Dreamland Social Club(43)

Babette barreled over at lunchtime and said, “Legs and Minnie broke up.”

She was breathless: “I just saw her crying in the bathroom.”

Practically bursting: “He wants to see other people.”

“Other people?” Rita said with a swallow. “Like who?”

Jane studied the seam of her book bag; the speckled pattern on the cafeteria floor, like a bird’s egg; the white skin showing through the openings of her Mary Jane–style shoes. Finally, when she could ignore the question no longer, she said, “I think he may have asked me out.”

“I knew it!” Babette made a pouty sort of face. “That’s so sweet. What did you say?”

Jane lost interest in her lunch entirely. “I said yes, but I didn’t realize it was a date.”

“So what if it’s a date,” Babette said. “That’s awesome.”

“I’m not sure it’s a good idea,” Jane said, and Babette said, “Jane. Come on.”

“Come on, what?”

“You know.” Babette wasn’t actually tugging on Jane’s arm but it felt like she was, with that look in her eyes.

“No.” Jane was fuming, because she did know. “I don’t.”

Babette looked across the room to where Venus and one of Leo’s friends were playing that game where you try to slap the other person’s hands before they slap yours; a flat thwack cut through the din of the room as Venus nailed the guy hard.

“Fine,” Babette said when she looked back at Jane. “It’s your life. Waste it if you want.”

“Are you guys going?” Jane said finally. “Rollerskating?”

“Yes, we’re going. But you can’t tell him you didn’t know it was a date. You have to pretend.”

“I can’t.”

“Oh, so you’re going to tell him?” Babette put tiny hands on her hips. “You’re going to say, ‘Sorry I said yes, but I thought it was a group thing, and the thought of going on an actual date with you is so repulsive to me that I have to retract my yes.”

“I never said I was repulsed!” Jane protested. “I’m not!”

“Still.” Rita winced. “She has a point.”





Jane was almost at the boardwalk with Babette at day’s end when Mr. Simmons appeared and stopped her. “I’m still waiting for your postcard, Ms. Dryden.” He rubbed his goatee. “I check my mail so often I’m starting to feel like an army wife.”

“I’ll catch up,” Jane said to Babette, who had started to walk over toward the bench on the boardwalk where Rita and Marcus were sitting.

“I know,” Jane said to her teacher. She would have made a postcard about the night at the old Thunderbolt site, her night with Leo, if he hadn’t ruined it all the next day by canceling on her to be with Venus.

Mr. Simmons said, “You’re losing points each day I don’t have it.”

“I know,” Jane said again, and she was about to skulk away when she had a thought. “Mr. Simmons?”

He turned.

“What do you know about carousel horses?”

“Meaning . . . ?”

“Meaning, I don’t know, how much money would a Claverack carousel horse be worth?”

“From what I know—anything from maybe ten grand to sixty grand? But here’s the thing”—he paused and seemed to be choosing his words—“like any collectible of any real value, it’s priceless to the right owner.”

“But who is the right owner?” The answer to that question would solve everything.

Mr. Simmons shrugged and said, “The person who finds it priceless.” He started to back away. “The postcard, Jane. Don’t forget.”

She turned and moved on to meet Marcus, Rita, and Babette but saw that Babette hadn’t made it to the bench yet. She was frozen in place, watching from a distance, while Marcus and Rita sat side by side, laughing in the sun. They were watching H.T. and his friends dancing on the boardwalk to loud hip-hop music coming from a boom box. H.T. was doing some kind of fancy, spinning handstand. Marcus and Rita were sitting very, very close.

“Babette!” Jane called out—more loudly than was necessary during a gap in the music—and Rita looked up and elbowed Marcus, who quickly put space between them.

Babette turned to Jane, who caught up with her, and together they joined Marcus and Rita.

They all watched H.T.’s crew dance for a while more, and then Jane pulled out the photo of Birdie and the legless man, which was tucked into the front cover of one of her texts. What Mr. Simmons had said made her realize why she’d taken it from the house, why she’d been carrying it around. When H.T. stopped dancing, she walked over and said, “Hey.”

“Hey.” He looked at her expectantly.

“I was looking through some of my grandmother’s old stuff and I found this picture.” She looked at the picture again now and felt like this was probably a huge mistake. But there was no turning back. “It’s her and a guy who also, well . . .” She suddenly couldn’t find words.

H.T. snatched the photo out of her hand and looked at it, then said, “Oh, man, no way. Johnny Eck, the Half Boy. This guy’s, like, my idol.”