Free Margarette (Violet) by Johi Jenkins, K LeMaire Page A

in his Jeep,” Tommy
says, shaking. “People came and got me to go see it.”
    Tommy closes his eyes and the scene flashes before
his eyes.
    Mikey’s black Jeep had barely provided
concealment. “Suck, baby, suck,” Mikey had said.
    Sharon had made a noise that sounded like,
“Mmmf mmmmf.”
    “What?” Mikey asked.
    “Shut up,” Sharon said.
    “Oh frick.”
    Tommy had seen it all.
    Margarette realizes that that’s why he was crying,
and feels terrible for him. He seems like a nice guy.
    They sit quietly under the bleachers in the
shadows of the seats above, leaning against the fuel crates. Tommy moves next
to her, so close that from the side it looks like they are holding hands.
    At length, Margarette asks, “That just happened
like right after practice?”
    “Yeah… or no, Mikey must have left practice
early.” His head lowers so she can’t see his eyes.
    “I’m sorry. That must have been terrible.”
    Tommy puts his head down on Margarette’s shoulder
and starts crying again, but so quietly that she doesn’t know he’s crying until
a sob shakes his frame softly. She almost crumbles under his weight and sits
against the tarp covering the barrels.
    “I’m so sorry,” is all she can say.
    “I don’t understand. I just drove you home.”
    “I don’t know. I don’t have a bad reputation, or a
reputation for that matter. I was quiet. I never spoke. I think they needed to
hear something. So they invented something.”
    Tommy puts his hands on her shoulders and she
feels a tear drop on her neck. She can’t tell who is holding the other up. His
breath flickers like a child crying, and she feels sorry that all she has for
him is pity. His arms are too heavy for her and they slide back onto the barrel
before he catches his weight and stands back. She doesn’t know what to do or
why he is so close to her. She feels like pushing him off of her, but the man
is crying, and deep down a part of her is satisfied that he’s leaning on her
for emotional support. Tommy Gallager, who Alice believes would never approach
a girl like Margarette.
    Margarette’s internal debate is going on
full-rage.
    He’s not exactly what she expected. Unfortunately,
she didn’t expect much to begin with.
    If she lets him have her, then she’s being used.
If she doesn’t sleep with him, then she’s a scared chicken shit virgin.
    If she fricks him she’s a true slut in a small
town. Wait… that’s what everyone already thinks.
    Better than not being known at all; better than
dying a nobody.
    No, that’s not right.
    Besides, in a year no one will ever really
remember her anyway.
    Frick it. He can be mine for a while .
    “What are you thinking, Margarette?”
    She sits up quickly as if afraid he had heard her
thinking, and looks at him with her head tilted to the side. Her expression
softens. “Tommy…” she begins.
    “Yeah?”
    “What do you know about me?”
    “What do you mean?”
    “About me… what do you know?”
    “Well,” he says, and looks up as if thinking. “For
one, you’re beautiful.”
    They are mostly cloaked in the shade of the
bleachers so she can’t see his face clearly. She squints, but has to assume he’s
flattering her. The football field is almost completely empty. They are alone
other than a shoeless boy walking across the field behind them. There is no one
else.
    Margarette smiles and sees in Tommy’s eyes how
hard he is trying. She just needs him to say a word or make a gesture to let
her know he wants her.
    “Why would you think that?” she asks. “I’m not….”
    “I used to watch you before at your locker.”
    “I don’t think so.”
    “You had a purple binder.”
    “It was”—she acknowledges the color at first but
then switches her response—“a popular color some years ago.”
    “It was you. You didn’t smile like other girls.”
    “What was I?”
    “You had this crazy calm like nothing would
surprise you. I never saw you giggle or stare.”
    Thoughts flood from a