Saint Anything(64)
Author: Sarah Dessen

“It’s not supposed to be,” he told me. “We run a special on Thursdays. The ad’s supposed to say if you buy a cheese pizza and knots, you get a pizza and order of knots for free. But about a year ago, the copy for the ad got messed up. Badly.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning,” he continued, turning onto a side road, “they left off the first part and only printed the second.”

I had to think for a minute. “So it said you could get a large pizza and a side of knots for free? No purchase required?”

“Yup.”

That was a lot of dough. Literally and figuratively. “How many were given out?”

“They were sent in the mail,” he replied. “To every listed address in city limits.”

“Oh, my God,” I said. “Your dad must have been freaking.”

“He was.” He sat back, running a hand over the wheel. “Most people would have just copped to the error and not accepted them. But he’s not like that, so he still honors them. Although it makes him really grumpy.”

That explained why the underlining for ALLCOUP was several shades darker than the word above it. “So this has been going on for a year?”

“We don’t get many anymore. But there are a few people who, once they realized the error, made a point of collecting as many as they could get their hands on.”

“And they fit a type,” I said, finally getting it.

He nodded. Then he waited.

I thought for a moment. “They’re smart. Resourceful. Plus, they had time to collect coupons and could keep them organized. That’s a lot to do for free pizza, though, so they’re either broke or young. Most likely both.”

We were approaching a street of apartment complexes now. “Anything else?” Mac asked me.

“Boys,” I told him.

“What’s your reasoning there?”

“I don’t have any. It’s just a hunch.”

My second of the day, so far. But this one I felt less confident about than guessing the source of Layla’s issue. When Mac got out with me, I assumed it was not only because this was an apartment, to which we always went together, but also because he wanted to see me get one wrong for once.

We walked up two flights to a door with music thumping behind it, and he knocked. A moment later it was opened by a skinny guy, a college student most likely, wearing a plaid shirt, jeans, and a headset.

“Seaside Pizza,” Mac said, his voice flat. “You placed an order?”

“We did,” the guy said. He glanced over his shoulder to the room behind him, where I could see two other guys on a couch, also in headsets, video game controllers in their hands. “And what was the total on that?”

“You have coupons?”

The guy’s smile broadened. “You need to see them?”

“Yeah,” Mac said. “I do.”

He turned, walking over to a table that was piled with books, takeout containers, and chargers plugged in but not charging anything. After moving a few things around, he returned.

“Here you go.” He smiled. “I think you’ll see that says we can get two pizzas and two garlic knots for free from your fine establishment.”

“Pizza,” one of the guys, still focused on the TV, said in a robotic voice.

“Free pizza,” his friend in front of us said. Then he looked at me. “It just tastes better, you know?”

I didn’t say anything, just stood there as Mac examined the coupons—back and front—and then pocketed them. When he nodded at me, I handed over the food. “That’s twenty-four seventy-two at full price,” I told him, hoping at least he would tip.

“I know!” he said gleefully. “It’s great. Thanks!”

And then he shut the door. I was so surprised, I just stood there looking at the 2B on it, but Mac was already walking away. As I caught up with him, I said, “I amend my earlier assessment. They are also assholes.”

“Agreed.” He looked so annoyed, I knew to stay quiet as we started across the lot toward the truck. He pulled out his phone, glancing at it. “No deliveries on deck. I need a break. Let’s do something.”

“What did you have in mind?” I asked, pulling my door open.

“We’re near your neighborhood,” he replied. “Want to show me that sinkhole?”

I thought of my brother on the phone, how he’d surprised me by his reaction when I’d brought this up. Like the fact that he saw the story differently—him as stupid, not superhuman—made it seem like maybe it hadn’t happened at all. “Sure,” I said. “Let’s go.”

The path was more narrow than I recalled, and overgrown enough in a few places that I had to stop and bend branches back to get through. It was weird to be in the lead, as I’d always followed Peyton. After about a quarter mile, though, the woods opened up, and Mac fell in beside me. As we climbed a ridge, a hawk soaring over us, he took my hand.

His palm was warm, and my own felt small within it. Protected. We didn’t talk, the only sounds our footsteps as they crunched over leaves and the occasional whisper of trees, swaying in the breeze. I thought of all those other afternoons, walking this same path, and how different it felt now, for so many reasons.

“It should be up here somewhere,” I told him as we climbed another hill. “I remember this clear-cut.”

“Looks like they were going to build here.”

“Maybe. Or just cut them for logging.” We navigated around a bunch of stumps covered with moss and lichen. A couple of beer bottles, half-filled with dirty rainwater, sat against one of them. And then, just when I was wondering if I truly had imagined everything, I saw it, just ahead: a place where the ground opened up, wide like a mouth. We walked right up to the edge.

It wasn’t as vast as I remembered, and no log lay across it. But there was something familiar, in the exposed roots, the layer of red clay halfway down, the suddenness of its appearance, so unexpected.

“I guess it’s not that impressive,” I said to Mac. “Not like the carousel.”

“I wouldn’t want to walk across it, though.”

I smiled. “When Peyton did that, my heart was in my throat. I was sure he was going to fall and die and I’d have to go home and tell my mom.”

Mac leaned over a bit more, peering down. “But he didn’t.”

“Nope.” I looked up at the blue sky over our heads. “I think he had his own saint protecting him back then. Is there one for morons taking stupid risks in the woods?”