Free True Letters from a Fictional Life by Kenneth Logan Page A

cashier.
    â€œNope, I got it,” she said, patting my arm. “You deserve it for being nice and cute.”
    The dude behind the counter shook his head and said, “Take it while you can, Liddell.” I didn’t know his name. He’d graduated from our school a couple of years before. He probably knew my older brother.
    â€œSoon it will be ice-cream season,” Theresa mused. “Until then, all my money goes toward hot chocolate.”
    I watched the cashier look her up and down. He seemed to be looking forward to ice-cream season, too, when Theresa would stand outside the store licking vanilla cones in a tank top and shorts. He glanced at me, eyes narrowed, and I smiled. It was one of the reasons I liked hanging out with Theresa. I enjoyed other guys’ jealousy.
    On the way home, knives of light sliced the sky from a gold-rimmed cloud. “I’ve been trying to paint a sky like that,” Theresa said. “Every time I try, the painting comes outlooking like one of those posters with some kind of inspirational quote beneath it. Or a Bible verse.”
    â€œWell, you could give it to Derek.”
    â€œOh, that’s perfect. His parents will love it. I can paint him a whole series of clouds and sunbeams and title each one. Inspiration . . . ”
    â€œRighteousness,” I hollered in my deepest tone.
    â€œStriving,” she boomed, shaking her fist.
    â€œStraightness,” I yelled.
    â€œStraightness?” She laughed.
    â€œI mean, like, straitlaced. Straight-ahead?” She laughed harder. “Straitjacket.”
    She took my hand in hers. I didn’t mind it when we were alone in the house or at the movies or something like that, but cars kept whizzing past. I let her hold my hand for fifty yards or so, and then dropped hers to reach for gum. “Wintergreen?” I offered. She shook her head.
    A car pulled over. My mom. “Hey, you two!” she called. Rex was already climbing into the backseat. My mom drove us back to Theresa’s, where I grabbed my stuff, and Theresa kissed me on the cheek as I left. “See you,” I said, and squeezed her arm. She looked hurt as I closed the door, but it would’ve been dishonest to kiss her back.
    That night, I had trouble sleeping. I was thinking about how things between Theresa and me were disintegrating— poof! —like that chunk of snow on the asphalt, but it was happening in slow motion, and there wasn’t anything beautifulabout it. It was more like Aaron’s skull cracking the ice, a noise that I could hear in my head, and that made me cringe, even though I hadn’t even been anywhere near it when it happened.
    I started to drift off to sleep, and I could see Aaron lying there. He got up from the ground, took off my old green sweater and held it to his face, as if smelling it. Blood from the sweater’s wool stained his pale cheeks.

CHAPTER 9
    Theresa called for a repeat dinner party at her place that Saturday night. Her parents were out of town, and once again it would be just Derek, Kim, Theresa, and me. I agreed to go only because it was a second chance for Derek with Kim, but I knew Theresa saw the night as a chance to fix things with me. My plan was to play it cool, go home at the end of the night, avoid giving her the wrong idea.
    Theresa told us not to bring anything to drink because she had it covered, but given that she’d run out last time, Derek and I decided to bring a few bottles of wine just in case.
    When we got out of the car at Theresa’s and were fixingour ties in the driveway, Derek stopped me from bringing the wine in with us. “Just in case she really does have it covered.”
    Once inside, we followed Theresa into her kitchen. “Mind if I pour us some wine?” I asked.
    â€œOh, dear,” said Theresa, a finger to her lips, pretending she hadn’t even thought about it. “It appears that I am fresh out. But there’s some