Free The Truth About Alice by Jennifer Mathieu Page A

How it’s really true that time speeds up and slows down and your brain goes all whacked out in moments like a car wreck. I wouldn’t say I think about it constantly, but basically I think about it pretty much a lot. I think about Officer Daniels interviewing me in the hospital. I think about Mrs. Fitzsimmons sitting on my dad’s recliner asking me all those questions.
    It’s weird, the things I think about when I remember the wreck and everything that happened afterward. Like maybe my brain is trying to make it so I don’t think about what happened right before the accident and Brandon’s dying. It just focuses on the stupid stuff instead. Like Officer Daniels’s chewed up pencil. Or Mrs. Fitzsimmons’ glass of sweet tea.
    But I still think about it. I think about it during football games (we lost our last one against Johnston) and I think about it while eating mystery meat in the cafeteria and I think about it in English class. We’ve been reading a book about the olden days when this lady supposedly did it with some guy and they weren’t married and she had his baby, and that was a huge deal back then. So she had to wear a red letter A on her dress all the time. Kind of messed up, I guess.
    I think about it until I can’t think about it in any new kind of way. Until my brain gives out and goes fuzzy or blank.
    Sometimes I think about the ride home from Elaine O’Dea’s famous party. The one where Alice did what she did. Anyway, Elaine made this big deal about me not driving home drunk. I think she promised her parents, but I just wanted to go. After that text about Alice, it just felt like it was time to leave. Brandon kind of mumbled could I give him a lift? Could he crash at my place? “Okay,” I said.
    He was so wasted I had to help him into the car. Sometimes, when my brain remembers this night, it remembers little things, too. Like Brandon smelling of booze, and the prickle of his stubble rubbing against my face as I tried to hold him up and get him into my dad’s Chevy S-10. And the way he kept laughing at everything even when nothing was funny.
    Anyway, I was drunk, but he was way drunker, and that’s why I was the one to drive us back to my house.
    Healy is a dead zone after midnight. Sonic, McDonald’s, Walgreens, the Curl Up and Dye, Auto Zone, the Healy Advocate, the Sno-Cone Shop, Burger King, Wendy’s, Chik-fil-A: no lights on in any of them. Nobody walking anywhere; hardly any other cars. Not even the Wal-Mart in Healy is open twenty-four hours. Drunk driving late at night is pretty safe around here, I guess.
    Making our way home, I looked over at Brandon, and he was slumped against the passenger window. But his glassy eyes were open.
    â€œDid you really do it?” I asked.
    â€œDo what?” he said, kind of slurry.
    â€œYou and Tommy Cray … and Alice.”
    Brandon got this smirk like he was getting some image back in his head.
    â€œYeah, we really did it, man,” he answered me. “Fuckin’ awesome, too. Alice is hot. Even with that short hair and shit.” He started laughing again as he rambled on.
    â€œTommy didn’t mind sloppy seconds?” I asked, kind of not wanting to ask but asking anyway.
    â€œNo he didn’t,” Brandon said. “She couldn’t get enough. Me twice and Tommy once. I’m gonna have to hit that again soon.” He yawned so wide I heard his jaw pop.
    We got home, and my mom and dad and brother were all asleep. A good thing, I thought to myself as I helped Brandon down to the floor of my bedroom. I gave him an extra pillow. Sophomore year at school, they had this guy come in and talk to us about alcohol and drug abuse, and the guy said you should always put a drunk person on his side, so he doesn’t choke on his own vomit. I guess the principal got mad at that later on because he thought the comment encouraged drinking, but it’s the only thing I