The Other Normals (27 page)

“I can be bow, not stern.”

“No problem. We’re going across the lake to meet Anna Margolis.”

“No! You and her?”

“Yes. We arranged a date.”

“What am I gonna do while you’re macking it to her?”

“‘Macking it’?”

“You know what I mean.”

“I don’t know, stand guard? I’m not gonna hook up hard-core with her. I just want to kiss her. That would be a personal victory for me.”

We creep closer to Dale’s cabin. There’s no movement inside. Sam chuckles. “You and Anna hooking up is harder to believe than you going to another universe.”

“Very funny. I already talked to her. I would’ve told you about it, but you were being a dick. If you want out, tell me; I’ll canoe over by myself.”

“No, no. You’ll drown.”

Inside the cabin, through the window, we see a tidy bed and a fold-out table holding milk crates full of confiscated goods. “I bet they got my comics from last year,” Sam says.

“Don’t get distracted. We’re looking for my backpack.”

Sam picks up a rock and rears back—

“Stop!” I grab his arm.

“What? How we gonna get in?”

“I can pick locks.” I go to the door, shaking my head. If Sam’s going to be the impulsive crazy adventurer, I have to be the smart leader. This lock is my first test. I don’t have any tools like last time with Ada, but I’m counting on all the movies I’ve seen where people pick locks with credit cards. Step one: stick a credit card in the seam of a door. Step two: slide it up and down.
Click.
The universal metaphor again.

“You have your library card, Sam?”

He hands it to me. It’s green and worn; it’s definitely been through the wash.

“Don’t tell anybody I carry that around.”

“You know I won’t.”

“How’d you know I brought it to camp?”

“Because I’ve never seen you happier than when you’re telling me about some book on Egypt.”

I stick the card in the side of the door. I slide it down to the doorknob; it meets resistance. I wiggle it. I can feel the piece of metal that sticks from the door into the door frame; I just need to get around it—

“Move,” Sam says. He grabs the card, closes his eyes, and sticks out his tongue. He slides the card up and down, wedges it to the side, and …
click.

“Nice!”

“My mom locks me out sometimes.”

I DON’T DARE TURN THE LIGHT ON. We let moonlight and light from the Hideaway Village bathroom illuminate Dale’s cabin. I check for spike traps and trip wires. The world is back to being difficult and exciting.

Sam points two fingers at his eyes and then across the room, at the table with the confiscated goods. We tiptoe to it. One of the crates holds comic books. Sam separates out the ones he claims are his. I search for my backpack. Sam opens a shoe box.

“Look!”

Knives.
Dozens of pocketknives, probably the result of many years of confiscations.

“Pick out the best ones. I’ve got a gang threatening me, remember.”

Sam goes to work. In the corner I spot a pile of backpacks and dig in. Mine is near the top: a black L.L. Bean bag with a white splotch from a Wite-Out incident last year (part of why I prefer mechanical pencils). I unzip it. The
Creatures & Caverns Rule Book: Other Normal Edition
stares back at me, with the genie over the pirate ship on the cover. The amount of time I spent in there—insane …

“Here, take these,” Sam says, handing me two of the choicest knives from the box. “And check this.”

He pulls out a Polaroid camera from a milk crate of electronics. “Vintage.” He stuffs it into his backpack. My own bag feels comforting on my back, like armor. “You see your mini anywhere?”

I shake my head.

“Is that it?” Sam points to a small table next to Dale’s bed. There he is: shiny pewter, kneeling over a forge with his war hammer.

“Perfect! Let’s go.” I put him in my pocket.

“Let me check something.” Sam opens another shoe box.

Cigarettes. Menthols, lights, reds … glistening, vibrant packs.

“No, Sam. You don’t need those.”

“Speak for yourself.”

“You
don’t.
I know why you smoke—you’re nervous. But there’s gotta be a better way to handle it.”

“They’ve got Special Blend, though!”

“Look!” I dash outside and pull up some grass. “Put
this
in your mouth. It’s an oral-fixation thing. See?” I chew some blades like Mortin Enaw did. Maybe
Sam
is who he corresponds to. “
Mmm …
tastes like … chlorophyll.”

Sam laughs. I hand him some grass. He nibbles it. “Could use a bit of Worcestershire,” he says in an English accent.

“Seriously, Sam … it’s not good for you. I have a friend who smoked, and it really messed him up.”

“Who?”

“You don’t know him.”

“I’ll take the Special Blend. That’s it. You never know when you’re gonna have to bargain with cigarettes prison-style.”

Sam zips his bag shut. We close Dale’s door and head into the woods. I stop, as soon as I feel we’re safe, and look at the Pekker Cland figure.

“What’s wrong?”

“I think this looks like me.”

THE FOREST MURMURS AND SNAPS AS we go to Lake Henderson; we follow the road a little way off to avoid any counselors or other kids on raids. On the water, the moon looks like a shimmering spotlight. I inspect Pekker Cland; there’s no question: he has my facial features now. Big eyebrows, full lips, wide nose,
bowl haircut
—he’s more Peregrine Eckert–like than before.

“I don’t get it,” Sam says. “What does that mean? Is it magic?”

“There’s no such thing as magic, according to Ada. Maybe Mortin can explain.”

“Who?”

I sigh. “It’s a long story. You ready?”

We sit on the pebbled beach. I put Pekker Cland in my backpack and tell Sam everything. I begin with Mortin and the car battery in the woods, and then Ada, Officer Tendrile, Leidan, the dog-heads, the death of Gamary, the transsexual hequet, and my ignominious return. (I don’t say anything about the indecent-exposure interlude in the middle, since now that hasn’t happened.) It feels good to talk. Sam starts out calling
me a liar every few minutes, but as I fill in the details, he comes around, asking questions that make me think.

“So when you go through a thakerak, you can’t bring anything with you?”

“Your clothes vanish. I assume not.”

“Because if we could bring pebbles over there, we’d be rich as shit! And where did Mortin get the lighter that he has on Earth?”

“I don’t know, maybe one of those head shops.”

“Probably. Like one of the crazy ones. And what do they use for money?”

“Gold coins. But the word for money is one of those words you can’t understand. It’s like
di-.
”

“Well, you don’t have to
say
money to
get
money. Did you like it over there?”

I look at the stars, above stringy clouds. “I miss it.”

“You could be having a florid hallucination, you know. An extended psychotic break.”

“Do you think I am?”

“Nah. You remember my policy on pyramids, right?”

“‘Until someone explains the pyramids, how’m I going to take life serious’?”

“That’s right. Maybe the other normals
built
the pyramids.”

FOR A HORRIBLE SINKING MOMENT I can’t find the key in my pocket; then I feel it at the very bottom. I unlock the rusty padlock on the canoe shed. The chain unwinds and slides to the pebbles below. I open the door. Three bats fly out and cavort over the lake.

“That’s bad luck right there,” Sam says.

“We don’t have time for bad luck. Help me with this?”

I know just which canoe to take. I’ve been scoping them out for days, noting the ones that leak, the ones that house gigantic water spiders, the ones that are dented and chipped. The one I select is a sleek aluminum beast, unexpectedly light and maneuverable. We pull it out and ease it halfway into the lake. Shallow ripples—you can’t really call them waves—lap against the boat and suck it this way and that. Sam climbs in and keeps his center of gravity low as he goes to the front. I lock the shed and hand him two paddles and our backpacks. I push the canoe into the water, getting my feet wet before hopping into the stern.

“You’re not wearing shoes!”

“I got used to it. They’re not approved over there.”

“Screw that. If I go, I’m showing them how to make shoes.” He gives me a paddle. “Hot shoes.” I shove us off the beach; with a scraping
sluck
we enter the domain of the lake.

Sam paddles on the port side; I handle starboard and steer. In the woods on the opposite shore we see scattered lights—the girls’ restrooms and maintenance facilities. The ladies of Oasis Villa are there somewhere, asleep (in bras?
do they sleep in bras?)
or maybe up and about like we are, causing trouble.

“You see Anna?” Sam asks. “Maybe she’s standing you up.”

“Don’t say that. And don’t talk loud; if we get caught, we’ll get this stuff reconfiscated.”

“If we get caught we’re going
home
, what’re you talking about?”

“What’s really bad is I forgot life preservers.”

“Life
jackets
, not life preservers. Nobody says
life preservers
except counselors. And who cares?”

“It’s not safe.”

“Raids aren’t safe. Are you gonna tip the canoe?”

“No.”

“You think I’m gonna tip the canoe?”

“No.”

“Is some creature from the other-normal world gonna tip the canoe?”

“I hope not!”

“Then keep paddling. You look better without a life jacket. Like Indiana Jones.”

“I don’t look like Indiana Jones.”

“If you had different hair, you might look like Indiana Jones. I’m trying to help you out here.”

We settle into a quiet rhythm, our paddles cutting the black water and leaving arcing wakes of drips between strokes. It becomes hypnotic, blissful, and when we cross the halfway point of the lake, I make a point of looking all the way from one end to the other. I think about how small this lake really is, how it’s not even on a map of New Jersey, how it’s part of a nameless green splotch. I think of a globe, where this whole state is smaller than the nail on my pinkie, and then of that globe splitting in two, and of those globes dividing, and of innumerable globes filling a cosmic bag—and the lake still feels
big.
Tiny places have all the drama and beauty necessary for a universe.

I spot Anna on a dock. Her feet hang over the water. She’s working on her mittens. I see the glint of her knitting needles and her bare legs.

“She’s there!” Sam whispers. “How is she there?”

“Quiet, don’t scare her. I didn’t tell her you were coming.”

“What? You idiot, what’s she going to think?”

We paddle up. She puts her knitting down. Her dress goes to her knees. Her black hair is as reflective as the lake.

“You made it! Who’s he? And where are your life preservers?”

I steer us aground next to the dock. The beach on the girls’ side is sandy, not pebbly. I wade to shore as suavely as possible. “Meet my friend Sam Josephs,” I say.

“I know you. You’ve been here for a few years.”

“So have you.”

“You never talk to me. You too good for me?”

“Nah. You might be too good for this one, though—”

“All right,
okay.
Anna, it’s good to see you.”

She leans in for a hug. I almost try to sneak in a kiss but I don’t want to do anything drastic. If I come this far and then mess up, it’ll kill me. The hug is nice anyway.

“You came across the lake for me. Nobody’s done that before.”

“Yeah,” Sam says. “When he got me, I figured he was going to the dining hall to steal soda, but he’s dead set—”

“Soda? Your dining hall has
soda
?”

“They got it stashed away,” Sam explains. “Only the counselors can get to it. Doesn’t yours have soda?”

“Some girls raided ours and took all the soda! The counselors caught them and poured it down the toilets in front of everyone. It’s all anybody’s talking about. Can you guys seriously get soda?”

“No,” I say.

“Yeah!” Sam grins. “We already busted into the camp director’s cabin.”

“Sam!”

“You went into
Dale’s
cabin?” Anna asks, like she’s concerned for his welfare.

“Yeah, is that a problem? Do you know him?”

“No!” She waves her hand like,
No way.
“Just … you
know … I’ve been coming to camp for a while so I know him from events.” She grins. “That’s
badass
that you busted into his cabin. Let’s keep it up. Let’s steal some soda.”