Beautiful by Amy Reed Page B

move.
    â€œSarah,” I say again. She is sitting on the edge of Alex’s bed, looking out the window even though it’s all steamed up and all you can see are drippy blobs of color, green where the trees are, gray for the sky.
    â€œSarah!” Alex yells. “Wake up, you fucking freak.”
    Sarah blinks and looks at us. “What?” she says, like nothing’s wrong, like she doesn’t even know she was a zombie for three minutes.
    Alex’s room is as messy as the rest of the house, full of dirty dishes, piles of clothes, and old, ripped magazines. The floor is covered but the walls are completely blank. There are no posters, no photos, no cutouts of rock stars or actors. It’s as if this is a garbage dump, a storage room, a place to pile unwanted things, instead of a teenage girl’s bedroom. We’re sitting on the floor, passing a joint around, and we want something stronger.
    â€œDoesn’t that nasty kid in your smart class take Ritalin?” says Alex.
    â€œI love Ritalin,” says Sarah, and her face lights up. It’s the most animated I’ve seen her.
    â€œCall him,” says Alex.
    â€œI don’t have his number,” I say, which is a lie because we’ve been partners for every single group project. As muchas I want to get high and as much as I hate him, there’s something that makes me want to keep Alex away from Justin.
    â€œTalk to him on Monday, then.”
    â€œI will,” I say.
    â€œWhat are we going to do?” says Sarah as she twirls her hair around her fingers. Her hair is patchy all over because she pulls it out. She doesn’t even know she’s doing it. You can’t really tell it’s like that when she wears it up, but right now her hair is down and she looks like a cancer patient.
    It’s Saturday and Alex doesn’t know where her mom is. There’s no food in the house, so I brought some over. She’s on her fourth peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Sarah is gnawing absentmindedly on a piece of sandwich meat she has wrapped around her finger.
    â€œI am so fucking bored,” says Alex, and Sarah and I say, “Me too,” in unison.
    â€œWe need money,” she says, and Sarah and I nod our heads. We sit in silence for a while, thinking about money and getting high. I am thinking about Ritalin. I am trying to guess what it could do, why something so great could be a kid’s prescription. My stomach turns over and my body tingles. Of course he will give it to me. He probably won’t even make me pay. I will have an endless supply of something new to feel.
    â€œOh, shit,” says Alex. “I have the best fucking idea.”
    â€¢ • •
    Sarah and I are the ones who knock on the doors because we look the sweetest. Alex tells us where to go and what to say, then hides behind a bush or a car until we’re done. I am holding the manila envelope with kirkland junior high science class donations written in black Sharpie. Sarah did that. She has the nicest handwriting, careful, like someone’s watching her.
    An old woman with blue hair answers the door. A tiny white furball of a dog starts jumping on my legs. The hair around his eyes and mouth is stained brown with snot and tears and gross dog things.
    â€œMitzy, come here!” the old woman screams with more force I would imagine could come out of her frail body. She starts coughing uncontrollably, and Sarah and I look at each other like
Should we run?
We don’t want to be around when she dies.
    The old lady takes a drag of her cigarette and the coughing stops. “Can I help you girls?” she asks in a raspy voice.
    â€œUm, we’re seventh graders at Kirkland Junior High,” I say. “As you may know, funding for schools is at an all-time low, and our science class does not have the necessary funds to buy supplies. We’re collecting donations so we can buy animals for our classroom.” I