cupped around the phone, trying to hide the sound from his aunt Martine. Maybe he’s using the radio static as a foil. Wouldn’t Aunt Martine hear the radio static and take him to a mental hospital?
“Skunk?”
“Yeah?”
“Are you sure your aunt’s sleeping right now?”
Pause. Static. “Yes.”
“Okay.” Pause. “Are you smoking a cigarette?”
Pause. “Yes.”
Pause. “Be careful.”
Static.
Pause. “I went to the marshlands.”
“What?”
Pause. “I went to the marshlands.”
“You are a friend of marshlands.”
“Yes.”
Static. I pick up one of the brightly colored bottles on the floor in front of me and inspect it.
“Which do you think is more trustworthy, Windex or Toilet Duck?”
Pause. “Windex.”
“Why?”
Pause. “You should never trust a duck.”
“Oh.”
“Especially not a toilet duck.”
I peer at the label on the bottle in my hand. “They write too much on these things.”
“People like to know how things work.”
“Hm. But why all the science? Why the diagrams about breaking down bacteria? Why not something else? Why not say Toilet Duck works by channeling the spirit of ducks? Why all the crap about chemistry?”
Radio static. I hear Skunk exhale his cigarette smoke.
“People like to think everything can be explained by chemistry.”
“Yeah, but toilets?”
Skunk laughs. I silently award myself one point for cheering him up.
“Are you burning incense?” I ask him.
Pause. “Yes.”
It’s amazing how well you can get to know a person if you actually pay attention. People are like cities: We all have alleys and gardens and secret rooftops and places where daisies sprout between the sidewalk cracks, but most of the time all we let each other see is a postcard glimpse of a floodlit statue or a skyline. Love lets you find those hidden places in another person, even the ones they didn’t know were there, even the ones they wouldn’t have thought to call beautiful themselves. I decide to test my knowledge of all things Skunk.
“Are you wearing your ‘Sed Interdum’ T-shirt?”
Pause. “Yes.”
“Are you wearing white socks?”
Pause. “No.”
“Are you wearing no socks?”
Pause. “Yes.”
“Are you sitting on the floor?”
Pause. “Yes.”
“Are you afraid of your aunt Martine?”
Pause. “Yes.”
“Are you afraid she’ll kick you out if you don’t do what she wants?”
Pause. “Yes.”
“Does she think you’re having a Thing?”
Pause. “Yes.”
“Do you think so?”
Pause. “No.”
“Is that why you went to the marshlands?”
Pause. “Yes.”
“Will you come watch my band tonight?”
Pause.
“Skunk? Hey, Skunk?”
Pause. Static.
“Can I come over?”
Pause. Static.
“I can be there on my bike in twenty minutes.”
Static.
“Okay, I’m getting on my bike.”
“No.”
Pause. “Why not?”
Pause. “You should sleep.”
Pause. “Why?”
Pause. “It’s four thirty, Crazy Girl.”
“It’s four thirty, Crazy Boy.”
Pause. “Make you a deal. You go lie on your bed and I’ll go lie on my bed.”
“Oh, I know! We’ll fall asleep at exactly the same time, and we’ll both have a dream where we go bike riding together.”
“Yes.”
“And we’ll ride around Stanley Park in our dream, and we’ll break into a condo in our dream, and we’ll take a long steamy shower together in the finely appointed bathroom with stunning views of Burrard Inlet.”
“Yes.”
“Okay.”
“Yes.”
“Then you’ll come hear my band tonight.”
Pause. “I love you,” he says.
My body goes so bright and hot I’m surprised the cell phone doesn’t melt in my hand.
“I love you too,” I say in a rush, like in the city of myself I’ve just stumbled on a fountain.
chapter thirty-four
“My mom thinks you’re having a hypermanic episode.”
I happen to be carrying a very heavy, very expensive, very brand-new amp when Lukas says this. It starts to slip out of my hands, but my left knee shoots up to catch it before it falls.
“Urff.”
Lukas keeps walking down the Train Room’s steep, narrow stairs.
“I don’t know much about it, you should really talk to her, but—”
“Urrrh! Urrhh!”
The amp is teetering preteeterously on my rapidly tiring thigh. If Lukas doesn’t turn around and help me soon, there will be one more piece of high-tech music gear for me to fix in Skunk’s shed using only a socket wrench and a set of tire irons.
“Urrrrrrgh!”
Lukas finally turns around, sees me balancing this giant amp on my knee, and scrunches his nose.
“What are you doing with that amp? It’s going to fall and break.”
Heaven forbid Lukas come back up three steps and assist in said amp’s timely rescue. He stands there watching me struggle with it until I manage to slip a hand under the leather strap on top of the amp and lower it to rest on the stair. He scratches a zit on the side of his head.
“I’m just saying it seems like maybe you’re having some issues,” he says.
I can’t believe what I’m hearing. We just won Battle of the Bands, for chrissakes,