Ugly Girls: A Novel (6 page)

But what she actually wrote was:

Haha, perv

What bout that freind your always with?
he wrote.
U think shes slutty rite?

Baby Girl’s heart had been pounding, she was halfway at the computer and halfway already in the car, driving toward him, feeling terrified and disgusted and ready for whatever. Was he fat, was he missing teeth, would he see her in person and shut the door? But him asking after Perry had put Baby Girl back, all the way, in her chair.

Why you askin about her?
she wrote.

LOL, just makin small talk
, he responded.

She’s no slut, watch what you say

I just thot I saw her around with a buncha differen guys, thats all

SO??? You a stalker?
she wrote.

Then:
LOL

Lately he’d been asking more about Perry,
U with your freind?
Shit, he probably had that pretyped and ready to send every time he didn’t see Baby Girl online. At first she felt kind of flattered, like he was checking in on her to make sure she wasn’t with no other boys, but now it felt like he wanted to know was she with Perry. They were having a conversation about music when he wrote,

Your freind like the same kinda music??

He knew her name, she’d written it and texted it to him a lot, but he always called Perry “your freind.”

I know you’re friends with her, why don’t you just ask her yourself?
she wrote.

Don’t be like that Dayna.
Baby Girl knew he’d say that, had almost wanted to type it herself so he could see how well she knew him. She’d told him her real name one night when they’d been chatting for hours, and her legs ached from sitting so long, and her wrists felt bruised from all the typing, and it seemed like they’d been talking about everything. He used her name only when he wanted her to know he was being serious.
Don’t be like that Dayna
. But then:

Hey what r u wearing

LOL

He’d used her name, and then he’d laughed. She decided to give him what he was asking for.

I’m not wearing shit

I’m naked

It’s cold in here so my nipples are hard

I have perfect nipples

I shave my pussy, you like that?

What are U wearing, motherfucker?

The word
pussy
blared from the screen. She had wanted to scare him. Baby Girl felt as cold and exposed as if she really was naked.
Jamey is typing
.

Whoa whoa

That aint what Im after

Your my freind

Im your freind rite?

Baby Girl didn’t answer, just watched the cursor blink. Finally he said,

Talk to u later I guess

Jamey has signed off.

That was two nights ago. Nothing since. No texts, no online chatting. Baby Girl’s yearning had felt as bright as a car alarm, a shrieking that filled her ears and flooded her body and scared the shit out of her. And for some reason, even though she wanted to talk about it with someone, it felt like something she should guard closely around Perry. Like if Perry knew she’d take it away and Baby Girl might walk up to the car one day to see the back of Jamey’s head moving slow between Perry’s legs, Perry’s face bland as a tortilla, the
ping ping
of her toes cracking the only evidence that there was any life to her at all. So Baby Girl kept it to herself. She’d tell Perry when the time came, if the time came.

I have been online
, she said now.
And didn’t you get my text?

Im just teasin
, he said.
Ben thinkin bout u

Baby Girl smiled again.
Been thinking about you too

U out last nite??
he wrote.

Yeah … couldn’t sleep so we went out thuggin
, she wrote back.

With ur freind?

Baby Girl decided to let that one go, not get on his case about it, she was so glad to hear from him again.

Yeah she was there

I thot so

Im glad u aint disapeered

Me too
, Baby Girl wrote, and she wanted to shout, to run in and tell … who? There wasn’t no one.

I stil wana meetup u kno?

Me too,
Baby Girl wrote again. So fucking tongue-tied by this no-faced stranger.

Alrite wel l lets talk l8r u got school

Okay I’ll text you l8r, you fuckin dork.
Something Baby Girl would never have typed normally. But it was cute, he was cute, he wanted to meet up with her. With
her
.

Lookin fwd

Jamey has signed off.

Baby Girl scrolled back up, reread their brief chat.
I stil wana meetup u know?
She felt like she could jump high as the roof. She felt … wanted. Attractive, even. Got up and threw her cereal bowl against the wall without even thinking why, just had to do something. Watched the sludge drip down in gory streams, puddle on the linoleum, her heart racing her lungs. She waited till she heard Charles turn the water off, then went over to clean up her mess. ’Cause one thing about Baby Girl she cherished was the thing that separated her from Charles, even before his accident: she could clean up her mess.

MYRA WOKE UP
with a yolky taste in her mouth. She tried licking her lips but that only spread the yolk around, and the yolk dried fast. She was holding her glass from last night up against her heart and now she tipped it at her lips, but it was also dry. And then that carpet of regret started creeping up her body, moving rough and fast up her feet legs hips breasts neck head. Coating her in a raw rushing heat she did not welcome. Add to that how her stomach had nothing in it. That was going to be a problem.

She hadn’t even
needed
the beer last night. Only drinking when a drink was needed was one of her rules. She had said this to Perry, and then Jim, many times over the years.
Don’t worry. It’s only when I
need
it.
She had just been bored, and a little disappointed. Most of the time the disappointment wasn’t an issue. But then other times, like last night, with that boy, Pete, this young man interested in what she had to say, she’d find herself thinking of Jim and the flat plane of her life. How it was mostly defined now, no more surprises on the way, how Jim felt just fine with that, and her throat would close in like she’d swallowed a cherry pit and her throat didn’t know was it better to swallow it down or cough it up.

Last night, before her first beer, she had come up behind Jim. Put her hands around his chest and rubbed his shirtfront. But he had already been dressed for work, and he didn’t want to get undressed, then redressed. He’d turned and kissed her, as fast as a hummingbird’s wing, on the lips. Didn’t he know what that did to a woman? Maybe that was why she’d let Pete sit awhile. It hadn’t helped, though.

Had Perry come home? She hadn’t heard her come home or leave for school. Which meant Jim hadn’t come in to wake her when he got home, before driving Perry. Which meant Jim was annoyed with her, because she’d asked him to pour her a glass before he left. Well, it served him right.

She wished, sometimes, that Jim would get mad. But all he ever got worked up to was a mild kind of annoyance. She had once been pushed out of a moving car by a man angry with her, so most of the time Jim’s mild, dulled reactions were just fine by her.

But they also added to the disappointment. They were small things that added up, like toothpicks in a Dixie cup, but still, they could stick you.

Shit. She had to get something in her stomach. She braced herself with her hand on the nightstand, knocking some bottles to the floor, but, a mercy, none broke. Still, the clattering sound ripped through her and instead of heading toward the kitchen, she headed for the bathroom. Knelt before the toilet. Heaved and spat.

When the heaving stopped, her knees singing with the pain, Myra got up, went into the kitchen to make some toast and coffee. Called Bill at the truck stop to apologize for not making her shift, explain that she was ill and couldn’t come in.

“Mm-
hmm
,” Bill said. “Well, we’ll see you tomorrow, anyway.” Myra knew he didn’t believe her, but she was grateful for him playing along all the same.

She sat in the chair at the computer, dipped her toast into her coffee. Her neighbor had her music on, a constant cheerful braying that hammered Myra’s skull. She must have bumped the mouse somehow because the computer screen suddenly flashed on. Perry’s Facebook page was open. A boy named Jamey had called her beautiful. The picture he said it about was of Perry in a hat Jim had bought at the truck stop one day when he and Perry stopped by after school. The hat was as green as a leaf and there was a real golf tee balancing a real golf ball on the bill. Perry was smiling calmly, like it wasn’t nothing more than a hair barrette. She could see why Perry had uploaded it. The green in the hat, the green in her eyes. She
was
beautiful. Too much eyeliner but that was a teenager’s way. Myra swelled with pride.

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: