.s.s eye and sometimes remembers to wear an eyepatch when she has it out; it's best if Geoff answers the door.

"I could kill both you b.i.t.c.hes before you knew what was happening," a voice hisses from the shadows. They stop. A ninja drops out of the big tree next to them, brings its curved sword in slow swiping motion toward Bryce's neck.

"Screw you, Geoff," Bryce says, waving his arms in front of him for protection.

The ninja laughs, pulls off his hood. Geoff's eyes are wide and wild. "I blended in pretty good, huh? You guys had no idea."

"What are you doing out here?" Cameron asks.

"Honing my skills." He sweeps the sword back and forth slowly, exhaling with each move. Both of Geoff's parents work into the evening, which means he can obtain all his ninja gear from a mail order company; he just has to be the first one home to get the packages off the porch.

Bryce asks, "Would you guys rather know when you're gonna die, or how?"

Cameron says, "That depends on the how. If it was in bed when I'm a hundred, then cool."

Geoff says, "Dude, what if it was, like, eaten by a shark? Or having your intestines sucked out into an airplane toilet?"

"So you guys would choose when?" Bryce asks.

"No, because what if it's tomorrow or next week?" Cameron answers.

"Live it up, baby." Geoff makes a box pattern with his sword. "Time to get revenge on all your enemies, bang all the women you want."

Cameron backs away from the blade. "What, they're gonna suddenly say yes because you tell them you have a week to live?"

"You guys still didn't pick," Bryce says.

Geoff: "Method. No, date. No, method. Method."

Cameron: "Neither."

As for fun times tonight, Geoff's no help. Bryce and Cameron return to the car. Cameron waves as they pull away, but realizes he's waving to an empty driveway. The ninja has vanished.

They cruise the nice neighborhoods, looking for signs of a party: loud music, a bunch of cars parked in front of a house. Stand around with a plastic cup of beer and complain about school all night, dance, maybe make out with someone, maybe more. Start all over again the next weekend.

It's barely fun at all, but being seen is a good thing.

Tonight, Cameron wants to find one because Rosemary may be there. He wants Bryce to see her, to see the resemblance for himself and to be amazed. Since she's never in the snack bar when the boys are together, this is the next best option. Plus, the chance for something more between Cameron and her.

On the radio, my angel is a centerfold.

They could go to Circle K for snacks, but the chances of Ricky Zaplin and his gang being there make that an unwise choice. Zaplin is in a perpetually bad mood; all he needs is a chance to take it out on someone weaker.

Bryce talks to distract them from this aimless wandering.

First topic: the new TV show Manimal. "A guy who transforms into animals to solve crimes come on, how great is that?"

Second topic: the college fair next month, how it's already written on the big calendar in Bryce's kitchen. Significantly less cool than Manimal.

They end up back at Chuck E. Cheese in the dark parking lot. Cameron parks one spot over from his original place, so it's not so pathetic. He says, "My mom's on a date tonight with a guy named Barry. He's a dentist." Their date location: Nostalgic Night at the state fair, headlined by bands Cameron has only heard of thanks to AM radio. His mom pranced out the door in jeans, an orange and white checkered shirt tied above her belly b.u.t.ton, a white cowboy hat with fringe on it. He'd never known she owned a cowboy hat before tonight.

"You could have a stepdad named Barry," Bryce says.

"It's one date."

"You think they're getting it on right now?"

"New topic," Cameron says.

Bryce sighs. "I need a girlfriend. I can't turn eighteen and never have gotten further than first base."

"Are you talking about premarital s.e.x?"

"You're never gonna let me forget that, are you?" The fateful night Cameron came to a youth group sleepover that morphed into a Beware Of s.e.x lecture.

"Guess I should go home and start my homework," Cameron says.

"Fine, Mr. Four-Point-Oh." Bryce opens the door. "I'm gonna go to my Honeycomb Hideout and not do homework."

"Hey, what was that s.h.i.t about knowing how you'll die?"

"Something I've been thinking about," Bryce says. "I decided I'd go with knowing when." He shuts the door, gets into his own car.

At home, Cameron stops in the kitchen for a Sprite before heading for the bedroom. Pa.s.sing his mom's closed door he hears her say something. "What?" he whispers back, unsure if this is her talking in her sleep again.

"You're so bad," a man says at regular volume, then he laughs. Barry. Cameron dashes to his room before he hears anything worse.

There's no trace of the mystery guest the next morning, and Cameron doesn't ask about him.

25.

Claire jogs the track in P.E., dressed in a plain T-shirt, her name written across the front in black marker. Coach Bowles stands to the side in her everyday velour tracksuit, keeping time with a clipboard and stopwatch. In middle school, P.E. meant things like square dancing, the boys and girls lined up on opposite sides of the gym, with the boys jockeying for position to get the cutest girls as dance partners. Here they've been running the track and doing fitness tests: chin-ups, push-ups, jumping jacks, general misery. Who invented a cla.s.s like this?

In front of Claire, some boys with socks up to their knees jostle each other, trying to get ahead. The girls who go half-effort on everything jog behind. Bowles blows her whistle and runners angle off toward the locker room.

Claire pa.s.ses the open door of the weight room, where inside the dimness guys curl barbells and growl like wild animals.

Claire's lunch routine is to get Doritos or maybe a Hostess pie from the vending machine. She goes to the bathroom next to the library, sits in the stall and eats. She keeps her notebook ready, to scribble down things said from stall to stall or at the mirrors: "They were totally Frenching in the parking lot."

"I'm pretty sure the chorus goes, 'I miss the plains down in Africa.'"

"No, it's 'I catch the waves.'"

"Orange juice gives you bad breath, but if you chew gum it's not harmful."

"Did you see what Nora's wearing today?"

"Don't you mean Hor-a?"

How many more days of this?

Claire and the other students develop their first rolls of film in the darkroom, the air hazy with a chemical smell. Mr. Duran circulates; the red ceiling bulb makes his white mustache pink. "I see overexposure in some of these, folks," he says. "Remember what we talked about." Claire pulls from the water her picture of Baloo lying in a patch of sun on the back porch. Mr. Duran stands over her shoulder, nods at the photo, and moves on.

Meredith has a piano lesson after school on Tuesdays, so Claire goes home, makes a float (a scoop of coffee ice cream in a tall gla.s.s of 7-Up), and watches Love Connection. Some poor person will come on, looking for a date, then go out with one of three choices. The best episodes are the ones where the dates go terribly wrong, where the host, with his coiffed hair and fancy suits, shakes his head as the couple argues.

After the show's over, Claire puts on a Journey record in her room, then lies on her bed and starts her homework. Right as side one ends, she hears her mom's low voice out in the hall. "Ask her how her day was."

When the knock comes, she knows. "Come in."

Her dad stands in the doorway, cigarette smoke hanging over him. "Permission to enter Claire's lair."

"Daddy, I'm not ten years old anymore."

"You certainly aren't." He stands in the middle of the room, trying to look at ease. "How was your day?"

"Fine."

"What are you working on?"

"Algebra."

"Wouldn't you be more comfortable at your desk?"

"Nope."

"You wouldn't?"

He looks around like he's touched his plane down on some uncharted planet.

He used to come in here at night, lie next to Claire after her mom had read a bedtime story, and sing "My Darling Clementine." Claire wished her name were Clementine so that she could have her very own song. She would fall asleep to the tune, his fingers scratching her back, the smell of his green aftershave.

He picks up Animal Farm off her desk. "This is a good one. You like it?"

"I haven't started it yet. The first chapters are due tomorrow."

"Sounds like you have a lot of work. I'd better let you get back to it."

"Yeah."

"Well, ok, then." He's not sure whether to leave her door open or closed, so he settles on ajar.

Dinner that night is spaghetti with Ragu sauce, the first time the Vanzants aren't mentioned at grace. Claire's good news is that Mr. Duran liked her photo. Bryce offers that he aced an Economics quiz. Claire takes her dessert a Sara Lee frozen cream puff and the newspaper up to her room, where she hunts for an article to cut out for her current events notebook in Mr. Hagen's cla.s.s.

Ireland bans abortion.

Mice die from radiation poisoning somewhere called Love Ca.n.a.l.