Hitchhikers (Wolf Point #1)

-25-

"Hey, kid."

I bury my face into my jacket and attempt to keep walking.

"Hey, I'm talking to you!"

(ignoreignoreignore)

A heavy hand on my shoulder, pulling me around. I jerk away. "Hey." The jock is smiling. Smiling? "Hey, no need to be rude, huh?"

"Yeah, we're not gonna hurt you." His girlfriend walks over. She's one of those confident girls who knows she's hot with her highlighted hair and perfect makeup. Maybe not so perfect makeup. Her eyes are ringed with liner that looks a few days old.

"We noticed you had some cash on you and we thought you might be looking for a good time." He's still smiling.

A good time? I stare at him.

"What do you say?" he asks.

"Yeah." The girl saunters closer, brushes her hand against my cheek.

I back off like she's burned me. No one's touched me in a long time.

"Touchy, touchy. Don't you want to relax for a little while?"

She smiles at me. There's something empty in her eyes, but she seems interested in me. Maybe I was wrong, and the jock isn't her boyfriend.

"I guess," I say.

"Well come on, then." She takes my hand – her skin is smooth and warm. I feel my palms start to sweat almost immediately. She leads me to a beat-up van in the parking lot, not white like Paul the Pervert's van, but brown and covered in bumper stickers. The guy trails behind.

Lila's whining. "It's fine," I tell her.

"What's your name?" the girl asks, spinning to face me as the jock opens up the back of the van and climbs inside.

"Dan," I say. I wait for a moment, but she doesn't tell me her name. She just climbs on into the van and tells me to hurry up.

I'm not sure how I'm supposed to relax in the cramped back of a van, even if there is a bunch of cushions on the floor. It smells in here, a smoky smell but not like cigarettes. A warm, earthy smoky smell. I'm getting a headache.

The girl pulls the door shut in Lila's face.

The inside is lit up by the dome light and that smell has just gotten a lot stronger. I don't know why it smelled sweet before; it smells like a skunk now. I watch the girl, but she is watching the guy so I do too.

Now I understand.

He's got a joint and he's flicking the lighter to start it up. My stomach starts feeling queasy. This isn't what I meant when I said I wanted to relax. I was thinking a warm bed. I was thinking a girl who liked me and who wanted to be with me.

The guy takes a few hits off the joint, exhaling his foul smoke into the air. My eyes water. "Come on, Matt, pass it already!" the girl whines.

He chuckles and takes another hit before he puts it in her waiting fingers.

"This is the life Dannyboy," he says.

I've gotten better at not reacting to that name

Daaaannybooooy

And the girl puts her hand on my arm, gentle, handing the joint to me.

"I, uh.... I – " It's so stupid, the way all those anti-drug commercials run through my head, and yet my hand reaches out to take the joint from her.

I bring the joint to my lips and suck in, as I saw them do. The smoke hits my lungs in a suffocating cloud. I erupt into coughs and Matt plucks the joint from my fingers.

"Newbie," he laughs.

The girl laughs too, and in the smoky haze her cackling is amplified, bouncing around the tin can van until all I can see are open mouths and yellowed teeth and their laughter.

Is this the effects of the drug? Is my sudden nausea an effect of the drug?

"Okay, kid, pay up. You can't smoke for free."

The teeth are suddenly sharp. I try to focus but I'm being groped, hands clawing at my sweatshirt pocket.

"Get off," I say. My voice echoes in the same weird way as their laughter.

It's all spinning

Maybe she wants to kiss me. I grab her and pull her toward me and then I'm hit by the football jersey.

"Get your dirty hands off my girl," he says in my face, his mouth in my face.

And then darkness

It seems only a few moments have been lost. I'm still in the van but it's quiet now. Before me, a tangle of limbs and shredded clothes and hair.

My hands are red with blood. I wipe them on the pillow, scrubbing frantically against the upholstery material to get all the red off. My jacket is red. I zip it to keep the blood on my sweatshirt from showing. Check my shoulders: backpack still there. Surprisingly, not much mess on my jeans. A piece of football jersey has protected them.

I crack open the van door, check for anyone nearby, and slide out, shut the door behind me.

Lila slinks out from behind another car. She approaches me cautiously, licks at my hand. She must smell the death on me.

"Let's get out of here." Suddenly I stop, feel around my mouth. No blood. Good. "Let's go," I say again, and head toward the street.

"You taking off?"

I turn to find Beverly behind me in a puffy down jacket. It must be nine o'clock

(but I went into that van around 7 and it felt like only a moment that I blacked out)

and I can see Beverly's husband lurking back there in the shadows, near a blue Ford Taurus. Lila pushes her head up under my hand and my racing thoughts and nerves are quieted enough so I can smell the air and there's no danger. He smells like fresh wood and the outdoors and honest sweat.

I haven't responded to Beverly's question so she asks, "Do you want a place to stay tonight or what?"

"Yes," I say.