“I don’t know. Who can know anything with the two of you.” She looks at me like I’m a puzzle she’ll solve if she gets me at just the right angle. Like she has too many middle pieces, and if she could just find a corner piece, she’d be happy. “You hate each other, you obsess over each other. And now you’re beingfreakishlynice to each other?”
We go to the movies together.I keep the words in my head, where they belong. “Asher and I aren’t… anything.”
“Okay, it’s just that at the party, it seemed like—”
I cut her off with my spoon pointed at her like I’ll stab her with it at any moment. I haven’t completely ruled it out. “There’s nothingwith me and Asher. I can be nice to someone without it being athing.”
“Even Asher?”
“EspeciallyAsher.” I hate how high and defensive my voice has gotten.
“And you’re… sure he feels the same?” She chews on her lip for a second. “Because I’ve always suspected thatunderneathall the pranks and asshat-ery… he’s actually kind of in love with you.” The last words are barely audible over the sound of the river.
I drop the spoon into the empty bowl. A tiny, maniacal laugh escapes my throat. “What would ever make youthinkthat?” If I didn’t know she’d just been at work for eight hours, I’d think she was drunk. Or maybe she is. Maybe she keeps a tiny flask on her key chain or something. There is just no other excuse for saying something so ridiculous.
Kara shakes her head. “I don’t know. Forget I said anything. It was stupid. You two are making me stupid.”
It’s maybe the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.
“So you’re positive there’s nothing going on there.”
“So positive.” I pick up the spoon nervously and drop it back into the little white puddle. “I seriously can’t believe you’re making me say this.”
“Okay.” Kara raises her hands in surrender. “But for the record, if therewassomething there…” She catches my eye and words race out of her. “Which there isn’t. But if there was… that would be okay.”
All I can do is nod.
DAY 24
Sidney
We drove the extra thirty minutes to get to the cheap grocery store yesterday. The one where you have to deposit a coin to take a shopping cart, all of the bags and boxes are store-brand green, and the powdered mashed potatoes we’re going to dump in the grass cost exactly what they’re worth to us: $1.29 a box.
I clap my hands together and watch the white flakes disintegrate. “I had no idea a trunk full of dehydrated vegetables could make me feel like such a delinquent.”
Asher laughs. It’s quiet, like he’s worried someone will hear us, even though we’re still two houses away from Nadine’s and it’s just before 3 a.m. There’s definitely no one around to hear. We’re parked at Kara’s grandma’s house, in the heavy trees at the end of her driveway. The wagon we usually use to haul all our crap down to the beach is already half-filled with opened boxes.
“As if this is anywhere close to the most delinquent thing you’ve ever done,” Asher says.
I tear one end of a box open before placing it in the blue canvas basket of the wagon. We need to spend as little time as possible in Nadine’s yard, so we’re taking Asher’s suggestion to prep everything ahead of time. I wanted to do it at our house,but when he pointed out that our parents might wonder why we’re suddenly hoarding mashed potatoes, I talked to Kara and hooked us up with our base of operations for the night.
“Don’t forget Edith.” Asher jerks his head toward the backseat, and I let out a little moan.
“Aw. Do I have to?” I open the back door and pull Edith out of the seat, where I have her strapped in. I bring her to the back of the car, cradled under my arm. “I’m sort of attached to her. She’s the elephant in my room.” I smile at my own joke, waiting for my pun to sink in.
Asher just shakes his head, a smile on his face. He puts a gentle hand on my shoulder, and his voice matches it. “It’s time to send her home, Sid. Time to set her free.” I wedge her into one end of the wagon, surrounded by boxes, and then pull her back out.
“I’ll carry her.” I’m not trying to be dramatic, I just don’t want her to fall out and get broken. I won’t lie, I’m half-expecting a sign in Nadine’s garden where Edith usually sits. Something like,I KNOW WHAT YOU DID,right next to a grainy black-and-white security cam photo of me running away with her. But when we get to the edge of the house, wagon in tow, there’s nothing behind the bush but a little patch of dirt, dug out of the red mulch. I pat Edith on the head like she’s my good little elephant, and shimmy her down into the mulch, twisting her a little so she doesn’t tip over. This time, I’m careful not to step into the path of the motion-sensor light.
I blow her a kiss as I turn around, and Asher gives her a little salute. And I don’t feel like he’s mocking me, he’s just playing around, having fun with it like I am. Asher doesn’t take anything too seriously—especially himself—and I’m really starting to appreciate how much fun it is to have someone go along with my weirdness. Because it doesn’t feel so weird anymore.
Asher leaves the wagon of potatoes in the trees alongside the driveway, where it’s dark with shadows, and both of us takea box in each hand. Now that I’m actually here, in Nadine’s yard, with all of the grass sprawling out around me, I’m not sure where to start. Yesterday we plotted over our pancakes and agreed that doing some sort of design was too much pressure. We’d just go to town on the yard with as many potatoes as humanly possible, and call it good.
On the opposite side of the yard, Asher is silently shaking potatoes over the grass, walking backward as he empties one box and then two. It feels like watching a movie on mute as he silently moves through the yard, nothing but a faint chuh, chuh, chuh as the powder is liberated from its box.
I walk around the yard, laying the potatoes down in lines across the grass. When something moves in the tree line, my attention snaps to the noise, and a cascade of potatoes rushes out of the box, making a white arc in the air. I swap my empty boxes for full, and with a box in each hand I twirl in the center of the yard, my arms outstretched. White powder spirals out into the air. I start moving around the yard in little circles, spraying the potatoes around me like a cyclone of white dust. It’s 3 a.m., I’m exhausted, and it’s possible I’ve totally lost it.
Five minutes in, we’ve each emptied ten boxes, and still the yard looks green. The grass is a little long, hiding our efforts. Which reminds me that Nadine has a sprinkler system keeping her yard so long and luscious. We don’t have to cross our fingers and hope that it rains—our potato masterpiece could be ready as early as this morning. The thought spurs me on, and I grab two more boxes.
