Dreamland Social Club(53)

Rita said, “You’re going to have to tell him sooner or later.”

“You’re one to talk,” Jane snapped.

Babette looked back and forth between them. “Him who? Tell him what?”





“Exploitation,” Mr. Simmons said. “I want to talk a little bit about exploitation in Coney history. So, for starters, what does it mean?”

“To take advantage of someone,” someone called out.

“Yes,” Mr. Simmons said, then he wrote on the board, an act that exploits or victimizes someone; treats them unfairly. “Can anyone name some examples of groups of people who have been exploited, historically, right here on Coney Island?”

Leo raised a hand and was called on. “At Dreamland, they shipped people in from Africa and brought Pygmies here against their will.”

Mr. Simmons turned and scrawled SAVAGES in big letters across the board. “What else?”

Babette raised her hand and, when called upon, said, “Little people.”

MIDGETS! Mr. Simmons wrote. Then: DWARFS!

“Who else?” Mr. Simmons said.

Jane raised her hand and contributed, “Premature babies.”

PREEMIES! Mr. Simmons wrote, then he put down his chalk. “Savages! Midgets! Dwarfs! Preemies! Freaks! No one was safe. If people were willing to pay a couple of cents to look at you, the businessmen on Coney historically provided these human amusements without punishment or judgment.”

“But Mr. Simmons,” Legs said, “wasn’t it true that normal people were exploited here on Coney, too? Just like freaks.”

“And the student becomes the teacher.” Mr. Simmons smiled. “What do you mean, Mr. Malstead? Enlighten us.”

“Well, at the Blowhole Theater at Steeplechase, it didn’t matter who you were.”

“Excellent point,” Mr. Simmons said. “And that, dear students, brings me to your next assignment.”

Groans filled the room. Here we go, Jane thought.

“I want you to imagine that some evil circus sideshow person has come to your home and captured you with the intent of putting you on display for profit, for all the world to see and gawk at. I want you to come up with your stage name and draw up a sort of banner advertising your talents. Or, if you’re not feeling artistic, I want you to write the script that the barker would use to introduce you and to try to lure people into your tent. ‘Step right up and behold the ninth wonder of the world,’ that kind of thing.”

“But Mr. Simmons?” It was one of the Kiras or Stephanies whom Jane could never keep straight. “What if there’s nothing weird about us to even exploit?”

Mr. Simmons smiled and said, “I am confident that if you all think hard enough, take a look in the mirror and inside your soul, you’ll come up with something.”

“Pretty deep, Mr. Simmons,” Leo said, and everyone laughed.





At day’s end, Jane stopped in the hall and watched Leo for a moment before he saw her coming. There seemed to be a new urgency about him. He was at her locker—waiting, eager, tapping his foot and fidgeting. Something had shifted. She had no idea what it might be but feared, in that second, that he knew.

About her dad.

Loki.

Everything.

He spotted her in the middle of another of his yawns and turned the yawn into a smile, relaxing his whole body along with his mouth. “I’m dragging this week,” he said, when she reached him.

She smiled, relieved. “Me too.”

They walked down to the Wonder Wheel and got on a swinging car after a few cars got loaded up with members of a tour group wearing badges Jane couldn’t quite read.

The wheel spun them up high and around, and Leo opened up his backpack and took out two cans of Budweiser, dangling from the plastic loops of what was once a six-pack. Jane couldn’t help but wonder what had become of the other four beers, but she took the one offered her.

Retracing her steps. Wasn’t that the idea?

Leo took the can back briefly and snapped it open for her, then handed it back, opened his own beer. He looked at her across the car—they were on opposite benches—and then slid over to sit beside her and said, “Cheers.”

They banged cans with a dull clank, like a dampened bell, and then sipped. It was cold—was his backpack a cooler bag? had he swiped them frozen from the Anchor?—and tasted bitter, but good. And it turned out Jane was thirsty. She drank more. She felt sort of loose and good as she studied his knees in his jeans. They were skinny but squarer than her own.

“I think it’s safe to say”—Leo stretched his legs out, his knees disappearing into his jeans like quicksand—“that this is the best part of my day so far.”

“Mine too,” Jane said, looking out at the sea and thinking about the first time she rode the Wonder Wheel with Marcus, how much had already changed, and wondering whether Leo was going to explain about his day or not, but not entirely caring.

“What do you think that says about us?” Leo said with a smile, looking over at her.

She laughed. “No idea.”

“So what’s up with you, anyway?” He sat up straight. “Like, what do you do? Like, are you going to join the school paper or the basketball team or anything?”

“Do I look like I play basketball?” She looked down at her clothes, her general way of being.