The Reckless Club Page 5

  Lilith shrugs. “Improvise.” She daintily trots toward Mrs. Mitchell. “Oh, Mrs. Mitchell,” she sing-songs. “These hairnets are so convenient!”

  10:28 a.m.

  WES “The Flirt”

  Wes walks beside Ally.

  “What’s up?” he asks her. “You’re seriously glaring at Lilith.”

  Ally shrugs and looks away. Lilith and Ally, now that Wes thought about it, were about as different as any two people could be. Where Lilith was posh and shining, Ally was all straight lines and grit.

  “I guess I get it,” Wes whispers to Ally. “She’s kind of tough to take.”

  Ally nods. “She looks like she belongs on the top floor of a dollhouse, in a pink bedroom with a white canopy bed. Like when someone meets her, they should be given a little plastic comb to run through her shiny hair.”

  Wes muffles his laugh with his hand. Ahead of them, Lilith seems to glide rather than walk next to Mrs. Mitchell’s bounce, bounce, bounce steps.

  “About this tray clearing,” Lilith says, “I’m not going to scrape dirty dishes. I have misophonia—fear of disgusting sounds. I could become ill, and I’m sure you don’t want that.”

  “Miso—” Mrs. Mitchell echoes.

  “Misophonia,” Lilith responds. “It’s a medical condition.”

  “And my brother is aware of your condition?” Mrs. Mitchell asks.

  “Of course,” Lilith responds. “I can’t believe Mr. Hardy hasn’t shared our medical restrictions with you! That seems like such a lapse in care.”

  Mrs. Mitchell nods, her cheeks wobbling with the force of it. “I pride myself in knowing residents’ restrictions.” She makes a tutting sound with her tongue. “The moment their health status changes, I demand to know. That way I can make any necessary changes on my end—you know, transferring them to other floors and whatnot—right away. I can’t believe my brother wouldn’t mention your miso… messio…”

  “Misophonia.” Lilith smiles. “So, no plate scraping?”

  “Of course not, dear,” Mrs. Mitchell says. “How about we station one of the others by the trash cans, so they can take care of that job?”

  Ally groans.

  “You’ve got to admit, she’s got skills,” Wes says.

  Ally raises an eyebrow.

  “You disagree?”

  “A five-minute mile is impressive,” Ally says. “She passed out—for real, passed out—after a thirteen-minute mile in gym class.”

  Wes laughs again. “Yeah, but I bet it was the loveliest fainting spell ever.” He puts his head to his forehead and pretends to swoon. “Ally,” Wes says, “you’re in, right? I mean, you’ve been pretty quiet. We can count on you?” He’s matching her long-legged pace down the hall toward the cafeteria. His dark eyes watch hers.

  “Stop looking at me like that,” she whispers.

  “Like what?” Wes’s step slows.

  “Like I’m weak.” Two red circles flame on her face and her jaw clenches.

  “I wasn’t saying—”

  “I’m in, okay?”

  “Okay,” Wes says, trying to figure out where he went wrong. “You don’t talk much, do you?”

  “That again?”

  “What?” Wes tilts his head at the strange girl.

  “Asking me if I can talk. You did that in first grade.” Wes’s eyes crinkle as he tries to remember. Finally, he does. He and Ally had been paired for a stupid math project, sorting plastic pieces. Wes had turned the little dinosaurs into a herd, making the squares a fence around them. Ally had silently counted the sets and wrote the numbers on their paper while he played. Do you even know how to talk? he had asked. She had stomped on his T. rex herd and refused to work with him. He hadn’t even said it in a mean way. He really didn’t know. He had wanted to know. Yet here she was, carrying that memory like a piece of chewed-up bubblegum stuck under a desk. “Seriously? You’re still angry about first grade?”

  Ally’s chin pops up. “I’m not angry. I just remember it.”

  “You have trouble letting things go, huh?” Wes winces as something flickers across Ally’s face, like she’s watching a catalog of hurts flash by.

  “I know how to talk,” Ally blurts.

  After a too-long pause, Wes says, again not in a mean way, “Okay. Good. That’s going to be helpful. Great.”

  Outside the cafeteria door, the lunch lineup of wheelchairs and walkers winds around the corner.

  “I thought lunch wasn’t being served until ten forty-five?” Wes asks, checking his phone for the time. It is ten thirty-two.

  “That’s right,” Mrs. Mitchell calls. “Residents like to line up early, especially when we have a favorite on the menu like today.”

  “Chicken nuggets?” Wes asks. “Chicken nuggets draw a crowd in middle school.”

  “Nope, something even better today!” Mrs. Mitchell says. “Tuna casserole!”

  Mrs. Mitchell opens the cafeteria door, releasing a cloud of fish-scented air.

  “Mmm, tuna casserole,” says a little woman in a purple pantsuit.

  “Mmm,” Wes echoes with a little shudder. The woman in the purple pantsuit winks at him, beckoning Wes toward her with fingers covered in heavy rings. She presses a piece of butterscotch hard candy into his palm. “Our secret,” she whispers.

  “Puke,” Rex mutters.

  Wes winks back at the old woman, unwraps the candy, and pops it in his mouth.

  “How does he do that?” Rex asks, and Ally shakes her head.

  Wes is grinning past Ally to a white-haired man heading in the opposite direction. “Hubert!” says Wes, holding out his arm to shake the old man’s hand.

  Hubert motions for a high five instead. An awkward back and forth follows, as Wes tries to turn the handshake into a fist bump and as Hubert grabs Wes’s fist for a handshake. Wes laughs a little as he reaches and grabs Hubert’s arm with his other hand, holding it in place so he can slip into a handshake at last.

  “Where are you headed? The cafeteria’s this way.” Wes points ahead. “As Tray Clearer, I could pull a few strings, sneak you to the head of the line. Get that tuna casserole while it’s hot!”

  Hubert clears his throat. “You’re a good boy, Wes. I have a little, um, thing to do before lunch, though.” Under his breath, he adds, “Didn’t know it was tuna casserole day.”

  “S’okay,” Wes says. He glances behind him, scanning the growing line of residents waiting for the door to open. “I’ll look for Grace. Save a seat for you next to her. Should I let her know you’ll be there soon?”

  “No!” Hubert answers, his voice suddenly harsh. “No,” he adds a little softer. “That won’t be necessary. Don’t, um… don’t mention that you saw me.” His cheeks turn pink. “I, ah, I’ve got to go take a nap. Grace… knows I’m taking a nap. Knows I’m tired.” Hubert forces a yawn.

  The older man limps down the hall at a faster clip than before, beelining for the elevator.

  “Huh,” Ally says.

  “What?” Wes asks.

  “It’s just, even I can tell he’s lying. And I’m really bad at telling when people are lying.”

  Wes stands on tiptoe, watching Hubert.

  “Fourth floor, please,” the old man says to another resident who is standing by the buttons in the elevator.

  “Wasn’t Hubert’s room on this level?” Wes asks. “Why would he be going to the fourth floor for a nap?”

  Rex pushes by Wes. “Give the man his space. You don’t have to be nosing around in everyone’s business.”

  “It’s just weird. Why would he be lying?”

  Rex turns back with a smirk. “Starting to doubt true love, Ding?”

  “Never!” Wes calls, cupping his hands around his mouth so Rex could hear him as she disappears into the cafeteria, Jason just behind her.

  Wes then notices Ally jump as her hair is rustled by the frail-looking old woman, Opal. The woman stretches her hand to pat Ally’s poufy bun again, her mouth popping open and closed with each bounce of
her hand. Ally grimaces.

  Wes nudges her side. Say something, he mouths.

  But before Ally can, Lilith strides toward them. Opal retreats back to the line. “Look,” Lilith says, “I scoped out the cafeteria. If you and Ally stick to this main entrance, I’ll stand guard at the opposite side, working the crowd for details about TBN. Remember your signal. Remember the plan.” She turns, her shoes clicking across the floor.

  Wes laughs. “She’s kind of scary, isn’t she?”

  Ally nods, her eyes on Opal.

  10:35 a.m.

  JASON “The Nobody”

  “Any chance this will actually work?” Rex asks Jason as they pass through the cafeteria to the serving station.

  He shrugs. “Lilith takes this acting stuff super seriously. Like, super seriously.”

  “What have I got to lose?” Rex mutters. Jason flashes a quick smile her way. “Huh,” Rex adds.

  “What?” Jason pats at the hairnet.

  “You have pretty eyes. They’re sort of gray.”

  “Oh. I know.” Jason feels his face flame again and mentally swears at his pale complexion and the way it constantly showcases his discomfort.

  “Don’t get weird about it.” Rex grins. “Just maybe look up once in a while. Get your hair out of your face now and then. Talk—about yourself—occasionally. Might help with the Ally situation.”

  “Ally situation?” Jason shakes his head. “There’s no Ally situation.”

  Rex winks as she strides ahead of Jason. “Exactly.”

  They take their positions behind the counter, breathing in the tuna casserole air as they scoop servings onto trays. Jason tries not to notice how the old people lick their lips waiting for the plop of canned fish and noodles.

  “You know, the cherry on top of this cat food sundae is counting on Drama Queen and the Scooby-Doo crew to finally catch TBN,” Rex hisses.

  “Do you even know TBN’s real name?” Jason asks.

  Rex shrugs. “It’s too cutesy to say. Starts with a c.”

  “So, I’m Picasso. Lilith is Drama Queen. Ally is Sports Barbie. Wes is…”

  “Ding.” Rex smirks.

  “What’s your problem with real names?”

  Rex swallows. “They’re dumb. I mean, a name is just a word, right? And that word is supposed to represent a person. But how could a whole person be represented by one word, used by everyone, even though each of us is totally different to everyone else?”

  Jason nods, staring at the spatula in his hand. Slowly, he says, “Or using someone’s name out loud makes a person real, harder to shake.”

  “You’re a little stingy with the peaches, Picasso,” she says as if he hadn’t spoken.

  “Yeah, Picasso,” says the resident reaching for a just-filled peach cup. “More juice!” The man takes the cup and sips at the juice, glaring at Jason.

  Jason fills the next cup with extra juice and hands it to the man. Then he sucks in a breath like he’s about to dive into a swimming pool. “When I’m old,” he finally says, “I’m going to only eat candy. Not the hard stuff, either. Chocolate. Caramel. Toffee. I’m going to buy it in giant bags and have it all over the place. My grandchildren and great-grandchildren will have contests with me to see who can eat the most. And I’ll always win.”

  “Dream big,” says Rex, dispensing another plop of tuna casserole onto a tray.

  Jason looks out into the cafeteria. Lilith is flitting around the room, giggling and chatting with the residents. Wes and Ally are by the main entrance, once in a while carting trays to the trash cans but mostly staring out the doors, most likely on the lookout for TBN.

  Jason feels Rex’s eyes on him. His cheeks feel flushed, but there isn’t anything he can do about it. Rex told him to share more about himself, but he guesses she didn’t mean for him to share anything with her. His eyes slide to the left and he sees something unravel on Rex’s face. Great. Now impenetrable Rex is feeling sorry for him. This is why it’s better to be invisible, he thinks.

  “You know, Picasso, this is just one day,” she says. “At school, everyone’s going to go back to their own little circles and never talk to us again.”

  Jason nods.

  “Also, your dream sounds noisy—all that chewing. All those grandkids and great-grandkids.” She’s smiling down at the tuna casserole while she talks.

  Jason laughs. “It’s just me and my parents now. If I ever have kids, I’m having a dozen of them. Spread out the expectations a little so if one’s a loser, it’s not such a big deal.”

  “You’re not a loser.” The words rush out of Rex’s mouth.

  Jason sort of nods, not looking at her. Clearing his throat, he says, “What about you?”

  Rex snorts. “I think the consensus is mostly loser. Ask anyone.”

  “No, no,” Jason blurts. “Not that. You’re not…” He clears his throat. “I mean what about you when you’re old? What do you want to do? You know, what do you want to be when you’re an adult?”

  Rex huffs out of her nose. The next scoop of tuna slaps down on the tray with a little too much force. “My brother asked me that once,” she whispers. Jason knows better than to look at her. He tries not to breathe. Rex never talks about her brother. “I was, I don’t know, three, maybe. He was thirteen.”

  “Our age,” Jason prompts when her voice trails off.

  “Yeah. He was trying to figure out which courses to pick for high school. I don’t really remember this, you know. But Aug—my brother—he told it so many times, it feels like I do.”

  Jason nods. Rex grinds her teeth, her jaw flexing, and Jason is sure she isn’t going to say anymore. But then, super quietly, she does. “I was sitting next to him. Mama used to say I treated him like he was my armchair, like he sort of just molded around me—his arm was like my seat belt, I guess.”

  Rex’s eyes are unfocused and Jason knows she’s seeing something entirely internal as the memory unfolds. She isn’t hearing the old people shuffling down the line for their lunch; it is her brother’s voice she’s tuned into. Maybe she even smells him over the fishy scent of the cafeteria.

  Jason once tried to sketch memory as if it were a real thing. He had been ransacking his mind for a moment when his dad hadn’t been disappointed in him, when being next to each other had been easy. He had drawn memory as a blanket, a thin fabric of once-upon-a-times and don’t-ever-forgets covering something bright and glowing—a soul, maybe—with rips where kids forgot things like the rumble of a person’s voice when your head rests on their chest or the smell of them when their arm is wrapped around you.

  Rex’s voice is so soft, Jason leans closer to hear her. “He asked me, ‘What are you going to be when you grow up, T. rex?’”

  “What did you say?”

  Rex smirks. “Bigger.”

  Jason snorts, which makes Rex laugh. When she composes herself, she says, “August had laughed so hard a neighbor had knocked on the wall between our apartments.” She shakes her head. “That’s not even really right. He didn’t just laugh. He exploded, like the sound erupted out and through him. I think he laughed loud enough that a picture fell off the wall.”

  “You said his name,” Jason says without thinking. “August. You said his name.”

  Rex winces. The silence between them, even in a cafeteria humming with sounds, is painful.

  “Rex?” Jason is staring at her, his eyes searching.

  Finally working loose her jaw, she mutters, “Know what I’m going to be when I grow up, Picasso? Nothing. I’m not going to be anything.”

  Jason opens his mouth and Rex groans. “Why did I tell you to talk today, Picasso?”

  But the resident in front of them interrupts, asking for a corner piece of casserole. Rex scoops it onto the tray just as Jason spots TBN. She’s walking into the cafeteria, guiding Opal.

  He forces out a laugh. But it’s like his brain doesn’t even know what a laugh is, like trying to produce the right sound is like trying to recreate a Jackson Pollock pi
ece with a No. 2 pencil. He tries again, a little louder.

  “Whoa,” Rex gasps and slaps him hard between the shoulder blades. She thinks I’m choking, he realizes. Still, he can only manage the same guttural gasp, his mouth stretched wide and eyes huge. He points toward the back of the cafeteria. Rex follows his pointing finger, just as a strangling cat sound erupts from another corner. Rex turns her head toward the sound—it’s Ally, and she’s pointing in the same direction as Jason. Realization blooms across Rex’s face. “You and Sports Barbie are trying to laugh. You’re both terrible at it.”

  Jason goes up on his toes, dropping the spoon of peach slices onto the tray with a rattle. He scans the entrances. TBN is by the back entrance, hovering over Opal.

  “TBN was sneaking in that old lady’s room earlier!” Rex hisses.

  TBN’s whispering something in the old lady’s ear. Then she stands and shoves something small and sparkly into her pocket.

  11:00 a.m.

  LILITH “The Drama Queen”

  Lilith struggles to keep a grimace off her face as Ally’s and Jason’s croak-like laughs assault the cafeteria. TBN must be nearby; the sound of their fake laughing is brutal. Few people realize how much practice goes into a natural-sounding laugh. Lilith scans the room for the nurse then spots her in the back of the cafeteria, leaning over a woman with fluffy white hair.

  “Aren’t you here to see Agnes?” asks a thin, tailored black woman sitting just in front of where Lilith has positioned herself. She’s wearing a neat purple pantsuit and a string of pearls and is taking pecks of casserole from her spoon. A small pile of crinkled-up butterscotch candy wrappers are beside her tray.

  Lilith shakes her head. “No, I’m here on my own.”

  “Oh, that’s too bad,” says the woman, sucking on one of the candies. “Agnes has the best stories.”

  Lilith’s attention is momentarily pulled from TBN. “Are there several Agneses here?”

  The woman softly laughs. “No, no. Only one Agnes. Did she tell you about the oatmeal?”

  “Yes, I know Agnes loves her oatmeal.” Lilith rolls her eyes and refocuses on TBN. “Excuse me, I have to speak to that nurse.”