Authors: Owen Matthews
The Fixes (10 page)
They wait. Minutes pass. Long, agonizing minutes.
Eric wonders what would happen if Jordan and Haley were caught. He wonders if Jordan's big talk about having a good lawyer is actually true.
He wondersâ
(selfishly)
                             Â
âif the police could trace Jordan and Haley to him.
He wonders if this will fuck up his law school application.
Just when Eric's deciding that yes, having two friends booked for Grand Theft Luxury will probably affect his futureâ
(and just when Eric's starting to
stress
)
âPaige nudges his arm. Points through the crowd.
“Bam,” she says. “What did I tell you?”
Eric follows her gaze. Sure enough, there's Jordan and Haley, limping and staggering onward like they just fought a war.
Jordan's still grinning, though.
(That cocky smile.)
And they're both holding armloads of stolen merchandise.
“Had to get a little creative,” Jordan says when they're all standing together. He nudges Haley. “Had to bail this one out of a little fiasco.”
“Security had me cornered,” Haley says. “I forgot there's no mall exit on the second level. Dumb.”
“Anyway, we all made it,” Jordan says. “So let's see who won.”
They drive back to Jordan's
house
big freaking mansion. Eric's buzzing like a live wire, amped up on adrenaline. He can hardly sit still in the passenger seat, keeps squirming around as they drive back across the bridge, checking behind them for police lights.
Haley catches him looking, rolls her eyes, like he's the lamest human being in all of Capilanoâ
(which he might be)
âbut Paige smiles at him, just a little, before she turns to look out her own window again. They're all wound up, caught in the adrenaline afterglow. Personally, he feels so terrified he could puke, but it's kind of all right, too. They're in this together. It's been a while since he's had, like, actual
friends
.
(Probably since he and Paige broke up.)
Jordan's house is on Marine Drive, way west of Capilano, even farther than Callum Fulchrest's placeâ
(and Jordan's is waterfront).
It's surrounded by forest: big, tall spruce and cedar trees, hedged in from the road and the neighbors so when the driveway gate closes, you might as well be on another planet.
Jordan parks the BMW. Eric climbs out, takes a breath of fresh air.
They're free. Mission accomplished.
Fix complete.
Survival achieved.
“Paige. What's your haul?”
Paige unloads her souvenir bag onto Jordan's couch. “Underwear,” she tells the others. “Lots and lots of underwear.”
Jordan sifts through, examining price tags. “Estimated value: about six hundred dollars. Agree?”
Paige checks his numbers. “Give or take.” Then she holds up a lacy bra. “Shit. None of this stuff is my size.”
“Let me see.” Haley grabs for the bra. Checks the tag and smiles wide. “Bingo.”
Paige chucks the rest at her. “Merry Christmas, bitch.”
“Six hundred dollars,” Jordan says. “Who's next?”
“I blew my wad,” Jordan says. “I was aiming for Chanel.” He shows the others his haul: a black evening gown. “Instead I wound up with Badgley Mischka.”
“Shoot for the moon,” Haley says. “At least if you miss, you'll land among the stars.”
“That's, like,
so
deep.” Jordan holds up the price tag. “Eight hundred dollars.”
Paige snatches the dress. “Give me that.” She holds it against her body. Haley and Eric applaud. Jordan whistles.
“I guess I could fit into a size two.” Paige smiles. “I mean, it would be a shame to waste this.”
Haley shakes her head. “Size two. Sometimes I really hate you.”
“Is that a Burberry trench, Eric?” Haley says. “Damn, I can't beat that. You win.”
Eric holds up the trench. Tries it on. It fits okay, but not great. It's too broad in the shoulders.
(It would look perfect on Jordan, though.)
“Wait a second,” Haley says as Eric takes off the coat. “Let me see that.”
Eric hands it over. Haley examines the collar. Makes a victory noise.
“
Ha
,” she says. “Burberry
Brit
, retail nine seventy-five. E, I always knew you were a basic bitch.”
Eric takes the coat back. Sure enough.
(
Phooey
.)
“So what did you get?” he asks Haley as he chucks the trench to Jordan. “With your big attitude.”
Haley stands at the front of the room. Makes sure everyone's looking at her. Enjoys the moment. She smiles out at them like an actress on Broadway.
“I went for watches, first thing,” she tells the audience. “I thought I could bag me a nice Chanel J12. Really knock you clowns out of the water.”
She's holding a shoebox. She's hiding the brand. It doesn't look like she stole a watch.
“Anyway, those display cases are damn hard to smash,” she continues. “And you need a key to get them open. I thought I was screwed!”
“But you obviously weren't,” Jordan says, rolling his eyes. “So end the suspense already.”
Haley glares out at him. “You people have no concept of a good story,” she says. “But fine. Here you go.” She opens the shoebox. “Gaze upon my works, ye mighty, and despair.”
Eric and Paige and Jordan crowd around like it's the Holy Grail. It's actually a pair of shoes. Sneakers. Red leather. A band of stars across the strap.
“Givenchy high-tops,” Haley says. “Star Tysons. I snatched them right out of some dude's hands as he was trying them on.” She laughs. “You guys should have seen the look on his face.”
They're a hot pair of shoes, Eric has to admitâ
                             Â
(though he was kind of feeling good about winning his first Fix).
“How much?” he asks Haley.
“Retails for nine hundred and ninety-five dollars,” Haley tells him. “On sale at The Room for just nine hundred and ninety-five dollars.”
She grins at them again.
“Beat you by twenty bucks, E,” she says. “Eat it.”
Haley wins the Fix.
(Consolation prize: Those Givenchy high-tops are a size ten.
Eric's a size ten.
“Congratulations,” Haley says, handing him the box.
“Looks like you kinda won anyway, huh?”)
They admire their misbegotten goods for a while. Then they go outside, array themselves around Jordan's pool.
The afternoon wanes into evening, and Jordan turns the pool lights on, and the water glows multicolored. They change into swimsuits and jump inâ
(and the water's, like,
perfect
)
(and the lights are psychedelic)
(and Jordan's six-pack looks amazing)
(even if he is still making out with Haley).
They towel off again, refreshed. Lie down on the deck chairs and watch the sunset. They don't say anything, just watch the sun dip down behind the islands to the far west, and they lie there and enjoy the Moment.
Eric gets wasted and thinks about his dad and shit. Thinks about how he should be home. Doing problem sets. Planning. Living up to EXPECTATIONS.
He thinks about how this is better.
How much he'd rather be here.
(He looks at the others, and he can tell they're thinking similarly. He watches the sunset reflect in their eyes.)
Jordan catches him looking. Jordan sidles up beside him, puts his arm around Eric's shoulders. “I knew you were my kind of guy, E,” he says. “Welcome to the Suicide Pack.”
Eric wakes up disoriented. It's only when he sits up and sees the others that he remembers where he is.
Jordan's mansion. In the theater room. A bunch of couches and comfortable chairs facing a huge projection screen.
They celebrated last night, Palm Bays and pizza and a half-ounce of weed. Crashed on the couches and had a movie marathon.
Now it's Monday morning, and someone's phone is buzzing. The title menu for the
Bling Ring
Blu-ray is playing on repeat on the screen. Beside Eric, Paige groans and rolls over. Eric has a vague recollection of them sharing the couch, while Jordan was fooling around on the other couch with Haley.
(Eric tried to ignore it. Tried not to feel, like,
jealous
. Tried to hold on to the way Jordan looked at him at Callum's partyâ
(You're sweet, and you're smoking hot, too.)
Eric's still holding out hope, like a loser.)
Haley mutters something and slaps at her phone. The buzzing continues. Eric looks around for the source. It's under his couch. It's his phone. It's Ann.
Shit
.
The call goes to voice mail. Three new messages. Three missed calls. It's eleven forty-five, and Eric should be at work.
Eric stands up too fast.
“Shit,”
he says.
“Shit, shit, shit.”
A sleepy-eyed Jordan pokes his head up from the other couch. “Something wrong?”
“I'm supposed to be at the office,” Eric tells him. “They said if I missed one more day I'm freaking fired.”
Jordan checks his watchâ
(a gold Jaeger-LeCoultre).
“I'd say you're fucked, E,” he says. “It's almost noon.”
“Tell me something I don't know,” Eric says, quickly fixing his hair. “Am I calling a cab or can you give me a ride?”
Jordan yawns. “How about neither?”
Eric stares at him. “What?”
“How about you accept that you're probably fired and forget about it,” Jordan says. “Sit back down, smoke a bowl, and put on another movie. I'll order some food and we'll spend the day by the pool.”
Eric looks around for his shoes.
“Just relax, E,” Jordan says. “You and I both know you would rather be here.”
Well, of course he would.
(But that's not the point.)
“My dad's going to kill me,” Eric says. “He called in so many favors to get me that job.”
“Your dad will get over it,” Paige says. “It's not like your life's over just because you got canned from a shitty internship.”
“I need that reference letter, though,” Eric tells her.
“Your dad is fucking
Donovan Connelly
,” Haley says. “Any law school on the West Coast is going to lose its shit when it finds out his son's applying to
their
precious program. You're going to be fine, dude.”
“Anyway, what do you care?” Jordan says. “It's not like you're a freaking juvenile delinquent. We got more accomplished in The Room yesterday than you'll get done pushing paper all summer. And it's not like your dad can be pissed at you anyway, not anymore.”
Eric thinks about it.
Roger Dodger.
(They make a good point.)
His phone starts buzzing again.
This time, Eric answers.
“Eric.”
Ann sounds exasperated. “Young man, what did I tell you the last time? You'd better have a good reason you're not at your desk.”
“Not really,” Eric tells her. “I kind of slept in. Late night last night.”
Ann sputters. Now she sounds mad. “You
slept in
? And you think that's a valid excuse?”
“It's not an excuse. It's the truth.”
“Your attitude is
completely
unacceptable,” Ann says. “You've been a bad egg since day one, young man. Don't bother coming in to work again.”
Eric yawns. “I wasn't going to, but thanks anyway.”
Ann sputters something else.
“Have a good day,” Eric tells her.
He ends the call. Looks around the room.
“So,
that
happened,” he says. “Which way is the pool?”
On their respective couches, Haley and Paige and Jordan break into spontaneous applause.
They go cliff-jumping instead.
You have to drive up the coast a little bit to get there. Then you park at a train crossing and walk down the tracks for half a mile or so, past a big No Trespassing sign and into the forest.
The tracks cut through the mountain, high, steep rock walls on either side. There isn't much clearance.
If a train comes,
Eric thinks,
we're all screwed.
But no trains come. The tracks curve toward the water, and they can see the sun shimmering on the ocean through the trees. They reach a little trail into the woods, and climb up and over some boulders, and then they're at the cliffs, forty feet high and nothing but blue water beyond.
Eric's only been here once. He didn't jump off the high cliff. He was nervous. Cautious. It didn't seem safe.
(
What if there's a log below the surface?)
(What if you land on a rock?
)
Eric made the smart play.
He regretted it all the way home.
Look, you're smart. You can see the metaphor I'm going for here, with the cliffs and the jumping and the making of the smart choices. I'm not going to belabor the point.
Suffice it to say, Eric jumps off the high cliff today. He hems and haws at the top for a long time, in typical Eric fashion, but then, ultimately, he takes the leap.
And whether it's his own little act of rebellion against his dad, or the need to prove something to the othersâ
(or even just the way Jordan's looking at him)
âI'll let you decide.
Whatever suits your concept of the narrative so far.
The point is, Eric jumps.
But that's not entirely the reason I brought you here.
