Girls Save the World in This One - Ash Parsons Page 0,35
Siggy. He turns jerkily, like his body is a puppet with separate, jointed controls. His shoulders whip around first, then torso, then hips, then feet. He stumbles and crashes into another man.
“Hey!” The man shoves him.
The drunk man hasn’t taken his eyes off Siggy. He keeps moving toward us. His mouth opens, and he tries to speak, but all the noise that comes out is a mangled, garbled groaning.
I . . . don’t think he’s drunk.
A thick string of saliva pours down his chin. The rope of spittle stretches to his chest.
“You guys.” Siggy’s voice is tight with fear.
Without thinking, I step in front of Siggy.
Imani must have the same instinct because I feel her shoulder pressed close to mine.
“Cut that crap out!” Imani shouts at the man.
I remember from health class how you’re supposed to give people jobs in an emergency.
There’s an audience standing around, watching us like this is some kind of performance bit.
“You!” I point to the man who shoved him. “Go get security!”
The man nods and pushes away from the crowd.
A clump of three teens stands in the middle of the aisle. Two girls and a guy, they’re just standing there like deer mesmerized by oncoming headlights.
The man pushes the first girl aside, levering on her shoulder like it’s a crutch. She gives a little shriek but is laughing, like this is just a joke.
The man hasn’t taken his eyes off Siggy, until he careens into the teen boy.
“What the hell?” The boy laughs, and he pushes at the man’s shoulder.
The man grabs the boy’s arm and pulls the forearm up to his mouth.
The boy yells in pain.
Now the onlookers finally snap out of their daze and several people jump forward, pulling the man off the boy.
The man starts fighting, an uncoordinated flailing, but it knocks some people back.
Blood and spittle coat his chin.
One of the rescuers, a woman, jumps forward. She grasps the man’s chin and points it up as she drives her shoulder into his, pivoting him as she shoots a leg straight behind him, throwing him backward to the floor with enough force that his teeth snap closed with an audible clack.
“Badass!” I yelp involuntarily. But day-um!
The woman doesn’t look up but instead folds the man’s own arm over his throat, a barrier to his teeth.
Three burly guys move in like they planned it, stepping forward to help hold the man on the ground immobile.
A smattering of applause from the crowd.
The burly guys nod acknowledgment for the applause. The badass lady doesn’t look up, just frowns down at the man’s snapping teeth.
From over here it kind of looks like he’s biting his own arm.
No way. That’s impossible.
Security guards arrive, and the burly men and badass lady start talking to them.
“Let’s go,” Siggy whispers, still standing behind me and Imani. “I don’t want to have to get any closer to that guy.”
I’ve never heard fear in her voice before.
It makes me feel sick. It makes me want to hit something for her. It makes me want to hug her and promise that everything is going to be okay.
Siggy is the freest person I know, and I want her to always stay that way.
“Let’s go, then,” I agree.
“Okay,” Imani says. We turn and start walking away.
We pass the teen boy; he’s holding a T-shirt a vendor gave him over his forearm.
“He bit me!” His voice is incredulous.
The two girls coo over him. Patting his upper arm and shoulders.
“I should kick his ass!” the boy says, puffing his scrawny chest out.
We keep walking, and at the middle aisle we turn and make our way to the podcast stage.
“That was scary,” Imani says. “Good thing that lady knew what to do.”