Shelly flipped off the tramp and ran, stopping just short of knocking Julia down. Tiny veins throbbed across her eyes like blood mites. “Face or body?”
“Shelly, stop,” Dave Harrison called.
“The eight of us took a vote,” Shelly answered without taking her eyes off Julia. “We all agreed. Nobody talks to the Wildes… So, which is it, Julia?” she asked, like they were strangers. Like they’d never promised during sleepovers, while their drunk moms had guzzled wine on the porch under fake tiki torches, that they’d be best friends forever.
“Our air-conditioning’s gone to shit,” Julia panted. “We have to be out here. I don’t want to fight and I don’t want to be in a place nobody wants me but it’s too hot. Whatever your problem is, get over it.” She pointed at the deflated yellow mat on her dried-up lawn. “We could all Slip ’N Slide. You could, too, Shelly. Plus my mom went grocery shopping and there’s Eggo pancakes.”
Shelly’s frown eased.
“We won’t tell your mom. She’ll never even know you came outside,” Julia said. “It’s totally early. She’s sleeping for another hour at least.” Hungover, Julia meant, but she didn’t say it.
Shelly let out a long sigh, and Julia knew she was winning. Please, please, please let this turn out okay, she silently prayed. Let Shelly act like a human being again, and let the neighborhood kids not tease anymore, and let the Slip ’N Slide be awesome, so I can have just ONE GOOD DAY.
But then Larry opened his big mouth. “Shelly can’t be on our Slip ’N Slide, Julia. Robot Boy says no bullies in school.”
Shelly spun. In three strides, she was toe to toe with Larry. “Face or body?”
Larry’s eyes engaged a point just over Shelly’s left shoulder. “You are a bad person,” he said in monotone and without contractions, which meant he was terrified.
“Okay, I’ll pick for you,” Shelly answered as she flicked her index finger at his nose, then his small chest, then his nose, and back to his chest again, singsonging: “My-mother-punched-your-mother-right-in-the-nose…
“What-color-was-the-blood?” Shelly continued, nose-chest-nose-chest. It was so weird. What thirteen-year-old plays It? All the other kids watched. Except for the mean Markle, their faces registered discomfort.
“R-E-D spells red and you are it!” Shelly finished, pointing at Larry’s nose. Then she smiled. “Face! I’ll break your nose.”
Rocking, Larry reached into his pants and yanked his willie. Which meant he was about a breath away from a full-on meltdown—the kind that lasted for hours, and ruined all the weeks of progress and energy Julia had put into him, trying to get him normal.
Shelly grinned, teeth bright and fancy black hair shining.
Stuff went out of focus for Julia. She stopped hearing the morning heat-song of the cicadas, and the soft, uncomfortable shuffles of the rest of the Rat Pack. She bent low and rammed, headfirst, into Shelly’s skinny belly.
“Uumph!” both girls cried.
Julia’s neck made a crack! It hurt so much it felt like it was broken, and when she stood right again, her throat swelled.
Shelly staggered. Tears of pain welled in her giant blue eyes. “You slut! You don’t hit me! Nobody ever hits me!”
“You don’t touch other people’s brothers,” Julia rasped through her hurt throat. “Every dumb fuck with a brain cell knows that in East New York. He’s mine to beat up, not yours.”
By now the rest of the Rat Pack had surrounded them.
“Girl fight! Girl fight!” the Markles chanted.
Charlie Walsh, Sam Singh, and Dave Harrison were watching, too. Larry stayed where he’d been, rocking and afraid. But at least he’d taken his hand out of his pants.
“Stop,” Julia panted. But Shelly didn’t stop. She came at Julia, grabbing her shoulders in front, shoving a foot behind, and trip-pushing her down. Then she straddled her. Julia wriggled but couldn’t get out from under. Shelly’s fist slammed down, smashing Julia’s cheekbone so hard she saw white sparks.
“You do it with your daddy. You’re his ghetto girlfriend!” Shelly screamed.
Another meaty punch! Julia jolted to swelling, impossible pain. “Help!” she begged.
At last, Dave Harrison broke away from the group. He wrapped his arms around Shelly’s waist. Chubby Charlie got her by the arms. They held her while Julia scrambled out from underneath.
Stronger than both boys put together, Shelly broke away. She was crying and screaming, and even laughing. “He looks at me!” she shouted, the red plainly visible now. It etched a fibrous, marker-like caterpillar along the loose linen seam of her crotch. “I know because at sleepovers, he was always looking at me!”