again without making a scene, and I admired her cool recovery. I disentangled my foot from the loop of my backpack. Kenny disposedof the shards of his broken pen by kicking them and watching them skitter.
“What am I, your fucking slave?” Kenny snarled at Mr. Fisher like a little mad dog who has had his bone stolen.
“Yes.” Mr. Fisher explained that Kenny was his slave, or at least his “pedagogical inferior.”
I took my end as I was ordered, disappointed that moving the desk would keep me from mingling in the hall and introducing myself to Hot Green-Eyed Steve Allen. Once Kenny and I were through the door, I noticed the name LiLi inked with pink glitter pen inside a heart. I also noticed the name Steve right next to it. LiLi was the French name I had used for Natalie when we were ten and going through a Parisian phase.
“Did Natalie write that?” I asked Kenny.
I had never before suspected my cousin of having a French alter ego, but then again, I never thought she would drink gin with me, or have a bearded boyfriend, or have secrets worse than clothes she forgot to iron. I wondered if Steve was my Steve and felt an even greater respect for the things I didn’t know about Natalie. She must have some relationship with him if both their names were graffitied on the same surface.Maybe she could introduce me to him.
“Jesus Christ.” Kenny frowned when I had stopped paying attention to where we were going and bumped into a water fountain. “Just what we need around here, another dizzy, brain-dead blonde.”
“Does Natalie have a boyfriend?” I asked.
He said “Jesus” again in a way that Jesus might take issue with. He nearly knocked me over as he pushed me down the hallway backward with the desk between us.
“Slower,” I suggested.
He increased the pace, what he would likely do if we were ever drunk and driving a car around a hairpin turn together, a scenario I would have been better able to imagine if I thought he were tall enough to reach a gas pedal. We arrived at a space between the lockers and I lowered my side. He continued to push. The legs of the desk shrieked on the tile floor.
“We can’t just leave it here.” He motioned me to lift my side again.
“Is there a janitor’s office?” The school didn’t seem big enough to require a janitor who needed an office.
“Keep it moving, Greeny Locks,” he insisted. He was referring to my hair. The water at Nana’s had tinted the highlights Katy had given me, but I had hoped that the lime aura was only visible under thefluorescent bathroom lights. Apparently Kenny had noticed it, too.
I hoisted while he steered us down the steps, through an exit to a walk that led to the parking lot. My calves screamed from descending first one and then two sets of stairs backward. Had I known in advance that people in Heaven were still wearing Crocs, I might have opted for a low-heeled clog. I assumed Kenny was aiming for a small white building on the far end of the lot, though it looked more like a shed than an office.
“Can we switch sides?”
“What the hell do you think?” he asked.
He was very crabby.
Over Kenny’s shoulder, I noticed Mr. Gruber, the principal, reopen the door we had come through.
“The principal is behind us,” I said.
“Move.” Kenny shoved.
“I am,” I complained.
“Faster.” He shoved harder.
“Just where do you think you’re going?” Mr. Gruber yelled from the doorway.
When neither Kenny nor I answered, Mr. Gruber half trotted, half ran in our direction, his tie flapping in the wind behind him. It probably wasn’t easy, moving so quickly, flying after wrongdoing when he sawit in action. I tried to stop and let him catch us, but Kenny propelled us forward with a lot of strength for a near midget. Finally, when Kenny couldn’t budge me another inch because one boot heel had gotten stuck in the half-frozen grass beside the sidewalk, he dropped his side of the desk. A rack of bikes lined the edge of the
“What am I, your fucking slave?” Kenny snarled at Mr. Fisher like a little mad dog who has had his bone stolen.
“Yes.” Mr. Fisher explained that Kenny was his slave, or at least his “pedagogical inferior.”
I took my end as I was ordered, disappointed that moving the desk would keep me from mingling in the hall and introducing myself to Hot Green-Eyed Steve Allen. Once Kenny and I were through the door, I noticed the name LiLi inked with pink glitter pen inside a heart. I also noticed the name Steve right next to it. LiLi was the French name I had used for Natalie when we were ten and going through a Parisian phase.
“Did Natalie write that?” I asked Kenny.
I had never before suspected my cousin of having a French alter ego, but then again, I never thought she would drink gin with me, or have a bearded boyfriend, or have secrets worse than clothes she forgot to iron. I wondered if Steve was my Steve and felt an even greater respect for the things I didn’t know about Natalie. She must have some relationship with him if both their names were graffitied on the same surface.Maybe she could introduce me to him.
“Jesus Christ.” Kenny frowned when I had stopped paying attention to where we were going and bumped into a water fountain. “Just what we need around here, another dizzy, brain-dead blonde.”
“Does Natalie have a boyfriend?” I asked.
He said “Jesus” again in a way that Jesus might take issue with. He nearly knocked me over as he pushed me down the hallway backward with the desk between us.
“Slower,” I suggested.
He increased the pace, what he would likely do if we were ever drunk and driving a car around a hairpin turn together, a scenario I would have been better able to imagine if I thought he were tall enough to reach a gas pedal. We arrived at a space between the lockers and I lowered my side. He continued to push. The legs of the desk shrieked on the tile floor.
“We can’t just leave it here.” He motioned me to lift my side again.
“Is there a janitor’s office?” The school didn’t seem big enough to require a janitor who needed an office.
“Keep it moving, Greeny Locks,” he insisted. He was referring to my hair. The water at Nana’s had tinted the highlights Katy had given me, but I had hoped that the lime aura was only visible under thefluorescent bathroom lights. Apparently Kenny had noticed it, too.
I hoisted while he steered us down the steps, through an exit to a walk that led to the parking lot. My calves screamed from descending first one and then two sets of stairs backward. Had I known in advance that people in Heaven were still wearing Crocs, I might have opted for a low-heeled clog. I assumed Kenny was aiming for a small white building on the far end of the lot, though it looked more like a shed than an office.
“Can we switch sides?”
“What the hell do you think?” he asked.
He was very crabby.
Over Kenny’s shoulder, I noticed Mr. Gruber, the principal, reopen the door we had come through.
“The principal is behind us,” I said.
“Move.” Kenny shoved.
“I am,” I complained.
“Faster.” He shoved harder.
“Just where do you think you’re going?” Mr. Gruber yelled from the doorway.
When neither Kenny nor I answered, Mr. Gruber half trotted, half ran in our direction, his tie flapping in the wind behind him. It probably wasn’t easy, moving so quickly, flying after wrongdoing when he sawit in action. I tried to stop and let him catch us, but Kenny propelled us forward with a lot of strength for a near midget. Finally, when Kenny couldn’t budge me another inch because one boot heel had gotten stuck in the half-frozen grass beside the sidewalk, he dropped his side of the desk. A rack of bikes lined the edge of the
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