Alicia and me are eight, and there is a new girl named Karen in our third grade class. She’s skinny and has red hair and freckles. Her eyelashes are the orange color of SpaghettiOs.
“Karen wants to know where your father is,” Alicia says to me in the cafeteria. Karen nods.
“You know,” I say, “he’s dead.” I take a gulp of my chocolate milk.
“When did he die?” Karen says. It’s the first time she’s talked to me directly, even though she’s been in our class for two weeks already and follows Alicia around like a puppy.
“When I was a baby.”
“What did he die from?” Alicia says.
“Want to see something?” I say. I turn my eyelids inside out and roll my eyes up into my head. I make snarfing noises.
“Big deal,” Alicia says. Karen just looks disgusted.
“Let’s see you do it,” I say.
“So you don’t remember what he looks like or anything?” Alicia says.
“I told you this a million times,” I say. I take a big mouthful of chicken and rice and peas and chew it. Then I open my mouth so Alicia and Karen can see. “See food,” I say. “Seafood. Get it?”
“You’re so gross,” Karen says, wrinkling her nose.
“And you’re a stupid idiot,” I say. I am mad. I hate her.
“See, I told you,” Karen says to Alicia. “I bet his father’s not dead. I bet he never had a father.”
“Liar!” I say.
“He’s a bastard,” Karen says, again to Alicia. She turns to me. “You’re a bastard,” she says, “and your mother’s on welfare.” Her mouth is closed in a tight little smile, like she’s sucking on a lemon slice.
“Liar liar liar liar liar liar liar,” I yell. Everyone is looking at me, so I sit down.
“Come on,” she says to Alicia. They stand up, grab their trays, and start to walk away. I pick up a piece of chicken and put it in my plastic spoon. I aim carefully, and the chicken hits Karen smack on the side of her skinny neck.
“Hey!” she says. Now she’s mad. I’m glad to see there’s a little red mark where the chicken hit her.
And Alicia turns and gives me The Look.
“Hey, Billiams,” Jason shouts from his locker down the row. “You in a coma or something?”
I raise my head from where it’s leaning on the locker door. The cold metal is all fogged where I was breathing on it. Jason snickers, and the wetness disappears, leaving no mark.
Of course I believe it when I hear that Jason asked Alicia out, but I still can’t believe she said yes. It must be because he’s so popular and she wants to be popular, too. She told me that once.
So I’m following them. Who knows what he might try to do? She might need my help.
They go to the movies, some stupid movie. I don’t know which one, I barely watch it, but I think it is Terminator 2. Alicia is squealing at the scary parts and squeezing Jason’s arm. I can’t believe she’s squealing! I want to jump up from behind them, I want to yell, get real, who’re you kidding? Alicia is definitely not the squealing type.
After the movie, they go to Baskin-Robbins for ice cream. I can’t go in because they’ll see me, but I can watch them through the big glass window from across the street. Alicia is walking up and down the store, staring at all the different flavors like she can’t make up her mind what to get. More lies. Whenever we go to Baskin-Robbins, Alicia gets Rocky Road. She always gets Rocky Road.
When they finally come out of the store, I see which flavor she picked. Strawberry.
They cross the street and sit on a bench right in front of the tree I’m hiding behind. They’re so close I can almost touch them.
“So,” Jason says, like he couldn’t care less, “you’re not going out with anyone, are you?”
“No,” Alicia says. “Why?” Her voice is breathy and high. I’ve never heard her sound like this before.
“I don’t know,” Jason says. “I sort of thought, like, maybe you and Billiams...”
“Oh no,” Alicia says, very fast. “He’s just a friend.”
Jason snorts. “How could you even be friends with him? He’s such a dweeb!”
I wait to hear what Alicia says. My heart feels like it’s being squeezed by a giant fist.
She laughs her nasty laugh. “I don’t know. I’ve known him forever — his mother used to come in to clean for us sometimes, and she always brought him with her. I mean, I’d never go out with him. I guess I feel sorry for him, you know? At least I used to.” She lowers her voice. “You know what he did to me a couple of weeks ago?” And she tells him about what happened in my room and how disgusting it was. They both laugh about it like it’s the funniest joke they’ve ever heard.
I stop listening. My heart is exploding, and I can’t breathe. All I can think is I can’t believe it. This is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.
Until he kisses her.
He. Kisses. Her.
Right out on Northern Boulevard! I almost run to her then, no matter what she said about me. To help. To pull him off her, that pervert, that sex maniac.
And then.
She’s kissing him back.
All I can do is stand there. The kiss goes on and on. It will never end. People are looking at them, old people are looking at Alicia and Jason and then at each other, smiling. They are happy for them. One old lady points to Alicia’s ice cream cone, which she still holds in her hand. It drips slowly onto the ground.
And then I know what to do. What I have to do.
Even though it’s almost eight thirty and the sun went down half an hour ago, it’s still really warm out, and I’m sweating. I don’t mind admitting that I’m nervous, I’m really nervous, which just makes me sweat even more.
The thing is, I called Alicia yesterday and apologized to her. I begged her, really begged her, to forgive me for what I did that day in my bedroom. She finally gave in. I didn’t think she would at first, but she finally did. She even agreed to meet me at our special place down by the bay.
I bought her a present. Alicia loves presents.
God, it’s hot. My hands are all slippery. I wipe them on the sides of my pants, and suddenly Alicia’s here, walking toward me. She’s so pretty that I smile at her and for a second I almost forget. I almost forget, and then I remember.
What I remember is this:
She doesn’t love me. She’ll never marry me. She loves Jason.
Alicia opens the box with the scarf in it and smiles at me.
I almost forget, then remember.
The secret is to cut off their air before they know what’s happening, before they have a chance to scratch you.
Once I remember that, the rest is easy.
Strangle, strangle.
Crazy Carlos Picks a Winner
by Susan J. Pethick
The last strains of “Paperback Writer” were fading out as I waited for “Crazy” Carlos Rubio to announce the afternoon’s thousand dollar winner on KRZY. I felt like a thirteen-year-old, staring at the cheap speakers like they held the secrets of the universe, but hey, a thousand bucks is a thousand bucks. Besides, I needed the money.
To say it had been a slow couple of months was to say the Hundred Years’ War had been a bit long. It was the fifteenth already, and I hadn’t paid anything but the mortgage; Rose City Electric was threatening to cut off my power, and my relationship with the local 7-Eleven was now on a cash-only basis. That’s the problem with self-employment. It can quickly turn into self-unemployment. I tweaked the receiver and homed in on 98.7 FM.
“This is Carlos-the-rube Rubio, your crazy DJ on KRZY. How crazy am I?”