the official terms for anything she did. Her music teacher at the camp had been all about “feeling it,” so she’d always just listened for the rhythm in a song and felt her way, trying out different things until she got it. For the last month she’d been working on the Talking Heads song “Burning Down the House.” She played the song quietly on her phone, on repeat, and played along, getting louder as she gained confidence. She could keep up the pace now that she’d been practicing. It was faster than she’d first thought.
A guy on a bike arrived with her pad thai. She sat at the empty bar and ate it as the big, round, rose-gold sun dipped behind the old hospital buildings across the street, falling into New York Harbor only to be run over by the determinedly orange Staten Island ferry. That was the best thing about Cobble Hill. With its proximity to the water, its low buildings, and gradual, gently rising streets, the sunset was clearly visible and always startlingly beautiful.
The high, whiny vibration of an electric tool resounded from below. Elizabeth was either cutting tile or mixing cake batter.
A shadow darkened the window. Then it brightened again. A woman wearing gigantic sunglasses, her body and head shrouded in an enormous black rain poncho with the hood pulled up, darted behind a nearby tree and then slunk away again. Probably an actress, Peaches thought, paranoid about the paparazzi. There were quite a few of them in the neighborhood, but none so famous that they needed to hide behind trees. The bar door swung open and the rain poncho woman stepped inside. Her black hood fell away, revealing white-blond hair pulled back in a severe braid, a severe jawline, and a severely downturned mouth. It was Elizabeth.
“I need your help in the basement,” she announced. “We’ll enter from the street. The stairs in here need to stay clean.”
* * *
The Sublime drop began at eight. Liam and Ryan arrived at six thirty. They’d gone out for pizza after cleaning the toilets and felt sort of gross, but they knew they’d feel less gross outside than they did inside, so they decided to go into Manhattan and stand on the sidewalk outside the store with all the other losers and wait.
The popularity of Sublime amongst boys between the ages of eleven and seventeen was not something any of the boys could explain. It was all about the logo, which was big and basic and just plain cool—the word SUBLIME in Futura Bold Oblique font, white text on a purple background. The clothes and accessories were hideously ugly, or weirdly complicated, or so simple they were simply not at all special, but that was part of their appeal. A black T-shirt with a bloody squirrel printed on it. A hat with tusks. A brown hoodie with eight rows of felt shark teeth around the hood. A red leather wallet with eleven zippers. Gold velvet boxer jock underwear. A plain white T-shirt. A plain gray T-shirt. White tube socks. An itchy black wool ski hat. Joggers with purple camouflage print on one leg and red and white stripes on the other leg. A black sleeveless T-shirt. A light pink skateboard.
Liam examined the shop’s website infrequently but somewhat eagerly, not because he wanted or needed anything that could be found there, but because all the other boys at school were always wearing Sublime or talking about what they were going to get at Sublime. He thought he should be able talk about it too, and maybe even wear something he’d bought there, if it wasn’t too expensive or ugly. Some of the kids at school had bots that bought the stuff for them and when they got it they sold it through their social media for way more than it was worth. That was too time-consuming and involved for Liam. And thus the rich got richer and the poor got poorer.
From what Liam had garnered from the talk in school, attending the drop was more about standing in line and being seen in the line than about actually buying anything. This particular drop was a collaboration with Silenciaga, with prices starting at ninety-five dollars for an iron-on patch. A T-shirt cost three hundred dollars and a hoodie cost seven hundred dollars. There was no way anyone could be buying much, except maybe Bruce, who had a black AmEx card. Another reason to hate him.