My Best Everything Read online

  “Had to.”

  “Sorry, Lulu,” said Bucky. Roni slapped him for me, but I glared at him too.

  So there was Bucky making obnoxious innuendos and Roni’s words echoing in my ears, and all the while, the way you moved made it hard to stop watching. Knowing you were peeking at me like I was peeking at you made my insides warm and buttery. But Roni was right. I was leaving, and you didn’t need to be messed with. I needed to put up a barricade.

  I said, “Hey, Bucky, I want to chew some of that tobacco.”

  “Oh, no,” said Bucky. “That’s repulsive.”

  Roni said, “Uh-huh. But if you’re going to be repulsive, then so can we.”

  You tried to warn me what to expect. “Your mouth is going to juice up with saliva. Whatever you do, don’t swallow it.”

  “Is that what those nasty spit bottles are for?”

  Bucky laughed. You handed us each a tiny leaf.

  “I need more than that,” I said. “I can’t hardly chew something that small.”

  “Start with this,” you insisted. “Don’t worry about chewing. It mostly stays tucked in your lip.”

  Roni held her clump with her thumb and forefinger. She sniffed it, wrinkled her nose, and said, “You go first, Lulu.”

  I didn’t expect the sting of it. I worked the little bit of leaf tentatively. You were right; my mouth worked overtime. My eyes watered, and I felt instantly dizzy. It never made it to the inside of my lip before I ran cussing and spit the nasty clump in the bushes.

  All three of you laughed, most unsympathetically.

  I held my queasy stomach. “It’s not worth it, Roni.”

  She looked at Bucky. “Why would you do that to yourself?”

  “I never did that,” he said, still laughing. “Oh, Lulu, where have we gone wrong? You used to be such a good girl. Look at you now. Chewing tobacco and cussing like a cowboy. And that’s not even talking about this moonshine plan you’ve cooked up.”

  I made a face while Roni said, “Lulu’s just having her last bit of country fun before she runs.” Then she zoned out for a second, humming to herself.

  “Seriously, Mason,” said Bucky, refusing to give it up. “You don’t hardly know the Lulu we know.”

  I had no patience for talk like that. Like I had to be something that everyone could count on. I left the three of you sitting on the ground while I circled Aunt Jezebel again, marveling at how all the parts fit together. I asked, “What happens now?”

  We all looked to you.

  You took off your hat and rubbed your head. “You’ll need to get the ingredients. Lots of sugar and cornmeal. Whole corn from the feed store. Be careful, though. Buying up lots of corn can be a red flag for shining.” You paused, then said, “The yeast is key.”

  I said, “I can get yeast. My mother bakes a lot.”

  You shook your head. “That’s not it. Each kind of yeast has its own special purpose. Its own reason for being here on Earth. The kind your mama has is for making bread. There’s a different kind of yeast that makes moonshine.”

  “How do we make the right kind of yeast?”

  “Well, God makes it.” You laughed. Then looked up and waved toward the trees. “It’s all around us. Yeast is a wild thing. Back in the old days, shiners left their pots open waiting for the yeast to move in and get to work.”

  “That’s creepy,” said Roni as we all looked up and around the sun-speckled tree branches.

  “Nah,” you said. “It’s beautiful.”

  I needed actual directions and steps to follow. “Are you saying we should leave the still open?”

  “Well. Not actually. I mean, yeast aren’t the only critters that’ll jump in.”

  “Ewwww,” said Roni.

  “Then where do we get it?” I asked.

  Bucky said, “Mr. Cauley ordered yeast online for bio labs. But it’s expensive, isn’t it?”

  “Probably,” you said. “I’ve never paid for it.”

  I felt you tuning out, sitting back, separating yourself from our plan. You’d done what you’d said—and more—and now you were moving on.

  It was maddening, knowing you had all the answers but were keeping them tight behind that crooked smile. But I also figured that if you—a high school dropout and ex-waster extraordinaire—knew what to do, I could figure it out too.

  I didn’t know enough to know what I didn’t know.

  10

  Bucky, Roni, and I did the shopping together. Even though our list was simple, your warnings had us a little paranoid. It seemed inconceivable that someone would care about grocery shopping, but we needed a whole lot of ground corn. I guess some moonshiners use only sugar, but you’d said we wouldn’t get “money nor respect” if that’s what we did.

  Waiting for them to pick me up that day, I used Mom’s computer in the downstairs guest room she sometimes used as an office. She’d left open a web page where she’d ordered canning supplies for all the various concoctions she’d been making. There, in front of me, were the clear glass jars—ironically, called Mason jars—that some people expected when buying moonshine. It felt like an omen, but one I couldn’t read.

  I checked my e-mail and saw I’d received another reminder from USD Housing for the nonrefundable deposit. I had more than enough money saved, but nonrefundable screamed loud and clear. I was determined to make enough money to leave town, but at the same time, I had no faith that I would. The future, expensive and looming, stretched out in front of me.

  Maybe that’s why the online price of yeast shocked me. On top of the ridiculous cost for as much as you’d said we’d need, we’d have to pay for all kinds of special shipping and handling after signing a waiver—for which I’d have to lie about being eighteen—stating I understood the yeast might not survive the trip. It was too fragile and temperamental for any guarantee. And, besides, I didn’t want to be connected online with something called spirits yeast.

  We’d each already chipped in a fair amount of money on this crazy-eyed wild-goose chase of a summertime science experiment. Even though we’d started with a “borrowed” still that had all the major parts, and Bucky could get propane through his father’s gas station, we had a lot of expenses going in without knowing if we’d ever get a penny back. We needed little parts like hosing and funnels, and I don’t know what else, but you knew. You knew it all. I wasn’t going to waste my money on yeast until I learned more from you.

  As we headed off to go shopping, I leaned forward from the backseat. “What happened to you?” I asked Bucky, pointing at the big scratch across his cheek.

  “That happened on the third, no maybe it was the fourth, climb up that damn hill.”

  I guess installing the propane tank was a bigger production than Bucky had planned on. But then Roni gave me the best news: “Mason says Aunt Jezebel is finally ready.”

  A spark lit up inside me.

  Knowing Sal always knew where to get the best deals, I’d asked him about buying sugar in bulk. He’d told me how to find Betty’s Candy Factory. He even threw in a twenty for me to pick up some fudge and barked, “Make sure you get caramel for your mother.”

  Did your family buy their sugar from ancient Betty, who carries years of sweets on her bones? I have a hard time imagining any of them strolling through the aisles of fondant and syrups. Can’t see how they’d blend in with the women gossiping and sharing recipes. They probably have their own suppliers. I didn’t know enough then to wonder about logistics like that.

  Roni picked up a bag of cornmeal. “How many of these do we need?”

  “More than we’re buying here,” said Bucky. “You heard Mason. This stuff gets noticed.”

  “What if we split up and each buy some?” I suggested.

  Bucky shook his head. “They already know we’re together.” Nerves were getting to him. All those aisles of wedding cake paraphernalia probably didn’t help either.

  So, even though we bought a cartload of sugar—along with two kinds of fudge—we only bough
t one bag of cornmeal from Betty. Then we spent the rest of the afternoon shopping in at least three Virginia counties.

  What started in the spirit of paranoia morphed into plain old silliness. Each store we visited we changed up our act. One store saw the real Bucky, wearing his cowboy hat and with his blond girlfriend hanging on his arm. Another had his curly-haired brunette sister yelling at him. On a dare, two lesbian lovers bought corn at a crowded feed store while holding hands. “They are definitely going to remember us,” said Roni once we got back in the truck, laughing.

  “Yeah,” said Bucky. “But they won’t remember what you bought. That wasn’t what they were thinking about, I guarantee it.”

  Visiting each little town started to feel like a touch of déjà vu. The people in line at the markets looked the same in Narrows as they did in Pulaski. I could have sworn the guy pumping gas in Elliston was the same one working the 7-Eleven in Floyd.

  I was so sure of myself that day. I thought I was better than the woman counting her pennies out of a coffee can to pay for her eggs and milk. I doubted the sanity of the man who cornered me talking about his old coon dog who could bark words like hello and more. When Roni stopped to coo over a couple of drooly kids sucking on sugar sticks, I sat back and felt sorry for their mother, who didn’t look much older than us. I was happy to be taking action. Grabbing my future with both hands. Now I realize that’s what they were doing too.

  We were caught up in being outrageous, so at the last place we went, somewhere near Galax, close to the North Carolina state line, Bucky insisted on bringing both of us inside. I’m not entirely sure what fantasy he was operating off of when he yelled, “Come on, wives, we need to bring food home for the rest of the girls.”

  “Maybe I’ll get some rat poison too,” said Roni. “So I can get rid of all them other girls.”

  Standing in the checkout line, Bucky puffed out his chest and grinned stupidly. He said to the cashier, “My women are making corn bread for the chili cook-off at church.”

  She looked bored and didn’t answer, but all of a sudden the bagger broke into an enormous grin. He said to Roni, “I know you! You’re the new singer for Lullaby Breaker.”

  Roni smiled at him. “Well, yeah. I sure am.”

  Her adoring, and adorable, fan said, “I can’t wait to see you sing on the Fourth. Me and my buddies, we’re all driving up for the day.”

  “Well, thank you so much.” Roni leaned forward to read his name tag. “Larry. I’ll look for you there. Only another week or so.”

  He about knocked himself out trying to help us take our purchase out to the truck. He looked more than a little disappointed when Bucky said, “I got it.”

  Then, while Bucky loaded it in with the other bags, Larry said, “Can you sign my shirt?” He handed Roni a marker from his pocket and bent over so she could sign his shoulder blade.

  Back in the truck, Roni said, “Guess I’m going to have to work on my autographs.”

  Bucky growled, “Now we’re documented being here getting this stuff. Don’t you ever think?”

  “He didn’t care what we bought. He only cared about seeing me. You’re just being jealous.”

  I knew she was right. Bucky wasn’t really worried. None of us were. The three of us hadn’t ever been in real trouble. We didn’t understand what the consequences of being caught—or even under suspicion—really meant. Certainly not enough to be truly wary.

  Driving home I said, “All we need is the yeast.”

  “Let’s ask Mason,” said Bucky. “Meaning Lulu should.”

  “Why me? You work with him.”

  “I’m lacking your certain tools of persuasion.”

  Roni said, “I don’t understand why he wouldn’t want to do this with us. Besides Lulu’s tools, it’s a chance to make money.”

  I said, “I think it’s too hard for him. He’s got bad memories.”

  Bucky groaned. “Not everything is all about the touchy-feely hoo-ha, Lulu. It’s probably just not worth his hassle. This might not even work.”

  “Yes it will,” I said. “It has to. Otherwise we wasted a ton of money today.”

  The sun flickered through the tree branches like a strobe light, but that wasn’t the reason I suddenly felt carsick.

  “You know that might be true,” said Bucky. “This whole thing is nothing but a maybe.”

  I couldn’t look at it like that. Maybe was too full of room for backing out and changing minds. Maybe is always one step closer to no. Maybe wasn’t going to get me out of Dale.

  When I got home, I felt sweaty and sticky, as if there was a light layer of sugar film coating my skin. I also felt determined. I went straight to Mom’s computer. I logged in and paid my housing deposit. A nonrefundable statement of my intent to get to the University of San Diego somehow, no matter what I had to do.

  Then I used Mom’s credit card to order Mason jars.

  11

  We were so close to getting started. Aunt Jezebel was ready and waiting in the woods. We’d filled rubber storage boxes with all the bags of sugar and corn. The Mason jars had been delivered and hidden in my garage.

  But we still needed yeast. Something you knew how to get. So when Roni invited me to one of her band practices, of course I went.

  I wanted to see her sing. I was curious about this thing that made her grin and look like she was ready to take off spinning on a moment’s notice. It was the way she’d looked when she and Bucky first got together. Since she’d mentioned that you’d been to at least one practice before, I figured you might be there again. With answers.

  But Aunt Jezebel wasn’t the reason I took so long on my hair and makeup. Moonshine wasn’t why I carefully chose my top, shorts, and even my earrings.

  Bucky gave me a ride to Grungie’s house, the radio blaring that metal crap he loves but Roni can’t stand. She’d given us directions and told us to bring a blanket to sit on, but neither of us was ready for the crowd we found. We had to park two blocks over. As we walked along the cracked and bumpy sidewalk, I heard the thump of the bass and drums. Then the guitars and a harmonica. It hit me as we turned the corner. “That’s Roni singing!”

  As we wove through and around the crowd of chairs and blankets spread across the driveway and dried-up lawn, I felt distinctly out of place. Most people looked older, closer to Paul’s age. Yours too, I mean. A couple of coolers were set up and stocked in the back of the yard, and sweet, pungent pot smoke wafted from behind the garage.

  Bucky and I squeezed our blanket into a spot in the shade of an elm tree, but then we stood along the driveway so we could see. The band sounded amazing to me, but every now and then Grungie would yell, “Stopstopstop,” or, “Not again, you idiots,” and they’d all pause to talk and tweak their instruments. Roni did a lot of nodding and pacing. She waved at us between songs, but mostly she stayed wrapped up in the music.

  Listening to Grungie’s directions was like listening to someone with a thick accent. Not because of the way he talked—it was what he said. Musicians have their own language. I only understood about a third of it. Seemed to me like Roni was the star. They were putting extra emphasis on her songs so she’d be ready for the concert on the Fourth, but even in a dirty garage full of old tools, she shone.

  I don’t know notes or octaves or the difference between sharp and flat, but I know music makes everything more. If you’re happy, music might make you ecstatic. Simple sad turns into heartbroken. And longing… well, that’s what I was feeling that day. Impatient, uncertain, deep-down yearning. Every note and beat made the ache climb a little closer to the surface. It rubbed the wanting into something a little more raw. Longing is halfway to desperation and frustration even without Roni’s melancholy take on Lullaby Breaker’s “Far from Here.”

  Then I caught sight of you through the crowd. Even before I saw your face, I recognized the line of your shoulders and the way your T-shirt fit against your arms. You were wearing a red ball cap, and, below the bill, your profile shone sha
rp and clear to me.

  I eyed you from behind my sunglasses. The people surrounding you were, well, rough. Pierced. Ripped-off sleeves. Missing teeth. One guy even had an eye patch. Half the guys wore wife-beater tanks, and, for the women, there were tight camisoles on bodies that spandex couldn’t forgive. Some of your friends looked older than my parents, but they were rocking out in their tattooed glory. When you took off your hat… I know it’s superficial, but mixed in with that crowd, you looked every bit the redneck shiner Randy said you were.

  And yet, when our eyes met across the yard, I felt my blood roar around inside me with the pop of endorphins you sparked. All of a sudden, with a sound track playing in the background, you and the idea of making moonshine mixed together to hit me with an urgent sort of anticipation. For something unknown and beyond my control.

  You nodded at me. I started to wave, but then you were hugging some girl with long, straight hair. The rose tattoo above the waistband of her jeans peeked at me. I looked away, feeling heat in my cheeks.

  She was a reminder of how little we had in common. Nothing had happened between us. I hardly knew you.

  When Buttercup and Jimmy appeared from behind Grungie’s house, it was obvious from their red eyes and loose movements they’d been there awhile. Buttercup gave me a big hug, and Jimmy said to Bucky, “Roni looks freaking hot up there. Freaking hot.”

  Seth and Peanut wandered by too. They knew Jimmy, of course, and Buttercup too. As the guys talked with each other, Buttercup turned to me and said, “Lulu, I could have sworn I saw you driving with Mason Malone last Sunday.”

  I felt more than saw Seth stop talking, start listening. I couldn’t help but look for you across the crowd. You were still talking to that girl.

  Buttercup went on, “In a silver sedan, out past the club. Wasn’t that you?”

  “Maybe yes, maybe no,” I said. And turned back toward the band.

  She laughed. “Must have been a helluva drive if you can’t remember if you were there.”

  I laughed too, but that laughter was for you. So you’d know what a good time I was having.