Punk Like Me (3 page)

I shook my head to clear it from the strange pressure it had felt without and the fuzziness within. Enough of that. I wasn’t drinking anymore
Son of Thing
, and I had to make my way back to the bonÞ re—

there was a party going on, and I was there to party, dammit!

It was funny, though, I thought as I made my way across the sand to the Þ re, where Nicky and our friends were—I could even just make out Kerry coming across the sand to the Þ re; she must have just gotten there—I had been absolutely, positively sure that Samantha had been going to kiss me.

I shoved that crazy idea Þ rmly out of my head and chalked it up to the effects of too many clear liquors mixed with purple Hi-C. I put a big smile on my face as I rejoined the party.

“Heya, Hopey,” Kerry called, meaning me. We’d taken to calling each other the names of our two favorite characters from the comic book
Love and Rockets—
Hopey and Maggie. Nobody knew for sure whether they were or weren’t—lovers, that is—but everyone knew they were close, just like me and Kerry, and somehow we thought it was appropriate. Don’t ask me why. I didn’t ever really bother to analyze it at the time.

“Wassup, Maggie?” I danced my way a bit closer to her, and she grabbed my hand.

“Hey, don’t look now, girl, but I think you’ve got a fan club—no, don’t look now.” She grabbed my other hand as I turned toward the area she’d pointed out and steered me away from the Þ re. “Just keep dancing.”

I kept bopping about to “Ballroom Blitz” and tried to casually glance over to where Kerry had indicated. Sure enough, across the Þ re,

• 22 •

PUNK LIKE ME

two guys who were new to our group were standing around, each with a plastic cup in his hand, trying to seem casual. Then the taller of the two, a six-foot blond, caught me watching him watch me.

His face registered surprise, then he turned to his companion and gestured with him to make like they were in the process of discussing the sand, or the Þ re, or something really close by to where Kerry and I were, but not us.

Yeah. Right.

Well, whatever. They seemed like nice-enough guys, average everyday sorts, with plain white Tshirts over jeans and bare feet in the sand. I had no idea who they knew in our bunch, and I thought I was pretty much familiar with everyone.

“You know ’em, Kerry?” I asked her, pointing with my now-warm Coke. I’d had enough of
Thing That Came and Stayed
at the Halloween party and after my adventure earlier. Now I was keeping an occasional eye on Nicky to make sure
Son of Thing
didn’t turn out to be
why-Ispent-my-summer-in-the-house-when-my-mom-and-dad-yelled-at-me-and-grounded-me-forever-because-my-younger-brother-got-drunk-and-I-didn’t-bodily-restrain-him thing
.

“Nah,” she said, glancing over her shoulder to give them a fuller look-see. “Where’s Nicky?”

I scanned around and felt panic squeeze my heart when I couldn’t see him on our side of the ß ames. I craned my neck a bit and Þ nally, about twenty feet beyond the Þ re, I saw someone bending over a dark form by the bushes where the sand met the boardwalk. When the Þ gure straightened up, I could see the light glance off something around their neck. I knew it was the lion-head medallion Nicky always wore. “Over there!” I pointed for Kerry and reached for her hand. Together, we walked over to Nicky.

“Nicky, what happened?” I called out as we approached.

“Hey, Nee. Rob here said his stomach was bothering him and he felt sick and all, and I didn’t want to leave him alone if he was sick, so I, um, well, here I am…” and Nicky looked at me with troubled eyes.

A side note here: Nicky is deÞ nitely one of the good guys. He’s going to make someone a great catch someday, and I hope they take good care of him. Or else. Okay, to continue…

Rob was moaning and groaning on the ground, clutching his stomach. “Ah, Nicky, did you stop to ask him why he’s wearing a garbage bag as a shirt?” I indicated the shiny brown plastic that covered

• 23 •

Rob from shoulders to hips.

Nicky looked at me like I was losing it. “No, I just thought he was being, you know, silly and all, like everyone. Why else would he do that?”

Suddenly, Rob lurched and grunted; he brought himself onto all fours in the sand. “Oh, God, oh, God, I’m dying…” he groaned.

I grabbed Nicky and Kerry by their sleeves and backed away a good three feet. I knew what was coming, and so did Kerry as she quickly shufß ed behind me, but Nicky was confused.

“Whatchya go and do that for?” he asked indignantly, jerking his arm away. “He’s gonna die or something and…” He gestured toward Rob, then broke off suddenly to watch the jerky motions Rob was making with his head as he swayed on his knees and elbows.

A soft, wet sound, like a soaked paper being punched, ß owed out of Rob’s mouth as a pool formed under his head.

“That’s why you guys call him Chuck!” exclaimed Nicky in sudden understanding.

A horrible gagging, choking sound followed almost immediately, and Rob raised his head like he was about to howl at the moon. Suddenly, something
ß ew
out of his mouth and landed on some poor sand rabbits or something with a nasty squelch.

“And that’s why we call him Yack,” Kerry chimed in from behind me.

I draped my arms over Nicky’s and Kerry’s shoulders. “C’mon, let’s get going,” I encouraged now that the show was mostly over. Once Yack, well, yacked, things would be Þ ne, especially after he did his little ritual, which I didn’t want to stick around for—I’d already seen it on Halloween. We headed back to the Þ re.

Nicky hung back a moment and turned around. “But what about—?”

“He’ll be Þ ne, give him thirty seconds.” I turned and reached an arm around his waist. “C’mon, let’s…” Shit. Too late.

I’d had another reason for getting back, besides avoiding the rest of Rob’s I’m-drunk-enough-to-puke ritual. I had wanted to get us back over by the Þ re before anyone, especially the new guys, had noticed we’d gone off. I didn’t want to give them ideas, you know what I mean, catch each other’s eye over the Þ re, wander off, hook up in a dark corner, that sort of thing, since it just wasn’t a “me” thing to do, but the Þ re fan club had noticed something was up and had walked over,

• 24 •

PUNK LIKE ME

jostling and shoving each other on the way.

“Hi, um, we were, um, can we help?” the taller one asked me, holding his cup in one hand and rocking back and forth a bit on his heels.

“Uh, yeah, is there sort of a problem?” asked his friend.

“No, just, ah, could you guys step back about, um, three feet?” I asked them, since they were standing right in front of Rob, where he’d huddled himself on the ground again, “and maybe move over here?

C’mon, hurry!” I had seen Rob’s hand move, and I knew it would be just a matter of minutes before, well, we were between him and the water, while he was between us and the Þ re.

The guys shufß ed over to us, and with a suddenness that would have surprised anyone who had seen Rob in what had seemed to be his Þ nal agonies only twenty seconds before, he lurched up to his feet, screaming, “Puke Poncho!” He ripped his plastic shirt off and waved it around like a ß ag before letting it loose to ß y in a graceful (if gross) arc—and it ß ew over the two new guys.

“Aaaarggghhh!” he continued to scream as he pounded his feet and ran furiously toward the surf. Faintly, we could hear him yell before he dove in, “From the sea ye come, to the sea, return!” I looked at the guys. The blond had gotten a miserable soaking, and the shorter one had gotten stuck holding the bag, literally. It had landed on his head and slipped down his back. I felt really, really bad for them. Well, bad and revolted.

We all stood there, staring dumbly at each other.

“I’m Nina, this is Nicky, this is Kerry,” I Þ nally said. What else was there to do?

“I’m Joey, and this is Jack,” the tall one said, and they both appeared as awkward as we felt as everyone thought about shaking hands. Thankfully, everyone settled on just waving.

“Uh, I’ve got a couple of towels in our bag,” I said.

“I’ve got an extra pair of shorts,” Nicky chimed in.

Kerry had been tugging on my shirt since I’d offered the towel, and I Þ nally turned to Þ nd out what she wanted. “Dude, what?” I asked, wondering what was up.

Her hand was warm as she placed it on my forearm, and her eyes glittered as she stared at me with a strange intensity, measuring me, like there was something I should have known, but didn’t. My own eyes revealed nothing but my own lack of knowledge.

• 25 •

Finally Þ nding what she was searching for (or not, I guess), she dropped her eyes from mine to look at Joey the Vomit Shirt and Jack the Vomit Head.

“Um, well, if you don’t mind bike shorts,” Kerry said in a tone that sounded very reluctant as she slipped her hand into mine, and while the Vomit Twins made their way to the ocean to wash off, Kerry and I walked over to the promised rescue clothes. On the way, she kept glancing over at me with that same expression and dammit—I had no idea what it was I was supposed to know.

• 26 •

PUNK LIKE ME

We had a really good time the rest of that summer, I mean, Nicky and Kerry and me. After the whole thing at the beach, when Joey and Jack bathed themselves in the dubious cleanliness of the ocean and put on borrowed shorts, Joey called me a week later. He wanted to return my towels and Nicky’s shorts. Jack called Kerry, and before you knew it, I guess you could say we had “dates” for the rest of the warm weather.

Joey had a boat, and Nicky and I went Þ shing, swimming, and daydreaming with him for hours at a time off the Jersey shore. Honest and truly, there’s nothing like getting out onto the water to forget about everything, even the fact that you live in a “civilized” world. If you’re in the right place at the right time, hours can pass without the sight of buildings or people or the sounds of cars and trucks. Complete, blessed silence. I deÞ nitely recommend it to everyone.

After one of these day trips toward the end of the summer, Nicky and I took a bike ride out to the end of, well, it’s our secret Þ shing spot, so I can’t tell you exactly. There’s a little beach over there and when the tide’s out, you can walk halfway to what everyone says is New Jersey (but I’m not sure about that) before swimming for another Þ fty or so feet. We tried it once and almost got stranded, but that’s another story that resulted in two days’ worth of lectures and a week of hard manual labor. Think ß ower beds and manure.

Back to the point, though (and free of manual labor), this was one of our favorite spots for Þ shing, crabbing, and clamming. It was mostly catch-and-release. We never kept the crabs or the clams ’cause they were probably contaminated, but it was fun just the same. Besides, it

• 27 •

kept our skills up in case we ever needed them.

“You know,” Nicky said, his line in the water, the setting sun glowing in his eyes and making his hair look like molten gold, “Joey thinks he’s in love with you.” Nicky didn’t look at me; he just focused on his line. “Did you know that?”

I sighed to myself. I liked Joey, a lot. I even cared for him, and we’d shared hugs and kisses like many other dating couples, but that’s where it stopped for me. In addition to all the forbidding warnings, lectures, after-school television specials, and threats from my parents about the dire consequences of premarital sex, I just didn’t feel that something special, that something that I knew would tell me this is the right place, the right time, the right one, and I told Nicky so.

Nicky smiled as he hefted his pole a bit to check the line. “That’s good,” he said, “because I don’t think he’s right for you either.” His smile turned into a bright grin.

That smile of his looked a little suspicious, and I wanted to know more. “What?” I asked him as I felt what just might have been a tug on my line. I started to take in the slack bit by bit, going very slowly.

“Got something?” Nicky asked in a hush and came closer. He still held on to his pole and divided his attention between his line and mine.

“Yeah, I think I might,” I whispered back. “So what’s the shit-eating grin for, dude?” I asked him out of the side of my mouth. My eyes were riveted on the water where my line disappeared into it. The sun had sunk even lower, and the backlight made the water look like Þ re, creating black shadows on the wavelets. It was very hard to see, and I know I must have been frowning in concentration. Nicky focused with me.

“School starts next week,” he told me informationally, as if I needed reminding. Of course school started next week. Otherwise why would he and I have spent the last week up late each night cramming in our summer reading instead of Þ shing like we were at the moment?

“Yeah, so?” I asked a little carelessly. I was really, really focused on the line, and I had the gut feeling it was about to go. My shoulders twitched slightly with the anticipation, and I shifted my grip and my stance for better balance.

“So, are you gonna break it off before school starts or after the Þ rst week or so?”

• 28 •

PUNK LIKE ME

“What?” I asked him, surprised and thrown off track. I wasn’t surprised about the breaking-it-off question because I’d made it a rule since I’d started dating that dates were only on weekends and rarely more than two a month. Not because I didn’t have a social life, but because I did, with my friends, and I didn’t want to be cut off from them. Also, lots of my friends got into trouble with their studies over dating their “true loves,” and there was no way I was going to blow my plans for the future for some dumb guy or anyone else.

I was going for a scholarship, dammit. Either ROTC, which stands for Reserve OfÞ cer Training Corps, or the United States Naval Academy, otherwise known as Annapolis, and I wanted to ß y jets, then become a test pilot, then an astronaut. That’s the way you get to space, and that’s where I wanted to go.