The Extraordinary Life of Sam Hell(58)

After the moment of silence, my dad said, “Donna, Mickie gets the family discount, ten percent off.” He said goodbye and started back up the aisle. “Have fun at the movies.”

Donna rang up Mickie’s candy. “Anything else?”

“Don’t look at me,” Mickie said. “My friend here is the one with the money.”

I paid for the candy, and Donna put it in a brown bag. “I want a full report on the movie later,” she called out as we were leaving and for a moment I felt that everything was okay. Then she added, “Sport.”

When I opened the car door, Mickie stood waiting to slide in ahead of me. “You better go around,” I said. “There’s not much room.”

She looked at me like I’d gone crazy. “What are you talking about? There’s plenty of room.” She squeezed past and slid onto the seat. I looked to the store window. Donna was waiting on a customer. When I slid in, Mickie was closer than ever. “Can you move over a bit?” I said.

She looked annoyed. “What’s wrong with you?”

“There’s nothing wrong with me. I don’t want to get in an accident.”

“Your mother’s right; you are grumpy.”

“Why, because I don’t want to get in an accident? You’re practically driving the car.”

“Fine.” She slid all the way to the passenger door. “Happy now?”

As I backed out, I looked again to the store windows, but Donna was not at the counter.

“Oh,” Mickie said with a grin. “Now I get it. You got a thing for the girl with the big tits.”

“What? Who? Donna? Please. She’s eighteen.”

“You do. That comment—‘We’re just friends.’ You have a crush on Betty Boobs.”

“I don’t have a crush on Betty . . . her.” I stepped down on the gas pedal too hard, causing the Falcon to shoot backward from the space. A car horn blared. Tires squealed. I hit the brakes, causing us to jerk to a stop. The bag of candy slid off the seat onto the floorboard.

Mickie was laughing. “Why so nervous?”

“I’m not . . .” I swore and waved an apology to the driver of the car I’d nearly hit. When he passed, I backed out more carefully.

“Maybe your mind is on other things?”

“Will you just stop,” I said, feeling myself getting more and more upset as we drove down Broadway toward the freeway.

Mickie said, “I didn’t take you for a guy that liked fat chicks.”

“I don’t . . . She’s not . . .”

“You’re a tit man.”

“Can we just drop it, please?”

“What, are you afraid she’ll think I’m your girlfriend?”

“I’m not afraid of anything. You’re not my girlfriend.”

“You can bet your ass I’m not; I expect my boyfriends to treat me a hell of a lot better than you’re treating me.”

I’d lost it by this point. “What, do you want me to unbutton your shirt and grab your tits, then not call you?” I regretted the words as they were leaving my mouth, and if I could have I would have snatched them back.

“Stop the car.”

“Mickie, I didn’t mean it.”

She punched me on the arm. “Stop the fucking car or I swear to God I’ll jump out.” She started to stand on the seat.

“Okay. Okay.” I turned the corner and pulled over. Mickie got out of the car and slammed the door shut behind her, storming down the sidewalk. I got out of the driver’s seat and chased her down. When I caught up to her, I grabbed her arm, but she spun from my grasp and punched me in the chest.

“Don’t fucking touch me.” She hurried away from me. People now stood on the sidewalk, watching the two of us.

I ran to catch up and lowered my voice. “Will you just stop? I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry.”

Mickie brooded and continued walking.

“I’m sorry,” I said for at least the fifth time.

She whirled on me. “How am I supposed to know you’re having a wet dream over some fat girl?”

A couple with a baby stroller slowed their approach, looking wary.

“Will you stop yelling and just let me say something?”

She crossed her arms. “Fine. What?”

I waited for the couple to walk on. “I’m sorry.”

“You said that.” Mickie started up the street, and I gave chase.

“Wait. What I mean is I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you . . .” She stopped, hands on her hips. “Okay. Maybe I have a crush on her.”

“Then why didn’t you just admit it?”

“Because she’s eighteen! She’s a senior. I’d look . . . you’d laugh at me.”

She shook her head. “I’m not one of your stupid guy friends, Sam. I wouldn’t laugh at you. But what you said really hurt me. I don’t expect that from you.”

“I know and I’m sorry. I’m an idiot.”

“You’re not an idiot. Sometimes you just act like one. Is that what you think of me?”

“What?” I asked.

“That I let every guy grab me? You don’t believe those morons, do you?”