History Is All You Left Me(3)
Then I hit the jackpot.
Puzzles.
I glance at my phone again: six minutes left. I’m no longer anxious; I’m excited. I know from being over at Theo’s enough that he doesn’t own any of these: a steampunk barn house gliding away on wings built of scraps from a satellite; Santa’s sleigh being pulled by dolphins underwater (I don’t want to know what’s in those wrapped gifts, but I’d also love to hear Theo’s guesses); a 3-D puzzle of a soccer ball, and the 3-D part is cool, but the sports part is less cool. I’m not sure where Theo stands on 3-D puzzles, but this doesn’t seem like the one “to kick it off”—ha.
Boom, got it. The fourth one in the row on the table: Doomed Pirate Ship. The pirates are being thrown overboard by stormy weather and a raging sea; some try to climb back up, while another hangs from the plank. I know Theo will create a kick-ass story behind this one. The vendor drops the puzzle in a brown plastic bag and even though it costs nine bucks, I just shove a ten into her hands and jet back.
Theo is waiting by the exit, pressed against the wall to hide away in the shade, like a vampire who stayed out too late—too early? I don’t blame him. We’re both sweating. He looks at his sundial watch. “Two minutes to spare! Let’s get the hell out of here before we go up in flames, or, worse, you get sunburn.”
On the way back to the subway, the only clue I have of his gift is a box. It’s a perfect cube. I have zero guesses as to what it is. Underground we’re hidden from the sun, but the mugginess of a crowded platform is unbearable in its own way, like we’ve set up camp at the top of a volcano and zipped our tent shut. We somehow survive the six-minute wait, and once the train opens its doors, we race to the corner bench and sit before a couple of college-age-looking guys can take the seats for themselves. The air conditioner is on full blast, and I feel more like myself.
“Presents?” Theo asks, pointing at my bag with finger guns.
“You finished shopping first, so you go first,” I say, inching my leg a little closer to his so our knees might accidentally touch.
“I’m not sure what kind of logic that is, but okay,” Theo says.
He gives me the little box and whatever is inside doesn’t weigh that much and slides back and forth as I toss it from hand to hand. I open it and pull out an ornament of none other than Ron Weasley, Harry Potter’s best friend.
“What do you think?” Theo asks. “I know he’s your favorite character, so you probably already have this, but I thought this one was cool, especially since he’s got that seen-better-days roughness going on.”
I nod. It’s true: this Ron Weasley figurine is a little beat-up, the paint chipped on his red hair and black robe. But he’s not my favorite character. It’s an easy mistake because Ron is my favorite in the trio—sorry Harry, sorry Hermione—and it’s not as if they make ornaments for characters that were only alive and important in one book. But Cedric Diggory is my absolute favorite character in the series, in any book, really. When Cedric died at the end of the Triwizard Tournament, I cried for way longer than I’ve ever admitted to anyone. Cedric’s death is no doubt my most painful loss ever. But it’s okay, it’s not like I know for sure who Theo’s favorite Star Wars character is. I want to say Yoda, but that sounds stupid, even to me. It’s the thought that counts.
“This is awesome,” I say. “And I don’t own it already, so thanks.” I wonder if the previous owner got over the series and pawned this little guy for fifty cents or something. One man’s loss and all that, I guess. “Okay. Your turn.” I’m missing the emptiness of the train we rode out, hyperalert that there are nameless spectators watching us exchange gifts and drawing their own conclusions about how we must be dating. It sucks that they’re wrong. It double sucks that there’s a chance Theo may be too scared to even be my friend after today.
Theo slides the puzzle out of the bag and his eyes widen. “Hell yes. Eight hundred pieces. You have to put this together with me.”
“What’s the story behind it?”
Theo studies it for a moment. “It’s about the impending zombie-pirate apocalypse, obviously.”
“Obviously. Tell me, how did the pirates get hit with the virus before anyone else?”
“The zombie virus has always existed, but the scientists knew it was best to keep it as far away from land as possible. They knew humans by nature are stupid and bored and would do something like unleash hell on the world if it meant not having to go to their dead-end jobs on Monday morning. Scientists contained the virus on an island—I’m redacting the name because I can’t trust you with this secret, Griff—and they didn’t account for the raging storm you see here destroying the island and releasing the virus until it became airborne, hitting the traveling pirates first. Well, infecting the parrot of Captain Hoyt-Sumner first, who carried the virus onto The Pillaging Mary.”
Only then do I lose it and smile. “How the hell are you coming up with these names?”
“I didn’t make it up, it’s in all the textbooks. Read up on your future’s history,” Theo says.
“What’s the parrot’s name?”
“Fulton, but everyone calls her Rot Feathers after she makes all the pirates undead. They later renamed the ship The Bloodcurdling Crawler, which feels appropriate.”