I stood there for a second watching her go. Then Mrs. Long, the librarian, came up to me.
“Josh, honey, do you need some assistance?”
I nodded yes and told her about the paper, and then I followed her to the computers so she could look stuff up for me. I knew if I smiled and was real sweet, she would really help me out. It’s one of the perks of being me, I guess.
As Mrs. Long was typing stuff into one of the databases, my brain remembered this one time in middle school when Alice and me had been assigned to be partners for this autobiography project. By this time I was cool enough not to throw paper wads in her hair anymore, and we were sort of even friends.
“I really want to do our project on Vince Young,” I remembered telling her.
“Who is Vince Young?” Alice asked, and she wrinkled up her nose.
“Oh my God, Alice, how do you not know who Vince Young is?” I remembered how I pretended to pass out from the shock, and Alice had laughed that loud funny laugh she has.
But she gave in, and we did do our project on Vince Young. She even did almost all the work anyway and she wasn’t even nasty about it.
As Mrs. Long hummed and typed and talked, I just kept remembering that project. I kept thinking about how I made Alice laugh and how nice she had been about the whole thing.
The deal is, I know I’m dumb sometimes, but I try real hard most of the time not to be an ass**le. And I guess that day in the library, I just felt like an ass**le.
Kurt
Shortly after sharing Christmas pizza and beer with Alice Franklin, we reached the end of the first semester at Healy High. It’s always a half day before Winter Break, and there’s no real purpose in even going to school that day. It’s merely an excuse to eat candy and watch movies in class. On most days I feel the work at Healy High is much too easy for me, but on days like the half day before Winter Break, I feel insulted that I’m even expected to show up for school.
But I tried to get into the spirit of things. Since I’ve been tutoring Alice, there’s a reason to look forward to walking the halls of the school building. I might see Alice there, and she’ll smile at me. Dip her head ever so slightly. Peer out from that sweatshirt and raise her eyebrows at me in a greeting.
I know I’m the only one on the receiving end of those greetings, and this makes me feel special and happy. In fact, I’m fairly certain that I’m the only one at Healy High who Alice speaks to anymore. Sometimes I have fantasies that she will come and eat lunch with me in the cafeteria, but a few weeks ago, Alice stopped eating in the cafeteria completely. I’m not sure where she goes during lunch. There’s no end to the rumors about Alice, and from what I overhear there’s no end to the graffiti in the so-called Slut Stall upstairs. Not that I’ve seen it or want to see it.
On the half day before break there was no lunch served, of course, and my stomach was growling as I prepared to gather my books out of my locker and head home. Maybe I was feeling lightheaded from lack of nutrition, because it’s the only explanation for the bold act I soon found myself committing.
I found her as I was walking out of the main hallway. She had on that sweatshirt, and her backpack was slung low against her rear end. I tried not to glance there too long because it made me feel a little guilty, honestly. She was alone, staring into the trophy case full of team photographs and rusting trophies from decades past.
“Hello, Alice,” I said, standing next to her. I felt like this was something I could do. After all, we ate pizza together. We drank beer together. She cried in front of me. I gave her a Christmas present. We worked together at her house twice a week. But still, I was nervous to discover her reaction.
I shouldn’t have been. Alice turned to me and smiled. Smiled broadly enough that her crooked incisor peeked out at me.
“Hello, Kurt,” she said, and although I know it’s biologically impossible, my heart dropped down into my stomach for a moment before returning to my chest.
“What are you looking at?” I asked, motioning to the trophy case.
“Oh, I guess I’m wondering how many of these people ever left Healy,” she said, peering back at some old photos from the seventies, complete with long hair and bell-bottoms.
“Probably not many.”
“Probably you’re right. So, are you ready for break?”
“I certainly am,” I answered. “Are you?”
Alice shook her head ruefully but she smiled. “Do you even have to ask that question?”
We stood there for a moment, and then my food-starved brain made its move.
“Alice, would you like to come over to my house to have lunch? To celebrate the next two weeks without Healy High?”
Alice mastered a response that was the perfect blend of politeness and shock. She smiled and opened her eyes wide at the exact same moment. For that small space of time, it was as if we had been transported back in time. Back to the days before the rumors and the bathroom stall and the banishment. Back to the days when someone like me asking someone like Alice Franklin over to his house for lunch would be akin to successfully confirming the existence of the fourth dimension.
Impossible.
But it was not that time. It was now, and after Alice processed what I was saying, she said, “Okay, sure. Yes. That would be great.”
“My grandmother is making grilled cheese sandwiches,” I said, and I instantly regretted saying anything so stupid. I sounded like a kindergartner. Alice had been to parties where people smoked marijuana and got drunk. Regardless of the validity of the rumors about her and Brandon Fitzsimmons, Alice Franklin was almost certainly not a virgin, yet here I was, a virgin talking about grilled cheese sandwiches.
“I like grilled cheese sandwiches,” she said.
“Well,” I told her, “good. But unfortunately, I don’t have any shitty Lone Star beer to go with it.”
Alice laughed, and I was pleased at myself for coming up with such a reply and pleased she got the reference.
As we walked out of the school, there were groups of students clumped together in the front of the main entrance. Some were wearing Santa hats to celebrate the season. Others were texting or playing with their phones. I could feel eyes on us as the two of us strolled past.
“Well, Kurt,” she whispered, and her voice sounded even more appealing in a whisper, “how does it feel to be seen walking the streets with the biggest slut in Healy High?”
“Probably the same as you feel walking the streets with the school’s biggest weirdo,” I answered back.