The White Van Wears White Vans

- 1 -

The sun was so high, so hot that the birds jeered at it and the trees envied the houseplants, but Toni's popsicle didn't melt.

It glistened, perhaps dropped a bead of sweat, but was otherwise unfazed by the blaze. Its orange color was fluorescent, had a bit of a glow. Was it glowing, Toni thought. Was it radioactive?

She squinted at the icy treat and turned to her friend. "What do you think is in this?"

Charlene fanned herself so fast it seemed her wrists would snap off. "Maybe don't ask. Just eat it. The heat will kill you before the popsicle does." Hers was already long gone, blue dots staining her white tank top.

Toni licked the popsicle and it tasted more like cornbread than oranges, so she spat and chucked it onto the sidewalk. It landed with a thud, not a splat, and she was grateful that her stomach did not have the task of trying to digest whatever that was.

"You're dumb," Charlene said.

"No, I'm hot. In ten seconds, I'm gonna burst into flames and I'll try to stop-drop-and-roll, but the grass will catch on fire because it's dry as hell, and we'll have a real wildfire on our hands."

Charlene shook her head. "You're crazy."

Maybe she was crazy. Just a little. Like I-don't-know-if-what-she-just-said-was-funny-or-kinda-off type of crazy. Like she's-got-nice-style-or-maybe-she-never-learned-how-to-dress-herself type of crazy. Like she-just-bought-two-popsicles-and-decided-she'd-rather-have-a-slushie-since-it-was-already-half-liquid-and-she-wouldn't-know-if-it-was-melting-or-not type of crazy.

"I think I'm gonna head to the gas station and get a slushie. You wanna join?" Toni asked.

Her friend's answer was a disgusted point at her right foot encased in a cast that was surely full of sweat. It was the reason they were sitting on Toni's front porch. "Maybe if we sit here, something will happen and I won't have to go anywhere to see it. Something's always happening," Charlene had said.

And she wasn't wrong. There was never a time in the world where something was not being done, occurring, unfolding, but rarely did anything of significance unfold in front of 91 Ergo Lane on a Saturday afternoon in mid-July when air-conditioning was the only thing that put a smile on the faces of the people of Dollop, Texas.

Air-conditioning and friendship, Toni thought looking at her friend sweating in the plastic lawn chair and feeling herself sweating on the porch swing, but she decided not to say that out loud because it was cheesy and she cringed just thinking it, which meant Charlene would probably run away, broken foot and all, if she was to hear it.

But, seriously, they were best friends, weren't they? Like who could compete? Since preschool, when Toni pronounced friends like "fwends" and Charlene pronounced it like "amigas" and Toni didn't understand why or really understand much of anything Charlene said back then.

They even wore the same clothes up until sixth grade. Yes, it was that serious. But then Charlene's body grew curves and Toni's body smaller curves—much, much smaller curves (Were they there? Were the curves there at all, she'd ask herself in the mirror)—so the clothes sharing came to an end, but the friendship did not.

"Go. Leave me here by myself. Something will probably happen when you leave. You know you're bad luck," Charlene said.

Toni gave her friend the friendliest of middle fingers, tied her braids into a top bun, and headed for her garage. "This isn't even your house," she shouted over her shoulder.

The garage had turned into a kiln from the heat. Toni made sure not to touch the metal frame of her bike as she slid on. The tires were soft, but she didn't bother pumping them. She grabbed the handles and pedaled away.