Wild Awake - By Hilary T. Smith Page 0,17
at him. Sukey. Columbia Street. Imperial Hotel.
He seems to get it.
There’s a faded sticker in the corner of the windshield with a picture of a duck that says FRIEND OF MARSHLANDS. I point to it and say something, but we’re driving down the alley and the gravel’s making a racket under the tires. Skunk says, “What?”
“Are you a friend of marshlands?” I shout.
This time, Skunk says, “Yeah,” and I flash him the devil horns because even if he’s just saying that, that’s badass.
We roll out of the alley and take a right, then left and a right again to get onto Columbia Street. I’m starting to relax a little now that we’re on our way. I hate cigarettes, but I find it oddly comforting when cars smell like them. When Sukey lived at home, she smoked Marlboro Lights out her bedroom window, and sometimes if I was good, she’d let me flick the lighter.
“This it?” says Skunk.
I look out the window. It’s taken us all of ten seconds to drive to the Imperial.
“Yeah.”
“Want me to wait here while you grab your stuff?”
I nod, fumbling with the door handle. I can see Doug through the dusty van window. He’s sitting against the wall with a couple other guys, talking. My heart bangs. I start to get out, and Skunk says, “You okay?”
The question takes me by surprise. I hang there awkwardly, my legs already out of the van and the rest of my body still inside it. I hate that question, “Are you okay?” It’s like asking someone if they think you look fat. You’re almost guaranteed to get a lie.
“Huh? Oh. Yeah. Of course I’m okay. Sorry. I’ll try to be quick.”
“No, I mean—take your time.”
He glances out the window, taking in the snaggletoothed windows of the Imperial Hotel.
I give him my best and bravest smile. “Don’t worry. I’ll be done in five minutes, tops.”
Doug and his homies are still drinking on the steps. When I walk over there, they’re caught up in an argument over whether Larry stole Fink’s cigarettes. Nobody looks at me. The guy who is apparently Fink is wearing a red ball cap that looks like it survived several cycles through a trash compactor. He has pale white skin and red hair that looks surprisingly delicate compared to the rest of his thickset body. The guy sitting next to Fink has a square chin and brown eyes and is wearing a denim jacket with fraying cuffs. The accused cigarette thief is not present. I make sure I speak loudly.
“Hey, Doug.”
He ignores me. “I’m just saying if I see that son of a bitch come around here again, I’m gonna punch his goddamn lights out,” he says to Fink.
“Hey, Doug, can you—”
“And if he says it’s a free country, I’ll say look, buddy—”
“Um, Doug?”
The guy in the jean jacket glances my way. “Doug, I think the little lady wants to talk to you.” He elbows him in the side and jerks his chin at me.
“Oh, hello!” says Doug, as if I’ve just dropped in from outer space. “You’re back.”
“I’m back.”
“And you want to ask old Dougie out on a date.”
Fink and the denim-jacket guy start laughing, wheezing through their teeth. Even though I’m grateful for Skunk’s van, suddenly I wish I had called Lukas’s mom after all—she would have come up to the door with me, and she wouldn’t have taken any shit. I square my shoulders and do my best to channel Petra Malcywyck: “Actually, I’m just here to pick up my sister’s things.”
Doug slaps the pavement beside him. “Siddown, have a drink with us.”
He holds out his Coors Light. The thought of sharing beer that’s been backwashed through Doug’s gray lips revolts me. I wonder if Skunk’s following this interaction from the van, but I’m too embarrassed to look.
“No thanks.”
“Come on. Have some fun.”
Doug floats the beer can back and forth in front of me in what is meant to be a tantalizing fashion. When I don’t take the beer, Doug loses interest and becomes reabsorbed into another conversation with his friends, this time concerning a stray dog someone in the building has adopted. They’ve named the dog Jojo, and it trembles all over unless you speak to it very, very softly.
I realize that if I don’t make a stand, I could be waiting here all day while they drink. I crouch down so my face is level with Doug’s and clamp my hand on his shoulder.
“Hey! Doug! Let’s do this and then I’ll be