Please Ignore Vera Dietz(37)
Author: A.S. King

At the minute mark, Oberman looked up from his stack of paperwork and pointed to the door. “Goodbye, Mr. Corso. You’ll be chatting with the office in the morning.”

When Bill got about ten feet down the hall he yelled, “FAGGOT!” and Jenny Flick laughed, which caused the rest of the Detentionheads to laugh. Oberman continued doing his paperwork and I went back to my math homework and in another minute it was as if Corso had never been there.

The hour passed slowly. The minute I walked out the main doors, I reached for a smoke and lit it.

“I like rebels,” Jenny said. I had no idea she was behind me, so she caught me completely off guard. Plus—what do you say to that?

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Got a light?”

I lit her skinny girly cigarette, put my lighter back in my pocket, and didn’t say anything.

“Wanna come to my house?”

“Nah.”

“My mom works nights and my stepdad doesn’t get home until eight.”

I shook my head. “Nah. Thanks.”

“I have pot.”

I said, “I have to get home.” When she didn’t say anything, I added small talk. “What does he do that he gets home so late?”

“He’s a manager. Tells people what to do all day. Then he comes home and tells me what to do.”

“Oh,” I said. “Like what?”

“What?”

“Like, what does he tell you to do?”

“The usual shit. Clean. Cook. Wash clothes. Walk the dog. Iron shirts. Shine shoes. All the stuff he’s too lazy to do.”

The minute she said this, I felt sad for her. I mean, I thought my dad was a dick, but I don’t think he ever made my mom shine shoes. “That sucks,” I said.

“Yeah. Same shit, different day, I guess.” She adjusted her hair after a gust of wind blew it across her face. “Are you sure you don’t want to come over?”

“I can’t.”

“I can give you head.”

I acknowledged her offer with that facial expression that says, Really?

“I can,” she said, dragging her cigarette deep into her lungs and then exhaling. I’m not sure how to describe what I was feeling. I was seventeen—and this was something out of a triple-X daydream. And yet, I could translate her language. In Jenny’s world, “I can give you head” meant “I like you a lot.” And so, I took it as a compliment. Who doesn’t like flattery?

At the same time, it stank of desperation and I didn’t like it.

I said, “What makes you think I want head?”

She laughed overly loudly. “Every guy wants head!”

“Are you saying you give it to every guy who wants it?”

I admit it was probably not the best thing to say in that situation, but I wanted her to say what she really meant. I wanted her to say “I like you, Charlie,” or something normal. Something classy.

She glared at me. “You watch your ass, Charlie Kahn. I know some pretty important people.”

“Okay. I’ll watch my ass,” I answered, but she didn’t hear me, because she’d already turned around and started walking back toward the school. I hadn’t noticed, but the Detentionheads were about a block behind us the whole time, Corso (her boyfriend) included.

After that, she started showing up everywhere, and started being extra nice to me. When I stood around with my Tech friends, talking about bikes and cars and stuff in the student parking lot while we waited for the buses to clear out, she would join the crowd and smile at me. She must have figured I didn’t respond to the hard-ass act after our walk from detention. Now, instead of playing the slut card, she played cute and smiled like a shy girl. In the halls between afternoon classes, she’d bump into me and apologize, or give a faint wave from a distance and mouth “Hi.” The next time I got detention, I sat in the back and ignored her, but the more I ignored Jenny, the more she pushed. The more she pushed, the more I admired her, the more attractive she seemed to me, and the more I “accidentally” got detention. I can’t explain this, except to remind you that I lived with a bully and a doormat. Also, I was seventeen and my hormones had taken note that Jenny was

Easy
Kinda pretty
Really into me
Now that I’m here, I see that Jenny Flick was like Darth Vader, and that the dark side is enticing. But why did I turn on Vera? I don’t know. Because I didn’t want her to see what I was becoming—a sneaky person who couldn’t stop himself from doing shit he shouldn’t do. Maybe because I knew Vera was falling for me and I knew I was falling for her. Maybe because I knew she was fine and didn’t need to be rescued, like Jenny and I did. Why do people think there are clear answers for things anyway? There aren’t. Why does my dad hit my mom? Why does John have a thing for boys’ dirty underwear? See?

A BRIEF WORD FROM THE PAGODA

Do you have any idea how old watching idiot kids drink and do drugs up here on the rocks is getting? The funniest part is, they all think they’re more cool than their parents were, and their parents did the same crap. Also—tossing beer cans? That’s a $300 fine. You’re lucky I’m an inanimate object.

THE PAGODA PIZZA CHRISTMAS PARTY—PART 2

The first person I see is Fat Barry’s son, who is staring wide-eyed at my head. He says, “Have you seen your head?”

I’m still on the floor. I just came to. Of course I haven’t seen my head.

James is here. “Vera? Vera? Are you okay?”

Everything is a blur except for the throbbing hotness on my forehead. I look up at James and the kid. I don’t see Mick. I don’t see Marie and her husband or Fat Barry.

“You need to go and look at your head,” the kid says again.

So I get up slowly and walk to the bathroom. James has his hand under my elbow as support, and is jabbering a mix of garbled concern. “I’ll take you home. Oh my God. I should kill that guy. Holy shit. Are you sure you’re okay? Oh my God. Can you walk? Can you see okay?” Two steps from the bathroom door, I reach my hand up and touch it. It feels like I’ve just sprouted a Ping-Pong ball on my hairline. And there’s blood, but not a lot. Just that familiar tacky feeling.

When I see myself in the old, peeling mirror, I sober instantly. When I emerge from the bathroom, James isn’t by the door, and I make my way, like a ghost, to the parking lot.

Though I know I am driving drunk, I do not feel like I am. I am very aware that I should not be driving, and yet I seem to be doing this without expending any thought or energy. I have no idea how I got on the highway. I don’t remember pulling out of the fire company parking lot. I don’t remember saying goodbye to James or anyone else.