The Truth About Alice(18)

“Well, maybe she was just going for a check-up?” Maggie asked.

I arched an eyebrow. “Like they don’t have doctors in Healy who do check-ups?” Naturally, everyone agreed with me.

“Do you think it was from … that night?” someone else asked.

“Do the math,” I said. “My party was what, close to three months ago? Perfect timing. I’m sure it was from that night.”

“And the really gross and scary thing is…” Kelsie continued, and for a second I could see how much she was loving this, just getting to be in the center of our little group with all of us listening to her, “… I mean, she would have no idea who the father is. Tommy or Brandon? Isn’t that so totally skanky?”

“Totally,” Maggie whispered.

“I can’t even believe she used to be my friend,” Kelsie said. “It’s just, like, that was another time in my life, you know?”

“Totally,” I said.

“So you don’t miss her?” Maggie asked. “You don’t even feel a little sorry for her?” I thought Maggie was acting weird. I mean, Alice was responsible for Brandon Fitzsimmons dying. And it wasn’t like Alice had to sleep with him at my party.

What Kelsie did next really surprised me. We were just standing there in that girls’ bathroom with the green-and-white tile and the scummy sinks and instead of answering Maggie, Kelsie searched through her bag until she found a black Sharpie, and she opened up the stall next to us, the middle one. She uncapped the marker and wrote right there on the wall to the left of the toilet in letters that were at least two inches high.

ATTENTION!

ALICE FRANKLIN IS A HO SLUT WHORE WHO DOES IT WITH EVERYBODY!!!

We all laughed, all of us, and then I said, “My turn.”

ALICE FRANKLIN HAS GIVEN 423 BLOW JOBS!!! NOW THAT’S A LOT OF DICK!

I stared at the graffiti and watched how quickly the shiny Sharpie writing dulled into a permanent black stain. The other girls behind me lined up to take their turns.





Josh

I’ve been thinking about the accident pretty much all the time. The sounds of the ambulance. The sun beating down on me as they pulled me out of the car. How it’s really true that time speeds up and slows down and your brain goes all whacked out in moments like a car wreck. I wouldn’t say I think about it constantly, but basically I think about it pretty much a lot. I think about Officer Daniels interviewing me in the hospital. I think about Mrs. Fitzsimmons sitting on my dad’s recliner asking me all those questions.

It’s weird, the things I think about when I remember the wreck and everything that happened afterward. Like maybe my brain is trying to make it so I don’t think about what happened right before the accident and Brandon’s dying. It just focuses on the stupid stuff instead. Like Officer Daniels’s chewed up pencil. Or Mrs. Fitzsimmons’ glass of sweet tea.

But I still think about it. I think about it during football games (we lost our last one against Johnston) and I think about it while eating mystery meat in the cafeteria and I think about it in English class. We’ve been reading a book about the olden days when this lady supposedly did it with some guy and they weren’t married and she had his baby, and that was a huge deal back then. So she had to wear a red letter A on her dress all the time. Kind of messed up, I guess.

I think about it until I can’t think about it in any new kind of way. Until my brain gives out and goes fuzzy or blank.

Sometimes I think about the ride home from Elaine O’Dea’s famous party. The one where Alice did what she did. Anyway, Elaine made this big deal about me not driving home drunk. I think she promised her parents, but I just wanted to go. After that text about Alice, it just felt like it was time to leave. Brandon kind of mumbled could I give him a lift? Could he crash at my place? “Okay,” I said.

He was so wasted I had to help him into the car. Sometimes, when my brain remembers this night, it remembers little things, too. Like Brandon smelling of booze, and the prickle of his stubble rubbing against my face as I tried to hold him up and get him into my dad’s Chevy S-10. And the way he kept laughing at everything even when nothing was funny.

Anyway, I was drunk, but he was way drunker, and that’s why I was the one to drive us back to my house.

Healy is a dead zone after midnight. Sonic, McDonald’s, Walgreens, the Curl Up and Dye, Auto Zone, the Healy Advocate, the Sno-Cone Shop, Burger King, Wendy’s, Chik-fil-A: no lights on in any of them. Nobody walking anywhere; hardly any other cars. Not even the Wal-Mart in Healy is open twenty-four hours. Drunk driving late at night is pretty safe around here, I guess.

Making our way home, I looked over at Brandon, and he was slumped against the passenger window. But his glassy eyes were open.

“Did you really do it?” I asked.

“Do what?” he said, kind of slurry.

“You and Tommy Cray … and Alice.”

Brandon got this smirk like he was getting some image back in his head.

“Yeah, we really did it, man,” he answered me. “Fuckin’ awesome, too. Alice is hot. Even with that short hair and shit.” He started laughing again as he rambled on.

“Tommy didn’t mind sloppy seconds?” I asked, kind of not wanting to ask but asking anyway.

“No he didn’t,” Brandon said. “She couldn’t get enough. Me twice and Tommy once. I’m gonna have to hit that again soon.” He yawned so wide I heard his jaw pop.