The Truth About Alice(33)

But when I walked into the library, the only person in the whole entire place was Alice Franklin.

I didn’t see her when I walked in because she was sort of hidden in the back at a table behind some reference books no one hardly even uses anymore. I just saw her because I was walking around in that part of the library. She had some math homework in front of her.

It was weird because I just turned the corner and there she was. Sitting all alone at this table, her book open and this spiral notebook full of problems. She heard me come up, I guess, because she looked up and there we were, staring at each another.

She looked shocked to see me for a second, but that only lasted for a second. She mostly just stared at me. At first it was like she was just looking me over, and then maybe I think I saw her eyebrows sort of come together a little, like she was mad. But maybe almost like she was scared to get mad.

She knew I’d said she’d been texting Brandon. She knew everyone blamed Brandon’s death on her because of me. I mean, I don’t know who exactly told her I’d said anything, but it took about twenty seconds for everyone in Healy to find out about that, so it doesn’t really matter anyway.

I can’t believe I just stood there, looking at Alice like some big dummy. I don’t know what my face looked like. Alice took a deep breath and then when it came out it sounded all shaky. Real fast she stood up and slammed her books and held them across her chest and just walked past me. Real quickly, and she didn’t look at me either when she walked by.

I stood there for a second watching her go. Then Mrs. Long, the librarian, came up to me.

“Josh, honey, do you need some assistance?”

I nodded yes and told her about the paper, and then I followed her to the computers so she could look stuff up for me. I knew if I smiled and was real sweet, she would really help me out. It’s one of the perks of being me, I guess.

As Mrs. Long was typing stuff into one of the databases, my brain remembered this one time in middle school when Alice and me had been assigned to be partners for this autobiography project. By this time I was cool enough not to throw paper wads in her hair anymore, and we were sort of even friends.

“I really want to do our project on Vince Young,” I remembered telling her.

“Who is Vince Young?” Alice asked, and she wrinkled up her nose.

“Oh my God, Alice, how do you not know who Vince Young is?” I remembered how I pretended to pass out from the shock, and Alice had laughed that loud funny laugh she has.

But she gave in, and we did do our project on Vince Young. She even did almost all the work anyway and she wasn’t even nasty about it.

As Mrs. Long hummed and typed and talked, I just kept remembering that project. I kept thinking about how I made Alice laugh and how nice she had been about the whole thing.

The deal is, I know I’m dumb sometimes, but I try real hard most of the time not to be an *. And I guess that day in the library, I just felt like an *.





Kurt

Shortly after sharing Christmas pizza and beer with Alice Franklin, we reached the end of the first semester at Healy High. It’s always a half day before Winter Break, and there’s no real purpose in even going to school that day. It’s merely an excuse to eat candy and watch movies in class. On most days I feel the work at Healy High is much too easy for me, but on days like the half day before Winter Break, I feel insulted that I’m even expected to show up for school.

But I tried to get into the spirit of things. Since I’ve been tutoring Alice, there’s a reason to look forward to walking the halls of the school building. I might see Alice there, and she’ll smile at me. Dip her head ever so slightly. Peer out from that sweatshirt and raise her eyebrows at me in a greeting.

I know I’m the only one on the receiving end of those greetings, and this makes me feel special and happy. In fact, I’m fairly certain that I’m the only one at Healy High who Alice speaks to anymore. Sometimes I have fantasies that she will come and eat lunch with me in the cafeteria, but a few weeks ago, Alice stopped eating in the cafeteria completely. I’m not sure where she goes during lunch. There’s no end to the rumors about Alice, and from what I overhear there’s no end to the graffiti in the so-called Slut Stall upstairs. Not that I’ve seen it or want to see it.

On the half day before break there was no lunch served, of course, and my stomach was growling as I prepared to gather my books out of my locker and head home. Maybe I was feeling lightheaded from lack of nutrition, because it’s the only explanation for the bold act I soon found myself committing.

I found her as I was walking out of the main hallway. She had on that sweatshirt, and her backpack was slung low against her rear end. I tried not to glance there too long because it made me feel a little guilty, honestly. She was alone, staring into the trophy case full of team photographs and rusting trophies from decades past.

“Hello, Alice,” I said, standing next to her. I felt like this was something I could do. After all, we ate pizza together. We drank beer together. She cried in front of me. I gave her a Christmas present. We worked together at her house twice a week. But still, I was nervous to discover her reaction.

I shouldn’t have been. Alice turned to me and smiled. Smiled broadly enough that her crooked incisor peeked out at me.

“Hello, Kurt,” she said, and although I know it’s biologically impossible, my heart dropped down into my stomach for a moment before returning to my chest.