Free Bad Apple by Laura Ruby Page B

looking for Mr. Mymer to discuss the reason he hadn’t turned in his grades yet. And, unfortunately, the vice principal did seem to care, a lot, and wasn’t at all reassured by June’s assertions that human sexuality is on a continuum, and that almost everyone, maybe even the vice principal himself, was bi, if they were only evolved enough to admit it.
    Anyway, the last guy was John MacGuire, the one who shouldn’t even count. A couple of months ago, he invited meover for a party. He was cute enough and played the drums in the school orchestra, so I thought he’d be okay. When I got to his house, I found out there wasn’t any party, or, rather, I was the party. I’m not sure what he was thinking. Maybe he’d heard about me and June and thought he was living life in the middle of a porno, or maybe he thought that since I was a social misfit, I must be desperate. He practically jumped me as soon as I sat down on the couch. The kiss didn’t even qualify as a kiss; it felt more like someone grinding a big raw steak into my face. After one and a half seconds, he was simultaneously jamming his hands up my shirt and tugging at my jeans. I clocked him with what I thought was a vase but turned out to be a fishbowl. Water spilled everywhere, and a single goldfish flip-flopped on the couch cushion. While John whined that I could have just said no and that he’d sue me if I’d given him a concussion, I found a Dixie cup, filled it with water, and plunked the fish in. Then I took him home and gave him to Madge. She named him John MacGuire. One day we came home from school to find that Pib had eaten him, leaving only the tail lying like a tiny fan on Madge’s dresser. We had a funeral ceremony, dropping the tail into the toilet bowl. “Poor John MacGuire,” said Madge as the tail swirled around the bowl. “Another innocent sacrificed for someone else’s sin.”
     
    The moon watches over me the way she always does. I pop a fresh canvas on the easel under the skylight. I stare atthe surface, white as a sunspot. Pib lolls on my bed, blinking rhythmically. Like he’s trying to tell me something in code.
    The canvas is clean and white. I look over my paints and start grabbing tubes, spitting little blobs onto my palette, mashing them with the brush. Raw umber, burnt umber, raw sienna, a tiny hint of red oxide. To that I add titanium and a wash of iridescent gold.
    Yes. There it is. Glimmering. Liquid. Alive.
    I fill a whole canvas with the color of his skin.

 
     
    ( comments )
    “I lied. I didn’t find Pib in the koi pond. I found him on my doorstep. He had a chipmunk in his mouth, but the chipmunk wasn’t dead. It didn’t even look hurt. Pib wouldn’t let go of it, so I sprayed him with the garden hose. Not a lot, not hard, but just enough to make him let go of the chipmunk and get myself soaked. The chipmunk was so dazed, he ran over to me and sat on my shoe for a minute, not a drop of blood on him. Then he ran under the bushes. Pib didn’t care about the chipmunk. He trotted down the driveway. I thought he was leaving, but he kept stopping to look behind him, as if he wanted me to follow. So I followed. I thought it might be weird to tell Tola that I stalked her cat to her house, but that’s what I did. I almost don’t believe it myself.”
    — Seven Chillman, classmate
    “Mom wants me to stop watching my favorite movies, as if that will make everything better. What’s wrongwith The Pianist? Saving Private Ryan? Das Boot? I’m supposed to be watching romantic comedies that are neither romantic nor comic? I’m supposed to be watching Twilight? Let me tell you something, the pretty, sparkly vampires aren’t coming to save us. We’re not worthy. We’re not special. We don’t even smell good.”
    — Tiffany Riley, sister
    “My ex-wife called to tell me about the boy. I told her that it would be good for Tola to have a boyfriend her own age. That maybe the boy could help Tola move on from this whole thing.