Whisper to Me(56)

You picked up the first bag and kind of pitched it up onto the pier. It landed with a dull thud and a flat flopping motion that made me think queasily of a body.

Blood.

A tiled floor.

No.

I pushed it under again.

You grabbed another bag, threw it up. Then another and another. No wonder your arms had gotten ripped. Then you jumped back down and opened the cab door. “Me and Shane are going to Pirate Golf on Pier One after work, if you want to come,” you said. “Both of you.”

“That would be wonderful,” said Paris, before I could say anything. “We most humbly accept your gracious invitation. We shall see you upon the Pirate Golf course. At what hour should we convene?”

You looked at me. “Your friend is weird.”

“I know,” I said.

“He’s talking about you,” said Paris.

“No, he’s not.”

“No, I’m not,” you said.

“Now you’re just ganging up,” said Paris. “What time?”

“Nine thirty?” you said.

“See you there,” I said. It was like a small creature with unknown motivations had taken over my brain and my mouth.

“It’s a date,” said Paris, with a mischievous smile.

“Paris!”

“Laters, cute boy,” said Paris. She turned, and I gave you a what can you do? gesture with my hands; I could feel the heat of the blood in my cheeks. You smiled and slid behind the wheel of the truck; then I heard the engine roar as I caught up with Paris.

Huh. Was it a date? Did it count as a date? We were meeting you later anyway. That creature in my stomach spread its wings, took flight.

“And when will you tell him about me?” said the voice. “I mean, this is all very romantic and all but have you forgotten you’re crazy?”

“Quiet,” I said.

We walked back onto the pier proper. As we approached the gate, a guy opened it from the other side—Hispanic, with wire-rimmed glasses. Young looking, skinny, more like a chess-club kid than a fairground worker.

“You’re … ,” he said. “You shouldn’t be back here.”

“Oh, sorry, Pedro,” said Paris. She flashed her VIP pass at him.

His mouth opened and closed like a fish’s. “How did you …”

Paris blew him a kiss. “The bags are there,” said Paris. “Elmos and … some other ****. Bunnies and ****. I suggest you hurry up, Pedro.”

“Who are you? How do you know my—”

“Laters, Pedro,” said Paris. Then she put a hand on the fence and tried to vault it, but her foot caught and she tumbled to the ground on the other side, did an ungainly roll and came to her feet again. She walked off without a backward glance.

I gave Pedro an apologetic look and ran to catch up to her.

“You’re beautiful,” I said to Paris, “but you are not graceful, are you? I mean, what were you even thinking, putting your feet over the edge of the pier like that? A clumsy person like you.”

She shrugged. “I thought it was a game.”

“And if you’d fallen?”

Another shrug. “Then I guess I would have gotten hurt.”

That was Paris: she was fun, but she didn’t really know where the line between fun and danger was. That was Paris’s whole entire problem.





We were walking toward the Elevator—the Ferris wheel at the piers—when Paris’s cell rang. She fished it out of her pocket and answered it.

“Hey! You win? (Pause.) Aw. Sucks. Where are you? (Pause.) We’re at the piers. Well, yes, on the piers. A pier, actually. (Pause.) We’re going to ride the Ferris wheel. (Pause.) Seriously, yeah. (Pause.) Yeah, with Cassie. Look, come down. Get a ticket. Ride it with us. Oh, come on. It’ll be fun! (Pause.) Great, cool. See you there.”

She flicked it off and put it away. “Julie,” she said.

“She’s coming?”

“Yep. They lost their roller derby game. She’s in a bad mood. Figure the Ferris wheel will help.”

Weirdly, I felt a little jealous. I just … I was enjoying spending this time with her, just her. It was awesome, and I felt like Julie coming along was going to ruin it.

Although when we got to the base of the wheel and the queue, and Julie waved and then walked over, I felt kind of stupid because Julie was smiling and holding out three sticks of cotton candy and being super nice.

I held up my hands when she proffered mine. “Sorry. I—”

“Cass here is allergic to basically everything,” said Paris. “Including heights. Chances are she’s going to barf on you.”

“Just peanuts,” I said hurriedly when Julie frowned at me. “It’s really boring. I just have to be really careful.”

Julie shrugged. “More for me,” she said, and kept hold of two of the cotton candies, giving the other to Paris. Paris plunged her face into hers, started making gross noises like a T. rex eating another dinosaur’s stomach. She lifted her eyes to us, pink shreds hanging from her chin.

“Roar,” she said.

“T. rex?” said Julie.

“Yeah.”

“I got the same thing,” I said.

“Psychic connection,” said Paris. “Look at us! BFFs.”