Paper Towns — Chapter no 25

25.

The clock was always punishing, but feeling like I was closer to

unraveling the knots made time seem to stop entirely on Tuesday. We’d all

decided to go to the minimall right after school, and the waiting was

unbearable. When the bell finally rang for the end of English, I raced

downstairs and was almost out the door when I realized we couldn’t leave

until Ben and Radar finished band practice. I sat down outside the band

room and took a personal pizza wrapped in napkins from my backpack,

where I’d had it since lunch. I was through the first quarter when Lacey

Pemberton sat down next to me. I offered her a piece. She declined.

We talked about Margo, of course. The hole we had in common. “What

I need to figure out,” I said, rubbing pizza grease onto my jeans, “is a place.

But I don’t even know if I’m close with the pseudovisions. Sometimes I

think we’re just entirely off track.”

“Yeah, I don’t know. Honestly, everything else aside, I like finding stuff

out about her. I mean, that I didn’t know before. I had no idea who she

really was. I honestly never thought of her as anything but my crazy

beautiful friend who does all the crazy beautiful things.”

“Right, but she didn’t come up with these things on the fly,” I said. “I

mean, all of her adventures had a certain . . . I don’t know.”

“Elegance,” Lacey said. “She is the only person I know who’s not, like,

grown up who has total elegance.”

“Yeah.”

“So it’s hard to imagine her in some gross unlit dusty room.”

“Yeah,” I said. “With rats.”

Lacey pulled her knees to her chest and assumed the fetal position. “Ick.

That’s so not Margo.”

Somehow Lacey got shotgun, although she was the shortest of us. Ben was

driving. I sighed quite loudly as Radar, seated next to me, pulled out his

handheld and started working on Omnictionary.

“Just deleting vandalism on the Chuck Norris page,” he said. “For

instance, while I do think Chuck Norris specializes in the roundhouse kick,

I don’t think it’s accurate to say, ‘Chuck Norris’s tears can cure cancer, but

unfortunately he has never cried.’ Anyway, vandalism-deletion only takes

like four percent of my brain.”

I understood Radar was trying to make me laugh, but I only wanted to

talk about one thing. “I’m not convinced she’s in a pseudovision. Maybe

that’s not even what she meant by ‘paper towns,’ you know? There are so

many place hints, but nothing specific.”

Radar looked up for a second and then back down at the screen.

“Personally, I think she’s far away, doing some ridiculous roadside

attraction tour that she wrongly thinks she left enough clues to explain. So I

think she’s currently in, like, Omaha, Nebraska, visiting the world’s largest

ball of stamps, or in Minnesota checking out the world’s largest ball of

twine.”

With a glance into the rearview mirror, Ben said, “So you think that

Margo is on a national tour in search of various World’s Largest Balls?”

Radar nodded.

“Well,” Ben went on, “someone should just tell her to come on home,

because she can find the world’s largest balls right here in Orlando, Florida.

They’re located in a special display case known as ‘my scrotum.’”

Radar laughed, and Ben continued. “I mean, seriously. My balls are so

big that when you order french fries from McDonald’s, you can choose one

of four sizes: small, medium, large, and my balls.”

Lacey cut her eyes at Ben and said, “Not. Appropriate.”

“Sorry,” Ben mumbled. “I think she’s in Orlando,” he said. “Watching

us look. And watching her parents not look.”

“I’m still for New York,” Lacey said.

“All still possible,” I said. A Margo for each of us—and each more

mirror than window.

The minimall looked as it had a couple days before. Ben parked, and I took

them through the push-open door to the office. Once everyone was inside, I

said softly, “Don’t turn on the flashlight yet. Give your eyes a chance to

adjust.” I felt fingernails dig at my forearm. I whispered, “It’s okay, Lace.”

“Whoops,” she said. “Wrong arm.” She’d been searching, I realized, for

Ben.

Slowly, the room came into a hazy gray focus. I could see the desks

lined up, still waiting for workers. I turned on my flashlight, and then

everyone else turned theirs on as well. Ben and Lacey stayed together,

walking toward the Troll Hole to explore the other rooms. Radar walked

with me to Margo’s desk. He knelt down to look closely at the paper

calendar frozen on June.

I was leaning in next to him when I heard fast footsteps coming toward

us.

“People,” Ben whispered urgently. He ducked down behind Margo’s

desk, pulling Lacey with him.

“What? Where?”

“Next room!” he said. “Wearing masks. Official-looking. Gotta go.”

Radar shone his flashlight in the direction of the Troll Hole but Ben

knocked it down forcefully. “We. Have. To. Get. Out. Of. Here.” Lacey was

looking up at me, big-eyed and probably a little bit pissed off that I’d falsely

promised her safety.

“Okay,” I whispered. “Okay, everybody out, through the door. Very

cool, very quick.” I had just started to walk when I heard a booming voice

shout, “WHO GOES THERE!”

Shit. “Um,” I said, “we’re just visiting.” What an outlandishly lame

thing to say. Through the Troll Hole, a white light blinded me. It might have

been God Himself.

“What are your intentions?” The voice had a slight faked Britishness to

it.

I watched Ben stand up next to me. It felt good not to be alone. “We’re

here investigating a disappearance,” he said with great confidence. “We

weren’t going to break anything.” The light snapped off, and I blinked away

the blindness until I saw three figures, each wearing jeans, a T-shirt, and a

mask with two circular filters. One of them pulled the mask up to his

forehead and looked at us. I recognized the goatee and flat, wide mouth.

“Gus?” asked Lacey. She stood up. The SunTrust security guard.

“Lacey Pemberton. Jesus. What are you doing here? With no mask?

This place has a ton of asbestos.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Exploring,” he said. Somehow Ben was emboldened with enough

confidence to walk up to the other guys and offer handshakes. They

introduced themselves as Ace and the Carpenter. I would venture to guess

that these were pseudonyms.

We pulled around some rolling desk chairs and sat in an approximate

circle. “Did you guys break the particleboard?” Gus asked.

“Well, I did,” Ben explained.

“We taped that up because we didn’t want anyone else in. If people can

see a way in from the road, you get a lot of people coming in who don’t

know shit about exploring. Bums and crack addicts and everything.”

I stepped forward toward them and said, “So, you, uh, knew that Margo

came here?”

Before Gus answered, Ace spoke through the mask. His voice was

slightly modulated but easy to understand. “Man, Margo was here all the

damned time. We only come here a few times a year; it’s got asbestos, and

anyway, it’s not even that good. But we probably saw her, like, what, like

more than half the time we came here in the last couple years. She was hot,

huh?”

“Was?” asked Lacey pointedly.

“She ran away, right?”

“What do you know about that?” Lacey asked.

“Nothing, Jesus. I saw Margo with him,” Gus said, nodding toward me,

“a couple weeks ago. And then I heard that she ran away. It occurred to me

a few days later she might be here, so we visited.”

“I never got why she liked this place so much. There’s not much here,”

said the Carpenter. “It’s not great exploring.”

“What do you mean exploring?” Lacey asked Gus.

“Urban exploring. We enter abandoned buildings, explore them,

photograph them. We take nothing; we leave nothing. We’re just

observers.”

“It’s a hobby,” said Ace. “Gus used to let Margo tag along on exploring

trips when we were still in school.”

“She had a great eye, even though she was only, like, thirteen,” Gus

said. “She could figure a way into anywhere. It was just occasional back

then, but now we go out like three times a week. There’s places all over.

There’s an abandoned mental hospital over in Clearwater. It’s amazing. You

can see where they strapped down the crazies and gave them electroshock.

And there’s an old jail out west of here. But she wasn’t really into it. She

liked to break into the places, but then she just wanted to stay.”

“Yeah, God that was annoying,” added Ace.

The Carpenter said, “She wouldn’t even, like, take pictures. Or run

around and find stuff. She just wanted to go inside and, like, sit. Remember,

she had that black notebook? And she would just sit in the corner and write,

like she was in her house, doing homework or something.”

“Honestly,” Gus said, “she never really got what it’s all about. The

adventure. She seemed pretty depressed, actually.”

I wanted to let them keep talking, because I figured everything they said

would help me imagine Margo. But all of a sudden, Lacey stood up and

kicked her chair behind her. “And you never thought to ask her about how

she was pretty depressed actually? Or why she hung out in these sketch-ass

places? That never bothered you?” She was standing above him now,

shouting, and he stood up, too, half a foot taller than her, and then the

Carpenter said, “Jesus, somebody calm that bitch down.”

“Oh no you didn’t!” Ben yelled, and before I even knew what was going

on, Ben tackled the Carpenter, who fell awkwardly out of his chair onto his

shoulder. Ben straddled the guy and started pounding on him, furiously and

awkwardly smacking and punching his mask, shouting, “SHE’S NOT THE

BITCH, YOU ARE!” I scrambled up and grabbed one of Ben’s arms as

Radar grabbed the other. We pulled him away, but he was still shouting, “I

have a lot of anger right now! I was enjoying punching the guy! I want to

go back to punching him!”

“Ben,” I said, trying to sound calm, trying to sound like my mom. “Ben,

it’s okay. You made your point.”

Gus and Ace picked up the Carpenter, and Gus said, “Jesus Christ,

we’re getting out of here, okay? It’s all yours.”

Ace picked up their camera equipment, and they hustled out the back

door. Lacey started to explain to me how she knew him, saying, “He was a

senior when we were fr—.” But I waved it off. None of it mattered anyway.

Radar knew what mattered. He returned immediately to the calendar, his

eyes an inch away from the paper. “I don’t think anything was written on

the May page,” he says. “The paper is pretty thin and I can’t see any marks.

But it’s impossible to say for sure.” He went off to search for more clues,

and I saw Lacey’s and Ben’s flashlights dipping as they went through a

Troll Hole, but I just stood there in the office, imagining her. I thought of

her following these guys, four years older than her, into abandoned

buildings. That was Margo as I’d seen her. But then, inside the buildings,

she is not the Margo I’d always imagined. While everyone else walks off to

explore and take pictures and bounce around the walls, Margo sits on the

floor, writing something.

From next door, Ben shouted, “Q! We got something!”

I wiped sweat from my face with both sleeves and used Margo’s desk to

pull myself up. I walked across the room, ducked through the Troll Hole,

and headed toward the three flashlights scanning the wall above the rolled-

up carpet.

“Look,” Ben said, using the beam to draw a square on the wall. “You

know those little holes you mentioned?”

“Yeah?”

“They had to have been mementos tacked up there. Postcards or

pictures, we think, from the spacing of the holes. Which maybe she took

with her,” Ben said.

“Yeah, maybe,” I said. “I wish we could find that notebook Gus was

talking about.”

“Yeah, when he said that, I remembered that notebook,” Lacey said, the

beam of my flashlight lighting up only her legs. “She had one with her all

the time. I never saw her write in it, but I just figured it was like a day

planner or whatever. God, I never asked about it. I get pissed at Gus, who

wasn’t even her friend. But what did I ever ask her?”

“She wouldn’t have answered anyway,” I said. It was dishonest to act

like Margo hadn’t participated in her own obfuscation.

We walked around for another hour, and just when I felt sure the trip had

been a waste, my flashlight happened over the subdivision brochures that

had been built into a house of cards when we first came here. One of the

brochures was for Grovepoint Acres. My breath caught as I spread out the

other brochures. I jogged to my backpack by the door and came back with a

pen and a notebook and wrote down the names of all the advertised

subdivisions. I recognized one immediately: Collier Farms—one of the two

pseudovisions on my list I hadn’t yet visited. I finished copying the

subdivision names and returned my notebook to my backpack. Call me

selfish, but if I found her, I wanted it to be alone.