The Cake is a Lie Read online

  15. Crack Shack (Summer, 2002)

  On a warm summer evening I left the safety of the main road street lights and took off sprinting down the black gloomy road to Jonsen’s house. A serial killer crouching in the surrounding hedges watched me the entire way until I reached the safety of Jonsen’s house lights.

  Jonsen’s house didn’t have parents anymore. Shrouded by big hedges at the end of a secluded cul-de-sac, the run-down cars and overgrown brown grass in Jonsen’s front yard weren’t an intolerable eye sore for the neighbors. They cared more about the noise late at night and the questionable characters that hung outside all day smoking cigarettes. Someone once dubbed it “The Crack Shack,” and it stuck. I thought it was a stupid and crude nickname–no one was smoking crack–but the Palmer litter weren’t ones to question the unwritten nicknaming street code. So they adopted the nickname and used it.

  There was a group of tall unfriendly figures standing around Jonsen’s porch in the darkness. Jonsen’s older sibling’s friends. I didn’t know who they were and I didn’t care. If they tried to talk to me I would just say, “I’m here to see Jonsen” and keep moving. As an easy target these weren’t the types to spend any time talking with. Chances were if they spoke to you it was because they wanted to mess with you.

  I walked up the porch and pushed through Jonsen’s clunky wooden door. It was never locked. Inside, Jonsen’s living room looked like someone just stopped halfway through a move, obscure desks and things like bikes and boxes full of papers were stacked and scattered around. His living room computer was gone but the big computer desk was still there. In the corner, a futon and a sofa had been paired at an angle around a T.V. More strange older people were slouched on the futon.

  I headed through the house, up the creaky, narrow wooden staircase to Jonsen’s room. Garbage, like chip bags and toilet paper, were just flattened into the floor. Disturbed and on alert I watched my step, careful about what I touched. I’d think about the kids in Africa and remind myself this wasn’t so bad really. I wouldn’t want to live there though.

  Jonsen’s room was at the end of the upstairs hall, the door was open and the lights were on. His room was big and surprisingly bare except for two big piles of clothes, a futon, and a cool poster sketch of some kind of futuristic solider on the wall. Jonsen was lying on his futon reading one of the biggest books I’d ever seen.

  “Damnnn Jonsen, could you have picked a bigger book?” I said in an encouraging tone, with a breathless hint of contempt. People were always saying how smart Jonsen was. I wasn’t willing to give him that too. Ya, he was always reading, but he never had cable or the internet. What else was he gonna do?

  “It’s ‘The Count of Monty Cristo,’ you read it?”

  “Ya,” I lied from underneath the doorway. Well, I’d seen the movie. But there was no way I was letting Jonsen out smart me on top of everything else.

  “It’s soo good,” He said enthusiastically.

  “What part are you at?” I reflected on the irony that he was reading this huge book and yet he’d hardly done a day of homework in his life.

  Before he could answer, his littlest sister, Julita, came running up the stairs shrieking, “Jonsen.” Julita was a year younger than us. When we were younger she would have done anything just to play with us in the backyard. Even then I knew it was only a matter of time before she became hella ghettoized just like her older sister. Cut off belly white-t and sweatpants that have been rolled down from the waist ghetto.

  “Hey Marco,” She said warmly when she noticed me.

  “Jonsen.” She screamed again. I cringed. “Krissi wants to know if you’re rolling with us to Stacia’s later. She said she’s down if you bring that 5th cause’ she wants to get bent.”

  “Is Nicki gonna be there Chiquita?”

  They were talking about people I didn’t know using words I didn’t know. I zoned out, I’d be gone soon anyways.

  I’d been a busy bee that summer since I started smoking pot, working to get Jonsen back. Brandon was gone for the summer at his dad’s. In his absence, Avi, Tysen, Devin, Brian, and I had formed a loose association of a summer friends. But, by far, my new favorite pursuit was going over to Jonsen’s for weed every two weeks. I couldn’t push it more than that, I didn’t want to come off as desperate. By no means were me and Jonsen friends again. Drug buying 101 was the more you bought at once, the more you got. Jonsen and his friends had the connections, and I had a 20 dollar a week allowance. I was walking the fine line between being a business acquaintance and being a friend.

  There was a rumbling downstairs and then a big boom of laughter. A group of stampeding footsteps charged up the creaky staircase. I pushed myself flat against the wall to avoid Kace, Tim, and Jonsen’s brother Josh as they came blowing past me into the room. Julita went back downstairs.

  “Jonsen.” Josh exclaimed as he sprinted through the door first. “Kace said he’s gonna let me hit it.”

  “You got it?” Jonsen excitedly asked Tim and Kace.

  “Chaaa dawgy” Kace said. Kace talked with that gangster twang, like every syllable was worth fighting over. His whole butt was hanging out into his boxers. He jumped on top of Jonsen, straddling his prone body. “It took us so long cause we had to stop off at Lita’s on the way cause lil’ Timy is trying to beat those cakes.” Then Kace began demonstrating by dry humping Jonsen from behind, circularly grinding his boxers on Jonsen’s butt. Jonsen started laughing uncontrollably.

  Tim had an oversized sweatshirt on and a baseball hat tipped back, barely holding onto his head. Neither of them acknowledged me or even made eye contact with me. It was always like that when I was around them. Tim sat down on top of one of the piles of clothes and pulled a bag of weed, a scale, and a box of Ziploc baggies out of his huge sweatshirt pocket. Tim’s childish baby face couldn’t have been more out of place holding all that paraphernalia in his lap. Like me, Tim still hadn’t even started puberty, he looked like a 5th grader. According to the odds, this made his popularity not only an anomaly, it was a sin. He was the epitome of cool, he’d made it farther than anyone, and we’d just started. Tim was nice to me sometimes, too. He knew what it was like.

  Kace had never been on the bottom, he never lowered his gaze. Kace had peculiar good looks, mainly because of his hawk nose. If you caught him out of the corner of your eye something was off just enough to make you look again, and again, and again. I hated him. He was such a dumb bully. He failed ridiculously easy middle school classes. I’d love to see him try and write a paper on themes in “Kite Runner,” I thought.

  Kace sat up to a sitting position on top of Jonsen’s body. “Where’s that tonsil tickler piece at Palmer?” Kace might not have known much about history or politics, but he could think up twenty different words for partying, skating or girls on the spot.

  Tim and Kace had the full slick talking repertoire, they knew all the slang words. They had something to say about everything, even cars. When nice cars rode by I couldn’t think of anything to say to save my life.

  Worst of all, Kace always had the best things to say when he was up in somebody’s face. “You can’t even chew gum your teeth are so spaced out homie. Straight Jurassic Park teeth. How have you not bitten off your gums yet with those?” They called it “street smarts,” and Kace was a street prodigy.

  “It’s in my sweatshirt,” Jonsen wheezed breathily under Kace’s weight. “Get it, Josh.”

  Josh started going through one of the piles of clothes until he pulled out a pipe made out of taped together plastic tubes. “Oh yeaa, I forgot you had this busted thing. It totally does look like a mushroom tip,” Josh agreed with a chuckle. It was supposed to be funny because the shaft of the pipe was very thick and long like a penis. Penis jokes are so clever, I thought.

  “Weigh Marco out a twamp Timy,” Jonsen instructed while pushing Kace off him to roll up. A twamp meant twenty dollars’ worth of weed. I’d been soaking up the slang like faster than feathers in an oil spill, even though I
refused to use it myself.

  “I gotcha, cutty,” Tim glimpsed up at me smiling. He was juggling three different baggies while holding the scale in his lap. I felt a sense of relief. The biggest fear was that you would get jacked. That they would decide you weren’t worth it anymore and just take your money as a parting gift. It wasn’t about the money, it was about them not liking you.

  “So Lita’s jockin?” Jonsen asked Tim. “You hit it, Timy?”

  Lita was arguable the hottest 7th grader at Einstein. She was half-Mexican and the perfect amount of exotic. She’d grown her curves before all the other girls. I had math class with Lita and would steal glances at her all period. She was so nice and sweet to everyone. She loved to flirt, even with me when we were in the same group, she’d touch your arm when she laughed and look you right in the eye. My ears had perked up to full alert at the mention of her name, deep down I started hoping she didn’t get with Tim. Lita was the end all be all. Kace, Tim and Jonsen might have been light years ahead of everyone, but the game wasn’t over yet…

  “Timy W was all like ‘Girl what’s up with the domes,’ and when she wouldn’t give it up we bounced,” Kace blurted out in his best half-kidding cocky persona. Everyone laughed. I knew what dome meant, blowjob, Loren was always using that one. I laughed loudly in the hopes Kace would see me laughing. Look at me, I hoped, I know what dome means too.

  Embarrassed, Tim didn’t look up from his work, super chill he said, “Nah, nothing happened.” Very few kids could act as unfazed as Tim Wright. [4]

  Josh reached the pipe out towards Tim and said, “Load that shit.”

  Tim was putting the final touches on my baggy, licking and crisply rolling it up. “1.4 grams” Tim told me, “Cause this shit’s fire.”

  [4] As Jay-Z would say, “The nets could go 0 for 82 and I’d look at you like shit’s gravy.”

  “Okay,” I said in my most monotone voice as I walked over to take the bag, making it clear to everyone I wasn’t an idiot.

  Kace’s gaze accidently ran into mine as I walked back across the room. I immediately looked away, but not before catching the sneer on his face, the hint of disgust.

  What did he hate the most? I thought. Was it my clothes, my Quicksilver, navy blue long sleeve shirt? My pitiful attempt to kind of sag, with my boxers more hanging out the top of my jeans than actually wearing my pants that low? It must have been my beaded metal necklace, or just my general chubbiness, my crooked and gapped teeth. Maybe it was because I was proud to be book smart. Maybe it was just everything combined; he must have hated one most of all though. Someday I was going to find it and make him like me.

  “Want to match a bowl?” Jonsen asked me out of formality as I turned towards the door.

  “Nah, I’m late to get to Duncan’s,” I wasn’t late and I purposely name dropped Duncan because he was my most popular friend, even if he was at Kellogg. I wanted to stay, these were the three coolest 7th graders at Einstein. But I had some dignity, and they clearly didn’t want me around.

  “Thanks Jonsen. Bye Kace, Tim, Josh.” With my head held high I politely addressed each one of them as I said bye, they weren’t taking that away from me, I didn’t give a fuck.

  I scampered down the stairs and out the door, just relieved I didn’t get jacked. I’d lived to see another day. They could stand me just enough to take my money.

  16. Waiting (Summer, 2002)

  I‘d been planning this day for three weeks. We were supposed to get drunk for the first time before Jordan Gillette’s big “end of summer/start of 8th grade” house party. Everyone was gonna be there, Seconds to Failure was even performing. Jordan Gillette was an aspiring 7th grade socialite at Einstein. She knew how to smile big with wide open eyes. Jordan was quick to get along with anyone and she loved Brandon, they’d grown up from kindergarten together. But Jordan’s party started at six, there was no way Brandon and I were going to be able to get drunk and make it there on time now. We were going to miss the whole thing.

  At Eleven that morning Brandon had given Kace his money and we’d watched him walked off to meet his “people”. I’d been so happy then, so excited. It was now five and Kace wasn’t answering our calls, not even when we called from Tim’s cell. With every passing hour I’d drifted further into a state of absolute agony. I was now in mental purgatory, sitting on Jonsen’s couch watching “Saving Private Ryan” for the tenth time. Becoming more certain by the minute we were getting jacked. The gears in my mind were churning fast, the plan was falling apart. We’d made promises, bragged about how we were getting drunk, even told people we’d save them some.

  Jonsen and Tim didn’t know what was taking Kace so long, or why he wasn’t answering his phone. But they reassured us not to worry. Maybe, just maybe, there is still time, I hoped. If Kace can get here right now we can still pull it off…

  Jonsen and Tim were waiting with us. They made an effort to keep it a secret at first. But all Tim and Jonsen wanted to do while they waited was see how many times they could say “mushies” or “shroomies” in secret code right in front of Brandon and me. They were waiting on magic mushrooms, a hundred dollars’ worth. Once they’d realized what they’d done they swore Brandon and I to secrecy. It would’ve been a reputation damaging rumor if it got out. Alcohol and weed were harmless and cool, magic mushrooms were dangerous and stupid. Jonsen, Tim and Kace cared less what was cool though, they made cool.

  To pass the time we’d been smoking a ton of weed, Brandon bought a ton with the money he’d made working at his dads over the summer. No matter how much we smoked it didn’t help. Waiting for our alcohol was worse than waking up for school in the morning, going to church, and doing homework combined.

  I looked over at Tim, he was lying on his back on Jonsen’s dirty wooden floor with his feet propped up against the front screen door. Occasionally he unleashed a barrage of kicks to the screen. The waiting was clearly getting the best of him too.

  “Jonsen.” Tim cried, pretending like he was dying. “Can you believe we’re finally going to actually do mushies, dawg?”

  “I know right. We’ve been talking about it for soo long.”

  God they were so far ahead of us, it wasn’t even fair. A ping of jealousy hit me, I wanted to be a part of their big new adventure. Magic Mushrooms were supposed to take you to a whole other world. I could only imagine the stories. But everyone said it made your brain bleed. Like permanent brain damage stuff.

  Tim let out a preemptive burst of laughter before speaking, “Remember when Marty bought those mushies from your bro Jonsen?”

  “Ya Dude. He was running around the house screaming about how sharks were chasing him, he finally barricaded himself in the bathroom all night.”

  We all laughed, it sounded like a living nightmare. But how bad could they be if Marty did them? He was 12. I concluded very logically that I would let Jonsen be the guinea pig before deciding. Besides, shrooms were hella expensive.

  A car pulled up in the driveway. Jonsen perked his head up and looked out the window. I froze with anticipation.

  “I think that’s Choppy,” Jonsen exclaimed. Choppy or Chops is what they called Kace.

  I was overjoyed, I smiled at Brandon and then got up and looked out the window. There was a red mustang parked just outside the driveway, a really fat guy that looked like he was thirty got out with a skinny tall blond girl. Kace finally appeared climbing out of the back seat. The trio walked in the front door.

  “Yo what up lil’ Timy.” The man said reaching down to pull Tim up off the ground. The man’s bulging gut pushed out repulsively, propping his shirt up like a tent.

  Tim greeted the older man as if they’d been friends for forever, “Chillen, bro.” They gave each other a hi five-handshake into hug. My brain twisted trying to figure out how in the world Tim and Kace were homies with this guy. It was dumbfounding. They didn’t give any clues away while they talked. I checked out the dude’s girl, she was busted, hella sickly skinny, bad teeth, pale. I immediatel
y despised both of these strangers. But in his great beautiful amazing hand, the man was holding a huge brown paper bag that glowed captivatingly in the daylight.

  The dude finally handed the bag over to Kace and headed out with his girl. Halfway out the door he yelled back in a mockingly stern voice “Now don’t you little punks get into too much trouble.” We all fake laughed for him. What a loser.

  Kace walked over to Brandon and swung it over to him in a grand gesture. Brandon pretended like it was no big deal and didn’t even look in the bag. He just held it. This drove me berserk. As I was standing next to him he could feel my body language, my stare pestering him to let me see inside the bag of treasures. He finally reached in and pulled out the half gallon. It wasn’t nearly as big as I imagined. Not 60 dollars big. And it was plastic, I was puzzled why it was plastic and the other bottles I’d seen before were glass.

  Eventually, I was able to pry the half gallon away from Brandon. I cupped my hand around the long, narrow bottle neck top and turned the bottle upside down and then back again. I felt the weight. I felt the coarse indents in the sides of the bottle, puzzling out that they were there to let you hold it easier.

  All of all my anticipation suddenly flipped into fear. I was hit with the realization that soon I was actually going to have to drink the stuff. What a funny thing, I mused.

  “We gotta go,” I said to Brandon hurriedly.

  “Hold up,” Brandon said, he loved being in the presence of Kace, Tim and Jonsen. He always lingered way too long in my opinion. I loved being in their presence too, but you couldn’t be so obvious about it. Plus, I’d promised Bree Bechtel I would be at Jordan’s. Cute, flirty Bree, god she flirted with everyone and I loved it.

  “Nah man we gotta go,” I insisted.

  “Where are you going?” Smug asshole Kace asked, taking the bait.

  “Jordan Gillette’s party,” I bragged, safe in knowing that Kace, Tim and Jonsen couldn’t pretend to be interested in a formal, parent chaperoned party. Even though it was kind of cool.