Flight of Icarus by Caitlin Schneiderhan

Author:Caitlin Schneiderhan [Schneiderhan, Caitlin]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Random House Worlds
Published: 2023-10-30T00:00:00+00:00

 Chapter Eighteen

The Polaroids smack onto the bar, right in a puddle of something sticky. “This is the one,” Dad says.

“Gross.” I pluck up the pictures before they’re ruined by beer or vodka or God-only-knows-what.

“I’m telling you,” Dad says, grabbing the photos back from me and slapping them down again. “Topp’s Twenty-Four-Hour Auto. This is it. This piece of shit is where the magic is gonna happen for us.” He squints at me through the gloomy Hideout lighting. Then, a second later, he’s lunging across the bar to poke at the corner of my mouth with his finger. “Could you smile? This is good news! Act like it!”

It’s a big ask, but I try to play along. Revelations aside, I’d slumped my way out of Hawkins High and into my shift at the Hideout still feeling like there was an elephant sitting on my chest, and three hours of emptying chew spit out of pint glasses and mopping spilled beer off the floor hasn’t done much to sweeten my mood. Then Dad had waltzed in with his handful of photographs, talking a mile a minute about auto mechanics and logistics and ideas, ideas, ideas, and I haven’t had a chance to get a word in edgewise much less let my brain catch up.

“Topp’s Twenty-Four-Hour Auto,” I say. “Cool.”

“Damn right, it’s cool. It’s perfect. Two-man staff, open late, the only shop for thirty miles in any direction—”

“Cool.”

“ ‘Cool. Cool.’ What’s wrong with you? You look like someone took a hammer to your guitar and made you a necklace out of the pieces.”

I take a deep breath. Let it out. “I dropped out of school.”

Dad blinks at me. “Today?”

“Yeah.”

He blinks again. And again. And then—

“Pop some goddamn champagne!”

For a second, I think he’s gonna lunge across the bar to hug me. “What the hell—”

“It’s about time!” Dad exclaims, loud enough to have the woozy Tuesday night drunks weave their heads up to look at us. “You’ve been killing yourself, wasting time in that hellhole when you could be out living your life!”

“Hey!” Bev stalks over, drawn by his outburst. “Keep the volume down. This isn’t a goddamn rodeo.”

But Dad just greets her stormy approach by flinging open his arms. “Bev! Get over here, gimme a kiss on the cheek!”

“You’re out of your mind, Munson—”

“I’m not out of my mind, I’m celebrating! My son’s a free man!”

“Shut up, Dad,” I mutter.

“A pitcher of your finest ale, beautiful Beverly!” Dad braces both forearms against the bar so that Bev can experience the full force of his wink. And I can’t be certain under the sickly neon lighting, but I’m pretty sure Bev blushes.

“Free man, huh?” she asks me. I shrug, and she blows out a sigh. “Well. I guess I can give you one pitcher on the house. Since you’re celebrating.”

Dad grins. “As gracious as you are lovely.” I, on the other hand, say absolutely nothing. I’m pretty sure I’ll never speak again, actually. I have worked in this bar for one full year, and I

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