How My Summer Went Up in Flames (14 page)

“Text from Lilliana,” he says.

I take my phone and read it.
SORRY ABOUT BEFORE. DIDN’T RECOGNIZE THE NUMBER. BLONDIE BROKE UP W JOEY.
So that’s why he called me.
WHEN? WHY?
I type back. A reply comes a few seconds later.
YESTERDAY. DUMPED HIM FOR A GUY W A CONVERTIBLE. CALL WHEN U CAN. LUV YA, BABE.
I guess Joey’s crispy ’Stang wasn’t cutting it. I wonder what he’s driving now. No. I don’t wonder what he’s driving.
Thoughts of Joey are not going to ruin my night.

I hand my phone back to Matty and start shimmying in front of him. Avery comes up and dances suggestively against his backside. He is loving life. I just hope he doesn’t do that whoop, whoop thing with his hand and embarrass us all. But then I turn and Spencer’s doing the very move I feared and I’m surprised to find I’m not mortified. Not even a little. I sidle up to Spence and bump his hip. He bumps me back. The music fills me from the inside out, making me feel like, well, I’m here with my friends. Deep in the heart of Texas. We dance together for at least five songs and then—

“Look out. Your BFFs. At five o’clock,” Avery shouts. She twists my head in their direction. I should have known those girls weren’t going to call me a bitch and let it drop. They plow through the crowded dance floor in their skinny jeans and tank tops complete with built-in power padding and head right toward me.

And then it happens. One of them—the one who’s wearing entirely too many fuchsia sequins—checks me with her shoulder, hard. They slide over and start dancing with Logan and Matty. As if. I whirl around, about to grab the one who bumped me, but drop my hand to my side instead.

“What am I doing?” I whisper.

Avery comes to my rescue—all five-foot one of her. She hands me her beer (how many does that make?) and muscles her way between Matty and my attacker. Before I can stop her, Avery turns her back to the girl and nudges her with her hip, smiling the whole time. I get the feeling she’s not quite sober.

“Yo. I was dancin’ here,” says the girl.

“That’s right, you were,” Avery yells over her shoulder.

Uh-oh. Things get positively messy after that. The bedazzled one’s friend, who is dancing near Logan, turns to Avery, grabs both her shoulders, and pushes her. I was trying to avoid a fight, but I can’t let her treat Avery that way. I put on my game face, walk up to the girls, and scream, “Back off!”

That’s when one of them slaps me across the face. My skin stings, and I don’t know how I keep it together, but I follow the golden rule of kindergarten and keep my hands to myself. Avery, however, does not. She slaps the girl right back, and that’s when someone yells, “Girl fight!”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see two burly bouncers sweeping people out of their paths as they descend on the dance floor and hone in on us. Logan sees them too
and at that point, he bends down and flings Avery over his shoulder. Matty sizes me up, hesitates, and grabs my hand instead. We dash toward the stairs, away from the bouncers and the dance floor, while the girls follow, swiping at me like two cats. On the first floor, we pass through the crowd in a blur, crash through the exit, and trip onto the sidewalk. The bouncers stop their pursuit at the door; they’ve got us where they wanted us anyway, I suppose. The five of us run down the street toward our waiting car. The sparkle sisters curse us up and down, complete with obscene hand gestures, but seem reluctant to pursue us in their stilettos. At least they got thrown out too.

The driver opens the back door as we approach the limo and tumble inside, all of us out of breath. Avery is the first to start giggling. One by one we join in until we’re all belly laughing. Logan’s eyes are tearing, he’s laughing so hard. I didn’t know that boy had it in him. It’s nice to see. He looks younger.

“I’ve never been in a bar fight before,” Avery gasps. “What an adrenaline rush!” Then she falls over onto Matty’s lap. Matty looks surprised, but not unhappy. He lays a hand on her arm and goes with it.

“I’m sorry, everyone,” I say. I feel like a shit. I’ve got
smart, classy Avery bitch slapping people in bars. I keep promising myself I’ll be a better daughter, a better friend, a better person, but it’s not working out so well. “I should have kept my mouth shut.”

“Are you kidding? That’s the most fun I’ve ever had,” Spencer says. He’s so serious, it makes my insides ache.

“Your heart was in the right place,” Logan whispers.

He puts his arm around me and gives me a squeeze that sends a warm sensation right down to my toes. I have the urge to fall against him and sink into his side; I want both his arms around me. I want to feel like I’m part of a couple again. But instead, for a reason I don’t completely understand, I shrug him off and lean toward the door to look out the window. The Dallas skyline rises sharply out of the flat landscape.
Just like Oz,
I think.

“I was trying to be better.” I whisper to myself, but Logan hears.

“Give yourself a break,” he says softly. “You’re better than you think, Rosalita.”

Oh, man, do I love the way my name sounds when Logan says it. In all the time we were together, Joey never said it. Not once. Then Logan takes my hand and gives my
fingers a quick squeeze. When he makes a move to let go, I don’t let him, and he doesn’t seem to mind. By the time we cruise up the long driveway to Avery’s estate, I’m feeling better. No, more than that, excited. Tomorrow, when my coach turns into a Taurus, I’ll be ready for New Mexico, ready to kick impulsive/angry/reckless Rosie to the curb and own the rest of this road trip.

 • • •

The sun is barely up and Logan is putting our bags in the trunk of the car. We all could have used more sleep, but Roswell is eight hours from here and the guys want to stop in Amarillo first to see something called Cadillac Ranch, which is going to add at least another hour to today’s driving time. Avery’s dad got up extra early to make us all a big breakfast. He’s the best. I’ve got to send this family a fruit basket as a thank-you when I get home. We never did meet Avery’s mom. I guess being a big-time cardiac surgeon doesn’t allow for much time at home. I feel bad for Avery, and for her mom.

When it’s time to say good-bye, I can’t believe how choked up I get. I hug Avery, holding on to her slight shoulders for a beat too long.

“Thank you. For everything,” I say, trying not cry.

“Thank you. For one crazy night. Come see me at ASU,” she says. “Anytime.”

“I will.”

“Who knows? Maybe you’ll love it and apply.”

I never even considered that I’d be visiting ASU at the end of this trip. I guess because, until now, I didn’t have any interest in touring some college campus, especially one that’s so far away from New Jersey.

I smile at her. “New Jersey’s beaches are the best in the summertime. You may need a break after building all those houses.”

“You may just see me,” she says.

I hope I do see Avery again—even if it is because she’s Logan’s girlfriend. Or Matty’s. I’ll be okay with that. I think. Why couldn’t Spencer have shed his nerdiness and swept Avery off her feet? He deserves a girl like her.

I climb into the backseat with Matty. As we pass the fountain, he hands me my phone. “A text from Lilliana. It must be from last night. I guess I didn’t notice it during the melee.”

I look at the screen.
BTW, JOEY KNOWS YOU’RE GOING TO ARIZONA.

Oh, shit. I guess I really did text him in my Benadryl haze. The fact that I racked up another TRO violation is nothing compared with my bigger worry. He wouldn’t come after me, would he? I don’t say a word, but Matty asks the question that’s making the pancakes in my stomach feel like they’re looking for a quick escape route.

“How did Joey find out about our trip?”

I’m standing in a cow pasture along Interstate 40
in Amarillo, Texas, gaping at ten vintage Cadillacs buried nose down in the brown earth. The cars are covered in spray paint and graffiti. I snap a picture with my cheesy camera in a box.

“Awesome. This looks like Stonehenge,” Matty says, shielding his eyes from the glare of the bright white sky as he looks up at the Cadillacs.

“Stonehenge is circular,” Spencer says. “This is a straight line.”

“It’s basically crappy old cars in the dirt,” I say. “We took a detour for this? Really?”

“There are no detours on a road trip, Catalano. There is only the road trip itself,” Logan says. I’m momentarily
bummed that I’m back to Catalano, but then he gives my upper arm a gentle squeeze and my stomach does a back handspring. But my mind reprimands my gut in an attempt to crush the oncoming crush. I throw in some sarcasm for good measure.

“Thank you, Deepak Chopra. What’s next, yoga?” I snipe.

“Ha! Rosie doing yoga. An even more improbable sight than Cadillacs in the desert,” Matty says. “You do know yoga is a form of exercise, not a cartoon bear, right?”

“Shut up, Matty.”

“What? You know I’m right.”

He is. He always is. It’s like traveling through life with a six-foot Jiminy Cricket looking over my shoulder. Maybe I should think about joining a gym when I get back home. A gym with a pool. I like to swim, and I need to find a better way to deal with stress and my misplaced aggression, as Lilliana would put it. I’m feeling more than a little edgy right now. I’ve been trying to piece together my last communication with Joey. Did I text him and delete the evidence? Did I e-mail him in my antihistamine delirium? Probably not. I hardly ever use e-mail anymore, but I wish I had used Avery’s laptop to check when I had the chance. Maybe it’s just a coincidence. Joey could have found out
where I’m headed from one of Eddie’s friends. But Joey isn’t the only thing that’s got me all uptight. It’s cloudy today, and during the entire ride across Texas, I could not stop scanning the horizon for tornados. Tornados and Wile E. Coyote. I watch those storm-buster shows on cable all the time, and this looks like the perfect place for one to touch down and siphon me, the boys, and the Taurus into its deadly cone.

When some actual tumbleweeds passed in front of the car, I made the mistake of wondering aloud if they come from one particular plant. Spencer, armed with a phone that is even smarter than he is, looked it up for me. Most tumbleweeds are just that, weeds called
Salsola
that were brought to North America in seed shipments from Asia. “So, a tumbleweed is nothing special, just a plant that dries out, disengages from its roots, and rolls away,” he said while reading his screen.

A common weed, disengaged from my roots and blowing across America. It’s exactly how I feel.

Now Mr. Smarty-pants moves on and is boring us with the details of these junkyard cars. “They are buried at the same angle as the Cheops pyramids,” Spencer notes.

“Oh, here we go. Can we be done now, please?” I beg.

“Not before we take some pictures and use these.”
Matty holds up two cans of spray paint. “Someone must have left them behind.”

“So what? We’re supposed to decorate the Cadillacs?” I ask.

“Of course,” Spencer says. “That’s why we’re here.”

Matty tosses a can to Spencer and starts shaking the other. The metal ball clanks as he walks over to one of the cars and writes his initials. Spencer sprays some ancient-looking design that probably has something to do with the origins of the universe. Logan takes the can from his brother and draws the recycling symbol, then tosses the can to me. I’m impressed they’ve all resisted any wisecracks about me lighting these babies on fire.

“Whatcha gonna do, Rosie? How’re you gonna leave your mark?” Matty asks.

The way Matty says it makes me stop and really think about it. I’ll probably never come this way again, honestly, because hello, why would I want to? But how will I leave my mark? I shake the can and mull it over as I walk toward one of the cars. Whatever I decide to paint here might be gone soon anyway. I think about my brick at Graceland, point the can, and spray.

“Hey, Matty! Can you take a picture of me?” I ask.

He walks over with my phone, points, and clicks, capturing Me at Cadillac Ranch standing next to a junk car, on which I’ve spray painted a big
WHY
? Those three letters cover a lot of territory for me. Next time I find myself in Amarillo, I intend to have some answers.

Logan walks over and takes a look. “Now who’s going all Buddha on us?” And then he turns down the dirt road toward our car, making that round-up motion with his finger. Is it possible I’m getting used to just how annoying he can be?

 • • •

The bulk of the drive from Amarillo to Roswell is spent on two highways—US 60 and US 70. I am bored and hungry and use my time to make some calls. First, my parents. Steve Justice called them to set up a prehearing meeting. Then Lilliana. No new Joey news, but she digs the photo I send of me at Cadillac Ranch.

I’m still antsy.

“I think I’m gonna call Avery,” I announce.

“I texted her a few minutes ago,” Matty says.

“You did?” Me and Spencer practically gasp in unison.

“Yeah. She says ‘hi, ya’ll,’” Matty says, doing his best Avery impersonation.

Logan remains silent, but I see his eyes shift toward
Matty in the rearview mirror. Is Logan jealous? Am I? And if I am, is it because Matty likes Avery or is it because Logan is jealous that Avery may like Matty? Then I wonder, if I jump out of this moving Taurus, will I die or simply tumble across the barren landscape like a
Salsola
plant?

I don’t feel like calling Avery anymore even though it’s possible I’m feeling most possessive of my new connection with her at this moment. I lean my head against the window, look across the endlessly flat landscape, and hope for a twister to take me away.

At some gas station in the middle of Nowheresville, the guys decide it’s my turn to pump the gas. People can say all the snarky things they want about New Jersey, but at least we don’t pump our own gas. All our stations are full service. It’s the law and a good one if you ask me. Consequently, when I step out of the car and approach the pump, I realize I have no freakin’ idea how to put gas in this car. I take out my emergency credit card and read the directions on the pump. I decide to get the gas cap off first. I twist and I twist, but it keeps making this awful crunching noise. I peek in the driver’s-side window for some help and all three guys are laughing at me.