Crooked by Laura McNeal Page A

Melville, Eddie had started sitting behind Clara on the bus. He would be quiet for a long time. Then he would lean forward and say, “Are you a virgin?” Clara had stopped riding the bus.
    Now, in the aisle of Dusty’s Oldtowne Market, Clara turned slightly so that she could peer at the Tripp brothers over the oatmeal box. They both wore baggy military fatigues and expensive black Nikes. Eddie’s head wasn’t shaved anymore—he had tightly curled black hair. Charles’s scalp was shaved clean, so clean that Clara wondered how he’d done it without cutting any of its protruding blue veins. Charles was even bigger now than he was last summer, when he used to lounge with Eddie in the bleachers at the high school and watch cheerleading practice, girls’ track, and women pushing strollers, all the while making low comments audible only to Eddie, who would cackle with laughter.
    The shopping cart the Tripp brothers were pushing had only a few things in it—some catsup, several cans of Red Dog beer, a small log of salami—and Charles was evidently looking for something in his coat because he kept unzipping it and checking out the lining. It was then that Eddie saw Clara.
    Clara glanced away immediately, a sure giveaway that she’d been staring. While she pretended to study the oatmeal, she could see that the Tripps were moving out of her aisle, pushing the cart casually, and then they were gone.
    Clara didn’t give them another thought until she reached the checkout stand, where she realized that the two brothers were in the line to her left. What was strange was that none of the things she’d seen in their cart earlier were there now. Instead, there was only a bag of generic potato chips and a two-liter bottle of generic cola. Eddie had his wallet out and was studying its contents. Charles was turned toward Clara but not looking at her. He was staring in dull fascination at the rack with magazines and tabloids. As he leaned forward to pull out the
Enquirer
from the rack, his jacket fell open and Clara saw a bottle of catsup. From another pocket peered a can of Red Dog beer. Other pockets, too, seemed to be bulging, but her view was blocked when Charles spread open the tabloid in front of him.
    When Charles put the newspaper back, Eddie’s eyes fell on Clara. They were the same pale glassy blue that made him almost handsome. She
had
thought he was handsome, in fact, before he started asking if she was a virgin.
    â€œHey, Clara,” he said now, moving so that he stood in front of his brother’s jacket. “Haven’t seen you much since your daddy started taking you to school.” He tried his best to smile.
    Clara didn’t know what to say. Eddie Tripp seemed creepy to her, but not completely creepy. She decided to try being nice. “That was a long time ago,” she said, shrugging and smiling. “So how do you like it at Melville? I hardly ever see you now.”
    Eddie grinned. “Yeah, well, you’re in those bright-child classes”—he grinned wider—“whereas the shrewd observers have got me pegged as the vocational type.”
    Charles, after throwing a quick look toward Clara, gave his little brother a sharp push from the back. Eddie put the generic cola and chips on the counter.
    In her aisle, the conveyor belt suddenly moved and her checker was talking. “How are you? Do you have a Dusty’s card? Cash, check, or credit? Paper or plastic?”
    When Clara next looked their way, Charles and Eddie Tripp were leaving. As Charles pushed and herded Eddie ahead of him, Eddie smiled back at Clara. It was a nice smile. “Maybe our paths will cross again, hey?”
    Clara, feeling color rise in her cheeks and thinking of her crooked nose, lowered her face and didn’t say anything. She supposed she hoped their paths would never cross again, but the way Eddie paid attention just now wasn’t so horrible. After