Weird Girl (7 page)

She told him the story, starting with the topiary and ending
with the bloody kitchen. He blinked at her three times, and then threw back his
head and laughed until tears leaked from the corners of his eyes. He didn’t
notice Cleo’s murderous expression, or her sudden absence, until suddenly,
something hard bounced off of his left temple. “Ow! Damn it! Why do you keep
doing that?” he moaned.

He heard a muffled scraping sound as she pulled a chair from
the kitchen table and dragged it toward him. Afraid that she was going to hit
him with it, he squeezed his eyes shut and clenched every sphincter in
preparation for the blow. When it never came, he tentatively opened one eye.
She was sitting in the chair. Santo started to say something, but noticed that
it looked like she was trying really hard not to cry.

She started speaking again. “You stole my notebook. I got
upset and cussed. My mother got mad, bad stuff happened, and they decided to
throw in my sin of missing dinner two nights ago. I was only trying to defend
myself, and I told them that I couldn’t have been at dinner because you
kidnapped me and I was here—“

“WHAT?!?” yelled Santo. “You TOLD them about me? About here?
Oh, my God, I’m going to prison!” He frantically tried to free himself, but
only succeeded in rolling back and forth on the floor. Cleo thought he looked
like a fish flopping on dry land.

“Shut up, jackass,” she replied. “I told them, and they
didn’t believe me. Me—their only remaining child, and they called me a liar.
And
that
is why I’m being sent to boarding school. And it is all. Your.
Fault.”

He let that hang in the air for a moment. “Okay, I might see
your point. Wait—how did you get back here? I knocked you out and left you in
the woods so you wouldn’t know where I lived.”

With a world-weary sigh, Cleo angled her head and looked at
him for a full thirty seconds before replying, “I stole your driver’s license.
It has the address. I took a taxi.”

Shocked and offended, all he could do in response was make a
series of indignant sounds combined with jerky head movements. Finally, he
said, “I can’t believe you would
steal
from me!”

She threw her hands up in the air. “You stole
me
, you
idiot. You tied me to a chair and danced at me for hours. Then you
choked me
until I passed out. I think a driver’s license is small compensation for that.”

“But when did you get it?” he asked. “I was with you the
whole time.”

“You weren’t paying attention for a lot of it. Remember—I
plundered, cleaned, and ate cereal before you noticed I wasn’t tied to the
chair anymore? I looked through your wallet and took the driver’s license
right
beside you
and you didn’t see me.”

“I can’t believe you picked my pocket!” he exclaimed. “I’ve
got the training, the years of experience, and I’ve been marked by an amateur!”
He felt like his world was crashing down around him. It also scared him that he
had come so close to having the police knock on his door. What if her parents
had believed her? What if she had said
Well, here’s his photo ID, complete
with address. Why don’t we have the cops go over there now?
He had really
dodged a bullet there. Well, except for the fact that he was tied up, wounded,
and possibly about to be set on fire by the child in question. Maybe jail would
have been a happy accident.

“Well, it was pretty easy since you weren’t actually wearing
any pants at the time,” she replied.

“But why did you take it?” he asked, genuinely curious.

“Why did you take my notebook?” she fired back.

It was a stalemate. They stared at each other for a long
time. Santo was the first to break eye contact. “So, I guess you’re pretty
pissed, huh?” he said. “Umm…what are you going to do with me now?”

“Well, right now I’m going to unwrap your chest and arms.
You’re really starting to stink,” she said as she stood up from the chair. She
put her hands on her hips and tried to figure out the best way to do this.

“Hey!” he said, offended. “I’m not really dead! Don’t tell
me I stink!”

In response, she looked pointedly at the large wet spot on
his wrapped nether-regions. “Oh,” he said. “Right.”

“If I unwrap you, you’d better not try to hurt me,” she
said. “I scanned your license and left it at home with a note that if I didn’t
come back, it was because you had killed me.”

“I won’t hurt you. I probably won’t even be able to stand,
because my legs went completely numb a long time ago. You might have to help
me,” he said sadly as he contemplated his lower half.

“I’m not touching pee,” she replied. “And I don’t think I
can drag you to the bathroom. It was hard enough rolling you like a burrito in
the curtains. You’re just going to have to make like a worm and handle it
yourself.” She used the board to slide him slightly to the left so that she
could untuck the end of the curtain panel. Once she had his torso unwrapped,
she took three giant steps back.

“I told you, I won’t hurt you!” he protested.

She wrinkled her nose. “You smell like pee and old lady
perfume. I’m thinking about opening another window.”

Scandalized, he forgot what he was doing for a moment. “It’s
White Diamonds!” he said imperiously. “It’s classic, and very expensive.”

“Don’t be snotty,” she scoffed. “Just clean yourself up
before I gag.”

She tried not to laugh as he struggled to remove the damp
curtains from his lifeless lower half. It was making him self-conscious and
cranky, so she finally went to the kitchen to raid the refrigerator and give
him a few moments of privacy. Halfway through the second sandwich, she heard
the toilet flush and the shower start. “Friggin’ boarding school,” she said to
the empty room, and took advantage of the relative silence to contemplate her
life.

The bathroom door swung out slowly. From her countertop
perch, Cleo just raised an eyebrow. After a few seconds, Santo jumped out in
full karate mode, complete with “Ki-yah!” and arms raised in the chopping
position. Unfortunately, he landed on his injured foot, and his legs hadn’t yet
regained full stability, so it went more like: “Ki-yah!Ow!Damnit!” and he
tumbled forward into a tuck and roll that was so poorly executed, it just
propelled him clumsily into the side table, where the lamp promptly teetered
twice and then fell on his head. Cleo laughed so hard that she thought her
sides would explode from the pressure.

“It’s not funny!” he growled as he held his head between
both hands.

Gasping for breath, Cleo managed to croak, “What did you do
that for?”

Frowning, Santo struggled to stand up. His black hair was
still shiny from his shower, and a cloud of coconut and pineapple wafted across
the room when he stood. (His body wash advertised “A Tropical Vacation in Every
Bottle!”) Limping over to her, he tried to look menacing, but finally settled
on an expression of utter exhaustion. “I thought you were going to cosh me over
the head again and set me on fire. It was attempted self defense,” he said as
he gingerly lowered himself into a dining chair.

“I’m not going to set you on fire,” she said. “But I can’t
guarantee I won’t cosh you again. You really deserve another one, you jerk.”
There was more sadness than menace in her tone, and it made Santo suspicious.

“Are you getting ready to cry?” he asked sharply. “Because
if you’re going to cry, you should just go somewhere else to do it. I’m
emotionally fragile right now, and I don’t think I can handle it.” There was a
tremor in his voice for the last words. They looked at each other for ten
seconds, and then both burst into tears.

“I don’t want to go to boarding school!” she cried.

“I don’t want to go to jail!” mourned Santo. “Or be set on
fire!” He thought about it for a moment before adding, “Or be hurt physically
or emotionally or in any other way by you or any member of your family!”

And they wailed in unison. As sniffles began to outnumber
actual tears, Cleo jumped off of the counter (causing Santo to flinch) and went
into the bathroom, coming out with a box of tissues. They blew their noses
loudly and hiccupped, which caused them both to smile. Cleo sighed and said,
“Do you want me to make you a sandwich?”

Santo nodded and slouched in his chair, which made him wince
from some unseen injury. “Just don’t poison it,” he said as he tried to stand.
Grunting with the effort, he added, “You know what? I don’t care. Poison me if
it’ll make you feel better. It would certainly make me feel better.” And he
hobbled, Quasimodo-style, to the recliner in the living room. As soon as Cleo
appeared with a tray, his stomach growled. If this was going to be his last
meal, he figured, he was going to eat every crumb. He grabbed the sandwich and
took a huge bite, chewing twice before stopping. With his mouth full, he looked
at her and said, “Umm…what kind of sandwich is this?”

“Peanut butter and green olives,” she said. “I ate the last
of the grape jelly while you were in the shower.”

“Oh.” He chewed slowly, as though it took effort. “It has
an…interesting texture.”

“I invented it for you,” she said proudly. Then, furrowing
her brow, she added, “Don’t you like it?”

Wary of Cleo and her temper, Santo swallowed quickly and
smiled. “It’s tasty!” He stuffed the sandwich back into his mouth and ripped
off a huge piece with his teeth. Chewing quickly, and swallowing carefully, he
managed to finish the entire thing without gagging. He washed it down with a
bottle of beer and four prescription painkillers from the bottle he kept in his
side table. They may have expired twelve years ago, but he figured it was worth
the risk to stave off the torturous throbbing taking place in almost every part
of his body.

Suddenly, Cleo smiled at him. “See?” she said. “Not
poisoned.” She turned and began piling furry throw pillows on the sofa,
creating a little burrow for herself.

And yet it still might kill me
, thought Santo as he swallowed
another mouthful of beer. Thinking of the combined flavors that still lingered
on his palate, he shuddered. He waited until Cleo was settled in her cocoon
before speaking.

“So, boarding school, huh? Yeah, I hated school, too. It’s
why I quit going when I was sixteen,” he said.

Cleo scowled. “I don’t hate school. I just get bored with
school because I already know so much stuff. I like my tutor, but I really feel
like I learn so much more when I can do my own thing.”

Nodding to acknowledge her point, Santo took another swig of
beer. “So, you don’t have class with other kids?”

“No. I tested out of a bunch of grades, so they got me my
own teacher. He made up assignments and stuff, and I got to pretty much set my
own schedule,” she said. Absently, she started running her fingers up and down
one of the rabbit fur pillows.

“Wow, you must be really smart!” he said. “And, to get your
own teacher and your own schedule, that sounds pretty cool. Is that why you
were in the woods the other day? Something for school?”

She averted her eyes and concentrated on stroking the
pillow. “Not exactly.”

“What exactly is ‘not exactly’?” he asked.

“Well, I kind of got suspended, and then I sort of forged a
letter from the school telling my parents that I qualified for a research
sabbatical, and then I spent a couple of weeks spying on some kids in the
woods,” she said without making eye contact.

Santo almost choked on his beer. “Suspended? What the hell
did you do to get suspended?” He realized the stupidity of his question as he
glanced down at the jagged wound on the top of his foot, and the brightly
painted toenails that clashed with the scab.

“I may or may not have allegedly assaulted my school
principal,” she said. “But she was being really mean, and she tore up my paper,
and she oppressed me and violated my intellectual rights!”

 “Uh, okay,” he said. “So you really
like
school, and
learning, and junk, but you just don’t
fit in
at your school?”

“I guess,” she said grumpily.

“Then maybe boarding school is what you need.” He held his
hands up defensively as she tensed. “Hear me out. You don’t fit in here, but
you might fit in there. Maybe this whole school is full of people just like
you.” (Although his private thoughts ran along the lines of:
Not a chance.
There’s nobody as weird as this girl.
)

She thought about it for a couple of minutes before
replying. “I doubt it. I think I might be weird.”

“Well, yeah, there’s that,” he said. “But, when you think
about it, so am I.”

She looked around the interior of his trailer, with its
rabbit-upholstered surfaces and mismatched items. She remembered his fur vest,
and the pink satin panties, and the dancing. “Yeah, you are,” she conceded.

He limped to the refrigerator for another beer. He grunted
involuntarily as he sat back down. “Man, I’m getting stiff,” he said as he
popped the cap off of the bottle. “But anyway, you like to learn. That’s good.
My grandmother always said that you should learn at least one thing from every
person in your life, good or bad.” He let that hang in the air as he gingerly
pulled the lever to recline the chair. They sat in companionable silence for
several minutes before she spoke again.