Wicked Hungry

And me? If my mother only knew what I’ve already eaten. Just this morning, as I was getting ready to go to church. If she had any idea, what would she do?

Renegotiate a new pact with the goddess? Everyone vegetarian except for Stanley? Or would she trade me for Zach, who speaks so eloquently in all his vegan purity?

Though I need a plan, I just want to go home.

Unfortunately I need to wait for coffee hour. I can do without the coffee and the conversation, but I need those pills.

Chapter 11: HAPPY BIRTHDAY, STANLEY

A month passes. A whole cycle of the moon, of secret cravings, of meat snacks hidden everywhere, of pills and beef jerky consumed in private. Of growing guilt and growing chest hair. Not just on my chest. Hair everywhere. Ugh.

But why dwell on the negatives? There are definitely some pluses. Like no pain. Three pills a day is not the end of the world. Pain-free, I can walk and keep up with my friends. I can even run, almost keeping up with Enrique. When he’s jogging, that is. Not on the sprints. Maybe in a few weeks, but for now, he still leaves me in the dust.

Meanwhile Zach has been real relaxed about his favor. I mean he did ask me if I could get him an athame, which is this kind of ceremonial sword. It’s important to Wiccan rituals. I don’t know if he thinks he’s becoming a witch or what, but he asked me to bring one to school.

Now I’m not stupid enough to bring a metal blade to school and keep it in my locker, like he asked me to. I mean, no one is that stupid, I hope. That would be like a one-way ticket to the juvenile detention center. But I do have this wood one that my mother carved for me and blessed when I turned twelve. It’s in my room, and it’s as easy as can be to just throw it in a little cloth bag, put it in my backpack, and stuff it in my locker. I mean, who cares about some carved wood? Except for Wiccans and other wannabe magicians?

At least I’m finally done with the favor. It had really been hanging over me.

Not that I’ve just been moping, either. I’ve had a lot of homework. Biology and geometry are killing me. Progress reports are coming up, and if I do as bad as I figure I deserve it’s goodbye gaming, goodbye what little life I have.

When we aren’t running, we walk around the neighborhood, Jonathan, Enrique, and me. Dogs hate us. One day, this big monster dog that looks like a cross between a Rottweiler and a Great Dane comes up, barking. At me.

It’s showing teeth, its ears are back, and it’s like my friends don’t even exist. The dog doesn’t see Jonathan’s big afro or Enrique’s mohawk. He’s only got eyes for me.

I feel Enrique freeze up next to me. My eyes close, my fingers itch and, I feel this urge to bring my head back and howl. I try to hold it in, but it’s too much. Just when I’m about to explode, I feel Enrique’s hand on my arm.

“What?” I snarl, pulling away.

“Stanley?” Enrique says. “You okay?”

I open my eyes. The dog is gone.

“Dude, Stanley?” Jonathan says. “You are seriously weird sometimes.”

“Why do you think I hang out with you?” I say.

At school, they let me run again in P.E. I almost think about trying out for the track team again. But I’m not nearly fast enough. Yet.

I’m not telling anyone about Zach’s vitamins. I don’t know about Enrique, and I don’t want to ask him. Because if I ask him, he’ll ask me. And I don’t want to talk about it. I do know the vitamins disappeared from his doorstep. There are definitely others taking them: runners who want to bulk up, kids with bad skin, all kinds of problems. They come to Zach’s locker, but he’s smart enough not to hand out pills in school.

Karen has been avoiding everyone. My only opportunity is science class. We’re lab partners, but she avoids touching me. Or looking at me. Or talking to me.

Is it all about the stupid vitamins? I’ve tried calling her, but she won’t return my calls. I’ve walked by her house, but she doesn’t answer the door. I sent her an invitation, but she’ll never come.

Because today is my birthday. October twentieth. My second month of school. A full moon.

So I’m in P.E. We’re playing basketball in the gym, and I’ve just scored a basket.

I could fly up into the bleachers, my feet are so light. I run back towards the center court, and then suddenly I am flying, a foot in front of my foot sending me sailing, to land teeth first on the hard, waxed floor.

There’s blood in my mouth as I get shakily to my feet. I flex my knee carefully.

Still no pain. Except in my mouth. Blood drips onto the wax. They’re going to have to call the custodians to clean it up.

Someone is laughing.

He’s on the other team, but mostly he’s just Gary Frumberg, a big one hundred and eighty-pound pain in the ass. How can I put this? My fingers and teeth itch, frankly, to rip out his throat.