went, “Ohhhh. It’s loooooove.” They made kissing noises.
Through clenched teeth, T. J. said to Sweetie, “I’m kicking your ass, you goddamned freak !”
There was a blur, and Sweetie was on him like a wild cat, clawing and scratching and hitting and hissing. T. J. held up his hands to protect his face, then his stomach, his face again. Sweetie spat out cuss words like dirty pearls on a dirty necklace. T. J. backed up, backed up, and again fell into the creek. He looked as if he didn’t know where he was or who he was or why he’d just been beaten up by some wild creature of the woods.
Sweetie stood at the edge of the creek, her hands in fists, her chest heaving in and out.
Just as Sweetie said, the boys ran off. Jeremy grabbed Beatrice’s hand and pulled her away with him. Deidra stood with her hands over her mouth and her eyes widened. She called, “T. J.? T. J.?” and ran into the creek to him, soaking up her shiny shoes and her neat white socks.
Sweetie walked over to my satchel, picked it up, put my things back inside.
I picked up her sack, keeping an eye on T. J., who pushed away Deidra and stood. Deidra handed him her white hankee and he wiped bloody snot from his nose. It was quiet, and weird, as if the whole world hushed over Sweetie beating the dog spit out of T. J.. He dunked the hankee into the water, washed a scratch on his face. Deidra looked at Sweetie and said, “You’re nothing but a heathen. Look what you’ve done to my boyfriend,” and T. J. told Deidra to shut the hell up. She burst out crying and called him a meanie.
It was a moment sweeter than fudge.
Sweetie handed me my satchel; I handed over her sack. She said, “Let’s go, Warrior of the Creek.”
“I’m coming, Fists of Fire.”
We ran off, holding on to our satchel and sack, the fudge still nestled inside for us to eat with our backs against the poplar tree.
Later, as we slowed to a walk, I touched my face and wondered if I’d have a bruise. I almost wished I would. I wanted a sign of my bravery. I turned to look at Sweetie, at her split and swollen lip, a big red angry bump under her left eye. She sashayed along, her arms swinging, licked the blood off her lips, not a care in the world.
I was beginning to think there was something to that Mountain Spirit magic she was always talking about. I wondered if I could get some of it for myself.
SEVEN
I woke and felt all the good days of summer vacation stretch out far and wide as the earth looked when standing on a mountaintop. Sweetie and I were meeting at Turtlehead Rock at eight. I pointed and flexed my toes, raised my arms to the ceiling and let them float there, rose, made my bed, stretched my arms up, bent to touch my knees, flopped my arms to the right and left, and did two jumping jacks.
From the chest of drawers, I grabbed a pair of orange pedal pushers and a paisley top. Mother picked out all my clothes, and I hated them. She took me to Sears and Penney’s. The fancy stores she liked didn’t have my size, and it wouldn’t have been any better anyway.
She’d sigh and say, “Oh Melissa, think of the cute frocks you could wear if you’d lose some of that weight. Your chubbiness keeps you in bondage.” The sales girls would overhear her comments and snicker with their hands over their mouths. I’d pretend I was on Saturn, my favorite planet.
With my orange pants glowing on my hips, I looked at myself in the mirror, frowned, imagined Mother behind me frowning more. I wanted to wear cut off shorts, but my thighs pulled up the inner seam and the material bunched up between my legs, while the outer seams stayed down as they were supposed to.
After pulling on my white Keds, I tiptoed to the kitchen and looked in the cupboard. I’d sell my favorite charm bracelet for a bowl of Lucky Charms, or better yet, a strawberry Pop Tart. I toasted a piece of Mother’s homemade wheat bread and spread orange marmalade on it. I heard Father already at his
Through clenched teeth, T. J. said to Sweetie, “I’m kicking your ass, you goddamned freak !”
There was a blur, and Sweetie was on him like a wild cat, clawing and scratching and hitting and hissing. T. J. held up his hands to protect his face, then his stomach, his face again. Sweetie spat out cuss words like dirty pearls on a dirty necklace. T. J. backed up, backed up, and again fell into the creek. He looked as if he didn’t know where he was or who he was or why he’d just been beaten up by some wild creature of the woods.
Sweetie stood at the edge of the creek, her hands in fists, her chest heaving in and out.
Just as Sweetie said, the boys ran off. Jeremy grabbed Beatrice’s hand and pulled her away with him. Deidra stood with her hands over her mouth and her eyes widened. She called, “T. J.? T. J.?” and ran into the creek to him, soaking up her shiny shoes and her neat white socks.
Sweetie walked over to my satchel, picked it up, put my things back inside.
I picked up her sack, keeping an eye on T. J., who pushed away Deidra and stood. Deidra handed him her white hankee and he wiped bloody snot from his nose. It was quiet, and weird, as if the whole world hushed over Sweetie beating the dog spit out of T. J.. He dunked the hankee into the water, washed a scratch on his face. Deidra looked at Sweetie and said, “You’re nothing but a heathen. Look what you’ve done to my boyfriend,” and T. J. told Deidra to shut the hell up. She burst out crying and called him a meanie.
It was a moment sweeter than fudge.
Sweetie handed me my satchel; I handed over her sack. She said, “Let’s go, Warrior of the Creek.”
“I’m coming, Fists of Fire.”
We ran off, holding on to our satchel and sack, the fudge still nestled inside for us to eat with our backs against the poplar tree.
Later, as we slowed to a walk, I touched my face and wondered if I’d have a bruise. I almost wished I would. I wanted a sign of my bravery. I turned to look at Sweetie, at her split and swollen lip, a big red angry bump under her left eye. She sashayed along, her arms swinging, licked the blood off her lips, not a care in the world.
I was beginning to think there was something to that Mountain Spirit magic she was always talking about. I wondered if I could get some of it for myself.
SEVEN
I woke and felt all the good days of summer vacation stretch out far and wide as the earth looked when standing on a mountaintop. Sweetie and I were meeting at Turtlehead Rock at eight. I pointed and flexed my toes, raised my arms to the ceiling and let them float there, rose, made my bed, stretched my arms up, bent to touch my knees, flopped my arms to the right and left, and did two jumping jacks.
From the chest of drawers, I grabbed a pair of orange pedal pushers and a paisley top. Mother picked out all my clothes, and I hated them. She took me to Sears and Penney’s. The fancy stores she liked didn’t have my size, and it wouldn’t have been any better anyway.
She’d sigh and say, “Oh Melissa, think of the cute frocks you could wear if you’d lose some of that weight. Your chubbiness keeps you in bondage.” The sales girls would overhear her comments and snicker with their hands over their mouths. I’d pretend I was on Saturn, my favorite planet.
With my orange pants glowing on my hips, I looked at myself in the mirror, frowned, imagined Mother behind me frowning more. I wanted to wear cut off shorts, but my thighs pulled up the inner seam and the material bunched up between my legs, while the outer seams stayed down as they were supposed to.
After pulling on my white Keds, I tiptoed to the kitchen and looked in the cupboard. I’d sell my favorite charm bracelet for a bowl of Lucky Charms, or better yet, a strawberry Pop Tart. I toasted a piece of Mother’s homemade wheat bread and spread orange marmalade on it. I heard Father already at his
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