On Friday morning Tessa invited Wren to go with her to a shooting range. To shoot things, with guns. With Tessa and her new crush, P.G. Barbee.
Wren's knee-jerk reaction was to tell Tessa absolutely not, because Wren hated guns. She hated their ugliness, and she hated what they did. Also, she didn't like P.G.
Then again, she'd said no to so many things over the years, often based on someone else's opinion. Wasn't she supposed to be experiencing new things and coming to her own conclusions? Wasn't that what signing up for Project Unity was all about?
"C'mon," Tessa wheedled over the phone. "Who knows? Maybe you'll meet a cute guy."
"At a shooting range?"
"Why not?"
Wren highly doubted she'd meet an appealing guy at a shooting range. Besides, she was already interested in a guy, although she wasn't ready to tell Tessa.
She thought about Charlie Parker, who'd showed up randomly—or perhaps not so randomly?—in the ER yesterday. She didn't think he'd cut his thumb on purpose, or even known he would see her at Grady. But his hand had been warm in hers as she stitched him up, and he'd smelled like pine trees, and being with him hadn't felt random at all.
His eyes were the same shade of auburn as his tousled hair. She'd lost herself in them, because who had auburn eyes?
"So?" Tessa demanded.
"Huh?"
"The shooting range. What do you say?"
"Oh. Um, sure."
"But it'll be so—Wait. What?"
"It's something new to try. I want to try new things. Unless you think that's dumb?"
"No!" Tessa said quickly. "Wren! Yay! We are going to have so much fun!"
Wren wasn't sure, but she was willing to give it a chance.
"After you, ladies," P.G. said, using his body to hold open the door to the Sure Shot Shooting Range. In each hand he held a gun case. One contained multiple small pistols. The other case held a huge revolver, which took bullets bigger than Wren's thumb. Bigger than anyone's thumb.
The guns still made Wren feel queasy, but to P.G.'s credit, he'd spent hours teaching Wren and Tessa about gun safety before bringing them here. He took the task seriously, because it turned out that, when it came to guns, P.G. was very serious.
"You're kind of freaking me out," Tessa had said after P.G. explained, point by point, the differences between a handgun, a semiautomatic, and a revolver. "Are you ever going to smile?"
"I am smiling," he'd said without altering his expression. It was the closest thing to a joke he'd made all day.
Before the morning was over, Wren had learned what the different parts of a gun were called and how they worked. She'd learned where to put her trigger finger when holding a gun and where to point the barrel, and she'd learned that, with the exception of hunters, a gun owner's primary goal should be to prevent the loss of life.
"If you choose to bear arms, it should be so that you can defend yourself and those around you," P.G. had explained. "Are there gun nuts out there who do nothing but drink beer and shoot Bambi? Sure, but that's a stereotype. The majority of people who own firearms treat them with enormous respect."
Later, Tessa had waved one of the unloaded pistols around, pretending to be a bank robber, and P.G. had grabbed her wrist and gently but firmly guided her hand down.
"Watch it," he'd said.
"Sorry," Tessa had replied, crinkling her nose.
"Good," P.G. had said. "When you're dealing with weapons, there's no room for mistakes."
Tessa had uncrinkled her nose. "Okay," she'd said in a much smaller voice.
Wren, for one, had been impressed. She could tell that P.G. hadn't been trying to make Tessa feel bad. He'd just wanted her to know that she couldn't be silly if she had a gun in her hand. Oh, except P.G. didn't use the word gun. He preferred the term weapon or firearm.
At any rate, Wren felt surprisingly well-prepared as she followed Tessa into the shooting range. Then she made the mistake of looking around.
"Whoa, this is crazy," Tessa said.
"What you said," Wren replied. She took in the rows and racks and counters and shelves of guns, guns, and more guns before her. Also, ammunition. Also, gun safes, which looked like refrigerators. The safes had oversize price tags on them, which was how Wren knew what they were.
She flipped one of the tags over. HERE'S THE FIRE-RESISTANT GUN SAFE YOU'VE ALWAYS WANTED, AT A PATRIOT-SALE PRICE YOU CAN'T PASS UP! it read in thick black letters. HOLDS UP TO 24 LONG GUNS & PROTECTS THEM FROM FIRE FOR UP TO 30 MINUTES!
"Hey, I thought this was a shooting range," Tessa said, tugging on P.G.'s sleeve. She wasn't crinkling her nose, but she was back in flirty mode. "Is it a store, too? Do they sell shoes?" She grinned at P.G.'s consternation. "Kidding!"
Wren joined Tessa, who was standing by a glassed-in counter.
"Aw," Tessa said. She tapped on the glass. "Look, Wren, it's pink! It's a pink camouflage gun! I mean weapon! I mean firearm!"
"It's a Glock," P.G. said.
"It's so cute," Tessa cooed, and Wren caught P.G. giving the man behind the counter a look that said, "Sorry, dude." The man wore a bright orange vest and a bright orange hunting cap.
"It's pink," Wren said.
"Uh-huh," Tessa said.
"How can pink be camouflage?" Wren said.
"Well, look at it," Tessa said. "It is."
"Okay, yes. But where would pink be camouflage? At a baby shower?"
Tessa laughed. So did P.G. The man in the vest stayed impassive.
"This way," P.G. said, leading Tessa and Wren to another counter. This, it seemed, was where you rented a lane at the shooting range. It reminded Wren of bowling. So did the muffled but still-loud noise coming from behind a set of heavy doors.
"One lane, one hour," P.G. told the guy manning the register. Like the first man, he wore a bright orange vest and cap.
"They eighteen?" the guy in the hunting attire asked.
"Yep," P.G. said.
"They've had a safety class?"
"Yep," P.G. said. He handed the guy two twenties. "Thanks, bud. Have a good one." To Tessa and Wren, he said, "Grab a pair of safety glasses and ear protectors. Let's do this thing."
They had to go through a double-door system to get to the shooting lanes. The moment they passed through the second door, the sound of guns going off hit Wren hard. She flinched and put on her ear protectors.
P.G. said something else, but Wren couldn't make it out over the explosive bangs and pops.
"Huh?" Wren yelled.
He tapped his safety glasses, which he'd already put on, and which looked far cooler than the nerd-wear loaners Wren clutched.
"Oh!" Wren yelled. "Right!"
"Quit yelling!" Tessa yelled.
"What?"
"You're yelling!"
"Huh? Speak up!"
"Sweet baby Jesus," P.G. might have said, and Tessa smiled a smile that was just for Wren.
Wren slipped on her safety glasses. The frames dug into the sides of her head. P.G. passed her one of his handguns and showed her where to position herself in the lane. She was still uncertain how she felt about this whole experience, but here she was, so she lined up the sight on the bull's-eye target five yards away, then pulled the trigger. Since she was the one controlling it, the bang the gun made didn't make her flinch. And she hit it! She hit the target! Nowhere near the center circle, but still!
"I hit it!" she yelled. "Did you see? Look!"
"Very nice!" P.G. yelled. "Especially for a rookie!"
"Way to go!" Tessa yelled, slapping her a high five.
Wren shot the five remaining bullets in the chamber, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam. Her reaction confused her. There was a thrill to shooting a gun—she had to admit it. If there'd been more rounds in the chamber, she would have fired them all off, every last one. But wasn't that what made guns scary? The fact that shooting them was fun?
She returned the gun to P.G., who reloaded the clip and jammed it into place with the heel of his palm. Yes, he's hot, Wren admitted to Tessa with her eyes. He handed the gun to Tessa this time. He stood behind her, resting his hand on the small of her back.
"Spread your legs," he commanded. "Wider base equals a steadier shot!"
Tessa spread her legs. She was wearing a short, flippy skirt, and she looked sexy.
Wren thought of Charlie. How she'd held his hand. Touched his skin. How they'd sat so close, their legs almost touched. A warm flush spread through her body, completely distracting her.
Focus, she told herself. Focus on your friend, because she is why you are here, and she has a gun in her hands. Watch her shoot things!
Tessa pulled the trigger. The bullet zinged past the target, missing it entirely.
"You anticipated the recoil!" P.G. yelled. "That's what threw you off!"
"Huh?" Tessa yelled. She handed the gun to him. "You do it!"
P.G. took the gun, and his body language told Wren he'd done this many times before. He shut his left eye and extended his right arm as he fired the round. It almost tore off the upper right corner of the target, and his next shots finished the job. He made it look easy.
"Dude!" Tessa crowed. "You did worse than Wren!"
Wren shook her head. The holes from her shots were scattered, and one of her bullets had missed the target completely. P.G.'s bullets had landed in almost exactly the same spot, all on top of each other.
"He wasn't aiming for the center," Wren told her.
"What?" Tessa yelled.
Wren raised her voice. "His aim was dead-on!"
"What?!"
P.G. grabbed his second gun case—the one carrying the big gun—and put it on the shelf in front of him.
Guys from other lanes looked over. Not at Tessa. Not at Wren. All their attention was on the weapon.
"Smith and Wesson 500?" yelled a guy wearing a tattered Halo shirt.
P.G. nodded, and the guy yelled, "Now, that's a fucking gun."
"Your face is a fucking gun!" the Halo guy's friend yelled.
The Halo guy ignored him, as did P.G. He loaded the firearm and offered it to Tessa.
"Try this," he told her. "You keep it steady, and I guarantee you'll knock out that bull's-eye."
"You'll knock out the fucking target!" Halo Guy yelled.
"Your face'll knock out the fucking target!" his friend echoed.
Tessa hesitated, toeing the floor. Wren couldn't believe it. Was Tessa playacting? No way. That wasn't Tessa's style.
It was a very big gun. A very big revolver, to be precise, with an enormous cylinder that P.G. had already loaded.
Oh, for heaven's sake, Wren thought.
"I'll shoot it," she yelled, stepping forward. She took the revolver, and it was so heavy, she swayed.
"Aw, Christ, no," Halo Guy yelled. "Dude, that's gonna knock her flat on her ass!"
"Your face is gonna knock her flat on her ass!" his friend yelled.
"She can handle it," P.G. responded.
He helped guide her right hand around the grip and her left hand over her right hand. He adjusted the position of her thumbs while she rested her right finger on the slide. She wasn't supposed to put her finger on the trigger until she was ready to shoot.
"It's going to kick like a mule," P.G. said directly into her ear. He probably wanted to avoid the inevitable "Your face kicks like a mule!" but his proximity was unnerving. Wren thought of Charlie again. She bet Charlie could shoot a gun if he had to—but only if he had to. She didn't see him as the gun-shooting type.
P.G. patted her shoulder and stepped back. "Do it, girl."
"Your face'll—" began Halo Guy's friend.
Wren pulled the trigger—she had to pull hard—and a sonic boom knocked her three steps backward. The front of the barrel, which she'd aimed at the target, now pointed at the ceiling, and her right shoulder stung. She wasn't foolish enough to say so, but she could have sworn she saw flames shoot out.
"Dude!" Halo Guy cheered.
"Nice!" his buddy yelled.
"Your face is nice!" Wren yelled, adrenaline coursing through her. She was sure she was grinning foolishly.
"Check it out," P.G. said, jerking his chin at the target.
The hole in the target was as big as a fist. The bull's-eye was gone.
Afterward, they sat at an outdoor table at El Elegante. P.G. ordered a pitcher of margaritas, and the waiter asked to see their IDs. When only P.G. produced one—fake, of course—the waiter said, "Sorry, se?or. No pitcher for one person."
"You're killing my reputation," P.G. told the waiter, spreading his hands. "You know that, right?"
"Chips and salsa?" the waiter asked.
"Yeah, whatever, and a Corona for me," P.G. said. "No, Cokes all around." He made a fist and stuck it into the middle of the table. "Solidarity. Righteous."
Wren and Tessa glanced at each other, amused, and added their fists to his.
"Righteous," Wren said, making Tessa laugh.
Tessa could have gotten them margaritas if she tried. She'd done so before. Once, when Wren and Tessa were juniors, they'd gone to a Mexican restaurant and Tessa had offered the waiter a kiss for a frozen strawberry margarita. When he agreed, she'd offered him a second kiss for another. "For my friend," Tessa had said.
Wren had been embarrassed that the waiter didn't ask for a kiss from Wren herself. On the other hand, she wouldn't have kissed him if he had. She also didn't drink her free margarita. She drank with Tessa at parties sometimes, but if she'd gotten caught drinking in public, at a restaurant, her parents would have killed her.
Wren wondered if Tessa was keeping her "kiss for a margarita" trick in her pocket since P.G. was with them. Wren was pretty sure Tessa would be kissing P.G. before the end of the day. It was clear Tessa liked him, and Wren realized that she liked him, too. Liked him and trusted him, despite her initial reservations.
She tried to pinpoint when her opinion of him had flipped. She'd been impressed with his gun-safety training, but the real turning point had been at the shooting range, when he put his hand on Tessa's back to steady her. There'd been protectiveness in that gesture that went beyond his everyday slickness.
Now, at the restaurant, P.G. slipped back into his macho, stud-boy persona, but it didn't bother Wren the way it used to. The day was warm. Her Coke, when it arrived, was cold. Tessa and P.G. were both amusing in different ways, and it was easy to relax and talk and laugh.
First, they discussed their shooting range experience. Wren said "no thanks" to the idea of going back—not because she hadn't had a good time, but because she had. She didn't feel like explaining—she suspected P.G. wouldn't understand—but her solution to gun violence would be to make all guns everywhere disappear.
Tessa, on the other hand, said she was definitely up for another trip to the shooting range, adding, "And I really do want that cute pink Glock. Was that what it was called? A Glock?"
"You don't want a Glock," Wren argued.
"I do want a Glock," Tessa said. "I really, really do." But she flitted to the next topic before Wren could decide if she was kidding, proclaiming with the same level of intensity that she could not wait for their graduation ceremony the next morning.
They talked about whether they were supposed to show up in their robes or put their robes on at the school. They talked about P.G.'s graduation party the next evening, which P.G. assured them would indeed be epic. They gossiped about different kids in their graduating class, wondering who would become movie stars, who would be drug addicts, who would live in Atlanta forever, and who would move away as soon as they could.
Wren wondered about Charlie. She was curious about what his far-off future held, but she was more curious about his nearer future. Would he be at P.G.'s party?
She hoped so… unless he showed up with a girl, and the girl turned out to be his girlfriend. Did Charlie have a girlfriend? Might P.G. know?
"Hey, P.G.," she said. "Do you know a guy in our class named Charlie? Charlie Parker?"
Tessa's eyebrows shot up. She'd just grabbed a chip, and in her shock, she snapped it in half.
"Sure," P.G. said. "Why?"
"I don't know. I guess I'm kind of wondering if he's dating someone," Wren said.
"Oh my God," Tessa said. "Oh my God. This morning you told me you were up for new things. Is Charlie Parker one of those new things? Wren, this is huge!"
Wren tried to ignore her. "He hangs out a lot with this one girl, but maybe they're just friends. Her name's Destiny or Star or something like that. She's got long blond hair, and she, um, dresses kind of—"
"Skanky?" Tessa supplied. She clapped a hand over her mouth, then moved it to say, "Sorry, sorry. That was mean."
"Starrla Pettit," P.G. said, nodding. "Hangs out with the black kids."
Tessa whacked him. "Racist."
"What? She's talks black, too."
"Dude," Tessa said. "Owen, who happens to be our valedictorian, is black."
"And?" P.G. said.
"And he doesn't 'talk black,' does he?"
"Fine, Starrla talks ghetto," P.G. said. "Is that better?"
Tessa spoke loftily. "I don't know. And, plus, I would like to take this opportunity to point out that Starrla also hangs out with Charlie, who is Caucasian."
P.G. stretched out in his plastic patio chair, taking up space the way guys like P.G. did. "Starrla does hang out with Charlie. Yes. And I will take this opportunity to suggest, given her propensity to sit on Charlie's lap, that they're together, yeah."
"Oh," Wren said, disappointment plunging through her. Starrla sat on Charlie's lap? When? How often? Why?
"That doesn't mean they're a couple!" Tessa said.
"I've heard she's good in bed," P.G. said. He popped a chip into his mouth. "Just sayin'."
"Well, don't. Inappropriate and off topic," Tessa said. "P.G., are you positive Charlie and Starrla are together, or do you just think they are?"
P.G. shrugged. I've given you all I've got, the gesture said.
"Well, did Charlie say she was good in bed?" Tessa pressed.
"Please," Wren said, and her voice came from somewhere far away. She felt sorry for herself in the most ridiculous of ways. She didn't even know Charlie, not really, and yet picturing him with Starrla, with Starrla on his lap…
P.G. considered. "I'm going to say no on that one. It's more just general knowledge."
"See?" Tessa exclaimed. "That means it's all stupid gossip, which I'm equally guilty of, I know. But, Wren. That means—maybe—that she's had multiple boyfriends, if boyfriend is even the right word, which means Starrla probably isn't with Charlie, at least not exclusively. Or maybe she was once, but they're not together anymore." She grabbed Wren's forearm. "Wren, this is so exciting!"
Wren pried Tessa off and said, "Let's drop it. I was just curious."
"No, because you don't do 'curious,'" Tessa said. "Not when it comes to guys." Tessa turned to P.G. "Wren's never had a boyfriend. Her parents didn't let her. Well, there was this one guy in middle school, but that lasted all of—what, a month? So believe me, her asking about Charlie is exciting."
"Whoa, back up," P.G. said. He looked at Wren. "Your parents don't let you date?"
Wren quietly died.
Tessa winced and mouthed "sorry" and then launched into an explanation that only made things worse.
"No, it's not that," Tessa told P.G. "Well, it is, kind of, but also Wren decided when she was a freshman that she didn't want to get distracted by all that. Right, Wren?"
Wren pressed her fingers to her temples. Phrases from Tessa's monologue made their way into her consciousness: "… because she's brilliant… actually studies, unlike the rest of us… and her parents said that if she stayed single, basically, and didn't have sex during all of high school, then they'd—"
"Okay, that's enough," Wren said, cutting her off. Yes, Wren's parents had made a deal with her when she was a freshman, but it wasn't as dramatic as Tessa liked to make it seem. Or maybe it was. Wren had a hard time seeing things clearly when it came to her parents. But she hated to imagine what P.G. was thinking about all of this.
At any rate, she'd promised her parents she wouldn't get hung up on guys when she should be focusing on her grades, but the decision had been about showing good sense. It wasn't a virginity pledge.
P.G. popped a chip into his mouth. He didn't seem too concerned about Wren's love life one way or another. "So you haven't found the right guy," he said to Wren. "No big."
"That's what I say!" Tessa exclaimed. "But when she does, it'll be great. He'll be great—the guy—and she'll be great with him." She turned to Wren. "You are awesome, Wren. And when you finally fall for someone, it will mean something. Right?"
Tessa had a dab of guacamole in her hair. Just a dab at the bottom of one long strand. Wren frowned.
"Wren?" Tessa said, a note of alarm creeping in.
"I hope so," Wren replied. She made herself change expressions. "I mean, sure. Yes. Whatever you say."
Their waiter swung by and refilled P.G.'s Coke.
"Thanks, man," P.G. said.
Tessa immediately claimed his big plastic cup, found the straw with her mouth, and took a long sip, even though her own cup was still nearly full.
"Hey," P.G. protested.
Tessa kept sucking. She smiled from around the straw and batted her eyelashes, and P.G. raked a hand through his hair.
Wren knew the feeling. Tessa could be annoying and lovable at the same time. She was kind of like a Muppet.
"Don't worry," Wren told P.G. "You'll get used to it."
The tips of P.G.'s ears turned red. He tried, visibly, to reclaim his slick veneer, then gave up and laughed.
Wren laughed, too.
"What?" Tessa said. She glanced from Wren to P.G. "What's so funny?"
"Oh, Tessa, I'm going to miss you," Wren said.
"I'm going to miss you, too, you big dummy." She flicked Wren's arm. "But we have the whole summer ahead of us."
"You're right," Wren said.
"Anyway, sure, we're going our separate ways"—she didn't mention Guatemala in front of P.G.—"but none of us will be gone forever," she said. She put her hands on the table. "This is our home."
"El Elegante?" Wren said.
"Ha-ha. Atlanta's our home, because we grew up here, and that will never change."
"Do you really think that?" Wren said. She wasn't trying to mess with Tessa. She was honestly trying to figure out what she thought. What did home really mean, especially if a person chose, on purpose, to leave it? "You think that wherever you grow up, that's your home, by default?"
"Of course I think that," Tessa said. "Don't you?"
"I don't know."
Tessa stuck out her tongue, and Wren had a small epiphany. Tessa, who had always been there for Wren, needed Wren to be there for her, too. Maybe all that confidence Wren assumed Tessa had was a little bit of an act. Maybe, with graduation a day away, Tessa wanted the world to be big enough to move around in but not big enough to get lost in. Wren, on the other hand, secretly wanted to get lost, or was already lost, or something.
"Home is where the heart is," P.G. said expansively.
"Damn straight," Tessa replied. "Go big or go home."
"Home is where you can pee with the door open," P.G. added. He lifted a finger. "Wait, wait… die like a hero going home."
"Home wasn't built in a day," Tessa countered, and P.G. high-fived her.
Wren racked her brain for a home quote. "Oh!" she said. "There's no place like home?"
"Exactly!" Tessa said. She clapped. "Oh my God, I love that movie, and, yes, that's exactly what I'm trying to say. So let's click our ruby slippers and say it together." She held out her hands. Wren took one and P.G. took the other, but only P.G., looking amused, chanted along: "There's no place like home. There's no place like home. There's no place like home."
