“Whoa!” I said, impressed. “Do that again!” My finger and wrist bones rang from the force of her movement.
Petty shook her arms out and avoided my eyes. “No,” she said.
“Do you know like kung fu and stuff like that?” I couldn’t disguise my admiration, didn’t want to. This girl was a straight--up badass.
“Listen,” she whispered. “I’m not used to having -people touch me.”
Before I could stop myself, I let this sink in too far and felt the girl’s loneliness and isolation so acutely I wanted to run from her.
“It’s cool,” I said. “Don’t worry about it.”
I led Petty back to the truck and unlocked her door. Then we drove to where Ashley lived, a large, old brick house with a patchy front yard.
Petty followed me up to the front door, next to which were five mailboxes.
“Why does she have all these?” she asked, pointing.
“They aren’t all hers,” I said. “The house is divided up into apartments.” I smiled. “You know, hanging out with you is a little like hanging out with E.T.”
“Who?”
“Don’t tell me,” I said, incredulous. “You’ve never seen E.T.? E.T., the extraterrestrial? You know, ‘E.T., phone home!’ ” I said that last bit in my best approximation of E.T.’s voice, but it came out sounding like Donald Duck.
“I know what it is, but I’ve never seen the movie.”
“The whole world has seen it,” I said.
“My dad wasn’t real big on kids’ movies. A Clockwork Orange, yes. Disney, no.”
A Clockwork Orange? Wow. “You have a lot of catching up to do.” I looked at the mailboxes and pointed at the one labeled HEUSSNER. “She’s in 1A.” I opened the door, and inside was a stuffy tiled foyer divided by a staircase. Somebody’s TV was blaring behind one of the doors on either side the stairs, 1B to the right and 1A on the left. I knocked on 1A.
The sound of the TV lessened. “Yeah?”
“It’s Dekker,” I called.
The door flew open, drawing with it a billow of smoke which then rebounded outward. The smell hit me like a two--by--four to the face. But then the sight of Ashley’s face whacked me even harder. It was just a skull covered in scabby skin. She was shockingly thin, and her hair was greasy and dry at the same time, yellow with brown roots. Her eyes shone unnaturally bright.
I’d made a huge mistake bringing Petty here.
Ashley lurched toward me and clutched my arm with her skeletal, nail--bitten hand. “Dekker!” she squealed, and pulled me toward her. She planted a big kiss on my mouth with flaky, dry lips. Her breath smelled like nail polish remover and cigarettes.
Just as quickly and before I could stop her, Ashley pushed me away and reached for Petty, who jumped backward.
Ashley rolled her eyes at me and then said, “Hi, Petty.”
I didn’t like the way she said Petty’s name, like she was spitting out some gristle. This was not the sweet girl I remembered. This was somebody else. I knew Ashley had heard the stories about Petty’s strangeness, but the old Ashley would have acted more charitably toward someone like Petty. Even though Ashley was somewhat competitive with other girls, she’d never been nasty like this.
It was going to be a long night.
Petty fixed her eyes on me. “You didn’t tell me she was a methamphetamine addict.” She turned to Ashley. “How long have you been using?”
The flicker of rage on Ashley’s face appeared and disappeared like a haunted house black--light flash of lightning.
“Whoa!” I said. “What a kidder this girl is, huh?”
Petty said, “I’m not—-”
“Jeez, Ash, crack a window,” I said, taking Ashley by the shoulders and twirling her away. Petty couldn’t know that in real life, unlike on TV, you never called out an addict unless you had a van and a cot waiting. You pretended she wasn’t an addict, even with clear evidence staring you in the face. I’d never actually put words to this phenomenon, but it was as if Petty had been put on earth to expose everything that would show up on a bullshit meter.
I glared over Ashley’s shoulder at Petty and shook my head, hoping she’d get the hint. She looked bewildered.
Ashley took a big drag of her cigarette and blew directly in my face then laughed. It wasn’t the laugh I remembered. She literally laughed—-“Ha ha ha, ha ha ha”—-her voice brittle and rough.
“Come on in,” she said with an arm sweep. Then she ran around the cluttered living room snatching up piles of clothes, which she pitched through a door on the other side of the room. “I was just picking up.” She emptied ashtray after overflowing ashtray into a paper sack. “Gotta save these,” she said as she went. “I have to save them and get the leftover tobacco out of the butts to roll some more. I can’t afford to buy any right now, and it’s not like I’m going to give it up.”
While she was doing that, I watched Petty turn in a slow circle, her eyes scanning every inch of the room.
Ashley picked up stacks of magazines and carried them through the kitchen doorway. “I wasn’t expecting you so soon,” she called.