Thanks for the Trouble - Tommy Wallach Page 0,42

one of those cold, clear streams, when suddenly a great brown bear appeared from between the trees on the bank. It was ragged and scrawny, a desperate hunger in its inky eyes. And though the boy had never been wrong about the smell before, he set himself to defend the silver-haired girl as best he could. With the sharp pointed spear he used for fishing, he attacked the great beast. He stabbed it once, and then twice, and then it closed the distance between them and gouged a great chunk out of the boy’s stomach. He fell to the ground but continued to fight, slashing out with the stick again and again, until a lucky thrust skewered one of the bear’s eyes. The creature roared in pain and ran back into the woods.

“No!” the silver-haired girl shouted, and collapsed by the boy’s side. “My darling! My darling!” She dug her face into the boy’s neck and wept great big salty tears, but they were nothing next to the thick gouts of blood that poured out of him, soaking the grass.

When she pulled away to look at him, she was surprised to find him smiling.

“Thank God,” he said.

“How can you say that?” she asked. “You’re dying!”

“I know,” the boy said. “But I’ve realized that all this time, it was my own death I smelled. Now the almonds are gone, and that means you’ll live a nice long life. Soon you’ll find another boy, one who can only smell your sweet scent, and you’ll be very happy together.”

“I won’t. If you die now, I’ll kill myself.”

The boy shook his head. “But you won’t, dear girl.” He tapped his nose. “I’d know.”

And then he drew his last breath.

THREE’S A CROWD, OR COMPANY, OR A TRICYCLE OR SOMETHING

“THAT WAS A LOVE STORY?” Zelda asked.

I think so, I wrote.

“But it was so sad. Why are all your stories so sad?”

Sad stories are the best ones. Everybody knows that.

Zelda sighed. “I suppose that’s true. Anyway, I still liked it. You’ll have to include that one in your applications.”

My what?

“Your college applications.”

I’ll admit I’d kinda forgotten about that part of our agreement, and Zelda could tell. “Don’t you even think of trying to weasel your way out of our d—”

“P-Funk!”

Everyone in the café swiveled their heads to look toward the entrance. Alana stood in the doorway, still wearing most of her costume from the party last night, including the plastic cutlass (in a belt around her waist) and the billowy white pants. At least she’d taken the stuffing out of her butt.

“I’m so glad I caught you,” she said, taking a seat at our table. “Hey, Zelda.”

“Hello,” Zelda said. “It’s Alana, right?”

“Alana, the Pirate Queen!” She picked up my coffee and drank the dregs. “Ew. It’s cold.”

What are you doing here? I wrote.

“Right. So listen, I realize you guys are on a super-romantic date, and I’m sorry about that, but I basically haven’t slept since Thursday, and I really needed to talk to someone, so after you texted me that you were coming here, I just figured why not, you know? I mean, it’s not like I caught you in the middle of doing it or something.”

“Parker texted you?” Zelda asked.

“Yeah. He was looking for date spot recommendations. Isn’t that sweet?” Alana grabbed hold of one of my cheeks and pinched it. “He’s a gem, our Parker is.” I swatted her hand away. “Besides, I haven’t been to the Legion in forever. You know, I’d forgotten how many bowls of fruit they’ve got up in here.”

I was just thinking that! I wrote.

“They’re still lifes,” Zelda said. “Usually it’s either bowls of fruit or strung-up dead animals.”

“Dead animals are called still lifes?” Alana said. “That’s fucked up. They should be called still deads.” Zelda and I both laughed. “And when they say ‘still life,’ do they mean, like, life that is still, as in not moving, or more like, ‘Sure, this chicken is dead, but it’s still life,’ you know?”

“The first one,” Zelda said.

“Well, either way, they’re hella boring.”

“Once upon a time, the idea of a still life was revolutionary. Before that, paintings were primarily focused around religious scenes. Still lifes opened up the possible subjects of art to include the natural world.”

Was there anything Zelda didn’t know everything about? The needle of the faithometer kept ticking upward.

Alana whistled. “Damn, Santé. Your girl is smart. See, I knew this was the right call. Come to the Legion, get some culture, then get some advice.”

What advice? I wrote.

“Let’s discuss