explained.
“Do you live here?”
“That I do,” he said, and tipped her a wink.
“Do you go to school?” He seemed too old to be an undergrad, and far too disreputable to be studying medicine or law.
“I am a student,” the man said, as if that answered her question.
“Dev, leave her alone.” Finally, Harold Jefferson appeared, wearing the same shirt he’d had on in the dorm. His crown of hair bounced and waved with each step. “Ixnay on the ailbait-jay.”
“I am not jailbait,” Bethie said, her voice high and childishly indignant, belying her words.
“Okay,” the man said indulgently, smiling, as if Bethie had told him a joke instead of her age. He reached down and set his hand on Bethie’s girdled hip, drawing her close, as if he had a right to her body, as if he’d known her forever.
“Is this a friend of yours?” Bethie asked Harold, who nodded.
“This is Devon Brady. Devon, Bethie Kaufman, a friend from back home.”
“Alice,” said Devon, with a grin that was almost a smirk. “I’ve named her Alice.”
“I already have a name,” Bethie said. Part of her was indignant, and part of her recognized her indignation as a pose, like she was playing the part of the good girl, pretending to be Alice, before Alice slipped down the rabbit hole. Except Alice had taken her tumble unwillingly. Bethie, on the other hand, was excited to go. She wanted to be different, now that she was almost a college girl. She wanted to see what the world looked like upside-down.
“So have another.” Dev’s expression was paternal. Bethie didn’t want that. She didn’t want him feeling fatherly; she wanted him feeling desire. “Names are important. We ought to be able to choose our own. Once we’ve decided who we are.” Bethie watched, feeling almost hypnotized, as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a spotless white envelope, folded in half. With great ceremony, he unfolded it and shook something out into his hand. Bethie saw what looked like a square of pale-brown cellophane, a quarter of the size of a normal stamp.
“Dev.” Harold’s voice held a note of warning. Ignoring him, Dev leaned in close, with the cellophane square pinched between his fingers. He had a woodsy scent, unfamiliar but pleasant, a little like a cookout in the forest, with undertones of fire and moss.
“Our friend Harold here is a P.K. Know what that is? A preacher’s kid.” Bethie nodded. At rehearsals, back at Bellwood High, Harold would do imitations of his father, Reverend Luther. “In or out?” Harold would holler, pretending to be his father, yelling at the kids. “Am I paying to air condition the whole doggone street?” Harold would demand, with his shoulders back and his chest out, assuming what Bethie imagined was the reverend’s posture. “You shut that door before I slap you into next week, have you looking both ways for Sunday.”
“As such,” Devon continued, “Harold is naturally more cautious about certain mind-expanding substances.”
“They use wine in church, right?” Bethie felt like she was being hypnotized. At her side, Harold made a disgusted noise.
“Holy Communion.” Dev reached one finger toward her face. Bethie thought that maybe he was going to tap the end of her nose, like she was a little kid, but instead he touched his finger to her lips.
“Open up,” the pirate said. “I’m going to show you all the wonders of the world.”
I shouldn’t do this, Bethie thought. But that was the voice of her mother, the voice of Vice Principal Douglass, the voice of scared little-girl conformity. Bethie might have to be young and female, but she didn’t have to be scared, and she didn’t have to conform. She could be like her sister, on her way to some exotic destination. This small brown square could be her ticket.
Bethie opened her mouth. “Bless you, my child,” Dev said, and laid the square of whatever-it-was on her tongue. “Hold it there. Let it dissolve.” He smiled, before reaching out with his long-fingered hands, cupping her head in a gesture that felt almost like a blessing. “Welcome to Wonderland,” he said.
Bethie let Dev lead her to the plaid couch pockmarked with cigarette burns that had been shoved against the wall. On one side of the couch was a boy and a girl, their pale arms and legs entwined. On her other side was a curly-haired, golden-skinned boy who lay on the couch, looking like a prince who had fallen in battle, with his head thrown back and his mouth