The Big Crunch Read online

  THE

  BIG

  CRUNCH

  PETE HAUTMAN

  For Mary, yet again.

  CONTENTS

  Cover

  Title Page

  FALL

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  WINTER

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  SPRING

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FORTY

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  SUMMER

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  AUTHOR’S NOTE AND ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Copyright

  FALL

  CHAPTER

  ONE

  THE FIRST TIME WES SAW JUNE, he thought she was kind of funny-looking. She had these thick lips, a wide mouth, greenish-blue eyes that were a little too far apart, and her hair — a dark blond color — looked still wet from her morning shower. Wes thought she looked like a sea creature pretending to be human.

  But that was the first time, language arts, the first class of the day on the first day of junior year, a quick look three rows over as he was checking out everybody, not just the girls. He knew maybe half of them. Most of the rest looked halfway familiar. It was a big school.

  Later, remembering that moment, he seemed to recall that there was something else about her — an aura of hot maple syrup and fresh-turned soil — but he figured that was all in his head.

  That first day in English — what this school called “language arts” — June did not notice Wes. She was too busy having the worst morning of her life, due to having a stupid argument with her insane mother on the way out the door, spilling cranberry juice on her jeans when the bus hit a pothole, and getting her hair crapped on by a pigeon as she walked into school. Also, she was ninety-nine percent certain that she would get her period before the end of the day and she’d forgotten to bring anything and she didn’t know one single person she could borrow from and there were no tampon machines anywhere. She was already starting to hate Minnesota.

  Her second class, studio arts, was a little better. Her hair finally dried from the emergency wash job in the girls’ restroom, and she made a friend, a chatty girl named Naomi. It was enough to get her through the second hour of the day. And, it turned out, Naomi was the sort of girl who was never without an extra tampon.

  At lunch that day, Wes’s eyes once again landed on the fish girl. She was sitting with Naomi Liddell. Wes felt the sort of smug pity that comes with seeing someone else in dire straits.

  Naomi Liddell had a history of glomming on to anyone who would so much as smile at her — it didn’t matter who. She would then proceed to inflict her grating, incessant monotone on her new victim. No one stayed friends with Naomi for long. The new girl already had that glazed look of one whose brain cells were rapidly turning to tapioca. Her hair looked better, though — not so flat and wet-looking, and lighter in color, and her eyes had this aqua tint that made him think of swimming pools. He decided to think of her as Aqua Girl, which was much nicer than Fish Girl.

  June quickly figured out that sitting with Naomi was like having LOSER tattooed across her forehead. She imagined escape strategies ranging from faking an epileptic fit to plugging Naomi’s yak hole with a wadded-up napkin. June’s eyes drifted around the lunchroom as Naomi catalogued what various girls — none of whom June knew or cared about — had worn to school last year. Or maybe it was the year before. Or maybe she was reciting the J. Crew catalog.

  As Naomi continued to attack her left eardrum, June thought about how every school she had been to — six of them in the past four years — was pretty much the same. Her father’s business required frequent relocations. June had learned how to recognize which kids were cool but not too cool, and which ones were the users, posers, geeks, skanks, preps, gangstas, macho-morons, punks, burnouts, and so forth. It wasn’t that complicated. The best-dressed girls were generally backstabbers, the best-looking guy was always full of himself, and the scariest, most tatted, most studded, most black-leathery person in school was inevitably shy and gentle and, once you got past the studs and skulls, not actually all that interesting.

  Most importantly, she had learned early on that anybody eager to make her acquaintance the first day was almost certainly desperate for a friend, and therefore undesirable as such. There was always a Naomi, another barnacle clamping on, another harpoon, another anchor to drag … and the worst thing was that even if June stood up right then and screamed “Bitch!” right in Naomi’s face, the connection would still be there. She would always know that Naomi was out there, and would be clanking along behind her for the rest of her life and beyond. June knew why house-haunting ghosts dragged chains — those were the connections they’d made with the living.

  Wes, who classified himself as a semi-cool semi-geek, could have told June who was who and what was what in about five minutes, but at that time he was on the other side of the lunchroom catching up with the two Alans — Schwartz and Hurd. Alan Hurd had spent the summer working at his uncle’s resort up on Otter Tail Lake, where he was in charge of cleaning fish, among other things. He claimed to be able to fillet a walleye in twelve seconds. He also claimed to have hooked up “every way you can think of” with a hot nineteen-year-old who worked at the resort doing child care and water aerobics classes.

  The other Alan, Alan Schwartz, confessed that the only action he’d seen all summer was a copy of Penthouse he’d grabbed out of his next-door neighbor’s recycling.

  “How come you were digging through your neighbor’s garbage?” Alan Hurd asked.

  “There was no excavation involved. It was recycling, not garbage.” Alan Schwartz shoved an entire mini-taco into his maxi-mouth.

  Wes said, “How come you didn’t just go online for your porn?”

  Alan Schwartz scrunched up his face and swallowed. “My dad put all this spy crap on my computer after he got that one bill.”

  Alan Hurd laughed. “Sex is way better in the flesh.”

  “In your dreams,” said Alan Schwartz.

  They both looked at Wes, as if he could render judgment.

  Wes said, “I broke up with Izzy.”

  Alan Schwartz inserted a second mini-taco into his mouth and said, as he chewed, “Are you out of your freaking mind?”

  Fortunately, June had just one
class — and lunch period — with Naomi Liddell. After lunch was trigonometry. She’d signed up for that because she already knew trig from her last school, so she could count on at least one easy A. She sat on the window side toward the back to get a look at the other students. Mostly boys. Mostly disappointing.

  June knew that she would probably be moving to some other school next year, if not before, so she didn’t have a lot of time to establish herself here. The important thing was to find a group of girls she could hang with, and a guy. The two things were related. For example, if she joined the book club — there was always a book club — and hung out with them, her choice of guys would be limited to the dark and moody Chuck Palahniuk/Kurt Vonnegut/ Life-Sucks-and-Then-You-Die brooders. If she took up with the high-fashion crowd, she’d end up with some guy with a thumb ring, always playing with his hair and agonizing over the length of his jeans. And if she tried out for cheerleader like she’d done at the school before last, she’d end up going to prom with some jock. Which was not necessarily bad, but she didn’t want to spend every Friday night in October sitting on cold aluminum bleachers watching boys channel their inner Neanderthals.

  What she hoped for was a guy who was reasonably intelligent but not too geeky or obsessive. A guy who smelled okay and had a sense of humor. In short, somebody she could have fun with, but not miss too much when her folks pulled up stakes and moved her to Butthole, Missouri, or Armpit, Tennessee. She considered joining the drama club. Naturally, the male wannabe actors would all be gay, ADD, clinically insane, or all three, but she might hook up with someone on the stage crew. She’d once had a boyfriend who did lighting, and he’d been okay if you didn’t mind the nail biting and the nervous laughter. At least he’d known how to fix stuff.

  As June was having these thoughts, another part of herself looked on with arms crossed and a knowing smile.

  So you’re just a boy shopper looking for a love stud, said Sarcastic June.

  There were several alternate Junes: Sarcastic June, Scornful June, Guilty June, and Fearful June. She also had Pragmatic June, who could say, I did not choose to be here. I just want to have some fun, and get through the day, and move on.

  You have no true feelings, said Scornful June. You are hollow inside.

  “I do too feel,” June whispered.

  Like you would even know what real feelings are, said Sarcastic June.

  June feared that Sarcastic June was right. Her feelings lacked depth. She knew that some people experienced feelings of such power and intensity that they could do anything — climb a mountain, commit hara-kiri, sacrifice a loved one — anything. June could not imagine herself doing anything like that. Her emotions lay upon her like a thin, moist film, easily evaporated, never present in quantity.

  You’re a robot, said Scornful June. You go through the motions without caring about why.

  There is no why, said Pragmatic June.

  Like you would know, said Sarcastic June.

  “I have no soul,” said June.

  “What?” said a voice in her ear.

  June turned her head to look at the boy sitting next to her. He had a broad face, glasses with gold frames, and short dark hair combed straight forward in raggedy bangs.

  “Excuse me?” said June.

  “You said something,” said the boy.

  “No, I didn’t.”

  The boy shrugged. “I thought I heard you say something.”

  “I was just clearing my throat.”

  “It sounded like you said, ‘I have no soap.’ ”

  “Ahem!” The teacher, Mr. Hallstrom, was glaring at them. “I hate to interrupt, but we have a class going on here, and we would all appreciate it if you two lovebirds would shut up and listen.”

  The boy’s cheeks turned instantly red.

  June said, simply, “Sorry.”

  Mr. Hallstrom harrumphed, then went back to talking about how to measure the height of a tree based on the length of its shadow and other trig stuff June already knew. She sneaked a look at the boy next to her. He was taking notes, pressing his pen hard against his notebook, his blush still in evidence. June never blushed — more evidence that she had the emotional depth of a gnat, according to Sarcastic June. This boy obviously had strong emotions. She imagined herself riding in a car with him. Would he have a car? He didn’t look like a boy who would have his own car.

  Later, in the hallway, at her locker, he came up to her and said, “Sorry I got you in trouble back there.”

  “It’s okay,” June replied.

  He held out his hand. “Jerry Preuss, future class president.”

  June wasn’t sure which was dorkier — the handshake offer or the “class president” bit. She didn’t know what else to do, so she shook his hand.

  “I’m June Edberg.”

  “June — like the month?”

  “It’s kind of an old-fashioned name,” June said. “I’m lucky they didn’t name me February.”

  It was a dumb joke she’d used a hundred times before. Jerry gave her a blank look for a second, then he got it and laughed.

  “Did you just move here?” he asked.

  “A few weeks ago. I used to live in Chicago.”

  “My cousin lives in Chicago.”

  June smiled but didn’t say anything.

  After a few seconds, she could see the red returning to his cheeks, and felt sorry for him.

  “Are you really running for class president?”

  “Yeah. I’m just starting to campaign.”

  June held back a laugh. “That’s pretty ambitious.”

  “I know. So … what would it take to get your vote?”

  “Five bucks.”

  It took him a couple of beats to see she was kidding, and then he was embarrassed for not getting it right away. “Seriously,” he said.

  “Seriously?”

  “I’m trying to figure out how to get people to vote for me.”

  “Don’t most politicians just promise people whatever they want?” She laughed — it sounded totally phony. “How about a four-day school week?”

  Jerry Preuss’s soft brown eyes glistened. He nodded vigorously, as if she’d said something insanely brilliant, and shifted his feet to bring him a few inches closer, so close she could see the pores on his nose.

  “That’s good!” he said. “Anything else?”

  June, her back pressed against her locker, wanted to scream.

  “I gotta go,” she said. “Good luck with your campaign.” She slipped past him and walked quickly off down the hall.

  It was not that she was afraid of him. Jerry wasn’t repulsive or anything. He seemed like a nice guy. But she sensed yet another manacle about to clamp on to her. Another dragging chain. Another attachment she would eventually have to tear away.

  Every time, it hurt.

  CHAPTER

  TWO

  THE FIRST TIME WES HEARD JUNE EDBERG’S NAME, he didn’t connect it with Aqua Girl.

  “There’s this girl June, in my trig class? She talks to herself,” Jerry Preuss said. Jerry was Wes’s oldest friend.

  “What does she say?” Wes asked.

  “ ‘I have no soap.’ ”

  “What does that mean?”

  “She’s from Chicago.”

  “They don’t have soap in Chicago?”

  They were standing outside where the buses were loading, waiting until the last minute to get on. The less time spent in a school bus the better.

  “I need a car,” Jerry said.

  “Everybody needs a car.”

  “I need money to get a car. My parents won’t buy me one.”

  “Join the club.” Wes needed a car too, but his summer job at the nursery had only netted him nine hundred dollars after expenses, and a lot of that he’d spent on junk. What was left was hardly enough for gas and insurance. He’d been thinking about getting a used scooter. If he could talk his mom into it.

  “How come you broke up with Izzy?” Jerry asked.

&nbs
p; “She was being too needy.” It was a lie. Izzy was one of the least needy people he’d ever known. He didn’t actually know why they’d broken up. It wasn’t as if they’d had a fight, or even stopped liking each other. He’d just gotten … tired. It was exhausting, knowing Isabel O’Connor was always there, knowing his phone could ring at any moment and it would be her, and knowing that anything he did would be a thing she would have to think was okay or else it would become this thing he had to hide and feel guilty about, and knowing that all his friends thought of him not as Wes, but as Wes-and-Iz, Iz-and-Wes, and most of all knowing that she existed, that she was out there thinking about him. Everything he did and everything she did was tied together in a big snarly knot with a thousand invisible strands.

  He had tried talking to Izzy about it once, the invisible strand thing, but she started laughing so he shut up about it. It was just a way to think about things.

  “Besides,” he said to Jerry, “I don’t really want a girlfriend at this stage of my life.”

  “What stage is that?” Jerry asked.

  Wes shrugged. “You know. Junior year.”

  The weird thing was that breaking up had been Wes’s idea, and it had taken him weeks to build up the courage to break it to her, and then when he told Izzy, she’d been like, Yeah, whatever, cool. He was immediately sure that if he hadn’t suggested the breakup, she would have, so the feeling of freedom he’d been looking forward to turned into a sick feeling, like Now what? Now that he didn’t have Izzy anymore, some supposedly useless little part of him had left a hole that was filling up with this stuff, a little bag of grit sitting in his gut. So instead of invisible strands he had a sack of dirt riding on his liver.

  “Wes!” Jerry was suddenly twenty feet away, standing at the bus door. “You getting on?”

  Wes looked at the long, yellow-orange bus, at the blurry faces behind the dirty windows, and suddenly he had this flash that if he got on, everybody on the bus would attach to him with a new invisible strand. A fly caught in a spiderweb.

  “I’m gonna walk,” he said.

  Jerry shrugged and climbed aboard. The bus doors closed.

  June’s parents had rented a house eleven blocks away from Wellstone High. Her mother had presented this information to her as if it were a gift.