Delroy said, “Rules were meant to be broken.”
Mega-Joan sighed with disapproval. “People brought in their own hooch. Ernesto Happie designed the original Happies worker vests with a pocket on the inside for cigarettes. He didn’t plan on his employees using those pockets to sneak in whiskey flasks to sell to customers.”
One of the Happies placed a floodlight on the ground and then stood before us. He was wearing one of the vintage worker vests, covered in Happies patches and pins, and he opened it to reveal the inner pocket. He pulled a flask from the pocket, took a swig, and returned the flask to the pocket, with the skill and flourish of a flight attendant demonstrating emergency procedures.
“What’s that vest, a ’65?” Delroy asked the Happies vest man.
The vest man scoffed. “Hardly! It’s a ’62! Certified!” He stepped up close to Delroy and displayed a certificate patch that said “’62” on the inner lining of the vest.
“Fine indeedy,” admired Delroy.
“Where’s the beer?” asked Bandita.
Jake perked up. “I’ve got a beer truck nearby and a few craft brews needing some expert taste buds.”
Bandita smiled at Jake, liking what she saw. “Pale ale or stout?”
“Malt!” said Jake, and she and Bandita both laughed at some joke I didn’t get at all that made me want to bang their two over-gorgeous heads together in beer ignorance frustration. And to make Jake remember I was standing right here.
“Let’s go, then,” Bandita said to Jake. “I’d love a taste.”
“No shenanigans that lead to jail time, darlin’,” her father told Bandita.
It was Bandita’s turn to roll her eyes. “God, Dad, shut up.” She took Jake’s hand.
“Didn’t we have plans later?” I reminded Jake, trying to sound casual when really what I wanted to say was, You can’t really be propositioning some big-boobed airhead named Bandita, right, Jake? Not when your implied-but-not-committed-to destiny tonight was with me, and more average-sized Ezra and Esme?
Jake winked at me. “Catcha later, cutie,” he said to me. And then he took off with Bandita.
My legs felt bolted to the ground, locked in shock. Just like that, Jake was lost to me, chasing another skirt—or, in Bandita’s case, a pair of barely-there shorts that just one of my arms probably wouldn’t fit into. This night was supposed to end with me and him slapping dollar bills on each other, and doing deeds that could have gotten us sent to the UnHappies Jail, and not him and some biker chick named Bandita with a father named Delroy and what was the matter with people? Did they not know how to name children properly?
Don’t throw a party just to impress a guy. I should have heeded my sister’s advice. How could this night suck more?
Zeke said, “Uh…Vic? Don’t freak out, but I just got a text message from Troy Ferguson. Thrope’s been spotted, by the Ravishing Ravine.”
Fifteen minutes after Zeke and I found her, the Chug Bug was at the bottom of the Ravishing Ravine. And now Miss Ann Thrope was on the loose.
“I’m putting an end to this party once and for all. It’s time to kill all Happies.”
Thrope had evil intent but, predictably unreliable, she paused her gun trolling long enough to move the rifle that was cocked on her shoulder (pellet-variety weaponry, we hoped), and she slung it over her back again. The maneuver was apparently to free her hands, because she then took out her phone and placed a call. What the?!?! She had the call on speaker for all to hear, and as soon as a female voice answered the ring, Thrope yelled into the phone, “GET OVER HERE NOW, CHERYL!”
Sheriff Cheryl’s voice said, “My wife is fully dilated. YOU deal with it!” In the background, Mayor Jerry’s voice could be heard saying, “Push! Push!”
Standing next to me, Zeke quietly sang, “Ah, push it. Push it real good.”
“This disaster is on you, Cheryl! I’ll remember this when I’m mayor!” Thrope then let out an epic growl of frustration and ended the call.
Cautiously, I approached her. “Maybe just enjoy yourself now that you’re here?” I wasn’t being sarcastic. Both our worst fears—Thrope’s that the senior class would celebrate a last party at Happies, mine that Thrope would show up to it—had been realized. If Thrope could relax for once, maybe we could all deal—safely!—and the party could go on. Yeah, she’d sent the Chug Bug over the ridge, but when the beer supply ran short, everyone would blame me. What was her big worry?
Her eyes burned hellfire into mine. “Not maybe. Will.” I had no opportunity to experience even a moment of relief, because then she added, “If I can’t take this mess down from the outside in, I’ll take it down from the inside out.”
A Happie from the bus caravan dared to approach her and ask, “Aren’t you Miss Happie Annette Thrope?” He reached out his phone for a selfie. Thrope responded by cocking her gun back onto her shoulder and shooting into a nearby tree, successfully dispersing that first wave of Happies trying to surround her.
“I actually think we really do need Sheriff Cheryl,” said Zeke.
“I actually think I sort of agree with you.” I knew in some way that I should have felt happy—or at least, vindicated. Thrope was finally letting her psycho freak flag wave high for all to see. Instead, I felt panicked—what if she hurt someone?—and hugely guilty about Jake’s truck.
Outlaw Thrope stormed off into the darkness, with a second, braver wave of Happies fans following her. If there had been a sound track to Miss Ann Thrope’s pace, it would have been the Wizard of Oz music when the spinster neighbor lady who became the Wicked Witch of the West rode on her bike to Dorothy’s house to take away Toto. Mean, determined, scary as shit.
Like a cavalry coming to the rescue, or a double dose of Glinda the Good Witch sparkling into the scene to save my life, my beautiful bitches finally found me.
“What the fuck happened?” said Fletch as she stared down into the ravine to check out the toppled Chug Bug, whose lights were still beaconing up into the night sky.
“Jake’s gonna lose it,” said Slick mournfully. “I don’t even know what to say.”
“Where have you been?” I exclaimed. If my girls had been by my side all night, this destruction might not have happened. I would have been partying with them instead of seeking out Thrope. I would have been securing the Chug Bug with them somewhere where it couldn’t be pushed into a ravine.
Wishful thinking, I know. But the statistical probability that somehow the altercation with Thrope wouldn’t have ended with a totaled Chug Bug at this spot would have been at the very least vastly improved if the Cuddle Huddle had stuck together through the night.
“Where have you been?” snapped Fletch. “We’ve been trying to call you all night.”
My eyes shot daggers at Zeke. “Some dumbfuck tossed my phone.”
Slick pointed at Zeke. “I’ve been trying to call you, too!”
“Sorry,” said Zeke.
Jake arrived, riding the back of Bandita’s motorcycle. He jumped off before she’d even stopped the bike. He saw the beams from the headlights shooting up from the ravine and ran to the side of the ridge where the Chug Bug had been safely parked barely half an hour before. “HOLY SHIT!” he yelled.
We gave Jake a moment to process the shock, and begin the first stage of grief: denial. “No no no. This isn’t really happening. It’s not possible.” He buried his face in his hands.
Slick said, “I’m so sorry, Jake.” She tried to place her hands on his shoulders, to comfort him, but he flinched, and shoved her hands away.
Fletch said to me, “This has gone too far. You’ve gotta end your war with Thrope.”
Excuse me? “Me end it? She’s the one who started it.”
Slick turned from futilely trying to comfort her big brother to facing me and saying, “You’re the one who provoked it.”
“What did I miss?” I asked. My fingers ached—to comfort Jake, and to text my sister so she could tell me how the fuck to handle this situation. “How are yo
u two suddenly on Thrope’s side?”
Slick said, “This isn’t about sides, Vic! It’s not even about you. Look down there. My brother’s truck has been destroyed! That thing was his baby.”
Fletch glanced warily at me, but my eyes were not brave enough to meet hers. She said, “This is serious. It’s not a boring Town Council meeting. Thrope’s dangerous for real this time. I’m concerned. Maybe we should call the cops. If Sheriff Cheryl won’t come, the California Highway Patrol will.”
“Don’t call CHP!” Jake screeched. “My fucking truck that’s now at the bottom of the ravine was serving minors all night. I didn’t have a license for the business, and the truck didn’t even have insurance or registered plates yet.”
Jake dropped to the ground, and the sight was pathetic. He was crying. “I can’t believe this. I spent the past year of my life and put every penny I ever had into the Chug Bug. And now it’s just…gone.” Bandita knelt alongside him and massaged his shoulders. He looked up at me. “This is all your fault, Vic!”
I couldn’t have felt more horrible. “I’m so sorry, Jake.”
“The Chug Bug was my ticket out of this stupid town.” Jake moaned again. Bandita helped lift him from the ground, and she pulled him to her for a comforting hug. It was like a mandatory symbiosis of the two hottest people in the vicinity, deeply and spiritually connected even if they’d known each other less than an hour.
I was sore that he’d so quickly and casually passed on me in favor of Bandita, but I’d never have wished the truck destruction on him. I said, “I never in my worst nightmare thought Thrope would go so far, Jake. I’ll fix the situation, promise. I’ll take up a fund tonight to buy you a new VW bus.”
My idea fell on deaf ears. “How’d it get all the way over here?” Jake asked us from the other side of Bandita’s shoulder.
Slick said, “Fletch and I moved it when we heard Thrope had been spotted. We were trying to help.”
Jake said, “So you ruined me.”
Fletch said, “We thought we were helping. And don’t blame this on us. You knew the risks involved in serving this party.”
“Don’t be a dick,” Zeke said to Jake. “None of us drove the Chug Bug over the ravine.”
Jake lifted both his middle fingers to our group. “FUCK YOU ALL!” He released himself from Bandita’s grip and said to her, “Let’s get out of here. I can’t stand the sight of these traitors anymore.”
She nodded, and took his hand. They started to walk back toward Bandita’s motorcycle, but then Jake let go of her hand, came over, and pointed at me. “Especially you, Vic. I fucking hate you right now. I wish you didn’t exist.”
So. I could feel more horrible.
First Jake abandoned me. Then the Cuddle Huddle mutinied.
A crowd of classmates and some Happies were going down into the ravine to inspect the Chug Bug, totaled and flipped on its rear—it was a crazy sight to behold. The vehicle had not ignited the hillside, and if it hadn’t happened by now, it probably wouldn’t burn to a crisp after all. That was a small win. But there were so many other fires to extinguish.
Fletch said, “I see Raheem and Emerson down there. I’m gonna go find them. To comfort me.” How could she even think about fooling around at a time like this?
Slick said, “I promised Bao Ling I’d collect ribbons with her in Pinata Village to use in her new apartment.” And Slick! She was thinking about accessorizing from Happies relics at a time like this?
“But…” I sputtered. “But the Cuddle Huddle! We just found each other again and tonight’s our last night to be together!” One might think the destruction of a beer truck would be cause for a party to end, but by the excited voices and laughter and more Happies song singing coming from down in the ravine, I’d say the party was just hitting its stride. Thrope’s arrival and the bus fiasco had only made the party better.
“Not feeling it,” said Fletch.
“You aren’t feeling it?” I asked them. “I’m the one who’s mortally wounded here.”
“I’m with Fletch,” said Slick. “Not feeling it.”
The Chug Bug destruction could be directly traced to me spurring Thrope on, but we were all complicit in Jake losing his pride and joy. Usually the Cuddle Huddle stuck together in a crisis. Now, apparently, all bets were off. The downer vibe between us could not be denied.
“Find ya later,” said Slick, taking off toward Pinata Village.
“Too much bummer up here. Down into the ravine I go,” said Fletch, who then called out, “Raheem! Emerson! Flash me some light so I can see.” And she was gone.
Once again, I was left with Zeke. Did this kid not have somewhere else to be tonight? “What the hell did I do to them?” I asked him.
Trying to make me feel better and failing, Zeke said, “You know those Cuddle Huddle girls. Party animals gots to find the party. And it ain’t here, obviously.”
I sat down on the ground, glum. “A miracle or magic are the only things that could save me tonight.”
Zeke looked astounded. “I’d say you already got a miracle tonight. Several, in fact.”
“How do you figure?”
Zeke sat down alongside me. “Bev Happie authorizing this party. The Happies biker gang arriving and making an earthquake happen just to break down the fence to the other side, like they’re freaking geologic gods. Then, a beer truck smashed into the bottom of a ravine and managed not to explode! Not great for Jake, but pretty exciting to witness! Want me to go on?”
I smiled a teeny bit, my mood lifting. I lightly nudged my shoulder against his. “Well, maybe some miracles have happened,” I allowed. “But there’s no magic possible in this dead-end town run by Miss Ann Thrope. God only knows where she’s gone by now and what new wave of horror she’s unleashing.”
“Forget about Thrope for a minute,” Zeke said. “Because here, right now, you need to hear it: Magic is possible. You just have to believe, bitch.” I was too hungry to believe in anything besides the magical power of carbs right now. Just thinking about food made my empty stomach growl, loudly. It wasn’t as embarrassing a sound as an outright fart, but it was close. We both laughed. Zeke teased, “I guess someone’s tummy is ready for yummies?”
I said, “Make magic happen. Make a burrito appear right now, please?”
“I wish. So don’t freak out, but I overheard some Happies talking about a cookout happening in the Badlands. I bet we could get some grub there. I mean, if you can shut up for once about fire safety.”
“Fuck fire safety. Let’s find some food.”
I intended to eat my stress rather than cry over Jake, the Cuddle Huddle, or evil Thrope on the warpath. God help Jason Dunker once I found him again because I was going to eat every single brownie he had left, and not pay him, either.
Zeke and I stood up and began walking. I could tell by his slow gait that he was getting tired, and I appreciated that he was sticking by me and trying to keep my spirits high in the face of so much defeat. Zeke asked, “So which one’s Esme and which one’s Ezra?”
I also appreciated that he was trying to keep me distracted from all the potential disasters playing out in every corner of the Happies land. I laughed and touched my left boob. “This one’s Ezra. A little bit smaller than Esme, but trying not to have an inferiority complex about it.” Seriously, Vic. SHUT UP!
“I noticed that about Ezra, last summer when you were modeling sports bras for me, before you went off to soccer camp. I wasn’t going to say anything but now that you’ve brought it up…”
I mock-punched the side of his upper arm. “The push-up bra you recommended worked wonders at soccer camp, by the way.”
“Oh, really?” Zeke stopped our walk, stood in front of me, and leaned down to carefully inspect my chest. “You’re good luck charms, Ezra and Esme. Keep up the excellent work.”
I placed my hand under Zeke’s scruffy chin, and lifted his eyes to once again meet mine. “You have way too much interest in boobs for a homosexual.” B
ut I didn’t mind his curiosity. After the colossal diss from Jake, my wounded ego was soothed by Zeke’s flattering attention.
He said, “That’s a discriminating assumption. Everybody likes boobs. Know what else I love?” Zeke sang a South Park song in a deep, sexyman baritone voice. “Say everybody have you seen my balls? They’re big and salty and brown.”
Zeke and his pompadour performed a mad dance around me, and I was a little bit in love with this weirdo man-boy, for keeping me so entertained, and laughing. I might have even kissed him in gratitude, except for the shot that rang off in the distance.
“High holy hell!” Delroy Cowpoke’s voice called out.
“UNACCEPTABLE!” Mega-Joan megaphoned.
Zeke and I ran toward the commotion, to the top end of Main Street, where it splintered out into the paths leading to Pinata Village, Lovers Lane, and the Ravishing Ravine. There, we found Delroy and the Happies vintage vest man restraining Annette Thrope, while Mega-Joan unloaded Thrope’s rifle.
“Let go of me!” Thrope shouted, viciously squirming.
“What happened?” I asked.
A biker dude Happie pointed to a flagpole sticking up from the back of his bike. The flagpole had a Barbie doll affixed to its top, and the doll wore a pageant gown with a tiara and a Miss Happies sash. “She shot it.”
Zeke and I looked more closely. The Miss Happies doll’s face had a pellet bullet hole stuck in it, square between the eyes. Damn, Thrope was a good shot. And, major sigh of relief: pellet rifle.
A Happies motorcycle guy opened a vintage Happies “emergency kit” briefcase and tossed a set of handcuffs to Delroy, who snapped the handcuffs around Thrope’s wrists behind her back. Then Delroy and the other man led Thrope down Main Street.
Status update: I no longer dreaded the Happies. I fucking loved them. Unlike me, they really knew how to handle a party gone too wild. I wanted to cry, the sight of handcuffed Thrope being dragged down Happies’ Main Street was so beautiful.
“You can’t do this to me!” Thrope shrieked. “Do you know who I am? I practically own this town!”