ḾṎᕍ⁅ᖇṈ ℄Ṏv⁅ | The Lost Boys

ᏨᏲᾀᑬt⁅ᖇ ṎṈ⁅

"Keep going!"

"Hey—I like that song!"

"Keep going, Mom."

Mom huffed but complied. As she turned the dial, snippets of songs filtered through the car speakers before setting on a country song. It was half-drowned out by static; however, the singer's twang was clear as day.

"Ooo, what about this?" She giggled, shooting me a mischievous look in through the mirror.

"Keep going, mom," said Michael.

More static until the middle part of an old sixties tune began to play. Mom perked up, "Oh, this is from my era!" She sang, her voice well-meaning but off-key. "Groovin' on a Sunday afternoon!"

Michael and Sam shared a look before droning, "Keep going!"

I gapped, "Wha—no. I like this song."

"Keep going," they said again.

I sneer at my brother. "Who died and made you king of the radio."

Michael moved to flick my forehead, but I smack his hand away before he makes contact.

"Hey, guys," Mom cranes her neck to look at me through the rearview mirror. "No fighting, please? Here, I'm changing it."

She turned the dial and stumbled onto a popular rock station. The boys relaxed into their seats, finally listening to good music.

I can't wait to get out of the car. I've been on the road for nearly thirteen hours now, stopping only to refuel or if one of us really had to pee. I was dying to get out and stretch my legs, which had become a near-permanent bed for Nanook to rest his head. I occasional petted him.

"Hey, we're almost there." She gestures to a brilliant blue billboard with bright red letters that reads WELCOME TO SANTA CARLA.

Sam wrinkled his nose. "What's that smell?"

Mom took a deep breath and sighed, "That's the ocean air."

"Smells like someone died."

"Aw .... Honey." Mom merged into a new lane. The general distaste for the place was not lost on her. She glanced back at me and Michael and rubbed Sam's arm. "Look, guys, I know the last year hasn't been easy, but I think you're really gonna like living in Santa Carla."

Outside my window is a kaleidoscope of weirdness. Immediately I'm hit with crowds of people walking or leaning out their windows as they drive, whooping and hollering—a woman wearing rollerblades and a bikini skating confidently.

"Rowan," Michael nudges my side. "Did you see that?"

"Hmm?"

"The sign."

"What about it?"

Whatever he was about to say was lost when Mom spoke up. "We're going to gas up really quick, okay?"

I raise an eyebrow at Michael. Well?

He slumps further in his seat. "I'll tell you later."

She veers the car off of the main road. A crowd of people disperses, making room for the vehicle to pull in but not without complaint. I hunker down in the back seat until they're all gone. Punks—vicious ones at that. Not my type of crowd.

As soon as the car stops, my careening out of the vehicle. For the thick of summer, Santa Carla is mild. It must have something to do with being on the coast. I shield my eyes, squinting over to the beginning of the sandy beach. It's packed.

Damn, I wish I'd bought sunglasses. Still, having to constantly change them out with my circular glasses I physically needed to see, I decided they were more hassle than they were worth.

Sam comes running back to the car, Nanook in tow. I'm not sure I saw him run off in the first place, but it makes me nervous that he just went off.

"Mom!"

"Yeah?"

"Mom, there's an amusement park right on the beach!"

She glanced at it a moment before passing Sam a few dollars. "Sammy, go tell those kids to get something to eat."

Across the way, a few teens around my age were dumpster diving, picking up half-eaten sandwiches, and sniffing them. I lean against the car, shifting my weight. Runaways. This place seemed to be crawling with them.

Sam reluctantly walks the cash over, gesturing towards where you and Mom stood. The kids accepted the money, eager yellow smiles greeting me. Mom smiles in return.

When Sam returned, he jutted his chin towards the boardwalk. "Can we go now?"

"Maybe later." Mom waved him off, pulling out the pump. "Grandpa's expecting us."

A couple of surfers pass the car. One whistles at me, "How you doin', babygirl?"

I stiffen, not deigning to respond. Instead, I open the back door to the car and stuff myself back inside. So much for stretching my legs.

Soon enough, mom and Sam climb back in the car. Michael, who had unloaded his bike, rides behind the car the rest of the way to Grandpas. The lively scenery fizzles out, turning into dirt roads, bleached from the sun, and overgrown fauna.

When the car stops, I tentatively pop open my door. The house is ... not what I was expecting. Michael hops off of his bike, walking ahead of me, but stops short. I follow his gaze and see a pair of legs peeking out from behind the fence.

The four of us approach with caution. Not once does the man move. I share a look with Michael.

"Is he dead?" I ask, titling my head to the side.

Michael echoes. "He looks dead."

Mom waves us off and walks onto the porch. "He's just a deep sleeper." She shakes his arm, "Dad. Dad, wake up."

Michael inches closer, not getting too close to the maybe-corpse, but close enough to have a good look. "He's not breathing, Mom."

Sam pops his head in between us two, Nanook trotting up the steps to get a sniff. "If he's dead, can we move back to Phoenix?"

You wack him on the back of the head. "Dude!"

"What?!"

The maybe-corpse sits up, one eye open. "Playin' dead and from what I heard, doin' a damn good job at it."

"Oh, Dad!" Mom embraces him, laughing at his incorrigible attitude.

I exchange a look with your brothers. What a weird old man.

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