Keeping The Moon(6)

be the one to tell her that it was all fake.

So I watched with her as Rex Runyon got a second wind and came back at El Gigantico, jumping on his back and bringing him to the

mat like David slaying Goliath. The sun slowly set over the water while, downstairs, Norman dragged in the rest of his mannequins

neck-first. Mira clapped her hands and cheered, with absolute faith, while Cat Norman sat in the windowsill, licking his paws one

by one, as my summer began.





Chapter Two


[*We *]watched wrestling for about an hour. There were four matches, several arguments, and two referees chucked into the action

and beaten severely.

“So,” Mira said finally, clicking off the TV as the local news came on, “I am dying for a grilled chicken salad. Are you hungry?

“Yeah,” I said, realizing I was.

“Well, there’s a place just up on the corner,” she told me. “The food is great.”

“Okay,” I said, getting up and digging into my pocket for the money my mother had slipped me as I’d gotten on the train.

“Wait, wait. It’s your first night. Let me treat.” She picked up her purse—a big pink vinyl thing, which had to be a thrift

shop find—drew out her wallet, and selected a twenty, which she held out to me.

“Aren’t you coming?” I asked.

“Oh, no, I’ll stay here. I’ve already been to town once today. And this way you can get a feel for the place, find your

bearings, right?” she said easily, pulling the pen out of her hair and repositioning it with a jab. “Besides, there’s only room

on the bike for one, unless you want to ride on the handlebars. But the last time we tried that, I hit a rock and Norman got

pitched off and crash-landed into this fence and a bunch of poison ivy. It was just awful.”

“Wait,” I said, struggling to catch up. “The bike?”

“Yep. She’s out front.” She stood up, tightening the belt on her kimono. “Don’t worry, there’s a light and everything. And it

’s a straight shot up to the Last Chance. Just watch out for the huge pothole and the Masons’ rottweiler and you’re home free.”

“What?”

“Their chicken Caesar salad is so good!” she said. She was already heading toward the kitchen, the door creaking as she pushed it

open. “And you just get whatever you want, okay?”

I turned to say something, but she was already gone, humming under her breath, as if she’d forgotten me already. I looked at the

note on the door—BELL—and felt like I’d been caught up in some wild cyclone, like Dorothy thrown into Oz, with not a good witch

in sight to save me.

But my stomach was growling, so I looked at the bike, thought better of it, and set off on foot down the steps, past the brightness

of the porch light, into the dark.

The Last Chance Bar and Grill was a small building on the corner, right before the exit to the bridge that crossed over to the

mainland. It had one lone streetlight, a few parking places, and a neon sign that said, Mira style, FOOD.

When I walked in, the first thing I saw was a tall bony girl throwing some kind of a fit.

“I am telling you,” she was saying to another girl, a curvy blonde with her hand on her hip. “If I get less than fifteen percent

again tonight I am going to kill someone.”

“Uh-huh,” the blonde said. She was standing by the coffee machine, watching it brew.

“Mark my words,” said the bony girl. She had a short haircut with bangs straight across her forehead. She turned and looked

toward the back corner of the restaurant, where a group of men in suits were standing up and pushing in their chairs, making

leaving noises.

The blonde turned from the coffee machine and looked at me. She had on bright red lipstick. “Can I help you?”

“I need to order some takeout,” I said. My voice sounded loud in the almost-empty room.

“Menu’s right there,” she said, pointing to a stack right beside my elbow. She was staring at my lip. “Let me know when you’re

ready.”

The tall girl brushed past me as she came out from behind the counter, then stepped aside as the suits left. One man toward the

back was chewing on a toothpick, smacking his lips. The blonde settled in against the opposite side of the counter, watching me.

“Y’all have a good night,” the tall girl said.

“You too,” one of the men mumbled.

I went back to scanning the menu, all of it standard beach food: fried seafood, burgers, onion rings, the kind of stuff that had

been banned from our house since my mother was born again as Kiki Sparks. It had been months since I’d had a french fry, much less

a burger, and my mouth was already watering.

“I knew it,” the tall girl said from across the room. She was standing by the table the suits had just abandoned, a bunch of

change in her hand. “A dollar seventy. On a thirty-dollar tab.”

“Well.” The blonde was clearly used to hearing this.

“Goddammit,” the tall girl said. “Okay, then. That is it.”

The blonde looked at me. “You ready?”