The Lost Causes of Bleak Creek(17)
Janine didn’t have the heart to explain that in the last half hour, she’d more or less scrapped the entire project. Donna, meanwhile, was just standing there, her shoulders slightly hunched.
“Okay GamGam,” said Janine. “Maybe I’ll stop by there tomorr—”
“I haven’t even gotten to the best part,” GamGam interrupted. “He saves all his stones, Neenie! He’s got ’em in a jar right there in the restaurant. Isn’t that right, Donna?”
Donna stared, then gave a slight nod.
“Now that’s somethin’ you need in your movie!” GamGam concluded triumphantly.
Janine sort of wanted to throw up, both at the idea of a bunch of kidney stones in a jar and at the predicament she’d found herself in. “Um…”
“I’m sure Donna wouldn’t mind givin’ you a ride, right?”
“Yeah,” Donna said, which made it sound like she did mind, but GamGam wasn’t having it.
“Great! You girls go, have a fun time together.”
Janine really didn’t want to, but she saw the earnest, hopeful look on GamGam’s face and knew she had no choice. “Um, okay, I guess that works,” she said, a hard knot forming in her chest as she followed Donna toward the door. This would be the last destination on her Failed Kidney Stone World Tour. Fifteen minutes at Li’l Dino’s and then she’d get out of this town as fast as she could.
“Wait!” GamGam shouted. “Your camera!”
“Oh, right,” Janine said. She grabbed her camcorder off the table and zipped it into its case. “Thanks, GamGam. This should be a blast.”
“I’ll say!” GamGam raised her drumstick in the air and shook it like a maraca.
By the time Janine stepped outside, Donna was already in the car.
4
REX AND LEIF sat across from one another in silence, each perched on his own rock on a tiny island in the middle of the Cape Fear River. They’d been coming to this place for a couple years now, ever since their parents had given them permission to visit the river without supervision.
This miniature isle, with its natural privacy from the low roar of the nearby rapids, was the setting for many of the most significant moments in their friendship. It was here that Rex had shown Leif the calendar he’d found in his grandfather’s garage, entitled “Snow Bunnies,” featuring women wearing mittens, scarves, and nothing else. It was here that they’d discussed whether or not Matthew Jenkins was going to Hell because he believed in evolution. And it was here that they had first conceptualized their now-very-much-in-question masterwork, PolterDog.
The idea they once could not shut up about was now the reason for their silence. They didn’t remember who had first suggested making the movie, which was both comforting and frustrating, as it left them to share the blame for Alicia’s current predicament.
Leif had slept a total of forty-two minutes the night before. After he’d dropped Rex off and returned to his empty home just past two, he’d lain in bed, eyes open, as still as a corpse, his mind cycling through the events of the past day, Alicia’s voice the looping soundtrack: Rex! Leif! Helmmmphsseh! At one point, he’d found himself whispering aloud, “I’m racked with guilt!” This habit of vocalizing inner thoughts was something he’d developed the year before while memorizing vocabulary words for eighth grade English. He wondered if there was any other situation in which one could use the word “racked”? Could you say that you’re racked with happiness? Or donuts? It seemed like you should be able to, but Leif didn’t think he’d ever heard it used that way. He’d then realized he was casually questioning word usage while his best friend and secret crush was trapped in a creepy reform school, which made him feel even more guilty and ashamed. This pattern continued for hours. It was a long night.
Rex had fared better, his sleep logging in at three hours and fifty-one minutes. Though a part of him may also have been guilt-racked, most of him was angry. Angry at the Boykinses, angry at Mr. Whitewood and his stupid school, angry at himself. After Leif had dropped him off at home, he’d peeked into his parents’ bedroom and found them both snoring loudly. Good. They hadn’t noticed he was gone. Rex had then gotten into bed, not even bothering to remove the human-sized punching bag that had been his sleeping substitute. In fact, he’d begun to punch it. And kick it. And scream under his breath at it. When he’d abruptly realized how idiotic it was to pummel a punching bag while lying in bed next to it, he’d jumped up and walked out the front door, figuring his parents would be out cold for at least another five hours.
Rex had walked the streets of Bleak Creek, reliving Alicia’s abduction and their failed attempt to save her. He’d stopped when he’d reached his destination: the bush he had left his scooter beneath. It wasn’t the right bush. The one next to it hadn’t been right, either. “Come on!” Rex had shouted angrily to no one.
After nearly an hour of fumbling blindly beneath bushes, he’d finally found his scooter, by which point the fury of searching for it so long had commingled with the Alicia fury to create a sort of superfury.
Rex had channeled that into his scooting. He’d powered down street after street, this time with no clear destination, thinking only one thing: Work that scooter leg. If it had been up to snuff earlier, maybe they would have caught up to the van. Maybe Alicia would be with them right now. Rex wasn’t sure how long he’d rage-scooted, but by the time the sky started to turn purple, the first sunlight peering past the horizon, he knew he was exhausted. He’d gone home and fallen asleep seconds after his head hit the pillow.