THIRTEEN
Wisteria
I rejected a true friend, made a false one, and came close to making a new one.
My goldfish died yesterday--Alanna’s Diet: Day Nine--and it’s time to buy a new one. I’m browsing the fish section at Pet City. Beta are too aggressive for my taste; I could get another goldfish, but they seem a little plain compared to all the tropical fish. I’m partial to the guppies, with their bright flashing colors.
can we get guppies? I text Mom. She wants to know what kind of fish we’re going to get a week in advance, in case we need to change our tank’s set-up. I pace the store as I wait for her reply. It’s quiet in the empty fish aisle: the only sounds are my shoes squeaking against the tiled floor and soft Muzak pouring from the ceiling...and someone crying a few aisles away. Their sobs sound oddly familiar, so I follow them to the louder, more crowded puppy aisle.
A redheaded girl splays her fingers against the glass, watching a sleepy young Dalmatian watch her. She’s crying hard, which is impressive considering an adorable puppy is blinking at her in the most heart-melting way.
“Lisa?” I say.
Lisa jumps, which startles the puppy too. “Hi, Alanna,” she says miserably.
Gently, I say, “What’s wrong?” Never mind that there are several different answers to that question, all of them false, all of them uttered a million times every day.
When someone asks you that question, your gratitude towards them doesn’t stem from how you answer it, I realize. It’s the fact that someone cares about you and wonders how you’re feeling.
“My dog died the other day,” Lisa sniffles. It’s not your standard false-cheery answer, and I respect her for that. I also feel sorry for her.
I give her a hug. I don’t really how she feels, as I’ve only ever had goldfish, but I’m going to try my best to make her feel better. “I’m so sorry. It sucks when a pet dies.”
“Well, you know, he was old. We’ve had him and two of his littermates since I was just a toddler.” She nods at a man who’s watching a dog near us critically. “My dad said we could get a new dog, but I don’t really want a new dog.”
Tears well up in her eyes again. It’s heartbreaking to watch her struggle through this; I decide to shift the subject to save Lisa pain. “So...how are your other dogs?” I wince. Smooth, Alanna, I think. Smooth.
Miraculously, Lisa brightens. “They’re fine. And we have some cats, too, and they’re super-cute. Actually, do you want to come over and see them?”
I smile, relieved that I didn’t botch the change of subject. “Let me ask my mom.”
After texting my mom and receiving permission from her and Lisa’s dad, I catch a ride to Lisa’s house.
Her dad laughed when he threw my bike in his truck. “Now why are you riding your bike out in the cold?” he asked.
Because I’m addicted to the burn of calories popping like bubbles. But I just smiled weakly and shrugged.
Lisa’s house looks like a crumbling brick nestled in the overgrown grass, forty years old at least. It’s draped in wisteria, a weepy vine whose flowers are a melancholy purple. I’m in love with her house, but especially with the wisteria. I tell her I didn’t know the vine grows in Colorado, and she replies that it will grow in any Western place so long as it has a lot of room. Living near the forested base of the Rocky Mountains, my family lacks the room to try growing any.
Inside, Lisa’s house is furnished sparsely with antique-looking furniture. A black cat lounges on the threadbare couch like the Sphinx.
“Cute cat,” I say.
“That’s Claws, our mean one. We need to get her declawed soon. I have no idea what we’ll call her then. Want to see our dogs?”
“Don’t get too attached,” Lisa’s dad warns. “They’re all very old.”
Lisa leads me to the family room at the back of the house. There are three dog beds, one for each primary color. A Dalmatian reclines in the red one, milky blue eyes sightless. Another is flopped on a heating vent, craving its warmth.
“Hi, old girl,” Lisa says, kneeling to plant a kiss on the blind dog’s head.
I smile and join her on the floor, but the wood floor is a little too furry...
Claws the cat, yowling, leaps out from under me and rakes her namesake down my arm.
“Ow!” I cry. Blood burbles from the four red lines on my arm. It looks like someone ran a razor through my flesh.
Oh, gosh, no. I’m not...I don’t...
I don’t feel so well. Usually a wound like this wouldn’t faze me, but I’m already dizzy and weak from my diet, and...and my vision clouds with black...my head is full of cotton...the coppery smell of scarlet blood fills the holes hunger formed...a black curtain falls over Lisa...I think I’m about to--
YOU ARE READING
Spectrum
Teen Fiction>>>>TRIGGER WARNING<<<< Alanna Moore has been the ugly, fat girl for as long as she can remember. Evelyn Pry is slim, trim, and beautiful. Who better to ask for advice? Evelyn tells her to eat less. And Alanna realizes that starving herself isn't so...
