Kids of Appetite by David Arnold

Author:David Arnold
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Young Readers Group
Published: 2016-09-02T10:29:59+00:00

“People are dickwads,” Coco whispered in my ear. “And I’m from Queens.”

Tears threatened, but the good kind. We walked like that, arm in arm, passing no fewer than four vendors offering free samples of curious-smelling meat on a toothpick. No one, not even Coco, accepted.

* * *

Much like the Parlour and the Palisades, a thick anticipation hung in the air. Unlike those places, however, the anticipation felt manufactured. For starters, the wishing well was a momentous eyesore. Parked right in the middle of the food court, it was a measly construction of turquoise tile and rough white grout. The reservoir itself was about ten feet in diameter, and in the middle, a faucet dripped foggy water through the mouth and ears and nostrils and backside of—the heart-thinker in me could scarcely believe mine eyes—a unicorn.

“What the motherfrakking frak . . . ?” said Coco.

“Coco—”

“Baz, seriously though. Come on. I mean it looks like this thing is having, like, universal, like, superhuman diarrhea. Hey, whoa, also—can you believe people throw real money in there?”

Nzuzi snapped twice.

The speed with which Coco could change subjects made my head spin. Nzuzi was the only one who seemed able to keep up with her.

“People,” whispered Coco, shaking her head. “What a bunch of dickwads.”

Nzuzi snapped once.

Baz nodded toward my backpack, and even though it all felt wrong, it was now or never. I removed the urn, opened it, and pulled out a pinch of Dad. Rationally, I understood that even if this wasn’t the right place, even if we later discovered that Dad had actually meant a different wishing well, I could always scatter him there, too. It wasn’t like I was running out of ashes. There was, literally, plenty of Dad to go around. But the finality of putting him in the wrong place forever—specifically this wrong place—made me sick to my stomach.

Because Dad would not rest in peace.

He would rest in pieces.

The horn of the unicorn pointed directly at my chest. I tried to imagine my young parents being happy here, laughing at this stupid unicorn. I tried to let the image take root in my soul, a necessity should I ever be able to cross this place off Dad’s list, and do so with a guilt-free conscience.

“Drown me in our wishing well,” I said.

“Drown me in our wishing well,” repeated Coco.

“Drown me in our wishing well,” said Baz.

And just as I was about to toss Dad’s ashes around the hooves of the unicorn, Nzuzi snapped twice. He stood off to the side of the turquoise monstrosity, pointing at something.

Coco walked over to see what it was. “Uh, Spoils? When did your old man die?”

“December second, 2013. Why?”

“‘Welcome to the Barbara Tetterton Memorial Well, erected May 2014.’”

. . .

. . .

Coco cleared her throat, patted Nzuzi on the back. “Well, that was a close frakking call. Good catch, Zuz.”

I felt Dad in my hand, thinking how close I’d been to tossing him in this kitschy nightmare of a well forever and ever. We

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