Emergency Contact(69)

Penny could feel him smiling on the other side. It made her miserable.

“This sucks,” she said. “Why so much work?”

“The homework doesn’t end,” he said. “It’s piles and piles of emotional homework forever if you ever want to qualify as a grown-up.”

“How come nobody tells you?”

“Nobody tells you shit ever,” he said. “The trick is having a buddy.”

“An emergency contact.”

“Exactly,” he said. “That’s the pact.”

It was a good pact. It wasn’t exactly the pact she wanted, the one where they ran away together to Tahiti, but it was solid.

“I’m in,” she said.

“Cool,” he said. “Good night, Penelope Lee.”

“Bye,” she said.

Not ten seconds later he texted again.

Have a willie nice night!


God, he was such a jerk.





SAM.


The next morning Sam woke up feeling good. Not sensational or anything foolish but supremely okay. Penny had already texted and all was right in the world. He fortified himself with coffee and headed out to pick up Bastian.

East Side Nectars, where Bastian’s mom worked, was a small operation in a strip mall on the North Side. From the highway, the neon signs in order read: CHINESE FOOD, DONUTS, JUICE, then GUNS. Juice was the only hipster outlier. Everything else was as common as corn bread.

There were only three stools in the front by the window and a kitchen area with a row of juicers in back. When Sam and Bastian walked in, the store was empty. Luz Trejo, a short, slight woman whose watchful eyes and delicate features had been inherited by her son, grilled Sam. As Brandi Rose would have put it, there was no slack in her rope. Bastian leaned up against the wall by the counter, scowling, holding his skateboard at the ready in case he had to scram.

“Hi,” he said. He nodded at Bastian, who engaged him in a complicated handshake that Sam didn’t attempt to keep up with.

He let Luz appraise him—his dark clothes and his tattoos. It didn’t help that he stank of cigarette smoke.

Luz asked Bastian something in Spanish and he rolled his eyes.

“What’s your name?”

“Sam Becker.”

“How old are you, Sam Becker?” she asked, wiping her hands on her pale blue apron. Her hands were at least twenty years older than her face.

“Twenty-one,” he said, suddenly nervous.

“German?” she asked.

“Half,” he answered. “Half Polish.”

“A mutt.”

He nodded.

“How is it that you’re associates with my fourteen-year-old Mexican son?” she asked.

“Mom!” protested Bastian, very much seeming exactly fourteen.

“He skates near where I live,” said Sam.

“During school hours?” she asked.

“Sometimes,” he said. No way he was going to get caught in a lie with Mrs. Trejo. Luz leaned over the counter and rapped her son on the head with her knuckles. Bastian glared at him.

“Snitches get stiches,” he hissed. Luz shushed him.

Sam kept his eyes on Luz and tried to look responsible.

“I’m a student,” he said. “I’m directing a documentary about Bastian, and I wanted to ask for your permission and to know if I could interview you as well.”

A customer walked in. An older white gentleman with a mustache.

“Hey, Anthony,” she said.

“Whew,” said Anthony. “It’s hotter than a pot of neck bones out there.” It was a 100-degree fall day.

She crowded Sam and Bastian to the side, out of her customer’s way. “Pineapple mint?” she asked. He nodded. While she made his juice, she called from the back over the buzzing machine.

“It’s a little late to ask for permission if you’ve already started, don’t you think?”

Sam had no idea how to answer that.

She handed Anthony his juice. Anthony took a long swallow and studied Sam up and down. “If you riled up this one, best of luck to you.” He nodded, fished two fives out from a long wallet pulled out from the back of his jeans and left.

“What’s it about?” Luz asked.

“Being a kid in Austin,” he said.

“So Oscar-winning stuff,” she said.

Sam felt Bastian watching them closely to see who had the upper hand.

“Look, I’m a college student,” said Sam. “I’m not some rich trust-fund kid, either. I’m putting myself through film school.”

“Film school?” said Luz. “Sound like a rich-kid plan to me. Why not go into computer programming or something that makes money? Do you know the odds of being a director?”

“I knew you were going to say that!” complained Bastian. “Ask her about art school if you want to have your dreams punched in the face.”

Luz knocked Bastian on the skull again. Bastian scowled and rubbed his head.

“Look, I don’t want to be interviewed or anything,” she said. “That isn’t for me. But don’t shoot during school hours and I want to see this movie before you show it anywhere. I don’t want anything inappropriate.”

Sam nodded.