Free Belinda's Rings by Corinna Chong

No way was I making it to Squid’s school by two o’clock. I started whispering to myself, you stupid, you stupid, stupid idiot, how could you be so stupid, you fuck, you fucking stupid. I almost thought about killing myself right there, it was that bad. I imagined, just for a second, that it was me hanging from Mrs. Desoto’s ceiling, the fishing line pressing a thin bluish streak into my neck. And I hated the gum guy, really really hated his guts, loathed the very thought of that freak-nut and his revolting purple tongue.
    Eventually I found a bus stop, and when the bus came the driver told me it would take me back to the LRT station. I must have looked really relieved then, ’cause the bus driver said he would tell me when we got there, and then he pointed out where I could catch the 77 as I was getting off at the station. That made me feel a bit better.
    I made it to the school by 2:28, and the assembly was still going. When I got into the gym the kids were in the middle of singing a song about chicken soup. Squid was up there on the risers, first row, singing away. In February it will bee-ee. My snowman’s anniver-sa-ree-ee . Since he was at the front you could see his arms were stick straight and his hands were in little fists, pressing at his sides. Somebody, probably his teacher, must’ve told him you have to stand up straight when you’re singing, because he was all stiff like a toy soldier.
    I had to climb over someone to get a seat on the fold-down chairs they’d set up under the basketball nets. Squid must’ve noticed me then. When I looked up he was grinning like crazy. He was smiling so big he could hardly sing, couldn’t form the words properly ’cause the corners of his mouth were way up at his ears. His back was even straighter than before, and his fists were practically vibrating he was so happy. He couldn’t stop smiling, you could tell he was trying to ’cause he’d lost where he was in the lyrics and he was looking all confused. The kid beside him belting it out, Happy once! Happy twice! Happy chicken soup with rice! I was pretty well cringing in my seat, saying in my head Jesus Christ, Squid, quit grinning, you look like a doofus. He managed to chime back in at the end of the next verse, Blowing once! Blowing twice! Blowing chicken soup with rice!
    And then a weird thing happened. All of a sudden, I started to cry. I started thinking about how ridiculous it was that Squid was so happy to see me, that he didn’t care that I was late, and then I was crying. It just happened, like that. One minute I was thinking Squid looked like a dork and the next minute I had tears brimming at my eyes. All these images were flashing through my head: making gingerbread houses with Squid, having water-balloon fights with Squid, letting Squid tear off the tinfoil for the pan of McCain Superfries we were making and Squid getting all excited about the spiky tear-off thingy. It was like a movie montage reeling through my brain. I had to bend down and pretend I was getting something out of my backpack, but then the tears started dripping on the floor and I had to wipe my hand across my face. I could feel the lady sitting next to me glance at me. I unzipped my backpack, shuffled my binder and lunch bag around. I didn’t know what else to do so I kept shuffling and just hoping the crying would stop.



V
    THE GRAIN WAS WOVEN with riddles. Canola, wheat, maize, barley, linseed, and rye. Their brittle stalks would snap if you tried to bend them by hand. Before Belinda knew anything about crop circles, she assumed that the shapes were mown out of the fields, the stalks razored off. She’d seen the front-page stories in the tabloids speculating that UFO s had been landing in the fields, stamping the ground beneath with their spinning discs. The increasingly intricate designs quickly debunked that theory, but another convincing explanation had yet to take its place.