The Drifter(26)

“I didn’t see a thing,” she said.

“Huh?” said Betsy.

“She’s letting them off the hook,” said Ginny.

“Who knew you two were such big Ice Cube fans?” Caroline asked. “I’m just going to wait outside.”

Caroline made her way back to the car, glaring at Betsy and Ginny.

“What?” she said, as she walked back to them across the gravel, silhouetted by the porch light, which was swarming with moths the size of hummingbirds. “I can’t be nice?”

A minute later, Gavin shuffled out to the car. He leaned against the driver’s door. Caroline handed him some cash and he passed her a small Ziploc filled with crumbly green buds.

“Ziploc must make a killing in this town, right?” asked Betsy.

Gavin chuckled.

“Do you ladies care to join in the fun, or are you above getting high with a couple of dim freshman girls?” he asked. Betsy was convinced that Caroline and Ginny would go inside and either force her to join or make her sleep in the car until dawn. Under normal circumstances, she knew that was when Caroline would have made her move, shocked him with her spot-on recitation of the lyrics to “Once Upon a Time in the Projects,” flirted with the roommate to make him jealous. But even this late, even from the backseat of a car after half a dozen beers, it was clear that Gavin saw straight through Caroline’s bullshit.

“Tell Mack that we’re giving Betsy a ride home, not that he seems that concerned,” said Caroline.

Betsy suspected that the truth was that Caroline noticed him long before that. He was tall, hard to miss. And she could tell that he wasn’t much like the other guys hanging around, ready to eat out of Caroline’s hand on command.

Since then, she hadn’t thought about it. But that day outside of Walmart, she realized Caroline had been watching and waiting for a second round, a decent chance to change his mind. It looked like Betsy had gotten there ahead of her this time, and she smiled to herself at the thought.

“I think he’s cute,” Ginny said. “Betsy, I just don’t know if, you know, you’re dark and mysterious enough for him.”

“Mysterious?” laughed Caroline. “If you’re looking for mystery, you’re in the wrong town.”

Inside the store, Caroline and Ginny both grabbed a shopping basket off of the stack. Betsy wandered the aisles behind Caroline, enjoying the frigid air, and watched her pluck a Baywatch-themed air freshener, Tucks medicated pads, and lip waxing strips from the shelves. When they made it to the school supply section, Caroline passed the basket to Ginny.

“I got you a few things,” she said, and picked up six or seven pieces of the biggest poster board she could find. “I’ll grab these. You get the markers.”

“Now that I’m here I can’t tell if I want markers or poster paint,” said Ginny, studying the selection of art supplies. “Betsy, what do you think?”

Betsy was already bored with the day, the yogurt drama, Caroline’s dumb pranks, and the heat. She glanced at her Timex. It was 12:40.

“Definitely markers. You won’t have time for the paint to dry. Now let’s get out of here.”

“Oh fine, you’re in a hurry to go drink beer by a lake. You know what I’m going back to. I’m taking my time.”

Caroline decided to speed up the operation considerably.

“Oh Ginny, I know you like the giant black ones,” she said, waving a marker in front of Ginny’s face, exaggerating her volume. “Forget all of these skinny pale ones. Didn’t you tell me you liked the feel of the big black ones in your hand? It gives you something to hold on to, right?”

“Oh my God, would you just shut up?” Ginny hissed at Caroline, accidentally knocking a box of permanent markers to the floor, which then scattered like toothpicks into the aisle.

“Spaz,” Caroline said. Ginny and Betsy put down the baskets and the unwieldy poster boards and knelt on the cold, gray-flecked linoleum to collect the pens.

“I need a new mascara and some Tic Tacs. You like spearmint, right?” Caroline said, to no one in particular, and left them to clean up the mess. “I’ll see you at the cash registers.”

“If you have someone announce ‘Clean up on aisle six’ I swear on my life, Caroline, I’m leaving your ass here,” Ginny called after her, but Caroline was already out of earshot. Betsy caught a glimpse of a mud-spattered work boot from the corner of her eye.

“Ladies, you missed one,” said a man with a thick Southern accent, who crouched down to pick up a stray pen and handed it to Betsy.

“Oh, thanks, but that’s hers, not mine,” she said, passing the marker to Ginny. Betsy registered the intensity of his gaze, the way his eye traced the ragged edge of her cutoff shorts, and glared back at him.

“Thanks, and sorry about that,” said Ginny, blushing, as she took the marker from his dirty hand. Betsy recognized the faint whiff of second-day alcohol. She scanned his face, which looked vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t place it. He had a youngish, angular profile, high, sharp cheekbones, and fair eyes. His skin was tan and freckled from the sun. He had deep pale creases in his forehead and around his eyes where he squinted. His hair, brown and long, was shaggy around the collar, and he was filthy, in a plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up to reveal strong forearms and inky dark fingernails. His jeans were withered and creased like a note that had been folded and refolded and passed between classes. Whether he was dirty in a studio-art way, a “working on my motorcycle” way, or a vagrant way was hard to say. His tan suggested a lot of time spent outdoors, not necessarily poolside. Regardless, he was making Ginny nervous. Her eyes returned to the boots. She had seen them somewhere before, but where? “She can be a handful sometimes.”