Castles on the Sand

Six

I get up and dress quickly, then climb out my window. Everything's clear on my street. I don't know if Jean-Pierre drove or walked, but there's no sign of him as I walk past the dark, sleeping houses. I turn the corner, cross to the forest side of the street, and head towards Wilkstone, and even though I think I scan carefully, I don't see Ryan, Alex, and company until it's too late and I'm almost on top of them.

They're all in a runoff ditch just off the road that leads to a culvert that all the local kids like to play in even though it's a death trap. The ditch is deep enough that the sidewalk is chest high for this crowd and when I get close enough to be seen, Ryan leaps up onto the sidewalk. “Hey, hey,” he says.

I freeze, and for a moment my thoughts do too.

“You're out late,” he says.

“Let me past.” I keep my voice steady.

“You can get by.” He gestures at the length of sidewalk. “I'm not that fat.”

A couple of the other guys chuckle.

I lift my chin and step out into the street. One step, then another, I give him a wide berth, only to have him lunge at me so suddenly that I scream.

“Whoa,” says one of the other guys, still in the ditch. I can't see his face.

All of them burst out laughing.

“What?” says Ryan. “You think I'm gonna assault you?”

I don't know what I think he'll do. It's a small town. If he had a history of attacking people, I would know. Still, the way he stands, shoulders squared and face obscured by shadow, is terrifying. This is not what I want to see while out by myself.

I edge on my way, keeping my eyes on them, and then as they fade into the darkness, on where I last saw them, until I'm a good distance away, then I turn and walk briskly towards the bright lights of Wilkstone Road. Even though I glance back and therefore know that no one's following me, I'm relieved when I get to Jacksons.

This is how lenient my mother is. I go into the town mini-mart, am seen by the cashier who is not known for her discretion, and yet know I won't get in trouble for it. The freezer case at the back is my target. I shove open the heavy glass lid and reach down to grab two EVOL Burritos of the shredded beef variety; these are the best frozen burritos on the planet, almost better than fresh made.

The cashier doesn't bat an eye at the sight of me out at midnight on a school night, just rings up the burritos and holds out her hand lazily for money. I pay and leave, bending my steps towards The Shack.

By day, The Shack serves fresh made Mexican food at obscene prices to tourists passing through, but come midnight, Hernan Garcia – the youngest son of the family of owners – takes over. He turns the place into a burger joint, basically, though he's willing to get creative. When I step up to the cut-out counter in the side of the wooden shack and put the burritos down, he squints up at me. “Whattaya want me to do with 'em?”

“Deep fryer.”

“How long?”

“They're frozen, so however long that takes. And two orders of fries and two medium Cokes.” The deal is, he'll do stuff like deep fry EVOL Burritos for free provided we buy something else.

He nods, tears the wrappers off the burritos, dumps them into the wire basket and drops the basket into the deep fryer. Then he rings up two orders of fries and two Cokes and I pay him.

Fifteen minutes later I've got the burritos and the two orders of fries in a paper bag and the two Cokes in the crook of my other arm. Now the task is to get to Kailie before the grease soaks through the bag and makes it tear. That is harder than it may sound. I wish I could hug the bag to myself for warmth, as the cold air tonight is the kind that seeps in even through my warm clothes.