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but really. It’s kind of unnerving.
Aunt Bette doesn’t answer me. Whatever. I step around it,
careful not to breathe in any of the smoke, and make my way
to my room.
CHAP
TER F
OUR
    After talking with Mary after school, I go
home, make Dad a microwave dinner and hammer a bowl of
cereal, and then head to the ferry. The sun has gone down,
and the wind is stinging. I zip my sweatshirt up to the neck
and pull the hood tight over my head. I should have started
wearing a coat weeks ago, but I hate the one I got last year. It
was a peacoat, charcoal gray, a real navy-supply one. I found
it at the thrift store, but it wasn’t lined, and the wool made my
skin itch. Maybe, if I get to the mainland early, I can stop by
the thrift store and see if they have something else.
    Down at the ferry landing it’s the opposite of what it’s like
in the summertime, when the parking lot is full of cars and
there are lines of people queued up to climb aboard. It’s totally
dead, except for a few delivery trucks and a couple of cars.
Most of the workers I know have left for the season, so I’ll
probably have to pay for my ticket. I go up to the window,
but the ticket guy is friends with my dad and refuses to take
my money. Which is awesome. It happens a lot for me, but I’m
grateful each and every time.
    I’d freeze my ass off if I sat on the observation deck, so I
find a seat inside in the café. There’s a table of four old folks
drinking tea and thumbing through a book of birds, marking
down the ones they saw today. I turn on my music and close
my eyes. I swear to God, I hope I die young, because I can’t
ever imagine myself doing that shit.
    And then I get this tight-stomach feeling—guilt, I guess—
knowing that it’s been weeks since I’ve been to the store to see Kim.
Not since our little fight, when I needed use the copy machine to
photocopy Alex’s gay-ass poems for our revenge scheme. I was so
wrapped up in getting that done I didn’t give Kim the time of day
when she obviously needed a friend to talk to.
    Hopefully she’ll forgive me.
The thrift store doesn’t have winter coats, unfortunately.
Only summer shit from people cleaning out their closets. I
walk the mile over to Paul’s Boutique. Day of the Dogs won’t
come on till late, but it’s better that way, because Kim and I
will have a chance to catch up. I decide in advance not to talk
about any of my shit. Tonight should be about her unloading
on me. Maybe things worked out between her and Paul. Who
knows, maybe his wife didn’t actually know they were doing
it. I hope so.
    I walk into the store, and there’s someone I don’t recognize
behind the counter, some skinny dude with a mullet and a full
sleeve of tats. So I head straight to the back, where the shows
are, and try to walk through the door. It’s a lot darker inside
the garage space, and a few people are already pushed up to the
front of the stage to make sure they have a good spot for the
show. Someone grabs my arm.
“Ten-dollar cover.”
    I turn and see Paul himself. Paul’s hair is cut pretty short,
and it looks more silver than I remember. He’s got on an
old Sex Pistols T-shirt, tight ripped jeans, and canvas sneakers. He’s short for a guy, but in good shape. Kim says he’s
really disciplined about going to the gym since he got clean.
Apparently, years ago he was into some pretty hard drugs.
Like needle drugs.
Anyway, I smile, because I’ve met him before. “Yo, Paul.”
He doesn’t let go of my arm. “Ten-dollar cover.”
I yank myself free and glance over to the sound booth,
    wondering if Kim might be in there. But it’s empty.
“You deaf?”
“Where’s Kim?” I say, and I know I sound pissed.
Paul looks taken aback. “You know Kim?”
“She’s a good friend of mine.”
Paul averts his eyes. “She doesn’t work here anymore.”
“What? Why not?”
“She stole from the store, so I fired her.”
I narrow my eyes. I spit out, “You’re a liar.”
“Excuse me?”
“You