Identical (12 page)

Wrap my arms around her

neck. “Thank you. But I’m

okay.” Of course she knows

it’s a lie.

Greta, who patiently

waits for my confession,

can see demons hip-hopping

in my eyes.

She deserves a better answer.

“Maybe someday we can

trade stories, okay? But

I’m on foot today.

Better go.”

Be safe,
is her reply, and again

I realize I only feel secure here.

Passing William in the hall,

I give his shoulder an easy

poke.

“Name’s Kaeleigh. Gotta go.

Be good.” He offers the usual

Always,
then turns his attention

to a couple of older ladies. Better

them

than me, and their giggles

mean they agree. I step

out

the door, into lengthening

afternoon, carry my demons

home, tucked deep inside.

Just leave well enough alone,

but I’ve been thinking about Mick.

One way or another, I have to

decide whether I want to keep him.

He actually gave me an ultimatum

when he found me doing the deed with Ty.

Maybe that’s why I got so ballsy, had sex

with Ty where I knew Mick could

find us. Maybe I had to know if he

cared or not. He did! He was jealous.

I’d like to think the reason

he was flirting with Madison

that night was to make me jealous.

But I don’t think he’s that complicated.

“Complicated” takes more brains.

Not that Mick is a total dolt,

but he isn’t exactly Einstein, either.

Anyway, most of Mick’s brains reside

in the general area of his groin.

One thing for sure, sex will never

be about love with Mick. I don’t love

him, and he definitely doesn’t love me.

Still, he semi-fills a gaping black hole

inside me. That place wants love,

maybe even needs love, but love is

something I’m pretty sure doesn’t exist.

I’m not ready to let him go, not

without a fight. Besides the easy

sex thing, there’s still the pot.

I know they say marijuana isn’t

addictive, not like speed or heroin,

which claw into you and won’t let go.

Pot is more of a sweet talker, and I’m

all over that sexy voice. I went Saturday

without it, but by yesterday afternoon,

I was getting antsy. I called Mick,

asked him to pick me up after church.

Yes, I sometimes sneak off to Sunday

services, always in need of forgiveness,

if not always exactly sure why. Freshly

forgiven, I was eager for corruption.

Okay, I’ll come get you,
he said.

But not if you’re gonna fuck off

on me. What was that about?

Not like we’re exclusive, or have

ever pretended to be. But the dope

was calling. Had to play contrite.

Even if it isn’t my best game. “Sorry.

Guess I was jealous of Madison

and wanted to make you jealous too.”

Yeah, well, I could have screwed

her Friday night too. I didn’t,

even though she wanted to.

Zing! Off went a flare in my head.

My temper [ature] started to rise.

But I kept it in check. “Obviously.”

Anyway, Madison says you see

other guys all the time. Friday

kind of proved that, didn’t it?

Okay, I was starting to lose it.

“That’s just bullshit! If she doesn’t

watch her effing mouth, I’ll…”

He waited for me to finish it,

but when all I could do was stammer,

he asked,
You’ll what?

“Kick her ass.”

And that might take a while.

Patience? Not my best thing.

I make it through Contemporary

Lit, still puzzling over it.

Spanish II.
Si, quiero

venganza.
I want revenge.

I am on my way to history

when opportunity falls

smack in my lap, à la

a quick bathroom break.

As I start toward the girls’

room, I notice Madison

ahead of me. She reaches

into her purse, roots inside.

She glances around, but

doesn’t see me watch her

extract a tampon, palm

it, and step through the door.

I can wait to pee. And now

I’ve got my ammunition.

First I have to get through history.

I sit in my usual seat in back,

by the window, as Mr. Lawler

passes out last week’s essays.

I can’t help but notice how

he moves with feline grace.

A big cat. Jaguar, maybe.

Or a tiger. Secure within his stripes.

Pinstripes, actually, on dark

trousers, snug at the waist

and across his hips,

before falling loosely

down over his thighs.

And just as my disgusting

brain gloms onto a sick

image of what those thighs

look like, his voice descends.

Interesting piece of writing.

I’d like to discuss it further.

Can you wait after class,

or come in at lunch?

Interesting, good? Or bad?

My eyes drop, focusing on

a large red A at the top of

my paper. Apparently,

good. “Let’s do lunch.”

With Mr. Lawler will postpone

exacting revenge. Lunch would

have been a great venue for what

I’ve got in mind. Instead I’ll wait

for drama—not my class, but I’ll

go to watch Kaeleigh rehearse.

At least, that will be my excuse.

Madison will be there too.

And anyway, lunch with Mr. Lawler

and his pinstripes could prove quite

interesting. Sheesh. Sometimes I turn

into a major vamp. It’s a fun game.

I’m all into games, distractions

from the day-to-day crap. All vamp,

I open Mr. Lawler’s door. “Ready

for me?” His smile tells me definitely.

Come on in. I’m just finishing

up here. Have a seat.
He gestures

to a chair beside his desk, scribbles

something in his grade book,

and finally looks me in the eye.

I’m fascinated with your take

on the Scopes trial. How did you

arrive at your conclusions?

I outline my research, add a bit

about my father and his take on

this sensational piece of history—

how different attorneys might have

made different arguments, the court

might have allowed the jury to

sentence Scopes, and the Bible

might have been the only source

for schoolchildren for many years

to come. Hard to believe they were

such cretins in 1925, jailing a high

school teacher for offering evolution

as an alternate theory to creationism.

Just who were the monkeys in the “Monkey

Trial”? Anyway, the entire time I talk,

Mr. Lawler’s eyes stay fixed on mine.

I’m very impressed. You took

a relatively straightforward

topic and gave it a unique

spin. I appreciate the extra

effort that went into this essay.

And then, in a completely