Lindsay Hunter - Ugly Girls

She clicked on the boy’s name. His page was empty, not much activity. A few days back he had liked a page about bass fishing. There was only a single photo of him and it was of the back of his head. He was facing a wide green field. His shoulders looked strong. He had seventeen Facebook friends. To Myra’s knowledge, kids usually had “friends” in the thousands. Perry had more than two thousand herself. But then again, Perry was a girl. It seemed natural that a boy, a boy who liked bass fishing, wouldn’t be as involved in some website. Myra guessed he joined just so he could get in touch with Perry. And that was sweet.

She closed the window, pushed herself away from the computer. Jim would be back from dropping Perry off soon. She’d have to look better than she did now. She didn’t want him to think she was some kind of drunk, all her luster lost. She didn’t want to be no toothpick in his Dixie cup.

DURING HOMEROOM the vice principal came on the intercom and announced that someone had set a fire out back of the Walmart, had melted a cart to uselessness, and there was tire track evidence so if anyone knew anything they’d better come forward. Perry wanted to laugh but everyone was listening real serious, even Ronny, who was the loudmouth in class and who did the kind of shit she and Baby Girl did nearly every weekend. Once, at a house party hosted by one of the junior girls, he called and ordered all the porn channels, just so he could watch them in the two hours he’d be there. Even he was listening politely, eyes cast down at his desk, acting like a serious crime had occurred.

Perry texted Baby Girl. You hear that?? Fuckin classic. It was like taking a temperature, holding the phone still, waiting for the vibration of her reply, waiting to see how bad the fever was.

Tire track evidence. That was the beauty of stealing cars. It wasn’t their car, so even if they found the Mazda, it’d never be connected to them. They always wiped everything down. Last night they’d used wet wipes they’d found in the glove compartment.

Still no reply from Baby Girl. She could get like that, Perry knew. Real careful. She’d just take it up with her later. They needed to be on the same page. They needed to iron it all out.

“Students,” Mrs. Gutherton said, “get out your homework. Or read a book. Do something so I don’t have to get on you about doing something. Spend your time wisely.”

Mrs. Gutherton had short curls that were always flattened in the back, and she wore turtlenecks every day, and her bra made her boobs look like two lumpy scoops of mashed potatoes, and she was never not up to here with her students. Being a teacher seemed like such an oh well kind of life.

Perry wanted her life to be purposeful. When she was a kid she thought becoming an adult meant you just found the right door and walked through it into a burst of light. Everything was easier through that door, because you’d found the answer.

Now that she was older, she knew it wasn’t like that. She knew people sometimes came up to the door and kept walking right on past it. People like Baby Girl. Perry had narrowed it down to three doors. And Teacher sure as hell wasn’t the name on any one of them.

“What, Ronny?” Mrs. Gutherton asked. He’d raised his hand, and now gripped the sides of his desk, bore down, released a long machine-gunning fart. A few boys laughed. The girl behind him threw a pencil at his head, ran for a seat three rows over. Sometimes school felt like a scene in a terrible sitcom, one that had a catchphrase and at least two fart jokes per episode.

Mrs. Gutherton looked like she might be considering what Ronny did, like he’d asked a question or said something worth pondering. “Okay, Ronny,” she said. “You may be dismissed. Give the principal my regards.” More sitcom talk. She patted at the back of her head. Just making it worse and worse. Perry had a pick comb in her purse, truly wanted to offer it up, but figured it would get her an invitation to the principal’s office, too, or make the teacher think they could be friends.

“Man, it was just a joke,” Ronny said. He was ignored. He shuffled out like his ankles were shackled.

That was another lesson Perry and Baby Girl had learned: Don’t be caught off guard when the shit comes back on you. Expect that it will.

Baby Girl still hadn’t replied. Perry passed the note she’d written over to Shanna, a girl with hair that looked pasted over her right eye, her left eye thickly lined in blue eyeliner. She was wearing a tight sparkly shirt like the kind Myra bought in bulk, back in the day. A momma-trying-to-be-sexy shirt. Shanna’s tits looking more like pecs than anything. So many things to feel sorry over. In her note, Perry had written:

Hey — I saw on fbook that u know Jamey. What’s his deal? He’s clingy right??

After a minute, Shanna passed it back.

I mean, I know him from fbook. He friended me a while back but I haven’t talked to him really all that much. He seemed nice tho. I like your top today!

Little hearts over every i . Smiley face at the end. Shanna was a real kiss-ass type, that one eye always wide and begging. Best not to stoke the flames by writing back and thanking her, especially since she didn’t know anything anyway.

Later, in math class, the window a/c unit rattled on and off in five-minute intervals. Off just long enough so everyone started smelling, on long enough to dry the sweat. Perry liked the way her sweat smelled. Her own specific scent. Like sugar, and like butter left out for too long. Kind of sweet and kind of nasty. Baby Girl smelled like a sliced onion if she got too sweaty, but Perry had seen her caking her pits with Secret, had seen her spritzing that perfume you could get for $1.29 at the drugstore under her shirt, so it wasn’t like Baby Girl wasn’t trying. They had to sit alphabetically according to last names, so Baby Girl was behind Perry and at a diagonal, seated in the row all the way against the wall. She was still in the same clothes from the night before, but her hair fell in wet lines down her forehead, and Perry couldn’t smell the onion yet, so it was clear she’d showered. Her lips outlined in brown and gleaming, like always. Perry looked at her, mouthed, Why didn’t you text me back?

Why the fuck would I? she mouthed back, real slow and deliberate, like she was tough, like she had no idea how dumb she looked with a mouth drawn around her mouth. Still, if Baby Girl was really disturbed by something she’d have ignored Perry outright. So they were cool.

Bitch , Perry mouthed, turned around before Baby Girl could say anything back.

Travis usually sat in the row on the other side of Perry, but today his desk was empty.

It was nearly one o’clock. Perry felt cored, and the shell that was left ached. The classroom was as warm as a kitchen, Mr. Clark talking about tangents and cotangents in a nasally drone. Perry felt her lids pulling down, her eyes nearly closed when he’d say tangent or cotangent again, getting too rough with his t ’s. Bringing her right back to the ache.

Travis walked in ten minutes before class was over. Perry checked his shoes. Silvery sneakers, like they were spun from webs. Mr. Clark watched Travis take his seat, holding his chalk in front of him, like it was important, leaving a ghost of dust across his middle. “All right,” he said.

“Yeah,” Travis said. “I apologize, Mr. Clark.”

“All right,” Mr. Clark said again.

Travis didn’t have anything to write with, didn’t even have his book or his green book bag. She had noticed this happening to him before, and now that Perry knew he worked all night long it made sense. It was hard for her to remember to bring everything after a night out with Baby Girl. She’d had to borrow pens and paper countless times from the boy in front of her, Matt, who she usually tried to copy off during quizzes. She nudged him now, pushing her fingertips into the flesh at his back. His T-shirt was hot and moist, stuck to him. He turned, smiling, ready to help, and Perry tried not to gawk at the gap between his front teeth. “Give Travis your other pen,” she whispered. “And a piece of paper.”