chapter 5

“Have you been to the Basement yet?” Cody’s mom asked a week before school started. She’d come home from work and gone straight to the shower, and now she sat with her hair combed but still dripping, the shoulders of her Led Zeppelin T-shirt soaked through, a cigarette smoldering between her fingers. She kept her eyes glued on the TV, even when she asked him a question.

“Not yet.”

She’d given him a bit of money from her tip jar the week before. It wasn’t much, but he knew it wasn’t her fault. She worked hard waiting tables, and there were too many expenses and not enough left over in the end. Cody tried looking for work of his own every so often, but there weren’t many jobs in Warren to go around, especially now that the boom was over. With too few businesses and too many unskilled workers, most of the entry-level jobs went to adults, many of them fresh out of high school and already trying to support kids. The few spots left for teenagers usually went to family members and friends, and Cody was neither. Sometimes there was seasonal work to be had—mowing lawns, painting houses, shoveling snow—but those never lasted, and neither did the few dollars they brought in.

He appreciated that she’d given him what she could. Yes, he wished like hell there was more, but at least she tried, and he recognized that every time she handed him money—even a few dollars—it meant something she was giving up for herself. Maybe it was only a couple of drinks at the bar, but it wasn’t like she hadn’t earned them. If a few beers on Thursday night was the high point of her week, Cody understood. In a place like Warren, you took what distractions you could find.

For himself, he had a new distraction: Nate. Every evening, when Nate dropped him off at the end of the day, he’d say, “Want to meet again tomorrow?”

Cody’s heart did the same funny little dance every time. He tried not to get his hopes up too high—it was only until school started—but like his mom with her drinks, he chose to take what happiness he could when the opportunity presented itself. When they got tired of playing cards, they drove around town. They even stopped at a yard sale and picked up an eight-track tape for fifteen cents, just to test the player in Nate’s Mustang. It turned out it still worked, and after that, Nate stopped at every yard sale he found in search of more. Cody couldn’t help counting those coins as Nate handed them over, thinking how he could have put them to better use, but it was Nate’s money, and it made the afternoons a bit more fun. They ended up with a ridiculous collection—everything from KISS to the Bee Gees to the soundtrack from Pete’s Dragon—but it was better than the country station out of Casper and the static that filled the rest of the radio bands.

His mom was watching him now, waiting for him to elaborate on his answer. “Maybe I’ll go tomorrow.” The truth was, there was a better store in Rock Springs, but he hadn’t worked up the nerve yet to ask Nate for a ride.

His mom went back to watching TV, but a minute later, she ground her cigarette out and stood up. As she passed him, heading to the kitchen, presumably to scrounge up something to eat, she laid a bundle of folded bills on the coffee table in front of him.

Cody’s heart sank a bit.

She didn’t say a word. Just opened the fridge, pulled out a beer, then stood there staring in, the unopened beer in one hand while she contemplated their severe lack of food.

Cody licked his lips, debating. Leaving it lying there wouldn’t change what had been done. He picked it up and unfolded the small bundle with shaking hands. It was more money than his mom should have made waiting tables. He closed his eyes, trying to find his center. Trying to find that quiet place inside of him where he didn’t have to feel anything.

He wished he’d never made a big deal out of it. He wished he’d never even mentioned his clothes not fitting.

Too late now.

The money felt dirty in his hands. He imagined he could feel its taint seeping into his flesh, leaking into his bloodstream, rushing headlong for his heart. He didn’t want these crumpled, fading bills, but telling her would only make him look even more ungrateful.

He opened his eyes, trying to feign an innocence he didn’t feel. “Where’d you get this?”

“I had a good night.” Punctuated by the click-fizz of her popping the tab on her beer.

Cody’s bile rose, and he forced himself to take slow, even breaths. He was torn—grateful for the money, but ashamed of it. Embarrassed for her, annoyed at himself, angry at his no-good father for forcing their hands.

“Mom . . .” He wanted to say, I’m sorry. He wanted to say, You don’t have to do what I think you did. But her back was rigid as she stared resolutely into the fridge, and Cody said the only thing he could. “Thank you.”

“Don’t blow it on records.”

Cody couldn’t remember the last time he’d bought music of any kind. That was a luxury he’d long ago learned to live without, Nate’s sudden infatuation with eight-tracks notwithstanding. “I won’t.”

He slid it into his back pocket, trying to let go of his misgivings. Maybe she’d been saving up for a while. Maybe there’d been a really big table, or one high-roller who liked the way his mom smiled.

Anything was possible.

Anything was better than the truth.

When Nate wandered into the field the next day, he found Cody sullen

—even moodier than usual, and that was saying a lot. Nate didn’t tell him about the encounter with the Grove clique. He knew bringing it up would only drive Cody deeper into his anger. Cody expected him to fall into line with that group once school started, and although he couldn’t quite picture it, he kept hearing their voices in his head.

He’s a loser.

He’s worthless trailer trash.

Nate studied his class ring, remembering the second day he’d spent with Cody, and his assertion that there was no escaping Warren, Wyoming. What if he was right? What if this really was a black hole nobody managed

to leave? Nate felt like he could barely breathe, just thinking about it. School was only four days away, and he was dreading it more than ever.

“There must be something around here we can do,” he said at last. “Besides shooting things, I mean.”

Cody shrugged as he ground his cigarette out against the side of the wagon. There was a pretty substantial black mark there from all the times he’d done it in the past. “I don’t know. There’s the places I told you—City Drug, and the bowling alley.” He looked down at the toes of his shoes. “I can take you to the bowling alley, but no way in hell I’m going where all the preps hang out.”

“Well, I have a car, you know. What about if we left town? What’s the closest place to go?”

Cody blinked at him in surprise. “Rock Springs.” “Is there anything to do there?”

Cody’s eyes shifted to the side, and he bit nervously at his lip. He obviously had something in mind but didn’t seem to want to mention it.

“What is it?” Nate prodded.

“Well,” Cody glanced sideways at him, “there’s a store there.” “What kind of store?”

A slow blush started to climb its way up Cody’s cheeks. “A clothes store.”

Nate wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but that sure as hell wasn’t it. “You want to go shopping? Are you serious?”

Cody blushed even more, and ducked his head. “Never mind,” he said, his voice quiet.

Nate was confused by Cody’s sudden embarrassment. He’d been teasing, but this was clearly something Cody couldn’t handle being hassled about.

“Cody?”

Cody looked cautiously toward him. His cheeks were still bright red. “It’s cool, man. I’ll take you. Anything’s better than sitting here.”

A flash of hope lit Cody’s eyes, but he seemed to smash it down, grinding it out like he had his cigarette. “The thing is, it’s . . . Well, it’s a thrift shop, you know? Like, used clothes people donate.”

Used clothes?

Suddenly, the reason for Cody’s embarrassment was crystal clear, and Nate couldn’t even blame him for it. Secondhand stores were something he

was vaguely aware of, but he’d never set foot inside of one. He’d always thought of them as places homeless people and bums went. Somehow, it hadn’t ever occurred to him that regular people shopped there. People his age.

People like Cody.

Cody was still looking at him, his cheeks red and a mute plea in his eyes—not asking if Nate would take him to Rock Springs, but asking Nate to please, please not laugh at him for this.

In some past life, he might have done just that. But not now. “They have a McDonald’s there too, right?” Nate asked. “Yeah.”

“I’d kill for a Big Mac right now.”

Cody gave him a big, broad smile that was cute as hell, and utterly contagious. “Two all-beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, cheese—”

“Pickles, onions, on a sesame seed bun.” “Let’s go,” Cody said.

But Nate was already on his feet and running for the car.

They drove south to the interstate, then turned west. The sun was shining, semis blasting past them in the left lane, and the farther they got from Warren, the more Cody seemed to shine.

It was as if all his anger and resentment and embarrassment burned away as they drove, left somewhere behind them on the shimmering, hot asphalt. He smiled more. His laugh came easier. He fiddled with the radio and finally managed to tune in a rock station broadcast out of Salt Lake. It was more Cody’s music than Nate’s—Van Halen, Def Leppard, the Scorpions—but they both agreed it was better than nothing. By the time they pulled into the McDonald’s parking lot in Rock Springs, Nate was marveling at how much of Cody’s usual hostility seemed rooted in the dusty streets of his hometown.

Cody excused himself to use the bathroom as soon as they walked inside, and by the time he came out, Nate had already paid for a double order of Big Macs, fries, chocolate shakes, and apple pies.

And just like that, Cody’s newfound happiness wilted a little. The pained look that always haunted his eyes came back as he scanned the tray full of food. “I can pay you back.”

“Forget it,” Nate said, wanting only to see him relax again. “What the hell else am I going to spend my allowance on?”

They slid into opposite sides of a booth. Cody unwrapped his hamburger first, but Nate was dying for french fries.

“What in the world are you doing?” Cody asked as Nate took the lid off his chocolate shake and dipped a fry in it.

“I’ve been craving this ever since we moved.” He held the shake out to Cody. “Seriously, you’ve never dipped your fries into your shake?”

“No.”

Nate was about to say his mother had introduced him to the idea, but that seemed like a good way to wipe the smiles off both their faces fast. Instead, he ate another milkshake-coated fry, pushing the open cup toward Cody again. “Go on. Try it. You’ll never want ketchup again.”

Cody didn’t look too sure of the idea, but he obediently dipped one of his fries into the shake and put it in his mouth.

“Good, right?”

Cody tilted his head, still chewing, seeming to put way too much thought into whether or not he liked it.

“You know what I really miss?” Nate asked.

Cody swallowed. “Besides a swimming pool and MTV and a mall with an arcade?”

Nate laughed. “Yeah, besides those things. I miss grits.”

Cody stopped in the middle of taking the lid off his own chocolate shake. “What are those?”

If anyone had told Nate two months earlier that he’d be talking to somebody who’d never heard of grits, he would have called them an idiot, but he’d checked the grocery store in Warren. There were no grits to be found. Not even the instant kind. “They’re like Cream of Wheat, I guess, but not really.” He unwrapped his hamburger, thinking about all the things he couldn’t find in Warren. “I miss fried okra too. And you know what else?”

“What?”

“Collard greens cooked with bacon. I didn’t even think I liked them that much till I found out I couldn’t get them. Now, every night at dinner, I

sit there wishing we had them.” “Isn’t spinach the same thing?”

“Not even close.” For a while, they ate in silence, although Nate was pleased to see he’d converted Cody to the world of chocolate shakes in lieu of ketchup on his fries. And Nate’s Big Mac was the best damn thing he’d ever tasted.

“You don’t have much of a Texas accent,” Cody said as he wadded up his empty hamburger wrapper.

“No. It’s ’cause my folks are damned Yankees.”

Cody wrinkled his brow, and Nate laughed, realizing the joke was lost on him.

“It’s something they always say in the South. The difference between a Yankee and a damned Yankee is that a Yankee’s here to visit, but a damned Yankee’s here to stay.” He shook his head, realizing that his “here” had become “there.” He still thought of himself as a Texan.

“Anyway. My mom and dad were both Air Force brats. They lived all over growing up. They moved to Austin the year before I was born, but the southern drawl never really rubbed off on them. Plus, you know, my mom’s an English teacher, so she’s big on proper grammar. She likes telling me how ‘y’all’ isn’t in the dictionary.” Why did he always end up talking about his mom? “Anyway, as far as I’m concerned, you’re the one with the accent.”

Cody stopped, a fry halfway to his mouth. “I don’t have an accent.” “You do. You and everybody else in Warren. You sort of . . . twang.”

Cody dropped his fry, sitting back as if Nate had slapped him. “I don’t ‘twang.’”

“You do. It’s kind of cute, really.”

Cody just stared at him, and Nate suddenly regretted having said that last bit. He crumpled up his Big Mac wrapper, searching for something else to say that didn’t feel so stupid. He glanced out the window, at the cars headed downtown.

Or was it “uptown” in Rock Springs?

“Hey,” he said, struck by a new thought. “Is there a record store in Rock Springs?”

“Pretty sure there is.”

“Then hurry up and finish your pie. I never managed to buy Lifes Rich Pageant before I moved.”

“Who?” “R.E.M.”

Cody groaned as he started to gather their trash onto the tray. “Thank God your car doesn’t have a cassette player.”

Cody could tell Nate was uncomfortable when they entered the thrift shop, but he seemed to be doing his best to act casual about it. The place had the same sour, musty smell as every other used clothing store Cody had ever been in. The front of the store was all women’s clothing, and Nate followed him past the racks of clothing to the men’s section. Cody tried to tell himself he had no reason to be embarrassed as he started sorting through the options.

“How about this?” Nate was on the other side of the rack of clothes, directly across from Cody. He held up the ugliest sweater Cody had ever seen.

“No.”

Nate put it back without a word. Thirty seconds later, he said, “This?”

This one was bad enough it made Cody think better of the first one. He couldn’t tell if Nate was seriously offering him the sweater, or if he was intentionally picking things he knew Cody would hate. “No.”

“This one?” The shirt Nate held up this time was almost identical to the one he was wearing, right down to the little horse embroidered on the chest.

Cody shook his head. “Nate, look at me. Then look at you. Then look at that shirt. Now tell me, who’re you kidding?”

Nate actually blushed a bit as he put the shirt back. “Just trying to help.”

So he had been serious. Now Cody felt bad for being a smart-ass. “What I really need are pants.”

“I saw some parachute pants over there.” Nate pointed to the end of the row.

“Please tell me you’re joking.”

Nate shrugged. “Eddie Van Halen wears them.”

“Maybe you ain’t noticed, but I’m not Eddie Van Halen. And neither are you.”

“I don’t know. I think you could pull it off. It’s that whole ‘bad boy’ thing. You just need a leather jacket to go with it.”

Again, he couldn’t tell if Nate was serious or not. He didn’t know if he should bother pointing out that if he was buying his jeans secondhand, it was a safe bet he couldn’t afford a leather jacket. Instead, he chose not to respond at all. He went back to sorting through jeans.

“You want me to pick you up on Tuesday?” Nate asked. Cody winced, hoping Nate didn’t notice. “For what?” “For school.”

“What do you mean?” It was a stupid question. Really, he was just stalling for time. He’d been anticipating this conversation, but having it now, in person, in a public place, was a lot more difficult than he’d pictured it being.

“What do you think I mean, genius? Do you want a ride to school?” “I’m totally out of your way.”

“Cody, the town is two blocks wide. There’s no such thing as ‘out of my way.’”

He was exaggerating, but not by much.

“I thought it’d be cool if you’d hang out with me, you know?” Nate said, seemingly oblivious to Cody’s discomfort. “I mean, you’re the only friend I have. I don’t know my way around. I don’t even know where the school is, now that I think about it.”

Cody took a deep breath and made himself say the words he’d rehearsed in his head a hundred times, although he couldn’t look Nate in the eyes as he did. “You don’t want the others to know we’re friends.”

“Why not?”

“Because—” Fuck, what was he supposed to say? He made himself meet Nate’s confused gaze over the rack of clothing. “Because you don’t. That’s all.”

“You’re too cool to hang out with the preppy guy from Orange Grove?

Is that it?” Nate actually seemed upset by the idea. “Yeah, that’s it. I’m worried you’ll ruin my rep.”

Nate actually looked a bit hurt by that comment, like he didn’t quite realize Cody was being sarcastic.

Cody sighed and tried a different tactic: the truth. “Think about it, man.

Have you seen anybody else in Warren speak to me?”

“We hang out in a cow field. I haven’t seen anybody out there at all.”

Good point. Still, he didn’t understand. How could he? But once school started, he would.

“The thing is, you’re gonna be in classes with all those assholes from the Grove. They’re gonna be curious about you, trying to figure out if you’re cool or not. And they’re gonna tell you things about me.” Cody stared at the hangers on the metal bar in front of him so he wouldn’t have to see Nate’s face. “Some of what they tell you will be lies, but some will be true. And either way, you won’t want to be seen with me after that.” There was not an itch in his throat as he said those words. He refused to acknowledge it. “Being the new kid is tough enough. No need to make things worse by showing up on your first day with the class pariah.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Nate duck his head. Nate started

sorting through the shirts in front of him, even though Cody didn’t think he was seeing any of them. When Nate finally glanced up again, his cheeks were red. Was he embarrassed, or mad?

“I’ll be at the gas station at seven thirty,” he said. “You better be there.”