South of Sunshine (22 page)

Chapter 22

The Wal-Mart parking lot on a Thursday night in the middle of October is not where covert military people converge. But in a small town like Sunshine, it’s that or Big Star grocery. Van gets out of his car. He’s dressed in commando black—turtleneck, military fatigues, and beanie. He slings a duffle bag onto his shoulder, and the contents inside clank. His heavy swagger over to my car tells me he’s been watching way too many black ops movies this week. He tosses something dark to me, and I catch it. “Wear this. You don’t want to be recognized,” he says in a flat, deep tone. I choke down a giggle from his tough-guy voice.

What he tossed me is not a beanie cap, but a full-on ski mask, eye holes only. “Seriously? You’re scaring me, Van. I don’t think driving through town with a robber’s mask on my face is going to go over well with the cops.” I shove the thing into my console as we get into my car.

I start to drive out of the parking lot and Van asks, “You know we’re going to get some serious backlash for this, right?”

I look at him with a mock cold stare, my face the epitome of stone. “Sometimes it takes a slap in the face to wake people up. Sunshine is about to get bitch-slapped.” I waggle my eyebrows.

Twenty minutes later we creep down the old Sunshine highway, lights off, about a half a mile from Andrew’s farmhouse. I pull over into one of the entrances that lead out into a cotton field. It curves behind a grove of trees, blocking my nothing-special Civic from the view of the road. It’s one of the Goodman’s fields I’m sure. I’m wishing I had a case of toilet paper with me, but as much as I’d like to vandalize Mrs. Goodman’s house, that is not the mission tonight.

“Van, are you ready? We can do this,” I whisper, even though it’s pointless to do so when the only house within miles is the Goodman’s. Knowing what we are about to do, the need to be stealthy overwhelms me. Both of us get out of the car and shut our doors with soft clips.

The musky smell of dirt from the field thickens in my nostrils. Cricket chirps ricochet all around. Glowing lights from the fireflies twinkle along the tops of the growing cotton. Off in the distance, the yelp of a coyote floats on the night air. The country, with all its peaceful but untamed nature, chills me until I shiver.

“You got your flashlight?” asks Van.

I pull out my penlight and click it on.

“That’s the worst excuse for a flashlight I’ve ever seen.” Van retrieves a handheld spotlight and clunks it onto the trunk of my car with a damaging thunk. “Now that’s a flashlight.”

“What else you got in there?” I lean over to look in his bag.

“Nothing much. Road flares, smoke bombs, tape recorder … just the usual spy stuff.”

I aim the penlight on his face. “You watch
way
too many movies.”

“Hey, a good spy always comes prepared.”

“I think that’s the Boy Scout motto.”

“Shut up. Whatever. You’ll thank me later.”

Headlights down the road yank our attention that way. I dive into the ditch next to my car. Briars and sticks jab my legs. “Get over here, Van. They’re going to see you.”

I jerk my arm for him to come down with me. He completely ignores my military hand signals. Instead, he walks straight up to the edge of the road like a bonehead, points that big spotlight toward the vehicle, and flicks the thing on and off.

“Vander! What the heck is your problem?”

The diesel engine chugs as it approaches. The big white Chevy Dually slows to a stop right in front of him. Van steps up to the passenger window as it rolls down. If that is Mr. Goodman, this whole mission is canned. I squat lower, in the hopes of disappearing in the brush.

“Is that Kaycee cowering in the ditch?”

I stand to attention at the sound of her voice. Sarabeth stares at me like I’ve lost my ever-lovin’ mind.

“What are you doing in the ditch?”

Van laughs. Sarabeth shakes her head as she pulls the truck over and parks it beside my car.

“Ha ha,” I say and slap away the hand Van offers me. “I’ve probably got poison ivy all over me now. Thanks, Vander.” I scrabble up the side of the ditch.

Once up top, I sweep away the debris on my pants and sweater. I cut my eyes to Van when Sarabeth walks over. “What is
she
doing here?” I’m well aware
she
can hear me, but I don’t care.

“We can’t steal the float with a Civic, now can we? Sarabeth offered her dad’s truck.”

“You swore to secrecy. Traitor,” I say. “And I didn’t say anything about stealing the float. I said we’d make a few changes. That’s it.”

Van clamps his hands down on his hips. “Seriously? You expected us to redecorate with a bag full of streamers and colorful balloons? First of all, Sarabeth has more supplies left over from decorating committees than you have Civil War scrap. And technically, it’s not stealing since we are all seniors and have part ownership. We’re just relocating and redecorating.”

“Under the cover of night in black ops clothing … yeah, that’s not stealing at all. I said we were going to adjust a few things on the float. Change some of the colors. Not take the whole darn thing.”

“How do you expect us to make any changes in the comforts of Andrew’s shed? And did you really think we could redecorate and have Andrew
not
rip the stuff off tomorrow morning?” he asks. I say nothing. “Exactly. Besides, Sarabeth has a key, so that will keep us from violating any breaking and entering laws.”

She jangles the keys in her hand.

Van’s eyes travel between the two of us. He whips out a spiral notebook from his duffle bag. “I, uh, I need to make a plan and check Sarabeth’s supplies to see what we have to work with.” He scurries over to her truck and buries his nose in the boxes she brought. Not obvious at all.

Sarabeth watches Van walk away before she speaks. “I’m sorry, Kaycee. I really am.”

Arms tight over my chest, I stand there, refusing to say a word.

“I was scared of what they’d do to you. Of what they did to you. I just thought your mother should know before something really bad happened to you.”

“It wasn’t your place to tell her.”

“You’re right. It wasn’t. I had no idea Brother Mark would take it so far. He was wrong—you are not broken.”

I’m shocked that she admitted to being wrong, and I’m relieved she doesn’t think I need to be “fixed.” “It doesn’t matter, because I’m not going.”

“Your mother changed her mind? Oh, thank God. And honestly—”

“No, she didn’t say she wasn’t sending me. But I’m not going. And she knows she can’t force me.”

Sarabeth drops her head down and makes circles in the dirt with her foot. “Well, that’s good, because I feel like this was all my fault. Maybe if I hadn’t been so jealous of you and Van—”

“Jealous?”

“Yeah. Can you blame me? You two have something in common I am never going to understand. I was hurt you didn’t trust me enough to tell me. That you didn’t tell me because you thought I was just another homophobe or gay basher or whatever you call those mean people. Maybe you were right not to trust me. Not because I like those mean people, but because … I had my own selfish doubts.”

“Doubts about what?”

“Well, I thought if you were gay, it would mean we could no longer be friends. I thought if you finally admitted you were gay, then somehow, I’d lose you. That I wouldn’t be able to be your friend because you’d hit on me or something, and then everybody would think I was gay too.”

“God, no. I’m not attracted to you, Sarabeth. Never. Just like you’re not attracted to Van. It doesn’t work like that.”

“I know. All these years we’ve been best friends, it’s always been just friendship. Nothing else. And then I finally find out you’re gay and what do I do? I flip out because Van wins BFF of the Year, and I didn’t. It’s stupid. And I said some pretty horrible things to you that night, and it cost me my best friend because of it. I don’t know if you can forgive me for abandoning you when you needed me most, but I’m here now.” She shrugs.

The apology sounds so familiar. It’s the same thing I said to Van. A lifetime of friendship and one mistake wipes it all away? I don’t think so. If Van was able to forgive me, then I can forgive Sarabeth.

“Well, I should have trusted you, told you what I was instead of spending all my time being something I’m not. It wasn’t really fair to you either.”

“So, does this mean we’re good?” She sways back and forth, waiting for me to answer.

“Yeah. We’re good.” I give her a long overdue hug. “Though I can’t say Andrew is going to be happy with you in the morning.”

“Well, yeah … about him. Nobody calls my BFF a dyke and gets away with it. I told that closed-minded country hick to kiss my lily white—”

“You did not!” Van gasps.

“Eavesdrop whore,” I say, turning to Van. “What the heck is on your face?” Rainbow stripes cover his cheeks.

“War paint.” He nods his head all serious like. “It’s camouflage.”

“What, you planning on hiding in a rainbow?” Sarabeth asks. “Don’t even think about putting that stuff on my face.” Sarabeth pushes his rainbow-colored fingers away.

Van just shrugs and smears his purple-, blue-, and green-coated fingers on my face. “Nice, Van. Thanks.” He dips his fingers into the cheap plastic face paints and globs the second half of the rainbow on my other cheek.

“Are we done with the clown makeup?” Sarabeth asks Van as he cleans his hand on a cloth. “Good. What’s the plan?”

“Operation Rainbow is fairly simple—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Operation Rainbow?” Sarabeth asks. “Seriously. I’m not feeling the whole unicorn love here tonight. Can’t we call it like Operation Gays Kick Ass or Operation Hetero Takedown? You know, something tough that we can be proud of?”

At the same time, Van and I ease our heads toward each other, then we turn and glare at her, folding our arms over our chests in unison. “You’re not
proud
?” Van asks.

“Come on guys, I didn’t mean it like that. I’m so proud of my gay buddies. I’m here, aren’t I?” Sarabeth’s eyes dart between the two of us, but we stand there, impassive. “I dumped my boyfriend of two years and stole my father’s truck to help with a secret gay mission. I can’t be any more proud.”

We say nothing.

“Okay. Fine,” she says as she unzips her hoodie with flourish. Underneath is a nubby polyester shirt—fitting a bit too snug—with a big fat rainbow Care Bear on the front.

“Aw, he’s so cute. I remember those pj’s,” I say, and give her a cuddly hug. “I’m proud of you for being my ally.”

“Ahem. We have a mission here, ladies.” Van clears his throat and tears out a piece of notebook paper with a crude pencil map of the Goodman’s’ property. He gives Sarabeth the onceover. “Nice T-shirt.” He tries to hide his smile but fails.

“You are the stick art king,” I say once I get a look at his plan.

Van puffs up proud. “Thanks. Sarabeth, you drive the truck up to the edge of the driveway with the lights off. Kill the engine and reverse back down in neutral.”

“Aw, look, Sarabeth, he actually drew you inside the small truck on the map.”

“Adorable,” she says all deadpan.

“The slope of the driveway will help the truck roll, then Kaycee and I can push it the rest of the way to the shed door. The metal garage door will be loud as heck. The house is a good hundred yards away, so if we move it slowly, we’ll probably be fine, but we shouldn’t take any chances. Once we wrench it open, we’re going to have to move fast to hitch up the trailer and take off before anyone notices what’s going on.”

I’m feeling pretty confident with Van’s last-minute plan, and it’s looking way better than my streamers idea. If everything falls into place smoothly, we should be on and off the property in under ten minutes. We shuffle down the road and survey the shed for a good five minutes. Lights are off at the house, and nothing has stirred.

While Sarabeth goes to get the truck, Van and I use Sarabeth’s key to unlock the office. The same office with the couch she and Andrew used to make out on.
Ew
.

“Don’t turn on the overhead because somebody from the house might see it,” I say.

Van leads the way but stops abruptly. I ram into him. He bounces me back, and I fumble over something that sounds like a plastic trash can. He curses. “Did you bring your penlight?”

“Oh, now you’re loving the penlight.” I whip it out. The tiny beam shines around the room until I find the office door that leads to the main garage of the shed.

“Hey, if it wasn’t for me calling Sarabeth, we’d still be figuring out how to break in.”

“Whatever. You’re such a glory hog. You know, if I hadn’t—”

The overhead lights flip on to illuminate the entire shed. For half a second, I have a mind to scold Van, but the two huge guys leaning against the combine tractor shut me up. Center stage, Andrew stands with his arms crossed over his chest and smirks. A third kid walks over from the light switch panel on the wall, a junior linebacker. The boy who flanks Andrew graduated last year; he’s a big dude. I expect Chuck the Buck to emerge at any moment.

Dang it.
Obviously Van let our plan slip to the wrong person.

“Oh crap. It’s the plaid KKK,” Van mumbles to me.

“You got that right.” Andrew cracks his knuckles.

“Wait.” I stand in front of Van with my hands up, as if I could really stop a two-hundred-pound bull. “We just wanted to make a few changes to the float. No big deal.”

Andrew and his buddies chuckle. “Did you hear that boys? No big deal. If you think you can put one piece of that gay crap on my float, you’d better think again.”

I’m rethinking the Rainbow Pride warrior stripes we both have on our faces. Why in the world did I ever think we could pull this off?

“It’s not
your
float. We all worked on it.” It’s a pathetic argument that loses wind the second it leaves my lips. This is a lost cause now. Nothing we can say will convince Andrew or his cronies to let us take the float, much less make any changes.

Operation Rainbow dies here.

My hopes that this town could ever grow past a certain mentality die too. My attempts to speak up for the wrongs that have been done toward Bren and her family will now go unheard. All I wanted was a chance to show it doesn’t always have to be about violence. That we can all be bigger than that. That it can be about love and acceptance, or at the very least … tolerance.