My Tiki Girl (27 page)

I close my eyes and just like that, I’m on the beach. It’s so easy to get there, and I know now that it’s because there’s a part of me that never leaves, just stays there waiting in the sand, hypnotized by the waves.

There is a storm brewing in our paradise today, a tidal wave coming. The sky is black, and the sea is, too. I look up and see that it’s Tiki kissing me. It’s Tiki in some other form. She’s got a mask on. She’s got a mermaid tail, and salt water drips from her skin onto my face. I taste the ocean.

When I open my eyes, it’s Joey’s face I see above me, and I jerk away.

What the hell am I doing?

I am in love with Dahlia. Kissing Joey isn’t going to make that go away. So I either need to get on with my life and try to forget her or find a way to go get her back. The second option sounds way more appealing.

Joey rolls over into the dirt, curls up in a ball, and starts to cry all over again. I wrap myself around him, match my breathing to his, try to keep his sobbing body still.

Above us, the ground rumbles and the sky moans, and for a brief second, I think it’s the end of the world.

But it’s just a train barreling along the tracks, crossing the bridge—clickety-clack, clickety-clack, don’t look back.

“Joey, there’s something I have to go do,” I say.

He just keeps crying.

“I want you to stay here. You stay here and wait for me. And don’t start any more fires, okay? Promise me.”

He nods.

“Good,” I tell him. “I’ll be back as fast as I can.”

27

When I get
to Troy’s, I let myself in the front door, just as I’ve been doing for weeks. I’m here to get Dahlia back, to explain things and make them right. I’m not leaving without her, and we are going back to the cave to help Joey. If Leah won’t take him back at the apartment, then he’ll just have to come home with me.

I step into the hall and hear shouting from the basement. Troy. And Dahlia.

I gallop clumsily to the stairs and hop down as fast as my gimpy leg will let me go.

“What’d you think?” I hear Troy say. “That we were going to hook up now? Live happily ever after? You’re kidding, right?”

Dahlia hisses something I don’t hear.

“Wanna know the truth, Wainwright? You make me sick.”

I get to the bottom of the stairs to see Dahlia backed into a corner. Troy is pacing around in front of her.

Dahlia eyes me with a combination of relief and confusion. Troy turns and follows her gaze.

“Oh great. Your knight in shining armor has arrived. You two are pathetic. God, Maggie. I know the accident screwed you up bad, but I had no idea how bad. What is it, you’re attracted to girls because you’re trying to replace your mother or something? Your mom was so cool, Maggie. Man, if only she could see you now.”

I just stand there staring, as mute as my rag-doll clown, tears in my eyes, no sound in my throat, and a pounding, throbbing noise filling my head. It’s the noise I used to think was Dahlia, that buzzing, rhythmic and frightening, but here in the basement, I realize it’s just my own heart and has been all along.

It’s a strong heart, mine. My right leg may be mincemeat and screws, but my heart is as strong as a bear trap. When I love someone, it’s for keeps, and if anyone messes with them, they’ve got Frankenstein girl to contend with.

And no matter what Troy Farnham says, I know my mother would be proud.

“Tell me,” Troy says, “just how do two girls get it on? Like, who’s the guy?”

He turns back to Dahlia, waiting for an answer. “Well?” he asks, taking a step toward her.

Dahlia, for the first time ever maybe, doesn’t know what to say. She looks totally lost. Like she never expected Troy to turn out to be such a complete asshole. And I have to agree—he’s outdone himself this time.

“That’s enough, Farnham. Dahlia and I are going now,” I say, my voice smooth and confident, but with a touch of contempt. It’s my old popular-girl, theater-star voice, and it fills the room. “Come on, Tiki.” I push past Troy and reach out to take Dahlia’s hand.

Troy snorts with laughter. “You two are really something,” he says, stepping back and letting us pass.

“Yeah,” I agree. “We sure are.”

“I think we should run away,” Dahlia says once we’re safely outside, walking down the street. She links arms with me and continues. “Go out West where no one knows us. Find our motel by the sea.”

A little over an hour ago she was ready to ditch me because she couldn’t deal with what kids at school were calling us. And now she wants to run away.

“What if it doesn’t exist?” I ask.

“Of course it exists. We just have to find the right beach.”

“And we’re going to live happily ever after?”

“Just like in the storybooks,” Dahlia promises.

“It’s never two girls who live happily ever after in fairy tales,” I say.

Dahlia doesn’t respond. I want so badly for her to say we’ll be the first, or that fairy tales are stupid anyway, but she gets all quiet and broody, and I can tell she’s thinking maybe this isn’t such a good idea after all.

“So we have to go on a rescue mission,” I tell her, eager to break her train of thought. “Joey’s in trouble.”

I fill her in on the situation, and she agrees that we should go get him at the cave and bring him back to her place. If things aren’t cool with Leah, then he’ll come home with me.

“Will your dad let Joey stay?” Dahlia asks.

“He will if I explain things to him,” I tell her. “He’s a reasonable guy.”

“Was he reasonable about us?” she asks.

“I think he was in shock.”

“I guess we all were,” she says.

When we get to the cave, Joey’s all hopped up because he’s come up with a plan of his own. He’s going to take a Greyhound bus to New Hampshire to see his sister. He thinks he can live with her there.

“Doesn’t she go to school there or something?” Dahlia asks.

Joey nods. “Dartmouth. Hanover.”

“So what, does she live in a dorm?” Dahlia asks.

Joey nods again, hands her a photo. I lean in and take a look. There’s a girl with dark hair and eyes sitting in a wheelchair outside a brick building. It’s fall in the snapshot, and someone has sprinkled handfuls of leaves all over her, in her lap, around her feet; they cling to her hair, bright flags of color, and she’s smiling up into the camera. Dahlia turns the photo over. It was taken last year.

Joey is busy straightening the bills that he’s pulled out of the anatomy book. He seems to be running on this crazed nervous energy and won’t look me in the eye.

“Does your sister know you want to live with her?” I ask.

“Surprise,” he says, a huge grin on his face.

I might be weirdly overprotective, but it worries me to think of Joey getting on a bus for New Hampshire and just showing up at her door. I’m sure she’s got this whole other life there, this life of studying, of friends who cover her in leaves, and I worry Joey might not fit into it. I also doubt Joey has told her about the cave, about how he practically never goes home because of how bad his dad’s been since she left.

“When’s the last time you talked to her?” I asked.

He shrugs, takes the picture back from me and tucks it in the chest pocket of his shirt.

Joey’s pulled all the money out of the anatomy book, and Dahlia and I help him count it. We lay out the bills in piles of tens. He’s got over four hundred dollars here, which Dahlia says is plenty for him to get started in New Hampshire. Joey packs his trash dolls, the anatomy book, and the few articles of clothing he has inside his sleeping bag. We’re going to Dahlia’s to see if he can spend the night. In the morning, we’ll walk him to the station. That’s the plan we discuss, anyway. I’m secretly hoping that we come up with something better. I’m thinking I might bite the bullet and talk to my dad when I get home. Maybe he’ll know what to do with Joey. It just doesn’t seem right to put the poor kid on a bus for New Hampshire when his sister doesn’t even know he’s coming.

“What about your drum?” I ask as we walk through the snow along the tracks. I’m thinking he can’t leave without his drum. That he’ll see it was a silly idea to even consider it.

“You,” he tells me. “It’s for you.”

Dahlia’s apartment has been hit by a tornado. We walk into the living room to find piles of clothes, books, and CDs, half-packed bags and cartons. Kitchen drawers have been pulled out and dumped on the carpet. Leah is pinballing around the apartment, throwing clothes and candlesticks in a suitcase, sipping from a bottle of rum. She’s got the dolls wrapped in a bundle tucked under her arm. Jonah is standing in the corner, wearing his blue robe and hat, holding Mr. Twister and looking terrified.

“What’s going on, Mom?” Dahlia asks.

“It’s gypsy wagon time,” Leah says. “Come on, there’s no time to waste! We’re leaving now.”

“Now?”

“Tonight!” Leah yells. “Are you deaf? Tonight! Tonight! Tonight! So pack a bag and let’s get this show on the road!” She laughs, but not like anything is funny.

Dahlia looks over at Jonah, who is staring straight ahead, stroking the bunny with shaking hands.

“Jonah?” Dahlia says.

He doesn’t respond.

“Jonah, what’s going on?”

He looks at her.

“You can see me?” he asks.

“Of course,” Dahlia says. “Of course I can.”

“But I’m wearing my ring of invisibility,” he tells her.

She looks at him a minute, then gives him a conspiratorial smile.

“Maggie and I have magic rings, too,” she tells him, showing him her mood ring. “They let us see the invisible.”

Jonah gives her a weak smile.

“The landlord came,” Jonah whispers. “He said we had to get out if we couldn’t pay.”

“They can’t just throw us out!” Dahlia says.

“No one’s throwing us out, lovie,” Leah tells her. “We’re
leaving
! The gypsy wagon awaits.”

“Well, I’m not going. Not without Maggie and Joey.”

Leah narrows her eyes, stares at us a minute, her eyes moving from Dahlia to me to Joey. Then she untucks the wrapped bundle of dolls and whispers to them, holds them to her ear to hear them whisper back.

“Fine. Bring who you want. Let’s go.” Apparently the dolls have changed their position on lesbians.

I should argue. Should say this is even more insane than putting Joey on a bus in the morning. But part of the reason I don’t is that I doubt we’ll get very far. We’ll get to the mall and Leah will decide to do a little shopping or something. Or Gertrude won’t have enough gas. Something will stop us. Someone will be reasonable.

“You take the dolls, Zamboni,” Leah says, thrusting them at Jonah. He holds them awkwardly in one arm, Mr. Twister in the other.

“You can see me too?” he asks, but Leah spins away from him without answering.

So we load up Gertrude with the few things we can fit and it’s an odd assortment: Dahlia’s guitar, my bee suit, clothes stuffed in grocery bags, rabbit food, a few pots and pans, candles, a dead houseplant, and what’s left of the bottle of rum.

“You navigate, Zamboni,” Leah says once she’s started the car.

“But where are we going?” Jonah asks. He’s got Mr. Twister on his lap and is stroking the rabbit’s ears nervously and offering him a limp carrot.