Five Minutes in Heaven by Lisa Alther

wax paper off a stack of Oreos Clementine had packed for her. “Except my teacher was making fun of how this boy was holding his pencil, so he threw it at her. And then she spanked him in the cloakroom.” Jude separated an Oreo to lick off the sugary white filling. “School is really scary, isn’t it?”
    â€œYeah. But girls hardly ever get in trouble,” said Molly. “Just boys, ‘cause they always say what they think. They don’t understand that nobody cares.”
    After lunch, Jude and Molly stood beside the high fence around the playground, the only girls in blue jeans, holding hands and watching the Commie Killers play softball. After the Commie Killers’ run-in with Uncle Clarence, Jude’s father had hired a bulldozer to destroy their trenches. So when they passed Jude on the sidewalk now, they called her “Public Enemy Number One.”
    Noreen’s gang was in a grassy corner, hurting one another’s feelings, then making up via networks of earnest intermediaries. Spotting Jude and Molly, Noreen sauntered over in her plaid dress, which had a black patent-leather belt to match her Mary Janes. Her stomach bulged out beneath the belt like a beach ball.
    â€œWhy do you spend all your time with that baby first grader?” she asked Molly.
    â€œBecause she’s my friend.” She let go of Jude’s hand.
    â€œWhen you get sick of her, you can come play with us.”
    â€œI’m not going to get sick of her, Noreen.”
    Jude was grinding a pebble into the dirt with the toe of her oxford. She glanced at Molly, aware of her sacrifice in being best friends with a first grader. Even though Molly’s voice was calm, her eyes were icy cold.
    â€œYou two look like boys in those blue jeans,” said Noreen. “Wouldn’t your mothers buy you new dresses for the first day of school?”
    There was a horrified silence as Noreen remembered that Jude’s mother was dead. She whirled around and stalked away, dust coating her glossy Mary Janes.
    â€œLook. There’s Sandy.” Touching Jude’s shoulder, Molly pointed across the playground. He was sitting with his back to the brick wall of the building, playing chess against himself on a tiny portable set. The teacher on duty, a hunched old woman in a navy blue Brooklyn Dodgers cap, was standing over him gesticulating wildly. Sandy folded up his chess set and slipped it into his shorts pocket. Teacher hobbling at his heels, he marched to the softball diamond.
    When the Commie Killers saw him coming, they groaned as though they had stomachaches. One yelled, “Oh, no, here comes the convict!” Although Jude’s father, who had gone to high school with the president of the phone company, had gotten Sandy excused from the wiretap charges, the Commie Killers wouldn’t let him put his criminal past behind him.
    The teacher handed him a glove and directed him to right field. He stood there with one hand on his hip, the other holding out the leather glove like a skillet waiting for a flapjack. When Ace hit a fly ball, Sandy’s expression as he watched it arc and fall in his direction was one of pure terror. He missed it, and Ace converted his error into a grand-slam home run.
    During the next inning, Sandy walked up to the plate, optimistically hefting a black Louisville Slugger. Ace motioned the outfield closer, yelling, “Easy out!” Which it unfortunately was.
    After school, Jude and Molly stood toe-to-toe at the crack in the sidewalk marking the boundary between their yards. Each crossed her arms and placed her hands on the other’s shoulders. For a long time, they looked into each other’s eyes. Jude could see herself and the maple tree behind her reflected in Molly’s irises. The bright blue disks were scored with lines, like miniature blueberry pies sliced into a hundred pieces. Around each pupil was a tiny translucent golden ring like a butter rum