Axis of Aaron (30 page)

“It’s the ocean,” he said.
 

“And that’s another thing,” said Aimee, coming to stand beside him. “Who paints the ocean? As far as life on Earth is concerned, what’s more eternal than an open expanse of water? What changes less? What has less of an expiration date? You want to capture the ocean? Sculpt. But not with something hard, because the ocean is soft. It’s the sort of thing you have to sculpt from flesh and bone.”
 

Ebon turned. “What?”
 

“You seem uneasy. Why are you so uneasy?”

“I just want to get to my boat. I just want to get out of the house.”
 

“So go.”
 

“I can’t. It won’t let me.”
 

“What won’t?”

“The island. The ocean.”
 

Aimee chuckled. Ebon’s pulse was in his throat. He wanted to slap her for the laugh, but held it in.
 

“You don’t think it’s strange that
I can’t open one of this house’s goddamned dozen doors?”
 

Aimee rolled her eyes good-naturedly, then reached over and flipped the lock open on the door Ebon had first tried. She pulled it open to December assault.
 

“You have to jiggle it,” she explained.
 

“Hold it open,” Ebon said. “I’m just going to grab my coat.”
 

As he shuffled toward the closet for his heavy raincoat, gloves, and hat, Aimee, one hand set delicately on her hip, said, “Hurry. My cookies are almost done.”
 

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

A Port in a Storm
 

THE GIRL’S BREATH WAS HOT, MOIST, and smelled like beer. Ebon found himself not caring at all.

“I said get me a drink!” she shouted.

Ebon looked down. She was already holding a drink.
 

She followed his gaze, then said, “Get me a
different
drink!”
 

Ebon considered being bothered by her bossiness, but decided to be flattered instead. He’d been watching her on the dance floor, finding her more carefree than sleazy or sloppy drunk. Somehow, despite his inexperience with concerts and alcohol and despite the girl’s clear tipsiness, Ebon could tell the difference. He’d never seen her before (probably because he didn’t drink much or go to many concerts or parties), but still it felt as if she’d been dropped here specifically for him: the kind of girl who didn’t talk to guys like Ebon, yet had chosen him out of all the handsome frat guys around to pump for free drinks.
 

He went to the bar at the back of the shadowy basement club and shouted at the bartender until he made himself heard over the loud music. He couldn’t really hear the bartender’s shouted return (again due to the volume of Charlie’s band onstage, but also due to his earplugs), but Ebon slid him five bucks, and the bartender shoved him something orange and girly in a tall glass. Their transaction seemed to be concluded satisfactorily, even if Ebon had no idea what he’d bought.

Half of him expected the girl with light-brown hair and emerald eyes to have gone off with another guy (or at least moved to the dance floor) before he came back, but she was still standing where he’d left her. She was against the wall, groups on either side of her turned toward their own centers, leaving her in a place of chaotic calm in the middle: a flower blooming alone on the floor of a parted ocean. Her eyes watched him approach. Ebon’s chest fluttered with the thrum of thundering speakers.

“What is it?” she yelled into his ear, indicating the drink.

Ebon shrugged.
 

She took the orange drink and sipped it. Then, still shouting, still with her lips very close to his ears, still intimate: “It’s a fuzzy navel! How did you know?”

“Know what?”
 

“That I like fuzzy navels?”
 

“I just guessed.”

“What?”
 

“I said,
I just guessed!”
 

“Oh! What’s your name?”
 

“Ebon.”

“Evan?”
 

“Ebon!”
 

“I’m Holly!”
 

Ebon wanted to say it was nice to meet her, but that was a given. He was too nervous to push any of this. He decided to get her drinks for as long as she demanded, possibly agreeing to cleaning her dorm room or doing her laundry if required.

“I like your earplugs!” For emphasis, she reached out and poked the one in his left ear.
 

“It’s too loud.”
 

“What?”
 

“I said, they match my outfit!”
 

“It takes a confident guy to wear earplugs at a college concert! It’s like you don’t give a shit what anyone thinks of you!”
 

This time, Ebon considered being insulted. But Holly clearly hadn’t meant it that way. As impossible as it was to believe, Ebon thought she might be flirting with him. She was much better at it than he’d ever been (mumbling at his shoes had never worked once), but everything she said had a playful, tugging-your-hair-on-the-playground-because-I-like-you vibe. Unlikely, yes. But then again, she was lubricated.
 

“That’s my roommate on stage!” He pointed at the guitarist. “I just get used to wearing earplugs whenever he’s around!”

Holly thought this was hysterical. She tossed back her wave of shiny hair, exposing a set of bright teeth as laughter bubbled out. Ebon could tell it would have sounded like music outside. She was wearing dark eyeliner. It made both her white teeth and green eyes pop, sharp like a knife’s edge. She was wearing tight boot-cut jeans, strappy brown sandals, and a mauve top with faux-ivory buttons.

“Where do you guys live?”
 

“Deacon!”
 

“Nerd dorm!” she shout-said. “I didn’t know nerds rocked out!” She nodded toward Charlie, who was indeed rocking out.

“We get crazy. With earplugs!”
 

After a minute, Holly turned back to him, leaned close, and said, “You’re lucky I trust you!” She raised the fuzzy navel. “You could have roofied this!”
 

“I did!” Ebon shouted back, his face very close to her hair. “Once you pass out, I’m going to sneak over and do your math homework!”
 

This time, Holly laughed so hard that she almost rapped her head against the concrete wall behind her. Ebon felt flattered rather than patronized. Every time she’d yelled something into his ear, she’d pulled back and stared into his eyes with her bright-green ones, waiting and connecting. She thought his dorky, self-deprecating nerd humor was delightful. This was the least effort he’d ever put into a male-female exchange, and yet he was reaping more rewards than ever before. Maybe she really did like him, even though it had to be the beer.
 

Holly finished laughing, carefully wiped her eyes to preserve her makeup, then looked at him again, lingering smiles stretching her face. She seemed to be waiting for something, and Ebon even thought he might know what it was. But if she thought Ebon Shale, freshman and shy partygoer, was going to find the courage to say it, then she didn’t know Ebon Shale.
 

“Do you want to get some air?” she yelled.
 

Ebon had a strange vision of them jumping over an obstacle on BMX bikes. Then his stupidity fled, and he realized that “getting air” could mean something else, like maybe leaving a smoky club basement and its oppressive music. But that was too hard to believe. She had to be toying with him. She was a pretty party girl, and he was the guitarist’s quiet roommate who liked to read and watch cooking shows. He and Charlie hadn’t even been friends before college; they’d been paired by the university. Charlie happened to be smart, and Ebon happened to draw him in the roommate lottery. It was a fluke that Ebon had even come to this concert. Usually Charlie did cool-guy stuff while Ebon went bowling at the student union or took in a movie with the other nerds.
 

Rather than waiting for a response, Holly took Ebon by the wrist and led him through what appeared to be an emergency exit. Ebon waited for an alarm to sound, but none did, and a moment later they were climbing a short, filthy stairwell to arrive at street level behind the club. There was a dumpster behind them and loose trash bags to one side, one gnawed open by something.
 

When the door closed, the volume drained from the air and left only the deepest bass notes, shaking the air like a membrane. Holly reached up and delicately tweezed Ebon’s earplugs out with a finger and thumb painted in green polish. She held them out, and Ebon took them, grateful to see that they weren’t caked with earwax.
 

“Better,” she said.
 

Ebon looked around. They were alone. It should have been exciting, but it was intimidating instead. He’d enjoyed her attention in the club, but now felt under the spotlight. She was as tall as he was, maybe taller. She was thin and beautiful and held herself with a poise that Ebon knew he could never have. He felt lacking by any definable criteria, and it tied his tongue in knots.
 

“Thanks” was all he had.
 

“I hate smoke,” she said, half giggling, fanning her face with a hand. Her voice was light, almost musical. The need to shout downstairs had been a shame. Her laughter
was
music out here.
 

“Then I guess I’d better not light up,” Ebon said.

Giggle.
She was definitely lubricated. Ebon looked around, wondering what exactly they were supposed to do. Were they just supposed to stand in the garbage and stare at each other? He knew what a lot of couples would do in the alley behind the bar after sneaking out the back, but Ebon would sooner find the guts to go grocery shopping naked.
 

Holly looked around. The alley looked like the kind of place where local hoods might drop dead bodies. It smelled of sour refuse, its every surface sticky.
 

“Great place for a rape,” she said.
 

“It’s cool; I’m good,” Ebon answered.
 

Holly’s legs buckled as she laughed again, her knees drawing together, her lower body forming an x. She took his arm for support, as if she might topple. When she recovered, she sat on a crate as if they were in a cafe, preparing for tea. She looked up at Ebon, who was still standing.
 

“You’re fun,” she said. “I like that you’re not hitting on me.”
 

“Um … ”
 

“It’s just that I get a lot of guys hitting on me. I guess I ask for it. Not literally. But, you know, like, I had to clamor for attention as a kid because my dad was always distracted with work, and I’m a total daddy’s girl. That’s what my friends tell me anyway.”
 

“Sure,” said Ebon.
 

“I don’t mean to sound like that though. I’m sorry.”
 

“Like what?”
 

“Like I’m bragging or something.” She mocked her own voice. “‘Gee whiz, I’m so purty that I have to shoo the guys away!’ I didn’t mean it like that. I just don’t have a filter. Feel free to tell me to shut up.”
 

“No, I like it,” said Ebon, unsure what he meant.
 

“What’s your major, Evan?”
 

“Ebon.”
 

She ran a hand through her hair, exhaling. “I knew that. I’m sorry. I’m actually not that drunk.” Ebon realized he had no clue where she’d set her fuzzy navel. It wasn’t outside. “If I seem kind of nutso right now, it’s because it’s kind of how I am, but dancing makes it worse. I like to have fun. Not in the way most people say that though. I actually don’t drink all that much, and I don’t do any drugs or anything.”
 

“That’s good.”
 

“But of course, who says that other than someone who drinks a lot and does drugs? I’m — ”
 

“You really don’t need to keep saying you’re sorry,” Ebon interrupted.
 

“Don’t you want to sit down, Ebon? I feel like I’m on trial here.” She looked down at her crate.
 

“I’m fine.”
 

“It’s weird. I don’t care if you’re fine. I feels strange sitting here while you stand up.”
 

“You could stand.”
 

She waved her hand briskly in front of herself. Despite the chill air, she was still flushed from the club. Ebon knew; he’d been watching her dance the entire time.
 

“I’m tired. Sit next to me.”

Ebon looked at the crate. “There’s no room.”
 

“Well … ”
 

“You could sit on my lap.”
 

Holly seemed to consider, then stood.
 

“I was kidding,” he said.
 

“It’s cool. You didn’t roofie me. You haven’t raped me yet. I can sit on your lap.”