Free Hick by Andrea Portes Page B

stops, see, for provisions. Now, on these stops, you’re gonna have to do a little acting. You ever acted before?”
    “Only my whole life.”
    “Okay, good. that’s good. Now, did you ever see, on TV or in the movies or something, somebody having an epileptic seizure?”
    “A what?”
    “Like, somebody’s in, like an airport, say, and all the sudden they just fall to the ground and start shaking. Like this.”
    She shakes her body around like she just stuck her finger in a light-bulb socket. I try not to laugh.
    “Don’t laugh. This is important. Okay, now. Do what I just did.”
    I hesitate.
    “Member what I said. No naysaying.”
    “I feel stupid.”
    “Well, you’re gonna feel real stupid by the side of the road, how’s that?”
    I do it real fast and keep doing it and don’t stop till she’s convinced, shaking my body this way and that, flopping round like a fish out of water.
    “All right. All right, kid, I get the point. Now, what you’re gonna do is, you’re gonna look real sweet, act real nice and go into this little store. Alone. Now, while you’re in front, I’m gonna be in the back, never mind why. Now, you have to do that, like shake like that and fall to the ground and keep shaking, for about two minutes. No more, no less. Got it? Count in your head if you have to.”
    I nod back, serious, not wanting to naysay my way out the car.
    “Then, when two minutes are up, get off the floor, wipe yourself off like you’re kinda still in a daze, smile sweet and say something like, ‘Oh my goodness, what a scare, but I’m okay now, I’ll be all right.’ That kinda thing. And then you just put yourself together, walk right out, take a right and I’ll be round the corner. Just get in real normal-like, and we’ll drive off. Simple. Got it?”
    “So, um, when’re we gonna be doing this?”
    “In about ten minutes.”
    “What?”
    “What yourself. Is there a problem?”
    “Um, just seems a little soon is all.”
    “Lookit, are you in or what?”
    “Yeah, but . . . um, wull, where do you want me to do it?”
    “Right in front of the counter. Just go up. Smile real sweet. Maybe ask for some bubble gum. And then, when he turns to get it, drop and shake. If you can drool from your mouth that’d be good, but I know it’s hard to drool on command, maybe think of a lemon. Just remember, two minutes. Don’t forget.”
    “Okay.”
    I’m starting to get nervous. If I blow it, she’ll hate me, or worse, leave me behind. I bite my lip. The last thing I want is to get dumped by the side of the road.
    “All right, so you got about five minutes to turn into little Miss Muffett. I got a comb and some barrettes back there somewhere, maybe in that yellow bag. So get to work.”
    I take out the yellow bag and start combing while I pick out two little pink barrettes with circus animals on top. Perfect. I put those in, pinch my cheeks till they’re rosy, primp and preen some more. I’m starting to get terrified I won’t live up. All my nervousness is turning into fussiness about my hair and my cheeks and my practice smile. My heart is pounding. Glenda just keeps smoking, cigarette after cigarette. She hunches into the steering wheel, bearing down into the road.
    “You nervous, Glenda?”
    She looks at me, in the mirror, caught.
    “Hell no.”
    “Me neither.”
    “Course not.”
    But if you asked the air, it would tell you different. The back of the car swishes to a halt as we pull up onto the gravel next to a little yellow store with a wooden sign across the top saying, “Custer’s Last Stand.”

ELEVEN
     
    I see myself in the store window as I walk across the gravel. You might as well put lipstick on a duck. Looks like I’m trying just a little too hard in my circus animal barrettes and Fruit Loop smile, just pink and goofy. You could dip me in plastic and sell me at the Toys-R-Us.
    But I have a self-protection clause that says when I’m feeling down on my luck or sorry for myself or goofy