The Key to the Golden Firebird (19 page)

May had been home all of an hour, and she'd spent most of it sprawled on her bed with her legs flipped over her head, yoga style. This was her thinking position. She assumed it in times of crisis to encourage blood flow to her brain. All it was doing for her now was making her stare at her calves close up. She needed to shave.

The phone rang, jarring her meditative flow.

“May!” Palmer screamed up the stairs. “It's Camper!”

She wasn't ready for this conversation yet.

“Hey,” he said as May got on the phone. She could hear the smile in his voice. “I was wondering if I could drop by. Are you busy, or…?”

“We're…” May glanced around her room for something she could be doing but came up with nothing. “I'm burned. Really burned. I'm covered in aloe. I'm sticking to my sheets. It's gross.”

“You always look good.”

Every alarm in May's head went off.

“No, I mean I'm in pain. I feel a little sick. You know what it's like when I get burned.”

“Right,” Pete said. “Want me to bring you something? Ice cream?”

“I was going to try to go to sleep.”

“Oh,” he said. The disappointment in his voice was clear.

“But it's only because I have the test in the morning. I have to try to be able to move and not be too swollen.”

“Need a ride there?”

“My mom is taking me. I think she feels obligated since she didn't teach me.”

“Afterward?”

“Oh,” May said. “Yeah. Sure. Come by.”

She cringed at her obvious lack of romantic suavity.

“I've really missed you,” he said eagerly. “We should talk. You know. Maybe tomorrow. Or now, if you felt like it. But if you're tired…”

“We should,” she replied, trying to sound equally as excited. “But we should do it in person.”

“Sure,” he agreed quickly.

The line went quiet.

“You're tired, huh?” he asked.

“Yeah. I guess I should sleep.”

“So I'll see you tomorrow?” he said. “Around noon?”

“Great. See you tomorrow! Bye!”

May hung up quickly. She was pretty sure that there had been a real possibility that he was going to hang up with an “I love you,” and that would have caused her to take a running leap out of her window.

May slid off her bed and pulled out the flat drawer along the top of her desk. She reached into the space underneath, retrieved an envelope, and shook out the contents. Seven Polaroids fell out. The famous Peter Camp photos. They'd had great plans for the pictures at the time that they were taken. They were going to post them online. But in the
confusion that followed, they'd been put away and forgotten.

May arranged them on the desktop and turned on the light. They really were very blurry. Still, she could see enough. She could see that he had been much skinnier last year; he'd developed muscles recently. It appeared that he had very few freckles on his back. The “good butt shot” was not only an excellent photo, but it revealed a really good butt as well. The much contended issue of size was still impossible to resolve, however, even when she squinted and held the photos up to her desk lamp.

She put the photos back into the envelope quickly. She sometimes had the strange fantasy that her father could see her whenever she was doing something embarrassing, as if the dead watched the living like they were the cast of a reality show. And as on a reality show, no one would want to see the boring, virtuous parts. The bits when she was studying or when she got to work five minutes early, May was sure these were edited out. But the sight of May hunched over a photo of a naked Peter Camp—that would be included.

“I need sleep,” she said to herself, crawling under the quilt. “I'll know what to do tomorrow.”

 

Palmer sat on her bed, staring at the bronze canister. It was the first thing she'd wanted to see when she got home. She felt weird being away from it now. She didn't like leaving her dad alone in the house while they went to the beach. Using the corner of her pillowcase, she wiped away the smudges her fingers had made.

Though she was glad she'd found it, having the canister presented some problems. One, she didn't necessarily want to be its keeper. That seemed like a scary, eternal responsibility. The
second was that now that she'd found it, she'd lost her desire to go through the house at night. That had been her only occupation, and now it seemed to be gone.

It had been all right at the beach, sleeping in close quarters with everyone, having Brooks and May right there with her. But now that she was home, Palmer was afraid. She was going to have to go back to the horrible feeling of waking up in the middle of the night unable to breathe. And she would have nothing to do but sit and wait until she finally managed to drift back to sleep—and that sometimes took hours.

This was not the time to be sleepless. She was already behind the other players at the camp because she'd missed the first days. The thought of games rarely made her nervous, but tomorrow she'd be playing with strangers. They'd probably be girls a lot older than she was, most of them the best players from their schools. And there might be scouts in the crowd.

She leaned back on her bed and hung her head upside down over the side. She counted her trophies. There were twenty-one, all lined up on the special shelf her dad had put up above her dresser. When her head filled with blood, she pulled herself upright and looked at the canister again. She needed to do something with it, or she was going to go crazy.

It suddenly dawned on her—May. She would tell May what she had done, and May would have a good answer. Even if she had gotten wasted over the weekend, May was still the responsible one.

Palmer slipped off her bed and went down to May's door. She knocked once, then let herself in. May was sitting in bed, reading a book.

“Could you wait for me to say, ‘Come in,' for once?” May asked, looking up in annoyance.

Palmer shifted from foot to foot. How did she explain this?

“What did Pete want?” she asked. The second the words were out of her mouth, Palmer realized her mistake. She had blown it.

“You have to stop it, Palm,” May said, sitting up on her elbows. “Stop watching everything Pete and I do.”

“I'm not—”

“I'm really tired,” May said, putting down her book and reaching over to turn out the light. “I have this stupid test in the morning. Would you please let me sleep?”

Palmer felt like she was going to cry. She wanted to tell May what she had sitting against the Orioles pillow on her bed. She wanted to tell her about her nights of prowling, and the horrible pain in her chest, and the terrible fear.

“Please, Palm.” May groaned. “Go.”

There was just something about her that annoyed people, that made them ask her to leave. Not knowing what else to do, Palmer turned and went back to her room.

Since she'd been practicing in Pete's car, May decided to take the Firebird for her exam. It was a little more similar in feel and in size than the minivan. Now that she was here, though, she wondered if it was way too old or too weird for the exam. Maybe you needed a car that didn't look like it had been stolen from the Smithsonian.

Her new examiner, a stern-looking man with a crew cut and raw red circles under his eyes, seemed much more interested in the car than in his examinee. He walked around it, inspecting it minutely.

“Firebird 400,” he said, throwing open the door and taking the permit he was meekly offered. “Sixty-seven, right? Someone in the family a car buff?”

“My dad.”

“He do the restore?”

“The what?”

“Okay.” He glanced at the permit. “
May-zee.
Maize-eee. Mayzie? Give me your hazards while we're here.”

As May demonstrated all the requested functions, she felt more like a model demonstrating a car in a showroom than someone taking the driver's exam. Her examiner even wanted to see the latch that released the convertible top.

“All right,” he said, satisfied that she knew the controls. “Let's get moving.”

One thing became immediately clear as May started moving the car forward—Pete had prepared her well for this. The lessons had helped, but what really boosted her confidence was the fact that she'd had so many nerve-racking experiences in the car with him. Nothing the examiner could do really rattled her. Even when she struck an orange cone on the serpentine and caused it to wobble or when she was clearly going too slowly on her thirty feet in reverse, her nerves remained steady right to the end of the course. She was actually shocked at how easy it was.

“Congratulations,” the man said, checking off some boxes on his form. “Pull over in front of the building.”

“I passed?”

“Yes,” he said, handing her back her card and a form. “Take this inside. And tell your dad he's got a nice car here.”

“Sure.” May nodded, pulling into the directed spot. “I'll tell him.”

It took only a few minutes to have the permit verified. When she came back out, the examiner was gone and her mother was sitting in the passenger's seat, grinning broadly. May got into the driver's seat.

“I saw you go in,” her mother said. “I thought that seemed like good news.”

She leaned over to give May a hug. She smelled vaguely of hospital, even though she'd showered since she'd been there last.

“You have no idea how relieved I am,” she said.

“Relieved?” May asked, giving her mother a sideways glance. That wasn't quite the reaction she'd been expecting—not immediately after she passed the test, anyway.

May started the car and carefully backed out of the space. It
took her almost a full minute to do this, as she stopped for every car that came down their row. She overshot her turn leaving the parking lot and almost ended up on the shoulder on the opposite side of the road. Okay, maybe the state of Pennsylvania had made a mistake—but too late now. She wasn't giving them the license back.

“Palmer has a game this afternoon,” her mom said. “I'm leaving for work at six, so if you could take her, that would be great.”

“Sure.”

“And if you could run to the store…”

“Can't I be normal and celebrate for a second?” May asked. She could hear the irritation in her voice.

Her mom flashed her a quick look.

“I mean, could you wait maybe five minutes before laying the jobs on me?”

“I'm just—”

“Brooks didn't get a list of chores when she got her license,” May found herself saying. “She went to a game. She had a cell phone.”

“What are you saying?” her mother asked.

“I'm saying Brooks actually did stuff, had fun. I got my license because I had to. It's always been about Brooks. You let her do whatever she wants.”

“Don't exaggerate.” Her mother pried a few stray M&M's from the well near the shift.

“So why is Brooks practically in rehab now?” May spat. “She was like that for months, and you didn't say a word.”

“If I had known…”

Maybe it was because she was in the driver's seat now, but May felt a sudden urge to say exactly what she thought.

“How could you
not
know, Mom? How could you not know that your own daughter was out about every other night, wasted out of her mind? Didn't you guess something was up when she quit the team? Or what about the fact that she was hung over and half dead the rest of the time? What about her grades? What are
they
like?”

Her mother put on her sunglasses and stared out the window.

“Dad liked her best,” May said. “You like her best. Why can't you just say it?”

In her frustration May almost ran a red light. She skidded to a stop several feet past the white line. The nose of the Firebird stuck out into traffic. She couldn't back up because cars had come up right behind her. People wove around her to get by, some honking in annoyance as they passed.

“You're too far up,” her mother snapped.

“Like I didn't notice that.”

Neither of them spoke again for the rest of the ride. Once they were in the garage, her mother left the car, slamming the door behind her.

Palmer was immediately on May's heels the second she walked into the house.

“What did you do?” Palmer asked, her voice low.

“We had a fight,” May replied, rubbing her temples. She pushed past Palmer and went into the kitchen, but Palmer followed her.

“Mom's
upset.
”

“I know.” May threw open the fridge and cursed at the empty water pitcher. “Can you leave me alone for a second, Palm?”

“What did you do?”

Palm was clenching her jaw and glowering down at May.

“I didn't do anything,” May spat. “I passed my test, okay? That's what I did.”

May heard a car pull up in front of the house. Pete. She hurried to the front door to check. The Cutlass was in front of the house, and Palmer was still at her back, yapping like a dog.

“You did something to her!”

“Not now, Palm! Go away!”

Palmer stomped upstairs.

May examined herself in the mirror. Her eyes were slightly red. She had her sunburn, which was almost fading into a tan and looked sort of nice against her dark blue tank top. She reached up and pulled out the twist tie that held her hair back in a knot and gave her head a good shake. Her hair was kind of bumpy and strange looking from being pulled up when it was still wet, but May decided to tell herself it was attractively wavy. She had no problems at all lying to herself in desperate situations.

She peered through the glass at the top of the door and saw Pete marching across the front lawn. He was casually but carefully dressed in long green khaki shorts and a black short-sleeve button-down shirt. His clothes even looked ironed. His hair seemed to be carefully dried and even kind of…arranged. His arm was tucked behind his back.

She opened the door. As he got within a few paces, he broke out into a huge grin. May clenched her hands into fists to keep them steady.

“You
are
burned,” he said.

“Oh.” May looked down at herself and remembered her excuse from the night before. “Yeah. I scorch.”

He swung his arm around and presented her with three Gerber daisies. May pushed open the door and stepped outside to take them. They were vividly colored—red, orange, and yellow.

“I got these…,” Pete said. “I knew you were going to pass.”

“What's this?” May said, even though they were obviously flowers.

“There's only three of them,” he said, almost apologetically.

“They're great. Thanks.”

“Are you all right?” he asked. May turned away and headed for the garage.

“I'm fine,” she said quickly, wanting to get away in case her mother came downstairs. “Let's go…out here. We can sit in the car.”

They sat down in the front seat of the Firebird, leaving the doors hanging open.

“So, I passed,” she said. “Finally. Amazing.”

Neither of them could think of anything more to say about the test. May looked down at the cream-colored vinyl seat. Traces of fabric softener fragrance wafted off Pete's shirt.

“So, your call,” he began. “The other night. Did you mean what you said?”

May stroked the flower petals and found herself unable to speak. Her entire attention was on the fact that Pete's hand had fallen on her far shoulder, and this time he wasn't going to tap on it and make her turn the wrong way. He had gotten closer
to her. His face was just inches away from hers. There was no question what was supposed to happen next.

Pete kept talking, his words coming more quickly.

“Because for a long time I've really…I like you a lot. Obviously.”

All of Pete's attributes, which had seemed so appealing just a short while before, took on a threatening quality. His hair was too curly. His nose, too small and well formed. He had gotten too tall. His lips seemed especially ridiculous. They could be the most perfectly formed lips on the planet and still look like some very disturbing instruments when viewed up close for over a minute.

He slid closer to her. The hand that had been on her shoulder was now cradling the back of her head.

“Pete…”

Oh God, his head was even at an angle. He was ready. It was like a crowded elevator full of emotions had just risen to May's head and gotten stuck there. They were all banging around, making her feel like she was going to explode.

“Just wait.” She put her hands up against his chest and pushed herself back. “Just stop, okay?”

Pete stopped moving entirely.

“What?”

“I don't want to do this, okay? It's weird.”

“What's weird?”

“This!” she yelled. “Us!”

He seemed confused.

“You called and said you loved me.”

“I was drunk. Brooks got me drunk. I didn't know what I was doing.”

“You weren't drunk before you left.”

She couldn't deny that one. She couldn't think, period.

“What about Jenna?” she asked, wondering where her words were coming from. Pete almost jumped to his side of the seat.

“What about her?”

“It just seems kind of weird to me, now that I think about it,” May said. “Why you broke up with her.”

Pete's eyes seemed to get bloodshot instantly. His brow lowered, and the freckleless spot between his eyes turned a bright crimson. Bizarrely, May's impulse was to make him mad.
Be vicious.
That was the only message she was getting.

“What about Nell?” she asked. “You just cheated on her, then you dumped her.”

“Nell was…I explained this to you. What are you saying?”

“I just wanted to learn how to drive,” May went on, “and you…”

Were nice. Helped me. Made me laugh.

“…completely took it the wrong way. And you didn't even care what you did to her. Is that what you do? You just stay with someone as long as you feel like it? I mean, are you just going to screw me and dump me?”

May never used the word
screw
, not in that sense. The word left a hard taste in her mouth.

“Screw you and dump you?” he repeated incredulously. His voice had gone a bit hoarse.

In the silence that followed, May could hear the Stark boys gleefully using each other as lawn dart targets. Their breathless screaming drifted up over their house, through the open garage door, and passed into the Firebird.

It was hard to do, but once you made Pete angry, he stayed angry. There were times when they'd fought as kids that he'd cut May dead for days until they had made up. But those times were nothing compared to the anger she saw in him now. Now she saw a much bigger, scarier emotion. He wasn't the little boy who used to ride over to her house on his bike anymore—he was a fully grown guy.

He turned to face forward. His chest was rising and falling quickly. May leaned back and looked out her side of the car. She couldn't understand why she was so very calm when this horrible thing was exploding all around her. She actually felt a strange sense of relaxation.

When Pete left a minute later, she decided not to turn to watch him go, even though something inside her was yelling at her to follow him. Quickly. To get out of the car and catch him and stop this insanity.

That was impossible.

She sat, staring at the tool shelf. She heard Pete's car pull away.

Brooks came down into the garage and set a bucket of freshly washed dishes on one of the shelves.

“Nice one,” she said, and headed back inside.

 

May was sitting against her bed, staring at the phone on the floor. She'd been in the process of reaching for it for an hour, wanting to call Pete but having no idea what to say—or what her voice might say, since she was apparently possessed by demons who did all her talking for her.

Brooks pushed open her door without knocking.

“It's time for Palmer's game,” she said.

May shoved her star-spangled flip-flops on her feet. As she walked down the hall, Brooks followed her.

“You're coming?” May asked.

“Moral support.”

“Since when have you given that out?”

Palmer was already sitting in the back of the car, silently examining her glove. Brooks hopped into the passenger's seat.

“You have a lot of problems, you know that?” Brooks said casually as May backed out of the garage. “Seriously. I think you need a psychologist.”

“Not now,” May said flatly.

“Really. I think you do.”

“Well, when your rehab guy has some free time, maybe he can see me.”

“Both of you,” Palmer said from the back. “Shut up.”