The Unwilling(18)

“Do you think he wants to die?”

We were in the courtyard at school. Bagged lunches. A group of girls close by. “The hell are you talking about, Chance?”

“The way he dove, man. Like he didn’t think about it, like he didn’t even care. They say war can mess a man up. Dark places, you know.”

I bit into a sandwich, chewing slowly. “I don’t think that’s it.”

“But four seconds, man. Christ. It’s like it took forever, like he was hanging there and then, bam! I thought that was it. I really did.”

I didn’t want to talk about Jason, not even with Chance. “Let’s drop it, okay? He made the dive. I didn’t. So what?”

“Hey, man. Chill.”

“I’m chill.”

“You know my cousin saw him last night at the Carriage Room. He was mixing it up with some scary dudes.”

“What do you mean?”

“Bikers, I heard.”

“Get out.”

Chance tipped back a Coke. “Hells Angels, maybe. There was a fight or something. People got hurt.”

“My dad didn’t say anything.”

“Bikers, dude. It’s not like they’d run to the cops.”

I didn’t buy it. Chance’s stories were usually bullshit. Charlotte Booker got naked at a party. Mike Aslow slept with Buddy’s mom. That’s how his mind ran.

“Whoa, hey. Red alert.” He nudged my ribs, whispering. “Becky Collins. Three o’clock.”

Becky emerged from the covered walkway that led past the cafeteria and to the gym. She wore a denim skirt and white vinyl boots that rose to her knees. Crossing the courtyard, she headed straight for us; and when she stopped, my eyes were down. I saw the way she bent a single knee, the safety pin holding up the zipper of her left boot.

“Gibby,” she said. “Chance.”

She held books cross-armed against her chest. Calculus. European history. It was easy to forget how smart she was. People focused on the hair, the legs, the cornflower eyes.

“Hi, Becky.”

She frowned as I looked up. “I waited for you at the quarry,” she said. “After your brother dove. Why didn’t you talk to me?”

Because I chickened out on the dive …

Because you were with other guys …

I mumbled some kind of answer, but it didn’t satisfy her. Beside me, Chance was grinning into the back of his hand.

“You’ve been ignoring me here, too.”

“Um…”

“Are you ever going to ask me out?”

“Um. What?”

It seemed mumble was my new language. She tapped a foot, and made things very direct. “We’ve been dancing around this for a while now, but the year’s almost over. Are you going to ask me out or not?”

I glanced at Chance, but he was no help. Becky was a cheerleader, the homecoming queen. People said she was going to Princeton, though she denied it. “Are you serious?” I asked. “You want to go out with me?”

“I’m here, aren’t I? We’re talking.”

I looked to Chance for help. Nothing. “Will you go out with me?”

“Was that so hard?” She offered a satisfied smile, and held out a slip of paper for me to take. “I’ll be getting ready at Dana White’s house. That’s the address. Saturday at seven o’clock.”

“Um…”

“I’ll see you then.”

She turned in a swirl of motion and color. I stared at the paper in my hand. “What just happened?”

Chance laughed out loud. “Dude, you got told what to do.”

“I think you’re right.”

“Wuss.”

“Yeah, but it’s a date with Becky Collins.”

Suddenly, I was grinning, too.

“You know what that’s all about, don’t you?” Chance pointed at the slip of paper. “The pickup at Dana White’s house? Becky doesn’t want you to see where she lives.”

“Come on.”

“Have you ever seen her parents? Her parents’ car?”

“She rides the bus.”

“There’s a reason for that.”

“You’re off your gourd.”

“Truth, man. I’ll show you.”

We did it after school. I wasn’t eager, but Chance was like a bulldog when he got a notion in his teeth. He guided me so far out in the county it felt like a different school district. When I balked a second time, he told me to shut up and drive the damn car. He said his insistence was due to my lack of faith, but Chance had his own jealousies and insecurities.

“This is the street. Turn here.”

He meant a narrow street between a muffler shop and a weed-choked lot. I made the turn and stopped the car. The street ran off between small houses and trailers and dirt yards. A few houses missed bits of siding, and I saw a tuft of insulation that hung from one and spilled, like a tongue, into the yard. I thought of Becky’s confidence, her satisfied smile when I’d asked her out.

“Why are you stopping?” Chance asked.

“This is far enough.”

“Three more blocks. You can almost see it.” Three blocks in, it was worse: a burned-out house, another with boarded windows. “Dude, come on. This is why we’re here.”