Emily Franklin - Principles Of Love 06 - Labor Of Love (13 page)

�H o just like that?" Chili asks, handing money to the woman in the booth.

"Yeah--it was a total turning point in our relationship. I told everything and he listened. Not just listened. He heard me." I bend and fold the cash in my own hand, cash I'm not looking forward to parting with. With my whittling down my caf� shifts and taking off to LA, my bank account state ment isn't what I hoped it'd be. I need more money for col lege visits, for senior year.

"That's so great."

"It is. It's like Charlie and I admitted to one another that we each have a past, you know? That we've been other places or felt other things, but chosen to be together. It's al most stronger that way." Chili nods. I hand my money over, getting in return a snake-length of paper tickets, each one

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a potential ride or game. I take in the bustling scene:Ven dors with pretzels, bright pink wads of cotton candy, and sno-cones are next to the kiddie area, which boasts a roller coaster painted to resemble a dragon, miniature bikes that go in circles, and then larger rides--the Whip, the bumper cars. I smile when I see them.

Chili looks at me."What?"

I shrug."Nothing.What do you mean?"

"You just got a look," she says, eyeing me for further evidence.

I shake her off and lead us to the totally unscary House of Hauntings where Haverford, Chris, and the cool set--Jon Rutter, Nick Samuels, Chloe Swain, and Jacob Coleman-- are all waiting. After the hugs hello and overlapping how's it goings, we join the line. Supposedly creepy groans and deep-voiced moans emanate from loudspeakers cleverly po sitioned behind thick black curtains.

"Are you ready to get frightened?" Nick asks. He's all swagger and fun.

"Oh, yeah, this'll be terrifying," Chloe says. I know her only from my social history class and a few conversations in the student center, but she seems nice."A real shocker."

Chili pipes up. "I hate these things. They're such lame attempts at fright."

"You're just jaded," Jacob says.

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"Yeah." Jon nods."Didn't your dad do that series of hor ror movies?"

Chili and Haverford's dad is a serious filmmaker now, but he has early misfortunes on his resume. Haverford steps up."Why yes--we had the pleasure of screening The Mouth of the She-Wolf last week, just to remind Dad that he wasn't always so cool."

"My mother laughed all the way through," Chili says. "But it was freaky in some parts."

We move as a herd into the front of the line.When it's our turn, we all pile into the small black carts. I'm with Jon Rutter and Chili. Nick Samuels bunks in with Haverford and Chloe. And Jacob rides solo, ever the man of his own mind.

"Hey, Coleman," Jon shouts to Jacob, "you know what happens to the character that wanders out alone, right?"

The carts chug into the darkened tunnel, where the pre recorded moans and groans get louder. Ripped up pieces of fabric hang from the ceiling, fake blood splatters the sides of the wall, and every few seconds something jumps out at us--a beheaded mannequin, twin kid dolls that look nor mal except for their evil eyes and fangs. I can't help but laugh, surrounded by familiar people and generally having fun.Then the cart swivels, and we're in a hall of mirrors, only the lights are blackened and various monsters show up with us in our reflections.

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"When did the House of Hauntings get so high-tech?" I ask.

"Man, that's kind of freaky," Jon says.

"It's only lighting and cels on the strobe," Chili says.

"Well, deconstructing it doesn't make it any less scary," Jon says.Then, just in case we think he's a wuss,"Not that I, personally, am scared. . . ."

"Right." I look at the nearby carts. "Hey--there's Haverford."

Chili makes a ghostly noise, and Haverford echoes her as our cart glides on the tracks and into the dungeon. Right when we're paused by the fake jail cell that houses more mangled mannequins, Jon jumps out of the cart, pulling Chili with him.

"Wait!" I yelp."Where are you guys . . ."

Then suddenly Haverford is next to me and the cart moves again. "What? You never heard of musical horror carts?"

"You guys are . . ." I'm stopped by a sudden burst of scary--a bodiless arm that flings out from the wall holding a dagger. I duck to avoid it."What the . . ."

Haverford taps me on the shoulder. "Hey--now that I have you alone . . ."

"Don't tell me you're the killer," I say and imagine the whole thing as one of those uber-self-aware horror flicks

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where everyone's well versed in the genre and yet manages to get sliced up anyway.

"Ah, no," Haverford says, whispering in my ear. "That I'm not."

I look at him, our heads close together as the dungeon- people rail against their bars."What?"

"You think Chris is still into me?" Haverford grips the metal bar that's meant to keep us from jumping out of the cart.

"Tough call," I say. I can't immediately tell Chris's side of the crush story--that he is still, but that I believe the interest is fading due to lack of requitedness. But I don't want to do him the disservice of hinting that the crush is over and done with, either, because that might mess up any potential future. "Why do you ask?"

Haverford shrugs. "No particular reason." He swats at a headless horseman."Someone might want to know."

"Someone meaning . . . ?" The cart turns, this time into a fake swamp complete with dripping sounds and wolf howls, as though wolves prowl through marshy areas all the time.

"Meaning me," Haverford says while leaping out of the cart, momentarily being stranded on the narrow edge near a disgusting tree made of seaweed or something equally stenchy and damp. Then he jumps into an oncoming cart while I am, yet again, alone. This time, I look around and

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there's no one I know. Just me, a dark and eerie swamp, and noises.

"I hate this," I say aloud, even though I'm smiling and it's an overstatement. I know it's all a set, none of it's real, but it's one thing to make fun of it en masse, another thing when you're by yourself and things are jumping out.Another sev ered arm lands near my face. I scream. A stupid mummy jumps out--I laugh-scream.Then a hand falls from the wall, right onto my shoulder. I squirm to avoid it, but it doesn't let go.The cart pauses near a supposedly capsized jeep, up turned in the water, with ghostly images of its former pas sengers swaying in the dark. I move to the other side of my cart, only to be met with another squeeze.This time, I feel hands on both shoulders.The surprise is great enough that I yell--loudly.

"Ahhhh! I need . . ." What? Help? A knife? The lights to go on?

The hands and arms clutch my shoulders, then circle me in a grip that in friendly circumstances would be a hug but in a house of hauntings is just plain scary.

Then--plop--Jacob appears next to me. He faces for ward, gripping the cart's bar. "What'd I miss?" he asks like we're watching the Friday Night Flicks at Hadley, the movie screening series, where only true film buffs, freshmen, and the stoned go.

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Still shaking from the viselike hold his hands had on me, I elbow him in the ribs and he winces."Jerk! I was scared."

"Um, isn't that the point?" he asks as the cart swivels back and we're on the other side of the fake swamp, moving toward the hall of mirrors again.

"Yeah, but only in an ironic way--like, we're about to be seniors and aren't we cool and clever to go on this ride," I say and put my hands on the rail.

"It's that kind of mind-set that always gets screwed in the movies," Jacob says.

I hold up my hand to stop him."Before you launch a list of movies, let me just say that I prefer rides like . . ."

"The tea cups?" he jokes.

"No. Do I seem like a tea cups kind of girl?" I make cluck ing noises with my mouth to show he's way off. "No--I like flume rides. I like the Whip. I like games, squirting plastic ducks to win a prize. I like bumper cars. . . ."

Jacob looks at me, his eyes holding all of that night, in the parked bumper cars. He puts his hand on mine on the railing. I let it rest there for a second or two and then move my hand away. "You're not a freak-fest kind of girl?" Jacob ignores the brief touch and points to the werewolf head that appears from the wall. It's dark in the tunnel now as we head toward the mirrors, and just as quickly as he appeared, he vanishes.

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Chris appears in Jacob's place, seamlessly.We sit there in the dark, the other carts in front of us leaving the darkness and entering the ghastly hall of mirrors, a veritable prom of all the gross creatures we've seen throughout our ride.

"Well, this has been truly frightening," Chris says, deadpan.

"Yep," I agree.The cart moves from darkness into gray ish light, the mirrors on all sides, so we can see each cart. A projector makes a third party appear next to me and Chris, a guy in a top hat and monocle, as if proper attire connotes creepy."Um, random guy sitting with us."

Chris drapes his arm around the hologram and I laugh. "Maybe he'll date me."

"Speaking of which," I start,"remind me to tell you what Haverford said."

"Okay," Chris says, his lascivious grin on. "Remind me to tell you what he did."

I raise my eyebrows. "A lot can happen in an eight- minute ride," I say, smiling.

Chris's smile changes to surprise and he nudges me so I'll see why. In the mirror, a few carts ahead, two bodies ignore their hologram extra passenger. Chloe Swain and Jacob are in lip-lock. Not the graphic, hookup kind, but the romantic, sweet--his hands on her neck, her hair--kind. The Jacob kind. My stomach dips down farther than it did when the headless dolls appeared.

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Outside, we all dismount from the carts and walk toward the food vendors. Chili comes up next to me, aware that my skin is buzzing with everything I've seen.

"So," Nick Samuels starts, "what's the verdict? Lame, laughable, or truly frightening?"

I look at Jacob, who may or may not notice."Oh, it might not be that believable," I say,"but it was definitely scary."

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L hen I decide to do something--go to London, write a paper, get back in shape by running every day--I usually do it. So when I wake up at dawn, and a combination of inspi ration and desperation compels me to the Oak Bluffs library to write my college applications and essays, I pretty much know I won't emerge until they're done to my satisfaction.

Leaving behind the newly named caf�, I shake off the heated memories of the naming ceremony. The crowd was decent-sized, thanks to on-beach advertising and good word of mouth about the free blended drinks--my signature Mo chanilla Chiller. Ula and Doug unveiled the new sign--a rectangle in which Mable's is carved and painted in gold leaf--and I gave a few words about Mable and her spirit, her warmth, compassion, love for her job, and how most of all she was the best person to curl up with a good cup of coffee

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and talk to.Then they erected the sign and people cheered before scooping up Mochanilla Chillers and mingling. In this crowd were Charlie, who stood near me, and Jacob, who stood near Chloe Swain, Nick Samuels et al, and Chris, who kept eyeing Haverford. I looked mainly at Doug and Ula and the sign, once at Henry Randall, whose dad owns the caf� property. Henry gave me the prep school half hello that translates into I know you, we might have been friends or hooked up, but now we're sort of just acquaintances. I never hooked up with him, but he and Arabella had a summer fling, and I don't harbor ill feelings toward him. More a void. But when my eyes traveled the crowd and landed on Jacob, I couldn't help but try and see what--if anything--was hap pening with him and Chloe. It's not that I'm invested in him, but I've definitely got too much curiosity--if his mind were a journal, I'd love to read it. I couldn't detect any direct body contact, but the image of his mouth on hers in the tunnel of hell came back to me while I was staring.And just as I thought I had gotten away with sneaking these glances, I felt someone else's gaze on me. Charlie's eyes were glued to me as I looked away from Jacob. Charlie's eyes didn't register annoyance or hurt, but he definitely took note. When I'd given Charlie a smile, I flicked back--once--to Jacob, and caught him looking at me, too.

Covert glances, lustful longings, and reproachful gazes

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aside, I gather everything I need into an overstuffed back pack and drive to the Oak Bluffs library. I choose Oak Bluffs because the library is a little removed from town and where I'm less likely to run into another Hadley person checking email. I can't run the risk of sitting near a window and watch ing people I know go by lest they lure me away, so I drive to the next town, and park not on Chili and Haverford's street because again, I don't want to get distracted, but on a quiet street jumbled with painted cottages and porches.

The inside of the library is suitably hushed. I sit at the back, cloaking one of the computer chairs with my jean jacket, taking over the real estate space with my hoards of stuff. Once I'm settled, I try at first to do the Charlie Ad dison technique of having all of my study implements in order. But it's not me.Within moments my pens, printouts, notes, and disks are strewn about the desk. Rather than the dread I've been harboring for months, maybe even years, I sit with my Common App and start with all of the mindless info--educational background, test scores, academic honors (how tempting is it to make stuff up like "Most Punctual" or "Most Likely to Write Song Lyrics in Class"), and so on. Only when it gets to parents' educational background do I pause. Okay, I know where my dad went, what degrees he holds, and so on. I bite my lip. Do I guess at my mother's? I wipe my face with my hand.This could totally throw me off

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track, all this wondering. But I don't let it consume me like it would have at one point. My mother's note to me is in my bag, still unread. In the space for maternal information, I write "Unknown," deciding this is the most truthful, accu rate information.Yes, I know she went to school, but I don't think she graduated, and I have no proof. There's no story, no degree on our walls, nothing that states her whereabouts, scholarly or otherwise. With resignation, I realize that even though Labor Day is rapidly approaching, her sudden pres ence in my life might not change as much as I thought. It will take time to have her drop-in appearance domino into the day-to-day of my world.