ordinary name. What could go wrong with a person like Timmy O’Hay around?
“You want to come try on sneakers with me?” said Timmy.
“Oh, yes,” said Dove eagerly. She had absolutely no desire to have a pump sneaker; in fact, she hated sneakers that were as big as truck tires. She liked flimsy sneakers. Her favorite sneakers were light canvas, covered in lace. But for Timmy she would try on a hundred pairs that weighed as much as army boots.
She wanted to suggest that Laurence could drive to the mall with Connie and Luce, while she went with Timmy. She wanted to suggest that the other three go have pizza and visit Dry Ice while she and Timmy ran off and got married.
But of course she didn’t say anything, and Timmy got into his car, punching Laurence and throwing his book bag into the bushes the way boys did, and Laurence hit Timmy in the head with his trumpet case and, all in all, they seemed to be friends, insofar as boys ever seemed to be friends.
Dove found boys quite mysterious.
They drove to the mall, Luce at the wheel, Connie in the front seat changing radio stations at about the same speed Luce was driving, and Dove in the back, trying to restrain herself from turning around like a little kid, getting on her knees, and waving to Timmy.
Then she thought: What am I restraining myself for ? I want Timmy to know I adore him, don’t I?
So she took off her seat belt and got on her knees and waved at the boys in the car behind.
Laurence made terrible faces, yanking sideways on his throat so he looked as if he had a toothbrush stuck down there, while Timmy simply grinned.
And then, because Timmy was a boy, and would prefer death to driving behind anybody else, Timmy put the pedal to the metal, streaked around Luce, and generally was a menace to everybody dumb enough to be on the road that afternoon.
“What a rotten driver,” observed Luce.
Dove sank back into her seat and thought about first dates and kisses that were not blown in the wind, but set gently on lips.
Chapter 11
I N THE MALL PARKING LOT , the sun beat on them like a golden whip.
A thousand cars glittered, metal hot enough to burn a hand.
A thousand white-lined slots waited, like unused plots in an asphalt cemetery.
Every fear and every shiver she had ever had, got in the back seat with her. Dove did not want to get out of the car.
There was Laurence, leaping and bounding around, like a dog let out of a kennel. There was Timmy, a maniac in motion, but parked, the epitome of carefulness: locking each door and opening the cardboard sunblock under the windshield. There was Luce, slightly stern, in control. There was Connie, giggly and simpleminded and not in control of a thing.
They were her friends.
And this was just a mall, just a lot of stores gathered indoors.
Just a place where you could shop or not shop. Look or not look.
Dove tried to catch her breath. There did not seem to be enough of it to go around. As if Wing had seized a substantial portion of Dove’s lungs, was at work on Dove’s oxygen, taking Dove’s life and breath.
She wet her lips but they stayed dry. She touched her hair but could not feel it. Vaguely, at great distance, she could hear Connie calling. Get out, Dove, hurry up, Dove, come on, Dove, said the voice, over and over.
She bent, and hooked a foot out the front door, and emerged from the back seat of the little tin car.
At the heart of the mall, where stores and halls converged, a high sharp-angled glass roof let in the sun. Inside, trees in stone gardens grew year-round. A fountain tossed water while strange sculptures played games only they understood.
The glass glittered. It struck her eyes like a missile trying to blind her.
It was shaped like a pyramid.
A pyramid of glass, not stone.
Of shoppers, not Egyptian kings.
But nevertheless … a pyramid. Beneath which snakes curled and venom waited.
In her head Wing began to laugh, with the insane intensity of the locked-up.
“Coming, Dove?” said
“You want to come try on sneakers with me?” said Timmy.
“Oh, yes,” said Dove eagerly. She had absolutely no desire to have a pump sneaker; in fact, she hated sneakers that were as big as truck tires. She liked flimsy sneakers. Her favorite sneakers were light canvas, covered in lace. But for Timmy she would try on a hundred pairs that weighed as much as army boots.
She wanted to suggest that Laurence could drive to the mall with Connie and Luce, while she went with Timmy. She wanted to suggest that the other three go have pizza and visit Dry Ice while she and Timmy ran off and got married.
But of course she didn’t say anything, and Timmy got into his car, punching Laurence and throwing his book bag into the bushes the way boys did, and Laurence hit Timmy in the head with his trumpet case and, all in all, they seemed to be friends, insofar as boys ever seemed to be friends.
Dove found boys quite mysterious.
They drove to the mall, Luce at the wheel, Connie in the front seat changing radio stations at about the same speed Luce was driving, and Dove in the back, trying to restrain herself from turning around like a little kid, getting on her knees, and waving to Timmy.
Then she thought: What am I restraining myself for ? I want Timmy to know I adore him, don’t I?
So she took off her seat belt and got on her knees and waved at the boys in the car behind.
Laurence made terrible faces, yanking sideways on his throat so he looked as if he had a toothbrush stuck down there, while Timmy simply grinned.
And then, because Timmy was a boy, and would prefer death to driving behind anybody else, Timmy put the pedal to the metal, streaked around Luce, and generally was a menace to everybody dumb enough to be on the road that afternoon.
“What a rotten driver,” observed Luce.
Dove sank back into her seat and thought about first dates and kisses that were not blown in the wind, but set gently on lips.
Chapter 11
I N THE MALL PARKING LOT , the sun beat on them like a golden whip.
A thousand cars glittered, metal hot enough to burn a hand.
A thousand white-lined slots waited, like unused plots in an asphalt cemetery.
Every fear and every shiver she had ever had, got in the back seat with her. Dove did not want to get out of the car.
There was Laurence, leaping and bounding around, like a dog let out of a kennel. There was Timmy, a maniac in motion, but parked, the epitome of carefulness: locking each door and opening the cardboard sunblock under the windshield. There was Luce, slightly stern, in control. There was Connie, giggly and simpleminded and not in control of a thing.
They were her friends.
And this was just a mall, just a lot of stores gathered indoors.
Just a place where you could shop or not shop. Look or not look.
Dove tried to catch her breath. There did not seem to be enough of it to go around. As if Wing had seized a substantial portion of Dove’s lungs, was at work on Dove’s oxygen, taking Dove’s life and breath.
She wet her lips but they stayed dry. She touched her hair but could not feel it. Vaguely, at great distance, she could hear Connie calling. Get out, Dove, hurry up, Dove, come on, Dove, said the voice, over and over.
She bent, and hooked a foot out the front door, and emerged from the back seat of the little tin car.
At the heart of the mall, where stores and halls converged, a high sharp-angled glass roof let in the sun. Inside, trees in stone gardens grew year-round. A fountain tossed water while strange sculptures played games only they understood.
The glass glittered. It struck her eyes like a missile trying to blind her.
It was shaped like a pyramid.
A pyramid of glass, not stone.
Of shoppers, not Egyptian kings.
But nevertheless … a pyramid. Beneath which snakes curled and venom waited.
In her head Wing began to laugh, with the insane intensity of the locked-up.
“Coming, Dove?” said
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