Play Me Backwards (19 page)

“Come on, Leon!” he said. “Clothes make the man!”

Avery the Asshole went into what I assume was his standard pitch for no-good teenage slobs.

“Women can't resist a man in a suit,” he said. “You put on a well-cut suit, and that shows women you're a man of power, class, style, sophistication. A man of the world.”

“I make just over minimum wage,” I said. “I haven't been out of Iowa in a couple of years, I haven't got any power, and I'm about as sophisticated as your average baboon.”

“That's why you need a suit,” said Avery. “You have to fake it 'til you make it.”

I was just about to make some sarcastic remark about what it was that I was supposed to make when he leaned over and whispered, “And by ‘make it,' I mean make it with your girl.”

Then he patted me on the shoulder.

Over at the counter Brianna smirked again and rolled her eyes, like she knew exactly what he'd just whispered in my ear.

“What do you think of Brianna?” he whispered.

“She's nice,” I said.

“She's
real
nice,” he whispered. “And I happen to know she likes men in suits.”

I somehow doubted this, seeing as how she wore protest clothes outside of work. I also doubted that she'd like having her manager, or whoever Avery was, hold her up as a possible prize that you could win if you bought just the right suit.

Avery was wearing a gray suit, so I decided then and there not to get anything gray.

“Fine,” I said. “I'll take a black one.”

“The popular color this year is really more of a charcoal gray or a midnight blue,” said Dad. “Weren't you paying attention?”

“It's the women,” Avery said with a wink. “They find
almost
-black
less threatening and more comforting than plain black.”

“Hey, Brianna,” I called out, “do you find men in black threatening?”

“Yes,” she said. “Men in gray suits are comforting and approachable. Men in black look like they're coming to take me away.”

“See?” asked the salesman. “No one wears all black anymore, unless they're going to a funeral. And you'll scare Brianna.”

“Brianna could kick
my
ass,” I said, raising my voice enough that she could hear from across the store. “Couldn't you, Brianna?”

“The customer is always right,” she called back.

“See?” I asked. “If I'm going to wear a suit, I want to look evil in it.”

Dad and the salesman looked at each other.

“Kids,” said Dad.

This from a man who once accidentally burned off most of his hair testing a new invention and dyed what was left of it green.

I ended up getting a black suit with a red vest, even though I had to admit that I didn't really pull the look off. Stan would have looked good and evil in it, but I sort of looked like a raggedy butler. That still felt better to me than looking like the asshole who sold it to me, though.

Back in the car, Dad told me that he thought Brianna was flirting with me.

“I doubt that,” I said.

“I think she was,” he said. “Is that why you wanted to come here? To see her?”

I shrugged. “She and Stan had a bit of a fight yesterday, and I thought I should apologize for him.”

“She seemed nice,” he said. “Are you and Paige okay?”

I nodded. “Sure.”

“Your mom and I thought you and Paige were an unusual match,” he went on. “But if it works for you, it works for you.”

“That's what I've been thinking,” I said. “Relationships are all about taking two puzzle pieces that aren't even from the same puzzle and making them fit.”

I suppose I hoped Dad would talk about what a wise young man I'd become when I threw a line like that out, but he just nodded a little.

Paige and I were back out hunting for Slushees the next day. Now that we'd established exactly how we'd celebrate getting the white grape one, she was much more into the whole quest than she had been before. In the days since the five-yen piece appeared on the wall, we'd searched for the Great White Grape Slushee everywhere: among the subdivisions of Ankeny, the split-level houses of Clive, the brick bungalows of Beaverdale, the stately mansions of Sherman Hill, and the neatly ordered streets of downtown Des Moines.

By this time we'd found that we could usually predict what they'd have in each gas station. Casey's General Store usually had the same three flavors at every location, Kum and Go usually had the same four, and Quick Trip had the same six.

But now and then there'd be a wild card, and on that day we found two new flavors: Strawberry Citrus Freeze, and something called Purple Vanilla, which was tasty as hell. “Purple” is a reliably good flavor to start with, and adding vanilla made it practically a gourmet dish, as gas station grub goes. Rather than sharing one, like we usually did, we each got our own. Paige hadn't had a whole one in a long time; she usually just had a sip of mine and got a bottle of juice, if anything. But one makes exceptions for purple vanilla.

When we got to the car, I called Stan.

“We found purple vanilla,” I said. “Is that it?”

“Why would purple vanilla be the same thing as white grape?” he asked.

“Well, purple usually means grape, and vanilla-flavored stuff is usually white, right?”

“You've got a fine understanding of junk food semiotics, Harris,” Stan said. “But you still haven't found the Great White Grape.”

Whether it was the right one or not, purple vanilla was a great discovery. We were both on sugar rushes by the time we adjourned to the nook, where we did a couple of things that we'd never done before. We began with purple mouths, and by the time we finished, other parts of us were purple too. Parts that I'm pretty sure had never been purple on either of us before. We both probably looked like we had leprosy or something, but making each other look like lepers turned out to be both fun and romantic. So much fun that for the first time I felt like I was actually
ready
to go further. Like finding the white grape Slushee was nothing to be afraid of anymore.

And it was still out there, hiding in some far-flung convenience store, as mysterious as love itself.

Just before spring break, I finished the layout for the yearbook, and Mr. Perkins officially absolved me of having to serve any further detention hours. As long as I kept coasting through my classes and didn't fail any of them, I was going to graduate right on time.

There was a party at Stan's place that night, and I felt like I'd earned a bit of celebrating. Paige was reluctant to go, though, and peppered me with questions as we drove towards his house on Sixtieth Street.

“Is Molly going to be there?”

“Who?”

“Molly,” she said. “You know. The drug. Not the person.”

I almost snorted. “There'll be some pot, but you'd probably get laughed at if you asked for Molly.”

“I wouldn't ask, I'm just wondering what to expect.”

“Just imagine a party that someone might have thrown after a Black Sabbath concert in 1974, if you can.”

“Will there be anything to drink besides beer?”

“What do you usually have at football parties?”

“Wine coolers. Stuff like that.”

Now I imagined Stan with a blender and slices of real fruit, mixing up frozen pink drinks, and I laughed out loud. We weren't fancy down there. It was a working-class place with wood-paneled walls and an earthy aroma.

“They probably won't have those.”

She moved her hand to my thigh. “Are you sure you don't want to go on a Slushee hunt instead?”

I thought this over. I'd been looking forward to the party, but it wasn't really going to get going for a while, and we'd been having so much fun on Slushee hunts that it was hard to say no. Better to at least start out doing something I knew we'd both like instead of something I had to talk Paige into.

So I changed course and headed south down Merle Hay Road, and turned onto University Avenue. Paige smiled and took my right hand and played with my pinky finger while I steered with the left one. Ishmael rambled on, as usual. We only had a few CDs to go by now. Most of the time I didn't pay much attention to him.

We wound up near Waukee, and as we sat at a red light, it happened. The guy on the audiobook said the most famous line from the book: “Thar she blows! A hump like a snow hill! It is Moby Dick!”

“Holy shit,” I said. “They really
do
say that!”

“Go back, let's listen again,” said Paige.

I scanned back a few seconds.

“Thar she blows! A hump like a snow hill! It is Moby Dick!”

The sky split open wide, golden beams rained down from the Heavens, and a gathering of angels appeared above our heads, singing songs of hope. That's what it felt like, anyway.

I rolled down the windows and Paige shouted, “Woooo!”

I honked the horn and flashed the headlights.

When we got to the next traffic light, Paige leaned over and hugged me. We kissed until the light turned green, and I felt like I was the King of the Audiobook Listeners. Like I had truly done something great. Something I could be proud of. I guess it's not the same as curing a disease or putting out a fire or getting into Harvard, but finally making it all the way to the most famous line in
Moby-Dick
really feels like a magnificent accomplishment. I'd had to listen to a whole
lot
of Ishmael rambling on and not making any sense to get there. But we'd made it to “Thar she blows, a hump like a snow hill, it is Moby Dick,” and now the end of the book was in sight. And Paige and I had done it together, more or less.

“This calls for a Slushee,” I said. “Any Slushee. Have we been to this gas station up ahead?”

“I don't think so.”

“Let's go. Maybe they'll at least have that Purple Vanilla one again.”

She smiled. “You want me to turn you purple before we go to the party?”

“I'll turn
you
purple, baby.”

“Now
that's
what a girl wants to hear.”

A Kum and Go loomed ahead of us like Camelot. The Promised Land. Mecca. The Emerald City. Whatever.

“We should get some candy bars too,” she said as we stepped in. “This calls for a celebration.”

“Candy bars, hot dogs . . . everything they have on sale. Nothing in the gas station is too good for my baby.”

I looked over to the counter and realized that the clerk was that same pirate-looking one who had been at the store on Hickman, the one who seemed like a time-traveling version of myself. I was about to go say hello to him when Paige grabbed my arm and said, “Uh, baby?”

She pointed over to the Slushee machine, and there it was.

Three flavors. Cherry limeade, blue Mountain Dew, and white grape.

I fell to my knees on the dirty ground. Our quest was at an end.

We kissed again, filled two cups, and took them to the counter.

“So it was real after all,” I said to the guy.

“Yeah,” he said as he took my money. “Thought of you guys when I saw it. Shit.”

I threw all of the change into the “take a penny leave a penny” tray, as a sort of offering, and we took the fabled Slushees out to my car. They were delicious. The fact that white grapes may not have been an actual fruit didn't matter—no grape-flavored product tastes like anything that occurs in nature.

I felt like we could have driven all the way to Chicago and harpooned a whale at the aquarium that night.

But we hardly talked as we sat in my car. We just looked at each other and smiled and slurped at our straws.

Neither of us had forgotten what we'd planned to do the night we found the Great White Grape Slushee. I finally broke the silence by saying something stupid.

“Too bad we're not wearing white,” I said. “Then if anyone saw us doing it, they could call it a hump like a snow hill.”

“If you keep saying things like that, I won't want to do it anymore.”

“Fair enough,” I said. “I assume your parents are home?”

She nodded. “And Autumn's having a slumber party, too, so going there is totally out, unless you want to give them a lesson.”

I didn't seem to me like there was a lot Autumn didn't already know.

“Would someone rent us a hotel room, or do you need a credit card?”

“I have my dad's, but I don't want to have to explain the charge,” she said. “We could just use the nook at Earthways, though.”

“You really want to do it in the car?” I asked.

“I don't care,” she said as she pulled her hair back into a ponytail. “I just want to do it tonight. A car's better than Stan's laundry room, at least. We can do it better some other time.”

I took another sip of my Slushee, then went back into the Kum and Go to buy a thing of condoms (which, by the way, struck me as a hilarious thing to do).

Paige put her hand on my knee as we drove back through the west suburbs to Cornersville Trace. The sun was down now, and the pavement stretching out before us glowed like gold under the orange haze of the street lights. The sky was the color of a purple vanilla Slushee above us, and it complimented Paige's eyes when I looked over at her, which I did whenever we came to a stop sign. By the time we got to Earthways, it was dusk.

Everything seemed beautiful. It was a new-made night.

But I don't mind saying I was still nervous as hell. Part of the reason I'd agreed to do it when we found the white grape Slushee was that I
wasn't sure we ever actually
would
. Paige probably wasn't going to want to pretend to be Nurse Paige the first time we did it—she'd want it to be just the two of us, Leon and Paige, our souls touching, and all of that shit.

I still wasn't sure I could live up to what she wanted.