“She’ll wonder why you didn’t come,” I said.
“Tell her I got a headache or something.”
“The trots,” Rusty suggested.
She scowled at him. “Not the trots, a headache.”
“You got your period!”
Slim and I both blushed furiously.
“No,” she said.
“Why not say it’s your period?”
“Forget it.”
“Can’t go to vampire shows when you’ve got your period, you know. All that blood? Drive’s ’em crazy and they come after you.”
“Jeez. ” I muttered.
“It’s the truth, man. It’d be like going into bear country or swimming in shark-infested waters.”
Glaring at him, Slim said, “Get bent.”
Rusty started to laugh.
Slim reached toward his face. Very quickly, she tucked down her middle finger, hooked it in place with the pad of her thumb, built up some force in her finger and let it go. It flicked upward, nail thumping Rusty’s nose.
His eyes bulged. His face went red. His laughter stopped. Staggering backward, he cupped a hand over his nose.
“No more talk like that,” she told him.
“Shit,” he gasped.
“You never know when to quit,” she said.
He blinked at her, his eyes red and watery.
I didn’t feel sorry for him. And I was glad Slim had hurt him. Now, both of us had brought tears to Rusty’s eyes.
He sniffled a few times. Then he muttered, “Now you’ve done it,” and lowered his hand.
Bright red blood was running out of his nostrils and spilling over his upper lip.
“Oh, great,” Slim muttered.
Rusty sniffed and licked the blood. “Happy?” He tipped back his head.
“You’d better lie down,” I told him.
He stepped off the sidewalk and stretched out flat on someone’s front yard.
“You’ll be all right in a minute,” I said.
Slim squatted down beside him. Patting him on the chest, she said, “Too bad, sport. You can’t go to a vampire show with a bloody nose. Drives ’em crazy. They’ll come right after you and suck you dry.”
“Screw you,” he said.
Calmly, Slim reached toward his face, tucked down her middle finger and gave his nose another hard flick.
“OW! DAMN IT!”
“Be nice, Rusty, and these things won’t befall you.”
“Go to hell,” he muttered.
Chuckling, Slim stood up. She said to me, “Poor Rusty, everybody’s beating up on him.”
“He likes it,” I said. “He must.”
“I do not,” he said from the ground.
“Anyway,” Slim said, “where’re we going now?”
“My place?” I suggested. “We can hang out there till supper time. You’re going to eat with us, aren’t you? Dad’s grilling burgers.”
“Sure. But why don’t I meet you there? I want to run home and change clothes.”
She saw the look on my face.
“What?” she asked.
“Do you have to?”
She stared down at herself, holding her arms away from her sides, bending her knees, grimacing as if she’d just gotten up from a face-first fall into a mud puddle.
“You look fine,” I said. She looked great, but I didn’t want to push it.
“Yeah, well, I like to wear my own stuff. Anyway, it’ll only take a few minutes.” She started to turn away.
“No, wait,” I said.
. She faced me.
“Why don’t you not go?”
She raised her eyebrows, put her head forward and spoke slowly as if talking to a goon. “I want my own clothes?” She lifted her voice at the end so it sounded like a question. “I want clothes that fit? And shorts that aren’t red? And something to wear under them?”
“Okay,” I said.
But I must’ve looked pained, because her mocking attitude changed to concern. “What is it?”
I shrugged.
Someone was sure to discover the mess in her mother’s bedroom, anyway, sooner or later. This might be a good time for Slim to find it. She would have no reason to suspect Rusty and me, especially if she went by herself so she couldn’t see the looks on our faces or hear us say something stupid.
I should’ve told her, “Nothing’s wrong. Go on ahead.”
But I didn’t want her to leave.
Before I could think of what to say, Rusty spoke up. “He’s scared you’ll get lost.”