(You) Set Me on Fire

by Mariko Tamaki

  “Problem,” I joked low.

  Shar took a loud straw-slurping sip of her drink, digging through the ice a bit. “A pretty fucking serious problem, Allison.”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t know anyone who’s ever been hit by a guy before I guess.”

  “Welcome to adulthood. This stuff happens, Allison. It happens to everyone.”

  Outside the window, oatmeal-sized snowflakes were starting to fall. An old man sitting three tables over

  started singing along with the music on the jukebox, which I only then just noticed.

  “Mirror in the bathroom …”

  Shar shook up the ice in her drink and stared out the window.

  “You want another drink?” I asked.

  “Clearly.”

  I bought two more drinks, then two more.

  A little after midnight, Shar leaned forward and put her chin on the table, reaching her tongue out to carefully poke at the sore spot on her lip, not unlike the way a kid pokes at the hole where a tooth has fallen out.

  She chuckled. Her eyes flashed up toward the ceiling. “Rick Rick Rick Rick Rick …”

  “Who is Rick?”

  “Nooooo oooonnnnne.”

  “Is he the guy who hit you—is Rick?” My head swirled with successive drinks.

  Sitting up, Shar waved her hands frantically in front of her face, like someone being attacked by a herd of invisible bees. “ARG! Forget it! Forget I said his name. Okay, no more saying his fucking name.”

  “Right. Just. Okay. But is this, um, the guy who beat you up before?”

  “Yeah.” Snapping up in her seat, Shar slammed her hand on the table, jostling our drinks into spilling their guts. “What? Yes. Wait. I told you about him?”

  “You said something. Last month.”

  “Okay. No more talking about R— THE GUY.”

  By two a.m., the crabby bouncer-type in a black leather vest and a belt made of bullets had poured us out onto the streets. Shar grabbed my arm.

  “Oh, Sonny. What oh what are we going to do to ke particular, cep ourselves amused THIS term?”

  Overhead, the streetlights swarmed like low-lit comets.

  Her hair smelled like lavender. Like the smell you’d smell if you were lying in a field of lavender on a sunny day. Or something. “Whatever you want,” I said.

  At the dorm, in the elevator on the way up, Shar pinned me to the wall, pushed a finger in my chest.

  “YOU,” she said, “NEVER called. All vacation. HA!”

  “What?” I gasped. Her lips were dizzyingly close as she leaned in.

  “Whatever.” And just like that, she pushed away from me. Yawned. “Come get me tomorrow. I’m gonna need a greasy breakfast.”

  “Okay.”

  “I knew that sweater would look awesome. Night.”

  abbed her in a

  TEN

  Things that change

  Second term. Introduction to Women’s Studies. Departmental Survey of English Literature. Cultural Studies (Part II). East Asian History (Part II). Critical Thinking, a recommended follow-up to Social Problems, which Shar refused to take because, she said, “I AM a fucking critical TERM

  And.

  Go.

  Partying geared back up immediately. Just about every conversation I heard in the hallway the first week back sounded something like this (please note the lack of names or boy/girl references, as this conversation was had by people of all types all over college, from Pizza Hut to the third-floor laundry room of Dylan Hall):

  “Dude, are we GOING out tonight or fucking WHAT?”

  “OH! Dude, we are GOING to drink tonight my fine friend. WE are getting wasted.”

  “WASE-TED!”

  (High fives.)

  “My tolerance is in the shitter dude.”

  “That can be mended my friend. Totally mended.”

  Aside from the familiar sights and sounds of dudes and chicks getting “wase-ted,” there were some subtle but notable changes in the St. Joseph’s student body second term. When I say “body,” I am not actually referring to the infamous “freshman fifteen” and the fact that, okay, sure, people did seem to be a little bit chubbier by January. I didn’t think it was that big a deal, although, clearly, other people did: shortly after classes resumed, the local athletic supply store sold out of butt-shaping running shoes and the cafeteria started selling diet pop almost exclusively. Campus was flooded with flyers for aerobic boot camps, toning classes, and Weight Watchers groups.

  At Dylan, the Patties had lost a ton of weight (on what was likely a patty-only diet) since September. They’d also traded in their cartoon tees and sweats for black-only yoga gear. They looked like ninjas, like two thoroughbreds waiting for a starter pistol.

  “Jesus Christ,” Shar hissed, passing them in the hallway, “those bitches look like a couple of cats that just came out of the bathtub. Pretty soon it’ll be feeding-tube time.”

  The Patties’ new skinniness made Shar hate them even more. I personally wouldn’t have thought this was possible, given that we’d never really spoken to either of them. Not that that mattered to Shar, who took up the practice of stalking the Patties, a task that involved long walks in the cold, four paces back.

  It wasn’t exactly subtle.

  Finally, after a particularly long stalk through campus, Mini Patty spun around and gave us the finger. There were tears in her eyes. Just little tears that could have been her eyes watering, but I don’t think so. It was kind of horrifying looking at her as she glared at us, shivering in the white cold. Shar laughed.

  “Shar,” I whispered, “let’s go. Okay? Shar?”

  “Fine.”

  That was the seed of one of our first fights. That night at dinner, after sitting for ten minutes in chilly silence over grilled cheese and fries, Shar snapped.

  “Allison? When you say stuff like ‘Shar let’s go’ it’s a bit like saying ‘Shar you’re being an asshole,’ okay, and I don’t appreciate it.”

  “Sorry.”I told you">OH

  “Why are you sorry? You don’t get anything. You don’t know anything.”

  If everyone else at Dylan was focused on change in relation to fat (gained or lost), the change I worried about second semester was the one I saw in Shar, mostly in relation to her mood. Which is to say that second semester Shar seemed to be mad. Like, more than usual. If that was at all possible.

  I mean, okay, Shar, as long as I’d known her, pretty much hated almost everyone. But for the most part, like, up until Christmas, I’d been under the impression that she also didn’t really give a shit about anyone. So no one ever really got to her, you know?

  But after Christmas break, Shar seemed to think that everyone was somehow fucking with her, like they were being mean to her. And everything bothered her. And everyone.

  Even me.

  Maybe especially me.

  It seemed that Shar and I were always on the verge of a fight. It was like one of those bad smells you notice in a restaurant and try to ignore, but can’t.

  And then it all got, like, bad. On a day that had been kind of ordinary.

  It was a Wednesday, I think. This was after Mini Patty gave us the finger. It was a day that had distinguished itself only because I’d finally managed to force myself to go to Critical Thinking class that started at ten-thirty a.m.

  Who can think critically at ten-thirty a.m.?

  Not me.

  After finding a seat at the back of the lecture hall, I promptly fell asleep (because I’d been up till four the night before, watching Six Feet Under and eating packages of uncooked ramen noodles in Shar’s room). In what felt like seconds and was actually an hour later, I bolted awake to find two copies of an assignment outline that had been shoved under my sleeping face. Class dismissed.

  Shar was supposed to meet me on the steps of the main college building after class. So there I was, waiting, about to check my phone, when I heard these oddly familiar voices arguing over my shoulder.

  “I wouldn
’t.”

  “Why not? What’s she like, some sort of jerk? Is she a total bitch? She doesn’t look like a bitch.”

  “OH, just ask her. SHE’S not going to bite your head off.”

  I turned around and it was the Patties, in matching yoga uniforms, standing with this other girl with a bright orange bushel of curly hair tucked under a fluffy white hat. She had the most amazing eye makeup I’d ever seen.

  “YO,” the girl said, stepping forward. “So sorry to bug you, but, um, I’m Jewel. And, uh, I was wondering if, uh. Do you happen to have a copy of the assignment for Critical Thinking? I think you’re in my class? I flaked and didn’t grab one of the sheets so …”

  “Uh, yeah.” Rummaging in my bag, I pulled out a crumpled assignment and, quickly checking for drool marks, handed it over. “Take this one. I got two for some reason.”

  “AMAZING. Are you taking the class? I know a lot of people are dropping it because of the exam.”

  “Um. I don’t know. It’s super early. Or investigation, c, I mean, like, it feels super early. I guess ten-thirty isn’t early.”

  “JEWEL!” Mini Patty stood straddling several steps, hands on hips. “If we’re going to Hot Yoga we gotta go now.”

  “’Kay. Well. THANKS!” Throwing a giant wave in my direction, the Patties and the girl with the pumpkin hair disappeared.

  After that, I must have waited twenty minutes on the steps. Finally I called Shar to see where she was.

  “What?”

  “Hey, where are you?”

  “Eating.”

  “I thought you were supposed to meet me.”

  “I’m at Sam’s.”

  CLICK.

  She was almost finished when I got there. I slid into the booth just as the waitress was leaving the bill.

  “What happened?” I asked quietly.

  “Nothing. You just looked like you were having lots of fun with the Patties, so …”

  “What? I didn’t even see you! I was just giving this girl something for the class.”

  “So you say.”

  She stood up and stormed out of the restaurant. And of course I followed her.

  “Shar! What is wrong?!”

  She chugged forward, punching her way through the busy street. “Nothing, Allison. Except I’m starting to get this feeling like maybe I can’t trust you.”

  “WHAT?” People stopped and stared. “SHAR! SHAR WAIT! WHY?”

  She stopped so quickly I skidded into her—and then she shoved me, hard enough that I almost tipped off the sidewalk.

  “HEY!”

  “DON’T yell at me, Allison. I’m telling you that when I see you on the steps fucking yukking it up with the fucking veggie Patties and their fucked-up friends just like DAYS after you’re all up in my face for no reason because you think I’m hurting their feelings, I’m a bit like what the fuck.”

  “Okay. Okay, I’m sorry.”

  “You’re not. You’re all like, ‘Shar, it’s no big deal.’”

  “Okay.”

  “Stop saying ‘okay.’ Every time you say ‘okay’ it makes me think you’re full of shit.”

  “Oka—” I clamped my hands over my mouth. The word “okay,” for the record, is a very hard word to stop saying once you’ve started.

  Shar’s eyes narrowed. She turned and walked away. I followed her a few car lengths behind. About a block away from campus she shook me off, disappearing around a corner.

  Instead of going back to campus I headed to the food court at the underground mall, which seemed like a suitable place to go at the time. It was the least popular mall in the city as far as most college students were concerned. Its stores sold only weird combinations of plastic back to dorm, c, hardware, and housewares. The food court had almost no green food for sale.

  I went to Wok? Wok? Wok! and ordered chicken balls, fried rice, and spare ribs, all in varying shades of the same overcooked brown. I was sitting on my orange plastic chair reassessing this order when a familiar voice dropped onto my shoulder.

  “Hey, you!”

  The person who seemed the most outwardly changed since first term was Carly. During Christmas break she’d gotten all her hair cut off into what looked like a faux hawk. She’d stopped wearing pink and yellow entirely and started wearing these really retro-looking stiff blue jeans and white T-shirts, kind of like what she wore to the Halloween party. I wonder if that’s where she got the idea. She looked like some sort of fifties-dude pin-up, complete with a studded biker jacket.

  “Allison! What’s up?”

  I pointed at my Styrofoam plate and shrugged.

  Carly grinned. “Isn’t this mall great? When the apocalypse happens we can all live underground and we’ll never go hungry. Soooooo. Where’s your BFF?”

  “She’s not here.”

  “You guys are like joined at the hip!” Carly chuckled, grabbing a seat and plunking her bags down around her.

  “Contrary to popular opinion, there are some things we do apart.”

  Carly frowned. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Sorry.” Carly bent over and began collecting the handles of her bags.

  I could feel my face tightening, twisting into a position sufficient to hold back tears.

  “No it’s okay— It’s fine. I’m sorry. I guess I’m in a bad mood.”

  Carly stood up. Put a hand on her hip and sighed. “Yeah. Okay. There’s no way you’re eating those toxic Oriental balls. I’m meeting Danny at the BEST french fry place, which is way better. Trust me. It will rock your world. Come eat with us. You’ll love Danny.”

  Danny was easy to spot from a distance. He was like a cartoon character, six feet tall with a ducktail hairdo topping him off like a retro sundae. The upper half of his body was swamped in a fuzzy neon-blue sweater. As soon as he spotted us he started waving jubilantly. It was like he hadn’t seen anyone in months, throwing his arms around Carly for a big hug and then turning to throw a grin in my direction.

  “Hey, doll.”

  “Danny …” Disengaging from her welcome hug, Carly made a sweeping motion around my head. “This awesome lady is Allison.”

  “Oh YEAH. Hey, Allison. Didn’t you come to the first film thing?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I remember you. Yeah. You look like a character in a children’s book I used to love. That’s a compliment. Take it and put it in your pocket for later. Also. I love your hair. End of compliment session.”

  As soon as they’d ordered, Danny and Carly got down to business. The film club was in full steam, dragged him back to apologize’ed me getting ready to start shooting scenes for their zombie musical, which Carly and Danny and Danny’s partner Matt had written over Christmas break.

  “Whatever happened to that other guy?” I finally cut in, once our fries had arrived. “The other, um, head film guy?”

  “Oh, Dollywood. That dick. Had to go. A coup ensued. Victory was ours.”

  “Danny’s kind of a film genius,” Carly added, stabbing a fry with a plastic fork. “He’s totally our leader now. He’s our Wes Anderson.”

  “Oh? Cool.”

  “HONEY. I’m your Danny Maclane. That’s who I am, baby. Wes Anderson can go blow himself.”

  Afterward Carly bought me an ice cream at a creepy Korean convenience store. It was already getting dark outside. It was also too cold for ice cream but Carly didn’t seem to care.

  “Hey so. If you’re free. You should come to a film club meeting sometime. It’s actually really cool.”

  “Yeah that sounds cool.”

  Peeling open her ice cream and licking the cottoncandy-blue top, Carly took a good long look at me. “Okay. Can I ask you something without sounding like an asshole? Like, with you understanding that I’m not being an asshole? I just want to know?”

  “Sure. I guess. This is a really weird thing to be eating in the winter.”

  Carly stopped walking and sat on one of the little concrete college benches
with positive learning affirmations engraved on top.

  I never teach my pupils. I only attempt to provide the conditions in which they learn. —Albert Einstein

  Sitting on “learn,” I watched Carly’s face as she formulated her question, her butt rocking back and forth on “pupils” as she shivered in the cold.

  “Why do you think? Okay. Wait. Okay. Here it is. Why do you think that Shar, who I’m sure when she’s with you is totally cool … but … why do you think she’s so mean?”

  “Because of what she said to um … the yoga girls?”

  Carly paused. “Yeah. Wow. Yeah. Sure. That and the other stuff.”

  Rattles. I couldn’t remember her actual name so I didn’t say anything. Maybe it wasn’t Rattles.

  “I don’t know. People piss her off sometimes?”

  “Allison, everyone gets pissed off. Shar’s a permabitch. Like, someone says ONE thing to her and then for the rest of the year she’s all up in their face? What’s up with that?”

  I pictured Shar sitting on her bed, curled up the way she usually was when we were hanging out. Carly made her sound like some sort of fairy-tale evil witch, which of course she totally wasn’t.

  “I guess some people, like, trigger stuff for her?”

  It occurred to me that Shar could be hiding in the shadows. I took a brief scan. “Her sister has an eating disorder,” I whispered. “So. I think it makes her mad when people are all freaked out about food.” and walked out the door?0

  “Oh.” Carly rubbed her hands together, popped the last bit of her blue ice treat in her mouth. “Okay. Well. Yeah, okay I guess. It’s like, still, you know? It’s still weird. But I didn’t know about the eating disorder sister thing.”

  “Yeah well.” I stood up. “Thanks for hanging out … and all that stuff.”

  “You okay?”

  “Of course. See you later I guess.”

  “Bye!”

  Street lamplights swung my shadow along the sidewalk, stretching the silhouette version of me to a breaking point and then snapping it back. A block away I could hear shrieks and giggles, the scraping of heels against pavement, the low rumble of idling cabs.