Vegas Read online

Standing beside his bike, boom box in hand, Mitch realized there was yet another thing he hadn’t considered: how he was going to ride while carrying the stupid thing.

  “Oh my God,” Mitch whispered. “You’re killing me, Matlin.”

  He frantically tore through the sodden cardboard boxes that lined the garage, looking for anything that could help him carry the stereo. In the fifth box, in the corner of the garage, he spied his best option: duct tape.

  Mitch stood tall and, holding the boom box with his feeble left hand, ran a strip of duct tape across the front of the boom box and back under his arm. Then he changed hands, grabbed the tape with his left hand and wrapped it fully around his back, and across the front of the boom box again. A duct tape swaddle for the ugliest, heaviest baby in the world.

  Mitch repeated this process again and again, until the roll of tape ran out. He took a few careful steps back towards the bike, and while the boom box jiggled on his stomach, it didn’t fall. Good enough, he thought.

  He climbed onto the bike, gingerly hiked himself up on the seat, put his right foot on the pedal, and pushed off.

  Just a few minutes later, Mitch stood at the end of Nora’s block, panting and dismounting from the bike. Unsure of how to disassemble the duct tape swaddle, Mitch pushed the boom box away from his body, stretching the straps. He grunted, pushing and pulling and gritting his teeth. A gray Honda Civic came up behind Mitch, and it slowed down beside him. The driver—a middle-aged man with a goatee—rolled down the window and looked out.

  “You okay, son?” he asked.

  Mitch looked back at him, sweaty and short of breath. “Prom.”

  The guy smiled. “Been there, brother. Good luck.” He rolled up the window and pulled away.

  Once he finally broke the bonds of the duct tape, Mitch yanked the stereo away from his chest and held it in his hands. He ripped the duct tape from its face and threw it in the gutter, vowing to pick it back up on his return journey. Holding the boom box under his arm, Mitch walked his bike down the block towards 2005 Girard Avenue, Nora’s house.

  The Dickinson house had a freshly manicured lawn, which was sopping wet, thanks to the rain. As he set foot on the perfectly trimmed grass, Mitch felt a pang of guilt, but he forced himself to ignore it as he positioned himself under Nora’s second-floor window.

  Mitch had first seen Say Anything at age eleven, and for years it was his favorite movie. John Cusack captures Ione Skye’s heart by doing what Mitch was about to do now: standing outside her window, boom box held aloft, blasting her favorite tunes. And as Mitch assumed the position, he got goosebumps. This was it. His whole life was leading up to this very moment.

  He pressed play, held the boom box up, and heard the wheels start spinning. After a few crushing seconds of silence, the first song started. And while Mitch didn’t know Nora well at all, he was sure that the first song, at the very least, was a winner.

  The cheerful, sunny voices of the Hanson brothers bubbled out of the stereo at maximum volume. Mitch hummed along with the song as it started, and then sang along as it continued, trying to create as much volume as possible. After a full thirty seconds of the song, Nora’s bedroom window flew open.

  “What’s going on?” she asked, irritated.

  “Nora!” Mitch exclaimed. He couldn’t even hear her over the music.

  “Hey,” she said skeptically. “What’s your name again?”

  “Nora!” he continued.

  “No, what’s your name?”

  “You like Hanson, right?” Mitch yelled, holding up the boom box even higher. His hands were sweaty; one false move and it could come crashing down on his head.

  “What are you doing?” Nora asked.

  Realizing he should probably hear what she was saying, Mitch brought down the boom box and turned down the volume knob. “Hey,” he said, trying to do his best John Cusack impression.

  “You’re referencing that movie, right?” Nora asked.

  “Yes!” Mitch bellowed gleefully. She was getting it!

  “What’s your name?” she asked.

  “Oh yeah, I’m Mitch.”

  “Mitch what?”

  “Mitch Matlin.”

  “. . . Cool.” Nora anxiously brushed a few strands of thick auburn hair behind her ear. “So, what’s up?”

  “Oh yeah, sorry!” Mitch said. “I’m just—um—well, I wanted to ask—”

  But before he had a chance to pop the question, he heard a rumbling male voice coming from Nora’s direction. Nora heard it too and turned her head behind her.

  “Who’s out there?” the male voice asked.

  Nora said, “Mitch something? I don’t know.”

  “So, anyway,” Mitch said loudly, trying to regain her attention. The Hanson brothers were still mmm-bop-ing away on the stereo. Stupid to start with Hanson. Mitch cursed himself. I’ll talk slow enough so that it gets to the Toni Braxton song. She can’t say no to Toni!

  “Yeah, so anyway,” he said again. “I just wanted to ask—um—I’m here to present myself . . . to say that, if you want, but only if you want—I’m not gonna force you, that would be weird . . . ahh, sorry, where am I going with this . . . ”

  Cutting him off again, the man in the room with Nora revealed himself: Bo Dennis, star linebacker on the football team. Popping his head out of the window, his meaty shoulders and equally meaty head nearly crowded Nora entirely out of the frame.

  “Bro, what is this?” Bo asked, incredulous. “You’re scaring my girl.”

  Ew, Mitch thought, but stopped himself from saying it out loud. At a loss for words, Mitch could only manage to point at the stereo on the ground. “It’s Hanson,” he said weakly.

  “I know that, and I do like Hanson, but what are you doing here?” Nora asked again.

  “Ohh, ohh!” Bo said cheerfully. He laughed loudly, as only someone who thinks he owns the world can laugh. “I think he’s trying to ask you to prom, babe.” Nora’s face lost a shade of its luscious olive tone as she realized Bo was right. Nervously she stared at Mitch, then looked at Bo, then back at Mitch.

  She whispered something, and Bo pulled his head back inside the room. Nora looked at Mitch, her lips tightly pursed, looking nauseous. She stammered. “I . . . he . . . ”

  That was all Nora managed before she pulled her head back into the room and grabbed the window frame. And right as she slid the window back into place and locked it, Toni Braxton started singing, begging her lover to un-break her heart.

  THE NEXT DAY BROUGHT THE SPRING WEATHER everyone in Salt Lake City had been waiting for throughout the month of May. The morning dawned bright and cloudless, and the perfectly yellow sun rose in the east over Grandeur Peak, clearly visible from the Matlins’ kitchen window. After a wet, long winter, the regal mountain was green and lush.

  But the beauty of the morning was lost on Mitch Matlin as he sat sulking over a cup of lukewarm coffee at the kitchen table. He had barely slept after the miserable encounter with Nora Dickinson the previous afternoon. Or, if he had slept, his dreams were no different than the images and sounds running on repeat through his head.

  Ohh, ohh! I think he’s trying to ask you to prom, babe.

  What’s your name again?

  I know that, and I do like Hanson, but what are you doing here?

  What’s your name again?

  Mitch shuddered. It wasn’t easy to shake off, since he’d been picturing and perfecting his Say Anything moment for too many years to remember.

  “How ’bout I make you a fresh cup, eh? That looks like sludge,” Mitch’s dad said, coming up behind him. He put his hands on Mitch’s shoulders and gave them a forceful rub.

  “Agh, no thanks,” Mitch said, arching his back like an irritated tabby cat. “I gotta get going.” Mitch got up from the table and grabbed his backpack from the floor. Did it even have his books and notebooks in it? He didn’t care to check.

  “TGIF, right son?” his dad said cheerfully. “I know yesterday sucked, but let’s do something
fun this weekend. If the Jazz ever decided to play well enough to get into the playoffs, we would have a basketball game to go to, but—”

  “I’ll probably just sleep, don’t worry about it,” Mitch said bitterly, blowing past his dad and out the door.

  After three forgettable morning classes, Kendra made her way into the courtyard at East High to eat her lunch in the sunshine. Though she was in a sour mood, even she had to acknowledge the warmth was soothing. She searched the sprawling grass for Mitch, to no avail. She’d been waiting to see him all morning so they could commiserate about their miserable attempts at getting prom dates the day before. Though they’d texted a bit the night before, Kendra knew he had more to tell her and she him.

  As she scanned the grass, Kendra couldn’t help but replay the events of the previous afternoon. Every single person had abandoned her in her hour of need! Of course, the apologies and excuses had rolled in to the group thread in the minutes and hours after the end of school (I couldn’t find you!; Ugh sorry I had to pee and then I missed you!; OMG my grandpa literally died during seventh period, it was srsly so crazy, so sorry girl). But that didn’t make the sting of rejection any easier.

  Lost in her reverie, Kendra didn’t notice Mitch cutting across the lawn towards her, waving sheepishly. “Forever alone much?” he asked, flicking her forehead.

  “Gah!” Kendra sputtered, jerking her head away. “Sorry, I was just a little distracted thinking about the fact that I have no game whatsoever and no one will ever love me.”

  Smiling ever so slightly, Mitch sat down on the grass and opened his backpack. Immediately he realized he hadn’t brought any food. “Of course,” he said. “Hard to pack a lunch when you’d rather never eat again and wither away like the pathetic corpse of a human you truly are.”

  “Well, I can help you there,” she said. Mitch gawked as Kendra pulled out bag after bag of junk food: Oreos, Cheetos, three different flavors of Lay’s, and a Tupperware of pizza rolls.

  “God, it’s like Obese Mary Poppins’s handbag,” he said.

  Kendra tore open the bag of Cheetos and pounded a fistful before saying anything. Mitch took her lead and dove into the package of Oreos. After a minute of desperate eating, Mitch managed a soft, “Thanks.”

  “I’m pretty good at finding ways to soothe deep internal pain,” Kendra said. “I have to do it once a month.”

  “God, yesterday was awful,” Mitch said. And out of nowhere—with his mouth still half full of Oreo—his eyes welled up hot with tears. “I just can’t—” he croaked before cutting himself off.

  “Yeah, man,” Kendra said. “I just sort of stood here after everybody walked away to their buses and stuff. After like ten minutes, the stress wore off and I guess it was good it was raining because nobody could tell I was just, like, openly weeping.”

  “I don’t know why I thought I had a chance,” Mitch said. “I mean, honestly. I still haven’t managed to get any girl to date me. Why did I think Nora Dickinson would have any interest?”

  Kendra nodded. “I felt pretty stupid standing here, yesterday,” she said softly. “Really stupid.”

  Mitch looked over at his best friend and their eyes met, each a little damp and red. But he also couldn’t help but smile. He marveled at how pathetic his life felt at that moment and how lucky he was to have Kendra in the boat with him.

  “You didn’t know that Bo Dennis is dating Nora, right?” Mitch asked. “You would have told me?”

  “Oh yeah, sorry, forgot to mention my best friend Bo Dennis is shtupping the love of your life. My bad,” Kendra said, chuckling. “Like, what is the appeal of him, anyway? He looks like a thumb.”

  “Kendra, it’s okay, you don’t have to comfort me like that.”

  “You’re not hearing me. He’s not a boy. He’s not human. He’s a thumb. And thumbs are ugly.”

  Mitch sighed, cracking open the pizza rolls. “Well, she likes him for some reason, I guess. Not only am I not cool enough to take Nora Dickinson to prom, I’m not even cool enough to know that I can’t!”

  “Maybe Adam is dating somebody, too,” Kendra said.

  “You know,” Mitch said softly, “you were probably right.”

  Kendra looked up, panicked. “About what? Adam does have a girlfriend?”

  “That I should have asked someone I actually kind of know. That way she would have had to, like, be nice or offer some kind of explanation, or at least say more to me than just ‘uh’ . . . ”

  “Well,” Kendra started, “Adam didn’t say much of anything either. He just said that somebody had already asked him—which was a lie, I asked around—and that he had to go catch his bus, and that he was really sorry. And that we could totally still dance together for, like, one song. So I guess there’s that.”

  This caught Mitch off guard. “Oh. So you’re still gonna go?”

  “Well, I thought about it,” Kendra said. “You can go stag, you know.”

  “Oh my God, but that’s social suicide!” Mitch bellowed, nearly choking on a pizza roll. “I’m not gonna let you do that!”

  “But dancing with Adam!” Kendra whined, making a pouty face. “He’s so hot!”

  “It’ll be the saddest Cha-Cha Slide you ever slid,” Mitch said. “And then it’ll be over, and you’ll wonder why you came.”

  Kendra sighed, taking another handful of Cheetos. Her shoulders sank as she imagined that feeling, standing on the dance floor as Adam parted ways with her to go find his actual date again. She could picture the cheap colored lights dancing around her feet and in her eyes as she frantically searched the room for the life raft of another friend to dance with—or even just someone else to talk to.

  “Maybe we could go together?” Kendra asked. “I guess.”

  “Wow, try to sound a little less enthusiastic,” Mitch said. “I don’t know, I’m just sort of over the whole thing, to be honest. No offense.”

  “None taken,” Kendra said. “I know exactly what you mean.”

  A heavy silence hung in the air between them. The dream of prom was flickering out before their eyes.

  Mitch looked out around the courtyard at the other East High students enjoying the sunshine and their well-rounded lunches. Suddenly, he felt completely out of place. All the people around the courtyard—many of whom Mitch had known since elementary school—seemed like complete strangers.

  “I feel, like, really far away from everyone right now,” Kendra said.

  “Yes!” Mitch yelled, amazed at how in sync they were. “My thoughts exactly.”

  Kendra looked at Mitch with a serious gaze. She took a breath. “You know,” she said, “I have kind of a crazy idea.”

  “Oh boy,” Mitch said. “Better hand me those Cheetos.”

  Kendra did and said, “So, prom is only three days before graduation. And prom is a week from now. So that means we’ll be free birds in ten days.”

  Mitch nodded. “Three plus seven is ten. Couldn’t agree with you more.”

  “So, the other thing,” Kendra said, “is that my graduation present is my dad’s old Mustang.”

  Mitch gawked at his best friend, his pulse quickening. “The red one?”

  “Yep.”

  “The 1970?”

  “Yep.”

  “The convertible?”

  “Yes. The red 1970 convertible Ford Mustang.”

  “It’s going to be yours.”

  “Correct.”

  “In ten days.”

  “Right again.”

  “The Mustang.”

  “Mitch!” Kendra shouted. “So, what if . . . we take a road trip? We get out of here, we put high school in the rearview mirror—”

  “Ha, car puns,” Mitch said.

  “Nice,” Kendra said. “We’re over this, you and me. Nobody wants us at prom? Fine. We’re about to be adults anyway—flying out of the coop, baby, wings spread wide! Let’s do something crazy!”

  “So our retribution for prom is to take a road trip—not on prom, but after grad
uation?”

  “Exactly,” said Kendra. “We’ll just tough out prom night, and then we’ll have an epic start to our summer that will more than make up for it.”

  Mitch thought about it silently. “This is all a lot to take in right now. Do you think your parents would let us? That car’s kind of old . . . ”

  “It’s been in a garage for twenty years,” Kendra said. “It looks totally beautiful, and my dad told me it’s in perfect shape. And he knows what he’s talking about.”

  “I’m not sure my parents will let me,” Mitch said. “I don’t know, Kendra, it sounds cool, but . . . ”

  “But what?!” Kendra bellowed. “I am so not interested in sitting around all summer waiting for college to start so I can forget about how much it sucked getting tossed aside by Adam Green like an old sweater he outgrew. I want to blast that feeling away with the top down, flying down the highway! How awesome does that sound?”

  Mitch tried to hide the grin creeping across his face, but Kendra spotted it. She sat bolt upright and grabbed Mitch’s forearm. “What?!” Mitch jolted backwards.

  “We could go to Vegas,” Kendra said. She turned her head slowly to look at Mitch, her giddy eyes open wide and her mouth open even wider.

  “You look like a Muppet,” Mitch said.

  “All these lame-os are going to some PG imitation-Vegas where they’ll play blackjack for Hershey’s Kisses or something,” Kendra said. “But what if we do the real thing? Gambling, tanning, gross trashy people from all over the world, the excesses of capitalism around every corner. Doesn’t it sound perfect?”

  “We’re not twenty-one,” Mitch said. “We won’t be able to do literally any of that.”

  “Oh, that’s so NBD,” Kendra said. “We can get ourselves some IDs that say otherwise.”

  “No way, man,” Mitch said, “I’ve seen Superbad. I know how that goes.”

  “We’ll come up with something better than McLovin,” Kendra said, “I promise. Maybe McLovin, Jr. Oh my God, Mitch, I am obsessed with this. This is happening. We’re gonna make some memories—so many memories that we won’t have space in our heads to remember this terrible, terrible moment we’re living in right now.”