Fire Solves All Problems Perfectly pt 48

You come upon two teenage girls sitting cross-legged in the grass nearby, hand-rolled cigarettes smoking between their fingers.

It’s just some kids, one of them says, visibly relaxing.

Hi, the other girl says, puffing; both of them have feathered hair and acne covered by make-up; their shirts and jeans are frayed from where they have cut them to pieces, tan lines exposed. Pull up a seat, she says, patting the grass next to her.

Jill, the other girl warns, shaking her head.

What? Jill says. Come on, we won’t bite. Their voices are funny, their eyes glassy. Your uncle Jeff is sometimes like this, and your mother has exacted a promise from you that you will never try anything he offers you.

This is Andrea, Jill says, pointing the cigarette at her friend; she lies back against a tree, fanning herself; all of her fingers are lined with cheap rings. She scratches at bleeding bug bites.

Danny bends over, hands on his knees, and retches.

Ew! Jill coughs, the pungent smoke circling her head.

You okay boss? Jason says. He starts to slide an arm around your waist to support you but you shrug him off. Jake, you mutter, wiping your mouth.

Gross, Andrea says, taking a drag and letting the vapor escape from her mouth at its will.

You need a doctor, kid? Jill asks, and for some reason this is very funny to both.

Jason looks from each to each coldly. Why don’t you sluts eat shit? he spits.

Hey fuck you, kid, Andrea says, starting to get up.

Eat my butthole, Gainsburger-face! Jason shouts, and begins barking like a dog. Jill roars with laughter while Andrea yanks off her flip-flop and throws it at you. The two of you run with your bikes, still barking while they throw rocks at you that miss. The parking lot pavement unwinds behind you and the mall grows distant, the neighborhood blocks where air conditioners are already appearing in windows buzzing and safe and calming.

Neither of you says a word, not even when you arrive back at Fire Town, letting gravity coast you home. Jason waves and walks his bike up his drive, too tired to make the climb; you wave back.