Dreamland Social Club(19)

Jane had almost forgotten about the first day of school, the bottle throwing, the shards of glass splayed in the air like confetti. A second ago she’d thought that people would absolutely want the sort of coaster her father designed, but maybe it was more complicated than that. The sick feeling she’d had that first afternoon came back.

“Unless they can’t afford the rent,” someone in the back of the class said, and Leo said, “Oh, screw you.”

Clearly they weren’t talking about puzzle pieces anymore. But Jane wasn’t sure exactly what they were talking about.

Mr. Simmons returned to the head of the class. “Like I said . . .”

Everyone waited.

“Embattled.”

Mr. Simmons changed gears then and went on to other areas, then circled back to assign homework. “I want you to write one sentence describing the most fun you ever had on Coney Island. Don’t overthink it. Just do it. We’ll talk more about the full assignment next time.” He stopped by Jane’s desk. “And Jane, I know you just got here. You can pick another place if you like.”





“Hey,” Jane said to Babette after class. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“No big deal,” Babette said. “No pun intended.”

“Still,” Jane said, thinking of Preemie in his incubator, a neighbor of Midget City himself. “So did your grandparents work in Midget City or something? Did your parents grow up here?”

Of course Babette would have told her if her parents had grown up with Jane’s mom, wouldn’t she have? Still, the thought of it got her hopes up for a split second.

“Actually, my parents and grandparents are completely, painfully normal. My father’s a cop and my mother’s a teacher in the elementary school in Brighton Beach. We only moved here like four years ago.”

“Oh,” Jane said. And then a more surprised, “Oh!” because she had been picturing Babette at home with a small family.

“It’s just a gene mutation,” Babette explained. “Straight-up dwarfism, unlike perfectly proportioned Minnie Polinsky, who has primordial dwarfism, which is like the rarest of the rare, and also the reason she’s so darn cute like a china doll while I’m just”—she looked down—“like this. Anyway, my parents look happy in old pictures but they don’t seem that way anymore, not since I came along. I try not to blame myself.”

“You shouldn’t!”

“I don’t. Not really.” Babette shrugged. “Just put in a good word with your brother for me, will you?” Her T-shirt today featured a drawing of an octopus—a yellow image on a gray base. “It’s really only a matter of time before he drops his aloof act and falls under my spell. I’m small, but I have other charms.”

“I’m sure.”

“Oh, please.” Babette punched Jane’s thigh. “Like you’re not going to bed at night thinking about getting tattoos that say ‘I Heart Leo.’ ”

Jane shot her a look.

“I’m not blind. I see the way you look at him, all dreamy.” Babette batted her eyelashes.

“I hate needles,” Jane said.

“Well, this little plan of yours to knock stuff down so you can rebuild Dreamland or some slick new coaster isn’t going to wow him either,” Babette said with new energy that sounded like frustration. “His father owns the Anchor, you know.”

That dump?

It would explain why Leo’s father told him stories about the strange bar bets Preemie had made. It would explain why they’d all been outside the bar that night. Was it possible that Leo’s father had known her mother?

Babette said, snarkily, “And his mother is only the president of Coney Islanders for Coney.”

Even better. Maybe his mom had known her?

But before getting carried away with the idea, she asked, “What’s Coney Islanders for Coney?”

“It’s a local sort of activist group that’s fighting the Loki plan.”

It was like Babette was speaking a different language. “What’s the Loki plan?”

“Dear naive Jane.” Babette’s eyes seem to glitter in the hallway’s fluorescent lights, and her hair looked deep purple. “You really have to get a clue, or an act.”

“An act?”

“Yeah, you know. An act? An angle? A shtick? Something that sets you apart from the rubes?”

Which was carny for losers, chumps, paying customers.

Jane said, “Why can’t I just be me?”

“You have heard of adolescence, right?” Babette huffed. “Traumatic period of life wherein no one is free to just be themselves. Not without ridicule anyway.”

Jane looked around at the hordes of normal kids, plowing through the halls, going about their typical high school day. She said, “Plenty of people here—most people here—don’t have an act and no one cares.”

Babette threw her little hands up in the air. “Fine, hang out with them!”

“Maybe I will!”

Babette sighed. “All I’m saying is I can’t hang out with you unless you do something for your image.” She put her hands on her small hips. “I mean, really. Jane. Have you looked in a mirror lately?”