Purity (14 page)

“She’ll freak if I drive her car,” I say, leaning my seat back.

It’s silent for a minute until I hear Jonas squirming. I look back to see him removing his wallet. He pulls the Life List out of the billfold.

“What’re you doing?” I ask.

“Check out number one hundred thirty-four.”

My eyes run down the list. Number one-thirty-four is written in the margins in old pencil, but I still know what it is.

“Steal a car?” I read it aloud.

“Hey, you’re the one who wanted it on the list,” Jonas says. “But you could knock that one out this afternoon. I mean, we have a car, we have the keys, and we have a victim who is unlikely to press charges unless we crash into her favorite glitter factory and halt production.”

“Plus, she’ll be in the mall for ages. I bet we have it back before she ever notices you stole it,” Ruby adds.

“Does this even really count as stealing?” I wonder as I run my hands across the car’s steering wheel. Everything in it is shiny, like she just got it from the dealership. If I was going to steal a car, this is really the one to take.

“I think so. Come on,” Jonas says in an unusually mischievous voice. “Just run up to 7-Eleven and back.”

He waggles the Life List in front of me. Promise Three, a life without restraint. If I can have sex to keep the Promises, surely I can take Kaycee’s car for a spin.

I bite my lip and shut the driver’s side door. Ruby squeals in delight while Jonas clambers over the center console and into the passenger seat. I slide the car into drive and ease forward through an empty parking lot. The next thing I know, I’m on
the road that circles the mall, easing along so slowly that cars gun around me every few moments.

“You know, Shelby, you can go a little faster,” Jonas suggests.

“Shut up. I’m focusing,” I respond, unable to stop the grin that’s slowly spreading over my face. 7-Eleven grows closer. Each inch between Kaycee and me makes me feel more at ease.

“Right there,” Ruby says, throwing herself across the backseat to point. “Shelby? Right there. The turn is… um… you missed it.” She looks longingly at the 7-Eleven as we cruise by.

“I know,” I answer. “We’re going to the other 7-Eleven.”

“What other one? The one by the movie theater?” Jonas asks. I nod, never taking my eyes off the road.

“Um… you realize it’ll take, like, an hour to get there and back with traffic,” he says.

“Not just traffic,” I say. “We’ve got to stop by the lake, too.”

“Oh, man,” Jonas groans. “Look, Shelby, I was only encouraging this because I thought you were just zipping up the street. You realize your aunt is going to notice her car is gone if we’re gone for
hours
? Have you seen what happens to car thieves? I’ve played
Grand Theft Auto
, Shel, and the thief always ends up being shot by a cop.”

“But they also get to hang out with all those hookers!” Ruby reminds him. Jonas rolls his eyes.

“I promise I’ll fight off both the cops
and
the hookers for
you, Jonas,” I tell him. Jonas shakes his head and releases a small, nervous laugh.

“Fine. But you also have to buy the Slurpees.”

“Ooh, good call, Jonas,” Ruby says from the backseat. She’s considerably more relaxed than Jonas, lying down across the three seats and chewing on her hair.

We cross through the mall area, finally leaving the array of shops and giant inflatable
SALE!
balloons behind us. The main road to the other 7-Eleven is flanked by trees and apartment complexes, with tiny gas stations peppered here and there. We roll down our windows so that the summer breeze mixes with the icy air-conditioning; the blend of the two temperatures makes me ever aware of where we are, what we’re doing.

We stop at an intersection and for a moment I don’t recognize it—I usually come to it from another direction, so the Citgo and Subway don’t appear in their normal spots. If I were to take a left, though, we’d be on the same road that the hearse traveled to my mom’s grave. I flash back. White coffin, pink flowers, black dresses, Life List, slide-show music, Dad’s tears, and the sudden, awful fear when we walked away from the grave site hours later: We were leaving her there. We were leaving her there, all by herself, under the ground.

She knew she was dying, and she didn’t tell me.

“Shelby?” Jonas says. “The light is green.”

“Oh,” I say. I don’t accelerate. Jonas follows my line of sight down the road and seems to get the idea.

“Want me to drive?”

“No.” I shake my head. She knew she was dying, and she gave me the Promises. She gave me something to hold on to. I urge the car forward. “No, I’m okay. Sorry.”

The stabbing feeling in my heart slowly fades as we continue down the road. The other 7-Eleven is “the crappy one.” It’s the sort of place where you stop for gas if you absolutely have to but never, under any circumstances, stop to use the bathroom. I park the car far away from the rusty vehicles that occupy most of the lot, and we wade through the heat to get inside.

“Man, this one doesn’t have cherry,” Ruby gripes, settling for grape.

“But the other one doesn’t have blue raspberry,” I point out as I slide a giant cup underneath the blue raspberry spout.

“That’s not even a real flavor. Have you ever actually seen a blue raspberry? It’s just the Slurpee makers’ excuse for not being able to come up with a real raspberry flavor.”

“You put a lot of thought into this, Ruby,” Jonas says as he chooses blue raspberry as well.

“There’s not a lot to do on slow days at Flying Biscuit,” Ruby says.

I pay for all three Slurpees, and we climb back into Kaycee’s car. I drive faster now, more confident with the car’s power, and within a few moments we’re rumbling down a broken-pavement road toward Lake Jocassee.

This is the side of the lake I prefer; the other half is covered with water parks and rich people’s vacation homes, but this side is more subdued. A playground that’s faded from
sunlight sits near the edge of the water, and in the distance speedboats race by. There’s a couple with a little girl having lunch at the picnic table, but other than that, the area is empty. I park the car in a gravel lot, and we get out, Slurpees in tow. The old trestle is visible in the distance—I think I can make out people on its edge.

Ruby and I immediately head for the swings; Jonas sits on the side of a plastic camel on a metal spring. We all rock back and forth gently as the wind stirs the oak trees above. The little girl runs toward us, kicking up wood chips with her pink tennis shoes.

“You look like my pony!” the little girl declares, pointing at Ruby.

The girl’s mom is quick to start over, cheeks red-hot.

“What does your pony look like?” Ruby asks.

“His name is Patches!”

“Ah, of course. Pinto,” Ruby says with a nod, looking down at her multitone skin. “I guess that’s better than a Clydesdale.”

The girl’s mom reaches the swings. “I’m so sorry, sorry. Come on, Maddie, let’s go feed the ducks.”

“No, it’s okay,” Ruby says, holding up her hand. She rises from the swings. “Can I explain it to her?”

The mom doesn’t answer for a moment but then shrugs.

“So,” Ruby begins as all three start toward the water’s edge, “it’s this thing called vitiligo that makes me look like Patches, and it doesn’t suck as bad as you might think….” she begins. Ruby talks to kids like they’re adults; she thinks
it makes her bad with anyone under the age of twelve, but I think they appreciate it.

Ruby, Maddie, and Maddie’s mom open a bag and start throwing bread to an ever-increasing crowd of ducks, whose flapping wings and quacks eventually drown out Ruby’s voice.

I twist the swing in circles, tangling the chain above me. Jonas walks over and takes the swing Ruby was sitting in. He removes his wallet, thumbs through the billfold, and emerges with my Life List. Jonas holds it out for me. I pluck it from his hands, cradling the soft paper in my palm.

I look at item one-thirty-four, then lean down toward Ruby’s purse and rummage around for a pen. I hand it to Jonas, who carefully crosses off
Steal a car
.

“One down,” he says. “And… four hundred thirty-two to go.”

“Four-thirty-two?” I ask, surprised.

“I counted after the trestle jump.”

“We should stop adding things,” I say, but I know that’s not going to happen. Jonas and I have already discussed it before: A life without restraint means an
entire
life. From the time I made the Promise till my last breath.

“Maybe we
should
stop listening to Ruby’s additions, though. I noticed all of hers cost upward of five thousand dollars. That weightless thing she was talking about? Six figures.”

“Ugh. Add ‘get rich’ to the list, then,” I joke as I twist myself in circles till the swing chain is tight over my head. “So with that, it’s four hundred thirty-three.”

“We’ll get there,” Jonas says. “Eventually. I’ll be ninety-seven years old holding onto this list.”

“Still going to be the keeper of the list at ninety-seven?” I ask, peering through my hair at him. I pull my feet off the ground and the swing begins to unwind rapidly, spinning me around.

“Of course,” Jonas says, and sounds offended that I’d suggest otherwise. I try to look at him, but I’m spinning so quick that he’s just a blur. “If you’ll still be following it,” he adds.

“I’ll still be following it,” I say as the swing comes to a stop. The world still shakes a little; I close my eyes to cure the dizziness. When I open them, I’m looking at Jonas, though he’s all blurry. “You’re stuck with me, then. Till we’re old and Kaycee’s giving me Botox gift certificates.”

“Kaycee will probably give you Botox gift certificates for graduation. But speaking of the list and Promises and all,” Jonas interrupts himself, “you’re still planning to go to the wrap party?”

“I am. Ben will be playing the role of the dashing love interest. I’ll be the prostitute with a heart of gold,” I tease. “Antics will ensue.”

Jonas chuckles. “Wait, prostitute? You’re getting paid? I get a cut, then, right?” I laugh back, and Jonas sighs before continuing. “The world is thine oyster, Shelby Crewe, that you with sword shall open. Even if that oyster is Ben Simmons, unfortunately.”

I open my eyes and shrug.

“
The Merry Wives of Windsor.
It’s Falstaff speaking, Shelby, come on!”

It’s only an hour before we head back to the mall, sweaty but filled with some sort of joy that only comes from lakeside parks and Slurpee drinking. We leave the windows down so the scent of sunshine and leaves can pour into the car, and I speed up until the outside world is streaming by, like we’re in some sort of time machine by ourselves. Just us, no one else, no vows, no death, no ball gowns. I think for a moment that surely this is the best thirty-minute car ride I’ll ever experience.

Of course, that’s until we see the police cars in the parking lot.

“Oh, shit,” Ruby utters. There are two cop cars parked around the spot where Kaycee’s car was. Kaycee is standing beside the cops, dozens of shopping bags at her feet.

“We could just turn around,” I say nervously as my stomach flips. “I bet we can make it to the South Carolina border before they catch up to us.”

“If you run in
Grand Theft Auto
, you typically get shot even faster,” Jonas answers. We aren’t given much of a choice anyhow. Kaycee suddenly points toward us, practically jumping up and down. Two portly cops turn in our direction and fold their arms over their chests. For a tiny moment, I entertain the notion that Kaycee was worried about me, but then I see the anger on her face. Her eyes scan the car as we pull up, probably checking for dents. I inhale deeply, and the three of us get out.

Kaycee begins to yell, but her words are so shrill that it’s hard to tell what she’s saying.

“Yes, ma’am, why don’t you just stand over here for a moment while we talk to your niece and her friends?” one of the cops says through a bushy mustache. He rolls his eyes at Kaycee as soon as he’s turned his back, and he and the other cop—this one a little lankier and younger—step toward us.

“Shelby Crewe, I presume?” the older cop—Officer Woolrow, according to his badge—says.

“Yep,” I say through a grimace.

“And,” Woolrow looks at a notepad, “Jonas and Rosie?”

“Ruby,” Jonas corrects him. Ruby glares at him, as if to say “Way to blow a perfectly good cover.” She’s so pale that the dark and light facets of her skin contrast more than normal.

Woolrow doesn’t seem too bothered by it, though. He sighs and hands the notepad to his partner. “Well, Miss Crewe, did you have permission to take your aunt’s car?”

“We… um… had the keys.”

“I don’t believe that’s what I asked,” Woolrow says, raising an eyebrow and leaning forward a little. He’s remarkably like a guidance counselor; one heartbeat away from saying “What the hell is wrong with you, kid?” but retaining his composure despite it.

“Not exactly,” I finally confess. Behind Woolrow, I see my dad’s car pulling up.

“Then would you admit that you stole this car for a
joyride?” Woolrow asks. His partner vanishes to both calm Kaycee and talk to my dad, who has just jumped out of his car.