Whisper to Me(61)

“Hi, Julie,” you said.

“Hi,” said Julie.

“Hi,” I said, IN SCINTILLATING DIALOGUE REMINISCENT OF THE CLASSIC MOVIE CASABLANCA.

“This is surreal,” said Paris. Behind us, the old guy was playing Kanye West.

“That’s Cletus,” you said. “I don’t know if that’s his real name. He lets me play when he’s on break. He’s like eighty years old, and he smokes forty a day.” You glanced at our passes, mine and Paris’s. “VIPs, huh?” you said.

“On account of her dad,” said Paris.

“ ’Cause of the restaurant?”

“Yeah. They treat Cass like she’s royalty.”

You looked at me with a faint smile. “Really?” you said. I couldn’t tell if you were teasing or not. Like, implying that it was strange anyone would do such a thing.

“Seriously. Roll with Cass in this place, and you’re money.”

“Why are you talking like that?”

“I don’t know,” said Paris. “I literally don’t know what I’m saying half the time.”

I was feeling left out; but then you turned to me and smiled. “Your friend is not getting any less weird.”

“No.”

“Will she?”

“No,” said Julie. “Never.”

“Oh well.”

“I’m right here, guys,” said Paris. “Jeez.”

“That’s not going to stop us,” said Julie.

Paris made a face. “Come. Follow me to the golf course. I can see it over yonder.” She put a hand to her forehead like an old-time ship captain. “ ’Tis either a long way off or uncommon small. Perhaps both.”

She strode off toward the miniature golf course, humming Nirvana, Julie at her side. Paris said something to Julie and they both laughed, loud. I felt a pang of left-outness.

But then, I was walking with you. And that gave me a good, fizzy feeling in my stomach. Which was nice.

“You’re good,” I said, and then immediately felt like an ass. “At the piano, I mean. The organ. Whatever.”

“Thanks.”

“Are you in a band?” I asked.

Something crossed your face, a shadow, or a flock of birds, and then it was gone. “No,” you said.

“You should be.”

You smiled, but I thought there was something fake about it. “It’s just a party trick,” you said. “Anyway, let’s go. Shane’s waiting at the mini golf. I mean, he’s supposed to be. For all I know he’s drunk a six-pack already and passed out at home again. The lifeguards get off earlier. In both senses of the term.”

“Ha,” I said. It came out too sarcastic, and you frowned.

Dammit, Cass.

That was me. The voice was silent as ever when you were around.

As we walked, you nudged me with your elbow. “You on Facebook?” you said. “I looked you up, but I couldn’t find you.”

He looked me up on Facebook?

“No,” I said. There is no point in social media when you don’t socialize.

“Twitter? Instagram?”

“No.” Twitter? Too much like voices in your head. So many people’s voices, never shutting up.

That’s what I was thinking, but all I said was no. It probably came out too abrupt. You went silent.

Pirate Golf was close. We caught up with Paris and walked over there, and Shane waved from the entrance. “Hey!” he said. “Cassandra. How’s it going?”

“Okay, thanks,” I said.

“I’m Shane,” said Shane, to Paris.

“I’m Paris,” said Paris, to Shane.

“Ah,” said Shane. “The City of Romance.” He pronounced it like that, with the capital C and the capital R. He was looking at Paris with a slightly stunned expression, at her long legs and her wide eyes.

“Nope,” said Paris. “Wrong name. Easy mistake. I’m Paris as in Texas. The City of SUVs. And fat people.”

“Huh,” said Shane. He struggled for a riposte. “Bummer,” he said eventually.

Paris winked at me and laughed.

“I’m Julie, by the way,” said Julie, in a sarcastic tone.

“Oh, hey, Julie,” said Shane, but you could tell he wasn’t really interested.

“Hey, Shane,” said Julie, flatly.

Paris clapped her hands. “Let’s play,” she said.

“I get the feeling she’s always playing,” you whispered to me.

“Yep,” I said. “Me too.”





Paris and I showed our VIP passes, and you and Shane showed your employee IDs, which was kind of unnecessary given you were in your denim-shirt uniform with the radio clipped to the V where your chest— And I looked at your chest and you saw and oh the embarrassment of it—and Shane was in his red lifeguard shorts and a white T-shirt with the Piers logo on it, and Julie just kind of said, “I’m with them,” and the kid behind the counter gave us sticks and a ball, a different color for each of us. “There’s a family on hole one,” he said. “Just wait two minutes and you can go.”

Is it sticks? I’m hopeless with sports, even mini golf.