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“Ummn” is all I can manage in my semiconscious state.
“Time for a little fun,” Justin says.
He fires up the SUV and we drive through a neighborhood of insta-mansions—huge, sprawling houses, some with their own turrets. The walkways are lit up with in-ground electric torches. Alarm signs dot the edges of the lawns.
“Tara, take the wheel.”
Tara puts her left hand on it and we inch toward the curb. Justin pulls a baseball bat out from under his seat and leans his body out the side window. He swings the bat hard, knocking a mailbox off its stand.
“Whoa,” I say. Or at least, I think that’s what I say. I’m stoned. For all I know I could have said, “Board the cows! We’ve come to enslave your marigolds.” This makes me laugh, chuckling all to myself in the back.
Justin bangs away at the mailboxes. He misses one or two, which he blames on Tara’s driving.
“Fine. Drive yourself,” she says, pouting. But she doesn’t give up the wheel, and on the next one, he hits pay dirt. The mailbox is knocked completely clear of its post. It skips across the street with a grating clank, making little sparks on the asphalt. Lights flip on in the house. A dog barks with intent. Tara giggles high and loud. A stoner laugh. Justin tucks the baseball bat back under the seat and drives off fast. We run aimlessly up and down streets with names like High Court, Royal Acres, Imperial Lane, King’s Row, every street striving to be more important sounding than the last. Even the roads have aspirations here.
Justin rolls onto Westminster Lane. He cuts the SUV’s lights and slinks into the driveway of a dark house.
“Isn’t this the McNultys’?” Tara asks.
“Yeah,” Justin answers. “They’re away.”
“How d’you know?” she teases.
“My mom’s retard boyfriend cleans their pool. He said they’re in Spain or Portugal or some city like that.”
“Charlie McNulty is president of the student council at our school. He’s supersmart,” Tara explains, like a tour guide. It strikes me as funny and I laugh to myself.
“This way,” Justin says, taking us to the back. Around the side of the house is a wooden fence. Justin opens the gate into the backyard. The place is freaking huge. It’s got a nice stone patio with a huge gas grill, teak patio furniture, and a glass table with an umbrella shooting out of the middle. And there’s the pool Justin mentioned. It’s a clear blue that lets you see the pattern of red and yellow Mexican tiles around the sides. I can smell the chlorine coming off it.
Justin shucks his pants and shirt, getting down to his skivs. I’m afraid he’s going to take those off, too, but he doesn’t. He slips into the water in his underwear and pushes away from the side on his back. Tara’s having trouble with her clothes, but soon she’s down to her bra and underwear. I can see the outline of her dark hair against the thin pink fabric of her panties. It gives me a hard-on. No way I’m stripping down now.
“What’s the matter, Cameron? You shy?” She takes my hands in hers and starts pulling.
“No,” I protest, hoping she doesn’t steal a look below. “It’s my disease. I can’t swim. It’s not good for me.”
“Bummer,” she says before taking a flying leap into the pool. Water sluices up the sides for a good five seconds after. “I like making an entrance,” she says. “Otherwise no one notices you.”
In the end, I take my shoes off and stick my feet in, letting the lukewarm water lick at my ankles. It feels good, and not just because I’m stoned. I make a mental note to add this to Dulcie’s list of things worth living for. For some reason, I keep seeing her rolling her eyes at me, that big, goofy grin stretching her face like Silly Putty. On my private list, I add her smile. She doesn’t have to know.
“This is great,” Tara says. “When I’m a model, I’m buying a house just like this one. Maybe I’ll even buy this one from the McNultys and everybody who was ever mean to me can just eat shit when I’m all famous and everything.”
“Baby, you can build your own house,” Justin says.
“Yeah, I can, can’t I? Better than this one,” Tara giggles. She swims over to Justin and wraps herself around him, spider style. They float together like that, kissing. I look around the yard like I’m interested in the landscaping.
Tara laughs. “I think we’re embarrassing Cameron,” she says in a little singsong voice.
Justin gently pushes away from Tara and stretches for the side of the pool.
“Hey!” Tara says, treading water. “Where you going?”
“I gotta take care of business.”
Just like that, they climb out and dry off with some towels they take from a neat stack in a cabinet by the back door. They peel off their wet underwear. I look away and pretend I’m not getting another hard-on thinking about riding in an SUV with a girl who’s not wearing any panties.
“Let’s go,” Tara says once they’ve got their clothes on again.
“Hold up a sec.” Justin’s riffling through the sideboard of the grill. He pockets some BBQ sauce and a bottle opener.
