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Authors: J. Ryan Stradal
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Chadd Grebeck and Dylan Sternwall and Brant Manus and Bethany Messerschmidt as she carefully injected a full teaspoon of chile powder into the sugary guts of each one-ounce churro bite, again and again. She stopped once to consider whether a straight full teaspoon was excessive; although she had no friends in the class, perhaps not everyone deserved to have the sensation of their taste buds seared off, let alone burning diarrhea. All she knew was that there was no way that Chadd or Brant orany of those assholes should accidentally end up with one that had no chocolate hab in it, so therefore she had to severely doctor them all.
• • •
When she was done, a little before midnight, she licked the cinnamon and sugar and her chocolate habanero pepper powder off of her fingers all at once, feeling the severe, pleasant burning on her lips and mouth.
She was pretty sure that in her three-plus years of handling and eating extremely hot peppers, she had exhausted most of the substance P from the soft tissues in her mouth and hands, which didn’t replenish, even as she got older; the main reason she began growing increasingly hot exotic peppers was to find something with enough capsaicin to release the endorphins that became more and more inaccessible with increased heat tolerance. She wanted to feel lava blossoming in her eyes and nose and mouth again, like the first time she ate a regular habanero with Cousin Randy, back when he was still allowed to babysit her. She cleaned out her last teaspoon of chile powder in the jar with a wet finger, put it on her tongue, and let the graceless heat savage her soft tissues as she lay on her bed, closed her eyes, felt the angels in her blood begin to sing, and officially turned eleven.
• • •
Her mom offered her a ride to school the next morning, which was rare, and normally Eva would’ve jumped at it, but that would mean revealing the churro bites and not being able to accidentally forget the ice cream, so she took the dreaded bus instead. She sat two seats behind the driver, which she hated doing because it was dorky and fearful, and only the little kids sat way up front.
That day, there was no escaping the awful boys either way.
“Hey, scrotum-breath,” Dylan Sternwall, seated four seats behind Eva, said to Chadd. “Ten bucks if you kiss Sasquatch again.”
“Give me the money first, gerbil-dick.”
Dylan took a crumpled twenty-dollar bill out of his pocket. “I’ll pay you for this time
and
the last time. After services rendered.”
“You hear that, Sasquatch?” Chadd said. “I’m gonna get you again today. Outside. If you go running into the school I’m going to de-pants you.”
Eva could only nod in response and look at the bus floor. De-pantsing was the highest of the high-level threats. Even if they succeeded, Eva knew that punishment would be elusive for these boys, especially when their dads were high school coaches and managed car dealerships and were far richer and more popular around town than her own little family. Once or twice, she had overheard people calling her parents “white trash,” and she had quickly figured out that no one protects or stands up for white trash, and no one on the outside ever would. To be called white trash is to be told that you’re on your own.
“Meet us at the end of the fence around the corner.”
That was off school property. Eva nodded again. She saw him stare at her box of churro bites.
“Is that Mexican crap for school?” he asked. “That shit sucks.”
Chadd grabbed the box from her in one move with his greasy boy hands and held it over her head.
Eva leaped to her feet. “Give it back!”
“What was that?” the bus driver yelled.
Chadd slid to a seat across the aisle, crushing a couple of third graders with his chunky body, and slid the box out an open window. “Whoops,” he said.
“No!”
Eva pulled down her window and looked out to see just the faintest glimpse of a lavender box
• • •
When she was done, a little before midnight, she licked the cinnamon and sugar and her chocolate habanero pepper powder off of her fingers all at once, feeling the severe, pleasant burning on her lips and mouth.
She was pretty sure that in her three-plus years of handling and eating extremely hot peppers, she had exhausted most of the substance P from the soft tissues in her mouth and hands, which didn’t replenish, even as she got older; the main reason she began growing increasingly hot exotic peppers was to find something with enough capsaicin to release the endorphins that became more and more inaccessible with increased heat tolerance. She wanted to feel lava blossoming in her eyes and nose and mouth again, like the first time she ate a regular habanero with Cousin Randy, back when he was still allowed to babysit her. She cleaned out her last teaspoon of chile powder in the jar with a wet finger, put it on her tongue, and let the graceless heat savage her soft tissues as she lay on her bed, closed her eyes, felt the angels in her blood begin to sing, and officially turned eleven.
• • •
Her mom offered her a ride to school the next morning, which was rare, and normally Eva would’ve jumped at it, but that would mean revealing the churro bites and not being able to accidentally forget the ice cream, so she took the dreaded bus instead. She sat two seats behind the driver, which she hated doing because it was dorky and fearful, and only the little kids sat way up front.
That day, there was no escaping the awful boys either way.
“Hey, scrotum-breath,” Dylan Sternwall, seated four seats behind Eva, said to Chadd. “Ten bucks if you kiss Sasquatch again.”
“Give me the money first, gerbil-dick.”
Dylan took a crumpled twenty-dollar bill out of his pocket. “I’ll pay you for this time
and
the last time. After services rendered.”
“You hear that, Sasquatch?” Chadd said. “I’m gonna get you again today. Outside. If you go running into the school I’m going to de-pants you.”
Eva could only nod in response and look at the bus floor. De-pantsing was the highest of the high-level threats. Even if they succeeded, Eva knew that punishment would be elusive for these boys, especially when their dads were high school coaches and managed car dealerships and were far richer and more popular around town than her own little family. Once or twice, she had overheard people calling her parents “white trash,” and she had quickly figured out that no one protects or stands up for white trash, and no one on the outside ever would. To be called white trash is to be told that you’re on your own.
“Meet us at the end of the fence around the corner.”
That was off school property. Eva nodded again. She saw him stare at her box of churro bites.
“Is that Mexican crap for school?” he asked. “That shit sucks.”
Chadd grabbed the box from her in one move with his greasy boy hands and held it over her head.
Eva leaped to her feet. “Give it back!”
“What was that?” the bus driver yelled.
Chadd slid to a seat across the aisle, crushing a couple of third graders with his chunky body, and slid the box out an open window. “Whoops,” he said.
“No!”
Eva pulled down her window and looked out to see just the faintest glimpse of a lavender box
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