That night, he had a special question for Eight-ball. He didn’t want anyone to overhear, so he took Eight-ball to the art gallery, where nobody was around except for a couple of stone lions and a ceramic Dalmatian.
“Eight-ball,” Jeremy whispered, “Should I ask Melissa on a date?”
“Concentrate and ask again,” Eight-ball answered.
“What’s there to concentrate on?” he asked. “She’s the hottest girl in the whole mall, and I think I’ve seen her looking at me a couple of times. I know she never speaks to me. But maybe she’s shy? Is that it, Eight-ball? Melissa’s just shy like me, isn’t she?”
“Very doubtful,” Eight-ball replied.
“You’re right, of course she isn’t,” Jeremy said. “She’s too pretty for that. Do you think…Eight-ball, do you think she likes me?”
“Don’t count on it,” Eight-ball said.
“You’re right, I shouldn’t count on it. I have to win her over. What if I ask her out to T.G.I. Friday’s? We could have a couple of drinks, some peanut butter granola bars…Do you think she’ll go along with that, Eight-ball?”
“Without a doubt,” Eight-ball assured him.
Jeremy made his move the next day, after dressing in the best clothes he could find—black shirt and black pants, since he knew she liked black, plus some expensive shoes that might impress her. He spritzed on some cologne as he passed through the fragrance department.
He was nervous as he stepped inside Hot Topic and approached the three tough-but-sexy girls in the window. None of them greeted him, or acknowledged him in any way, which made him even more nervous.
“Hi, Melissa,” he said to the beautiful blond girl. She didn’t respond. He wished her two friends would go away, but they didn’t show any sign of budging. “Listen…I know this is unexpected…and I’m just a…but…well, anyway, do you want to go on a dinner with me? A date, I mean? Like, tonight?”
Melissa just looked at him. Jeremy thought he heard her two friends snickering behind him, but when he looked they were completely quiet again, their faces blank.
“Are you turning me down?” Jeremy asked. She didn’t answer. “So, can I pick you up at eight, then?”
Jeremy thought he saw the shadow of a smile about to form on her lips. Her friends giggled again, and when he turned to face them the two goth girls seemed to be giving him a friendlier look.
His heart skipped. He had a date.
They had drinks in a booth at T.G.I. Friday’s. Melissa didn’t touch her protein bar, but he’d heard that women often didn’t eat on first dates. She didn’t have much to say, either, but she watched him attentively while he told her about his life before The Cough and the girl he’d had a crush on in high school (Misty Townsend, who ended up marrying Jason Pilcher, the jerk, and together they’d bought the biggest house in Jeremy’s mom’s neighborhood).
After dinner, they went for a stroll through the forest of artificial ferns at the food court, and on down to the big central water fountain. Jeremy pushed her in a shopping cart so she didn’t have to walk. She seemed to want him to handle most of the conversation, and Jeremy struggled for more things to talk about. Fortunately she never yawned, or said anything about ending their date.
When they reached the Macy’s, Jeremy took a chance and invited her in. While she didn’t exactly say “yes” or “no,” he thought she had a sly, seductive look on her face.
He showed her around the Macy’s, and eventually took her to his bed. She didn’t resist as he kissed her, laid her down, and slowly undressed her. Then Jeremy took off his clothes and climbed into bed beside her.
“I’ve never done this before,” he whispered.
She didn’t seem to mind.
He felt sure everyone was talking about it the next day. Ivana and Marla wanted all the details, of course, so they could gossip with their friends in Ladies’ Professional Wear. Gramps just winked when Jeremy walked by.
Melissa, happily, seemed content to stick around over the following days and weeks (Jeremy had lost track of time altogether, except for the steady pulse of day and night, which he only noticed because he had to use electric lanterns or light candles). Melissa never said a word about going back to Hot Topic. Jeremy found her lovemaking a little stiff and unresponsive, but he didn’t have much experience with which to compare it.
They went on little trips around the mall. He used a generator to fuel a projector in the multiplex theater, and they made out together in the darkened back row. Melissa wasn’t a big walker. She liked for Jeremy to carry her in his arms or roll her around in the cart. As a gift to her, he spray painted her cart black and decorated it with skulls and spikes from the Hot Topic. He thought she liked that, though she never really mentioned it.
When some more time had passed, he took Eight-ball back to the art gallery, and he asked The Question.
“Eight-ball.” Jeremy paused to take a deep breath. “Do you think I should ask Melissa to marry me?”
He gave Eight-ball a shake.
“Concentrate and ask again.”
“Why do you always say that about her?” Jeremy snapped. “We love each other, Eight-ball. We should get married, shouldn’t we?”
“Ask again later,” Eight answered.
Jeremy shook his Eight-ball as hard as he could. “What is wrong with you? Are you jealous of her?”
“Don’t count on it,” Eight-ball replied.
“That’s it, isn’t it?” Jeremy held Eight-ball in front of his face and stared into the circular window, the iris of Eight-ball’s eye. “I’m going to marry her whether you like it or not. I’m only asking one more time: do you think I should marry Melissa? And if you say ‘no’ I’ll smash you against that stupid stone lion over there.”
“Better not tell you now,” Eight-ball said.
“Should I propose or not?” Jeremy gave Eight-ball a furious shake.
“My sources say no.”
“Go to hell!” Jeremy shouted. Following through on his promise, he bashed Eight-ball against the ear of a snarling stone lion. Eight-ball’s shell cracked, and blue liquid gushed like blood between Jeremy’s fingers. It smelled like alcohol.
He swung Eight-ball again. Half the shell broke away and thumped to the floor at Jeremy’s feet, and blue alcohol splashed his t-shirt, soaking him. A twenty-sided die, Eight-ball’s brain, skipped out of the art gallery and rolled across the second-floor walkway. He watched it spin away under the banister and out of sight, and heard it bounce across the food court below.
“I’m making my own choices from now on,” Jeremy said, and he flung aside the remaining broken plastic chunk of Eight-ball.
He started to leave, but then he noticed the blue alcohol soaking his hands and shirt. Eight-ball’s blood. He couldn’t let anyone see him like this, or they’d know he was guilty of murder.
He gathered the broken pieces of Eight-ball and stuffed them back into the Crown Royal bag. Then he stripped off his t-shirt, wiped his hands on it, and tossed it in into one of the large trash bins out on the main walkway, next to a bench.
There was one missing piece: Eight-ball’s brain. If somebody found that, there could be questions.
He walked down the escalator to the food court, where he checked everywhere, under chairs and tables, but couldn’t find the twenty-sided die. Then he noticed someone was watching him—a clown, standing just outside McDonald’s. The clown was smiling and waving at him.
“Oh, hi, Ronald,” Jeremy said. “I’m just, um, looking for something.”
The clown just smiled at him. Jeremy wondered if he’d seen Eight-ball’s brain skip through here, but he certainly wasn’t going to ask. Jeremy looked suspicious enough, searching frantically around the food court while shirtless.