Page 25 of The Slug Crystal
“He had it. I told him to watch it. He promised.”
Jake pinches the bridge of his nose. “Emma. He’s a struggling freelance writer. You think he wouldn’t opportunistically bail if it suited him?”
I think of Ben’s “Scout’s honor” and feel a surge of annoyance. “He wouldn’t. He’s not that much of an asshole.”
Jake’s mouth does the thing it does when he’s trying to be patient but really wants to say, I told you so. “Let’s check the lot.”
I storm outside, scanning the picnic tables, playground, and the edge of the lot where the trucks are parked. Nothing. My heart is pounding now, panic nipping at my heels. I can already hear Ben’s stupid voice, narrating the story of a great snail heist to a rapt internet audience. The fucker.
As a last resort, I circle the building and, sure enough, I find him at the last picnic table hidden behind the squat building. He’s deep in animated conversation with a pair of little kids and an exhausted-looking mom. The terrarium is center stage, open, the snail perched proudly on the fake log as Ben spins some elaborate yarn.
“And then,” Ben is saying, “after traversing a thousand miles of desert and narrowly escaping a pack of rampaging raccoons, Sir Alex the Blue Shell arrived at the oasis, where he met the Queen of Lettuce?—”
The older kid, a girl with tangled blonde hair and a tie-dye T-shirt, interrupts. “Did the snail get to eat the lettuce?”
Ben leans in, conspiratorial. “Only after he solved the Queen’s riddle. Wanna know what it was?”
The kids nod, enthralled.
Ben grins. “She asked, ‘What’s slow, but always gets where it’s going?’”
The boy, younger, shouts, “A snail!”
Ben bows. “Exactly. And that’s why the Queen gave him the entire salad.”
The mom gives Ben a half-smile that says she appreciates the effort but would rather be anywhere else. I wait for the kids to wander back to the playground before I stomp up, arms crossed.
“What the hell, Ben?”
He shrugs, completely unbothered. “They wanted to know about the snail. You were gone, and I figured it’d be nice to give him a little mythology.”
I grab the terrarium, checking to make sure Alex is unharmed. He’s fine. Ben even sprinkled in a fresh piece of lettuce.
Jake is slightly out of breath and looking ready to murder someone. “Next time, tell us where you’re going.”
Ben holds up his hands. “Sorry. I didn’t know I had to report walking ten feet away with the snail.”
I want to argue, but can’t find the words. Then I realize… Ben is right? I hate it, but he didn’t actually do anything wrong. “It’s fine. Sorry,” I finally mutter. “We’re both just… a little sensitive about Alex.” I gesture to Jake and myself.
Jake shoots me a glare, but Ben offers me a tight nod, silently accepting my apology.
We walk back to the car in silence, me clutching the terrarium tight to my chest, Jake shooting Ben the occasional side-eye. But as I set Alex on the dash and slide into the passenger seat, I can’t help replaying the story in my head. Queen of Lettuce. Salad reward. It’s ridiculous, but also… sweet?
Ben gets in the back, buckles up, and after a minute, leans forward. “Sorry if I scared you. I really wouldn’t have left.”
I believe him. I really do. And I appreciate his apology even though he didn’t do anything wrong. The ball of fear in my chest slowly starts to dissipate, and I murmur, “I know.”
Jake turns the key, and as we roll back onto the interstate, Ben pulls out his notebook and starts scribbling again, probably turning the whole incident into an epic saga. I glance atAlex, who is once again glued to the side of the terrarium, and I swear there’s a little more spring in his slimy slide.
I roll down the window, let the wind whip my hair, and watch the scenery whir past. Next stop: Sarah DeMarco. The woman with the answers. The woman who can turn Alex back into a man. Hopefully.
7DOTTIE DOESN’T KNOW HER
Monday,6:38PM. It’s dusk when we roll into Pittsfield, PA. I was expecting a town with at least one stoplight, maybe a Walmart, or a visible sign of life. Instead, it looks like we’ve driven onto the set of a Hallmark movie where everyone is too depressed to decorate for Christmas until someone new moves to town and changes the whole place around. Except that the heroine of the Hallmark story still hasn’t moved to town. The main street is three blocks of low brick buildings, every other storefront is vacant, and the windows are papered over with faded For Lease signs.
It’s quiet enough that I can hear the truck’s engine ticking as Jake parks outside Dottie’s Coffee Lounge, the only business that appears to be open past five. The sign for the shop is hand-painted, a little crooked, with blue block letters and a sunburst that looks like it was drawn by a first grader with chronic disillusionment. There’s a board out front advertising a special for a Berry Danish & Medium Coffee: $3.75!!! And a line of mismatched patio furniture drizzled in the misting rain. Ben glances at the storefront, then at me, like he’s about to comment on the atmosphere. I beat him to it.
“This is it?” I ask, squinting at the empty street.
