"Here she is, looking for a free meal again."
Mom stares me down as soon as I walk into the diner. I busy myself fist-bumping Trevor and Justin, in that order, two dudes I haven't really hung out with since Rachel left. Every time I see them skating or smoking up or…well, those are the only things those two ever do, and those things bring back too many painful memories, so I try to forget that I know them most of the time.
"You're going to put your whole damn college tuition fund on your meal tab," Mom says.
I sit myself down in the booth across from Max.
"Nice to see you, too, Mom. Hey, look. It's Mom and Max, together again."
"I'm treating Chloe for breakfast," says Max.
"Are you atoning for yesterday?" says Mom.
She pours Max a cup of coffee. I push my cup toward Mom, but she ignores it.
"Please do not give Max any shit for that. She said she's sorry."
"I know she did," says Mom. "Max is a good girl. She's also eighteen years old. An adult."
"Right. Too old to be lectured by you or Sergeant Pepper."
"Call him David if you don't want to be lectured. You only get one damn slice of bacon today."
She stalks off behind the counter.
"What is this trucker wet dream shit?"
There's some honky-tonk wankety-spank country music bullshit blaring on the jukebox played by the kind of guys who wear cut-off jean shorts and drive their trucks through state parks hunting bald eagles with potato launchers. I change the tunes to something a little more punk rock, then slap my hands down on the table. Max jumps up, as do her coffee cup and plate of food.
"Sorry," I say. "At least I wasn't hiding in the closet, right? Anyways. You say you have superpowers. I want to see them in action."
Max swallows a mouthful of blueberry muffin.
"I still don't really understand it. Maybe…I could tell you everything you have in your pockets."
"Okay, go."
"A cute robot panda keychain, ten cigarettes, eighty-five cents in change, and a parking ticket issued at 10:34am."
I empty my pockets onto the table.
"I bet you saw my key chain and the parking ticket when you were snooping around in my room yesterday. Seven cigarettes. Seventy-five cents in change. Did you just roll your fucking eyes at me you little shit?"
"That took five minutes. Can we be done now?"
She drinks the rest of her coffee and starts dissecting her Belgian waffle one square at a time.
"Take that crap off the table, Chloe," says Mom.
Three cigarettes and a dime come out of my jacket pocket to make room for all my shit. Max doesn't seem to notice. She doesn't need to know.
"How's the food, Max?" Mom asks.
"Better than I remembered."
"Well, I'm glad someone around here is appreciative."
"Thanks for the food, Mom."
I put an entire mini-sausage in my mouth and smile at her. She rolls her eyes and walks away.
"If this were an eating challenge, I would totally destroy it," I say. "What you just did was pretty good. I mean, I used to read Sherlock Holmes when I was kid. He'd take one glance at a guy and rattle off his hometown, occupation, shoe size, and penis length down to the millimeter. Oh, does that gross you out, you little perv? What I'm saying is, I want something more definitive."
"Fine. If it makes you happy, I'll do it. Last time, though." She settles her ass into the worn red padding of the booth. "I will now predict the future."
"Awesome."
"The trucker over there drops his mug and Joyce rips him a new one. The cop gets an emergency call on his radio and his partner leaves without him. Justin and Trevor get into a fight and Joyce breaks it up. Finally, a cockroach crawls up the jukebox's butt and makes it freak out."
A coffee mug hits the floor as a drunk trucker staggers into the counter.
"Watch where you're going," says Coffee Guy.
"You're cut off," says Mom.
"You're not even serving me," says the trucker.
Mom swings the counter partition over her head and bends down to sweep shards into a dust pan. Meanwhile, Officer Berry's radio is going nuts with names and numbers. The cop car out in the parking lot takes off with siren and lights flashing but screeches to a halt when Officer Solo-Pants runs out the front door hollering.
"Later, dick," Justin says to the window.
"Don't call me a dick," says Trevor.
"Take your fight club outside," Mom calls.
"Whatever," says Justin.
The jukebox's record needle loses its groove. I jump up and drop kick it with my boot, triggering the automatic changing mechanism.
"Chloe," says Mom.
"What? Nobody ever fixes this thing and I don't feel like listening to cat scratch."
"I need to take a nap," says Max.
"You're pretty good at this, Super Max. We should go play in my junkyard hideout."
Something reddish in color appears under Max's right nostril. A small trickle of liquid drips down onto the table.
"Max, your nose. You're not doing blow, are you?"
"Yeah, right."
She grabs one of the napkins from the stand and wipes up the red spots on the table. I grab another and put it under her nose.
"Thanks," she says. "Too much excitement, I guess. See what happens when we hook up again?"
"It's destiny, Max. You need me around to look out for you."
Max balls up one of the napkins and stuffs it into her nostril.
"Fine," she says. "Show me the way to Chloe's cave."
I'm halfway through the door when Max pulls out her phone.
"It's Kate," she says.
"Dude, if we stay here my Mom is going to start some shit with me."
Max tilts her head to one side and stares at me—is this little shit giving me the Doe Eyes?
"Where did you learn that?" I say.
"Learn what?"
"Fine," I say. "Take the fucking phone call."
"Chloe," Mom calls. "I need to talk to you before you leave."
Max looks out the window while she mouths sweet nothings into her phone.
"This is the last time I want to see you coming in here, begging for a free meal," Mom says. "You need to get a job or get your ass in college."
"I'm still looking, Mom. I know she's out there."
"You'll have plenty of free time to do your investigating while you're earning a wage or a degree. I know Rachel means the world to you—"
"Yeah, Mom. Without her, I have no reason to live."
"That's not true. You do have a reason to live and it's time you recognized that. I deserve better than what you've been giving me. You and David."
"Oh god, Mom, please do not compare me to that douchebag."
"Enough with the disrespect. I'm tired of living in a house with a foul-mouthed daughter and a moonlighting crusader for justice who spend all of their free time crawling down the rabbit holes inside their heads. You need to get out into the world and start living your life. And you can start by finding somewhere else to eat."
"Fine," I say, throwing up my hands. "I'll stop bothering you at work."
Max puts her phone in her pocket.
"Thanks, Max," I say. "That argument was awesome. Maybe you should go chill with Kate so you can abstain from doing anything with your best friend."
"Kate needed someone to talk to. David and…the entire world are riding her pretty hard right now. Like the way you're riding me."
"Seriously, Max?"
"Seriously."
"Awesome. I've got other people to hang out with."
"Chloe, I might pass out again."
"Boo hoo, Max is scared. What, do you think you're gonna die—shit, never mind. Let's go."
I blow through the door with Max on my heels. After that shit with Nathan, I decided to "borrow" one of David's guns from the gun rack in the garage. Max is going to help me take out my frustrations in the junkyard. Maybe Nathan will show up and I can claim self-defense. Max would never leave my side after that.
"Keep up," I say. I stalk over to a rotting television stand and clear the crap off the surface. "After you left me in the dust for five years, I think you can handle a little of mine."
"Chloe, I said I'm sorry."
"Prove it. Go find me some bottles for target practice and then we'll kiss and make up."
Max's face doesn't look grossed out like I thought it would.
"It's just a figure of speech," I say. "Now go fetch me my rum bottles, First Mate. We have some keelhauling to do."
"Aye, aye, Captain Bluebeard! I'll have your booty in hand before you know it."
She gives me the dorkiest one-armed salute ever and wanders off toward the old fishing boat in search of bottles of liquid therapy that help me remember the happy times with Rachel. Therapy comes in many shapes and sizes: small cigarettes, medium beers, and a super-sized Max walking toward me with a book bag stuffed full of bottles.
"That was fast."
"Maybe you're the one zoning out now."
Max hands me the bottles one by one. I set them up on top of the television stand.
"I don't know about this," she says. "Guns and beer are a messed up combo."
"Not any more messed up than guns and Nathan. We need to be prepared the next time that fucker comes at us. You ready, Super Max?"
"I'm not Super, just Max. Aim a bit to the right."
I take the top off the bottle.
"That's it?"
"I told you, I'm only human. Just like you. Let's try again. You do it this time."
Pop! The first bottle explodes as soon as I pull the trigger.
"Fuck yes!" I say. "This kicks the shit out of Barbie dolls."
"Barbie dolls don't need a shit-kicking," says Max. "And are you sure we need a gun? It's not like everyone in Arcadia Bay is armed."
"Nope. Just the assholes."
"So that makes us assholes, too, then."
"As if. We're the sensible ones. I'm Robin Hood, taking guns from the armed and giving them to the armless. Wait, that doesn't sound right. Whatever. What's my next shot?"
"Aim slightly above."
Whizz!
"That wasn't even close, Max."
"I've never fired a gun. And I'm worn out from the diner."
"Fine, I'll do it myself."
Pop!
"Nice! It's like I'm twelve years old again. All right, let's wrap this up with one super kick-ass shot to rule them all."
"Fire at the left tire of that old junker on top of the trash heap."
"Target acquired. Adios, spinning wheel of death."
I pull the trigger twice. The tire deflates, sending the car down toward us. Max takes a couple of steps backwards. I stay firmly rooted in place with a huge smile on my face. The car flips itself end over end on top of the television stand, destroying it and everything on it all at once.
"I need a tissue," says Max.
She stumbles forward. I put the gun in my waistband and take her in my arms. Her eyes close and she goes limp.
"Max!"
I princess carry her over to the hood of one of the rusted out cars that time has been kinder to. I set her head on my legs and stroke her hair while she mutters about storms and climate change and epic destruction. Eventually, she comes to. She looks at me through narrowed eyelids.
"You okay, Max? You freaked me out there."
Something makes a noise behind us. Max sits up. I turn around and spot a dude with messy hair and a leather jacket heading toward us—oh, fuck. It's Frank.
"Max, take the gun," I whisper.
"What?"
"Just take it! Frank cannot see me with a gun or he'll freak. Take it!"
Her face goes sheet-white as I hand it to her. She holds it like it's made of burning coals and spiders and venomous snakes. I jump up off the hood of the car and walk straight at Frank.
"You're pretty agile for a chronic drunkard," I say.
"Let's just say I've seen the light and mended my ways." He spreads his arms out at his sides. "I have all kinds of newfound energy."
"Congratulations on joining Junkies for Jesus, Frank. What, do you have your own morning sermon on public access now?"
"Yeah fucking right. I don't have my own show, I don't have time for this shit, and I definitely don't have three thousand fucking dollars plus interest. What is today, the eighth? That's eighty in interest. Who the fuck is that?" Frank tries to look around me, but I body block his shit-colored eyes. "What are you hiding from me?"
"Nothing, Frank. What the fuck could I hide from you? Aren't you always bitching about how this is the public dump and everything here is public property?"
"Hey! What do you have behind your back?" He tries to move toward Max but I step in front of him. "Oh, are you two Bonnie and Clyde now? Or is it Abbott and Costello? How about I pop your girlfriend here right in the funny bone?"
On his arm hangs an old, hand-knit bracelet made of blue and black woven bands—Rachel's bracelet. Son of a bitch.
"What the fuck? Where did you get that bracelet?"
"A friend gave it to me," Frank says. He scowls at me. "What fucking business is it of yours?"
"That's Rachel's bracelet. Why the fuck are you wearing her bracelet?"
"It was a gift, all right? Calm yourself."
"Bullshit! You stole it! Give it to me right now, you fucking asshole!"
I reach for the bracelet. Frank steps back and pulls out a knife.
"Back the fuck off, kid. Don't do anything stupid."
I've had a gun pulled on me, so this shit doesn't even faze me. What's he going to do, stab me in the arm and not collect his money while I sit in the hospital for a week? I come at him.
"You want me to cut you, bitch?" Frank says.
"Bring it on, Damon."
"Shut your fucking mouth!"
"Step back," says Max. "Please…step back."
Max holds the gun in both shaking hands. It's pointed at Frank.
"You're kidding," says Frank. "Put that down."
Max pulls the trigger. The hammer strikes and—nothing. Nothing in the chamber. I was having too much fun to be bothered to keep track of how many bullets were left. Frank sheathes his knife as he laughs too long and too loud. I don't think I've ever actually heard him laugh before.
"Oh, man," he says. "That is hilarious. Not only have you never held a gun in your life, you don't even know how to load one. Next time try bullets, genius."
"Max, make him give me the bracelet."
"Chloe, I can't—"
"Yes, you can. Do it."
"Oh, so you two are a couple of thugs, now, is that it?" says Frank.
"Max, if I mean anything to you, you'll do it."
"And if I mean anything to you, you'll let it go."
Blood runs from her nose all over the front of her hoodie. Tears run from her eyes.
"Let it go," she says. "You want me to choke to death on my own blood?"
"What the hell is she talking about?" Frank says.
"Dude, are you fucking serious?" I said to Rachel. "I've known Frank for years. He's harmless. I just want to fuck with him a little. The worst he's ever done was called me a bitch when I owed him money."
"So don't give him a reason to call you a bitch." Rachel slapped the bag of green stuff against my chest. "Dude."
"Nothing," I say. "Keep the bracelet."
"Oh, I get to keep something that already fucking belongs to me?" says Frank. "Well, holy fucking jumping shit balls." He points at Max. "I'll remember your face, kid. That's the face of the little girl who almost shot me but was too stupid to figure it out." He rips the gun out of her hands. "Next time you'll know better. And so will I. You have until Friday to pay me, Price. Don't ever pull shit like this again."
"Chloe, I'm…"
I wrap Max up in the tightest embrace I can without crushing those brittle bones of hers.
"Max, you're awesome. Let's blow this place. Frank won't bother us again as long as he gets his money."
"How are we going to get his money for him?"
"We'll figure it out. Walk and talk."
We head off down the railroad tracks. I balance on top of one of the beams. Max walks along the other one, slowly but steadily, just like we used to do when we were kids. She takes my hand, seemingly on instinct, and pulls me off into the knee-high grass by the tree line. A minute later, the graffiti-covered cars of a train rumble past. Max rests her head in her hands.
"I still can't believe you pulled that gun on Frank," I say. "That was epic."
"I don't feel so epic. I need to lie down."
I cross one leg atop the other and put my hands behind my head on the railroad tie. Max is opposite me a few feet away, resting her head on her book bag with her hands over her eyes.
"Don't you keep your camera in that thing?" I say.
"It'll be fine," she says. "I've got my journal on top of it."
"Ooh, a super secret journal. What do you write in there? Love poems?"
"Of course. I also write about my every day life, the things that happen to me. It's nice to have a place to put down all my thoughts."
"You should let me read it some day."
"As if."
"I'll make you a deal: you let me read your journal, and I'll let you read all those letters I wrote to you while you were in Seattle."
"I never got any letters."
"Yeah, because I never sent them. They're collecting dust in a drawer in my room somewhere."
"Really? I didn't know you were thinking about me that much."
"Unlike you, I remembered you even after you left."
"Chloe, that's not fair. I was…"
"Whatever. You're back now. Deal or no deal?"
"It's a deal." She sighs. "How did you get Frank to lend you three grand, anyways? It sounds like he hates your guts."
"We used each other, basically."
Max makes a face.
"You mean you…"
"What? No. Fuck no. Gross. I do not have sex with Frank. I ran errands for him, he lent me a boatload of money."
"Rachel must really mean a lot to you."
"She meant the world to me. Means the world. I miss her. I wish you could meet her."
"Do you think she and I would have gotten along?"
"Rachel got along with everybody. The three of us would have been hella best friends forever. I need to find out why Frank has Rachel's baby bracelet. It's like her birthmark. The only other person worthy of wearing it is me, not some bean-eating shit-stain who lives in a trailer."
I brush off my jeans and stand up. We walk down the tracks.
"I love the open road," says Max. "The wind in your hair, the scenery passing you by. Kerouac knew what I'm talking about: the romance of travel and movement…the sound of the train whistle at night."
"Listen to you," I say, "the aspiring beat poet. You've been back for two days and it's like you never left. Now you have to stay here. Call your parents and tell them you're moving. We'll rent an apartment in the middle of nowhere where nothing exciting and potentially life-threatening ever happens."
"Done. First, I need a ride back to Blackwell. I have art class in less than an hour."
"Sir, yes, sir. Oh, and you might want to leave your hoodie in my truck. Mom will do laundry for you."
I put my arm around her, she does the same to me, and we walk like that the rest of the way back to the junkyard. If she wanted me to, I'd skip the truck and walk all the way back to Blackwell with her.
