Chapter Three
But enough political blather! This morning, I play my music loud and I sing along! I�ve got my awesome (not really) sound system crankin� out a song called �Get Up! Rapper� which is probably the only rap song I can tolerate. Never mind that it�s sung by five girls, all in Japanese, and includes a lyric about eating banana chips. It doesn�t have an ear-shattering bass line and isn�t about degrading women, so I like it.
�Eva!� I hear Chris shout, and he runs over to me. �Where�s Rajani?�
�She has the bird flu,� I replied matter-of-factly.
�Bummer,� he replied. �But yet you�re here!� He grinned at me, bringing back a whole wide world of memories for me. Most of them involved the ridiculously long-lasting crush I had on him, until he came out when he was 15. Good times. NOT. I mean, sometimes when I�m around him, I just remember what terrible luck I have with humans of the male gender. In fact, the last boyfriend I had was�oh, that�s right, never. Of course, Rajani is so good-looking that guys here at this school are basically lining up to ask her out.
�Nowhere else in the world I�d rather be,� I replied sarcastically.
�Tell me about it. Thank God it�s Friday, huh?� He led me over to the front of the school. We passed by two people who were almost copulating right here, right in the front of the school, for God�s sake. No wonder they keep the little kids away from here.
�Jesus tap-dancing Christ,� I growled. �Get a fucking room.� I was expecting one of them to give me some smart mouth, but they seemed to be stuck together. I remembered a funny cell phone commercial wherein a girl with braces and a guy with a lip ring got stuck together and then the announcer said something about Family Share minutes. Maybe that was the predicament these two were in, though I found it highly unlikely that the guy had a lip ring, considering that girls were only allowed to wear, at most, two sets of earrings. Anything else was completely verboten and could be punished by a wide range of disciplinary methods.
�Aren�t the people here so disgusting?� Chris asked. �It�s like having money has given them permission to do whatever they want. I heard this one girl, Julia, talking about how her parents have rented an apartment for her to have an after-prom party in.�
�But it�s January,� I remarked. �Prom isn�t until April.� Not that I�m going.
�Exactly. They�re glad to pay rent on an apartment that someone could LIVE in for five months until their little darling can get drunk and fuck people after prom.� Chris frowned, his eyes darkening.
�I�m not even going to prom,� I declared.
�Aww, why not, Eva?� Chris asked, sounding disappointed.
�Well, what�s the point? Go and see girls twirling around in vastly overpriced dresses with their little boy toys? Plus, the music sucks anyway.� Some of the dresses these girls will buy cost enough money to feed and vaccinate maybe 100 kids in an impoverished nation.
�It�s the last hurrah of high school!�
�That�s bullshit that the media�s fed you through high school movies for years, Chris! You�ve been brainwashed! Plus, didn�t we all go last year and hate it? I remember you swore never to do it again. What�s changed in you?� I didn�t mean to rant at him, but I really wanted to know!
�Well, it�s just that�I�m dating someone now, and he wants us to go to prom, partly because he wants to see if they�ll let us in, and partly because he�s very sentimental.�
Honestly, does everyone in a couple just lose their mind or something?
The bell rang, abruptly ending our conversation, and I went into photography class with a large desire to just be alone. I took one of the cameras and went outside, towards the lake. I sat on the benches for a moment and just stared out at the water, and how the sun�s reflection made the ripples shine like diamonds. Then, I started to hum a very sad song about love. I took a few pictures, too, from this distance.
�Ai ni itsumademo akai ito wo musundeku no wa muzukashii desu ne,� I sang softly. I found out what that line means by looking it up on the Internet. It means �It's always hard to tie a red thread to love� and draws on the Japanese belief that we are all tied to the destined person in our lives by an invisible red thread. It�s a cute theory, but it raises the question: How will we know? Is there such thing as a red thread, or is that just more bullshit, like the theories about prom?
I couldn�t stop thinking about this all day long. I started to look at the little couples here at Panama City Prep in a different light. Were any of them connected by their red threads? Was that girl�s boyfriend her destined person or just someone she would break up with when they got to college?
I was still thinking deeply when I got to the parking lot after school. I like to get there a little later than everyone else in order to let the crowd thin out, mostly because many of my fellow drivers drive huge cars that I frankly don�t think they can drive very well in. By this time, most of the cars are gone, and the spaces around me are empty. I was just climbing into my car when I saw, out of the corner of my eye, a small white blur. I pride myself on my good eyesight, but I couldn�t properly see this thing, so I got out of my car and crept over very carefully until the white blur took shape and became a kitten. It was an adorable little animal, a Siamese kitten with little brown ears and paws and big crystal blue eyes.
�Well, hey there,� I said sweetly, kneeling down and holding my fingers out for this kitten to sniff with its little pink nose. It sniffed, then it rubbed its head against my hand. �Do you have a home?� There aren�t any homes around here, so this kitten would have had to travel a long way to get over here. This kitten had no evidence of ownership that I could discern, either. �No home, huh? Nobody to love you, huh? I feel like that sometimes.� I scratched this kitten behind its brown ears and it purred. �Why don�t you come on home with me?� I placed my arms beneath this purring little creature and lifted it up onto my shoulder, sneaking a look under its tail to confirm its gender.
I held in my arms a little girl kitten.
�All right, little girl,� I said, amending my statement to include the kitten�s gender. �Let�s go home.� I opened the passenger side door with one hand, balancing my kitten with the other, and carefully placed her on the seat. I shut the door and dashed over to my side, hopping in and shutting the door. This kitten looked up at me with the most plaintive look ever, as if to ask me �Where are we going?�
I turned on the radio and a song by Tommy February 6 came on my mix CD.
�That�s it! I know a name for you.� I turned to my kitten. �How does Tommy sound?� Tommy is the eponymous singer in Tommy February 6. Her real name is Tomoko, but I prefer the nickname. I scratched Tommy behind her ears again. �Okay, let�s go home now. I don�t think Mitchell will mind your presence.� Our family has a cat already, the secretive, grey, somewhat fat Mitchell. He�s about four years old and he�s technically Mike�s cat, so I think I�ll call Tommy my cat.
Today, I drive slower than usual because Tommy is, of course, not buckled up. I know that�s bad, but I don�t exactly have a cat carrier stashed in the back of the car for situations like this because I wasn�t expecting it. She starts meowing a few minutes into our ride, probably freaked out by all the new stuff around her.
�It�s okay,� I repeat over and over, like a mantra, but it isn�t truly okay until we get home. I swear, the best way to torture someone like me is to force them to listen to a cat crying without the ability to do anything about it. I had to turn up my radio pretty loud, and even then, I couldn�t completely escape it. When we finally return home, I grab my backpack and strap it on before leaning over and picking Tommy up. I held her in the same position as before and started to pet her. �Welcome home,� I told her, unlocking the front door and coming inside to an empty house.
That�s right! I didn�t do what I did yesterday or the day before. I came straight home after school, so nobody else is home yet. Mike doesn�t get out for another hour, and the parents both work until at least 5 PM. To recap, that leaves me, Mitchell, and Tommy in the house.
�Mitchell!� I called out, petting Tommy some more. �Here, boy! I have someone for you to meet.� Mitchell walked down the hall, slowly, grumpily, like my call awakened him from a deep sleep (which isn�t very unlikely). Tommy squirmed in my arms and I put her on the floor. �Mitchell, this is Tommy. Why don�t you show her around the house for a little while? I need to run up to Publix and get her some special food.� Some people think cats can�t respond to human commands, but Mitchell turned around and started to walk off down the hall, Tommy following behind, like he was taking her on a grand tour.
The nearest Publix is literally minutes from my house, so I sped over there, picked up some kitten food, and returned home, the whole time driving a little over the speed limit. It was so sweet when I got home. Tommy was literally waiting at the door for me, and she perked up when she sensed the presence of cat food.
�I think I�ll take you down to my room now,� I said, picking Tommy up and stopping by the kitchen to pick up two bowls. It was a terrifyingly entertaining balancing act trying to get downstairs without dropping anything, but somehow, I managed, and deposited little Tommy on the floor of my room. I filled up her food bowl and placed it near the wall by my door. Then, I was able to flop on my bed properly. I barely noticed my beret slip off behind me as I turned on the TV, hoping to get my news on.
Of course, my phone took this opportunity to ring. After I�ve had a seat and am getting comfortable, nonetheless. Remember what I said earlier about that song that sings about the red strings of fate? Yeah, I programmed that as my ringtone. Well, at least the background beat. My phone is too old for me to actually download the mp3�words and all�to my phone. I didn�t bother to look at the outside screen, instead just flipping my phone open to answer.
�Hello?� I asked.
�Hey, Eva, it�s me.� The only guys who call me are Chris, my dad, and Boss. This voice belongs to the third man on my list.
�Oh, hi, Boss. You called me right as I was getting comfy.�
�Sorry there, princess,� Boss said sarcastically. �Hey, I�ve been thinking of postponing the switchblade lesson for a while.�
�Why so?�
�Because most folks in our line of work don�t go for knives, and you are damn good at handling a gun. Got a bit of Annie Oakley in the family or something?�
�Hm�no, but I�m part Irish. Does that count for anything?�
�It counts for everything, Shamrock girl. That right there means that you got a liver made of iron. You drink much?� Shamrock girl? Is he trying to make me laugh?
�Nope. I�m underage, and even if I were of age, I wouldn�t. I�m straight edge.�
�Straight edge? What, pray tell, is that?�
�I wouldn�t expect you geezers to know anything about it.� He�s 5 years older than me. �It�s a movement of kids who refuse alcohol, drugs, and casual sex. It centers on punk music, but I don�t listen to that anymore and I still claim edge.�
�What do you listen to, Emerald lady?�
�You�re going to laugh. You�re going to laugh at me and think I�m a nerd and refuse to train me as an assassin anymore if I tell you.�
�Whoa, darlin�. Don�t you go and think that at all.�
�I�ve been thinking we should change our job title anyway. Assassin sounds like we plan to take out an authority figure, which we don�t. Why don�t we call one another confidence man and confidence woman?�
�You�ve been inspired by that Lost episode, haven�t you?�
�Does a bear shit in the woods?�
�You make a point there. Listen up, Confidence Woman, because here�s the scoop. Someone I�ve wanted to take out for a long time is in Panama City Beach tonight. I don�t know what the hell he�s thinkin�, because he should know that this is my turf, but he�s the idiot, not me. I know where he�s goin� and where he�ll be stayin�. So, what say you come on down with me and see what it�s like?�
�You mean, like, an apprentice confidence woman?�
�Yes, exactly like that. If you�re a good confidence woman and surprise me tonight, I�ll even take you to Dairy Queen afterwards.�
�Holy shit, I love Dairy Queen. I have wanted one of those Blizzards so badly.�
�Well, then, that will be the reward for you to work up to. I�ll come walkin� down the beach for you starting right now. Is it safe to bring over a car? I don�t wanna get my shoes dirty.�
�Not really. You�d be safer just coming around to my door and knocking three times. Just wear some old, scuffed-up shoes.�
�Will do, Confidence Woman. I�ll knock thrice.�
�See you then. Oh, Boss?�
�Yes�m?�
�I never told you what music I like.�
�Tell me. I won�t laugh.�
�I like ultra-energetic and ultra-happy Japanese girl pop.�
�I�d like to listen to that.�
�Excuse me?�
�You heard me. I�d like to listen to that.�
�I�ll play it for you sometime.�
�Okay, Confidence Woman, I gotta go. There�re too many families around for me to continue a mature-rated conversation. See you soon.�
�Bye�� I said, waiting for him to hang up first. He�s going to take me out on a mission? This early on? I�m nervous, to say the least, but also kind of excited. I made sure to give Tommy some attention before going upstairs and leaving a note saying that I was working. I also explained who Tommy was, just in case she got upstairs somehow while I was gone, and retreated back to my basement room. I checked my e-mail quickly to see if anyone else replied to my blog entry detailing every single thing about the newest Lost episode�nobody did�and then I sat down on my bed again to watch some CNN. Right as I was reclining again, I heard three staccato beats on the door and leapt up out of my comfort zone. I smoothed down my uniform�too late to change out now�and opened my door. Of course, I was expecting Boss to come by, but I wasn�t expecting him like this!
While I hadn�t bothered to change out of my uniform and I was still wearing my silly little beret, it was at once very obvious that Boss considered his outer appearance before coming over. He was wearing his hair down and the way it made a small wave at the ends reminded me of Sawyer, my other confidence man. I think this was intentional. He was wearing a white button-up shirt paired with a sleek black tie and blue jeans. Maybe he thought he was being too formal and balanced himself with the jeans, because they had a few holes in them from wear. Somehow, this outfit looked familiar to me, but I honestly didn�t care.
�Hey there, confidence woman,� he said with a smile. �Ready to go?�
�Hold on a second. I need to change purses.� I just thought of this system. I have two distinct purses, one that is safe for school and one that isn�t. The unsafe one contains both Brownie and Bitey�so that I always know where they are�and is located in the deep reaches of my closet, where no soul (except me) dares to go. Out of my safe purse I pulled my most important items: wallet, keys, and phone, and then I disappeared into my closet, returning with a cat head-shaped purse made of black vinyl. I got it from Hot Topic 3 years ago and it is the only purchase I�ve ever made from them because their prices are astronomical.
�Honestly, you girls and your purses,� Boss said.
�Oh, you just watch CNN or something. This purse has my gun and blade, so I need to keep it hidden.� I put the three items in the unsafe purse and zipped it up, hooking it onto my shoulder. �I�m ready to go now. Hey, how about we take my car? I left a note saying that I�m working tonight, so it�d be kind of weird if I didn�t take my car. I hope you don�t mind that I don�t have air conditioning�� I turned around, as I hadn�t been facing Boss, and saw him scratching Tommy behind her ears.
�Who is this?� he asked.
�That�s Tommy,� I replied.
�He�s cute.�
�She�s cute.�
�What kind of name is Tommy for a girl cat?�
�She�s named after a j-pop singer.�
�J-pop?�
�Japanese pop.�
�Oh, I see. Well, are you ready to go, or do you need to change outfits about four times, each time asking me what I think about it?�
�Think you�re smart, huh? No, I don�t need to do that. I�ll just wear my uniform. It kind of makes me look professional, anyway. Come on, let�s go.� I took my keys out and walked up the stairs to make sure the coast was clear. Finding that it was clear, I motioned for Boss to follow me, which he did.
�Nice place,� I heard him say.
�Thanks, my mom�s a realtor.� I opened the front door and ushered myself out, allowing him to follow me before shutting and locking the door. �Compared to your car, mine is a piece of shit. I hope you don�t mind terribly.�
�Hey, if it gets you around, right?� I�ll admit that he tried his best, but I guess seeing Bonkura inspires sour faces like the one he secretly made. I went around and unlocked his door, unlocked mine, and settled in. �Come on, the 17-year-old car won�t hurt you, I promise.� With a bit of a smile, he got in. �See? You�re still okay. Now, tell me, where are we going?�
�Bikini Beach hotel.�
I couldn�t help but laugh. Some of the hotels here, generally the lower-quality hotels, have strange names like that. I think it�s just to accentuate the cheese factor inherent in a place that is sometimes called the Redneck Riviera. We earn that nickname by selling Confederate-flag bikinis and beach towels, but I digress.
�Sounds like a place where they would find someone dead,� I commented.
�They will find someone dead there,� Boss told me in a deep, serious voice that quite literally scared me for a moment. I think he saw me tense up, because he started to backpedal. �I�m sorry, did that scare you?�
�Just a little. It�s kind of weird to think that I�m going to help end someone�s life tonight.�
The rest of the drive was spent in silence as I looked out the window at the city I loved, even though it had its flaws (see �selling of certain bikinis and beach towels�, above). I thought about the fact that its population would decrease by at least one tonight, though apparently, this guy didn�t live here if he was staying at a place called Bikini Beach. We pulled into the parking lot, which looked somewhat seedy in itself. I stopped the car and pulled out my purse before leaping out of the car, trying to be cool.
�Which room is he in?� I asked.
�105,� Boss answered, scanning the area for room 105. �Oh, there it is.� He pointed and I looked over to see one of the many white doors with brass numbers on it. Indeed, these particular numbers spelt out 105.
�What�s his name?�
�Mike.� Boss spat on the pavement.
�How old?�
�About as old as I am.�
�Around 23, then, okay. Do you know anything else about him?�
�Well, he�s a motherfucker, and I want to kill him.�
�That�s a good enough reason for me. Are we going to knock on the door?�
�Yes.� He led me up to the door, where he knocked three times, much like how he knocked on my door. �Oh, this one has a weakness for pretty girls.�
�He won�t have to worry about me, then.�
The door opened and a face stuck out to look at us. It was undoubtedly male, judging from the harsh square jaw line and existence of a goatee, which made me hate this Mike guy so much more. Mike had large blue eyes, a perky nose, and somewhat thick lips. He was somewhat tan, with a small bit of freckles dusted across his cheeks and nose, and had a single gold earring in one ear. His hair was bleached blond and fashionably disheveled. If it weren�t for the goatee, he may have been attractive.
�Buenos dias, Mike,� Boss said in a perfect Spanish accent. I took Spanish, and I couldn�t roll my Rs, plus my accent sounded incredibly awful.
�Gabe? It�s been years, man!� Mike said, trying to play it cool. I decided not to comment on the strange moniker for now, figuring that Boss (Gabe?) knew what he was doing. �Oh, who�s the lady?�
�This here�s Eva, my new friend.�
�How are you?� I asked, smiling sheepishly.
�So, Gabe, Eva, would you like to come in?� Mike invited us into his excuse for a hotel room. It had terrible burnt-orange carpet, stark white walls, some pictures of surf above the one bed (which had an ugly comforter pattern), a TV, and another door out to the beach, and that was it. Boss led me in and Mike sat down on the bed, so we decided to stand.
�So,� I declared, trying to usher in some conversation.
�I haven�t seen you since high school, man,� Mike started. I just can�t stand silence, so small talk is better than nothing. �How have you been?�
�Well, it turns out that college and I aren�t really meant for each other, so I�m just chillin� here, got a job and everything.� Heh, so Boss tried college and didn�t like it. Maybe it�s just not for everyone. But his name (?) is shocking me worse than electrodes to the nipples, so I have to know what�s going on here.
�Do you remember our senior trip to the Bahamas? What a good time that was, huh?� Mike asked. I could sense some nervousness here, so I opened my ears to whatever was going to be said next.
�It was good until you got drunk off your ass and ran off with Christine,� Boss said ruefully. �Mike, you could�ve killed yourself, and then you decided to get behind the wheel of a car, let alone with my GIRLFRIEND!� Oh snap!
�Well, Gabe, at the time I was very drunk��
�You weren�t drunk the next morning when you realized what you had done and ran home early, were you? Not that that was of much use. I just kicked your ass when we got home, anyway.�
�Yeah, I spent a week at the hospital because of that.�
�And you deserved it! Imagine my surprise a few weeks later when Christine drops me two A-bombs. Firstly, she dumped me for your slacker ass. Secondly, she was pregnant with your motherfucking baby. Did she end up giving birth to it or not?� This Mike guy is such a bastard! I want to kill him!
�Yes, she did�she had a little girl and named her Sarah.�
�A mother at just shy of eighteen. What a shame, isn�t it, Eva?�
�Yeah, it is,� I barked out immediately.
�But I don�t see either Christine or little Sarah with you now, Mike. So, what�s the story?�
�I couldn�t support a family, so I ran away.� Mike looked ashamed, but Boss just laughed.
�So, little Sarah has a deadbeat dad. What a life! Tell me, Mike. What�s going on with your life now? New girlfriend? New job? What�s up?�
�You�re in my current house,� Mike told us.
�Damn. You couldn�t even afford a long-term place that doesn�t have some sleazy name. Somehow, it seems like a reflection of your personality as a whole. Let me tell you this straight, Mike. Folks like you are such a drain on society.� Boss looked like he was reaching down to tie his shoe and I distinctly heard him mutter �Shut the door�, which I promptly did. I looked around and saw that there was nobody outside before I shut the door. I came back to the spot I was standing in and saw Boss pull his gun out of an ankle holster. That felt very professional and slick to me, so I tried to play it cool and take Brownie out of my purse.
�Whoa whoa whoa, let�s put the guns away, shall we?� Mike asked, backing up and sweating profusely.
�Have you touched anything in the room?� Boss asked me.
�Just the doorknob,� I replied.
�Wipe it off before we leave. Do you want to do the honors?�
�Why not? This man�s been nothing but trouble, apparently.�
�Show me how good you are at shooting.� I obliged Boss by squeezing Brownie�s trigger. When I squeezed that trigger, all my senses were on fire. I watched carefully as that one bullet went straight through Mike�s forehead�an awesome shot for a beginner, I know. I heard the crack of the wall behind him as Mike fell backwards from the momentum. I smelled the smell of gunpowder and blood. I tasted nothing because my throat was so dry from nervousness. All I felt was this odd feeling like I was floating away, though my feet were planted on the ground.
In death, Mike looked sort of dazed, like he was shocked to have been shot in the first place. I was also dazed, but in a different way. Something I did affected someone very deeply�namely, this person was dead, very dead, by my hand. I stood silently for a moment, smoking gun held taut in my hand. In the time I stood there like a tree, Boss went over into the bathroom and snatched up a washcloth, which he then used to wipe down the doorknob.
�Are you ready to go?� he asked me, his voice shattering the silence. I heard him open the door, so I threw Brownie back into my purse (clicking the safety back on first, though, because I�m not dumb) and looked over. It�s crazy for me to say, but the way the sunlight streamed in behind him and the way my eyes, now blurring up with a fresh batch of salty tears, naturally blurred his image made him look somewhat angelic. Instead of answering verbally, like I�m sure he wanted me to, I ran over and buried my head on his shoulder.
Somehow, he managed to move us out of the doorway and shut the door. I�m sure he�ll be pissed off later for getting his shirt wet, but for now, he seemed okay with the fact that I was now crying out approximately enough tears to reverse a drought.
�Hey, hey, it�s okay now. I felt bad my first time, too.� I noticed that he was using intentionally vague words and phrases, which was a good call on his part. However, the particular words he used could make this sound, to a passerby, like I just lost my virginity. How awkward! Maybe he, too, sensed this, because he decided that he needed to put his two arms somewhere. So, natch (naturally), he chose to hug me.
Maybe I haven�t said this before, but I�ve never had a boyfriend ever. The closest I got was crushing after Chris, who isn�t available for obvious reasons. He hugs me a lot because he�s a touchy-feely person, but his hugs don�t have the same feeling as this one did. He just hugs like a friend; Boss hugs like he wants something more but can�t express it. At one point, I think he was running his hand through my hair. It was a perfect moment and I was seriously not looking forward to its end. Of course, as we have all learned before, all good things eventually do come to an end.
�Come on, I�ll drive you over to Dairy Queen.� Oh yeah, he did promise to take me to Dairy Queen. Well, I can�t let him down now, plus he�s offering to drive (I never do well driving when I�m emotionally charged). I nodded and handed him my car keys.
One Blizzard with all the fixings later, Boss drove back to Orangeville. He seemed relieved that he wouldn�t have to walk home. I got out of the car and followed him up to his loft, almost like we were finishing up a date or something. I can only wish.
�Listen,� he began. �It�s going to be okay. I promise. You just did something shocking and I�m not surprised if you feel bad or anything because of it. If you want to talk, just call me, okay?�
�Okay.� He smiled at me once more before he stepped into his loft and shut the door.
CONTINUE to Chapter Four
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