by Dan Richards
“Yeah, she spent the evening with two really hot-looking guys.”
Ben froze. My sentence had exactly the effect I was hoping for. He looked crushed.
“Who?” he said, almost too quietly.
“Me and Ryan,” I said with a push. “I think she’s pretty hot on Ryan.”
Ben laughed a bit too loudly. “I should’ve known. He’s huge, and he has chickens.”
“It’s all about the chickens,” I agreed. “Talk about your chick magnet.”
“I gotta get me some chickens.”
“That’s for darn sure. Something’s gotta offset the size of your head.”
“Shut up.”
Clearly, everything was good between us once again. We spent the next two hours killing zombies until Ben’s mom found us.
“I think you know better than to be playing video games this weekend,” she said, giving him her stern stare.
“I know, I know. I was just being a good host.”
She placed her hands on her hips. “Yes, I’ve never worried about you being a good host. However, I am worried about a few other things. Approximately six other things, none of which involve the letters A or B at the moment.” She turned and left the room.
Ben’s mom had a clever way of scolding him. I liked that about her. My mom was like that, too, except without the cleverness. Mostly, my mom got right to the point. I envied Ben.
“Looks like I better get to work,” he said.
“I gotta get going anyway. Kirsten’s waiting for me,” I joked.
“Shut up.”
I left Ben to stare down a pile of books larger than his head, and that’s saying something. After waving goodbye to his mom, I wandered down the sidewalk, feeling as if the world had been brought back into order once again. Ben was still Ben and we were back to being friends in a way I had relied on all my life. Life was good.
“Hey, Stu.”
And then the Earth tilted. There she was standing right in front of me. No music, no friends around, and no Jackson. “Hi, Becca.”
“How’s Ben?”
My mouth went dry. The kind of dry that could kill a camel were one roaming on my tongue. “He’s okay. His mom saw his grades online and kept him home. I think he’s going to be there until the end of the year.”
Becca shook her head. “That’s too bad. Maybe he should try studying.”
“Clearly, you don’t know Ben.”
Becca laughed. “I guess not.” She looked back toward her house. “Hey, wanna try some zucchini bread my mom is baking?”
The idea of zucchini being put in bread was enough to make me swear off bread altogether. “Sure. Sounds good.” My hands began to sweat. So did my armpits. Up until that moment, I’d never realized armpits could sweat so easily. Was this another fact of puberty? Evolution made no sense. How could armpit sweat have anything to do with survival of the fittest? Maybe survival of the wettest.
Becca led me up the front steps. At the top was a sitting porch with a love seat swing. Another round of dry mouth left me feeling like a salmon in the Sahara.
“Mom!” Becca called as she entered the house, “I’ve got a friend with me.”
I stepped through the door into something that looked straight out of a magazine my mother would browse. There were gleaming hardwoods, gleaming white painted millwork, a gleaming chandelier, and a staircase that looked straight out of a Barbie playhouse. I had never seen anything so perfect in all my life. Not that I had spent much time looking, mind you. I nearly commented on the beauty of it all but, thankfully, caught myself before I sounded like a complete idiot. I confined myself to following Becca.
She led me into the kitchen, where her mother stood by the stove. Everything in the kitchen was white: the cabinets, the counters, the walls, and even her mother’s apron. For a woman who seemed to do a lot of cooking, her apron looked perfectly pressed without a single stain anywhere. I wished I had taken time to shower that morning, or at least change my underwear. I felt like the lone spot of gravy on the Thanksgiving tablecloth. Hopefully I wouldn’t leave a permanent stain.
“This is Stu,” Becca said to her mother.
“Nice to meet you, Stu. Becca has told me all about you.”
Becca stiffened. “Mom!”
Her mother ignored her and smiled pleasantly. “She tells me your family is vegetarian.”
I felt my cheeks flush. Lying to Becca was one thing. Lying to her mother was a whole different matter. “Yes. We don’t eat meat.”
“How nice,” her mother replied. “We went vegetarian when Becca was just a baby. Has your family been vegetarian long?”
“No, not long.” That much was true. As far as I knew, our transition to being vegetarian had begun just moments before. “We’re still adjusting.”
She pulled a loaf of something out of the oven. From the greenish color, it had to be the zucchini bread. “How’s your dad doing with it? Becca’s father had a hard time at first.”
“He has his moments,” I said.
Becca’s mom pried the bread from the pan and sliced off three thick slices. She put the slices on a small plate, then passed it around so we could each take a piece.
“Mmm . . . that smells amazing,” Becca said, holding her piece up to her nose.
I held up my piece, too, just far enough to realize a whiff of zucchini was enough of a treat for me. “Mmm . . . good,” I said, trying not to let my nose wrinkle up in disgust.
“It’s great warm with butter,” Becca’s mom said. “Would you like some?”
What I would like was a hole in the ground large enough to return this thing to where it belonged. “No, thank you. This looks great just as it is.”
Becca’s mother picked up her piece. “Cheers,” she said, taking a big bite.
“Cheers,” Becca repeated, holding her piece up as if in toast.
“Cheers,” I said, asking my stomach for forgiveness for what I was about to do. I took a bite. Memory of the roasted pepper sandwich returned to mind. “Could I get something to drink?” I mumbled through the zucchini paste stuck to my tongue.
“Of course, dear,” Becca’s mother said. She took a gleaming crystal glass and filled it full of gleaming white milk.
I gulped down the milk and the zucchini paste with it. “Wow, that was great,” I lied with such earnestness I almost believed it myself.
Becca’s mother beamed. “Yes, I got that impression. If you’d like I can give you the recipe for your mother.”
I tried to imagine my family sharing such a treat. It would probably end with me left blindfolded in a back alley. “Yes, that would be great,” I said politely.
Becca’s mother refilled my glass. “Why don’t you two finish eating on the porch. It’s such a beautiful day. No need to stay cooped up in here.”
Becca let out an audible sigh of relief. “Sounds good. Stu’s helping me plan the sit-in at school that I was telling you about.”
I am?
Becca’s mother gave me a look. “She’s not roping you in against your will, is she?”
Roping? No. Hog-tying? Maybe. “Oh, no. I think it’s a great idea. It’s about time the cafeteria added some food for us vegetarians.”
“Entrées, he means,” Becca chimed in. “They need to offer vegetarian entrées.”
“Right,” I agreed.
“Well, keep it courteous, whatever you do,” Becca’s mom said as she put the zucchini pan in the sink. “It’s important to be courteous even when pushing for change.”
“Yes, Mom.” Becca rolled her eyes and pulled me out of the kitchen. “She’s always so worried about being politically correct.”
“Yeah, my mom, too.”
Becca guided me back to the front door. On the way, I looked for a family pet in need of a zucchini treat. No such luck. Once outside, Becca headed over to the love-seat swing. “I’ve already got it pretty much planned out,” she said, taking a seat.
Did she expect me to sit on the loveseat with her? I sh
ifted from one foot to the other. I had never sat that close to a girl before. Doing so would be in plain sight of anyone passing by.
Becca giggled. She motioned to the empty seat beside her. “You don’t have to stand.”
I took a seat. The swing rocked slowly back and forth.
“I’ve got it all planned out. We’re going to hold a sit-in. We’ll take over the lunchroom and block the food service line. We can even give speeches. My dad has a megaphone he said we can use. I’m already making signs for us to hold,” she continued excitedly. “We just need to pick a date and get everyone on board.”
I nodded. The feeling of being exposed weighed on me almost as much as the zucchini bread in my lap. Thank goodness Ben had a pile of homework that would keep him in his house until summertime. So long as Ben didn’t happen by, everything would be okay.
“Hey, guys,” Ben called from the street. “Whatcha doing?”
My stomach dropped.
Ben climbed the steps.
“We’re having zucchini bread and finalizing the plan for the sit-in,” Becca said, smiling.
I tried to give Ben my nothing-is-going-on-here look, but my face seemed frozen in more of a there-is-absolutely-something-going-on-here pose. Ben stood on the porch, eyeing me with a puzzled expression.
“Stu said you’re in trouble.”
Ben smiled. “Yeah, I can’t leave the house until all my homework is done.” He took the glass of milk out of my hand and drained the contents. He handed it back, being careful not to touch the zucchini bread. “They should know better than to send me to my room to work on it. We live in a one-story house.”
Becca laughed. “So you’re a fugitive?”
“Freedom fighter is the term I prefer.”
I broke off a piece of the zucchini bread roughly the size of an elephant’s head and idly stuffed it into my pocket. “Dumbhead is the term the rest of us use.”
Ben leaned in. “I take it you made it to the dance?”
“Of course,” Becca said, “decked out in black and everything. We missed you.”
Ben tilted his head, still checking us out as if trying to determine whether we were aliens or something far more sinister. A light of recognition crossed his face. He immediately turned to go. “Well, I gotta get back before they notice I’m gone.” He gave me a parting smile that said way more than I wanted to hear.
I stood. “Well, I gotta go, too. My mom needs help with something—or something like that,” I stammered.
“Okay,” Becca said, taking my glass and plate. “I guess we can pick a date at lunch on Monday.”
“Sure. Sounds good.”
She gave me a small wave, a look of disappointment on her face. Was she sad to see me go?
I paused for a moment, torn between my desire to stay and my desire to make it clear to Ben I wasn’t at all interested in staying. “See ya,” I said at last.
I headed down the steps.
“Stu?”
I turned to find Becca standing there. If I didn’t know better I’d think her cheeks were flushed, just like mine.
“Yeah?”
She paused as if searching for just the right words. “Nothing,” she said at last. “See you Monday.” She gave me a last wave and then disappeared into the house.
At the end of the block, an arm pulled me into the bushes. Ben’s face got in mine. “You dog!”
“What?” I said with all the innocence I could muster.
“You have a girlfriend!”
The force of the accusation was enough to knock me backward, that and Ben’s breath. He needed to brush his teeth. “No, I don’t,” I pleaded.
He let go of me. “You liar. Why didn’t you tell me?”
My head was spinning. “I’m not lying. We’re not going out. I kinda like her, but—” I froze. What had I just said?
“I knew it! I knew you liked her!”
“No, I didn’t mean I like her. I just meant—”
Ben stared at me expectantly.
“I just meant—” What did I mean? My shoulders slumped. “Shut up. And DO NOT tell anyone.”
Ben grinned like an evil elf. “I knew it.”
“Promise you won’t tell anyone.”
“Why would I tell anyone?”
“Because you’re an evil elf.”
“Shut up.”
“You better not.” It was time to bring out the big guns. “Because I know who you like, too.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Kirsten.”
You could have heard a pin drop, except that we were standing in the bushes on someone’s lawn and it would have taken a pin packed with explosives to make a sound. I’d love to get my hand on some of those pins.
“So? Everybody knows that.”
“Really? Then you won’t mind if I call Tyler and Ryan when I get home and tell them?”
“You wouldn’t.”
“Wouldn’t I? Remember the time you said everybody already knows your mom still warms your milk before bedtime?”
“Yeah, and they did know, but you lied and told them she gives it to me in a bottle.” Ben stopped short. “What are you planning to tell them?”
I gave my best sinister smile. “Depends what you tell them.”
“Oh, all right. I won’t say anything.”
“Then neither will I.”
I held out my hand. Ben took it and we shook. Based on previous experience, this did little to comfort me. But what else could I do? If you can’t trust your best friend to keep a secret, who can you trust? No one.
Monday in PE, Mr. Snedaker addressed the class. “I have some exciting news. This Friday is the all-school square dancing assembly.”
A few, including Ben, clapped hands. The rest of us just murmured, “Finally.” The assembly meant the end of the square dancing unit.
“I will be selecting the best dance partners,” Mr. Snedaker continued, “to take part.”
Fine by me. Given my skills, I felt confident my Friday afternoon would be spent comfortably watching from the safety of the bleachers. Gretchen seemed to be of the same opinion.
“That’s unfair. What if I can dance but my partner can’t?” she mumbled just loudly enough for me and everyone else to hear.
Ryan, Tyler, and I floated blissfully around the dance floor for the remainder of class, knowing the end was in sight. The only one of us who seemed at all disturbed by the news was Ben. He grumbled all the way to sixth period.
“Two weeks? What sort of unit is over in two weeks?”
“A unit that’s already gone on two weeks too long,” Tyler commented.
“And that was spawned by the devil,” Ryan clarified.
“Go easy,” I chimed in. “Can’t you see he’s upset? This has been the best two weeks of his life. You can imagine what the rest of it’s been like.”
“Shut up,” Ben said. “Wouldn’t you rather do this than health?”
“That question has already been answered,” I corrected.
“Yeah,” Tyler interjected, “how else you gonna know the difference between a uterus and a urinary tract?”
“That’s right,” I agreed. “Lives might be at stake!”
“Very funny,” Ben said with a snarl that sounded like my dog when we try to wash his blanket.
“You’re just sad because you won’t get to hold hands with Kirsten anymore,” I let slip before I could stop myself.
That got him riled. “You’re just sad because Jackson is partners with Becca and you’re not,” he snapped back.
You could have heard a pencil drop. Actually, a pencil did drop, the one Ryan had been holding. It landed on the sidewalk with a small clunk, next to Tyler’s jaw.
Ben turned into the doorway of his class and disappeared without saying goodbye.
I kept my head down in the hopes neither Tyler nor Ryan had heard what they obviously had heard.
“You like Becca?” Ryan asked quietly.
I ignored the last comment and follo
wed Tyler into class. He slipped off his backpack without looking up. “Girls are stupid,” he mumbled before crossing to a desk against the far wall.
When class got underway, I tried to forget what had just happened by actually listening to Ms. Hendrickson, our science teacher, give a lecture on cell biology. She rambled on and on about all the wondrous parts to be discovered in a single cell. There was everything from walls to organs to a skeleton to a brain. When it came down to it, every cell was like a tiny person. And there were about 37 trillion of them in our bodies doing all the tasks necessary to keep us happy and healthy. I looked over at Tyler. Maybe he was short a few trillion cells. He looked healthy but not the least bit happy. Glancing around the room, I realized he wasn’t alone. Everyone seemed to be short a few trillion cells. Not a happy face anywhere.
At dinner that evening, my father seemed in perfect cell health, smiling joyfully as he crunched the skin off his BBQ chicken.
“This is some fine chicken,” he said, licking his lips.
My brother didn’t seem to be on the same page. He gave his chicken leg one small lick and dropped it back on his plate. “Yuck. It’s burned.”
Reaching over, my father tore the skin off with his fingers. “Not to worry, chap. You’re all good to go now.”
You’d think my brother could remove something as simple as a piece of skin off his chicken without aid. Instead, he stared at the leg as if waiting for the meat to spontaneously pull itself off the bone, climb up his chest, and force its way into his mouth. My father chuckled as he went to work cutting the meat for him.
“What exactly is going on with you this evening?” my mother asked.
“Nothing,” my father replied. He gave a big, silly grin. “Can’t a guy be helpful?”
She studied his face as if looking for a clue hidden behind his greasy lips. “No,” she said flatly. “What’s up?”
My father fed some chicken to my brother. “Nothing. I was just thinking that the festival starts next week. Should be a lot of fun.” He gave me a wink.
“I hear there’s going to be a big surprise,” I added, trying to stir the pot.
“Is that so?” my mother said. “What sort of surprise?”