Dreamland City. Larina Lavergne

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СКАЧАТЬ doesn’t flinch. “And?”

      I’m at a temporary loss of words. Reagan and I are glaring at each other. When did she even find time to apply her make up?

      “Look, Lily, I really need this.”

      “Why?”

      She begins to say something, then she catches herself. “Nothing.”

      “Um, you girls want a beer or something?” Tommy asks.

      +++

      I instruct Reagan to wait outside for me. She arches one of her perfect eyebrows.

      As the door slams behind her, Tommy whistles. “She’s a cool chick,” he says, admiringly. I hit him on the arm as hard as I can.

      “Ow!”

      “She’s crazy,” I tell him. “She followed me all the way from Durham for a stupid project we’re supposed to be doing. Who the fuck does that?”

      He nods in agreement, but I can see in his eyes that he thinks she’s real classy.

      “What project you girls supposed to be doin’?” he asks, following me back into the bedroom. I slide the straps of my dress down and reach for my bra. Tommy bounces onto to bed and lies with his hands behind his head watching me as I fasten my bra before sliding the straps back over my shoulders.

      “We’re in a lab together and we’re supposed to come up with something that demonstrates working principles of thermodynamics for a project. It’s worth like almost our entire grade or something.” I sweep my hair up in a messy ponytail and catch sight of myself in the mirror. I look exactly how I feel: An angry, frustrated mess.

      “Oh. That sounds cool.” He gazes up at the ceiling and stretches his arms above his head.

      “I guess I have to go with her and work on it since she’s here.”

      “Yeah. Guess so. Maybe.”

      He’s sad and pouting.

      “Do you…do you wanna hang out with us?”

      “Yeah, sure!” Tommy’s eager answer almost cut off my last word. “You girls gonna build some sick shit, huh?” he continues, sitting up. He reaches for his T-shirt.

      “We’re building something,” I hedge.

      +++

      It’s started to rain and Reagan’s waiting in her shiny late-model Mercedes outside, an incongruous picture amongst the trailers and the rusty trucks.

      She rolls down the window as Tommy and I approach.

      “I live just over that way,” I tell her, pointing to the west. “It’s three minutes away. You don’t need to drive.”

      She looks doubtfully at the rain and nods unenthusiastically. The car door swings out and I step back, my heels digging into the wet earth. There is a flash of white as her umbrella opens, but not before the drops of water create little spidery specks on her white blouse. She doesn’t offer to shelter me or Tommy.

      “Is it OK to park here?” Reagan asks uncomfortably.

      Tommy laughs. “Honey, it’s OK to park dang anywhere here ‘less my bro’s pissed off and decides to give you a ticket.”

      She looks closer at him, and I can tell she thinks he’s hot from the way the head bitch attitude bleeds out of her like a dying wild pig with a bullet in it.

      “I’m Tommy by the way,” he says, holding out his hand. “Sorry I didn’t introduce myself earlier. Lil here tells me you girls are doing some kind of science project?” He’s enunciating his words; he’s trying.

      For what?

      “Reagan,” she replies, taking his wet hand after the barest hint of hesitation. She doesn’t answer his question.

      “Pleased to meet ya, Reagan,” Tommy says. “I sure hope you’re doing fine today.”

      “Likewise, I’m sure,” she rejoins gracefully.

      I’m looking at them incredulously, half expecting them to bow and curtsey next.

      “Come on, let’s go,” I say impatiently.

      The rain thickens into a pour. I follow Tommy’s loping strides to my trailer and Reagan pulls up the rear. We tumble into my trailer; Reagan pauses when she’s inside, unsure where to go, while Tommy heads immediately to the kitchen. He tears off a paper towel to dry his face, then opens the fridge to look for beer. Outside, I hear thunder rolling in, and then, I feel my trailer shaking with slight vibrations.

      “Can I leave this here?” Reagan asks, leaning her umbrella against the wall by the entrance. Even though she shook it out before coming in, water drips from it, forming a small puddle on the floor.

      “Sure,” I say. I go into my bedroom to change out of my ill-fated dress and bring out a towel for Tommy. Reagan’s standing awkwardly where I left her, looking around the living area as if she’s been thrown into a snake pit.

      “Anything wrong, Reagan?” I ask belligerently as she continues her inspection. We might not be rich like her, but it’s a decent trailer—doublewide, with two bedrooms and nice dining area and everything. I don’t even know why I’m feeling the prickling of shame. Before she can answer, Tommy comes over to us and holds out three beer bottles.

      “Ladies?” he offers.

      I accept a bottle from him, but Reagan shakes her head, her eyes going to the clock on the wall. Tommy shrugs and opens both remaining bottles anyway.

      “Should we set up here?” she asks, gesturing at the living room. “I managed to grab the folder of some of the ideas I’ve had these past few weeks before I left our room.”

      “Works for me,” I shrug.

      Reagan sits down on the edge of our ratty couch and crosses her legs, her back very straight. I can’t help but smile at how out of place she looks. She smiles back uncertainly, then takes off her backpack and unzips it in one slow, weirdly erotic motion.

      She pulls out seven different-colored folders and lays them out like a Chinese fan on the coffee table.

      Tommy’s giving me a look, as if to say, ‘what crack is this bitch smokin’?

      I shrug my shoulders. Reagan is our society’s poster child for beauty and future success; Judging from her spread out multi-colored folders, if she’s the future of our country, our nation better be ready for some serious color-coding.

      Tommy and I sit cross-legged on the floor while Reagan drones on about combustion and how she learned about it from one of her uncles who flies jets for fun. And then she’s meandering into more wild fantasies about our engineering capabilities, mentioning “bio fuels” and “ethanol” a few times.

      It’s time to kill this dream. I cut her off mid-sentence, “None of that is going to work, Reagan.”

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