Read Online (You) Set Me on Fire by Mariko Tamaki - Free Book Online
Authors: Mariko Tamaki
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behind us.
Inside, Shar cranked the music and dropped back onto her bed. “You know what the best thing aboutcollege will be, Allison? Not even having to pretend to want to be a part of anyone else’s stupid shit.”
I was smiling. I could feel it on my face like one of those masks they paint on you at the circus or the fair, a big, wide, capital U in red and black.
A couple of days after the runway, Carly came to my room with an offering of Cultural Studies notes and a massive cellophane bag of pink popcorn.
“Hey! So, you haven’t been … to class? So, I thought I’d bring you some notes and junk food.”
“Holy crap, thanks. I’m oddly starving.”
Dropping the bag on the bed, Carly tilted her head. “This used to be, like, my favourite food, so my mom sends me boxes.”
“Not anymore?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe not.” Carly twisted her mouth into a tiny frown for a second before adding, “I’m thinking I might not be so into pink now.”
“So you can just switch your favourite colour, just like that?”
“Oh, you know, I’m pretty much always actively looking for a new favourite thing. I’m, like, serially non-monogamous when it comes to loving things. You know? I like liking lots of things. I like CHANGE,ya know? Like, when I was little, I NEVER wore skirts. Then one day I just decided. POOF. Into skirts. One day I hate pink. The next day, I’m a fricking bottle of Pepto-Bismol.”
“Wow. That’s kind of cool, I guess. I don’t even have a favourite colour.”
“You are SO FUNNY. How could you not have a favourite colour, Allison? You into someone’s Bugs Bunny garbage pail.nddd should get at least one.” Carly smiled. “Let loose a little. Experiment.”
Looking at the notes, I felt a tiny wave of guilt. “I’m totally coming to class next week by the way.”
“Great. We should sit together.” Turning to leave, Carly paused. “Did you …? Um. Do you know who broke the toaster oven downstairs?”
“What?”
“The toaster oven. Is broken.”
“Oh. That sucks.”
Carly was staring past me. The multitude of strange doodles had become an overwhelming presence in the space over my bed, and they fanned out behind me like a peacock’s tail.
“But, uh, no,” I finally added. “No, I mean, I don’t know who did it.”
“All right. I’m just asking around. Tori’s really upset.”
“How did it get broken? I mean, what happened?”
“Someone cut the power cord.” Carly’s little fingers, tips still painted pink, did a sad little snip.
“Wow. Wouldn’t that … uh … wouldn’t that electrocute you?”
“Um. Heh. No. Not if you unplugged it first?”
“Oh. Shit. Right. Duh. Fuck.”
“Ha-ha-so. I guess it obviously wasn’t you, huh?”
“Nope.”
My phone went off with the weird ring Shar programmed, a maniacal laughing sound that cut into the space like a million X-Acto blades.
Carly did a quick spin and left my room.
That night, before she went to bed, Shar came upstairs and popped her head in the door. My room was dark so I couldn’t see her face, just a silhouette leaning into my room, her voice in my ear.
“Hey, Allison?”
“Yeah.”
SIX
A.k.a.
Everyone has a name and something that people call them. What these things are, I think, has a pretty big impact on who you are.
Shar was named after her mother, Sharon, also named after her mother. Until Shar, I had no idea people actually did that, or still did that, to their kids. I thought it was something that only happened in tribes and medieval villages. Why, with the millions of names out there, would you name a kid after yourself?
“Is Sharon, like, a really old name?”
Chewing on a fistful of what was left of Carly’s pink popcorn, pre-breakfast at Stack ’n’ Flip, Shar shook her head. “It’s the name of an old person.”Whenever Shar introduced herself or said her name to anyone, she made an obvious effort to make sure that whoever it was both knew her name and didn’t
Inside, Shar cranked the music and dropped back onto her bed. “You know what the best thing aboutcollege will be, Allison? Not even having to pretend to want to be a part of anyone else’s stupid shit.”
I was smiling. I could feel it on my face like one of those masks they paint on you at the circus or the fair, a big, wide, capital U in red and black.
A couple of days after the runway, Carly came to my room with an offering of Cultural Studies notes and a massive cellophane bag of pink popcorn.
“Hey! So, you haven’t been … to class? So, I thought I’d bring you some notes and junk food.”
“Holy crap, thanks. I’m oddly starving.”
Dropping the bag on the bed, Carly tilted her head. “This used to be, like, my favourite food, so my mom sends me boxes.”
“Not anymore?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe not.” Carly twisted her mouth into a tiny frown for a second before adding, “I’m thinking I might not be so into pink now.”
“So you can just switch your favourite colour, just like that?”
“Oh, you know, I’m pretty much always actively looking for a new favourite thing. I’m, like, serially non-monogamous when it comes to loving things. You know? I like liking lots of things. I like CHANGE,ya know? Like, when I was little, I NEVER wore skirts. Then one day I just decided. POOF. Into skirts. One day I hate pink. The next day, I’m a fricking bottle of Pepto-Bismol.”
“Wow. That’s kind of cool, I guess. I don’t even have a favourite colour.”
“You are SO FUNNY. How could you not have a favourite colour, Allison? You into someone’s Bugs Bunny garbage pail.nddd should get at least one.” Carly smiled. “Let loose a little. Experiment.”
Looking at the notes, I felt a tiny wave of guilt. “I’m totally coming to class next week by the way.”
“Great. We should sit together.” Turning to leave, Carly paused. “Did you …? Um. Do you know who broke the toaster oven downstairs?”
“What?”
“The toaster oven. Is broken.”
“Oh. That sucks.”
Carly was staring past me. The multitude of strange doodles had become an overwhelming presence in the space over my bed, and they fanned out behind me like a peacock’s tail.
“But, uh, no,” I finally added. “No, I mean, I don’t know who did it.”
“All right. I’m just asking around. Tori’s really upset.”
“How did it get broken? I mean, what happened?”
“Someone cut the power cord.” Carly’s little fingers, tips still painted pink, did a sad little snip.
“Wow. Wouldn’t that … uh … wouldn’t that electrocute you?”
“Um. Heh. No. Not if you unplugged it first?”
“Oh. Shit. Right. Duh. Fuck.”
“Ha-ha-so. I guess it obviously wasn’t you, huh?”
“Nope.”
My phone went off with the weird ring Shar programmed, a maniacal laughing sound that cut into the space like a million X-Acto blades.
Carly did a quick spin and left my room.
That night, before she went to bed, Shar came upstairs and popped her head in the door. My room was dark so I couldn’t see her face, just a silhouette leaning into my room, her voice in my ear.
“Hey, Allison?”
“Yeah.”
SIX
A.k.a.
Everyone has a name and something that people call them. What these things are, I think, has a pretty big impact on who you are.
Shar was named after her mother, Sharon, also named after her mother. Until Shar, I had no idea people actually did that, or still did that, to their kids. I thought it was something that only happened in tribes and medieval villages. Why, with the millions of names out there, would you name a kid after yourself?
“Is Sharon, like, a really old name?”
Chewing on a fistful of what was left of Carly’s pink popcorn, pre-breakfast at Stack ’n’ Flip, Shar shook her head. “It’s the name of an old person.”Whenever Shar introduced herself or said her name to anyone, she made an obvious effort to make sure that whoever it was both knew her name and didn’t
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