Hirsh Sawhney - South Haven

Luca let out a nervous laugh.

“Go on,” said Marc.

Luca flicked his hair out of his eyes. “Are you for real, man?”

Marc let out a cackle, then punched Luca in the shoulder. “Nah, I’m just fucking with you.”

The three boys headed to the food court, which had purple carpeting and wallpaper with multicolored lasers. As Siddharth ate his soggy pizza and french fries, he felt uneasy. On one hand, he was sitting between Marc Kaufman and Luca Peroti, and so many of his classmates were there to witness this triumph. Then again, good things never lasted, and Luca couldn’t be trusted.

Marc asked questions about the other kids in their grade, and Luca told him who was who. Eddie B. was a good soccer player and really funny. Alyssa D. was hot but really prude — that’s why he’d dumped her. “She thinks she’s great because her father owns a couple car washes, but he’s a freaking guido — just like my pops.”

“And what about her?” asked Marc, pointing at Sharon Nagorski.

Siddharth stared at Sharon, who was sitting at the loser table, the one with Bobby’s grandparents and siblings — the one where he would have had to sit just a couple of months earlier. Sharon was laughing at something Bobby’s older sister was saying. Her dimples made her look cute. Not pretty.

“That dog?” said Luca. “She’s the biggest tool in our school.”

“But those lips,” said Marc. “Those lips gotta be good for something.”

Siddharth forced himself to laugh, slapping his knee as he chuckled. He pretended that he was still following Marc and Luca’s conversation, but in actuality he continued to watch Sharon out of the corner of his eye. She was wearing boyish jeans and a gray full-sleeve T-shirt. Her dirty blond hair looked particularly plain and stringy, as if she hadn’t washed it in a couple days. All of a sudden, she got up and walked toward the bathroom. He wondered if she knew they’d been talking about her. He wondered if he should get up too — if he should wait for her by the cigarette machines and have a talk with her. He wouldn’t say sorry. Just hello. They could start being friendly to each other, if not friends. Then he recalled something Sharon had once said about one of his drawings.

The previous year, she had said that a woman Siddharth had drawn — the singer from one of her stories — looked like his mother. Siddharth had grabbed his picture back and realized Sharon was right. The woman’s nose was hooked like a bird’s beak, just like his mother’s. The woman was wearing a string of black beads around her neck, like his mom used to do. And she had a large mole on her neck, just like his mother’s mole. Sharon said, “Relax, Siddharth. It was a compliment. You know, my mom always said your mother was beautiful.” Siddharth erupted. He told her that she needed to learn how to shut up. He told her that Luca was right — she could be a real loser when she wanted to. Sharon said, “I may be a loser, but at least I’m not an asshole.” The next day, he couldn’t go to school because he had a fever, and his father had to cancel his classes in order to care for him.

Luca said something and Marc laughed. Siddharth laughed too, even though he didn’t know what they were talking about. He dipped a fry in some ketchup and stuffed it into his mouth. He knew he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t talk to Sharon. They were never even supposed to be friends in the first place. And as Arjun said, things happened for a reason. If he hadn’t fallen out with Sharon, he never would have gone to karate. If he hadn’t gone to karate, he never would have become friends with Marc. This line of thinking soothed him for a second. But if life really worked that way, what did this mean about his mother? Had she died for a reason? In that moment, he could see the mole on her neck so clearly. It used to fascinate him. He used to flick it sometimes, as if it were a toy. He felt a surge of loathing for his own achy neck. It was all healthy and fine while hers had been mangled and broken.

He heard fingers snap by his left ear. He looked over to find Marc squinting at him. “Yo, where the fuck are you, homey?”

“Me?” Siddharth licked his lips. “I barely slept last night.”

Luca said, “I bet he was up late petting his pussy.”

“Screw you, Luca,” said Siddharth. “I was up petting your mom’s pussy.”

Marc cracked up, and whacked him on the back. Siddharth pretended that it didn’t hurt.

* * *

After lunch, the trio ambled through the room with the air hockey and pool tables toward the one with the Skee-Ball machines. Beside these machines was a glass counter containing prizes — cap guns, candy bars, and key chains with pictures of marijuana leaves and sunbathing models, all of which were up for grabs if you could win enough tickets playing Skee-Ball. Luca explained that he knew a way to get thousands of tickets for free. There was a button on the back of the machines, and if you held it down, they kept on spitting out balls, even if you didn’t put in any tokens.

“So that’s free balls,” said Siddharth. “Not tickets.”

“No shit, Sherlock. But if you go back there and press the button, I’ll stuff the balls right into the bull’s-eye. All Marc’s gotta do is keep a lookout.”

“But who’s gonna grab the tickets?” asked Siddharth, already sweating.

“Me,” said Marc.

“Guys, this sounds stupid,” said Siddharth.

“You’re right,” said Marc. “But it just might work. Sid, you’re small. Crawl back there and check it out.”

Sighing, Siddharth crouched down and headed behind the machine on all fours. The carpet was smelly and moist, but he found a red plastic button and pressed it down. A bell sounded, and he heard a set of Skee-Balls descend and clack against each other.

“Sweet, Sidney,” said Marc. “Nice work.”

Siddharth was slightly trembling, but he cracked a smile. He liked when Marc used this moniker.

“Grab ’em,” said Luca. “Grab the fucking tickets.”

“I got it, I got it,” said Marc.

“Siddharth, press it again,” said Luca. “Keep on pressing it until I tell you to stop.”

Siddharth remained crouched in the corner and did as he was told, but then he heard a voice — a new voice.

“What do you think you’re doing?” The voice was deep. Pissed off.

Siddharth gritted his teeth. He pressed his hot face into the cold steel of the machine.

Marc told the man that the machine had eaten their tokens and they were trying to fix it, but the man said they were going to have to come with him. Siddharth’s whole body felt heavy, as if mud were running through his veins.

“You little shit!” the man suddenly yelled. “That freaking hurt!”

“Run, Sid!” said Marc. “Get the fuck outta there.”

Siddharth crawled out and saw a tall, bearded man limping around in a circle. Marc and Luca were charging toward the pool tables, and Siddharth sprinted to catch up with them. They reached a stairwell and descended one flight, then burst through a set of emergency doors leading to the parking lot.

Siddharth had to shield his eyes from the sun. Marc grabbed his sleeve, and they started running even faster. They fled across Amity Road, taking refuge behind a Luciani Carting dumpster in the parking lot behind a Greek diner. They were all panting, and Siddharth’s brain was pounding against his skull.

“That was freaking awesome,” said Luca. “You missed it, Sidney. He wrecked that guy. He fucking wasted him.”

“I had no choice,” said Marc. “He was all grabbing me and shit.”

Marc looked at Siddharth, who in turn looked down at his fake Keds. He thought about Mr. Stone, their karate teacher. He would have been disappointed. Arjun would have been disappointed too, but he didn’t know about Marc’s good sides.