Stupid Fast - By Geoff Herbach Page 0,37

a lot of beer. Plus, Jerri is really smart and was really good at school, which means she turned honky, or almost college kid, from how she described it. This class in Bluffton tends to ride in the back of ugly cars, live in ugly houses close to Main Street or in trailer parks on the outskirts of town, wear clothes from garage sales, swear a lot, get into fights when they’re in middle school (or pregnant in eighth grade), then sort of disappear when they’re in high school. If they don’t disappear, it’s either because they’re serious criminals, or loud, raspy girl-drunks, or because they’ve migrated into honkiness, which means they’re probably okay at school or sports. You might call them townies or burners or druggies. Gus calls them dirt balls, but it didn’t catch on with me because the name made me feel bad for my grandpa and for Jerri. It’s the serious criminals you have to watch out for.

Herein lies the story of how Aleah was made aware of townies (or dirt balls) because of an interaction with a couple of serious criminals, Rick and Rob Randle.

Aleah and I left her house and walked out onto Hickory Street. The sun was setting, and the sky was all orange and purple. It was really pretty.

“I really love how the air smells here,” she said.

“Like poop?” I asked.

“Is that poop?” she asked.

“I’ve always thought of it as poop,” I said.

“It smells like the country,” she said.

“Like poop,” I said.

“Chicago smells worse in the summer,” she said.

“Chicago smells worse than poop?”

Aleah laughed.

“Uh huh,” she smiled and nodded.

“Do you miss Chicago?” I asked.

“No. Not really. I’ve had a bad year.”

“Why?”

“My mom.”

“Suicide?”

“No. Not even close! Too much life in her. That’s what Daddy says.”

“Oh.”

We turned right on Davis Street and walked along the curb. There aren’t many sidewalks in this newer part of town.

“So,” I said, “how does it feel to be the best piano player of your age group in the universe?”

“I don’t know,” she said, and she tilted her head and squinted like she was thinking.

“Do you think there might be really good piano players in China or Russia or something, so you can’t be sure you’re the best?”

“I sometimes wonder, I guess, about other pianists. Not very much though.”

“I guess you won’t know for sure until you’re older and can fight it out with them in competitions for adults.”

“No,” she said. “I don’t think about that.”

“No?”

“No. I practice at night.”

“That’s pretty dedicated. That probably tells you you’re the best, huh?”

“No, no, no.”

“No?”

“Stop saying no!”

“No.”

“Stop!” She grabbed my arm and squeezed. She laughed. Then she slid her hand down and grabbed my hand. We walked holding hands, which made me totally dizzy and sort of sweaty.

Om shanti shanti shanti.

“Go on please,” I exhaled.

“While I’m playing, I sometimes wonder if there’s a girl like me in London—that’s where my mom lives.”

“Wow. That’s cool.”

“Yes. Not really. I mean London is cool, but my mom isn’t.”

“Oh. Because she’s got too much life in her?”

“I guess. And she’s crazy and mean.”

“I hear that,” I laughed. Aleah laughed too. I’m not sure what we were laughing at.

“So I wonder about a girl playing in London or in Germany or Japan or something, who’s playing during the daytime because it would be daytime there while I’m at the piano, and maybe she’s practicing the same piece as me, a girl who loves it as much as I do.”

“I bet you beat them with a stick,” I said.

“That’s not what I mean,” Aleah laughed.

Just then there was a loud booming sound behind us. Loud guitar and drums, heavy metal music. We both spun around, dropping our hands. The sound came from an old car that was driving really slow. The car stopped and then its engine revved.

“Who’s that?” Aleah asked.

“Townies,” I said.

Then whoever was driving jammed on the gas and accelerated like crazy, heading right toward us. Aleah and I jumped up on the curb. As the car passed, someone within shouted “Squirrel Nuts!” An egg crashed at my feet.

“The Randles,” I said.

“What?”

The car squealed around the corner. We heard it accelerate down the block and then squeal around another corner.

“Hmm,” I said. “They’re probably coming back around.”

“What are they going to do?” Aleah asked.

“Just be jerks,” I said. “Let’s cut through yards back to your place.”

We walked quickly behind the nearest house, tripping in the dark. The car came squealing around the corner onto Davis Street. As it passed, someone yelled, “You doin’ Aunt Jemima back