Going Bovine

Going Bovine Page 112

“Texas Community College,” I lie. “You?”

“Gold Coast University,” he says, and there’s a round of earsplitting football-stadium yelling. “Coast U! Coast U! Coast Uuuuuu!”

The guy on the left says, “We call it Coast U because they coast you through.”

“Amen,” the guy on the right says. “You don’t even have to pick a major till you’re ready to graduate.”

The real estate beside the highway blooms with gas stations, all-night waffle houses, home decorating centers, and gigantic all-in-one retailers. The cars line up to enter the parking lots.

A fresh billboard’s just gone up. It’s a picture of a little girl holding a snow globe and smiling in awe. PROTECTING YOUR SAFETY. REMOVING THE UNPREDICTABLE. ENSURING YOUR HAPPINESS. UNITED SNOW GLOBE WHOLESALERS: WE’RE WORKING SO YOU DON’T HAVE TO!

“So do you have a major?” I ask, training my eyes back on the road ahead.

“Not yet. I just want something that’ll make me a sweet pile of money. Some desk job where I can play Hot Hoops or Casino Cash on my computer most of the day and still collect a check.”

“Y’all going to the Party House?” the guy on the right asks.

“No. Just passing through,” I say.

“Oh. We’re going to the Party House,” he says.

“Party House!” the guy on the right yells suddenly, startling me.

“Marisol is so fine!” Middle Guy says. “She will be mine!”

“The chicks are out of control at this place,” Right Guy announces.

“So, you’ve been before?” I ask.

“No,” he says, a little defensively. “But I’ve heard.”

Right on cue a carload of teenage girls pulls up beside us. They’ve got ponytails flapping in the wind. “Dude, roll down your window!” Right Guy yells to Left Guy.

“Hey, y’all going to the Party House?” Right Guy shouts.

“Yeah!” the blond chick leaning out the window yells. She’s got a Diet Rad soda in her hand. The shiny silver metal of the can glints in the sun. “You goin’?”

“You bet! We’re gonna do I Double Dog Dare You with Parker and Marisol!” Middle Guy promises.

The girl in the backseat has rolled down her window, too. She shouts, “No way! Omigod, I love that show!”

“Yeah, Marty here already did the stunt where you run your skateboard over a moving car. He broke five major bones but he’s all right now!”

“It’s all good,” Marty, aka Left Guy, says, giving a little wave with his hand, I suppose to show that it still works.

The girls giggle and give each other conspiratorial looks.

“Well, we’ll look for you there. Later,” they say, stepping on the gas. They want us to chase them. That’s the deal.

“Go on, man. Pedal to the medal,” Left Guy prompts, practically coming into the front seat. I try to change lanes but an eighteen-wheeler cuts us off. We’re stuck behind it while the girls zoom ahead down the road.

“Aw, man,” Left Guy says, disappointed.

“No worries, bro. This is going to be a total score scene!” Right Guy notices Balder for the first time. “All right! Yard gnome. Got some buds back at the house who took one of these guys all around Barbados. How long you had him?”

“Two days.” Gonzo wraps his arm around Balder.

“We should totally pose with him in front of the Party House,” Right Guy says. “Be awesome.”

Balder’s smile twitches just slightly; he wants to go all Viking on the guy, I can tell.

“He’s not that kind of yard gnome,” I say.

Middle Guy snorts. “’D’you steal him from a church or something?”

“It’s one of those Last Wish things,” I explain. “Some kid in Florida who’s dying wanted to have his picture taken with the gnome, so we’re driving him to the hospital there. For our youth group.”

“That kid won’t know if we get in a few shots first,” Left Guy says.

“No can do,” Gonzo insists. “The gnome has to be untouched. Virgin gnome.”

My eyes find Balder’s. Be cool, I silently implore him.

“I’ve got a cousin who’s a midget,” Middle Guy says to Gonzo. “We always called him Stumpy. Got any cool nicknames like that? Like Stumpy?”

“No,” Gonzo says through gritted teeth. He gives me a sideways glance and I know I will pay for this later. But at least we’ve got some camouflage for now.