Free Heartbreaker by Maryse Meijer Page B

pretends to cry, boo-hoo , cartoon sobs slashing out between her teeth. Every hair on every piece of the boys’ skin stands up.
    Let’s just go, the tall one says, but nobody moves.
    You can’t go, you haven’t done it yet, the girl says.
    Fuck man let’s just get—
    The girl slaps herself, hard, so that her lip smashes against her teeth; blood darts down her chin. She staggers to the side.
    No, she whispers.
    The boys are stuck. The night is something that congeals around them, in them, between them. They don’t know how to move. She starts to undress: shoes, socks, polo, pants. The boys stare. The clothes lie like shed snakeskin at her feet. A jagged line runs from her navel down into the lip of her underwear, and from what they can see of her breasts those, too, are shiny with scars.
    Fuck, the young one whispers.
    You want to touch me? the girl asks.
    We don’t want to do anything, the tall one says.
    Oh no? Then who did this? Do you know who did this? she says, jabbing at the scar on her belly.
    No, the boys say.
    You did it, the girl hisses. Don’t you remember?
    We should call someone, get someone, the cops—the dark-haired one says.
    Who? she says, eyes narrowing. Call who? Then she laughs, a high bright sound punching the air.
    Oh you bad boys, she says, her teeth pink. Such bad boys. Do you need your knife back? Is that why you haven’t done it yet?
    She kicks the ground, making the knife jump.
    Done what?
    Killed me! the girl shrieks.
    You’re crazy, the young one breathes.
    The girl cocks her head, smiling hard. The dark-haired one puts his hands up to his head.
    I don’t know what’s going on, he says. I don’t know why we don’t go.
    Oh, you can do whatever you want, she says. There are three of you and one of me. Isn’t that fair?
    The boys open their mouths but the words that fall out lie in the dirt and never seem to reach the girl. In time they grow silent; they grow still as trees.
    Do you know how many times there isn’t anyone? she says at last. No one at all? Once, I counted just six cars. Six. In eight hours. And none of them stopped, even though I was screaming as loud as I could.

 
    JAILBAIT
    For stealing two beers and giving a clerk the bird at a Super Stop I spend one night in jail. They put me in a cell with eight other guys waiting for their rides. I ask someone lying on the only bench if I can sit down. The guy stretches out his legs and tells me to fuck off.
    I get my one phone call and talk to Bea at a pay-phone-type situation chained to the wall. It’s five in the morning and neither of us has slept; I’m smiling into the receiver and I can tell she’s smiling, too.
    I came right then, she tells me, her voice so warm and close I know she’s got her mouth right up against the phone. Just, God, the back of your head, she says. When they put the cuffs on you and made you get in the car. It was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.
    *   *   *
    Within a week Bea’s asking me if I’ll do it again. I do, same store, same beer. The clerk is making the call before I can get the cans in my jacket pockets. The cops ask me what the hell I’m doing. I say I’m thirsty. I think about Bea, in the parking lot, watching me. I get a hard-on and I hope she can see it, though maybe it’s too dark. In the backseat I ask the cops if they can turn on the siren and they say, Shut up, wiseass.
    This time, when they book me, I’m in a holding cell by myself, but only for a few hours before the cops tell me to stop wasting their time.
    Bea comes to get me, hyper, eyes jumping like she’s coked up. Just being near the jail gets her this way. She tries to look past the lobby to where the cells are, but a set of green double doors blocks her view.
    What happened? she asks. Did anything happen?
    Not really, I say.
    Why are they letting you out so soon?
    I guess they need the