“I’m not psychotic,” he said. “I just think you need to know that heels would make your legs even more beautiful. You’ve only got a couple of years, you know. Models have a short shelf life. Like bananas.”
“Stop,” she said, but chewed on her lip, considering all of this. “I can’t wear heels. I’m a jock.”
“I hate that word,” said Jake. He knew how mercurial teenage girls were, and he could not wait to travel in their pack. Up and down, vacillating between good girl and bad girl, depending on the number of wine coolers.
“Too bad,” said Shyanne. “I’m a jock. I’m just a dumb jock getting harassed by a pushy gay kid. Go away.”
“I was here first,” pointed out Jake. “I just want to be your friend.”
Shyanne burst into tears. She was definitely a teenage girl. Jake reached over to comfort her in a clumsy hug, careful not to crush her bangs.
The Chief ordered Rachel into right field, and six of the seven dwarfs lined up to bat. Bucky continued to crouch, knees near his ears. Jake watched Rachel trot out, deep into the green. She must be exhausted, he thought, but she wanted this. The Chief had taught her about ready position, and Jake watched as Rachel moved into the stance, waiting for the dwarfs to make contact. The Chief began to pitch to the owner of the grocery store, and Jake thought about bananas once more. In Quinn, the produce was shipped from far, far away. Like Rachel, most of the fruits and vegetables of his hometown were exotic, could not take root in the soil that froze solid for most of the year.
Shyanne calmed down, watching the action on the field. Rachel ran for a ball, determined as always, alone in the outfield. A cloud of dust spun around the far side of the track, a white van that did not belong there.
“Fucker,” said Shyanne. “He’s going to ruin the lanes.”
As the van rounded the corner and got closer, Jake could see it was the dogcatcher. Gene Runkle was drunk as always, but at least the curbs around the track kept him from crashing. Jake squinted and could see a brown spot galloping in front of the white van. Jake could not help but root for the dog. Gene stopped and stumbled out, his hand holding a paper bag of dog biscuits. He called for the dog, and Jake watched Gene create a line of dog treats, a trail that led to the back of the white van. The dog was happy about this, tail wagging as he sauntered up to Gene, gobbled up the bait, too fast for capture. By the time Gene made an overture to open the back of the van, the dog had eaten all the biscuits and sped off once more. He slammed the van door and resumed the chase, the worst dogcatcher in the world.
* * *
It snowed a foot overnight, and the snow was still falling as Jake pretended to get ready for school. It was Friday, but there were no classes, just conferences with parents. Krystal had not met with Jake’s teachers since the fourth grade. She always worked during the day. She let Jake forge her signature, and they were both grateful. His grades were just to the north of passable, but Krystal stopped caring altogether after Bert came along. She barely graduated from high school herself, and believed in practical, vocational education. He let his mother believe he would follow her path and go to nursing school, encouraged this lie by bringing home a small set of scrubs from the thrift store. He was horrified by the tiny clown heads that polka-dotted the material, but wore the uniform happily every Sunday night. Bert sought refuge at the Dirty Shame, and Jake watched General Hospital with his mother. Krystal videotaped the entire week, and pointed out errors in the medicine practiced in Port Charles, criticized the nursing staff for not wearing sensible shoes. Of course, this all stopped when Bert found God, and they lost cable.
In Quinn, there was no broadcast reception, no ABC, CBS, or NBC. Even with the tallest of antennas, the mountains prevented this. As Jake left his trailer house with his book bag, he stepped out into another blizzard. Quinn had six months of winter, and six months of fire season. Despite the amount of snowfall, the lightning sparked wildfires from May until November. The town of Quinn had been burned twice before, and would not be fooled again. The snow was welcomed.
He took the usual road out of the trailer court, just in case Bert was watching. He would double back in an hour, and Bert would not see him enter Rachel’s back door. Jake stepped in the tracks from the snowplow, already filling again. He continued into town, past the movie theater, finally showing Home Alone, even though it had been released in November, five months ago. Jake continued on, past the Booze and Bait, closed as usual. Behind the counter of the hardware store, he could see terrible Della smacking her gum, and did not wave.
Buley had no clothes for him today, but that was fine. He was here for a different reason.
“AA books?” Buley was not rattled by his request, just called for Rocky. “I’m glad Bert’s getting help. It’s been a long time coming.”
“They aren’t for Bert,” said Jake. “They’re for me.”