Dreamology(59)

“We can always try her office again tomorrow.” Oliver shrugs. “Or hit up the dining hall at dinner and ask around?”

“But where will we stay tonight?” I ask.

“What about Alfred’s?” Sophie says. “He has that big old house. I think it might be a bed-and-breakfast, too.”

“Really?” Oliver looks skeptical.

“In Maine, everything is a bed-and-breakfast,” Sophie says with certainty.

We pile back in the car in slightly better spirits, but find ourselves back at square one when the engine won’t start.

I am about to make a suggestion about a tow truck when I notice how rigid Max’s posture has become, and I choose to remain quiet. Oliver unfortunately does not get the hint.

“That’s what you get for driving this hunk of junk,” he mutters in the backseat. “This car is older than we are.”

Sophie is tapping away on her phone, and I am still watching Max, waiting for him to explode.

“It was supposed to be my sister’s,” Max says through gritted teeth.

Oliver rubs his forehead for a second and exhales. “I’m sorry, Max. I didn’t know.”

Max turns around in his seat. “I drive this hunk of junk because it was supposed to be Lila’s. You remember my sister? She used to babysit us every day after school, until she died?”

Oliver’s face doesn’t flinch. He just sits there taking it. “I remember,” is all he says.

“So, I’m sorry if I ditched you, dude,” Max says. “But I had to move on with my life. Do something besides play video games with you all day and drop water balloons off the balcony of your bedroom. And I’m sorry you got left behind, but I’m also sorry you couldn’t grow up.”

I wait for Oliver to yell back, to start something, but he doesn’t. He just nods. “You’re right,” he says. And then he says it again. “I’m sorry.”

Max tries the key a few more times, begging it to turn on, and when it doesn’t he just leans his head against the horn, groaning along with it. Reluctantly, I put a hand on his shoulder, and he doesn’t shrug it off. He just lifts his head off the steering wheel a little, tipping it to the side so he can stare at me, his eyes pleading.

“It’s okay,” I say. “Everything is going to be okay.” I’ve never seen him like this before.

“I just want to figure it out,” he says. “I just want everything to be right again. In life, and . . . with us.”

“I know,” I say.

“Bartholomew Burns!” Sophie cries from the backseat. And all three of us turn and stare at her.

“Say what?” Oliver asks.

“How much do you all love me?” Sophie announces, wiggling her cell phone in the air like it’s a golden ticket.

“That depends,” I say. “Is Margaret Yang inside that phone?”

Sophie shakes her head. “Bartholomew Burns,” she says again.

“Bartholomew Burns, your old Latin tutor?” I ask. “The guy who wore the cross with a detachable Jesus on it?”

“It’s true, he did wear a necklace with a detachable Jesus,” Sophie calmly explains. “Sometimes he liked to wear a cross with Jesus, sometimes without. But that was a phase, and anyway, he could more than stand me, if you get my drift.” She raises her eyebrows up and down.

“What does this have to do with anything?” Max asks.

Sophie rolls her eyes. “Because I posted a selfie of me and Mildred the alpaca at Alfred’s today, and Bartholomew saw it, and it turns out he goes here!” Her eyes light up, like ta-da. “So he messaged me, and I told him what was up . . . well, part of it . . . the not-weird parts . . . and he said we can crash with him tonight if we want, at his dorm! Like half his floor is out of town.”

The tension releases from the car like pressure evening out inside an airplane. “Nice work, Soph!” I say, giving her a high five. “That’s a great idea.”

“There’s just one problem.” She makes a face. “He says he’s having a huge party tonight . . . he hopes we don’t mind?”

At the word party, Oliver’s eyes light up. “I suppose we could attend,” he says.

As we get up to make our way toward Bartholomew’s dorm, I notice Max is looking back at the car with an odd expression.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“I could’ve sworn she just flashed her lights at me,” Max says.

“You’re just tired,” I say.

“No.” He frowns. “They flashed. Which would be weird, even if her battery wasn’t dead.” His tone is off. He sounds very far away.

Then, with no rational explanation and nobody behind the wheel, the car honks.

Max looks at me, helpless. “This is getting really weird, Alice. We have to make it stop.”

I look at him, his hair out of place and a wild look in his eyes. What will happen if we can’t make it stop? Will Max go full-on meltdown mode?

But also, what will happen if we do?





28


Your Dog Is Really Lucky!




ACCORDING TO MY very basic knowledge of college social life, which I have gleaned entirely from gems of modern cinema such as Animal House and Old School, there seem to be a number of foolproof ways to throw a decent party. The list includes such things as a great band, scandalously clad coeds, limitless amounts of illegal substances, and a general lack of consideration for the well-being of oneself and others.