Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine. Vol. 40, No. 6, June, 1995

Jason Silver comes up to me in the locker room after gym, toweling off after his shower. He’s about six inches taller than me and has muscles. All the girls think he’s a hunk, according to Alicia.

Jason is not at all self-conscious as he flicks me with his towel. “Hey, Billiams,” he says, and grins. He thinks it’s hilarious that my name is William Williams, so the few times that he speaks to me at all he calls me Billiams. I don’t know why everyone thinks he’s so cool.

“Hey,” I say, “what’s up?” I’m suddenly aware of how white and freckled my skin is, and I quickly pull my jeans over my shorts.

He leans against the lockers with his arms crossed over his chest. “Let me ask you something, Billiams,” he says. “What’s going on between you and Alicia?”

I don’t like how he says her name, I don’t know why. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” he says, “you used to hang around together all the time. Now you don’t.”

“Yeah, okay,” I say. “We had a fight. No big deal. She’ll get over it.”

“Uh-huh,” he says, and looks at the scabs on my cheek. Then he looks away, down the row of lockers. Finally he turns back to me. “Listen, she ever say anything about me?”

I don’t know. Maybe it’s the way he says it and his grin, like he knows the answer already but he just wants to hear it from someone else, that makes me say it.

“Oh yeah,” I say. “She talks about you a lot.”

“Yeah?” he says. His face brightens up for a second, and then he fights really hard to look unconcerned. “So what does she say?”

“Well...” I say. I act like I don’t want to tell him.

“What?” he says, pushing.

“I don’t think you wanna know,” I say finally.

For a second he looks hurt, but then his eyes get hard and he laughs.

“Oh sure, I get it,” he says. “You’re such a dork. I don’t know why she ever hung around with a loser like you.” And he gives me a look of disgust and walks away, his towel trailing over his stupid musclebound shoulder.

“Dork!” I shout after him. “She thinks you’re a dork!”

I mean, she’s never said anything like that to me about him, but I’m sure she thinks it. I’m positive. How could she ever be interested in a loser like him? And then, without meaning to, I start remembering another bad one.

Alicia and me are eight, and there is a new girl named Karen in our third grade class. She’s skinny and has red hair and freckles. Her eyelashes are the orange color of SpaghettiOs.

“Karen wants to know where your father is,” Alicia says to me in the cafeteria. Karen nods.

“You know,” I say, “he’s dead.” I take a gulp of my chocolate milk.

“When did he die?” Karen says. It’s the first time she’s talked to me directly, even though she’s been in our class for two weeks already and follows Alicia around like a puppy.

“When I was a baby.”

“What did he die from?” Alicia says.

“Want to see something?” I say. I turn my eyelids inside out and roll my eyes up into my head. I make snarfing noises.

“Big deal,” Alicia says. Karen just looks disgusted.

“Let’s see you do it,” I say.

“So you don’t remember what he looks like or anything?” Alicia says.

“I told you this a million times,” I say. I take a big mouthful of chicken and rice and peas and chew it. Then I open my mouth so Alicia and Karen can see. “See food,” I say. “Seafood. Get it?”

“You’re so gross,” Karen says, wrinkling her nose.

“And you’re a stupid idiot,” I say. I am mad. I hate her.

“See, I told you,” Karen says to Alicia. “I bet his father’s not dead. I bet he never had a father.”

“Liar!” I say.

“He’s a bastard,” Karen says, again to Alicia. She turns to me. “You’re a bastard,” she says, “and your mother’s on welfare.” Her mouth is closed in a tight little smile, like she’s sucking on a lemon slice.

“Liar liar liar liar liar liar liar,” I yell. Everyone is looking at me, so I sit down.

“Come on,” she says to Alicia. They stand up, grab their trays, and start to walk away. I pick up a piece of chicken and put it in my plastic spoon. I aim carefully, and the chicken hits Karen smack on the side of her skinny neck.

“Hey!” she says. Now she’s mad. I’m glad to see there’s a little red mark where the chicken hit her.

And Alicia turns and gives me The Look.

“Hey, Billiams,” Jason shouts from his locker down the row. “You in a coma or something?”

I raise my head from where it’s leaning on the locker door. The cold metal is all fogged where I was breathing on it. Jason snickers, and the wetness disappears, leaving no mark.

Of course I believe it when I hear that Jason asked Alicia out, but I still can’t believe she said yes. It must be because he’s so popular and she wants to be popular, too. She told me that once.

So I’m following them. Who knows what he might try to do? She might need my help.

They go to the movies, some stupid movie. I don’t know which one, I barely watch it, but I think it is Terminator 2. Alicia is squealing at the scary parts and squeezing Jason’s arm. I can’t believe she’s squealing! I want to jump up from behind them, I want to yell, get real, who’re you kidding? Alicia is definitely not the squealing type.