the open window, which actually helped me get my bearings. I twisted around and got my feet on the passenger door and stood up and grabbed the edges of the driver’s-side window and pulled myself up. I was half out when Will grabbed me and pulled me all the way and we both fell with a shout into the water, and again I was disoriented, not knowing which way was which, but somehow I got my head back above the water and managed to splash my way to shore, and so did Will, and then we were on the slippery muddy bank spitting and gasping and making retching noises, or at least I was, and Will was going, “Shit, shit, shit!” and then I was sobbing and pummeling him on the shoulder with my fists and all we could see of the Hummer was the left rear taillight sticking up above the scummy brown surface.
That was the closest I ever came to getting killed.
Will walked me all the way home. It was a long, drippy,squishy walk. For the first part of it we didn’t say much, just listened to the squoosh, squoosh, squoosh of our wet shoes. Then Will said, “Your squooshing is louder than mine.”
“That’s because I got wetter,” I said.
“I think we both got as wet as is humanly possible.”
“Yeah, but I was wetter for longer.” I noticed that Will was walking funny, like he was bowlegged. “How come you’re walking weird?”
“I’m having crotch problems.”
“Explain.”
He stopped and tugged at the wet legs of his jeans. “It’s like they’re climbing up my legs.”
I started laughing, then Will was laughing too, and then he was walking with his legs really far apart, swinging them all stiff and holding his arms out in front like a zombie, and we both started laughing even harder.
That lasted about a block.
What was strange was that the whole way home we never talked about what we had done. I kept seeing the image of that one taillight sticking up out of the water, and imagining myself stuck inside the Hummer, all drowned and bloated like the dead raccoon.
It was four-thirty when I sneaked back in. I threw my stinky, sodden clothes in the washer, took a long shower, and went to bed.
“Are you on drugs?” my mother asked me the next morning.
I pulled my bedspread off my face and glared at her.
“I’m just tired.”
“It’s eleven o’clock. I’ve already been to my Rotary club meeting, gone grocery shopping, and gotten a haircut.”
“Your hair looks nice,” I said.
“Thank you.” She gave me the Look. “I heard you taking a shower in the middle of the night.”
“I couldn’t sleep.”
She gave me some more of the Look, then said, “Well, it’s time to get up.” She walked off to perform her next highly productive task, leaving my door standing wide open which she knew I hated. I checked my clock just to make sure she wasn’t lying. She was lying: It was only 10:53. Which meant I’d had about five hours of sleep. I sniffed. I sniffed again. Something smelled fishy. I sat up and sniffed my arm.
It was me. Rotten fish-smell girl. I’d thought I’d washed it all off when I got home, but the nose-wrenching aroma of eau de pit had penetrated my pores. I got out of bed, headed for the shower, and promised myself that I would never, ever let Will or anybody else talk me into doing anything stupid ever again as long as I lived.
Ha.
I spent the next few days half expecting a SWAT team to surround the house and arrest me for Hummer-drowning, but nothing happened—except that four days later Alton Wright was driving a brand-new Toyota FJ, eyeball-searing orange, paid for by his parents. So it was almost like we had done him a favor. Will went back to his original plan, saying he was going to find a dead rat someplace and hide it in Alton’s spare-tire compartment.
“Why not a dead squirrel?” Jen said. “They’re easier to find.”
“It has to be a rat,” said Will.
There are many reasons to steal a car. The most common reason is because the car thief needs to get someplace, and a
That was the closest I ever came to getting killed.
Will walked me all the way home. It was a long, drippy,squishy walk. For the first part of it we didn’t say much, just listened to the squoosh, squoosh, squoosh of our wet shoes. Then Will said, “Your squooshing is louder than mine.”
“That’s because I got wetter,” I said.
“I think we both got as wet as is humanly possible.”
“Yeah, but I was wetter for longer.” I noticed that Will was walking funny, like he was bowlegged. “How come you’re walking weird?”
“I’m having crotch problems.”
“Explain.”
He stopped and tugged at the wet legs of his jeans. “It’s like they’re climbing up my legs.”
I started laughing, then Will was laughing too, and then he was walking with his legs really far apart, swinging them all stiff and holding his arms out in front like a zombie, and we both started laughing even harder.
That lasted about a block.
What was strange was that the whole way home we never talked about what we had done. I kept seeing the image of that one taillight sticking up out of the water, and imagining myself stuck inside the Hummer, all drowned and bloated like the dead raccoon.
It was four-thirty when I sneaked back in. I threw my stinky, sodden clothes in the washer, took a long shower, and went to bed.
“Are you on drugs?” my mother asked me the next morning.
I pulled my bedspread off my face and glared at her.
“I’m just tired.”
“It’s eleven o’clock. I’ve already been to my Rotary club meeting, gone grocery shopping, and gotten a haircut.”
“Your hair looks nice,” I said.
“Thank you.” She gave me the Look. “I heard you taking a shower in the middle of the night.”
“I couldn’t sleep.”
She gave me some more of the Look, then said, “Well, it’s time to get up.” She walked off to perform her next highly productive task, leaving my door standing wide open which she knew I hated. I checked my clock just to make sure she wasn’t lying. She was lying: It was only 10:53. Which meant I’d had about five hours of sleep. I sniffed. I sniffed again. Something smelled fishy. I sat up and sniffed my arm.
It was me. Rotten fish-smell girl. I’d thought I’d washed it all off when I got home, but the nose-wrenching aroma of eau de pit had penetrated my pores. I got out of bed, headed for the shower, and promised myself that I would never, ever let Will or anybody else talk me into doing anything stupid ever again as long as I lived.
Ha.
I spent the next few days half expecting a SWAT team to surround the house and arrest me for Hummer-drowning, but nothing happened—except that four days later Alton Wright was driving a brand-new Toyota FJ, eyeball-searing orange, paid for by his parents. So it was almost like we had done him a favor. Will went back to his original plan, saying he was going to find a dead rat someplace and hide it in Alton’s spare-tire compartment.
“Why not a dead squirrel?” Jen said. “They’re easier to find.”
“It has to be a rat,” said Will.
There are many reasons to steal a car. The most common reason is because the car thief needs to get someplace, and a
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