• • • • •
I wake up on the first Monday of summer at ten a.m. It’s fantastic. I get up and stretch and go to my desk—which, like everything I own, is pathetically incomparable to Seth’s—and check the Montana UFO site. It has been updated with the following information:
Spotted on Sunday night around midnight
(approx.) in Whitehall, MT: a loud buzz
followed by a blinding bright flash.
Reported by Charlie D.
I massage my temples. What a mess this turned out to be, with wanting validation and ending up being the source on the event.
My phone buzzes. Hey, made it to Seattle. I forgot how much I love big cities.
I don’t know what to say to that. My only time in a big city was when we drove to Salt Lake City when I was ten. All I remember is the long car ride, because we didn’t even do anything fun while we were there. Except for eat at a cool Japanese restaurant where they made the food right in front of you. But at least my mom was with me then. I think I would’ve enjoyed everything so much more if I had known that my mom wouldn’t always be around. But I guess that’s a lot to understand as a kid.
I text back, I wouldn’t know. But small towns suck!
I wait for a response, but after a few minutes of staring and suddenly feeling stupid about it, I put my phone into my pocket and go downstairs. In the kitchen I pour some orange juice, and as I stand at the counter drinking it, I wonder what the hell I am going to do with my time/day/summer.
The clock ticks.
Tick.
Tick.
I eat breakfast and think about how I have to essentially entertain myself, which sucks, because up until yesterday, I thought Seth would be around. As a kid, I could use my imagination. I could spend hours and hours by myself with only a few toys, or a branch from a tree, or my bike. Nowadays I get bored so easily.
The kitchen looks so worn, the wallpaper peeling at the edges. I bring the bowl to the sink. The house just sits here. Stagnant. Cold. How can everything feel so immovable when the earth is spinning at a rate of a thousand miles per hour?
I feel a walk would do me good, and so I walk into town and past the newspaper building. The Whitehall Courier is something of a weekly gossip rag. It’s well known that Jennifer Bennett works at the newspaper, as she tends to write weekly news stories that get featured on the first or second page of the paper. I try to read all her stories. She is going to go places in life—and none of them will be in Whitehall.
I casually glance in the windows as I walk past, to see if I can catch a glimpse of her working. Maybe I could go in and talk to her? But the sun’s reflection off the glass blinds me, so I can’t see inside. Irritated at my lack of courage, I decide that I have a summer mission while Seth is gone, which I dub Mission Probably Improbable: Date Jennifer Bennett.
Step one of said mission: talk to her.
I’m heading in the direction of my work, when I realize I should’ve stopped by Geoffrey’s to get Tickles. He would’ve enjoyed the walk.
I take a right at the main junction—the only one in Whitehall with a flashing red light that is hung by wire across the intersection. As I turn the corner, I run right into my favorite group of assholes: the Ass Trio. This definitely sucks. And only day one of summer. And no Seth.
They are clearly loitering in front of the town’s grocery store. And frankly, the manager should have them all arrested. I would if I were the manager. And if I were the town sheriff, I’d kick them out of town and never let them return, just like they used to do in the Old West.
“Oh, look! Little Charles Dickens is out of his study,” says Joey.
I put my head down and try to walk around him, but he grabs hold of my arm.
“Not so fast,” he says. “Stay and chat a little.”
Psych licks an ice cream cone.
“Where’s your boyfriend?” asks Joey.
Both Matt and Psych laugh.
“Yeah, where is he?” echoes Matt.
Psych takes another lick of his ice cream cone.
I try to pull out of Joey’s grip so that I can leave, but he holds me more tightly. “He got me detention next year. That wasn’t very nice of him. I kind of want to kick his ass, but he’s not here. So maybe I should just kick yours instead?”
“Just let me go. I have to get to work.” That’s a lie, but it seems like something I should say to get out of here.
Joey pulls at my arm and yanks me toward him. “Not so fast. I’m not done—”
“Joey, what are you doing?”
I turn my head quickly when I hear that voice. My heartbeat quickens.
Joey holds on to me as he turns to her. “Just talking to my friend here.”
Jennifer Bennett stares at me, as if trying to figure out if what she sees lines up with what Joey said. I jerk my arm free from Joey’s grip.
Oh my god. She just saw me being roughed up by Joey. I can’t even defend myself, which is not attractive. My chance of getting with Jennifer Bennett just decreased exponentially from my already low odds. My face burns red, and as usual around Jennifer Bennett, I want to disappear.
“What are you doing?” Joey asks her.
“Going to work,” she says. “Why don’t you find something better to do with your time and leave Charlie alone?”
I can’t believe that Jennifer Bennett is saving me from being bullied for a second time in my life. I want to say thank you, but I don’t think that’s a smart move at this moment.
Now, you might be wondering why Joey would even listen to Jennifer Bennett. It’s simple: he likes her. Like, really likes her. She knows it because he isn’t shy about saying things, but nothing has ever happened between them.
Thank god.
“Well . . . yeah. Duh,” he says. “Like I said, we were just talking. Ain’t that right, buddy?” Joey turns to me.
Jennifer Bennett raises her eyebrows skeptically, and then she says to him, “Maybe you should go read a book, give yourself something to do.”
Joey starts to say, “Like one by my favorite—”
“Don’t even start, Joey. It’s not even the same name.” Jennifer Bennett starts to walk away. “Good-bye, boys.”
I stand there dumbfounded as the Ass Trio all say bye to her, and Joey shouts out, “What are you doing Friday? How about a movie and . . . some after-movie fun?” Matt and Psych laugh like the asses they are. Jennifer just waves without looking back.
They wait until she turns the corner, but I have already darted across the street, and I hear Joey shout out to me, “We’re not done talking, Dickens. And next time bring your boyfriend! I want to kick his ass!”
Sometimes I wish I had some kind of alien laser gun that would just obliterate people from this planet. They’d be transported to another dimension. Or another planet far away. I can imagine Joey wandering around, scared, on some red-earthed surface as a ravenous wind beats dust against his ragged body. No matter how far he travels, he wouldn’t recognize anyone or anything. One minute he’d be picking on little Charlie Dickens, and the next he’d be light-years away. Forever.
And did I just refer to myself as “little Charlie Dickens”? Come on, Charlie, you can do better.