The Truth About Alice(22)

So seeing Alice talking to the strangest guy in school was really unsettling.

But the truth is, even though there’s some of me that can remember what it was like to meet the Incredible Alice Franklin way back in ninth grade, mostly it feels like the real Alice Franklin has moved away. Or turned into a ghost or a different person. Like she’s transformed into a gray sweatshirt with legs.

There’s another thing on the list of things I try not to think about. And that is that first time Alice hung out at my house. We wandered into my den, and my brain was working overtime trying to think of what to say to sound cool, and she ran her raspberry-colored fingernails over the spines of all my mom’s religious books, including Jesus Calling and Power of a Praying Wife. I remember how my cheeks flared up super hot as she peered at some of the covers. I remember holding my breath as she looked around the room and took in all the Christian stuff on the walls.

“My mom’s really intense about the religion thing,” I said, “but I’m, um, totally not.” I hoped my mother couldn’t overhear our conversation from back in the kitchen. Denying your faith in the Lord was the ultimate no-no.

“Oh,” said Alice like she hadn’t even noticed. “That’s cool. I mean, I believe in God and everything. No big deal.”

I remember how my shoulders sank ten feet with relief when she said that.

I miss her. I actually miss her. I know I always got jealous of her and I know she lied to me about giving Mark Lopez a blow job and I know that one of the guys she (probably/maybe) slept with at Elaine’s party was Tommy Cray. I know that when I’m the most upset about The Really Awful Stuff, I blame her for it even though logically that doesn’t make sense … I miss her. I miss doodling on magazines and ordering pizza and eating an entire pan of brownies together just because we could. I miss watching corny, crazy musicals like Cry Baby and The Apple and singing the songs out loud. I miss asking her questions about what sex is like and having sleepovers and watching her call boys in the middle of the night and do a really bad Chinese accent and ask if they wanted extra egg rolls with their order. And I miss gossiping and texting in class to fight off our boredom.

Kelsie I am so bored in this class I want 2 poke my eyeballs out with hot sticks.

Don’t do it your eyes are pretty.

I could walk around with sticks in my eyes where the eyeballs had been. You could lead me around and be my helper.

Are U saying I would be your seeing eye dog?

Yes but not a dog. Just a helpful friend.

U are a freak Alice!!!!

I know U R 2!!!!

I miss her and I know it’s a totally hypocritical, pathetic thing to say. Given everything I’ve done to her and everything I’ll probably still do.

And all just to sit at the good table in the cafeteria.

But it’s true. I’d deny it to anyone who asked me straight out, but most of the time—actually lots of the time—I miss Alice Franklin.

I guess I don’t deserve to. But I do.





Kurt

Even the gods themselves must have eventually gotten used to being around Aphrodite.

And so it is that after almost two months of meeting twice a week, I’m finally starting to relax a little at Alice’s house. Despite her beauty, her appeal, her perfect knees and lips and face, I’m no longer a jumbly mess during our tutoring sessions. I’m not a placid lake of calmness either, mind you. But I can breathe regularly at least.

She always has her math textbook ready and waiting for me on the kitchen table, next to the sharpened pencils and an ice cold can of Coke. She never drinks anything during our sessions. She just studies me carefully as I work the problems, offer explanations, answer her questions.

Her mother is almost never home. Once I caught a glimpse of her as she walked out of the house during one of my sessions with Alice. She’s an older version of Alice, but with shoulder-length hair and a face that isn’t anywhere near as soft and as sweet as Alice’s face. She told Alice not to wait up, and she didn’t even say hello to me.

I get the sense that Alice is very much on her own.

One evening after a long set of problems, Alice looked at me and said, “How did you get to be so good at this anyway?”

I shrugged my shoulders and told her the truth. “I don’t know. It just comes easily to me, I guess. It’s not hard at all. But the things that come easily to other people don’t come easily to me, so I suppose there is a trade-off.”

“What doesn’t come easily to you?” Alice said, frowning a little. “You’re a straight A student.”

“Academics aren’t the problem,” I told her. “But, for example, talking to people. About the weather or sports or what have you. I can’t do that. I’m not good at just talking.”

Alice’s slight frown turned into a smile.

“Well, aren’t we talking now?”

I flushed. “Yes, we are. We’re talking about talking.”

“Talking about talking,” Alice repeated. Her smile grew a little more. My brain grasped at every corner of my head, searching for something to say, but I couldn’t find anything.

After a moment of quiet, Alice said, “Should we get back to work?” Maybe she sensed my discomfort.

“Okay,” I said, grateful to be able to talk about polynomials again.