Chapter 1
The blue-eyed girl was sprawled on the shag bath mat, her wrist still caught on the edge of the toilet. Amidst the bright yellow and orange 70s décor, her face and hands looked ghastly pale – blue, really; her eerily still features frozen in an expression of surprise. Thick locks of maple blonde hair splayed across the tile floor, which was as cold as her flesh. She looked athletic, like a girl who was normally in perpetual motion. Before a sudden electrolyte balance triggered her cardiac arrest, she had carefully disposed of all the evidence.
Except for croaking right next to the toilet…
Chapter 2
It didn’t take long for the local boys to discover Lisa when she first arrived in town. The two of us had been walking down Elk Avenue for about five minutes, admiring the fuchsia sunset against Crested Butte Mountain, when Tucker McBride and Andy Gonzales pulled up with an expert squeak of the tires.
“Hey, foxes.”
“Whatever, Tucker.”
My currently on-again boyfriend puffed with pride at the wheel. He obviously planned to have an epic summer now that he was allowed to drive his father’s tan pickup. Andy threw open the passenger door, his brown eyes crinkling at the corners.
“About time you showed up, Patterson,” Andy said.
He nudged my shoulder with his knuckle.
“Ow.”
“We missed you.”
“Please.”
Lisa and I lived 240 miles away in Boulder, a college town of 75,000 people. My family spent summers and occasional ski weekends at our place in Crested Butte, population 923. Our arrival in early June coincided with the start of the town’s summer party season. You could almost smell the anticipation of warm summer days (and nights) wafting through the chilly air, along with the scent of chimney smoke and the occasional joint.
Andy brushed aside his nut-brown bangs, which immediately slid back toward his eyes. His toast-colored face and arms were buttery smooth against a navy blue down vest. A silver cross hung from a leather cord around his neck. Andy’s black eyes flickered with curiosity.
“When did you get in?”
“Three days ago.”
Andy must have already known I was back. I’d seen Tucker twice, and news traveled fast in a town where the local teenagers could be counted on two hands. Andy looked past me, studying Lisa. The sensation of being invisible next to her was uncomfortably familiar.
“Aren’t you going to introduce your friend?”
“This is Lisa Kipling. She got here today.”
Lisa’s tranquil features gave no hint of her mountain-goat constitution and her fierce love of a challenge. There was nothing exotic about her face, but its smooth proportions inspired awe in boys – and consternation in girls. Her straight, slightly pointed nose, strong chin and pillowed lips were simple and well drawn and her pretty ears sported tiny gold hoops. Lisa’s one flashy feature was her robin’s egg blue eyes, capped by lazy, Paul McCartney lids. Oh, and her perfect, boyish ass. That was flashy, too, in its own compact way.
“Hi,” Lisa said.
She looked away with a non-committal smile. I was startled by her indifference. If there was any question of Andy’s sexiness, the few times I’d kissed him, when Tucker and I were off-again, put the matter to rest. Andy’s Hispanic father was a pilot for Delta Airlines and the Gonzales clan exuded the pride of successful assimilation. Andy didn’t give out his affection lightly.
“Hi.”
Producing his most heart-stopping smile, Andy kissed Lisa’s hand. I exchanged a look with Tucker. Since when did Andy do the Prince Charming routine?
Tucker’s white teeth, gold hair and puka shells flashed in the dwindling light. He shot me his trademark Cheshire cat grin, which always seemed to imply, ‘I dig you. But that’s not going to stop me from messing with you.’ Tucker leaned over Andy’s shoulder to shake Lisa’s hand.
“Tucker.”
“I know.”
“Don’t believe everything you hear…” Tucker said.
“Oh, I do.”
Lisa laughed. I began to shiver. At almost 9,000 feet, patches of snow still crept over many north-facing slopes in Crested Butte. I started to hop from sneaker to sneaker.
“You ladies need a ride?” Tucker asked.
“To where?”
I knew damned well we were getting in the truck but I didn’t want to make it too easy for him.
“Cruising Main. Partying on Gibson’s Ridge.”
“But this is Elk Avenue,” Lisa said, pointing to the street sign.
“That don’t stop people from calling it ‘Main,’” Andy said.
“Doesn’t stop people,” Tucker corrected.
“Whatever.”
“You guys are cold. Get in,” Tucker said.
We wedged in between them on the front seat. Tucker hit the gas and we rumbled away. Andy turned to Lisa.
“What do you think of the Butte?”
“The mountains are a rush. I haven’t seen much of town yet,” Lisa said.
“We’ll have to fix that.”
“Better hurry up. We leave for the teepee tomorrow,” I said.
High above it all in the big-wheeled truck, I glanced down at my legs. On the seat, my thighs looked like mini Sequoias next to Lisa’s. I was labeled thin, being over 5’9” with stick-like arms and a concave stomach. But I was convinced my thighs were chubby. Just because no one else agreed didn’t make it any less true. People often called me striking, probably because I was your proverbial tall blonde. But the only feature I prized was my skin, which kept its peaches-and-cream glow no matter how much I trashed my body.
Tucker pulled up near Mountain Spirits liquor store, one of the old-time storefronts lining ‘Main Street’. Outdoorsy locals strolled the street, en route to the town’s restaurants and bars.
Andy touched the detailed illustration of a horse drawn on Lisa’s jeans.
“You must be an artist,” he asked.
She looked at him, startled.
“I draw a little but I don’t know if I’m an artist.”
“Gotcha,” Andy winked.
Tucker motioned to a bearded man in his 30s standing outside the liquor store.
“Your turn to get the bottle.”
“Why do I have to do it?” Andy asked.
“Because I did it last time. And I drove.”
“But you look older.”
“Pussy.” Tucker said.
“Up yours.”
Andy approached the man and spoke to him confidentially, indicating the liquor store. The man stepped back and looked around. Andy smiled and handed him a bill and he disappeared inside. Andy turned and gave us thumbs up. The man returned, covertly passing a brown paper bag to Andy.
Andy’s face was flushed as he jumped in.
He handed the brown paper bag to Lisa.
“Want to do the honors?” he said.
“Sure,” Lisa replied.
Lisa wasn’t a big drinker, usually consuming half the booze I did, but she was a sucker for a dare. She slid the fifth of Seagram’s 7 out of the bag, twisted off the gold top and took a swig. Andy wrested it from her hand and swigged.
“Maintain, airheads. You want to get us busted?”
Tucker veered onto a side street.
“Tucker’s freaked,” Andy said. “One more ticket and they’ll take his license. Then he’ll have to stay home, up at the ski area, and play checkers with mom.”
“Kiss my ass, Gonzales,” Tucker said.
“No thanks,” Andy replied.
“Any more shit from you and you can ride the Schwinn,” Tucker said.
Andy flipped him off.
“You don’t have your license?” Lisa asked.
“I’ll be sixteen in August,” Andy said. “How about you?”
“My birthday was in April, but I haven’t gotten my license yet,” she said.
At the edge of town, the truck climbed a black dirt road. Over the past two summers, I had galloped my horse Brownie bareback up Gibson’s Ridge at all times of the day and night. Two years later, Brownie was spending the summer out to pasture somewhere near Pueblo, Tucker was my boyfriend and we were kicking up a cloud of dust as we cruised up the ridge in a blue Ford F150.
Tucker parked the truck. Andy and Lisa took a seat on a bleached log while Tucker and I leaned against the truck. Tucker’s arm settled around my shoulders. We looked down on the enclave of twinkling lights that was Crested Butte. My breath caught in my chest as he pulled me closer. Lisa craned her neck and took in the sky. The cool night air released plant scents that the sunlight had beaten down: sage, gritty snakeweed, spicy licorice-root and lemon grass, mixed with the sooty smell of coal. White constellations shone against the black sky.
“Look, there’s Orion’s Belt.”
Lisa pointed to a particularly bright chain of stars.
Andy squinted upwards.
“Kipling knows her stuff,” he said.
“Any retard knows Orion,” Lisa said. “And the Big Dipper, there — and the Little Dipper down there.”
“You won’t see stars like this in Boulder,” Tucker said.
“No fuckin’ way,” Lisa said.
She was already sloshing her drink around a bit.
“So what’s happenin’ Kipling? Why did you come all the way up here to go live in a tent?” Tucker asked.
“It’s not a tent, it’s a teepee.”
“Same dif!”
“Have you ever been inside one?” I asked.
“No. But I know that a teepee is made of canvas and therefore it’s a hell of a lot like a tent.”
Sometimes Tucker was a lot cuter when he kept his mouth shut.
“Whatever, Tucker.”
“Whose idea was it?” Andy asked.
“Tess’,” Lisa said.
“Kipling, how did you fall for this crazy plan?” Andy asked.
“Well, for one thing, it’s very far from home. That is a good thing,” Lisa said.
“What’s wrong with home?”
“Mom’s new boyfriend moved in. I can’t stand him. And some other stuff.”
I studied Lisa’s face. Skip Barlow, the first guy she ever fell in love with, had dumped her on April 6th — her birthday. Apparently, that wasn’t going to come up.
“Aren’t you far enough away from home right here in town?”
“Living in a teepee is an adventure,” Lisa replied.
“Andy can show you a kick ass adventure. Right, Gonzales?”
Tucker’s eyes glinted in the moonlight. Andy flipped Tucker off. He turned to Lisa.
“I hope this teepee thing works out for ya.”
“Thanks.”
“Can we visit?” Tucker asked
Lisa’s eyes met mine.
“Maybe,” I said.
Tucker mixed seven-and-sevens on the tailgate in red plastic cups from the Shell convenience mart, stirring each with his Swiss Army knife. Andy lit up a resin-stained jade pipe and the tang of marijuana circled our heads. I stood in front of Tucker, his arms wrapped around me, forefingers hooked in my belt loops. We traded drinking stories and all agreed that high school sucked.
Tucker and I melded together. He was so warm and he smelled like summer. We’d seen each other only three times during the winter, when my family came to the condo for ski weekends. He and I were supposed to be having a long distance relationship, but it was more like ‘don’t ask, don’t tell.’ Not that there would be anything to tell on my end.
“Did you think about me?” I asked.
“Every day.”
During one particularly long kiss, Andy piped up.
“Get a room.”
Embarrassment edged up my neck. I loved having a boyfriend but sex was private. I didn’t kid myself — everyone in town probably knew pretty much everything about Tucker and me. I just didn’t want to stoke the rumors.
Tucker broke away to wander off into the woods. Lisa strode off in another direction, balancing her drink as she negotiated the rocky ground.
“Welcome back,” Andy said.
“Thanks, Andy. What do you think of Lisa?” I asked.
“Cool.”
“Can you be a little more specific?”
“I’ll bet lots of guy are into her,” Andy said.
“Because she’s a total fox, right?”
Irritation tainted my voice. Lisa and Andy would make a good match, but watching yet another boy fall for Lisa was downright cliché.
“Yes, but lots of girls are good looking. That’s not what makes me say that.”
“What is it, then?”
I scooted closer to make sure I didn’t miss a word. Ever since I became his neighbor when we moved into the Maroon Mule two summers back, Andy sometimes shared his innermost thoughts with me, without any kind of filter. I valued this crystal clear window into a guy’s mind, even though half the time I still didn’t understand men any better afterwards.
“Guys go for girls who love themselves,” Andy said.
I wasn’t sure I liked the intensity of Andy’s gaze.
“I suppose Lisa is this kind of girl?”
“Yes.”
“You’ve only known her for an hour.”
“True. But I could tell right away.”
“How?”
He counted out each point on his nail-bitten-to-the-quick fingers:
“She takes care of herself. Isn’t afraid to look you in the eye. Says what she means and doesn’t give a rat’s ass what you think of it.”
“In other words, she’s perfect.”
“No. She has flaws, and doesn’t try to hide them.”
“So even her flaws are perfect.”
“Kind of.”
He smiled, but I couldn’t muster a grin. He was right about Lisa, but I didn’t possess even one of the qualities he admired. Not only did I not take care of myself, I was likely to self-destruct. My eye contact was lousy. And I worried about what guys would think of everything I did and said. How could I become the self-assured goddesses Andy described? I suspected this was something moms taught their daughters. And I didn’t have one.
“Even though her flaws are perfect, I try not to hold it against her.”
Andy grinned, clinking his plastic cup against mine.
“Cheers.”
“Cheers…”
Tucker staggered out of the woods, tripped on a log and fell on his ass.
“Tucker is a spaz!” Andy yelled.
“Eat me,” Tucker slurred.
“No thanks.”
Eventually it started to drizzle. It was the kind of icy sprinkle that could turn into snow in a heartbeat. Tucker pulled off his jean jacket and pulled it around my shoulders. Looking up at him, I thought I detected a protective gleam in his eyes. But I couldn’t tell for sure. All the tokes from Andy’s pipe had narrowed his eyes to little slits.
