The Van Pact

21: Valerie

Jan got the idea to film Stevie's third feat of courage after Jesse showed him the footage of me dancing in the HalloweenTown. He called it "viral gold," and said he wants to "mine [us] for hits." I was stunned Stevie agreed to it. I mean, she doesn't have a choice whether to perform the dare, but to allow herself to be filmed for posterity? And possibly YouTube? The girl is turning into quite the bundle of surprises. Anyway, that's what we were doing after school, on a Wednesday. Carla got suckered into tagging along. She heard me telling my mom over the phone that I'd be late coming home because we were going to get 'Pumpkin Spice Lattes' (as if that's a thing I'd ever want to drink. Coffee is gross. I don't care how grown up it makes you seem). When Carla saw the Starbucks pass by her backseat window, she realized we were up to something, and moaned about how she 'hadn't signed up for any abject stupidity.'

It was too late. By then, we were already en route for Center City. I wasn't about to turn Gus around just to chauffer her home. Abject stupidity it was gonna be.

***

Part of Jan's plan was to test out the new Audio-Visual equipment he got for his birthday in August. He had affixed a microphone to Stevie's chest a half an hour ago, when we first left school. He was now wearing a go-pro he had mounted on a MAGA baseball cap. His dad is a Berkley PhD, and the chair of the sociology department at Packer College. I assume the Trump merchandise was one of Jan's earlier, cruder attempts to rebel. He stopped going to his piano lessons spring semester sophomore year (the only reason why he still plays the oboe I think is because he gets to make out with Carla on band trips). The comedy career, of course, is the latest, more sophisticated way of screwing with his parents.

Carla and I were sitting in Gus, her trying to make sense of her ongoing attraction to Jan and me trying to scope out what was going on through the large front windows of BIG ALADDIN'S CARPET EMPORIUM.

"Why is the MAGA hat necessary? Why couldn't he just, like," Carla played with her seatbelt, "watch baseball or something?"

The problem with carpet emporiums is that they hang carpets in their front windows. One, the sun will probably fade the color of the carpets (I suppose the windows might be made from some kind of special UV protection glass, but, if not, it's bad business to destroy your inventory). And two, you can't watch your best friend make an idiot of herself through a carpet.

"Or just be like, normal?" Carla squinted.

THAT WAS IT. I HAD TO GO IN.

"Normal is overrated," I hopped out of Gus. I passed Jesse, still getting ready in his Ford Focus (he couldn't carpool with us because after this stunt he'd have to go straight to his job at Fiesta. Miserable life, he has). I cut over a yellowed, square lawn and the sidewalk, and opened the front door. A bell jingled overhead as I walked inside. A dark-haired salesman sitting on a stool in the center of the showroom looked at me. He wore a low-cut V-neck t-shirt, gold chains, and tight black jeans, like a faded Eurotrash hair-metal rocker.

"Hello, welcome," his monotone was inflected with a posho English accent.

I busied myself with the nearest throw rug. Beside me, a couple of middle aged ladies inspected a black and gold carpet. Jan stood about five feet away from Stevie, who was staring at one of the Isfahan carpets draped over the back wall. I knew it was an Isfahan carpet, because hanging beside it were those wall-art wooden decorative letters, spelling out the word Isfahan. Stevie glanced over her shoulder at me. She was wearing a damn hoodie over her Jasmine costume. I wasn't having it. When she looked at me, I mouthed take it off. She sucked in her lips, but obeyed. With the hoodie removed, it was go time.