“I’m sorry I brought up Kurt,” I answered. “I thought you guys liked hanging out together, but I guess I was wrong. I know he’s sort of freaky deaky or whatever, but you can’t say he’s anything like the rest of us. First off, he hung out with you when no one else would, and it honestly seemed like you guys were having a good time. Plus, he’s, like, a crazy genius. He knows more than the teachers.”
Alice just looked away, down at the floor. “Yeah, well. I guess I have a way of turning everything around me into shit. Maybe he was my friend. Maybe he wasn’t. I don’t know anymore. Whatever.”
“Fine. I was just saying.”
A few more moments of silence passed, but Alice broke it this time.
“Who are you going to the dance with?”
“Jacob Saunders,” I said with a shrug. Jacob was a graduating senior and captain of the varsity basketball team, and if you want me to be honest he was about as exciting as a bag of hammers.
Just then Misty stuck her head out and told us she was so sorry she was running late and did we mind waiting just a few more seconds?
I rolled my eyes at Alice and she rolled her eyes back at me. Then Alice picked up her copy of Teen Vogue and started reading it again. I figured she was done talking, so I grabbed a magazine and we sat there reading in silence until Ms. Cooper left and Mindy called for Alice to come on back.
Just before she disappeared behind the reception area, Alice turned around and said, “Have a good time at the dance.”
“Thanks,” I answered.
I felt pretty good about what I had said, and I hoped Alice was grateful I’d said it. After all, she had to have known that me being nice to her in the cafeteria would be a sign to everybody else that it was time to stop the mess that had been going on all year. She had to know I had that kind of power.
But the truth is, I knew there was a pretty good chance Alice would never come by my table on Monday or any other day. The truth is, I wouldn’t blame Alice Franklin if she never talked to me or anyone else in this town again.
There are some things, like your eighth grade boyfriend kissing some other girl at a middle school dance, that are easy to forgive.
And there are some things that are just unforgivable.
Alice
It’s a long walk to get to where I’m going, almost to the other side of town. I think it seems longer than it really is since spring in Texas lasts about two weeks, so essentially it’s already summer which means it’s ridiculously hot. We have a few weeks left of school and the heat is just all-consuming. Every year it arrives and people act like they can’t believe it’s already here again. Like maybe if they’d been good all year long the 100-degree weather would somehow pass us by just once.
But it shows up every year, whether we like it or not.
I guess that’s one of the reasons I’ve chosen to make this walk in the evening. The heat isn’t so bad then, even if there are a few mosquitoes around, and it’s actually sort of peaceful to walk the Healy streets at dusk. Maybe one of the two or three good things about living in this crappy town is it’s small enough that you can walk pretty much anywhere to get there.
Even if it is hot enough to melt tar.
Like just the other week, I’d walked to the Curl Up and Dye to get my hair cut.
On the way there I’d had to walk past the Pizza Hut and the Wal-Mart and the elementary school, and just like I did whenever I had time alone to think, I thought about the rejection.
The rumors.
The unending crap on the walls of that bathroom stall that I couldn’t stop reading even though I knew I should and that nobody ever bothered to clean because black Sharpie doesn’t come off so easily. (And I should know because I tried.)
How much did it hurt?
It was like a million paper cuts on my heart.
Because it was slow and not all at once. It wasn’t a complete flip-flop of everything overnight. It was more gradual than that.
Which was actually worse, to be honest with you. At first, it was so subtle I thought maybe I was imagining it.
“Oh, Alice, I’m sorry, I forgot to save you a seat.”
“Oh, Alice, I never got that text. Something is weird with my phone.”
“Oh, nothing, Alice. We’re just laughing at a stupid joke.”
Obviously, I wasn’t imagining it.
But it had to be gradual. So people would get used to it. So it would become easy for them to treat me like shit. So my best friend since freshman year could justify dumping me and telling everyone I had an abortion. So they could have the Slut Stall and enjoy having it.
So there could be enough time for me to become subhuman in their eyes.
I really can’t handle talking about this for too long because it just hurts too much, but I do want to say that there is one thing I’ve learned about people: they don’t get that mean and nasty overnight. It’s not human nature.
If you give people enough time, eventually they’ll do the most heartbreaking stuff in the world.
But now I was taking another walk. Past Memorial Park where families have picnics on the weekends and sometimes kids from Healy High go to smoke pot. Past the lit-up Walgreens sign advertising toilet paper on special. Past the First Methodist Church of Healy and St. Helen’s and Salem Lutheran and Calvary Baptist Church, whose church sign reads “YOU THINK IT’S HOT HERE?”
They post that message every May. It’s as much like clockwork as the heat itself.
My legs ache, and the sweat is trickling down my neck. I’m grateful for my short hair. I turn into a neighborhood full of some of the oldest homes in Healy, rambling two-story houses with wraparound porches and big yards. They’re old and hard to keep up, I think. It’s not like it’s the rich people neighborhood. Honestly, I don’t think Healy actually has any people living here who are really rich because if you had a ton of money, why would you choose to live here? But if I had to pick my favorite neighborhood in this pathetic little town, this one would be it.
Probably not just because of the houses. But because of who lives here.
I’ve been to this house once before, and as I walk up the steps to the porch, I check the time on my phone. I have a minute or so to wait and as I wait, my heart marches to a tune of nervousness and anticipation.
Finally, I take a deep breath and knock. I’ve told myself I’ll count to 100 before walking away. By the time I make it to twelve the door swings open.
Standing there is Kurt Morelli.
“Hello, Alice,” he says, and when he sees that I am smiling, he smiles, too.