Whisper to Me(57)

“No one says BFFs,” said Julie. “Except in stupid TV shows.”

“Nuh-huh,” said Paris. “I just said it. Anyway. What was I eating?”

“Diplodocus?” I said.

Paris sighed. “Stegosaurus. I thought that would have been perfectly obvious.”

“Is she always like this?” I asked Julie.

“Always,” said Julie, with a strange little smile.

Then there was a buzz from Paris’s phone and she checked the screen. “Bachelor party,” she said. “Tomorrow night. You drive me, Julie?”

Julie gave an awkward glance at me. “You know I don’t think you should—”

“Oh, I know, Mom,” said Paris.

Julie sighed. “Where is it?”

“Goose Heights.” This was a nice part of town.

“If I can come in with you,” said Julie.

“Julie, do we have to have this conversation every time? If you want to watch me strip you’re welcome to subscribe to my cam site. No. You can wait in the car. I have my phone. I have you on speed dial. I’ll call if I need you.”

Julie pursed her lips.

“And I’ll give you a hundred dollars,” said Paris. “You’re the best, Julie, for doing this, for helping me to earn my own money, get out from under my dad and—”

“Okay, okay, fine,” said Julie. “Fine.”

“Right,” said Paris, putting away her phone. She flashed a grin at me; a shark’s grin, full of joy and danger. “Let’s get high.”

We looked at her blankly.

“On the Ferris wheel.”

We flashed our passes and skipped the line. Well, Paris and I did, but Julie didn’t have a VIP pass. Not that it held us up for long—Paris did this eyelash-batting thing at the kid managing the line and he let all three of us through.

It was nine, full dark, a slight chill in the air. Purple clouds covered the moon, over the black ocean. The Elevator was almost as old as the roller coaster. A lot of its supports were still wooden. Each of the cars was done up like an elevator, and the joke was that there was a single button inside, which said, UP AND DOWN AND ALL AROUND.

“The last time I went on this I was eight,” I said.

“All the more reason to ride it now,” said Paris.

“Is it a bad time to say that I’m a little afraid of heights?” said Julie.

“Please,” said Paris. “You do roller derby. Your biceps are bigger than my personal trainer’s.”

“You have a personal trainer?” I asked.

“No,” said Paris. “But that’s beside the point.”

We climbed into our elevator car; it rocked slightly. There were seats, which kind of ruined the illusion, and the whole side was open, secured by a thin metal bar that the kid running the ride dropped into place. Paris and Julie sat on one side, me on the other.

“You get two go-arounds,” he said, in a bored drawl. He was my age, with the broken nose and big shoulders of a football player. “Then we fill the cars again.” He stepped out, leaned on a lever.

We shuddered up into the air, then stopped while people got into the next car—a family with one laughing kid and one crying kid.

We jerked into the sky in increments as the ride filled.

Finally we reached the top.

“Oh, wow,” said Paris.

“Yeah.”

“Huh,” said Julie. She had her hand on Paris’s arm. She’d obviously been only half-joking—she looked a little white. “Suddenly it’s so beautiful.”

I knew what she meant; I was feeling the same surprise, even though I’d been up here when I was a kid. It still struck me.

I mean.

Oakwood was a dump—the old-people’s homes, the slot machines, the white trash on vacation. The used-car lots, the Early Bird Specials, the motels, the broken-down lots where go-kart rides used to be, the demolished blocks like pulled teeth, the wire fences. But from up here, at night, it was as if a witch had put an enchantment on the town, a prince/frog kind of deal, and only when you rode up on the Elevator would you see the true beauty. The boardwalk curved below us like a broad sickle. Pale sand extended from it to the ocean, which glittered like a vast black jewel.

And everywhere was light.

Streetlights, running in ribbons, connecting houses that, too, spilled yellow light into the darkness. A giant phosphorescent creature, throwing out tendrils in every direction. And below us, the constant glow of the theme park, flashing bulbs, floodlights, flickering neon lights. The rides coiling over and around themselves like silver snakes.

It’s stupid, I mean, it’s not the Taj Mahal—it’s Oakwood. But it was so beautiful I can’t describe it.

“I never knew,” Paris said.

“Yeah,” said Julie. “Me neither.”

“Jump,” said the voice.

I must have flinched. “What’s wrong?” said Paris.

“Nothing.”

“Jump. It would be so easy.”

I shook my head.

“Heights?” said Paris. “You too?”

I nodded.

“Suit yourself,” said the voice. “Coward.” But it sounded flat, uninterested. Like if it had the opportunity, it was going to say something, but it wasn’t as committed as it used to be.