Perfect Fifths_ A Jessica Darling Novel - Megan McCafferty [30]
“So, Sylvia,” Jessica says, leaning in to the counter. “Can you point the way to the closest bar?”
fifteen
Marcus inhales. Clasps his hands together, swings them over his head and pushes them palms-up toward the ceiling. He exhales.
A high school senior in her first-choice college hoodie, sweatpants, and Sherpa boots giggles all over herself as she snaps pictures of Marcus on her camera-phone.
Marcus drops his entwined hands behind his neck and squeezes the sides of his head with his jutting elbows. He inhales again.
The girl texts a friend: hott
His hands break free. He exhales again.
The friend replies: iwhi
He shakes his hands out in front of him chest-high, his fingers all blurry from the flapping. Inhales once more.
The girl texts back: omfg ita
If Natty were here, he would tell Marcus to stop swinging his dick around like a lasso.
“I’m just stretching,” Marcus would say.
“The jailbait would say otherwise,” Natty would argue. “This is classic lasso-dicking.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Yes, it is.” And then Natty would smile wickedly and say, “Didn’t your anthropology professor teach you anything?”
In fact, she did. She lectured Marcus about all sorts of flamboyant courtship displays throughout the animal kingdom. The Argentine lake duck swings its long, thin penis to lasso females cowboy-style. Frigate birds inflate their throat sacks into bright red heart-shaped balloons. Hippos take huge, pungent dumps, then twirl their tails helicopter-style to spread the scent. Moose soak their beards in urine. Bower birds build elaborate maypole towers out of twigs and twine. Painted turtles grow out their toenail claws, then swim laps to show off the wake. Hedgehogs run in frenetic circles. Prairie dogs square-dance. Frogs sing. Elks bugle. Many primates—with whom humans share 98 percent of their DNA—flash engorged rainbow-colored genitals.
Marcus Flutie stretches.
“Lasso dick.”
Whenever Natty said it, Marcus would punch him in the chest much harder than necessary if it were just a meaningless joke. The truth is, despite his denials, Marcus knows his poses attract more attention than standing still. Whether he assumes these yogic positions in public in spite of or because of this knowledge is something not even Marcus can answer. But he senses that he’s being watched right now. The teenage girl has shuffled away, having been summoned by her parents. But perhaps Jonelle is keeping her eye on him, readying herself to return under the pretense of admonishing him for his rudeness—how could you just ignore me like that?—when in reality, her rehearsed hostility is just an excuse to talk to him again.
“Pardon me,” says a commanding male voice.
Marcus turns to face two Port Authority policemen who had been watching him. With his salt-and-pepper mustache and sandbagged eyes, the first officer appears older than he really is. Marcus would be surprised to hear that he’s still a few decades from retirement and is only a few years older than his brother, Hugo, who just turned thirty. The second officer is shorter and thick with overcompensatory muscles, especially around the neck. He’s new to the beat, still passionate about his job, and will pounce if provoked. He reminds Marcus of a pit bull trained to kill.
“Is there a problem, Officers?” Marcus looks them both briefly in the eye before settling his gaze on the more coolheaded-looking officer.
“We were going to ask you the same question,” the pit bull says with a menacing smile that warns, I will Tase you if I have to. He narrows his eyes, trying to size Marcus up.
Have I been acting suspiciously? Marcus wonders. Or did Jonelle report me to the police as revenge for rebuffing her advances?